<?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-12465718</id><updated>2012-02-16T18:53:01.778-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm Your Huckleberry</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>54</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-114080444620086127</id><published>2006-02-24T09:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-02-24T10:07:26.216-08:00</updated><title type='text'>He will rock you.</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;I would like to take this oppourtunity to tell you all about the dream I had last night. It was probably the best and most detailed dream I've ever had in my entire life.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It all started when I went to visit a movie set in Steinbach. I was just hanging around, being all awesome and such...when all of a sudden Heath Ledger comes up and strikes up a conversation. We talked for awhile, and he told me he had no place to stay in town, so naturally I was all like "you can stay at my house!"&lt;br /&gt;So Heath Ledger was living in Josh's room. And we would stay up all night swapping stories and drinking tea and watching movies and laughing. It was summer, so sometimes we went swimming in the pool in my back yard. I told him I had THE BIGGEST crush on Jake Gyllenhaal, and he laughed and promised to put in a good word for me. I told him all my secrets and dreams, and he told me all of his...we were best friends, me and Heath. I didn't have any romantic feelings for him, just friendship commitment.&lt;br /&gt;But then the movie set closed. He was leaving.&lt;br /&gt;I cried so much at the airport. He hugged me and promised he would see me soon. And he was gone.&lt;br /&gt;I spent some empty moments doing random stuff. But then Heath called me! He told me he had asked his wife...and I could come live with them forever! So I promptly did. I moved right in. And I took care of his baby.&lt;br /&gt;His wife didn't like me much, but he kept telling her what a good soul I had.&lt;br /&gt;Jake Gyllenhaal brought me flowers, but I didn't see him again.&lt;br /&gt;One morning, when Heath and Michelle were eating breakfast, I went out to get the paper. I met up with a man there. I proceeded to tell him everything I knew about Heath and his family, all his secrets. He was writing it down.&lt;br /&gt;Needless to say, it got into the tabloids. Heath kicked me out of the house. Threw a towel over my head and sent me out into the world. Told me he never wanted to speak to me again.&lt;br /&gt;I spent the rest of the dream trying to get back in to the house. But it was always locked. And he never came out.&lt;br /&gt;:(&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;But it was a damn good dream while it lasted. I think the symbolism here is that Heath and I are soul mates. I wonder if I show up in his dreams?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.thespiannet.com/actors/L/ledger_heath/hl.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 166px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 162px" height="190" alt="" src="http://www.thespiannet.com/actors/L/ledger_heath/hl.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-114080444620086127?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/114080444620086127/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=114080444620086127' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/114080444620086127'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/114080444620086127'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2006/02/he-will-rock-you.html' title='He will rock you.'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-113815946496679957</id><published>2006-01-24T18:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-24T19:24:24.980-08:00</updated><title type='text'>And thus Canada forms the Fourth Reich.</title><content type='html'>Congratulations, Stephen Harper! I look forward to the next four years.**&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't work for the rest of the week, baby! I'm probably the coolest person ever as a direct result.  I think a person's coolnessability is completely based on whether they work or not.  I base this theory upon a complex mathematical formula involving several large pieces of paper, a bowling ball, three ears of corn, a cowboy hat, a pencil, and Cillian Murphy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh! And the Celebrity news blog is on it's way.  I'm getting that started immediately. I expect you all to subscribe to it, marry it, make sweet and gentle love to it...etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;**I'm actually totally lying. I just thought I'd try to be mature.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-113815946496679957?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/113815946496679957/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=113815946496679957' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113815946496679957'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113815946496679957'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2006/01/and-thus-canada-forms-fourth-reich.html' title='And thus Canada forms the Fourth Reich.'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-113762427298557091</id><published>2006-01-18T14:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-18T14:44:33.000-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Dry or Canceled.</title><content type='html'>The parents commitee had their little meeting, and boat cruise is officially ruled out.  There will be no boat cruise, but rather a dry event.  There will be absolutely no alcohol allowed. Which is interesting. I thought it would go the other way. I mean, I won't  be old enough to drink, and I doubt I would have even gone on boat cruise.  I might not even be going to grad. It all depends. But a dry event?&lt;br /&gt;Apparently, some students started a petition.  The principal ripped it up in their faces, and told them if they wanted to drink...don't come to the event.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Intresting.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-113762427298557091?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/113762427298557091/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=113762427298557091' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113762427298557091'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113762427298557091'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2006/01/dry-or-canceled.html' title='Dry or Canceled.'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-113752520518290313</id><published>2006-01-17T11:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-17T11:13:25.206-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Snow day</title><content type='html'>Well, I got an unexpected snow day. I couldn't get my car out of the driveway. And Danie spent the night last night. We made a decision: let's not even try to call a tow truck.&lt;br /&gt;SNOW DAY, baby!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-113752520518290313?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/113752520518290313/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=113752520518290313' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113752520518290313'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113752520518290313'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2006/01/snow-day.html' title='Snow day'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-113744916213325122</id><published>2006-01-16T13:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-16T14:10:01.606-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Jeanette Plett</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3706/1058/1600/x1pd4-FnBJ-KmjZJWHBELdTS9dEoILzsfxSO6Zcp2flwCE395N4QDA9NBxOQOD-qcHFpUF-fcntl2k4MdYBT8Z7ii0U22Imvm1qQLCy3zlhJ8CR8Js3-MWjSbSt5p3_osHPHYjvCEIz_Oc.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" height="476" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3706/1058/400/x1pd4-FnBJ-KmjZJWHBELdTS9dEoILzsfxSO6Zcp2flwCE395N4QDA9NBxOQOD-qcHFpUF-fcntl2k4MdYBT8Z7ii0U22Imvm1qQLCy3zlhJ8CR8Js3-MWjSbSt5p3_osHPHYjvCEIz_Oc.jpg" width="393" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh Jeanette&lt;br /&gt;you are so fine&lt;br /&gt;you are so fine&lt;br /&gt;you blow my mind&lt;br /&gt;oh Jeanette&lt;br /&gt;you are so yummy&lt;br /&gt;I feel your warm fuzzies&lt;br /&gt;in my tummy&lt;br /&gt;Oh Jeanette&lt;br /&gt;you always rhyme&lt;br /&gt;your names are jeanette plett&lt;br /&gt;it works everytime &lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3706/1058/1600/x1pd4-FnBJ-KmjZJWHBELdTS9dEoILzsfxSO6Zcp2flwCE395N4QDA9NBxOQOD-qcHFpUF-fcntl2k4MdYBT8Z7ii0U22Imvm1qQLCy3zlhJ8CR8Js3-MWjSbSt5p3_osHPHYjvCEIz_Oc.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your nickname is plettophile&lt;br /&gt;and I think it's funny&lt;br /&gt;I also find amusment&lt;br /&gt;in fuzzy pink slippers that are bunnies&lt;br /&gt;We wear foodies&lt;br /&gt;at our job&lt;br /&gt;we sell lots of produce&lt;br /&gt;including corn on the cob&lt;br /&gt;We memorize lots of things&lt;br /&gt;like sequences and codes&lt;br /&gt;We've both seen a lot of things&lt;br /&gt;ugly people and toads&lt;br /&gt;Your hair used to be blonde&lt;br /&gt;but it isn't anymore&lt;br /&gt;you missed your essay deadline&lt;br /&gt;your essay was due at four&lt;br /&gt;I'm sorry you missed your deadline&lt;br /&gt;which was at four&lt;br /&gt;I'm really really sorry&lt;br /&gt;of that I am sure&lt;br /&gt;It's not my fault&lt;br /&gt;they switched my shift&lt;br /&gt;I really hope&lt;br /&gt;you are not miffed&lt;br /&gt;Oh Jeanette&lt;br /&gt;I love you so&lt;br /&gt;because we are workers&lt;br /&gt;workers that are co&lt;br /&gt;I love you today&lt;br /&gt;I love you tomorrow&lt;br /&gt;I'm sorry to say&lt;br /&gt;parting is such sorrow&lt;br /&gt;We're not really parting&lt;br /&gt;but I did like that line&lt;br /&gt;Danie thought it up&lt;br /&gt;and I thought it was fine&lt;br /&gt;Now it must end&lt;br /&gt;I hope you like my poem&lt;br /&gt;My love it does send&lt;br /&gt;I am a garden gnome.&lt;br /&gt;the other day, I was driving&lt;br /&gt;and I hit the curb&lt;br /&gt;we work at Sobeys&lt;br /&gt;and we are ready to serve!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-113744916213325122?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/113744916213325122/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=113744916213325122' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113744916213325122'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113744916213325122'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2006/01/jeanette-plett.html' title='Jeanette Plett'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-113739073779338999</id><published>2006-01-15T21:18:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-15T21:52:17.810-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Know what I miss?</title><content type='html'>I miss fitting into nice clothes.&lt;br /&gt;I miss sleeping in on Saturdays.&lt;br /&gt;I miss summer.&lt;br /&gt;I miss being niave.&lt;br /&gt;I miss being pretty.&lt;br /&gt;I miss thinking that I'm pretty, or at least could one day BE pretty.&lt;br /&gt;I miss being mature for my age.&lt;br /&gt;I miss spares with Kim.&lt;br /&gt;I miss gossiping with Kim, when she knew who everyone was.&lt;br /&gt;I miss thinking the world was fair.&lt;br /&gt;I miss thinking a good movie was animated.&lt;br /&gt;I miss channel surfing.&lt;br /&gt;I miss being right all the time.&lt;br /&gt;I miss lying and not getting caught.&lt;br /&gt;I miss control.&lt;br /&gt;I miss having a boy for a best friend.&lt;br /&gt;I miss not knowing jealousy.&lt;br /&gt;I miss believing everything my Sunday School teacher told me.&lt;br /&gt;I miss having crushes.&lt;br /&gt;I miss having a life.&lt;br /&gt;I miss having no income, and not caring.&lt;br /&gt;I miss the lack of responsibility that comes with youth.&lt;br /&gt;I miss not caring.&lt;br /&gt;I miss boys being icky and being able to kick them.&lt;br /&gt;I miss thinking "crap" was a bad word.&lt;br /&gt;I miss having people care about me.&lt;br /&gt;I miss being emo and moody. (wait! I still am!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I miss hanging out with Chad, Trevor, Marcus and Quincy.&lt;br /&gt;I miss talking to Chad, Trevor, Marcus and Quincy individually.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-113739073779338999?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/113739073779338999/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=113739073779338999' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113739073779338999'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113739073779338999'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2006/01/know-what-i-miss.html' title='Know what I miss?'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-113729121792943579</id><published>2006-01-14T17:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-14T19:06:12.560-08:00</updated><title type='text'>24 hours for everyone except you.</title><content type='html'>So, I have tried going to the gym TWICE in the last two days. And both times, I wasn't allowed in. I don't understand this, especially since I had to pay over-and-above the regular monthly installment already. If I'm already paying more, shouldn't I be able to actually access the aforementioned equipment? It's a 24 hour gym!&lt;br /&gt;So, I talked to them about it yesterday, and they blamed it on my card. So they gave me a new one. And that one didn't work either! I think it's just a conspiracy to keep me fat so they'll all look hotter than me.&lt;br /&gt;I want to work out! I want to look hot, too! Let me in!&lt;br /&gt;Gosh.&lt;br /&gt;I'll try again in the morning because I want to be hot for grad.&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and I must cut out all sugar. Does anyone understand how impossible that is for me? Quite impossible. But I gotta for meddddical reaaaasons, which I will NOT post about, even though I tell everyone about it anyway with my usual&lt;strong&gt; "the-way-I-look-is-not-my-fault"&lt;/strong&gt; flare. But I won't bother posting it. You've probably already heard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While we're on the subject of grad, I need a grad date. Sam, Laura, and Kim are all hott and great and I love them in all ways, but I need a boy to come with me. Yeah, I know boys are over rated, but I've got a bet going this year. And I'll probably lose, but it's worth a shot.&lt;br /&gt;...I'm accepting applications, so if there are any EXREMELY attractive guys out there that you know, send them my way. Preferably if they are either rich OR famous. And also if they happen to be Cillian Murphy:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://spectacle.provocateuse.com/images/spectacles/cillian_murphy_02.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;                                        &lt;a href="http://homepage.mac.com/mukaya/media/cillianonpluto.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="WIDTH: 293px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 275px" height="277" alt="" src="http://homepage.mac.com/mukaya/media/cillianonpluto.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;                         &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I should write him a letter and tell him its for charity. Celebrities can't resist charity. And I'd trick him into it, and it would be fantastic. He would finally realize that we are meant to be together, and we would live happily ever after.&lt;br /&gt;Last year, a girl wrote a letter to Orlando Bloom and asked him to grad, and he ACCEPTED! He went to her grad! Whoa! I saw those pictures in People magazine. I would try this, but I said I wanted to invite a boy, and Orlando Bloom is only half way there, if not less. I'll bet he has more estrogen in him than I do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, my Red Eye party is tonight. And The Producers is tomorrow. Will Ferrel in a musical just spells "delicious" to me. Once again, you all are cordially invited to this event. It will be fun!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-113729121792943579?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/113729121792943579/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=113729121792943579' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113729121792943579'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113729121792943579'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2006/01/24-hours-for-everyone-except-you.html' title='24 hours for everyone except you.'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-113721314051672139</id><published>2006-01-13T20:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-13T20:32:20.530-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Samatha my sweet</title><content type='html'>Oh Samantha&lt;br /&gt;you are super&lt;br /&gt;I would even go so far&lt;br /&gt;as to say 'duper'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You are divine&lt;br /&gt;I love you forever&lt;br /&gt;and for all time&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;mostly we work side by side&lt;br /&gt;but sometimes we struggle&lt;br /&gt;as we are divided&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your hair is shiny&lt;br /&gt;I...like it&lt;br /&gt;it's almost as pretty as your hiny&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;we almost kissed&lt;br /&gt;On New Years Eve&lt;br /&gt;but I averted my face, and you missed&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(I'm not in the poem-writing zone today)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-113721314051672139?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/113721314051672139/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=113721314051672139' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113721314051672139'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113721314051672139'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2006/01/samatha-my-sweet.html' title='Samatha my sweet'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-113719318629664175</id><published>2006-01-13T14:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-13T14:59:46.310-08:00</updated><title type='text'>get down girl, go ahead, get down. Go ahead girl, go ahead get down.</title><content type='html'>So, I need to find a name for my celebrity gossip blog...Ideas?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I made this super-awesome powerpoint, and then my computer crashed. I blame the Conservatives, Hitler, as well as Bill Gates for my crappy mark on my less-than-cool back-up plan...which was just me talking.  It wasn't great OR super-awesome, it was just sad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I work tonight. And I guess that's ok. I just wish I didn't work tomorrow morning because I'm TIRED. And I'm having a Red Eye party! That's right! The world' worst thriller movie is playing at my house tomorrow...you're all invited! And if you don't come, I'll cry forever. You can bring alcohol.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-113719318629664175?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/113719318629664175/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=113719318629664175' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113719318629664175'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113719318629664175'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2006/01/get-down-girl-go-ahead-get-down-go.html' title='get down girl, go ahead, get down. Go ahead girl, go ahead get down.'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-113710968028888233</id><published>2006-01-12T15:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-12T15:48:00.306-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Maybe a new blog?</title><content type='html'>Should I make a celebrity news blog? I think I should.&lt;br /&gt;It would be full of pictures and opinions! But I will only make one if my commentors want to see one.&lt;br /&gt;??????????????&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-113710968028888233?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/113710968028888233/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=113710968028888233' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113710968028888233'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113710968028888233'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2006/01/maybe-new-blog.html' title='Maybe a new blog?'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-113695383200914745</id><published>2006-01-10T20:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-10T20:30:32.023-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Interesting...</title><content type='html'>I met the two most evil customers ever today. One yelled at me because we weren't a super store.  The other yelled at me because I briefly talked to my bagger.  Apparently these are all crimes against humanity.&lt;br /&gt;I'm looking forward to a confrontation about it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway! Worst day of my life. I'm feeling pretty emo, in a way only Dashboard Confessional truly understands.And Good Charlotte. And Simple Plan. They understand how I feel. I'm sure they wrote all their songs about my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm kidding.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-113695383200914745?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/113695383200914745/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=113695383200914745' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113695383200914745'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113695383200914745'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2006/01/interesting.html' title='Interesting...'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-113684855134235651</id><published>2006-01-09T15:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-09T15:15:51.356-08:00</updated><title type='text'>WRITE MY SCRIPT!</title><content type='html'>I will give everyone a million hugs, kisses, and affection if they write my script about hockey for me.&lt;br /&gt;It has to be ten minutes, and it just has to be hockey related. I'm drawing blanks. Give me ideas before I shoot you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-113684855134235651?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/113684855134235651/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=113684855134235651' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113684855134235651'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113684855134235651'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2006/01/write-my-script.html' title='WRITE MY SCRIPT!'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-113669855936335643</id><published>2006-01-07T21:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-07T21:35:59.376-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Quote and thought of the day!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://privatewww.essex.ac.uk/~hepcj/Images/bsac/gallery02/bsac023.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 141px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 147px" height="113" alt="" src="http://privatewww.essex.ac.uk/~hepcj/Images/bsac/gallery02/bsac023.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wow. This was on a reality show. Stars on Trial. I have never been more pleased...it is my new favourite show:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"I find Britney Spears guilty of getting married and having a baby. What a terrible person."&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;Best Quote ever said by anyone at any point in time. Hands down. No contest.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other news, I'm still sick. Thanks for caring! I love everyone! I just drank a lot of cough syrup and shouldn't be blogging for the second time today. I'm a blog whore. I'm also a bad person.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And while we're on the topic of bad people...Stephen Harper.  As I was driving into town this morning for a slurpee for my poor achy throat, I passed two Conservative signs and one Liberal sign.  No NDP.  So then I got really distraught and sought answers.  Apparently, I am not allowed to vote for the NDP because no one is running for that party in my riding. I'm absolutely positive there is a way around this, I just haven't found it yet. &lt;br /&gt;I refuse to vote Liberal or Conservative.  They are not my friends this time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(p.s: my vote isn't REALLY my vote, seeing as I'm underage and all. I'm using people's who don't know anything about politics)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-113669855936335643?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/113669855936335643/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=113669855936335643' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113669855936335643'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113669855936335643'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2006/01/quote-and-thought-of-day.html' title='Quote and thought of the day!'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-113664190114179472</id><published>2006-01-07T05:39:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-07T05:51:41.156-08:00</updated><title type='text'>You're kidding me, right? Again.</title><content type='html'>So, I booked off most of this week for holidays...and spent the entire time blowing my nose and coughing. Three days, I've been sick. And not even just a little sick. A lot sick. Holidays have been non existant. I'd rather be working than running back and forth to the bathroom every five minutes.&lt;br /&gt;My stomach is in a lot of pain. My nose is running. My throat hurts. I'm sweating. I'm aching. My eyes are all runny. My vision is all blurry. My head is pounding. I feel like passing out. And I work in two hours.&lt;br /&gt;Now, the obvious solution to all of this is "call in sick", but this is a next to impossible task for me. See, my job hates me. Hates me. Loathes me. Whatever you want to call it, but when I call in sick, you better believe they sit and gossip about it for long periods of time. Am I a liar? Not when it comes to my job. I need the money and the position. I'm not the kind of person who calls in because they're going to the beach. Never. I call in sick when I can't make it. Admittedly, this is often.&lt;br /&gt;It's not something I can help. If I could help it, you'd think I'd turn it off because there's a possibility I'll fail grade 12 if I miss any more classes. After many doctors visists, they found the hormone imbalance that is making me ill...but they can't fix it. So I'm stuck in this constant-flu like life for the rest of my living days. They've all been given doctors notes.&lt;br /&gt;But they still make me cry because they won't accept it as real.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I'm sorry Work. I'm not coming in today. It's better this way, really. Customers just don't appreciate a cashier who has her head over the garbage and kleenex up her nose, and is high off cough syrup and gravol.  She's missed all her holidays for this, and now she'll have to miss you, and she's sorry.  She promises she'll come in any time you need her on her days off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just don't make me come in today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Granted, she went out last night and regreted it. Regreted a lot. Because she couldn't even watch the movie through her eyes that stopped working and she kept sneezing and coughing and feeling the need to heave. (get it? it's like need for speed...except need to..heave. I am awesome)&lt;br /&gt;Never ever ever go out when you're sick. EVER.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-113664190114179472?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/113664190114179472/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=113664190114179472' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113664190114179472'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113664190114179472'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2006/01/youre-kidding-me-right-again.html' title='You&apos;re kidding me, right? Again.'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-113631046345756994</id><published>2006-01-03T09:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-03T09:47:43.473-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Shoot.</title><content type='html'>Who wants to be my friend and hang out with me this week because everyone else is gone except for Kim but she works day shifts and can only see me in the evenings when she feels like it?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-113631046345756994?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/113631046345756994/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=113631046345756994' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113631046345756994'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113631046345756994'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2006/01/shoot.html' title='Shoot.'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-113622352723822328</id><published>2006-01-02T09:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-02T09:46:58.243-08:00</updated><title type='text'>It wasn't the airplanes.</title><content type='html'>Dearest David,&lt;br /&gt;I can assure you Laura didn't mean "yucky" in a bad way. I'm sure it was an affectionate pet name.&lt;br /&gt;I wish I could have stayed longer, but Trevor was going to Mexico. Next time, next time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dearest Sam,&lt;br /&gt;You did try to kiss me several times. I liked it. I was playing coy! Hard-to-get! It's my game plan in life. If you remember, we did kiss for real once. I will treasure that memory forever...and a day. And if I would have gone to the party, I would have made an ass of myself, too. I had more fun with you guys, because I was too out of it to feel awkward or out of place. And its not like they wanted either of us at the other party. It's because we're too school for cool.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;~Love and adoration,&lt;br /&gt;SARA&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I saw King Kong yesterday, and if there is one lesson I learned its to never come between a monkey and his woman. Or a T-rex and it's scrawny appetizer. I mean, for goodness sakes, there's a giant monkey there, and they want to eat Naomi Watts? Go for the giant monkey, you stupid...animals! It'd be worth it.&lt;br /&gt;I also want a pet giant monkey to carry me around and be my friend. We'd do each others hair and paint each others nails, and watch the sunrise/set, and...and....I don't know what else. But be assured it would be fun as well as beneficial to society to own a pet giant monkey.&lt;br /&gt;I'd name him "Tiny."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-113622352723822328?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/113622352723822328/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=113622352723822328' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113622352723822328'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113622352723822328'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2006/01/it-wasnt-airplanes.html' title='It wasn&apos;t the airplanes.'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-113614477955879808</id><published>2006-01-01T11:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-01T11:46:19.570-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy New Year, world.</title><content type='html'>Except the people in China...I think their New Year is different. So no happy New Year from me!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-113614477955879808?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/113614477955879808/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=113614477955879808' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113614477955879808'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113614477955879808'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2006/01/happy-new-year-world.html' title='Happy New Year, world.'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-113496289470259563</id><published>2005-12-18T19:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-12-20T11:23:36.043-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My new favourite song(s) for the day</title><content type='html'>Without you, the ground thaws&lt;br /&gt; the rain falls, the grass grows.&lt;br /&gt;Without you, the seeds root,&lt;br /&gt;the flowers bloom, the children play.&lt;br /&gt;The stars gleam, the poets dream, the eagles fly&lt;br /&gt;without you. The earth turns, the sun burns&lt;br /&gt;but I die, without you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Without you, the stars roar&lt;br /&gt;the breeze warms, the girl smiles, the cloud moves.&lt;br /&gt;Without you, the tides change&lt;br /&gt; the boys run, the oceans crash.&lt;br /&gt;The crowds roar,the days soar, the babies cry,&lt;br /&gt; without you, the moon glows, the river flows,&lt;br /&gt;but I die, without you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The world revives, colors renew&lt;br /&gt;but I know blue, only blue, lonely blue, within me blue.&lt;br /&gt;Without you.&lt;br /&gt;Without you, the hand gropes&lt;br /&gt;the ear hears, the pulse beats.&lt;br /&gt;Without you, the eyes gaze&lt;br /&gt;the legs walk, the lungs breathe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The mind churns.&lt;br /&gt;The heart yearns.&lt;br /&gt;The tears dry, without you.&lt;br /&gt;Life goes on, but I’m gone.&lt;br /&gt;Cause I die, without you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Without you the ground thaws&lt;br /&gt;The rain falls, the grass grows&lt;br /&gt;Without you, the seeds root,&lt;br /&gt;the flowers bloom, the children play,&lt;br /&gt;The Stars Gleam, the eagles fly&lt;br /&gt;Without you the earth turns, the sun burns,&lt;br /&gt;But I die without you&lt;br /&gt;Without you the breeze warms, the girls smile, the cloud moves&lt;br /&gt;Without you, the tides change,&lt;br /&gt;the oceans crash, the crowd roars, the days soar, the babies cry&lt;br /&gt;Without you the moon glows the river flows&lt;br /&gt;But I die without you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The world revives, colors renew&lt;br /&gt; but I know blue, only blue, lonely blue, within me blue&lt;br /&gt;But I'm gone, without you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every day I walk down the street&lt;br /&gt;I hear people say "baby, so sweet"&lt;br /&gt;Ever since I hit puberty&lt;br /&gt;Everyone keeps staring at me.&lt;br /&gt;Boys, girls, I can't help it baby.&lt;br /&gt;So be kind, and don't lose your mind.&lt;br /&gt;Just remember I'm your baby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Take me for what I am&lt;br /&gt;Who I was meant to be&lt;br /&gt;And if you give a damn&lt;br /&gt;Take me baby or leave me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A tiger in a cage can never see the sun&lt;br /&gt;but this diva needs her stage, c'mon baby, let's have fun&lt;br /&gt;You're the one I choose&lt;br /&gt;Folks would kill to fill your shoes&lt;br /&gt;You love the limelight too, baby&lt;br /&gt;So be mine, and don't waste your time&lt;br /&gt;Crying "hunny-bear, am I still your baby?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Take me for what I am&lt;br /&gt;Who I was meant to be&lt;br /&gt;And if you give a damn&lt;br /&gt;Take me baby, or leave me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No way can I be what I'm not&lt;br /&gt;but hey, don't you like your girl hot?&lt;br /&gt;Don't fight, don't lose your head&lt;br /&gt;Because everynight, who's in your bed?&lt;br /&gt;Who's in your bed, baby?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It won't work.&lt;br /&gt;I look before I leap.&lt;br /&gt;I love margins and discipline.&lt;br /&gt;I make lists in my sleep.&lt;br /&gt;Baby, what's my sin?&lt;br /&gt;Never quit-I follow through&lt;br /&gt;I hate mess, but I love you&lt;br /&gt;What to do with my impromtu baby?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So be wise, this girl satisfies&lt;br /&gt;You've got a prize, but don't comprimise&lt;br /&gt;You're one lucky baby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Take me for what I am.&lt;br /&gt;(A control freak.)&lt;br /&gt;Who I was mean to be.&lt;br /&gt;(A snob, yet over attentive)&lt;br /&gt;And if you give a damn,&lt;br /&gt;(A loveable, droll, geek)&lt;br /&gt;Take me baby, or leave me.&lt;br /&gt;(And anal retentive!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's it, the straw that breaks my back.&lt;br /&gt;I quit unless you take it back.&lt;br /&gt;Women, what is it about them?&lt;br /&gt;You can't live with them or without them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Take me for what I am&lt;br /&gt;Who I was meant to be&lt;br /&gt;And if you give a damn&lt;br /&gt;Take me baby, or leave me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guess I'm leaving.&lt;br /&gt;I'm gone.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-113496289470259563?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/113496289470259563/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=113496289470259563' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113496289470259563'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113496289470259563'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2005/12/my-new-favourite-songs-for-day.html' title='My new favourite song(s) for the day'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-113492274122223931</id><published>2005-12-18T07:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-12-18T08:19:01.240-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Shake it shake it shake it girl, make sure you don't break it girl</title><content type='html'>Brett, you didn't call to tell me if you were working. But Kim told me, and we cried together.  I think one day, you should NOT work and then call me and we'll watch a movie and have another party in which me, Danie, and Kim spend the night and we do not sleep at all and we run to the gas station at 6 am because we're hungry and you don't have any food atall.&lt;br /&gt;I really think we should. Or take a road trip to Chicago. Either one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I almost got kicked out of drama this week. Almost, meaning, I was. But after a lengthy talk with Mr. Cloutier, we came to an agreement and I was allowed to come back to class. I have to write. From now until January. It's like those journal entries we had to do, except it's just one big long one.  And I have to tell him&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;a) who I am&lt;br /&gt;b) who I want to be&lt;br /&gt;c) where I'm going in life&lt;br /&gt;d) why I want to do film&lt;br /&gt;e) how I'm going to do it&lt;br /&gt;f) etc, etc, etc&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was thinking "hey, that's not hard." But it is. It's really hard. Everytime I sit down to write about who I am, I draw complete blanks. I have a name, a face, but I'm so used to faking, I don't know how to be real. He noticed that too. I thought that was weird.&lt;br /&gt;I guess who I am is a liar.&lt;br /&gt;And who I want to be? Perfect. I want to be perfect in all aspects, and I want people to know who I am.  I want random people I've never met to read about me in the tabloids because their lives are such shit, they need to hear about someone else's.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday, I watched The Fly with Danie, Adam, And Brent. I love that movie. It's so awesomly cheesy and not-scary. It's probably my favourite.&lt;br /&gt;Then Brent had this stupid lighter that he couldn't actually light. A zippo? It smelled sooo bad, and it was really obnoxious the way he kept trying to be cool by doing tricks. I stole it, and was the annoying girl who steals things. Because that's how irritating it was to hear "fuck" every five seconds when he couldn't light it.&lt;br /&gt;And Adam...oh that Adam. I've never hung out with him before. But it was fun, even though I was terrified of him the whole time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;End post.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-113492274122223931?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/113492274122223931/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=113492274122223931' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113492274122223931'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113492274122223931'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2005/12/shake-it-shake-it-shake-it-girl-make.html' title='Shake it shake it shake it girl, make sure you don&apos;t break it girl'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-113454078068420043</id><published>2005-12-13T22:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-12-13T22:13:00.696-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Relationships are for the birds.</title><content type='html'>*chirp chirp*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know why people can't see things the way I do. I'm looking at all these couples. And I'm thinking "you two shouldn't be dating." And sure enough, two weeks later, it's kaput. What made them think it would last?&lt;br /&gt;So, when people ask me for advice on "should I date so-n-so?"....I give them advice. Do they listen? Nope. They are optimistic, a good quality I guess, but get hurt. So easily. It's not fair.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stupid teenagers and their messed up relationships. I hate them.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-113454078068420043?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/113454078068420043/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=113454078068420043' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113454078068420043'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113454078068420043'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2005/12/relationships-are-for-birds.html' title='Relationships are for the birds.'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-113441327059795457</id><published>2005-12-12T10:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-12-12T10:47:50.610-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Addy Addy Addy Addy Addy Addy</title><content type='html'>is totally sitting next to me right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have discovered I miss blogging. Since Kim left, I’ve been holding off on the blogs until I get either mad or sad enough to write. But I want to right about everything. Ever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday I went to Steph’s house to “help her study for chemisty”. I was really rude though….I accidently invited Brent over….and Danie came later. So no studying got done, and the Wizard Of Oz sequel turned up. It was a fun evening, although I still am quite bitter that I lost my argument over Musicals vs. Film. I should have won. I deserve to win. DAMN RIGHT. The only reason I lost was because I resorted to violence. But Danie resorted to singing, and I think that’s just as wrong.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m sorry Steph’s family for staying too late.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I LOVE YOU STEPH. Don’t cry. I get yelled at all the time. You’re gonna marry Quincy. You are going to do good on your exam.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Steph is stupid because she won’t come see Rent. (Steph says: if I could come you KNOW I would but I cant and your stupid for going a night I cant come. )&lt;br /&gt; Brett! You are invited! And Kim is invited. And me and Danie are coming of course.&lt;br /&gt;Brent is coming because his name rhymes with Rent, and he’s allowed to bring Adam if he wants to.&lt;br /&gt;And! We’re going to watch The Fly. Damn right, we are.&lt;br /&gt;I like swearing lately.&lt;br /&gt;Jeff Goldblum = attractive. And apparently, Jesus.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ummm…I have to work today. I thought you might like to know. I like working lately. Maybe it’s because I don’t have to call in sick as often. I feel sick. But I’m not gonna call in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;: (&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whatchya gonna do with all that junk, all that junk inside that trunk…&lt;br /&gt;I’m gonna get get get you drunk, get you love drunk off my hump…&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-113441327059795457?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/113441327059795457/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=113441327059795457' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113441327059795457'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113441327059795457'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2005/12/addy-addy-addy-addy-addy-addy.html' title='Addy Addy Addy Addy Addy Addy'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-113427870777897100</id><published>2005-12-10T20:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-12-11T09:08:54.453-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Create new post?</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#003300;"&gt;I think I just might.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In reference to my previous statement, addressing those who are insensitive and somewhat brain dead, I think I'm going to eleborate.&lt;br /&gt;I'm hurt. I'm hurting, currently. Present tense. What happened? I'll tell you. Without names or specific situation, I'll give you words.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;"sara, everytime I see you you've got something in your mouth."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, I do. Because I'm experimenting with normality. If other kids are eating, I thought I might be able to as well. Thanks, though. It's always been my number one fear for people to notice when I'm eating? I've always thought that everytime something passed my lips, someone was thinking exactly what you just voiced.&lt;br /&gt;I'll be sure to refrain from such an activity in the future.&lt;br /&gt;You can be a team with &lt;strong&gt;"sara, you need something you can hide in"&lt;/strong&gt; and &lt;strong&gt;"you look like you're pregnant"&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;"Hey! That medication you're taking...you're supposed to eat with it, right? I can tell you have been. Because you're not the way you said you might be. Try it sometime. Try just not eating for once, I want to see what you act like."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hey! Fuck you....I've been trying that for the last six years. Until I found out my body is having some sort of identitity crisis. I found out that I might actually die from the aforementioned crisis, and yet, I still continue to be the most stupid human being on the planet other than you. This is why I don't tell people what the imbalance is. I'm scared they'll look it up and worry. &lt;br /&gt;In death, size would not matter. Nor would feeling. I guess, consciously, that's why I try to cheat it. Because I want neither to matter in life.&lt;br /&gt;Thanks. I didn't eat for the rest of the day because you aroused my curiosity. And I missed out on my great friend's birthday party because the floor felt like it kept coming up to meet me and I wanted to rip my skin off because of the way my stomach was trying to jump out my throat. I felt uneasy and nervous, more than usual, and I couldn't quite figure out whether my body was still attatched to my mind.&lt;br /&gt;You don't want to see me like that, because you wouldn't notice any difference. I've become fairly adept at hiding pain and sickness.&lt;br /&gt;Headaches are different.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So that's what happened to make me feel this way now. This weird and eerie calm that I know is hurt. I'm hurting because you got to the core of it without even trying. It's not fair, because not even I could say it so perfectly, knowing what I know about my feelings. I'm hurting because I just want to stop caring. Please. I want to eat without consequence. I want to feel what it's like to not be wanting. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Brent&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;, don't feel that you have to have answers to everyone's questions. Sometimes we all need someone to just listen. Reassurance comes with knowing someone at least cares a little bit about what happens to you. This is obvious, yes, but here's to hoping you don't put too much responsibility on your words.&lt;br /&gt;I know I've told you too much, and listened too little, and I'm probably a complete hypocrite. I'm sorry. You left before I could continue.&lt;br /&gt;Why the hell do I repeat information a thousand times, you ask?&lt;br /&gt;I'm never quite sure you believe me. Maybe you still don't.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;p.s: I'm a huggy person too, I just don't normally initiate them. I'm too shy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Kim,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; I hope your neice is ok....don't be sorry we couldn't hang out tonight. I spent the eving with my model car. Hot date that was. You should come over and help me build it. Won't that be fun? But no, we are going tobagganing with Chad and Trevor and Marcus.&lt;br /&gt;Update your blog. Geez.&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and Family Guy is rented out again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Josh, &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;come home for Christmas. It'll be fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;That's all the people I feel a need to address.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No...wait....I lied. Everyone go to multimedia.srss.ca and watch "A Tale Of Two Hallways" and "Eos"&lt;br /&gt;(in the archives)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-113427870777897100?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/113427870777897100/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=113427870777897100' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113427870777897100'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113427870777897100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2005/12/create-new-post.html' title='Create new post?'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-113311629210807137</id><published>2005-11-27T10:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-27T10:31:32.123-08:00</updated><title type='text'>indifferent, now.</title><content type='html'>Dear World,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've had an interesting and turbulent weekend. Friday started out pretty good, I went to my aunts wedding and got to see my two darling cousins that I haven't seen in years, and probably won't be seeing for awhile. This already struck me as sad because when I was a kid, I stuck to them like glue. I hung out with them all the time, and when I saw them, I realized how different they are. How old they were. And I didn't know them at all. I couldn't even think of what I could say that would strike up a conversation. Depressing, but not overly so. I just stood beside them, and that was good enough for me because I missed them so damn much.&lt;br /&gt;I really need to go visit them someday.&lt;br /&gt;Then, I went to Josh's apartment. I was supposed to be spending the night, but I was ditched there on my own. I don't think many people know why I was so panicked. And I think it's better that way. But anyway, there I was, panicking and frantic, and called my parents to come pick me up. They did so, and I came home. It was on this day that I realized who my friends weren't, not you Kim, but someone else who left me high and dry.&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday was the emo day for me. The day when I was alone all day, spoke to no one at all, and watched documentaries on people who had achieved something. All skinny, perfect people who claimed had hard times being popular all through school. I am none of the above.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I am not exactly a happy camper today. For those of you that care, which is no one, I feel a need to give up all efforts at being different. I've said this before, and it's already gotten the ball rolling. I want to be stronger, I want to be perfect, and even though I know this is a tiring game that will inevitably lead me to seek out more people who will care and later give up on me, I'm not so sure I don't want to do this.&lt;br /&gt;I'm one of those teenagers I think are so stupid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ah geez.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-113311629210807137?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/113311629210807137/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=113311629210807137' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113311629210807137'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113311629210807137'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2005/11/indifferent-now.html' title='indifferent, now.'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-113268755629979193</id><published>2005-11-22T11:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-22T11:25:56.310-08:00</updated><title type='text'>ROAD TRIP!!!</title><content type='html'>Oh, who-is-oh-so-totally-up-for-a-crispy-crème-roadtrip?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I KNOW I AM!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sign up here! We can all go as a team!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Brett…this means you!)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-113268755629979193?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/113268755629979193/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=113268755629979193' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113268755629979193'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113268755629979193'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2005/11/road-trip.html' title='ROAD TRIP!!!'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-113217154040873600</id><published>2005-11-16T11:50:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-16T12:05:40.420-08:00</updated><title type='text'>An update and a half, baby.</title><content type='html'>I haven't been around here in awhile. Maybe because it feels funny talking to air and computer screens. Typing things that probably no one will read. That's why I don't keep a diary...if I have something to say, someone better be reading it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am staying at home, in a place that is not my home, to protest the stupidity of a single man who insists upon putting young drivers on the icy roads and streets that will not be melting soon. I haven't driven in two days. I won't be driving for another few. I don't even know if I'm going home today, or if I'm staying here. It's Winter, and he came with a bang this year. I applaud the single teacher who offered for students to go home. I applaud the students that didn't go today. I figure it's probably better to aqquire an absence than lose your life.&lt;br /&gt;Why weren't the schools closed?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday, they were smarter. Schools were closed all across the board, and it was the first time in a year. I went tobagganing with my dearest darling friends, Chad, Trevor, and Danie, and then watched a scary movie that didn't scare anyone. Well, except maybe the aforementioned Danie.&lt;br /&gt;Love stories shouldn't exist between ghosts and reality.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope a blizzard hits, I do. Blizzards are beautiful, powerful things, far more pretty than Thunderstorms. It's the cold that makes you notice it more, the cold that keeps you inside and curled up in front of a fireplace with hot chocolate. And when you step outside, you can feel it more than you can feel rain. The ice hits you like knives, the wind wraps itself around you, and the ground never stops moving. I love those kinds of days. The days you get stranded with your friends in a house you've never been to, and the days that become adventures.&lt;br /&gt;The only thing is, usually following a blizzard is a snow day. Unfortunately, school's are no longer following this policy. Apparently they like dead students. I know I've already mentioned this, but I am bitter and angry about it. Frick.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sure I have more to say, but I can't remember it anymore.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-113217154040873600?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/113217154040873600/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=113217154040873600' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113217154040873600'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113217154040873600'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2005/11/update-and-half-baby.html' title='An update and a half, baby.'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-113000611804050943</id><published>2005-10-22T11:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-22T11:35:18.060-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I know you won't read this.</title><content type='html'>You've been ignoring me too long.&lt;br /&gt;I hate you, and I don't think that's fair. You've shared everything I've felt for the last two years. You've held me when I needed it, said what I needed to hear, and forgot what I wanted. I needed you, and you knew it. I wanted to need no one, but you stayed by me just the same.&lt;br /&gt;But now you're different, and I can't place why. You're distant, you're moody, and you won't tell me why.&lt;br /&gt;I need to hear it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Reception show tonight. I don't know if I want to go. I'm just into that scene anymore. I actually don't think I ever was into it, I just went because of other reasons. Reasons that collapsed a long time ago.&lt;br /&gt;I think I'm setting myself up for tears.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-113000611804050943?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/113000611804050943/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=113000611804050943' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113000611804050943'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/113000611804050943'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2005/10/i-know-you-wont-read-this.html' title='I know you won&apos;t read this.'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-112784072636682950</id><published>2005-09-27T10:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-09-27T10:05:37.790-07:00</updated><title type='text'>WOW</title><content type='html'>oh my goodness. Best weekend of my life (except for one part) but...wow. I don't even know what to do with myself. I'm confused. I want to ask questions, but I won't. I won't because I don't need to know right now. I'm content with what he said and did, and we'll just leave it at that.&lt;br /&gt;I didn't go to school today.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-112784072636682950?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/112784072636682950/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=112784072636682950' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/112784072636682950'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/112784072636682950'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2005/09/wow.html' title='WOW'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-112615216162974971</id><published>2005-09-07T20:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-09-07T21:02:41.640-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Back-To-School</title><content type='html'>I rarely update, so I'll make it long. Kim, you better comment. Then call me!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;so, today was the first day back. I feel oh-so-cool because I'm in grade twelve, and I get to look down my nose at everyone else...well, except for the people who are cooler than me.  Like most of the grade 10's. :( That hurts.&lt;br /&gt;Anyway...so far...all my classes look really really good. Especially Multimedia. I have people I know in all my classes, so when we partner up, I won't die. I've actually already started on my World History term paper, because I NEED to do well in that class. My topic is world mythology, and the parellels between them all. 15 pages. I wept. But then I got started.&lt;br /&gt;Technical English looks kind of rough, but you know what? I think I can do it. I really just want to get everything done, get decent marks, and go to University. I think I've decided on film now, but it changes from week to week, so I'll just need to get the grades. Ouch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't have much else to report. My life is fairly boring. I'm leaving the province for a few days, but I'll be back before the week end is over.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-112615216162974971?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/112615216162974971/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=112615216162974971' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/112615216162974971'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/112615216162974971'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2005/09/back-to-school.html' title='Back-To-School'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-112390475275249310</id><published>2005-08-12T20:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-08-12T20:45:52.756-07:00</updated><title type='text'>AH!</title><content type='html'>I wrote a big long post! And it disappeared! I hate everyone!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-112390475275249310?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/112390475275249310/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=112390475275249310' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/112390475275249310'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/112390475275249310'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2005/08/ah.html' title='AH!'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-112390472992116362</id><published>2005-08-12T20:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-08-12T20:46:42.370-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Summer Time Post</title><content type='html'>No one is going to read this. But I hope they do. It will be long, because I never update.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I haven't been to work in a week, and I miss it. Stupid injuries. I feel so bad for not being there, like I let them all down. Because they always hate the sick and the weak the most. But hey, why should I care. I don't get paid based on how they feel about me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Summer is the worst season. It's sweaty, painfully hott, and you need to look good inspite of it all. I'll always have a certain loyalty for fall. Not because of the colours, but because of the feelings. Summer just died, and you're waiting for the worst to come. Sometimes Winter waits for awhile, just to watch you wake up every morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes he hates you because you love too much. Hate him. Sometimes that's the only way to feel nothing. Sometimes endings aren't meant to be turned into something else. How come no one accepts it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life is disappointing. Every time you think you have something, it always gets lost. I went shopping the other day, you know, like a really lame teenage girl always does. And, as per usual, I came out in tears. Why? Because I'm a lame teenage girl I guess. I just hate it so much, being this way. Unable to stop caring about the same old things. The habits aren't gone, they're quiet. And there are times, when I almost wish it were healthy. Sometimes I pretend it is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I just watched Cry Baby, and I'm still getting over the glorious-ness of it. It was probably the most...beautiful....Johnny Depp movie of them all. So until next time, comment if you want me to keep posting. I'm so tired of an empty blog. Also, I'm buying the Britney Spears' greatest hits CD. So there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Plus, I'm done. Hair-dye time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-112390472992116362?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/112390472992116362/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=112390472992116362' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/112390472992116362'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/112390472992116362'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2005/08/summer-time-post.html' title='Summer Time Post'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-111902878997758496</id><published>2005-06-17T10:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-06-17T10:19:49.980-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Good bye's are so hard...</title><content type='html'>This will be my final blog entry, since no one will actually read it when schools out.  I hate that schools over, in a weird twisted way. I’m not going to see anyone.  There will be no routine.  And I still have one more year until I graduate.  And then I’ll be in Europe, then Montreal.  Then, who the hell knows what. I mean, I’m not going to go anywhere in life, really. I’m not good at anything.&lt;br /&gt;I hope I’m in high school forever…just so I don’t have to decide what I’m going to fail at first.&lt;br /&gt;Mr. Koop looks angry. I’m scared. I probably printed something wrong and now he’s going to humiliate me! Ahh!&lt;br /&gt;I look silly today because I’m wearing a tanktop.&lt;br /&gt;There’s a movie being filmed in Steinbach and guess who’s going to be an extra! W00t.&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, Kim, promise me we’ll hang out in the summer? Because otherwise I’ll be lonesome. And we’ll visit the boys. It will be fun? And on July 1st, we’ll get them house warming presents. Like posters of Orlandoman. Or cutlery.&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, farewell blog world. I’ll miss you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-111902878997758496?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/111902878997758496/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=111902878997758496' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111902878997758496'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111902878997758496'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2005/06/good-byes-are-so-hard.html' title='Good bye&apos;s are so hard...'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-111885780471016063</id><published>2005-06-15T10:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-06-15T10:50:04.723-07:00</updated><title type='text'>long time, no see.</title><content type='html'>Hmm, I haven't updated in awhile. In my awesome possum blog. I actually found an actual store called "Possum". I want to go there and see if they sell possums that may or may not be awesome.&lt;br /&gt;I work 3-6 today. It's a school day. That's right. Last week of school, I'm going for those extra hours and getting me some extra moneys. I like moneys. And from July to August (give or take two weeks because of the Edmonton plan), I NEED 30-35 hours a week. At least. If I don't get that, I may as well kiss University and Europe good bye. I need to save nearly every penny of every pay cheque. I owe my mother my entire next pay cheque, and after that, my savings money is going to have some company. Friends of mine will only see me on Sundays or in the evenings. Because work will be my home, damnit. I must go to Europe and let at least one of my dreams come true.&lt;br /&gt;Because all my other ones fail. And someone else gets to live them.&lt;br /&gt;You know what I was told the other day? By someone who I hadn't spoken to in a year? That I should be a model. I choked on something. Probably my low self esteem.&lt;br /&gt;I didn't go to school today. I'm sleeping. I'm resting. I'm hating the world. &lt;br /&gt;And exams.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-111885780471016063?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/111885780471016063/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=111885780471016063' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111885780471016063'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111885780471016063'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2005/06/long-time-no-see.html' title='long time, no see.'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-111825263012948437</id><published>2005-06-08T10:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-06-08T10:43:50.133-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>“ I called.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Me? I was…”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“No. God.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“You called God?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Yes.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“How? Uh never mind…What did…God…have to say?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“How disappointed he was.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Why was he disappointed?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“He’s disappointed in all of us. Disappointed that no one else had thought to pick up the phone and call. And ask.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“What did you ask?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“I asked him how he was doing.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“And..?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“He said disappointed.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Ah. What else did you find to talk about?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Well, I told him about how I went for a walk that morning. I thanked him for making me a morning. Have you ever noticed how the most beautiful things are composed of the most ugly materials?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“You told God this? Or…”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Well, he said that’s what earth was. Beauty from horrific mistakes. Our mistakes, that is. The world was beautiful when it was dark, he said, when it was just him and his thoughts, which is why he made us. We are all just one of God’s thoughts, and we all link to each other because of it. Our world is just composed of stationary knowledge and moving thoughts and wondering. This is why our lives have no meaning, and we die when the train of thought ends. Our mistakes are just ruptures of thought and emotion in God’s head, and they’re always made right by interacting with a stronger notion.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Interesting philosophy.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Well, God didn’t say all that.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“I thought so. What else did God say?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“He’s not much for talking, only thinking.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Ah yes. So, what was the rest of this conversation like?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Just a series of fractured explanations and guarded responses. Until I heard the soft&lt;br /&gt; * click * on the other end, that’s when God hung up.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“He hung up?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Well, because I did first.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Lost me.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“I hung up in my head, I counted to three, and then I let go of the connection. Because I didn’t want God to hurt anymore.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“God was hurting?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“I told you. No one ever calls. And it hurt him to know only a few would after me.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“mm..ok. Ok.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“You know, praying isn’t really talking to God.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“mm?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Yeah, he said that praying only makes him more and more frustrated because he’s everywhere, and people keep closing their eyes.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Do you feel as if you’ve wasted your time after you pray?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Never have.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Ok, um, after God hung up, what did you do?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Held the phone just awhile longer.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Why?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Because I was scared to hang up. Sometimes a broken connection is better than a real one. It gives you something to concentrate and work on. But God never did come back, there was only some strange lady reminding me of just how broken this connection was.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Do you want to talk to God again?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“I don’t know.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“And what have you done from then until now?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Nothing. Left my eyes open because I’m scared to miss something.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Have you slept?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“There’s no time for sleeping. Even one eye being open leaves room for missing something. So I went for another walk, this time in the dark.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“And?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“It was dark. I still missed everything. All I could do was listen to my heart beat and thoughts. Just me and my thoughts. Maybe that’s what I’m so afraid to miss. One great thought is worth thousands of others. And I wonder why no one ever calls me on my phone.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“mm…?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Well, you know, I do the samething every night. I sit and wait by the phone. Try to think of who I can call who is still talking to me, which is no one. Which is why I think me and God listen to each other so well. Because no one ever wants to talk to us. I wonder if God wants to die as much as I do.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“What do you think would happen?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“His thoughts would all end.”&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-111825263012948437?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/111825263012948437/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=111825263012948437' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111825263012948437'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111825263012948437'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2005/06/i-called.html' title=''/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-111817477483235981</id><published>2005-06-07T13:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-06-07T13:06:14.836-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Here is another entry. No one commented on my last one. I hate you.&lt;br /&gt;Not much has happened, and those of you who are actually taking the time to read this know that.  Because everything I did on the weekend involved at least one of you. &lt;br /&gt;Friday…Quentin’s funeral. I cried. I mean, I can’t say I was close to him. But I knew him and I knew his family since childhood. It’s just so sad because he didn’t deserve it. And his family doesn’t deserve to go through this.&lt;br /&gt;Saturday…I went to see Strike! The musical.  It was good. Danie’s a lucky girl to know what she wants. There were some bad times that night too, and you know who you are…when I say “you’re a jerk”, I’m only agreeing with you. And if you get mad at me for it one more time, I’m not paying you the 75 dollars. ( Please note, Strike! People, Jon wants his money. )&lt;br /&gt;Sunday…my siblings and I went to Winnipeg. They went swimming while I wandered about the mall, consuming approximately a million calories. All of which came from Starbucks. I then spent the evening in a somewhat emo-like state. Feeling sorry for myself because of what I’m becoming. Shut up! Society MADE ME THIS WAY!&lt;br /&gt;* cries *&lt;br /&gt;And theeeen, it was Monday. Kim left for someone else. Either that or a…gasp…exam!&lt;br /&gt;That night, I just watched the CSI marathon until my eyes almost bled. And then I slept.&lt;br /&gt;That brings us up to today! Tuesday. It’s raining. I’m bored. It’s sixth period and I don’t want to read anymore magazine articles about hair.You’re a toaster! And you’ll never be anything more than a toaster! Damn, I’m out of kiwis.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-111817477483235981?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/111817477483235981/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=111817477483235981' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111817477483235981'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111817477483235981'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2005/06/here-is-another-entry.html' title=''/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-111777160503230928</id><published>2005-06-02T21:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-06-02T21:06:45.040-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>“ I saw him again today.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“ Who?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“ Him.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“ And where was…he?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“All the usual places.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“So you see him often now? ”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“He was sadder today. His eyes were grey this time.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“ What colour are his eyes normally?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Black. Like empty spaces that can’t be filled. ”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“ Did he say anything to you this time?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Not in words. Pictures.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“What kinds of pictures?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Snapshots.  Of when we knew what it was like to know each other.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“What did they look like?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Some of them were grey, faded.  Some were torn in the corners.  Worn…like he had washed them. Some were in colour, and all the colours ran together from the washing.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Why would he wash them?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Because they were dirty.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Dirty.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Yes.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Dirty how?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“He tried to drown his sorrow, and he tried to take them with him. Dirty with the past.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Is your past unclean?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Is any past not?”&lt;br /&gt;“What else happened?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“He told me he meant it.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Meant what?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Meant it when he said what he said and when he did what he did. When he took both our lives and tried to drown them. Lives die easily. He broke it.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“What did he break?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“The mirror. His promise.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Why did he break the mirror?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Because he was angry with me. Angry because I wasn’t good enough. Because I didn’t deserve what he promised me.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“What kind of promise?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“A life long one.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“And he broke it. Did that hurt you?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“You’re getting quicker. You fill in the blanks.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“….Why weren’t you good enough?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Because I was me.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“hm…”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“He hates me now. He hates me still.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Because you weren’t good enough.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“No. Because I’m not sorry.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Sorry?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“He’s waiting for an apology. An ‘I’m sorry’ for me hurting him.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“You hurt him?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“By not being good enough. By not filling his need.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“What did he need?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Love.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Did you not love him?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“I needed him. Only needed. That was the deal. I couldn’t give anymore. I couldn’t want.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“What did he give you?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“More.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“More…?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“ Sometimes he wanted instead of needed.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“And you weren’t…good enough to want him in return.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“It wasn’t fair. And I never agreed to play by his rules.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Did he show you or say anything else?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Yes. He thought without saying.  Sometimes he thinks so loud, I think the world can hear his hate.  He showed me his past. I wasn’t in it.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Did that hurt you?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“He doesn’t remember me. He erased me.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“But he…showed you pictures…of you and him?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Of the empty spaces we used to fill.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“What does that mean?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“It means we don’t exist anymore. We are a non existent past tense.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“He doesn’t…remember you…but he…comes to you? For you to see? To hear?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“He doesn’t come, I go. I remember him. I need to see what he has to say.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“So you speak to him?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“ I try to make him remember. I ask him why his eyes have changed.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“You’ve switched to present tense.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Present tense questions to create a past tense.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“hm. Why have his eyes changed?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Because he’s changed.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“ What do you remember?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“ Him.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“And what else?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Our life.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Our? Yours and his? Is that all?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“It’s all I needed.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“What happened?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“He broke it.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Because you weren’t good enough. We were there.The mirror and his promise. Is there more you want to say?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“That’s what happened.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Ok. Tell me, about him…drowning his sorrows?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“We died. We drowned with him.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“ You left?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“We did. Apart. I never saw the way he existed again. I was his sorrow. We were. Together.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“What did he look like…when he…existed that way?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Perfect. Like a picture.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“ Ok…Tell me, what did you do after seeing him today?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“I threw up.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“ You felt ill?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“No.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“ hm.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“I threw up to make space for the hating.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Hating him?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Him hating me. You know, sometimes I wish I were a person like you. Sit and ask the questions even I’m afraid to answer. Are you scared of your own life? Your own answers?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Are you scared?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“I’m scared because I’m the only one.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Only one?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“ I’m the only one who can talk to my ghosts. ”&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-111777160503230928?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/111777160503230928/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=111777160503230928' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111777160503230928'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111777160503230928'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2005/06/i-saw-him-again-today.html' title=''/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-111662764154601436</id><published>2005-05-20T15:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-22T14:00:56.733-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Public Announcement</title><content type='html'>I did something today that I'm not sure I'm sorry for.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I told you, Kim, exactly what it is thats wrong with me. I mean, I'm not ashamed of it. I'm not sorry you know, because I completely trust you. You're one of my closest friends. I just feel bad if I put any sort of strain on things. I don't want you to feel all weird around me, or that I get offended by anything. I don't, honestly, because I know whatever you call me isn't real. You don't mean any of it anymore than I do. And I don't want you to be all worried and stuff, because it's nothing huge, it's nothing imminent. Just a problem. That's all. It's not as bad as it used to be. It's just that today I kind of learned that the rest of my life will pretty much be spent trying not to die and trying not to do what I want. Because it's comfortable, my insecurity. It's normal for me to be this way. And I'm not the dictionary definition of the medical term, I can't be summed up in that one word.&lt;br /&gt;My secrets are better left unsaid, and I know it. I don't know what made me tell you. Maybe it's just because I honestly don't want to get sick anymore. I don't need to miss anymore days of school because of this. I know the side effects, but I never really cared before.&lt;br /&gt;As for a medical professional knowing, well, he's told me that what I was doing was 'dangerous' without me even telling him what it is I do. I haven't gone back him since. Because I don't need that sort of pressure on me, because it's not like I LIKE what I'm doing. I just do it. I need to. I've only seen one other since, and she's the one who told me I was lacking nutrients. That's when meat was back on the menu, you know. So now you know that vegetarianism isn't the only thing that made me unhealthy.  But whatever.&lt;br /&gt;So this is really long. I kind of feel guilty for saying anything, I am. Really, because it's not fair. But now you know. And you know the real reason why me and Matt don't speak anymore.&lt;br /&gt;Don't think I'm crazy, or that everything in my life stems from it, because I think I'm still the same person you used to view as normal. Vanity isn't my issue, and I want you to know I'm not so self absorbed as that. I don't think of myself as pretty.&lt;br /&gt;But thanks for letting me tell you. I kind of feel better knowing that someone else knows. Someone that I trust. That's the end of my story. I don't know if I can say much more. But yeah.&lt;br /&gt;Sorry I made everything bad.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-111662764154601436?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/111662764154601436/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=111662764154601436' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111662764154601436'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111662764154601436'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2005/05/public-announcement.html' title='A Public Announcement'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-111652675206834560</id><published>2005-05-19T11:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-19T11:19:12.073-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Todaaay.</title><content type='html'>So, my new favourite thing in the world is hearing Strong Bad mutter to himself about random things. It's quite hilarious.&lt;br /&gt;I hate my life. I failed my drivers test because I'm a LOSER. I mean, I'm already a loser because I blog, but now I'm twice as bad. And because I'm still blogging.&lt;br /&gt;And because....well...I don't need another reason.&lt;br /&gt;Ugh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-111652675206834560?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/111652675206834560/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=111652675206834560' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111652675206834560'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111652675206834560'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2005/05/todaaay.html' title='Todaaay.'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-111638714480669137</id><published>2005-05-17T20:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-17T20:32:24.820-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Longest Survey EVER.</title><content type='html'>001. What is your name: Sara&lt;br /&gt;002. Your Name Backwards: Aras&lt;br /&gt;003. Date of birth: October 21st, 1988&lt;br /&gt;004. Male or female: Female&lt;br /&gt;005. Astrological sign: Libra&lt;br /&gt;006. Nicknames: ‘chubs’ : (&lt;br /&gt;007. Occupation: Cashier&lt;br /&gt;008. Height: 5'7&lt;br /&gt;009. Weight: Too much&lt;br /&gt;010. Hair color: Red brown. Like the red river. Tasty.&lt;br /&gt; 011. Eye color: Brown&lt;br /&gt;012. Where were you born: Win a pig&lt;br /&gt;013. Where do you reside now: Win a pig?&lt;br /&gt;014. Age: 16&lt;br /&gt;015. Screen names: What do you care, Kim?&lt;br /&gt;016. E-mail addy: psh.&lt;br /&gt;017. What does your screen name stand for: my name.&lt;br /&gt;018. What is your journal name: Cheer up emo kid.&lt;br /&gt;019. What does your journal name stand for: emo kids.&lt;br /&gt;020. Pets: cats cats and more cats.&lt;br /&gt;021. Number of candles you blew out on your last birthday cake: 4&lt;br /&gt;022. Piercings: ears&lt;br /&gt;023. Tattoo's: None&lt;br /&gt;024. Shoe size: 9. Yes. I am a duck&lt;br /&gt;025. Righty or lefty: Righty&lt;br /&gt;026. Wearing: Grossness.&lt;br /&gt;027. Hearing: American Idol&lt;br /&gt;028. Feeling: Like this is a long survey already.&lt;br /&gt;029. Eating/drinking: Nothing Love and Relationships&lt;br /&gt;061. Have you ever been in love:  no.&lt;br /&gt;062. How many people have you said "I love you" to:  most people.&lt;br /&gt;063. How many people have you been in love with: None&lt;br /&gt;064. How many people have you kissed: umm. None.&lt;br /&gt;065. Have you ever kissed someone of the same sex: sexually? No.&lt;br /&gt;066. How many people have you dated:  um. Unofficially, two.&lt;br /&gt; 067. What do you look for in a guy/girl: Shares the same beliefs and feelings. Looks hott. All the time.&lt;br /&gt;068. What's the first thing you notice about the opposite sex:  Everything.&lt;br /&gt;069. What type of guy/girl do you usually go for: Boys. The male kind.&lt;br /&gt;073. Do you have a crush right now:  no.&lt;br /&gt;074. If so who is it:  no.&lt;br /&gt;075. Do you believe in love at first sight: yes.&lt;br /&gt;076. Do you remember your first love: of course.&lt;br /&gt;077. Who is the first person you kissed:  um. Sexually? No one.&lt;br /&gt;078. Do you believe in fate: Yes&lt;br /&gt;079. Do you believe in soul mates: Yes&lt;br /&gt;080. If so do you believe you'll ever find yours: EventuallyFamily&lt;br /&gt;104. How many siblings do you have:  2&lt;br /&gt;105. What are your parents names: huh?&lt;br /&gt;106. What are your siblings names: huh? Pay attention to me again!&lt;br /&gt;107. How many siblings does your mother have: lots.&lt;br /&gt;108. How many siblings does your father have:  several.&lt;br /&gt;109. Where are your parents from: Everywhere.&lt;br /&gt;110. Is your family close: You’re not paying attention to me.&lt;br /&gt; 111. Does your family get together for holidays: yes.&lt;br /&gt;112. Do you have a drunk uncle:  ?&lt;br /&gt;113. Any medical problems run through your family: ‘course.&lt;br /&gt;114. Does someone in your family wear a toupee: nope.&lt;br /&gt;115. Do you have any nieces or nephews: nope.&lt;br /&gt;116. Are your parents divorced: No&lt;br /&gt;117. Do you have step parents: No 1&lt;br /&gt;18. Has your family ever disowned another member of your family: No&lt;br /&gt;120. Did some of your family come to America from another country: Yeah Music Stuff&lt;br /&gt;121. What song do you swear was written about you or your life:  Any emo song ;)&lt;br /&gt;122. What's the most embarrasing cd you own: umm…let’s see…nothing.&lt;br /&gt;123. What's the best cd you own: Phantom Of the Opera.&lt;br /&gt;124. What song do you absolutely hate: ugh. Most of them.&lt;br /&gt;125. Do you sing in the shower: nuh uh.&lt;br /&gt;126. What song reminds you of that special someone: Love songs.&lt;br /&gt;Favorites&lt;br /&gt;152. Color: Red.&lt;br /&gt;153. Food: seafood. &lt;br /&gt;154. Song: “Hallelujah” –Leonard Cohen&lt;br /&gt;155. Show: CSI, CSI: Miami&lt;br /&gt;156. School subject:  English. History. Drama. Photography.&lt;br /&gt;157. Band/singer/artist: Oldies.&lt;br /&gt;158. Animal: Cats.&lt;br /&gt;159. Outfit: Anything that makes me look slim.&lt;br /&gt;160. Radio station: none. They all suck.&lt;br /&gt;161. Movie: hmm..Willy Wonka…Edward Scissorhands…Donnie Darko….&lt;br /&gt;162. Pair of shoes: My sandles. So pretty.&lt;br /&gt;163. Cartoon: None164. Actor: hmm…Johnny Depp. No contest.&lt;br /&gt;165. Actress: I don’t know. They’re all ok, I guess. Nicole Kidman? Because she’s pretty.&lt;br /&gt;166. Potato chip: I don't really like chips&lt;br /&gt;167. Drink: Rum and coke.&lt;br /&gt;168. Soda: Diet anything.&lt;br /&gt;169. Holiday: Christmas&lt;br /&gt;170. Perfume/cologne: ae aura&lt;br /&gt;171. Pizza topping: cheese&lt;br /&gt;172. Jello flavor: Raspberry&lt;br /&gt;173. Lunch meat: hm. &lt;br /&gt;174. Card Game: I HATE CARDS!!!&lt;br /&gt;175. Video game: I don’t know.&lt;br /&gt;176. Website: My blog. I mean, something un selfish. Like 204scene or google.&lt;br /&gt;177. Book: I don’t know.&lt;br /&gt;178. Computer game: um. None.&lt;br /&gt;179. Number: A Million. 180. Cereal: Fruit Loops. &lt;br /&gt;181. Comedian: Jerry Seinfeld or Jon Stewart&lt;br /&gt;182. Dessert: Strawberries and chocolate.&lt;br /&gt;183. Disney character: Alladin. Fine man. Right there.&lt;br /&gt;184. Clothing store: You know, thrift stores.&lt;br /&gt;185. Past time: Writing.&lt;br /&gt;186. Teacher: Mrs. Cook or Mr. Hiebert. Koop sometimes.&lt;br /&gt;187. Childhood toy: hmm, hard to say.&lt;br /&gt;188. Carnival game/ride: Paratrooper.&lt;br /&gt;189. Candy bar: ugh. No more for me. Ever. Don’t mention them again or I’ll kill you.&lt;br /&gt;190. Magazine: People.&lt;br /&gt;191. Salad dressing: Italian.&lt;br /&gt;192. Thing to do on the weekend: Hang out with friends, relax, or work.&lt;br /&gt;193. Hot drink:  Coffee.&lt;br /&gt;194. Season: Fall. &lt;br /&gt;195. Sport to watch: None.&lt;br /&gt;196. Person to talk to online:  Brent or Jon R. Your Bedroom/Sleeping Habits&lt;br /&gt;197. What color are your sheets: White.&lt;br /&gt;198. What color are your bedroom walls: Red. This is getting sexy.&lt;br /&gt;199. Do you have posters on your wall: Yes&lt;br /&gt;200. If so of what:  Movies. My own designs.&lt;br /&gt;201. Do you have a tv in your bedroom: yeah.&lt;br /&gt;202. How many pillows are on your bed: Too many. &lt;br /&gt;203. What do you normally sleep in: my bed&lt;br /&gt;204. Describe your favorite pair of pajamas: T shirt.&lt;br /&gt;205. What size bed do you have: Queen.&lt;br /&gt;206. Do you have a waterbed/bunkbed/daybed: no?&lt;br /&gt;207. Do you have your own phone line in your bedroom: No&lt;br /&gt;209. Describe the last nightmare you had: Me, Kim and Danie being kidnapped.&lt;br /&gt; 210. Do you sleep with stuffed animals: No. I had to get rid of them all.&lt;br /&gt;211. How many people can comfortably sleep comfortably in your bed: Hey! Whoa!&lt;br /&gt; 212. Do you sleep in any unusual positions: Geez.&lt;br /&gt;213. Do you have to share your bedroom with a sibling: No&lt;br /&gt;214. Do you snore: No&lt;br /&gt;215. How about drool: all the time.&lt;br /&gt;216. Do you have an alarm clock in your room: yes&lt;br /&gt;217. What color is the carpet in your room: whiteish&lt;br /&gt;218. What's under your bed: nothing. This or That&lt;br /&gt;219. loser/wannabe:  wannabe&lt;br /&gt;220. Doughnuts/bagels: Doughnuts&lt;br /&gt;221. Day/night: evening&lt;br /&gt;222. Wicked witch of the east/wicked witch of the west: West. I mean, good.&lt;br /&gt; 223. Heaven/hell: Heaven&lt;br /&gt;224. Make love/have sex: Make love (when you are married.)&lt;br /&gt;225. Coffee/tea: Coffee&lt;br /&gt;226. Hamburgers/hotdogs: yuck. &lt;br /&gt;227. Rap/rock:  rock228. Britney/Christina: Britney. The original bubble gum pop gone bad. 229. Swiss cheese/american cheese:  Swiss.&lt;br /&gt;230. Real World/Road Rules: Don’t know either. &lt;br /&gt;231. Backstreet Boys/*Nsync:  Both are sooo awesome…&lt;br /&gt;232. Silver/gold: Silver233. Nike/Adidas: Nike.&lt;br /&gt;234. McDonalds/Taco Bell: McDonalds.&lt;br /&gt;235. Sweet/sour: Sweet 236. Punk/emo: EMO!!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;237. Hot/cold: I am Hot. We’ll leave it at that.&lt;br /&gt; 238. Winter/summer: Summer.&lt;br /&gt;239. Spring/fall:  Fall&lt;br /&gt;240. Operas/plays: Plays&lt;br /&gt;241. Read/watch tv: Read&lt;br /&gt;242. Cd's/tapes: CDs&lt;br /&gt;243. Dvd's/vhs: DVDs&lt;br /&gt; 244. Old/new: Old. Vintage. Pretty.&lt;br /&gt;245. Shorts/skirts: Skirts246. Pink/red: Red.&lt;br /&gt;247. Colored pictures/black and white photos: Black and white.&lt;br /&gt;248. Meat/vegetables: Vegetables&lt;br /&gt;249. Mexican food/chinese food: Chinese&lt;br /&gt;250. Commercials/infomercials: Commercials.&lt;br /&gt;251. Scary movies/comedies:  Scary movies, watched with a friend&lt;br /&gt;252. Bikinis/one piece bathing suits:  One piece for me.&lt;br /&gt; 253. Sandals/tennis shoes: sandals.&lt;br /&gt;254. Dogs/cats: Cats.&lt;br /&gt; 255. Unicorns/fairies: Fairiiies. Lalalalalala.&lt;br /&gt;256. Water/land: Land.&lt;br /&gt; 257. Sugar/spice: Everything nice (I am laaame. )&lt;br /&gt;258. Black/white: Black. Emo black.&lt;br /&gt; 259. ribbons/bows: Ribbons.&lt;br /&gt;260. Chicken/beef: Beef&lt;br /&gt;261. Colored christmas lights/regular white christmas lights: White&lt;br /&gt;262. Cars/trucks: Cars.&lt;br /&gt; 263. Austin Powers/James Bond: James Bond.&lt;br /&gt; 264. Popcorn/pretzels: Popcorn&lt;br /&gt;265. Hip/hop: I have big hips.&lt;br /&gt;266. Passionate kiss/peck: I’ll say passion.&lt;br /&gt;267. WWE wrestling/ real wrestling: “real” you mean. No. neither.&lt;br /&gt;268. Back rub/foot massage:  mmm…backrub…&lt;br /&gt;.269. Picture frames/photo albums: photo albums.&lt;br /&gt;270. Pens/pencils: pens. Name Game What Do You Think Of When You Hear These Common Names?&lt;br /&gt;299. Jack:  ROSE!&lt;br /&gt; 300. Tiffany: M and B.&lt;br /&gt;301. Nicky:  Hilton.&lt;br /&gt;302. Maria: How do you solve a problem like Maria…&lt;br /&gt;303. Jennifer:  Bennifer ( I lose )&lt;br /&gt;304. Nicole: Danie’s sister.&lt;br /&gt;305. Amy: Unger.&lt;br /&gt; 306. Adam:  Pries.&lt;br /&gt;307. Richard: My next-to brother friend.&lt;br /&gt; 308. Justin: Timberlake&lt;br /&gt;309. Arnold: ‘I’ll be back’&lt;br /&gt;310. Tom: French Tom! My favourite Tom! I heart him. Lots.&lt;br /&gt;311. Melissa:  I miss Melissa…&lt;br /&gt;312. Charlotte: Charlotte’s Web.&lt;br /&gt; 313. Harold:  I got nothing.&lt;br /&gt;314. John: Delvekio. Is that it? Is that how you spell it? If not…I can spell Rash…&lt;br /&gt;315. Joel: Friesen.&lt;br /&gt;316. Vanessa: Plett.&lt;br /&gt;317. Michelle: My best friend in grade seven&lt;br /&gt;318. Kevin: my next-to-brother friend.&lt;br /&gt;319. Brent: Tooth.&lt;br /&gt;320. Jake: um…I got nothing.&lt;br /&gt;321. Billy: Boyd&lt;br /&gt;322. Sarah: My name is not spelled like that. Bonus point.&lt;br /&gt;323. Natalie: Loughrin.&lt;br /&gt;324. Christy:  I got nothing.&lt;br /&gt;325. Nick: Carter&lt;br /&gt; 326. Linda: nothing.&lt;br /&gt;327. Taylor: Tylor. Even though they are different.&lt;br /&gt; 328. Jordan: Derksen.&lt;br /&gt; 329. Jamie: Jaymie.&lt;br /&gt;330. Adrian: Clarkson. I don’t know why. Have You Ever&lt;br /&gt;331. Mooned anyone: No&lt;br /&gt;332. Been on a diet:  Yeah.&lt;br /&gt;333. Been to a foreign country: no. I hate my life.&lt;br /&gt;334. Broken a bone: Chipped it.&lt;br /&gt;335. Swallowed a tooth/cap/filling: No&lt;br /&gt;336. Swear at a teacher:  Not when they were in ear shot?&lt;br /&gt; 337. Talked to a journal member via emails or instant messages: um. No?&lt;br /&gt;338. Got in a fight:  I’m a sissy.&lt;br /&gt; 339. Dated a teacher:  ew. That is all I have to say.&lt;br /&gt;340. Laughed so hard you peed your pants: Yes...&lt;br /&gt;341. Thought about killing your enemy: Maybe.&lt;br /&gt;342. Gone skinny dipping: No&lt;br /&gt;343. Met another journal member in the flesh: um. No?&lt;br /&gt;344. Told a little white lie: No. I mean. Yes.&lt;br /&gt;345. Told a secret you swore not to tell: Yes. For their benefit, not mine.&lt;br /&gt;346. Stolen anything:  Nothing major. A pen. From someone at Subway.&lt;br /&gt;347. Misused a swear word and it sounded absolutely stupid: All the time.&lt;br /&gt;348. Been on TV: nope.&lt;br /&gt;349. Been on the radio: nope.&lt;br /&gt;350. Been in a mosh pit:  Yes. Reliant K. 2002.&lt;br /&gt;351. Been to a concert: Yes&lt;br /&gt;352. Dated one of your best friends:  I don’t think so.&lt;br /&gt;353. Loved someone so much it makes you cry:  yeah.&lt;br /&gt;354. Deceived somebody close to you: Not to hurt them.&lt;br /&gt;355. Broken the law: I’m undercover and LAME.&lt;br /&gt; 356. Been to a rodeo: no.&lt;br /&gt;357. Been on a talk show: No&lt;br /&gt;358. Been on a game show: No&lt;br /&gt;359. Been on an airplane: Yeah&lt;br /&gt;360. Got to ride on a firetruck: yeah.&lt;br /&gt;361. Came close to dying: Yes&lt;br /&gt;362. Cheated on a bf/gf:  no.&lt;br /&gt; 363. Gave someone a piggy back ride: Yes 3&lt;br /&gt;64. Terrorized a babysitter: not that I remember.&lt;br /&gt; 365. Made a mud pie: yeah.&lt;br /&gt; 366. Had a dream that you're falling off a cliff: nope.&lt;br /&gt; 367. Snuck out of the house at night: No&lt;br /&gt;368. Been so drunk you don't remember your name: No&lt;br /&gt; 369. Had an eating disorder: yes.&lt;br /&gt;370. Felt like you didn't belong: Always.&lt;br /&gt; 371. Felt like the 3rd wheel: Yes&lt;br /&gt;372. Smoked: No&lt;br /&gt; 373. Done drugs: No&lt;br /&gt; 374. Been arrested: No&lt;br /&gt;375. Had your tonsils removed: No.&lt;br /&gt; 376. Gone to camp: Yeah.&lt;br /&gt;377. Won a bet: Yes. And they never forgot it.&lt;br /&gt; 378. Written a love letter: nope.&lt;br /&gt;379. Gone out of your way to be with the one you love:  not really.&lt;br /&gt;380. Written a love poem: nope.&lt;br /&gt;381. Kissed in the rain:  nope&lt;br /&gt;382. Slow danced with someone you love: No&lt;br /&gt;383. Participated in cyber sex: no&lt;br /&gt;384. Faked an orgasm: no.&lt;br /&gt; 385. Stolen a kiss:  no.&lt;br /&gt; 386. Asked a friend for relationship advice:  yeah.&lt;br /&gt;387. Had a friend steal your bf/gf: No&lt;br /&gt;388. Watched the sunset/rise with someone you love: No&lt;br /&gt;389. Gotten a speeding ticket: No&lt;br /&gt;390. Done jail time: No&lt;br /&gt; 391. Had to wear a uniform to work: Yes. Awoh.&lt;br /&gt;392. Won a trophy: no393. Thrown up in public: no&lt;br /&gt;394. Bowled a perfect game: no&lt;br /&gt;395. Failed/got held back: No&lt;br /&gt;396. Got perfect attendance in grade school: No&lt;br /&gt;397. Roasted pumpkin seeds: No&lt;br /&gt;398. Taken ballet lessons: no&lt;br /&gt;399. Attempted suicide: No&lt;br /&gt;400. Cut yourself:  not really. Childhood Stuff&lt;br /&gt;401. Did you play with Barbies: Yes&lt;br /&gt;402. Did you own Treasure Trolls: No&lt;br /&gt; 403. Did you watch Beverly Hills 90210: No&lt;br /&gt;404. Did you play Simon Says: Yes&lt;br /&gt;405. Did you watch Fraggle Rock: No…I missed out.&lt;br /&gt; 406. Did you wet the bed: no.&lt;br /&gt;407. Did you believe there were monsters in your closet or under your bed: Yes&lt;br /&gt;408. Did you wear the underwear with the days of the week on them: No&lt;br /&gt; 409. Were you shy: Yes&lt;br /&gt;410. Were you spoiled: no.&lt;br /&gt; 411. Were you abused: no.&lt;br /&gt;412. Did you go to the circus: Yes&lt;br /&gt;413. Did you go to the zoo: Yes&lt;br /&gt;414. Were you in a car accident: Yes&lt;br /&gt;415. Did you build snowmen: Yes&lt;br /&gt;416. Did you cry when you scraped your knee: Yes&lt;br /&gt;417. Were your older cousins mean to you:  No. Protective.&lt;br /&gt; 418. Did you think slinkies were cool: nope.&lt;br /&gt;419. Did you think the Ninja Turtles really lived in the sewer: No&lt;br /&gt;420. Were you afraid of the dark: Still am.&lt;br /&gt;421. Did you have slumber parties: Yes&lt;br /&gt;422. Did you have New Kids On The Block sheets, sleeping bags, dolls:  No&lt;br /&gt;423. Did you tease your hair out like Tiffany: Tiffany who!&lt;br /&gt;424. Did you believe in the Easter Bunny/Santa Claus/and the Tooth Fairy: YesRandomness 425. Do you believe in aliens: No&lt;br /&gt;426. Name three things that are next to your computer: Shelf, speakers, CDs.&lt;br /&gt;427. Do you have any hidden talents: probably.&lt;br /&gt; 428. Do you wish MTV would play music videos: They do..sometimes…&lt;br /&gt;429. If you were to star in a movie, what kind of movie would it be: Drama &lt;br /&gt;430. What would your movie star name be:  “I-am-awesome”&lt;br /&gt;431. Do you play any sports: no.&lt;br /&gt;432. What's the scariest movie you've ever seen:  Signs? Awoh…&lt;br /&gt;433. What is the best movie you've seen in the theater or rented recently: Willy Wonka!&lt;br /&gt;434. What is the dumbest movie you've ever seen: hmm…Lizzie Maguire.&lt;br /&gt;435. Do you drive: Not yet…Tomorrow…&lt;br /&gt;436. What is your dream car:  car&lt;br /&gt;437. Do you think your good looking: n-o spells what?&lt;br /&gt;438. Do others think you are good looking: No.&lt;br /&gt;439. Would you ever sky dive:  no. &lt;br /&gt;440. Do you believe in Bigfoot: yes….awoh.&lt;br /&gt;441. How many rooms do you have in your house: What do I look like? An architect?&lt;br /&gt; 442. Are you afraid of roller coasters:  yeah.&lt;br /&gt;443. Do you believe in God: Yes 4&lt;br /&gt;44. Do you believe in Satan: Somewhat. He’s minor, though, to me.&lt;br /&gt; 445. Do you believe there is a heaven: Yes&lt;br /&gt;446. Do you believe there is a hell: Yes&lt;br /&gt;447. Do you own a pooltable: No&lt;br /&gt; 448. Do you have a pool: Nope&lt;br /&gt;449. Do you have a dishwasher in your kitchen: Yes&lt;br /&gt;450. Do you like chocolate: Sometimes&lt;br /&gt;451. Who/what is on your 2003 calendar:  Cities&lt;br /&gt;452. How many U.S. states have you been to: 0&lt;br /&gt;453. Ever wished on a shooting star: Yes&lt;br /&gt;454. Best Halloween costume you ever wore: Cat that didn’t look like a cat&lt;br /&gt;455. Do you carry any weapons on you: My sass&lt;br /&gt;456. What is your weakness:  Comments about my looks.&lt;br /&gt;457. Name something you can't get enough of: Romance&lt;br /&gt;458. Describe yourself in 3 adjectives: Let’s not!&lt;br /&gt;459. How many kids do you want to have: Don’t know.&lt;br /&gt; 460. Future daughters names: Blue, Cricket&lt;br /&gt;461. Future sons names: Jimmy&lt;br /&gt; 462. What is your ideal way to die: peacefully&lt;br /&gt;463. How do you release stress: Crying.&lt;br /&gt;464. Do you consider yourself a trendy person: No&lt;br /&gt;465. Are you an artisitic person: Yes.&lt;br /&gt;466. Are you a realistic person?: No.&lt;br /&gt;467. Do you un-tie your shoes every time you take them off: No&lt;br /&gt; 468. Are you a strong person: Yes&lt;br /&gt;469. Are you a strong willed person: Yes&lt;br /&gt;470. Who is the last person to e-mail you: Steph K.&lt;br /&gt;471. Who is the last person to IM you: um…Tim F.&lt;br /&gt;472. Do you hate chain e-mails: Send me one and I kill you.&lt;br /&gt; 473. Are you a deep sleeper: No&lt;br /&gt;474. Are you a good story teller: Yes&lt;br /&gt; 475. What do you believe is your best quality: Understanding.&lt;br /&gt;476. What is your greatest accomplishment:  Getting my physics teacher to like me.&lt;br /&gt;477. Do you like to burn candles or incense: yeah.&lt;br /&gt; 478. Do you do yoga: soooo much fun. I mean. Yes.&lt;br /&gt; 479. Do you have your own credit card:  no.&lt;br /&gt;480. Let's say you win the lotto. What do you do with all that money?: Spend it.&lt;br /&gt; 481. Do you have a check book: No&lt;br /&gt;482. Do you like your drivers licence picture: Tomorrow, I hope.&lt;br /&gt;483. Do you tan easily: no. Pale as death.&lt;br /&gt;484. What color is your hair naturally: Brown Red.&lt;br /&gt; 485. How many fillings do you have: several.&lt;br /&gt;486. How many cavities did you have at your last dentist visit: 2! Score!&lt;br /&gt;487. Worst feeling in the world?: Getting shot down. &lt;br /&gt;488. Best feeling in the world:  A compliment.&lt;br /&gt;489. Is the glass half empty or half full:  Full. Duh. I’m so cheerful and stuff.&lt;br /&gt;490. Last thing you downloaded: um. E-media notes. &lt;br /&gt;491. Do you catch yourself using online terms in your real life?: No. I don’t use them. Ever.&lt;br /&gt;492. What do you think people think of you: I don’t know. &lt;br /&gt;493. Are you a likeable person: I hope so.&lt;br /&gt;494. Do you need therapy: I don’t know.&lt;br /&gt;495. Do you take medication for a chemical imbalance: No&lt;br /&gt;496. What the best way to be proposed to: psh.&lt;br /&gt;497. If Fed Ex and UPS were to merge would they call it FED UP: You’re ugly. Stop talking.&lt;br /&gt;499. When are you moving: Two years, unofficially.&lt;br /&gt;500. What's your favorite phrase: "your face!”&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-111638714480669137?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/111638714480669137/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=111638714480669137' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111638714480669137'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111638714480669137'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2005/05/longest-survey-ever.html' title='Longest Survey EVER.'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-111636752573676876</id><published>2005-05-17T14:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-17T15:05:25.743-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>It’s days like this that make you wonder what you mean. Who you are.  The questions filling your mind. Deciding what it is you feel, have faith in. What you know.It’s like a secret. That knowledge, that unknown. Who you are. Because you don’t know anyone, so it’s not like you can tell them. You know their names, perhaps their faces, and maybe something you heard between their words. Something that slipped out quietly from their lips, something you don’t know if you heard or not. But you don’t know them. You don’t know what they think about on those quiet evenings when they walk home from school. You don’t know what they do when it’s raining outside. You don’t know what self doubt they keep tucked away in their memories, what they see when they look in the mirror. You don’t know that nameless person somewhere in the colourless expanse of their mind, the one that channels the thoughts between themselves and what it is they believe in. God, maybe. Something else. You don’t know. You were always told faith could move mountains. But you’ve never really been sure, because no matter how hard you tried, nothing ever moved. Nothing changed, even if you believed. Things didn’t work out the way you prayed they would.  There were no arms to hold you, no comforting words. Not when you needed them.  And soon you stopped reading the Bible stories, and started reading people’s faces. That’s when you knew you weren’t alone, being alone. Sitting in the shadows, listening to the unspoken silence, the interrupted thoughts and sentences. That’s when you knew. No one believed the way they told you to. No one could. They needed God like a drug, like something they could hold over people’s heads. Something bigger than them. A thought they couldn’t control, but could speak for, if necessary.  Speaking is everyone’s favourite part, forcing rules on nations because fear motivates them to do good. Or evil. Maybe God could do both, if you gave him a chance. That’s why you don’t  want to give him a chance. Don’t want to see what he will do once he sees you in your hiding place, once he sees all those thoughts you’ve so carefully sorted through and hidden.  And it’s not funny, although I do smile when I think of it. All the hypocrites lining outside the church doors, waiting for their chance to give a condescending dollar bill to an empty hand.  Waiting to give a stranger a fake smile, or to say a layered ‘how are you’.  You have to read the faces before you hear the words, or you’ll miss it.  Miss either the light or the dark from within, the smile or the smirk. Both as deadly as a harsh word.  Because people are funny like that.  Using their looks and their words as weapons instead of gifts. The things you always pin on a teenager is really all of us. Every single one of us secretly wish the other will fall. Secretly wish we can kill someone's dream, and fulfill one of our own. No matter who we are, we wish it. When we throw those prayers for peace at the sky, close our eyes for a brief moment of thanks, we're wishing it then. Wishing God will bring us forth from our miserable existance and reward us for our hypocrisy. We're all wishing it at the same time. That's why you never join the snickering girls in the cafeteria. That's why you always take your lunch and sit on your own, where you can discreetly watch them.  Watch them interact. Watch the leaders lead and the immitators mimick. Some hellos that are carelessly tossed around to keep up appearances. Friends are only friends because they remind you of someone you respected once. Now they're just regulars, filtering in and out of your thoughts and sight. And while you're walking to the bathroom to rid yourself of the calories, they're walking to the lunch line for more.  And while you're laying outside in the sunlight, they're sitting in their own private thundershower. Where the lightning is only an effect, not a threat.&lt;br /&gt;And you're so sure you're writing this to find some answers to the questions. Who you are. What you know. But you won't. Because by this time tomorrow, you'll already have forgotten the reason why you asked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-----------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am stupid. And I keep writing CRAP.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-111636752573676876?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/111636752573676876/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=111636752573676876' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111636752573676876'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111636752573676876'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2005/05/its-days-like-this-that-make-you.html' title=''/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-111592165879666706</id><published>2005-05-12T11:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-12T11:14:18.800-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I am in school.</title><content type='html'>Sitting. Bored. I hate you. All of you.&lt;br /&gt;KIM GO UPDATE YOUR BLOG PROPERLY! Make it long and make it good.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-111592165879666706?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/111592165879666706/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=111592165879666706' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111592165879666706'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111592165879666706'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2005/05/i-am-in-school.html' title='I am in school.'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-111584068178065218</id><published>2005-05-11T12:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-11T12:44:41.786-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>So um, I’m updating. Because I’m cool. Cooler than Kim, who hardly ever updates. I mean, come on, write anything, I do. It sounds like stupid, but I say it anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have my favourite thing in the world back. Landon’s Old Navy hoodie.  I miss Landon. He moved to BC last year, and he’s only come to visit once. (For those of you who don’t know who Landon is, he’s awesome.) We were voted ‘most likely to get married’ in grade nine. He gave me this sweater as a symbol of his love, as well as his debit card. But he never gave me the pin number. hm. The moral of this story is that Landon should come visit me. We need to get married.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate Manitoba. I hate Schools. And I hate Questions. Hence, I hate the Manitoba Schools Question assignment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My story for the day. I look like crap. I feel like crap. I’m supposed to go shopping, but I’m too scared that nothing will fit me. My scale told me I weigh a million pounds. I look like I weigh a million pounds. So I’m scared. when I feel like that, I’d rather just go by myself, so I’m not embarrassed by my clothing size.  But I don’t want to go by myself either. And Kim, you can say I’m not fat all you want, but still. It bothers me  that I can’t just take things off the racks and wear them. It does. Because skinny people are pretty and perfect. I hate them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also hate working. Which is what I’m doing tonight. But I’m poor and I need some money. And I thought it out…my job isn’t so bad. I’m not doing any manual labour. I’m not getting hurt. I’m not dealing with gross things, like food and garbage and such things. I just scan things and take money. I mean, money IS really gross, but hey. It’s not slimy. So all in all, my job would be perfect if there weren’t any evil managers and evil co workers. Then my job would be fine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apparently, there’s a ‘really cute’ exchange student coming next year. According to my teacher. I guess it’d be more exciting if I cared.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-111584068178065218?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/111584068178065218/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=111584068178065218' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111584068178065218'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111584068178065218'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2005/05/so-um-im-updating.html' title=''/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-111569178382646081</id><published>2005-05-09T19:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-09T19:23:03.840-07:00</updated><title type='text'>mmm.</title><content type='html'>Ok, Kim, if you're reading this before first period, I don't think I'm there. I had some blood testing crap to do at the hospital...but I'll be there the rest of the day.&lt;br /&gt;You should come shopping with me and Danie on Thursday. I hate you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, the certain individual that totally ruined my week end is sucking up like crazy. I don't know how to react, because he's insisting he did nothing wrong and didn't mean anything by what happened. It just happened, and it "wasn't me". I don't know if I should still be angry or feel like a total bitch for calling him on it. I can't tell. At the time, it was obvious he was upset. But you know, he's making me unsure. Smoothing it all over, all complimenting and friendly...ugh. I think this time he's screwed himself over too well. I'm tired of this. I know what happened, and he can't tell me it didn't...&lt;br /&gt;hmm...I wish it didn't confuse me so much. Maybe I AM a total bitch and I'm totally over reacting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also wish I didn't weigh a million pounds and look like a freaking COW. I mean, good gracious, I wish food didn't exist. Because then I'd be slim and gorgeous (after years of plastic surgery) But I'd be skinny, and that would make up for the face.  I really need clothes, because I don't think I've gone shopping since...grade...nine? Mainly because I'm so self conscious that I get increasingly depressed after every store I go to. And I hardly speak for days afterward, and I don't buy ANYTHING. Unless it's Old Navy. Because I'm a 'small' there.&lt;br /&gt; And I'm an XXXXXXXXXXL everywhere else. Size 10003454837434398 in pants. (thats a lot)&lt;br /&gt; And I don't want to go by myself. I hate everything. *glares at cake* damn you. Damn you and your kind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now, my friend/s, I think I shall go rinse out this hair dye and see how pretty it looks. It's brown this time, no red. At least I hope not, because I'm tired of it.&lt;br /&gt;Farewell.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-111569178382646081?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/111569178382646081/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=111569178382646081' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111569178382646081'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111569178382646081'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2005/05/mmm.html' title='mmm.'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-111558696765128149</id><published>2005-05-08T14:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-08T14:16:07.656-07:00</updated><title type='text'>sometimes I just want to hurt someone</title><content type='html'>seriously. Like when I'm driving and everyone's passing me on the high way. Damn cars. They think they're soooo fast, going the speed limit.&lt;br /&gt;curse them. curse them all.&lt;br /&gt;Or when I call someone and they obviously don't want to talk to me, but won't tell me why. And I feel like a total loser for calling them...and everything sucks and I don't know how to fix it, damnit. I hate boys. I hate older boys that think they own the world, or at least part of it, and wow..I'm so angry I don't even know what to do with myself. Seriously! Like, did I do something wrong? Tell me. You stupid ugly cow. (it hurts because it's an insult). But I've taken six months of his stupid little mind games, and after we decided (together) how things stand, now he wants no part of me. Is that fair? Is it fair for him to hurt my feelings because he doesn't want to "lead me on"? That's not an excuse, I wish he'd stop using it as one. &lt;br /&gt;Gah. If anyone wants details on what happened last night to make me so pissed, ask me. I'll share it with you.&lt;br /&gt;Drivers test in a week. Ouch. Scared whitless here.&lt;br /&gt;But maybe Kim'll get hers fist. Good luck Kim!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-111558696765128149?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/111558696765128149/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=111558696765128149' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111558696765128149'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111558696765128149'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2005/05/sometimes-i-just-want-to-hurt-someone.html' title='sometimes I just want to hurt someone'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-111544446452319637</id><published>2005-05-06T22:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-06T22:43:08.273-07:00</updated><title type='text'>i have nothing to say.</title><content type='html'>allow me to introduce myself.&lt;br /&gt;i'm the girl from every paper back novel. the hopeless romantic with a dream. the movie character you never got to know. the face in the crowd that you never see.&lt;br /&gt;the girl who wakes up every morning with no thoughts. whose situation changes like the wind. yes. no. yes. she comes downstairs, helpless from the start. powerless to stop the pain.&lt;br /&gt;"stop dying."&lt;br /&gt;the girl watching her world fall apart. piece by piece. holding shattered reasons in her hand, and leaving un finished sentences the way they are. unfinished. the girl with no meaning. the girl with no name.&lt;br /&gt;the bitter one. autumn girl . the one who lives to see the leaves fall from the trees, the brilliant colours. red, gold. her favourites. walking through the rain, smiling in spite of herself. because the rain is so much prettier than the sun. the blinding sun. lying sun.&lt;br /&gt;talentless girl. no choices. only decisions.&lt;br /&gt;the single girl. the lonely-but-not-willing-to-admit it girl. the emo girl. watching the people in her life grow and change, while she stays the same. plain as day. the girl with a warped image. who can't tell you what she looks like, because she doesn't know. twice as big as the rest of the world. the girl who loves from a distance. scared of her own shadow. of boys. 0f pain. of you. the girl who lets herself slide into old habits because it's comfortable. it's safe. the girl whose weight fluxiates with her mood, and whose mood fluxiates without circumstance. the girl who sits beside you in almost every class. on every bus. in every theater.&lt;br /&gt;the happy girl. the sad girl. the lovely girl. the ugly girl. thats me. i'm all of the above. you just never knew. i never said.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-111544446452319637?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/111544446452319637/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=111544446452319637' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111544446452319637'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111544446452319637'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2005/05/i-have-nothing-to-say.html' title='i have nothing to say.'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-111522740367457685</id><published>2005-05-04T10:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-04T10:23:23.680-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm sorry. This sucks. Badly.</title><content type='html'>That’s why I come here everyday.  To see all of them.  To see the same stupidity and selfishness that I find in myself.  The same twisted senses of humor, the same self-absorbed outlook and the same hope.&lt;br /&gt;When I look in the mirror, I see all of them.  Every single one inside that face, inside those eyes, oozing out of every pore of my body.  Every word I say, they’ve already said. Every thought has been thought before.  And on every self-summary sheet, we all write “original”. “Unique”. Unique and original like everyone else.  Situations differ, people are the same.  All of us. Uniquely alike and all going towards the same inevitable demise.  We will fail.  We will not survive this world, and God only knows what comes next.  We’ll all love and lose.  We’ll all embarrass ourselves to the point where we don’t want to leave our homes.  Our hovels. Our mansions.  We’ll all wish and pray for something that will never come to be.  We’ll all watch a loved one falter and know we’ve been there. We’ll all face disappointments, and we’ll all react in the same way. We’ll all hate, and love, and cry, and laugh, and barely be able to contain the words bursting from our minds.&lt;br /&gt; Because that’s what we all are. Words. Numbers. Letters. Thoughts. Formed together to form our “unique” selves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The letters are slow to come today. The pen hasn’t moved in what seems like hours, and the writing on the page is hardly legible. I pretend not to see as I walk past, pretend that there are no tears in my exhausted eyes.  He doesn’t see me anymore anyway. I’ve become like the walls in the room he always sits in, the silent listener to his silent conversations. Usually he fills his pages with flowing ink marks, words that he will one day speak.&lt;br /&gt;He’s going to go places, he writes.  See things.  Know things.  Say things.  And always, always, I believe.  I believe he’s going to see the things in those places and say the things he knows.  And the years go by, and the silence thickens.  The broken dreams are written down, documented.  And I read them.  While he sleeps, I read them.  I read about every thought in his head, his secrets he’s unable to tell.  I read what and who he is.  About how he can’t prove he exists.  About how he doesn’t know if he’s real.&lt;br /&gt;And pages later, his writing changes, and the dreams of speech and definitions of himself appear again. &lt;br /&gt;The pen starts roaming across the paper again. The quiet movements are like the best of all the songs I’ve ever heard.&lt;br /&gt;And I smile then, because I know. The little things haven’t been overlooked, because he’s been looking for them.  It’s like a minor detail that shapes an entire world.  Existance. Dreams. Silence.&lt;br /&gt;He knows he’s there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(I REALLY suck at writing.) (Like seriously. But I forgive myself because I felt slightly writer-ish, as happens some days, and documented in another secret blog, but today I took a risk and put it here. I apologize to your brains for making them cry.)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-111522740367457685?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/111522740367457685/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=111522740367457685' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111522740367457685'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111522740367457685'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2005/05/im-sorry-this-sucks-badly.html' title='I&apos;m sorry. This sucks. Badly.'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-111514115258113224</id><published>2005-05-03T10:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-03T10:25:52.580-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Collage</title><content type='html'>It's finished! A ferris wheel, roller coaster, stairs, berries...and...andrew hedlin.&lt;br /&gt;The thrill of your life...&lt;br /&gt;Plus, everyone go to saraherv.deviantart.com. It's hott.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-111514115258113224?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/111514115258113224/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=111514115258113224' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111514115258113224'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111514115258113224'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2005/05/collage.html' title='The Collage'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-111513206364187809</id><published>2005-05-03T07:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-03T07:54:23.643-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I'm disappointed that Roald Dahl didn't like the 1971 version of Charlie And The Chocolate Factory.  Come on. It's amazing.&lt;br /&gt;"Sweet lovers love in the spring time...a ring a ding sweet lovers love..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"...we are the music makers...and we are the dreamers of dreams...."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok, so they weren't from the book. But those quotes are awesome. Who would have heard of these poems had they not been mentioned in that movie....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-111513206364187809?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/111513206364187809/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=111513206364187809' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111513206364187809'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111513206364187809'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2005/05/im-disappointed-that-roald-dahl-didnt.html' title=''/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-111505808788439712</id><published>2005-05-02T11:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-02T11:21:27.886-07:00</updated><title type='text'>grrr.</title><content type='html'>Like a cat "grrr".&lt;br /&gt;So, I don't know about this Jazz thing tonight. I mean, I want to come, it'd be fun, I guess, but I don't want to be the little one who tags along. Damn, I hate being young. I hate being the youngest out of all my friends. I also hate teenagers that lay down in the hall so that you have to step over them, and then laugh hysterically when you do. Ha ha. Next time, I'm stepping right on his crotch.&lt;br /&gt;I also hate it when people call my house and ask for "john". Who is this John...? Where does he come from...?&lt;br /&gt;I have come to a conclusion! Charlie and The Chocolate Factory is the best movie ... EVER. No joke. It's amazing, its wonderful, it's...got terrible acting, but I forgive them. It's minor, anyway. The best movies have the worst actors. (I'm kidding. But not about it being the best movie ever)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-111505808788439712?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/111505808788439712/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=111505808788439712' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111505808788439712'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111505808788439712'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2005/05/grrr.html' title='grrr.'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-111491728093401588</id><published>2005-04-30T20:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-04-30T20:16:19.163-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>my Love list:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-colours&lt;br /&gt;-blank notebooks&lt;br /&gt;-the smell of new shoes&lt;br /&gt;-not caring, just doing&lt;br /&gt;-friends that invite me to do things after school or work&lt;br /&gt;-not working&lt;br /&gt;-films&lt;br /&gt;-art&lt;br /&gt;-skipping classes to eat perogies&lt;br /&gt;-handwriting&lt;br /&gt;-sleeping in&lt;br /&gt;-winking&lt;br /&gt;-dreams that I can remember&lt;br /&gt;-Biology&lt;br /&gt;-watching movies in school, instead of listening to the same droning voice for an hour&lt;br /&gt;-getting a good grade&lt;br /&gt;-Having people care what happens to me&lt;br /&gt;-Hugs&lt;br /&gt;-Rainy days&lt;br /&gt;-good hair days&lt;br /&gt;-crayons&lt;br /&gt;-having someone tell me I look good, even if I know they're lying&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-111491728093401588?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/111491728093401588/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=111491728093401588' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111491728093401588'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111491728093401588'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2005/04/my-love-list-colours-blank-notebooks.html' title=''/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-111481162476818015</id><published>2005-04-29T14:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-04-29T14:53:44.770-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The emo Story of my Life.</title><content type='html'>I have to write a screen play, and I'm drawing blanks.&lt;br /&gt;I'm lonely, and I don't know why.&lt;br /&gt;I'm stupid, and I don't know why.&lt;br /&gt;I'm huge. And I know all too well why.&lt;br /&gt;And I'm probably among the most unattractive people I can think of.&lt;br /&gt;And I'm sitting here, feeling sorry for myself, because I'm a teenage girl who doesn't know anything. I don't know what I want to do when I graduate. I don't even know what I want to do on the days when I don't have to go back to that hell hole and scan groceries for hours and hours. I don't have money. I don't have a plan. I don't have a social life. And I do the dreaded comparison, when you look at another girl walking down the hallway, and I think "why couldn't I have been her?" When I know full well that this girl hurts for reasons I'll never know. She has another world that orbits around something else.&lt;br /&gt;And honestly, I wish I weren't so whiney. I am happy. I'm cheerful most of the time, and a good liar. I have a roof over my head. I have food. I get a paycheque every week. I have wonderfully unconditional friends. But I still whine to this damn blog everytime. As if something about it makes me sad, mad, depressed. As if something about putting my fingers on the keyboard makes me pour out some pessimistic crap that illustrates the teenage mindset of today. The mindset we were taught to hate, but fall into pattern with anyway.&lt;br /&gt;I really don't want to work tomorrow...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-111481162476818015?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/111481162476818015/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=111481162476818015' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111481162476818015'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111481162476818015'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2005/04/emo-story-of-my-life.html' title='The emo Story of my Life.'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-111474452334213969</id><published>2005-04-28T20:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-04-28T20:15:23.343-07:00</updated><title type='text'>MY Hate list</title><content type='html'>-Liars&lt;br /&gt;-Backstabbers&lt;br /&gt;-Customers that leave the store a half hour after they're supposed to&lt;br /&gt;-people who don't reply to important emails&lt;br /&gt;-Sharpeners that eat pencils&lt;br /&gt;-Physics&lt;br /&gt;-Anything remotely related to physics&lt;br /&gt;-Cleaning my room and bathroom. Every week.&lt;br /&gt;-My hair, in all it's frizzy crapiness.&lt;br /&gt;-Teenagers&lt;br /&gt;-My age group&lt;br /&gt;-Calories&lt;br /&gt;-Plastic cutlery&lt;br /&gt;-People who put 'chillin with my friends' down as a hobby in their profile.&lt;br /&gt;-Tinfoil&lt;br /&gt;-Anyone who thinks emo is uncool. Those kids are so much cooler than me.&lt;br /&gt;-Mullets&lt;br /&gt;-Public displays of affection.&lt;br /&gt;-When I have something on my face and no one tells me&lt;br /&gt;-Being mocked and not knowing it&lt;br /&gt;-Wishes that never ever come true.&lt;br /&gt;-Being lonely (emo!)&lt;br /&gt;-People who put music lyrics in their msn name and AREN'T mocking the song&lt;br /&gt;-Teachers hating me, and I don't know why. The good teachers&lt;br /&gt;-Teachers liking me, and I don't know why. The bad teachers&lt;br /&gt;-Not knowing which word to use for my collage&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A Love List is coming soon too, so I don't look ENTIRELY bitter.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-111474452334213969?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/111474452334213969/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=111474452334213969' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111474452334213969'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111474452334213969'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2005/04/my-hate-list.html' title='MY Hate list'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-111472506668721226</id><published>2005-04-28T14:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-04-28T14:51:06.686-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Someday, I'm going to make a hate list.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-111472506668721226?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/111472506668721226/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=111472506668721226' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111472506668721226'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111472506668721226'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2005/04/someday-im-going-to-make-hate-list.html' title=''/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-111464905268107323</id><published>2005-04-27T17:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-04-27T17:44:12.683-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I, like cake. In the way that a cookie...</title><content type='html'>Yeah, I like cake. I just baked one. mmm.&lt;br /&gt;Anyway! Everyone go to snopes.com and look at the awesome urban legends.&lt;br /&gt;I deleted my old blog because I was tired of it, and it kept screwing up, and blah. I like this one far better, it's so...fresh. I've always wanted to use that word for something other and vegetables...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish I were a model. Then I would feel cool. And pretty.&lt;br /&gt;I also wish I were eating a DQ brownie batter blizzard...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-111464905268107323?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/111464905268107323/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=111464905268107323' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111464905268107323'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111464905268107323'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2005/04/i-like-cake-in-way-that-cookie.html' title='I, like cake. In the way that a cookie...'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465718.post-111456649205436360</id><published>2005-04-26T18:46:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2005-04-26T18:48:12.056-07:00</updated><title type='text'>the new one.</title><content type='html'>I have a NEW blog. this is it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12465718-111456649205436360?l=onemoretale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/feeds/111456649205436360/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12465718&amp;postID=111456649205436360' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111456649205436360'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12465718/posts/default/111456649205436360'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://onemoretale.blogspot.com/2005/04/new-one_111456649205436360.html' title='the new one.'/><author><name>SaraHerv</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07117550662509446529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://www.derooij-design.com/image/paintings/Teens02red400.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
