<?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-2057520123249463349</id><updated>2012-02-16T19:09:17.942-08:00</updated><title type='text'>And Every Day It's Changed Since Then</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aeicst.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2057520123249463349/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aeicst.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>A</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10713875538722732416</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_gi0xjD7VU_s/SCY3g1Mvj_I/AAAAAAAAABY/PWnzKnoIu-o/S220/IMG_0274.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>12</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2057520123249463349.post-4011975446292612940</id><published>2008-06-29T19:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-29T20:03:00.100-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Z</title><content type='html'>I've just come home from the date from hell. D and I broke up by the way. Liiiike maybe 2 weeks ago? Hence, not dating him, so I'm just up for the crazies to nip at. And they've really been prevalent this past week. Everything's really different now. Sometimes you just feel your life changing around you. Because I'm a nerd, the only comparison I can make is that it feels a little like in Harry Potter when they'll be walking up a flight of stairs and then it will swivel and lead them to another floor. Goddamned moving stair cases. I just want to get to Pittsburgh in one piece.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You should listen to this, it's amazing.&lt;br /&gt;http://johndriscoll.googlepages.com/thefuture(2008)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2057520123249463349-4011975446292612940?l=aeicst.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aeicst.blogspot.com/feeds/4011975446292612940/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2057520123249463349&amp;postID=4011975446292612940' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2057520123249463349/posts/default/4011975446292612940'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2057520123249463349/posts/default/4011975446292612940'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aeicst.blogspot.com/2008/06/z.html' title='Z'/><author><name>A</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10713875538722732416</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_gi0xjD7VU_s/SCY3g1Mvj_I/AAAAAAAAABY/PWnzKnoIu-o/S220/IMG_0274.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2057520123249463349.post-6510087449647111259</id><published>2008-06-21T22:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-29T19:55:59.315-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hm...</title><content type='html'>what, am I comPLETELY insane?!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2057520123249463349-6510087449647111259?l=aeicst.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aeicst.blogspot.com/feeds/6510087449647111259/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2057520123249463349&amp;postID=6510087449647111259' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2057520123249463349/posts/default/6510087449647111259'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2057520123249463349/posts/default/6510087449647111259'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aeicst.blogspot.com/2008/06/hm.html' title='Hm...'/><author><name>A</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10713875538722732416</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_gi0xjD7VU_s/SCY3g1Mvj_I/AAAAAAAAABY/PWnzKnoIu-o/S220/IMG_0274.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2057520123249463349.post-5994177304948563325</id><published>2008-05-10T16:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-10T16:55:40.968-07:00</updated><title type='text'>sing me "happy birthday"</title><content type='html'>Oh man, I had the best mashed potatoes at prom. They were so freaking delicious... technically they were part of D's meal but that's the best part of being in a relationship: the food sniping. I had a horrible stomach ache the rest of the night though. I suppose that's what I get.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Teeth" is the most disturbing movie I have &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;ever&lt;/span&gt; seen.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2057520123249463349-5994177304948563325?l=aeicst.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aeicst.blogspot.com/feeds/5994177304948563325/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2057520123249463349&amp;postID=5994177304948563325' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2057520123249463349/posts/default/5994177304948563325'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2057520123249463349/posts/default/5994177304948563325'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aeicst.blogspot.com/2008/05/sing-me-happy-birthday.html' title='sing me &quot;happy birthday&quot;'/><author><name>A</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10713875538722732416</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_gi0xjD7VU_s/SCY3g1Mvj_I/AAAAAAAAABY/PWnzKnoIu-o/S220/IMG_0274.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2057520123249463349.post-2742258066242620772</id><published>2008-05-09T06:57:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-09T07:02:34.959-07:00</updated><title type='text'>prom tonight</title><content type='html'>I wish my group of friends had a more bad ass name. I had to explain what a "puff" was to my mom the other night. I don't think she got it. We're mostly named this because we all like cats so much. Technically, that's what a "puff" is. Or something sassy. Like, if you're being sassy, you're being a puff. Jesus... I can't believe I'm explaining this again. It's kind of humorous though. I can appreciate a nice, goofy name on occasion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PROM TONIGHT! AHHH! Part of me wants to hear about all my drunken classmates... and part of me will probably cry for my generation. It's a curse being so nosy... oh and this is so ridiculous; instead of having prom on saturday, it's on a friday and because they know we'll need time to prepare, it's a half day of school. I mean, it's exciting but... I dunno... this goes back to my third world country schooling issue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've realized that 2 out of my 3 pets have freakishly human qualities. I just want a good old cat's cat.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2057520123249463349-2742258066242620772?l=aeicst.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aeicst.blogspot.com/feeds/2742258066242620772/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2057520123249463349&amp;postID=2742258066242620772' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2057520123249463349/posts/default/2742258066242620772'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2057520123249463349/posts/default/2742258066242620772'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aeicst.blogspot.com/2008/05/prom-tonight.html' title='prom tonight'/><author><name>A</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10713875538722732416</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_gi0xjD7VU_s/SCY3g1Mvj_I/AAAAAAAAABY/PWnzKnoIu-o/S220/IMG_0274.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2057520123249463349.post-3464748436229429284</id><published>2008-05-08T08:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-08T08:38:49.224-07:00</updated><title type='text'>School</title><content type='html'>Yeah... I'm in art indie study right now, waiting for the annoying girls at my table to leave so I can get back to work. For some reason whenever lunch coencides with 4th period, these girls come in and swarm J, another girl at my table. So, I leave and come back when they're gone. That sounds really awful, I know, but lately I've been feeling a little like, if you're obnoxious, I don't really want to waste my time on you. I think that skill will come in handy the forst few weeks of college.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Prom is tomorrow. I just secured a decent dress last night, talk about cutting it close. I'm going with D again this year which I'm really excited about. I think he's a little miserable because he doesn't want to go to a high school prom, but I don't mind because to be honest, it's a little cute. He's got F and A there anyways so he'll survive. I wish MPuff was going to prom this year... that way the Puff Crew could all be together. JPuff, MPuff and I are all a part of a very secret gang. But not really. It's kind of an embarassing name for a group but J made it up and when she's excited about something it's perfectly acceptable to get sucked in. She came to school today which was nice- I haven't seen her in a while. She's at home with her senior project.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok, the least standable of the 3 left so I think I should go get back to work.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2057520123249463349-3464748436229429284?l=aeicst.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aeicst.blogspot.com/feeds/3464748436229429284/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2057520123249463349&amp;postID=3464748436229429284' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2057520123249463349/posts/default/3464748436229429284'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2057520123249463349/posts/default/3464748436229429284'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aeicst.blogspot.com/2008/05/school.html' title='School'/><author><name>A</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10713875538722732416</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_gi0xjD7VU_s/SCY3g1Mvj_I/AAAAAAAAABY/PWnzKnoIu-o/S220/IMG_0274.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2057520123249463349.post-921847596158842780</id><published>2008-04-18T21:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-18T21:10:52.635-07:00</updated><title type='text'>age</title><content type='html'>I'm older now. I can't believe the last time I wrote on this thing was in December... I mean, it makes a little sense to me. I don't really have a reason to write here. This could be read by anybody and let's face it, if you have a blog, you want attention. Of some kind. You want someone to read what you're writing. I think I've been a little ashamed of that. But anyway- being a birthday girl and traveling to PITT this week made me realize that I'm going to be a sucky correspondent. I mean really... how many of my high school friends will I actually talk to on the phone when I'm not living in M anymore? With facebook you really don't need to put anything out there. You can just send you're thoughts off to someone and let them think what they will about the attention you've given them. But if you call someone... or God, WRITE to them... I want someone to write to me. I want a pen pal so much. I've really wanted a pen pal for as long as... well at least as long as I've been going to camp. Whenever I go back to school I want letters from my summer friends and even though I send some their way, they rarely reply. K does though. We've switched to email though I suppose. She's getting married. And moving closer to where I live- just as I'm moving away. I wonder if 15 year old me would ever sleep knowing all this. I had a birthday party tonight you know. It was strange. I mean... lovely but... it mostly just made me miss D. It's hard for me having him so far away. He's not even really that far... what will I do next year when we're hours and hours apart? The same thing probably. I wish HE'D write to me. I'll write to him though. Do you ever feel like sometimes you have this need to do something you wish someone would do to you, to someone else? Like"I wish he would hold my hand. I'll hold his." So even though he never held your hand... you still get what you wanted. But not really. Never completely. Sometimes this is my life. I am a go getter but not the gone and gotten.  Like I said though: I still get what I want. I should go to bed now. I've been flying all day and then partying... and now reading about vampires. Eclipse is such a lovely book. I wish the author didn't suck. I would enjoy it so much more.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2057520123249463349-921847596158842780?l=aeicst.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aeicst.blogspot.com/feeds/921847596158842780/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2057520123249463349&amp;postID=921847596158842780' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2057520123249463349/posts/default/921847596158842780'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2057520123249463349/posts/default/921847596158842780'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aeicst.blogspot.com/2008/04/age.html' title='age'/><author><name>A</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10713875538722732416</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_gi0xjD7VU_s/SCY3g1Mvj_I/AAAAAAAAABY/PWnzKnoIu-o/S220/IMG_0274.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2057520123249463349.post-4135476874519503480</id><published>2007-12-19T11:58:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T18:12:52.297-08:00</updated><title type='text'>PS</title><content type='html'>Oh yeah and guess what?! Tila broke my heart and chose Bobby over Dani. What the eff Tila.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_gi0xjD7VU_s/R2l4g8hbRfI/AAAAAAAAABQ/6sOgg9KU4pU/s1600-h/281x211.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_gi0xjD7VU_s/R2l4g8hbRfI/AAAAAAAAABQ/6sOgg9KU4pU/s320/281x211.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5145776556644976114" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Look! So cute!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other news I want Tegan and Sara hair. Oh you've TOTALLY wanted it too, don't lie.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2057520123249463349-4135476874519503480?l=aeicst.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aeicst.blogspot.com/feeds/4135476874519503480/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2057520123249463349&amp;postID=4135476874519503480' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2057520123249463349/posts/default/4135476874519503480'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2057520123249463349/posts/default/4135476874519503480'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aeicst.blogspot.com/2007/12/ps.html' title='PS'/><author><name>A</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10713875538722732416</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_gi0xjD7VU_s/SCY3g1Mvj_I/AAAAAAAAABY/PWnzKnoIu-o/S220/IMG_0274.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_gi0xjD7VU_s/R2l4g8hbRfI/AAAAAAAAABQ/6sOgg9KU4pU/s72-c/281x211.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2057520123249463349.post-7496977550338146783</id><published>2007-12-19T11:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-19T11:58:20.066-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Cold toes!</title><content type='html'>D came over last night and informed me my house was officially colder than his. this was frightening for two reasons: 1) we refer to his house as "the igloo" and 2) I had no idea what he was talking about. It's quite possible I've frozen my nerve endings.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2057520123249463349-7496977550338146783?l=aeicst.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aeicst.blogspot.com/feeds/7496977550338146783/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2057520123249463349&amp;postID=7496977550338146783' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2057520123249463349/posts/default/7496977550338146783'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2057520123249463349/posts/default/7496977550338146783'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aeicst.blogspot.com/2007/12/cold-toes.html' title='Cold toes!'/><author><name>A</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10713875538722732416</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_gi0xjD7VU_s/SCY3g1Mvj_I/AAAAAAAAABY/PWnzKnoIu-o/S220/IMG_0274.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2057520123249463349.post-6601434078990157214</id><published>2007-12-15T13:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-15T13:04:01.060-08:00</updated><title type='text'>1 Hour Until Guests</title><content type='html'>I thought I would take a break from cleaning my house and baking delectables to mention that Yeah Yeah Yeah's merch prices are outrageous. Who do they think is buying this shit?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2057520123249463349-6601434078990157214?l=aeicst.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aeicst.blogspot.com/feeds/6601434078990157214/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2057520123249463349&amp;postID=6601434078990157214' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2057520123249463349/posts/default/6601434078990157214'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2057520123249463349/posts/default/6601434078990157214'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aeicst.blogspot.com/2007/12/1-hour-until-guests.html' title='1 Hour Until Guests'/><author><name>A</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10713875538722732416</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_gi0xjD7VU_s/SCY3g1Mvj_I/AAAAAAAAABY/PWnzKnoIu-o/S220/IMG_0274.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2057520123249463349.post-4877300921623700252</id><published>2007-12-13T16:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-13T16:37:58.159-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Mas</title><content type='html'>I don't know why I ended that last post- I wish to write &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;more&lt;/span&gt;!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I crave camp. I do, truly. F introduced me to his awesome camp which I have applied to be a counselor at. Gonna be honest- heartbreak my way if I am denied camp love for another summer. Speaking of F, he kind of blew up today during the project we're working on together. Isn't it strange when you just meet someone and as you get to know them all these traits you never knew they had come out. How can first impressions be so inaccurate? It's a little like they betray you the moment they feel comfortable enough to be themselves. Is that just me? At any rate, F can be scary. That's what I learned today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So apparently J was driving S to Taco Bell yesterday and was looking at the pictures he had in his phone (because I always feel the need to be distracted when I drive too) and he had all these graphic pictures of naked girls. C, J, S and I had a big discussion about it during Creative Writing today. It's curious how your opinion of a person changes when you find out they've had sex. It's this big secret and then, depending on how it comes out, it rebuilds them in your eyes. I think it could be the fact that someone you see everyday has experienced something really life affirming and they're sitting in class with you talking about it. They could have children. Someone's seen them (gasp) &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;naked&lt;/span&gt;. Oddly enough, even though S's secret came out in a slightly disturbing way, his appreciation for and realism about his experiences makes him so much more respectable to me now. Granted,  I had to take off points for  having nude photos on his camera phone. How myspace slut of him.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2057520123249463349-4877300921623700252?l=aeicst.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aeicst.blogspot.com/feeds/4877300921623700252/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2057520123249463349&amp;postID=4877300921623700252' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2057520123249463349/posts/default/4877300921623700252'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2057520123249463349/posts/default/4877300921623700252'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aeicst.blogspot.com/2007/12/mas.html' title='Mas'/><author><name>A</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10713875538722732416</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_gi0xjD7VU_s/SCY3g1Mvj_I/AAAAAAAAABY/PWnzKnoIu-o/S220/IMG_0274.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2057520123249463349.post-5068349556468808524</id><published>2007-12-13T15:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-13T15:56:56.256-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Dear Snow Gods...</title><content type='html'>I wants me a snow day. Why is it that in third world countries children would give anything for an education, and us Americans just want to find ways we can miss school?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;J and I got our nails did today. Twas my first time getting fake nails. "Why, yes, they are fake." I'm wondering what D is going to say about them. Probably nothing...he never comments much about things like that. I thought it was a little silly to get them done for a school dance but I think J just really wanted an excuse. We are both unstoppable nail biters. (At last, I find my soul mate.) I am going with T this year because D is in college now and is too high and mighty for things of the high schoolish nature. Not like I went with D last year anyways...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm most excited for my before party. I've had one for two years now and I am determined to have my final one be my best. I really do love entertaining. I think when I'm older I'll just have all kinds of little get-togethers. I think they're terribly classic. It's funny, sometimes I'll just do something because I like to connotation of doing it. My parents have very wealthy friends and I remember going over their lavish homes and eating insanely wonderful  food as a child. And there was lots of wine.  Despite my finicky taste for it, I think I'll always associate "good breeding" and "dinner parties on the yacht" and that whole unbelievable life style with a dainty glass of white wine. None at my party unfortunately; I have stupid friends who wouldn't appreciate my symbolism. Or they would freak out. For instance I know this girl who I grow to dislike more and more each day. She's all "my mom told me not to..." which is absurd- at what point will she become a independent person I wonder? She refuses to park on the curb because she was "brought up to park in the parking lot; there could be thieves." What does that &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;mean&lt;/span&gt;?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just hung up with C. God I love her- I hope we stay in touch next year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have English homework pouring out of my ass. All this speed reading is making me hate the Canterbury Tales.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2057520123249463349-5068349556468808524?l=aeicst.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aeicst.blogspot.com/feeds/5068349556468808524/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2057520123249463349&amp;postID=5068349556468808524' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2057520123249463349/posts/default/5068349556468808524'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2057520123249463349/posts/default/5068349556468808524'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aeicst.blogspot.com/2007/12/dear-snow-gods.html' title='Dear Snow Gods...'/><author><name>A</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10713875538722732416</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_gi0xjD7VU_s/SCY3g1Mvj_I/AAAAAAAAABY/PWnzKnoIu-o/S220/IMG_0274.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2057520123249463349.post-672780928120833273</id><published>2007-12-12T14:03:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-12T14:13:07.185-08:00</updated><title type='text'>This Feels Creepy...</title><content type='html'>At long last I find myself with a legitimate blog. What is it about livejournal that makes you question how creepy you are? But that's all behind you now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;J and I stayed up until 11 last night watching the season roundup of A Shot At Love With Tila Tequila. I was actually about an hour late to school this morning because I was so tired. Did you just read that? Isn't that crazy? Jason Anderson has this thing about how there's no such thing as a guilty pleasure. He says you like what you like and you shouldn't feel bad about it. Right on. I think the "worst" part is that I think it's real. No I'm serious. Tila Tequila is a legit "reality" show.  Or at any rate, Dani is totally  real. She better end up with Dani or I'm going to go on myspace and write her a nasty post. How righteous.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hey I got into college, yo. TWICE. I have 7 left to hear from. Oh and the one I ACTUALLY want to attend I have yet to apply to yet. Nice.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2057520123249463349-672780928120833273?l=aeicst.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aeicst.blogspot.com/feeds/672780928120833273/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2057520123249463349&amp;postID=672780928120833273' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2057520123249463349/posts/default/672780928120833273'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2057520123249463349/posts/default/672780928120833273'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aeicst.blogspot.com/2007/12/this-feels-creepy.html' title='This Feels Creepy...'/><author><name>A</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10713875538722732416</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_gi0xjD7VU_s/SCY3g1Mvj_I/AAAAAAAAABY/PWnzKnoIu-o/S220/IMG_0274.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
