<?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-726085997200851444</id><updated>2011-07-07T19:10:32.955-07:00</updated><title type='text'>melissajane</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>72</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-5636602359831352194</id><published>2010-03-03T14:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-03T14:16:38.538-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Dinosaur</title><content type='html'>Last week I got a dinosaur shaped sandwhich cutter. It is possibly the best thing I've ever bought. Ever. It makes lunch a little more fun, if I do say so myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.kingarthurflour.com/shop/images/1217349372816.jpg"&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, I've started bringing my lunch to school. Pb&amp;j dinosaur sandwhich, apples, and cheerios every day. Well, I have to make my lunch in the mornings before I leave, and I've been proud of myself because I haven't forgot it yet! And well, that ended today. I forgot it, but I wasn't exactly upset about it. I could go one day without lunch, but obviously my mom didn't think so. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm in third block and the substitue is taking roll when an office helped walks in with a sack lunch. "I bet that's mine." I whisper to Rachel and Cho. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Really?" Rachel asked while laughing. We eye the bag while the teacher reads the name on the post it note.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Is there a Melissa Mc-" I cut him off. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That's me!" I call out to him. I go up there to claim my lunch, and to my surprise it's heavier than I expected. She packed a water bottle, fiber bar, and some gum! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Why is my mom so awesome?" I say as I sit back in my seat. "She brought me &lt;em&gt;gum&lt;/em&gt; too!" Rachel and Cho just laugh at me, but deep down I know that they are jealous.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-5636602359831352194?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/5636602359831352194/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2010/03/dinosaur.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/5636602359831352194'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/5636602359831352194'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2010/03/dinosaur.html' title='Dinosaur'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-7279236343034762102</id><published>2010-03-02T15:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-02T15:59:44.000-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Goodness</title><content type='html'>Boy has it been awhile. Well, I'm getting back into the swing of things! Hello new blog (:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Lately life has been a bit hectic. Tennis season has started, and it feels like I've been waiting forever for it to get here. I was so pumped about tennis, and apparetnly so were a bunch of other girls. People would come up to me and ask me about tennis. Like, what we would do for conditioning and all that jazz. Me being me, I made it seem like no big deal, because really.. I didn't think it was. Last year I didn't remember it being too hard. I mean, I made it out alive AND on the team, so why couldn't they? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Well the first day of conditioning comes around.. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"Okay girls, we are going to be running a lot this year. So, do you stretches and after that meet me back here. " Coach Wiggins said with a smile. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I paniced, running? A &lt;em&gt;lot&lt;/em&gt; of running?  Are you kidding me? Maybe she is just making it seem more than it really was.. Ha.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;We go to meet her, and what do you know, she wasn't kidding.  "Alright," she grins, "Elida will lead the group through the normal path. You will be running for 20 mins. Straight." I died a little inside. "Go!" she yelled at us playfully. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;So, off we went. Running. It was madness, and I wasn't sure how long I was going to last. You see, I don't run. Well, I do.. but not for long amounts of time. I'm more like a sprinter. Short and fast, that's how I roll, er, &lt;em&gt;run&lt;/em&gt;.  Anyways, we are running and some of the girls are falling back, including me. My breaths are coming shorter and I die a little every time I get closer to the stairs, but I press on. We finally get done and I feel like crap. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Yeah, tennis conditioning isn't that hard. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-7279236343034762102?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/7279236343034762102/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2010/03/goodness.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/7279236343034762102'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/7279236343034762102'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2010/03/goodness.html' title='Goodness'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-9056195342332437959</id><published>2010-01-25T18:10:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-25T18:15:28.650-08:00</updated><title type='text'>What's the point</title><content type='html'>Sorry I haven't posted in a really long time. Life has been happening, and I totally forgot about my little blog here D: I'm sorry to all of the, what, two people who read this? Haha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, I guess I'll catch you up with me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tennis season is coming up, and I can't wait. I'm so excited to start practicing. As a matter of fact, Billy and I went to the courts Saturday. I totally whooped his butt, but he says otherwise. Silly boy. Well, school is going good. I guess. Nothing spectacular, but not bad either.&lt;br /&gt;I have a project in World History this week, and I can't wait to do it. We have to make a brochure about an artist from the Renaissance, and it has to persuade people to want to see that particular artist over all the others on our fake tour to the Louvre. Can't wait.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-9056195342332437959?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/9056195342332437959/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2010/01/whats-point.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/9056195342332437959'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/9056195342332437959'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2010/01/whats-point.html' title='What&apos;s the point'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-5858868868886531830</id><published>2010-01-07T10:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-07T10:41:39.276-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Evil Genius</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;More about snow..&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Since we didn't get out of school for snow all that much, we depended on iced over roads or it being 'too cold'. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Ever since I was little I always had this plan. Why didn't all the kids around Nashvile go out in the middle of a freezing night and pour just one single cup in to the middle of the street? Every elementary, middle schooler, and highschooler would get one cup of water. That would be a lot of water all over Nashville on a freezing night. That means a lot of &lt;strong&gt;frozen&lt;/strong&gt; water on the roads of Nashville. How awesome is that? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I made up this plan when I was only in kindergarten, and my dad calls me an evil genius for it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"It's so cold." my dad said while getting into the car my freshman year of highschool. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"I know." I said sadly. My evil plan playing in my head, why didn't we do it?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;He started up the car and we pulled out, "Should've snowed." he said playfully. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"Yeah." I reply. There is a long silence, basically the whole way to school. Until finally I tell him of my evil plan. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"Daddy?" I ask.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"Yeah?" he turns to look at me for a second.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"Well, ever since I was little I always had this.. &lt;em&gt;plan&lt;/em&gt;." I said meekly at first. He was going to think his daughter was crazy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"And?" he looked at me again. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"Well, you know all those nights where it's freezing, and all we would've needed to get out of school was water on the roads so it could freeze over?" I paused fir his reaction. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"Yeah..?" &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"Well, when I was in kindergarten I always asked myself why didn't all the kids in Nashville go outside late at night and pour water on the roads. Just a cup or two. We could basically control when we wanted to get out of school." I smiled a little. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"...That's perfect!" he exclaimed. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Then we went on planning for the next frozen night. We would strike at midnight :3&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-5858868868886531830?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/5858868868886531830/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2010/01/evil-genius.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/5858868868886531830'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/5858868868886531830'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2010/01/evil-genius.html' title='Evil Genius'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-8264608720239749818</id><published>2010-01-06T19:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-06T20:14:47.013-08:00</updated><title type='text'>False hope</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;SNOW DAYS!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Here in Nashville, Tennessee snow days are a big deal. We don't get it much, and it really sucks. Especially when you have weather people getting you all excited about the 'snow' that's supposed to come later that week. Yeah, it's total crap. They do this to get all the hopes up of all the little kids in this area. But, there is one county that hardly ever gets out of school. Davidson county. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;My&lt;/span&gt; county. Buggar, I know.&lt;br /&gt;Again and again all the hype for a snow day would rise, and then we'd be crushed on that fateful day when we woke up and had &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;no&lt;/span&gt; snow! Of course we would all ask why and get the same answer every time. "Nashville is in a basin" blah blah blah. Well, I'm pretty sure that these weather people know this too, so why don't they spare Davidson county. Don't even give up hope. Let alone &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;false&lt;/span&gt; hope! Why can't they be straight up?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hey everyone! You might want to stock up because there's a snow storm heading your way... Well everywhere but Davidson county. Yall suck."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At least this way I'm not getting excited for no reason. Hmph.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-8264608720239749818?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/8264608720239749818/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2010/01/false-hope.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/8264608720239749818'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/8264608720239749818'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2010/01/false-hope.html' title='False hope'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-4036601130876773411</id><published>2010-01-01T09:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-01T09:26:00.179-08:00</updated><title type='text'>2010</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Happy New Years yall!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First post of the year, and I'm kinda excited.&lt;br /&gt;Well, I hope everyone had fun bringing in the new year, I know I.. didn't, but that's beside the point.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;I really don't have anything to talk about, just wanted to have a post on &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.1.2010 &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-4036601130876773411?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/4036601130876773411/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2010/01/2010.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/4036601130876773411'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/4036601130876773411'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2010/01/2010.html' title='2010'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-2980051488274091611</id><published>2009-12-31T20:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-31T20:45:48.515-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh my.</title><content type='html'>&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/zs2s9psHP0c&amp;amp;hl=" fs="1&amp;amp;" width="425" height="344" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;His voice can melt my heart. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-2980051488274091611?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/2980051488274091611/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/12/oh-my.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/2980051488274091611'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/2980051488274091611'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/12/oh-my.html' title='Oh my.'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-8369404721672170707</id><published>2009-12-28T17:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-28T17:51:52.135-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh, Canada</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span id="profile_status"&gt;&lt;span id="status_text"&gt;Today I was registering for a website, and when they asked for gender, there were three options: Male, Female, and Canada. My decision was obvious. MLIA&lt;br /&gt;Mylifeisaverage is awesome.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span id="profile_status"&gt;The other day my mom and I were on our way home. My mom saw a car's license plate and gasped. "Meling, they're &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;south Canadian&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;" she said in awe.&lt;br /&gt;I began to laugh, "South Canadian?" I asked.&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah! Look at that!" she pointed at the car in front of us.&lt;br /&gt;I looked, "...South &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Carolina&lt;/span&gt;?"&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, uhm.. hah.. yeeeah."&lt;br /&gt;"Oh mom.." I shook my head and began to laugh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What can I say, she's pretty funny.&lt;span id="status_text"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span id="profile_status"&gt;&lt;span id="status_text"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-8369404721672170707?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/8369404721672170707/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/12/oh-canada.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/8369404721672170707'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/8369404721672170707'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/12/oh-canada.html' title='Oh, Canada'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-4014077727353581831</id><published>2009-12-26T13:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-26T13:33:15.386-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Ring-deer?</title><content type='html'>Today my mom and I went shopping. It was so I could get some more of those animal bracelets.&lt;br /&gt;Before we were leaving, she begged me into going into this other store with her. It was filled with furniture, blankets, and just things for around the house. In the middle of the store there was a lot of stuff on sale, Christmas decorations. A lot of ornaments and all that stuff. There was a lot of reindeer in there also, and obviously my mom loves them!&lt;br /&gt;"Meling, look at this!" she said while pointing a fairly big reindeer.&lt;br /&gt;I looked at it for a second, "That's nice." I ran my fingers a long its long antlers. It reminded me of those 'trees' that hold jewelry in Romancing the Stone. "You could hang rings and necklaces on here!" I said in a joking tone.&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah?" she turned to look at me.&lt;br /&gt;"Oh yeah! Of course!" Sarcasm dripping from my words.&lt;br /&gt;"That's why it's called a &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;ring-&lt;/span&gt;deer."&lt;br /&gt;I paused and looked at her, "Wait, what?" A ring-deer?&lt;br /&gt;"Mhm!" she said while walking out of the store. Okay then, whatever you say, Mom.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-4014077727353581831?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/4014077727353581831/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/12/ring-deer.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/4014077727353581831'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/4014077727353581831'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/12/ring-deer.html' title='Ring-deer?'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-785092393188345856</id><published>2009-12-25T11:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-25T11:19:31.509-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Merry Christmas</title><content type='html'>Hey, I'm sorry that I haven't posted lately! I guess just been busy? No, not really..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, I hope everyone has a great Christmas! I know I'm having a pretty great one. My friend, Brady, got me a stuffed Wild Thing. It's probably the best present, ever. His name is Carol, and my cats are terrified of him. It's really funny. I just have to hold it up and they get into an almost fetal position. It's the funniest thing! I love it. All this morning my brother, Bobby, and I have been scaring them. My mom is pretty satisfied with this, and so far has taken Carol away from me many times to scare the cats.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another funny story about my mom:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other day we were in the car on the way to the mall for some Christmas shopping. There was a car in front of us that read "NSA (numbers)". She pointed this out, "Look! They go to NSA!" she said confidently.&lt;br /&gt;"What?" I ask while turning my head towards the car.&lt;br /&gt;"Them! Look at the car. It says NSA!"&lt;br /&gt;I examine it and begin to laugh, "Mom, that's their license plate. They're from Iowa." I keep laughing.&lt;br /&gt;Her smile fades, "But.. oh.."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love her, so much. On another note, my dad is pretty awesome himself. We had to go to the hospital Christmas Eve to see my cousin, Stephanie. She's okay, so don't worry.&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, while we were leaving, my dad and I played "The Floor is Lava"! How awesome is he!? Yeah, this is why he's going to see the Avatar with me and Nikki today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;"Lmao i love your family"&lt;br /&gt;-the&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;dearest&lt;/span&gt;nikki&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-785092393188345856?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/785092393188345856/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/12/merry-christmas.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/785092393188345856'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/785092393188345856'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/12/merry-christmas.html' title='Merry Christmas'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-7782675175345520690</id><published>2009-12-14T13:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-14T13:14:10.257-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Crazy Girl</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;"I left you with one promise.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;I hear your heart call my name."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;- Jonny Craig&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;This morning my mom kept telling me how cold it was, and that I needed a jacket. I kept saying that I would get one, but this didn't seem to appease her. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"Meling, it's &lt;em&gt;really&lt;/em&gt; cold out there." she said again. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;How do you even know how cold it is? I thought to myself, but still nodded at her. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"Do you have a jacket?" she asked. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I shrugged a jacket on, "Yeah." I smiled at her. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"Okay..." she paused and gave me a worried look, "Do you need a scarf?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I laughed, "No, I'm okay." I reply. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"No really. You do! It's really cold." she stood up to go get me one. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"Mom." I protested. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"Meling! It's cold! You have one, don't you? The one Aulring got you last year?" she questioned. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"It's somewhere.." I stammered.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;She huffed, "You need a scarf." Right then my dad walked up the stairs. "Doesn't she hun!?" she asked him. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"Huh?" he gave me a questioning look. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"A scarf." I stated. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;He gave me a weird look, "No. It's not even cold out there." he said while laughing. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;My mom's face dropped, and I began to laugh. "Bye Mamma." I said while walking down the stairs with my dad. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Overprotective mothers, gotta' love 'em.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Today was my first day of exams. I had my easiest ones today, English and orchestra. I'm pretty sure I aced them both, but my English teacher took up half the class period just &lt;em&gt;talking&lt;/em&gt; to us about what a bad class we were. Y'know, I used to really enjoy my English classes, but not so much this year.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-7782675175345520690?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/7782675175345520690/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/12/crazy-girl.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/7782675175345520690'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/7782675175345520690'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/12/crazy-girl.html' title='Crazy Girl'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-5244779189028823048</id><published>2009-12-11T20:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-11T20:34:03.787-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Cool Cats</title><content type='html'>&lt;center&gt;"Well look at this hot reindeer!"&lt;/center&gt;&lt;center&gt;-Ali&lt;/center&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;img src="http://c4.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images02/43/l_1be3297ab7884436ab3c8b80c0e84fe7.jpg" /&gt; &lt;/center&gt;&lt;center&gt; &lt;/center&gt;&lt;center&gt; &lt;/center&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Yeah, these are some of the cool kids in orchestra. I'm the reindeer by the way.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;We had out Christmas concert the other night, and it was amazing. I loved it so much. These orchestra kids are some of the best people you will ever meet. They never fail to make me smile. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I hate to see this group of guys go. They always made orchestra fun. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Whether it was playing Call of Duty wit the gurad's guns, intense card games, or just making fun The Burton. I'll really miss them, and I don't think orchestra will ever be the same without them.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Of course I'll still have Nancy and Abby, but I doubt that they will randomly bring Rockband to school. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Anyways, our concert went well. We played Charlie Brown Christmas, A Cristmas Concert Suite, The Most Wonderful Time of the Year, and Sleigh Ride. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Pretty epic. The last two we played with the actual band. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;You could hardly hear the violins, so even if I messed up you couldn't hear me. Thank you, band.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-5244779189028823048?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/5244779189028823048/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/12/cool-cats.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/5244779189028823048'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/5244779189028823048'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/12/cool-cats.html' title='Cool Cats'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-6161183510547386402</id><published>2009-12-09T18:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-09T18:26:14.852-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>So awhile ago I was thinking about awkward situations.&lt;br /&gt;One particular one caught my attention because it has happened to me. Recently, actually.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A couple weekends ago Nikki and I were at the mall, and we saw our friend, Joey. We all hung out for awhile and were having a good time. This had been the first time in a long time since we had seen Joey, and we didn't really know how to say bye. Did we hug? Did we just nod and walk away? Wave?&lt;br /&gt;Yall are probably thinking that this was the awkward part. No.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, it's time to say bye. We tell him that we had a good time hanging out with him and that we need to do it again. We do the universal hug and that's that. Now this is when it's awkward. We turn to leave BUT Joey is going the same way as us.&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, are yall going this way too?" he asks.&lt;br /&gt;I laugh awkwardly, "Yeah. Imagine that." I reply. Nikki joins me in the awkward laughing.&lt;br /&gt;"Yeeeah." he keeps walking.&lt;br /&gt;What do you do then? I mean we eventually have to do different ways, but we already said our goodbyes. See, &lt;em&gt;awkward&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;It's just the whole presence of eachother makes it awkward. I don't know why, but it does.&lt;br /&gt;(After this happened I was watching Natalie from Coummunitychannel and she did a vlog about this. Pretty funny.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, most of yall know how I dyed my hair. Pretty awesome.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;b&gt;before&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;img src="http://c1.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images02/71/m_ffd388d2d5dc4442a35b42c38e8fc2a4.jpg" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;b&gt;after&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;img src="http://c2.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images02/57/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, anyways, obviously this new hair made me a whole new person. People don't even recognize me at first. I got this line a lot at school, "I didn't even know who you were at first!"&lt;br /&gt;I don't see how this was such a huge difference. I mean, yeah, it's black. I get that, but really? You couldn't even tell that I was Melissa? Just cause of my hair color. During Thanksgiving a lot of people thought that I was just some other guest.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That made Marie and I laugh because obviously people don't notice little things like that. Other examples?&lt;br /&gt;Superman and Clark Kent.&lt;br /&gt;Glasses and no glasses. Worked for him just like my hair.&lt;br /&gt;I'm like a &lt;strong&gt;superhero&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-6161183510547386402?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/6161183510547386402/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/12/so-awhile-ago-i-was-thinking-about.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/6161183510547386402'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/6161183510547386402'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/12/so-awhile-ago-i-was-thinking-about.html' title=''/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-752194529162773981</id><published>2009-12-07T17:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-07T17:40:30.697-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Summer Lovin</title><content type='html'>I miss summer. A lot. Esspecially last summer.&lt;br /&gt;I spent almost every day with Mara either at a pool, outside in my backyard, or at Haywood Elementary. And if I wasn't with Mara, I was with Nikki.&lt;br /&gt;Possibly the greatest times of my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is just something about summer that makes me happy. It feels like everyone is always happier and more relaxed.&lt;br /&gt;It's just lazy days, long nights, and summer love. Isn't it the best?&lt;br /&gt;Summer always seems to be so short. Like I can't fit enough good times into those few months. Time flys when you're having fun I guess. To me, it's the best time of the year.&lt;br /&gt;I miss it, a lot.&lt;br /&gt;It always feels like I meet new people during summer, and I mean a lot of new people. From camps and what not. Making new friends, but those ties and bonds always seem to break apart when school starts, but once summer shows it's lovely head things start to look better again. You start texting that old friend from camp. You message eachother on Myspace and Facebook.&lt;br /&gt;I really do miss it, and I miss them. All of the friends I made at Fuge.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think Fuge was one of the best parts of summer.  A church camp for a whole week. A week of no electronics. Just you, God, and other Christians. Best. Time. Ever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, this was a pointless blog about how much I love Summer and all it's wonders.&lt;br /&gt;I can't wait till this upcoming Summer!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-752194529162773981?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/752194529162773981/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/12/summer-lovin.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/752194529162773981'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/752194529162773981'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/12/summer-lovin.html' title='Summer Lovin'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-1699693499531164976</id><published>2009-12-04T12:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-04T12:39:25.888-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Flash ;o</title><content type='html'>So, I told yall how my school was going to do a flash mob, pretty exciting.&lt;br /&gt;Well, this is the first kind we are going to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object height="344" width="425"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/jwMj3PJDxuo&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/jwMj3PJDxuo&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's pretty awesome. &lt;br /&gt;We were talking about it on Facebook, and we decided that they can't suspend us for &lt;u&gt;not&lt;/u&gt; moving. Genius. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, hope that we get to this soon. &lt;br /&gt;It'll probably go down after Christmas Break.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-1699693499531164976?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/1699693499531164976/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/12/flash-o.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/1699693499531164976'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/1699693499531164976'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/12/flash-o.html' title='Flash ;o'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-935635566962448540</id><published>2009-12-03T13:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-03T13:52:16.143-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Awesome.</title><content type='html'>My sister is awesome. She was thinking about getting me these hand puppet things. You use paint though, and they're animals! I was pretty excited when she told me this today.&lt;br /&gt;"I won't even need friends anymore!"&lt;br /&gt;"....Really?" she gave me a dumb look and I just smiled.&lt;br /&gt;"I could even make them kiss!" I said while holding my hands up and letting them touch each other.&lt;br /&gt;"Yeahh..." another weird look.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, my school is pretty awesome. Why? &lt;strong&gt;Flash Mob&lt;/strong&gt;, that's why. I'm sure I'll have a video of it up once we do it. I have to say, I'm very excited.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, today in art class we had to use pastels to do our version of one of van Gogh's paintings. I was really excited about this and was looking forward to it. Well, I was working a little slow and making sure that I was doing a good job. The people I sit with in that class usually speed through it and then turn it in.&lt;br /&gt;Well the first girl to turn hers in had to come back, "What did she say?" I asked while looking at her picture. I thought that it looked really good.&lt;br /&gt;"Has to be darker." she pouted.&lt;br /&gt;I looked at my picture and then back at hers, "Oh." I started coloring harder and making sure there wasn't a white spot on that page.&lt;br /&gt;Then Fady went up there, and he is so confident in his art. A little too confident. Not to be mean, but he isn't that good.&lt;br /&gt;Of course, he comes back. "What did she say?" the first girl asked.&lt;br /&gt;"My flowers in the front are too small." he said while picking up the pastels.&lt;br /&gt;I then examined my picture and then made sure to make my flowers pretty big.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This went on for awhile. I was the last one at my table to turn in my work, and when I did she liked it!&lt;br /&gt;"Wow Melissa, this is pretty good." she said while taking it from me.&lt;br /&gt;I smiled, "Thanks!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I told my sister this story, "I bet that's what van Gogh did too. He just asked his friends what other people thought about &lt;em&gt;their&lt;/em&gt; paintings first."&lt;br /&gt;Pretty funny. That's why she's awesome too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://c3.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images02/71/l_48eefda510f649b1b3ffa3f7b4d3566a.jpg"&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-935635566962448540?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/935635566962448540/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/12/awesome.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/935635566962448540'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/935635566962448540'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/12/awesome.html' title='Awesome.'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-9135102152645462117</id><published>2009-12-02T16:39:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-02T16:49:29.765-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Greeks Geeks</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;"People who are good at it can go in and out."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Doth what she hath said.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Nothing exceptionally exciting to talk about. Today I wore a pencil skirt to school, and I got a lot of compliments. I think I wore it on the wrong day. It was freezing outside, but then again I don't think that it's going to get any warmer from now on. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Well exams are soon, so yall will be reading about how stressed I am. That's always fun. Reading other people's misfortune makes us feel better, and I don't say it doesn't! I know it makes me feel better about myself and my situation sometimes. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Well, today in English we were talking about Antigone and how the kings back then were okay with the playwriters writing stories about the common people taking over the kingdom. Of course people in the class were a bit confused. What if the common people got ideas from these plays? Wouldn't they try to overthrow him also? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I guess they didn't think so. They thought that seeing the play and feeling the emotions through the characters would be enough for the people. I guess it was, and still is. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;We get entertainment from action movies and what not. We feel that rush, as if we were in that movie. We get excited, mad, sad, and sometimes even feel the love in the movie. We still do the same thing. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Good job Greek people!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-9135102152645462117?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/9135102152645462117/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/12/greeks-geeks.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/9135102152645462117'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/9135102152645462117'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/12/greeks-geeks.html' title='Greeks Geeks'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-7184073162904945329</id><published>2009-12-01T19:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-01T19:35:59.916-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Im so hip</title><content type='html'>I love finding little known bands or movies or something along those lines. It's always fun to show your friends something new, and all of them like it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But one thing that I hate is when people act like they've known about a band &lt;em&gt;before &lt;/em&gt;you did. They act like you're behind for not knowing about that certin something sooner. Like I'm behind for just now finding them out? Okay, buddy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I've notice that &lt;em&gt;most&lt;/em&gt; people like that will always know about whatever you're talking about. That new movie? Yeah, I saw previews a long time ago. This cool new singer? Oh yeah, I love her music! Have you read this book? Ages ago! Funny thing is, most of them don't even know what you're tlaking about and will look it up the second they are away from you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See what I'm talking about? I really dislike it, but sometimes it can be really funny. One day at school we were talking about people like this, and how funny it would be to catch them in the act.&lt;br /&gt;Example;&lt;br /&gt;Walk into a group with a lot of your friends, "Hey, have yall heard about this one new band? Fighting PandaBears." (I'm totally making this up as I go)&lt;br /&gt;Everyone in the group says no, but that &lt;em&gt;one&lt;/em&gt; person, "Oh yeah! I love them."&lt;br /&gt;People in group are impressed that he/she knows this little known band.&lt;br /&gt;"Oh yeah? What's your favorite song?"&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, the third one on their CD. I can't think of the name.." Uh huh.. TOO BAD THEY AREN'T REAL!!&lt;br /&gt;"Hm.. yeah, well, uhm... Thing is, that band isn't real." Busted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think that would be really funny. I wanna do that sometime.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-7184073162904945329?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/7184073162904945329/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/12/im-so-hip.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/7184073162904945329'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/7184073162904945329'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/12/im-so-hip.html' title='Im so hip'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-5094170444604578199</id><published>2009-11-30T16:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-30T16:43:12.446-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Thanks dude!</title><content type='html'>Do you like music?&lt;br /&gt;Pandora.com&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You're welcome.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-5094170444604578199?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/5094170444604578199/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/11/thanks-dude.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/5094170444604578199'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/5094170444604578199'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/11/thanks-dude.html' title='Thanks dude!'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-6649266245171417599</id><published>2009-11-29T19:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-30T12:47:15.962-08:00</updated><title type='text'>We go way back</title><content type='html'>Today at church I was feeling kind of nervous. It was my first Sunday at this new church, and I was thinking that I wouldn't know anyone there. At first I was really nervous, but then I noticed a face. He looked familiar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was Spencer, a friend from 8th grade.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He came over and we talked a little bit. The youth pastor then started to try and intoriduce me to him, "Spencer, I see you've met the new girl."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"New? Oh, I've known her for awhile!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The pastor looked back at me, "Whhattt!? You already know people!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I laughed, and then class started.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After class, a man in his 20s walked in. He was showing off his new tattoo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Whoa! Josh, that's so cool!" I looked over at him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Josh, I know a Josh that looks kind of like him. Then he looks over at me, and gives me a weird look. Josh?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I think I know him." I whisper to Spencer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Josh? How?" he looks at Josh then back to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"He played ball with my brother, and graduated with my sister." I look at Josh again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He is looking at me, and the smiles. "Melissa!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I smile back, it is him! "Hey! Josh!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The pastor looks at me wide eyed, "You know him &lt;em&gt;too&lt;/em&gt;?!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I smile, "Yup." Josh answers for me. He walks over to where I'm standing and gives me a hug.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"How?" the pastor asks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I've known him since I was about five." I state simply.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I graduated with her sister." &lt;em&gt;And was a cheerleader&lt;/em&gt;, I added in my head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love knowing people when I'm at a new place. It makes me feel special when I'm known haha.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-6649266245171417599?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/6649266245171417599/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/11/we-go-way-back.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/6649266245171417599'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/6649266245171417599'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/11/we-go-way-back.html' title='We go way back'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-1535281850189028697</id><published>2009-11-28T16:39:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-28T16:58:08.056-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hey you</title><content type='html'>A month or so ago I went to a confrence for only girls. It was talking about abstience, and I've always planned on saving myself for 'the one'. My only reason was because I was a Christian, and it was just something that we did.&lt;br /&gt;Well at this confrence the speaker gave us more reasons to wait for the right guy. The guy that you wanted to spend the rest of your life, as if that wasn't enough for me.&lt;br /&gt;So, she went on to give us demonstrations and examples.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She told us how we shouldn't let a guy treat us like a paper plate. We are like that fine china. The kind that you only use during special occassions. Special stuff. She began to show us a paper plate. Something that you use once and the throw away. She stressed that we are worth so much more than that. More than a one time thing. Don't let a guy use you and then throw you away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, she went on to give more examples. There was one that I really liked though.&lt;br /&gt;"Now girls, close your eyes. Picture the guy, and I mean THE guy. The one that will be your husband. The one that will be the father of your kids. Yeah, him. Now, picture another girl sleeping with him."&lt;br /&gt;A lot of the girls in the room gasped. &lt;br /&gt;"Yeah. Not a good feeling. So, you don't want him messing around with other girls &lt;em&gt;now&lt;/em&gt;. I doubt that he wants you sleeping with another guy either."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I loved that example. I think that sealed the deal for me.&lt;br /&gt;I want to be a virgin for my husband. I want him to be the only man I'm ever with like &lt;em&gt;that&lt;/em&gt;. Ever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's for you, future husband.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-1535281850189028697?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/1535281850189028697/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/11/hey-you.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/1535281850189028697'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/1535281850189028697'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/11/hey-you.html' title='Hey you'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-8718228113349077045</id><published>2009-11-25T17:39:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-25T17:47:41.227-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Deck The Halls</title><content type='html'>Today, Nikki and I went to the mall. It was pretty fun, but we were there for about four hours. We were going to walk to the theater that was near the mall, but all the movies there we had already seen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, while we were at the mall we went into Electronic Express. We looked around for a little bit, and she even bought something. Anyways, while we were in there, a keyboard caught our attention. We began to mess around with it, and it didn't sound too good.&lt;br /&gt;But then, suddenly all the keys made new sounds. I held down a key that made this really cool beat, and Nikki started to play other keys. After awhile some employees came by. I looked up and smiled at him, what did I get in return? The  hugest smile I've ever seen and a thumbs up. Thanks Electronic Express guy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The people that work there were really.. friendly. While I was there with Nikki, a lot of the guys working there would just stare at me. Not even trying to hide it. I would turn away quickly and just look down. I'm still a little confused and scared.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, another cool thing that happend at the mall was that we saw Santa! He was walking towards the area where you get your picture taken with him.&lt;br /&gt;"Whoa, it's Santa!" Nikki said excitedly.&lt;br /&gt;I look up from my phone, "WHAT?!"&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah! It's him!" she points straight ahead to the man in the red suite.&lt;br /&gt;"...Lets get him." I say seriously.&lt;br /&gt;She starts to laugh, "Oh yeah, lets go!"&lt;br /&gt;We both start fake running towards him, "WHERE IS MY PONY I ASKED FOR 5 YEARS AGO!?" I yelled.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Friends? Silly child, &lt;strong&gt;best&lt;/strong&gt; friends.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-8718228113349077045?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/8718228113349077045/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/11/deck-halls.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/8718228113349077045'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/8718228113349077045'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/11/deck-halls.html' title='Deck The Halls'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-2639880863079970906</id><published>2009-11-22T09:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-22T10:30:52.151-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hangin' and what not</title><content type='html'>Today I was listening to the radio, and it was talking about 'regifting'. It was saying that it's bad, but not always.&lt;br /&gt;The exception? HD radio.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I kept listening to how they said that you &lt;em&gt;should&lt;/em&gt; regift it. Then I started thinking. Isn't regifting when you give someone the same present that they gave you? Yeah, I think so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, anyways. The commercial was saying that we should share this gift of HD radio. Regift it, but if they gave HD radio don't you think that they'd have it too? I don't know why I thought so long about this, but it was justkinda bothering me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, today I went to my old church with my dad and Lee. We all used to go there, but it seems that everyone was excited to see me and my dad. I went to that church since I was really young. It was like my second home, and sometimes I really miss it. The people there all know me, and are really nice. I always feel loved there. So, while we were sitting in the sanctuary people kept coming up to me and my dad to say hi. I got a lot of hugs and smiles. A lot of people asked how we were doing, and some even thought that we were coming back to that church. Funny thing is, Lee was sitting right next to me and no one said a word to him. No one said 'hey, we've missed you' or anything along those lines. We were laughing at that.&lt;br /&gt;"Hey Melissa!" a little old lady said to me.&lt;br /&gt;I turned in my seat to face her, "Oh! Hey." I smiled at her.&lt;br /&gt;She reached out to give me a hug. She kept on talking, and didn't even take a second glance at Lee.&lt;br /&gt;Once she walked away Lee looked at me , "I don't think anyone even remembers that I went to this church." he said.&lt;br /&gt;I laughed, "What can I say. Us McKinney's just made a big splash when we were here." I smiled.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Which is kinda true. My family went to that church for awhile, and people knew who we were. I don't want to brag, but if you went to that church you &lt;em&gt;knew&lt;/em&gt; who we were. There were just certin famalies that you just &lt;em&gt;knew&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;The Turner family.&lt;br /&gt;The Parish family.&lt;br /&gt;The McKinney family.&lt;br /&gt;The Barnett family.&lt;br /&gt;The Knox family.&lt;br /&gt;And so on and so on.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-2639880863079970906?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/2639880863079970906/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/11/hangin-and-what-not.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/2639880863079970906'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/2639880863079970906'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/11/hangin-and-what-not.html' title='Hangin&apos; and what not'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-8674980462392490685</id><published>2009-11-20T12:50:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-20T13:32:58.381-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I take that back</title><content type='html'>Yesterday my dad and I got in a fight. Well, not really a fight. It was just him yelling at me for no reason really.  Obviously, I'm ashamed of his driving. He screamed at me yesterday afternoon and is still mad at me to this exact second.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So yesterday someone pissed him off in my school's parking lot, and he followed them home. I was a little scared. He would go really fast and stop right before he crashed into the back of their car. It was really scary, so I didn't say anything while he was doing this. I just sat there and looked out the window. So, we followed this car for a good while before we went home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Are you okay?" he asked.&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah..." I kind of trailed off and turned to look at him.&lt;br /&gt;He stared back at me, "You aren't talking much."&lt;br /&gt;"Well, yeah." I looked at the car in front of us, we were still behind them. "I just don't see why you're mad at this guy." I said finally.&lt;br /&gt;So he explained that this dude was flicking other people off in the school parking lot. &lt;em&gt;Other&lt;/em&gt; people. Not us, &lt;em&gt;other&lt;/em&gt; people.&lt;br /&gt;"Oh." I said while dropping the subject. It was awkward to talk about, and I didn't know what else to say.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So we get home, and he doesn't get out of the car. Usually when we come home he comes inside to get something to eat. Well, not yesterday. He just sat there staring straight ahead. I got out of the car, and he peeled out of the driveway. I thought that was the end of it, but then he came back in the house.&lt;br /&gt;"MELISSA!" he screamed for me.&lt;br /&gt;I walk back down the stairs, "Yeah?" I reply.&lt;br /&gt;This is where you insert cuss words and his long speech about me not having the &lt;em&gt;right&lt;/em&gt; to be embarrassed with his driving. He also trie to threaten me with 'my car'. I had to laugh at this one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First of all, he is threatening me with a car. His exact words, "You can forget about your car!"&lt;br /&gt;My car?! No! Not my car, Daddy! I love my car! I can't live witho-&lt;br /&gt;Oh wait, hah. I DON'T have one! I don't even have my permit! Try using a threat that would work. Example; my phone or computer. But my car? Dude, I'm not even 16 yet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Second of all, he said that I don't have a &lt;em&gt;right&lt;/em&gt; to be ashamed of him. Well, really I'm not ashamed. I just don't know what to do or say when he gets like this. It's not that I'm ashamed, but more so that I'm scared I guess. Anyways, he said that I don't have a right. Really? Because I'm pretty sure that everyone is entitled to their own opinion. Just because I can think for myself now doesn't mean that I'm &lt;em&gt;wrong&lt;/em&gt;  for thinking differently than you. That's what irks me. I'm not his five year old daughter anymore. I can think for myself, and I have my own thoughts about things. He can't make &lt;strong&gt;all&lt;/strong&gt; my decisions for me, and I think he needs to realize that. I'm fifteen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, today when I was walking outside I was hoping that someone else was picking me up from school. Maybe my mom or sister, anyone but my dad. I checked my phone, and I noticed that I had a text message from my sister.&lt;br /&gt;"YES!" I yelled. Her text said that she was picking me up today. Thank you, Baby Jesus.&lt;br /&gt;I felt like saying 'You're welcome' to all the cars I passed. They wouldn't have to feel the wrath of my dad's awful road rage. Keeping the streets of Tennessee 'crazy-white-men' safe. You are welcome, people of Nashville.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-8674980462392490685?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/8674980462392490685/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/11/i-take-that-back.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/8674980462392490685'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/8674980462392490685'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/11/i-take-that-back.html' title='I take that back'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-2615639616008399207</id><published>2009-11-19T17:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-19T17:27:13.920-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Not cool.</title><content type='html'>I don't like him right now.&lt;br /&gt;I don't want to be in this house.&lt;br /&gt;Get me out of here, please and thanks.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-2615639616008399207?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/2615639616008399207/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/11/not-cool.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/2615639616008399207'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/2615639616008399207'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/11/not-cool.html' title='Not cool.'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-5976767638383099074</id><published>2009-11-18T19:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-18T19:27:45.166-08:00</updated><title type='text'>School Days, sir. School Days.</title><content type='html'>Girls at my school all have pencil pouches. A lot of them are really cute, and I mean I wouldn't mind having one. I was actually really wanting one lately because a lot of girls pull theirs out and people will stop and compliment on them.  I've been meaning to mention it to my mom, and maybe getting one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, I found something better. Much better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today in class a girl near me pulled her purse on top of her desk and then proceeded to get her pencil pouch out. It was really cute, and I was a tad jealous. It was orange and had really cute designes on it. Anyways, as always, someone told her how cute it was.&lt;br /&gt;"Awh thanks. I got it from Target." she said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once class really got started someone was asking around for a pencil. They came to that girl, "Hey, do you have an extra pencil?" she asked the Pencil Pouch Girl.&lt;br /&gt;"Lemme check." she answered. She pulled out her adorable pencil pouch and rummaged around for a second. "No sorry." she gave her an apologetic smile. &lt;br /&gt;The girl looking for a pencils turns to me, "Hey, do you have an extra pencil?" she asked.&lt;br /&gt;I thought for a second then smiled, "Yeah, I think so." I replied.&lt;br /&gt;I pulled my purse up on my desk and pulled out...&lt;br /&gt;A crayon box. You know, the plastic ones that you have in like grade school. Anyways, I pull it out and get her a pencil.&lt;br /&gt;She looks at me for a second, "A crayon box?"&lt;br /&gt;I look down at it and back at her, "Yes." I reply. I have a huge grin on my face.&lt;br /&gt;"Adorable." she says with the same smile.&lt;br /&gt;I win, Pencil Pouch People. I &lt;strong&gt;win&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-5976767638383099074?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/5976767638383099074/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/11/school-days-sir-school-days.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/5976767638383099074'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/5976767638383099074'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/11/school-days-sir-school-days.html' title='School Days, sir. School Days.'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-1230795455213315702</id><published>2009-11-15T18:27:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-15T19:12:17.999-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Kit-kit-Kitty Kat</title><content type='html'>Today Marie, my sister, told me how our cats would be considered Persian Blues. She told me that she heard that these type of cats find 'their person' and that person is theirs &lt;em&gt;forever&lt;/em&gt;. I thought that was really sweet, and then I look down and there Taz is. Sitting in my lap and purring his butt off. I smiled at him, "I'm Taz's." I said proudly.&lt;br /&gt;She laughed at me and then she made a Twilight reference, "He impression.. no, printed.. no," she paused for a second.&lt;br /&gt;I gave her a really odd look, "What?" I asked.&lt;br /&gt;"IMPRINTED on you!" she said happily. "Like Jacob." she explained.&lt;br /&gt;I nodded my head, "My lil werewolf." I cooed to Taz.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't think yall understand, but Taz is the cutest cat ever. If I had to pick a cat to 'imprint' on me, I'd pick him. He is so sweet. Whenever I'm on the computer he will crawl in my lap and just lay his head down on my arm. He is always in my room, sprawled across my bed. It's like he is my roommate. We share this bed, for the most part.&lt;br /&gt;Taz always follows me around the house too, well, when he isn't sleeping. Sometimes when I get home from school he runs in front of me and like leads me to my room and meows.&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes I picture that he's telling me about his day at home. Maybe about the bird that he almost killed today, or how he climbed a tree. So, when he leads me to my room he just jumps up on my bed and waits for me to put all my stuff down and then meows at me. I sit down and he attacks me with purring and nudging me to get me to pet him. Most. Adorable. Thing. Ever.&lt;br /&gt;Enough about me and my lil werewolf (:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, those of you who read my sister's blog, you know that Marie's husband has a Persian Blue too, Nala. Well, that's &lt;em&gt;his&lt;/em&gt; cat. His kid, basically. And Marie wants a cat. She wants one to imprint on her, but she has had no such luck. She got Omi, but that didn't really work out for her. Omi is more independent, I think.&lt;br /&gt;Well, while she was here, she kept telling the cats to come to her so she could pet them. Some would come to her, others wouldn't. She was kinda upset, "I just want to hug you!" she cried out.&lt;br /&gt;Finally she put her hand out and then Jeepers rubbed her head against it, "Awh you wanna get pet?" Jeepers meowed, and that's when Marie grabbed her by her little collar. "Don't leave me!" Jeepers then freaked out and tried to run away. It didn't work because, well, Marie had her trapped. She just wants &lt;strong&gt;love&lt;/strong&gt;..&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-1230795455213315702?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/1230795455213315702/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/11/kit-kit-kitty-kat.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/1230795455213315702'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/1230795455213315702'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/11/kit-kit-kitty-kat.html' title='Kit-kit-Kitty Kat'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-372405080664979830</id><published>2009-11-14T13:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-14T14:03:11.889-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Whatchu said!</title><content type='html'>Today has been a good day so far. Hung out with G and played some tennis. I've still got it (:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, while we were playing tennis &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Chaz&lt;/span&gt; decided to play too. He knocked one of the balls out and over the fence, and I didn't see where it went. It was near the trees somewhere, and he promised that he would go get it in a little while. So we kept playing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a little while this old man comes up to us, tennis ball in hand. He is smiling, "Hey, I think you're a ball short." he said while tossing it over the fence.&lt;br /&gt;I smiled at him, "Thanks."&lt;br /&gt;"No problem, darling." he replied and walked away.&lt;br /&gt;I love old people. They make me smile. I know sometimes it's awkward around them, but in general I love them. Older people are so cool to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They always have a story to tell or an opinion about something. I know sometimes they can be bitter, but they can have an attitude or be bitter, but they have a right. I mean, they are old! Give 'em a break people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, I also started thinking about how he called me 'darling'.&lt;br /&gt;I think that's the most adorable thing in the world. Old men still know what &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;chivalry&lt;/span&gt; is. Holding doors open for us, pulling our chairs out, calling us beautiful and other sweet nicknames instead of &lt;strong&gt;sexy &lt;/strong&gt;and &lt;strong&gt;hot&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;I wish more people were like that. Respectful and considerate. I don't mean just to women, but just to eachother in general. Guys, be &lt;em&gt;real &lt;/em&gt;men not some macho man. It's stupid. I think most girls would rather date a sweet guy rather than scum. Thank you very much.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-372405080664979830?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/372405080664979830/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/11/whatchu-said.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/372405080664979830'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/372405080664979830'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/11/whatchu-said.html' title='Whatchu said!'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-7763385567193222152</id><published>2009-11-12T13:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-12T14:07:39.293-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Fancy that</title><content type='html'>Facebook is taking over. It's so obvious. I hardly get on Myspace, and when I do it's to listen to music or something like that. Facebook really takes care of my 'talking' needs. I've realized that Facebook is more for the 'older kids'. I'm sure that a lot of middle schoolers and some Freshmen still think that Myspace is cool, but they too will conform and become a Facebooker. Just a matter of time. But there are a couple things that I don't like about Facebook.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One: &lt;strong&gt;Changes&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why must Facebook change so much? Right when people are getting a hang of the &lt;em&gt;new&lt;/em&gt; Facebook. It's like 'oh, I finally understand... wait, a NEW update?! Everything is gonna change.. &lt;strong&gt;again&lt;/strong&gt;?!" Yeah. Thanks Facebook for keeping us on our toes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two: &lt;strong&gt;Creepers&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Facebook is a little too open. You can see &lt;em&gt;everything&lt;/em&gt; about one person. I swear, at the rate Facebook will just have little cameras following you around that rec. everything you say and do. How about that, Facebook, you like that? Stalkerbook...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Three: &lt;strong&gt;Farmville&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate it, so much. If i get one more request about Farmville, or some gift from some random person I don't know I'll throw my computer out the window. It's so annoying.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Speaking of Farmville, today Marshall was trying to get me to play.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Come on Melissa. It's actually really fun." he smiled really big.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I shook my head, "No way, man. Farmville is so.. lame." I stated simply.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His face looked shocked, "Lame? Farmville? Naahh!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I laughed, "Farmville? Lame? Known fact."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"But, in Farmville you get to make money! And you can grow things and stuff. It's a lot of fun, and very addicting." he tried to convince me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Sorry, but I don't want to waste all my time on the computer 'farming' " I used my fingers as air quotations.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Plleeeaaseee! At least try it. You could be my neighbor! I could like," he paused, "fertilize your eggs and stuff." he begged.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I looked at him for a second, did he really just say what I think he said? His face looked innocent, he obviously didn't realize what he had just said. I began to laugh. Hard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What? What did I sa-" Then, realization spread across his face. His eyes getting wide, and his cheeks began to turn pink. "Oh my God. I'm so sorry Melissa. I- I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry!" his face looked alarmed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I sat there laughing, and tried to tell him to calm down. "Marshall, it's cool. I know you didn't mean it like... &lt;em&gt;that&lt;/em&gt;." He blushed at my words and I laughed some more. "Don't sweat it." I said finally.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things I really like:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Water&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hoodies&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Button down shirts&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;French&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Where the Wild Things Are&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Books&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pita chips&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hummus&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;French&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Carlos&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Doodling&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mustangs&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hats&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did I mention.. &lt;strong&gt;French&lt;/strong&gt;?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;u&gt;FRENCH&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want to learn this language so bad. I think that it's the sexiest language on the face of this planet. I just really enjoy it. It's beautiful,&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-7763385567193222152?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/7763385567193222152/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/11/fancy-that.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/7763385567193222152'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/7763385567193222152'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/11/fancy-that.html' title='Fancy that'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-9046556896364882879</id><published>2009-11-10T18:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-10T20:17:55.738-08:00</updated><title type='text'>True Story</title><content type='html'>Last Friday I went to the movies with a lot of friends, and it was really fun. We went to see Where the Wild Things Are. It was kind of weird at first. The kid was really mean and loud, and I was just really upset with that. I hate when kids are like that.&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, the kid, Max, was making up a story because his mom asked him to. It was about a beast or something that had vampire teeth, but then all the other vampire beasts broke his teeth. He was sad because he couldn't grow new ones. Those were his big vampire teeth. All the other vampire beasts left him because he wasn't like them anymore.&lt;br /&gt;I thought that was a very sad part of the movie, but Zach leans over and whispers&lt;br /&gt;"Vampire teeth don't break. Fact of &lt;strong&gt;life&lt;/strong&gt;." I looked over at him, and his face was serious. Then I thought about it...&lt;br /&gt;"That's so true.." I whispered back.&lt;br /&gt;He nodded while leaning back in his seat, "Fact of life." he said again.&lt;br /&gt;Made my night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, Where the Wild Things Are is a cute movie.&lt;br /&gt;My favorite quote was "I'll eat you up, I love you so."&lt;br /&gt;It's so cute. Me and Mara say it to eachother every night now. I know, we are lame, but still.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, that weekend I spent it all with Mara. Best. Weekend. Ever.&lt;br /&gt;I have to say that it was time well spent with her. I really do love this girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways. That weekend was just an all around good one.&lt;br /&gt;And today was a pretty good day at school. Marie picked me up and we got McDonalds after school. I love my sister (:&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-9046556896364882879?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/9046556896364882879/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/11/true-story.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/9046556896364882879'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/9046556896364882879'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/11/true-story.html' title='True Story'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-508305580296681496</id><published>2009-11-06T13:39:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-06T13:53:30.412-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Coolstorybro</title><content type='html'>My math teacher is probably the funniest guy I have ever met. He tells the funniest stories, and we think a lot alike. Our sense of humor is a lot a like, so obviously we get along. He thinks he is cool, and actually, I think he is too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, it was day light savings earlier this week, and he didn't change the clock in his room yet. It read an hour ahead the actual time, obviously. He was telling us how in all his other classes people would tell him that his clock was messed up, and he would always say 'Yes I know' and move on. I mean, how hard could it be to just subtract an hour? Not hard at all. I mean, come on people, simple math.&lt;br /&gt;Well, Coach D just got done teaching a lesson. He asked if anyone had any questions, and someone raised their hand.&lt;br /&gt;"Yes?" he asked the girl a couple rows away from me.&lt;br /&gt;We all turned to look at her and she was starting at the clock. "Your clock is an hour fast..." she said finally.&lt;br /&gt;Coach looked at her for a second then walked over to the clock. He looked at it for a second and then raised both his hands in front of it and messed it up. He turned the hands and just basically destryoed it.&lt;br /&gt;He turned around and looked dead at her, "Now what time is it?" his face straight?&lt;br /&gt;She opened her mouth to answer, but he stopped her. "You know, all you had to do was subtract an hour. One hour! Now you don't know what time it is at all. Good job, kid."&lt;br /&gt;He turned back to the board and started erasing it.&lt;br /&gt;Favorite. Teacher. Ever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later on in his class we smelled fish frying. I'm used to it, of course, but everyone else in the room started freaking out. The seniors were having a fish fry, and their courtyard is right outside our windows. Now, fair warning, I'm perverted...&lt;br /&gt;"Gross, what is that smell?" I heard many girls saying.&lt;br /&gt;Everyone started sniffing around, but most of us ignored it. One girl kept going on and on about how bad it smelled.&lt;br /&gt;"What is that?" she whined. "It smells sooo bad!"&lt;br /&gt;I rolled my eyes, "Then stop breathing." I muttered under my breath.&lt;br /&gt;"Ewh! It smells like &lt;em&gt;fish&lt;/em&gt;!" she cried.&lt;br /&gt;"Then close your legs." I said without skipping a beat. Everyone around me started laughing and smiled at me. She didn't hear, thank goodness.&lt;br /&gt;Insulting from afar (: Win.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-508305580296681496?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/508305580296681496/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/11/coolstorybro.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/508305580296681496'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/508305580296681496'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/11/coolstorybro.html' title='Coolstorybro'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-7334063186147550338</id><published>2009-11-04T17:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-04T18:17:43.345-08:00</updated><title type='text'>November!</title><content type='html'>Random things in my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Uno. There is a girl at my school who always calls me Michelle. I met her at a Filipino party awhile ago, and back in middle school she used to know my real name. I don't know what happened, but somehow Melissa changed into Michelle. I have no clue.&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, she's an office helper, and my mom had to drop off my notebook because I left it at home. I got called to the office to pick it up, and she was sitting in there.&lt;br /&gt;"Hey, I'm here to pick up my notebook." I said while looking at the lady at the desk.&lt;br /&gt;"Melissa McKinney?" she asked. I nodded and she pointed to a notebook sitting on a table. I thanked her and then grabbed the notebook. Meanwhile the girl I was talking about earlier gets up to walk me to the door.&lt;br /&gt;"That was your mom?" she asked.&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah." I said while opening the door for us.&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, so you're Michelle McKinney. Cool!" she walks past me and I stare after her with a shocked expression. The lady at the desk even said my name. On the freakin' binder there is a post it note that says MELISSA MCKINNEY on it! Why does she keep calling me Michelle?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two. My mom's laptop has a webcam on it. I was on Yahoo talking to Carlos, and  got on cam. While we were talking I was writing something and he asked if I was left handed. I told him no, and held up my right hand with the pen in it. He proceeded to tell me that it was my &lt;em&gt;left&lt;/em&gt; hand that I was holding up. I was confused because that was most deffinitley my &lt;em&gt;right&lt;/em&gt; hand. We began to argue back and fourth about which was which. Finally I realized that I had the camera set to 'mirror image'. I clicked the button again, and  flipped sides. We laughed about it.&lt;br /&gt;"I thought I was going crazy!"&lt;br /&gt;Hahaha, I love this guy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3hree. I got a haircut today, and it costed about 20 bucks. When we were driving away my mom went on to tell me how in the Phillipines a haircut would only cost 2 dollars.&lt;br /&gt;"And it's not some cheap haircut either!" she tried to explain.&lt;br /&gt;"Oh yeah?"&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah! They shampoo it and like.. massage your head. It's great." she smiled.&lt;br /&gt;I laughed a little, "Wow, that's really cool Mom."&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah! And the shampoo guys are gay. The gays do it good!"&lt;br /&gt;I almost cried from laughing.  Thank you Mom for making me the happiest girl ever. I love you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-7334063186147550338?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/7334063186147550338/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/11/november.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/7334063186147550338'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/7334063186147550338'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/11/november.html' title='November!'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-1204928356664833300</id><published>2009-11-03T17:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-03T17:57:52.197-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Monster</title><content type='html'>My mom is a clean freak. She hates when the house is messy, so, naturally, all she does is clean. Oh, and read her Bible. That's about it. Well, my mom always tries to find new things that will clean better. The swiffer. All these other sprays and stuff. Well, usually she just kinda gives up on things, or never buys more supplies for them. Well, my sister got her those Mr. Clean Magic Erasers, and let me tell you.. She is in &lt;strong&gt;love&lt;/strong&gt; with that thing! The first time she tried it she was amazed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was sitting in my room when I heard my mom call my name, "Melissa! Come here, look!" she shouted.&lt;br /&gt;I walked down the hall towards her voice and her soft laughter, "What?" I asked while searching for her.&lt;br /&gt;She was sitting on the floor with one of those Magic Erasers with a look of pure joy on her face. "Look how clean the kitchen is!" she stated.&lt;br /&gt;I looked around at all the cabinets and then at the refridgerator, "Wow. Nice." I commented with not even half of her enthusiasm.&lt;br /&gt;"I know! Watch." she instructed me. She then began to scrub at another cabinet door. It worked wonders, and the cabinet door was clean in no time. It was really white, and my mom just got giddy all over again. "See!"&lt;br /&gt;I nodded my head, "Wow, that's really cool. Is that one of those Mr. Clean Magic Erasers?" I asked her nonchalantly. I figured that she had picked these up on her own.&lt;br /&gt;"They have a name?! Marie only gave me one.." her brow furrowed like a little girls.&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, well I'm sure they have more at WalMart." I said happily.&lt;br /&gt;Her eyes lit up, "Oh yeah! I'll need to go get some more..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next day at WalMart she sends me on a mission. Find those 'magic thingys'. Yes ma'am! I go to the cleaning aisle and I see them almost right away. A pack of four. This should do. I grab it and go back to my mom, "Only four?" she asks.&lt;br /&gt;"Uh, yeah..." I say while glancing at the box. "I thought that it would be enough." I tried to validate myself.&lt;br /&gt;"Were there any bigger packs?" she asked.&lt;br /&gt;I tried to remember if I saw any packs that were bigger, "No." I said simply.&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, alright. That's just enough for everyone in the house then." she dropped them in the cart and walked away. Everyone in the house? She has gone mad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once we get home she busts the bad boys out and starts cleaning &lt;em&gt;everything&lt;/em&gt;. I laugh and go in my room. I come back out awhile later and she is cleaning the &lt;em&gt;wall&lt;/em&gt;. Marie, do you see what you have created? She was cleaning the &lt;strong&gt;WALL&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-1204928356664833300?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/1204928356664833300/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/11/monster.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/1204928356664833300'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/1204928356664833300'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/11/monster.html' title='Monster'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-3562898726274775657</id><published>2009-11-02T16:38:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-02T16:55:53.281-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Fights</title><content type='html'>I really dislike fighting, espically physical fights. They make me nervous for them, and I &lt;strong&gt;really&lt;/strong&gt; don't like them if one of the participants is someone that I care about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So on my A Days me and G changed tables, but the girls that sat with us before followed us. It's not a big deal, but the people we are sittig with now are getting annoyed. All the seats are taken by the time they get there, and I mean, it was &lt;em&gt;their&lt;/em&gt; table first. Now, some people from that table have to sit at the one behind us. I feel bad, but yeah.&lt;br /&gt;Some of the people me and G talk to there are Steestee. I've known him since about 6th or 7th grade. We got pretty close once we got into highschool. Now, Steestee doesn't get mad often. I never see him get that upset really, and that's kinda surprising. He just kinda goes with the flow.&lt;br /&gt;Well, today at lunch my table and the table behind us, people that &lt;em&gt;used&lt;/em&gt; to sit at this table, were throwing food at eachother.  First it was just balled up knapkins. Then it was french fries. Then bread. Pizza crusts. Pickles. Then, pears. It was like the wet mushy kind. It was gross, but they were throwing it. G and I were staying out of it but still laughed none the less.&lt;br /&gt;Once someone from my table threw a pear and hit Chaz in the head it got pretty intense. Chaz came to the end of our table and was asking who threw it. Now, Steestee alreadt doesn't like Chaz, so he threw a pizza crust as him. Chaz got whatever food was near him and threw it back. Steestee gets up and walks around the table towards Chaz. Chaz is walking away, but you can tell on Steestee's face he is genuinly upset. Once he circles around he is infront of me, and I put my hand out to him to stop him from getting to Chaz. "Stephen, stop.." I try to sooth him, "it's not a big deal."&lt;br /&gt;Me and G are kind of scared. It just got really intense. Since I'm sitting down my arm wraps around his stomach, but he grabs my arm and squeezes it. It hurt, really bad. I flinch away, and he lets go. He says sorry, and then sits back down. Chaz is giving him mean looks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See, fights are bad. I just wish people would let them end like Steestee did. I hate that tension, it makes me really nervous.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-3562898726274775657?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/3562898726274775657/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/11/fights.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/3562898726274775657'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/3562898726274775657'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/11/fights.html' title='Fights'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-6011865312428130440</id><published>2009-11-01T15:31:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-01T15:45:19.826-08:00</updated><title type='text'>What's the story, morning glory?</title><content type='html'>My mom likes to shop. A lot. She asked me if I wanted to go to WalMart with her today, and of course I accepted. We were getting ready to leave when my mom walks in her room and sighs. She looks at her bed and then back at me, "I need new pillow cacses." she states.&lt;br /&gt;I look at her, "Why?" I asked.&lt;br /&gt;"Because, they don't match my covers." she whines.&lt;br /&gt;I laugh, "Mom, why don't you use your &lt;em&gt;old &lt;/em&gt;covers that you got during summer? I don't even see why you bought that red one." I say while sitting on her bed.  "It's not even as soft as the blue one." I say.&lt;br /&gt;She looks away from me, "But.."&lt;br /&gt;I start to laugh again, "Mom, you have a problem. You don't even &lt;strong&gt;need&lt;/strong&gt; half of this crap!"&lt;br /&gt;Se starts laughing too, "Ugh! Melang! Yes I do!" she tries to sway me, but I stand firm.&lt;br /&gt;"No, Mom."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She gives up and we leave for WalMart, but once we get there she is talking about her pillow cases again.&lt;br /&gt;She cleverly directs the cart to where they keep these things, and starts to examine them. "They are soo soft!" she says finally.&lt;br /&gt;I look over at her and see her putting the pillow case packages in the cart, "Mom! No!" I run back to her. "You don't need this!" I state.&lt;br /&gt;"Mellanng, yes I do!" she is pleading.&lt;br /&gt;I start to pull the cart away from her, and she cries out for me to stop. I'm chanting 'no way' under my breath. I'm sure people are stopping and staring to see this show down between us, but I don't care. If I didn't stop her now she would more than likely buy a whole new bed!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally I give in and let her put the pillow cases in the cart, but I know that by the end of this little trip she will have returned them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guess what...&lt;br /&gt;I was right. (:&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-6011865312428130440?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/6011865312428130440/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/11/whats-story-morning-glory.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/6011865312428130440'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/6011865312428130440'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/11/whats-story-morning-glory.html' title='What&apos;s the story, morning glory?'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-4147120389136084115</id><published>2009-10-31T12:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-31T12:39:20.564-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ice Skating</title><content type='html'>I remember the first time I ever went ice skating it was with my older sister and her friends, all three of them. Just kidding Marie, I know you had more friends than that. So, the first time I went ice skating I was excited. I thought that I was going to be a pro the second I walked out on the ice. Well, I was wrong. Dead wrong. I laced up my skates and walked out on the ice. First step, not so bad. Second step, hold crap what have I gotten myself into? I was scared crapless and held onto the side of the wall. I clung to it like it was life support or something. I looked around for my sister and her friends, and to my surprise they were basically doing the same thing infront of me. Marie was holding onto the side too, lauging. That was te difference between me and Marie. She was &lt;em&gt;laughing &lt;/em&gt;and i was &lt;em&gt;crying&lt;/em&gt;. I caught up with them and they were all asking me what was wrong.&lt;br /&gt;"I'm scared." I told tem between gasps of breath.&lt;br /&gt;My sister comforted me, "Oh, it's okay kid."&lt;br /&gt;I looked at her for a second, still not really sure, "But.." I looked out at the ice. Everyone else looked like pros, why not me?&lt;br /&gt;She stood straight up, "Hey, listen to me," I looked at her again, "Don't worry. Just throw your hands in the air! And wave 'em like you just don't care!" she then began to do a little dance while still keeping a cautious and near the side of the rink.&lt;br /&gt;I rolled my eyes at her, "Marie.."&lt;br /&gt;"No, really! Try it!" she kept doing her dance.&lt;br /&gt;I then cautiously let go of the side of the rink and did the dance with her. Lifting my arms in the air. I smiled and laughed, and then sooner than you think I wasn't scared anymore.&lt;br /&gt;How awesome is she? Loads, that's how much. After this little pep  talk I was out there skating and not scared anymore. It was great.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-4147120389136084115?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/4147120389136084115/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/10/ice-skating.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/4147120389136084115'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/4147120389136084115'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/10/ice-skating.html' title='Ice Skating'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-3603053864608392190</id><published>2009-10-30T21:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-30T22:01:02.192-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Orchestra and Freshmen.</title><content type='html'>Communitychannel- Natalie.&lt;br /&gt;She is the most adorable Asian ever. She has an Australlian accent and she is super funny. In a way she reminds me of myself. She makes a lot of 'your mom' jokes and all that jazz. Also, she just talks abot random things but yet they are things that &lt;em&gt;all &lt;/em&gt;of us notice. Check her out, I swear you won't regret it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another thing, check my sister's blog out. She is super cute and funny too. She is like a less cool me. Just kidding Marie, you're pretty cool too!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think America is confused. They make everyone believe that the cool people in school are the cheerleaders and jocks. Sure, some of them are pretty decent people, but how many of them have a cool personality? A handful, &lt;em&gt;maybe&lt;/em&gt;. The real cool people are the 'losers'. The kids in the band and orchestra. Like me, for example. I'm in the orchestra, and I have met the coolest people at school in that class. Everyone is so down to earth and amazingly funny. Try having a class of about 20 kids or more, all of them have pretty great personalities and great senses of humor. That's orchestra. The best class, ever. That is where I got my pervertedness.&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, earlier this week we had a sub in that class. Now, you can't leave these 20some kids alone without a responsible adult. An adult that knows us and knows what kid of crap we get ourselves into. So, when The Burton was gone we had fun (:&lt;br /&gt;The band and orchestra share the band room. It's fairly big, so it's cool. Now, they also have color guard stuff. So, they have all those cool props like fake guns and swords. Orchestra took full advantage of these things.&lt;br /&gt;We acted out Call of Duty 4 that day. It. Was. Epic. We were making gun shots and everything. Barrel rolls and army crawls, it was crazy. People were throwing half opened water bottles as 'bombs'. If you had walked in on this I promise you would've been slightly scared and probably really jealous.&lt;br /&gt;Then again, everyone gets those feelings when they see us. We are kinda a big deal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So yeah, as you can tell, orchestra is great.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and another thing.. Freshmen.&lt;br /&gt;Stop thinking that you are cool just because you are standing with us in the stands on Friday nights during football games. You aren't cool, and I promise you that. I've always hated freshmen, even when &lt;em&gt;I &lt;/em&gt;was a freshman.&lt;br /&gt;So, Thursday night we had a football game because Friday was a galf day. I guess that somehow messed up the football schedual. So, anyways, these FRESHMEN girls come and sit right behind me. Not to mention they are on the wrong side of the field. They are from the &lt;strong&gt;other&lt;/strong&gt; team. Why on earth would people from the other team come sit on &lt;em&gt;our&lt;/em&gt; side. It's still beyond me as to what they were thinking. Even I wasn't as stupid as them when I was a freshman.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-3603053864608392190?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/3603053864608392190/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/10/orchestra-and-freshmen.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/3603053864608392190'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/3603053864608392190'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/10/orchestra-and-freshmen.html' title='Orchestra and Freshmen.'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-5745427244997130997</id><published>2009-10-28T14:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-28T14:54:15.362-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I hate me.</title><content type='html'>I've been messing up a lot lately.&lt;br /&gt;I don't see why you're still around.&lt;br /&gt;Why you haven't given up on me yet.&lt;br /&gt;I'm just a lost cause, something that will just dissapoint you in the end.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But still, I'm sorry. I know it won't make anything better, and you'll still be more than mad at me. I just wish that I could take everything back I ever said or did. Just go back to the first day we met.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate myself now, and I can't stop crying. I feel like a total baby. I can't even eat. Hah, yeah, I hate my life when you're mad at me. I hate myself when you hate me. I hate my very being.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;It's not over tonight&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Just give me one more chance to make it right&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;I may not make it through the night&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;I won't go home without you&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-5745427244997130997?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/5745427244997130997/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/10/i-hate-me.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/5745427244997130997'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/5745427244997130997'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/10/i-hate-me.html' title='I hate me.'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-24538525996951865</id><published>2009-10-24T22:04:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-24T22:13:48.721-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Today</title><content type='html'>Overall: Fucking Awful.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-24538525996951865?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/24538525996951865/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/10/today_24.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/24538525996951865'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/24538525996951865'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/10/today_24.html' title='Today'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-4850519508837246473</id><published>2009-10-22T15:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-22T15:49:09.913-07:00</updated><title type='text'>mylifeisaverage.com</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;Go to it, NOW!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;"Today, I was bored in my health class. I wondered to myself, "I wonder if anyone really can read minds." I then thought to myself, "Hey! If anyone in this room can read minds, cough now!" The kid next to me caughed the looked over at me and smiled. I'm scared. MLIA."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;"Today, I was pulled over for going 17 mph over the speed limit. The cop was asking me routine questions about what might be in my car, and when he asked me if I had any weapons I informed him that I had two Nerf swords in my trunk. The police officer laughed, and proceeded to challenge me to a duel for the ticket. Guess who got off with a warning? MLIA."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Today it was wacky Wednesday for my school’s homecoming week. I had been seriously doubting my school’s creativity until a group of Tetris pieces passed by at lunch followed by a group of Pacman ghosts and a Pacman. What made it even better was that the Pacman group proceeded to use the lunch tables as barriers and play life-sized Pacman with each other. I think I have found the cool groups at my school. MLIA.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;Nikki said this sounded like me;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;"A few days ago I was getting ready to leave Starbucks with my girlfriend when she started putting on my dark thin gloves. I asked her if it was really that cold outside that she needed them. She replied, "no but they make me feel like an assassin." I feel like I've chosen the right girl. MLIA"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Today my little sister came in to show me her new shoes. They were Hanna Montana which I thought was odd because she doesn't like her. She then took off her shoe and showed me Hanna Montana's face on the sole. And said "now I can walk on her face all day!" I love my little sister. MLIA&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Today, I watched a freshman fall down the stairs, and then land with an air guitar and a knee slide, and walk away like nothing happened. That kid is going places. MLIA.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Today, I was riding the bus. I looked out the window only to see an old man viciously stabbing a pumpkin. When he saw th&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;e bus pass, he stopped and waved. MLIA&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Today, in my college class, my professor's computer wasn't turning on. Suddenly, a boy in the front row yelled "It needs your help! Clap your hands if you believe!" The entire 300 person lecture started applauding and then the computer turned on. MLIA&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Today we were having a meeting at work about customer service. My manager said "We have to get on top of our customers and show them a good time." I was the only one who busted out laughing. MILA&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Today, my brother had tons of animal crackers on the floor looking through them. I asked him what he was doing and he replied, "The box says you can't eat them if the seal is broken. I'm looking for the seal." I have high hopes for him. MLIA.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Today, during my University lecture for English, the lecturer decided to split the class up into people who liked Harry Potter and those who liked Twilight. To no one's surprise all the guys were on the Harry Potter side and all the girls on the Twilight side, except for one guy. I asked him why he would do something so degrading. His response: "To meet chicks". Why didn't I think of that? MLIA&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Today I was thirsty, so I walked to the fridge to get a glass of cold water. When I pulled the pitcher out, I realized it was empty. Angry, I said, "Who the hell puts the empty pitcher back in the fridge?". Then I realized I live alone. MLIA&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Today I was shoe shopping when I saw two little old ladies looking at sandals. One picked up a pair and said "these would be great for the summer if you live that long." At least she has a plan. MLIA.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Today, I was walking home from school with a guy I kind of like. I eyed a really crunchy looking leaf a few feet in front of us. He was just about to jump on it, when he saw my disappointed face, then said 'Ladies first' and let me step on it. I wish there were more gentlemen like this. MLIA&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;A few days ago, after finishing the PSATs early, I typed into my calculator "Hello, Harry Potter. My name is Tom Riddle." I turned it on today in class and proceeded to freak out. Bravo, old self. Bravo. MLIA&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Today, my some of my friends and I were listening to "Don't Trust Me" by 3OH!3. I pointed out that if I were Helen Keller, I would be kind of offended by it. My friend pointed out that if I were Helen Keller, I wouldn't be able to hear it. MLIA&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Today, I went into a haunted house. They had told us earlier that one of the rules was "You can't touch them, and they can't touch you." While we were walking through, a zombie man got INCHES away from me. My first response? "CANT TOUCH THIS! NA NA NA NA NA NA NA!" That's the first time I have ever seen a zombie smile. MLIA&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Yesterday, a boy in my math class who is also my neighbor, was sick, and not at school. I was assigned to give him his math homework. I did. This morning in band, he said, rather loudly, "Thanks for last night." The faces were priceless. MLIA&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Today, I was walking to class when I walked passed a sign on the ground written in chalk saying "Ninja Turtles Recruitment: Hand in Resume Here" and an arrow pointed to a sewer cover on the ground. I wanted to apply. MLIA&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Today, I decided that since my husband reads MLIA everyday while he's deployed overseas that I would use it to tell him some big news. So, Todd Williams, you're gonna be a Daddy. Love, Leigha. MLIA&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Today, I found out that I'm gonna be a daddy by reading MLIA. I love you. Love, Todd. MLIA&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;Me, again;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Today, my work installed fingerprint readers to clock in for work. I now feel like a secret agent, and I have never been more excited to go to work tomorrow. MLIA&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Today, my Spanish teacher was taking roll. To be funny he put "mister" or "master" in front of our names. This pattern stopped when he accidentally called guy with the last name of Bates "Master Bates." I love Spanish class. MLIA&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Today, my mom got an email from my aunt that said after she took my little cousin to see Where the Wild Things Are my cousin turned to her and said very seriously, "Mommy, I want to be a horny beast for halloween." My brother didnt know why we were laughing so hard. MLIA&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Today, my best friend (I'm a girl and he's a guy) informed me that the reason we are friends is because when we were in kindergarten, he saw me somersault behind three pillars and into the bathroom at my school very quickly. He was convinced I was a ninja going to fulfill my duties. I think I'm going to marry this guy. MLIA.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Today on campus I saw a person dressed as scissors, a rock, and paper. The person dressed as the rock proceeded to run across the field and tackle the scissors. It was the most epic game of rock, paper, scissors I have ever seen. MLIA&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Today, my english teacher realized that he can turn the light projector used for presentations around the room. He spent the rest of the period blinding anyone who got a question wrong. MLIA.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Today, I was in my first period math class. My phone started ringing and my teacher asked me who it was. When I told him it was my friend he said me "Doesn't you're friend know that you're in class right now?" I said "Yes, but he's just trying to get me in trouble." My teacher looked at me and asked "Wanna get him back?" He told me to give him my friend's number and he proceeded to write it on the board. Then he assigned everyone a period and time to call my friend. I don't think my friend will be calling me when I'm in class anymore. MLIA&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Today, I went outside to get the newspaper while wearing my leopard print snuggie. At the same time, my 20 year-old neighbor walked out to get something from his car. He was wearing a zebra print snuggie. I have the best neighbors. MLIA&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Today, my 10 year old daughter had an earache and wanted a painkiller. She tried in vain to take the lid off the bottle. Seeing her frustration, my wife explained it was a childproof cap and she'd have to open it for her. Eyes wide with wonder, the little girl asked: "How does it know it's me?" I hope my daughter is book smart. MLIA&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-4850519508837246473?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/4850519508837246473/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/10/mylifeisaveragecom.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/4850519508837246473'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/4850519508837246473'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/10/mylifeisaveragecom.html' title='mylifeisaverage.com'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-5393988681522722604</id><published>2009-10-21T20:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-21T20:41:49.115-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Butterfly</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Curl your upper lip up and let me look around&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Ride your tongue along your bottom lip and bite down&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;And bend your back and ask those hips if I can touch&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Cause they're the perfect jumping off point&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Getting closer to your butterfly&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Mr. AZ&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;My mom wants me to get braces, but Doctor Hunter said I didn't need them. In your face! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;I'm so happy. I really didn't want braces. Not that they aren't cool or anything, just not something I really want. Although, if I did get some, I know  what colors I'd get! Black and green. I would be pretty beastin'. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Anywows, truthboxes.. wow. I have gotten a lot lately. Carlos isn't too happy about them, and well, I don't blame him. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;He says he will beat them up, but I won't let him. He knows the rules; no fighting. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Well I don't really have much to talk about tonight.. I keep getting side tracked. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;I listened to a lot of Maroon 5 and Jason Mraz today. Carlos and I don't have the same taste in music. It's kinda sad, but we can't have &lt;em&gt;everything&lt;/em&gt; in common. That would get boring fast haha. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Well, bye kidddies (;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-5393988681522722604?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/5393988681522722604/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/10/butterfly.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/5393988681522722604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/5393988681522722604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/10/butterfly.html' title='Butterfly'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-6966421183098599562</id><published>2009-10-20T14:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-20T14:46:50.056-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Favorite and Dentist</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Me:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;my mom just called me boobie girl. wtf&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Ian:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;i think thats a really cool nickname.&lt;br /&gt;can i call you that?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I spent the night with G last night. It was a lot of fun. We watched 300, epic, and then talked a lot. Me and her could talk for hours. In fact, we did. We were up pretty late just talking and laughing our butts off. We talked about people in our class, and just drama at school. It was fun. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Once we woke up this morning I had to call my mom to get picked up right away. I had a dentist appointment. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;So we go to this dentist appointment and it's my turn to go in there right away. I follow the lady to the back of the room and my palms start to sweat. I hate the dentist. I always have and I always will, more than likely. I always get nervous when I go. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;So, I'm back there and shes working on my teeth, it's just a clean up I get twice a year. So while I'm laying there, both her hands in my mouth, she asks me questions. Why do dentists insits on asking questions while they are working on me? And it's not like they are easy 'yes' and 'no' questions. They are questions I actually need to talk to answer. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;"So, what grade are you in now?" she asked me. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I think for a second, what am I supposed to do? I can't say tenth grade when she is working on me, so I wait. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;"Hm?" she asked again. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I look at her, seriously? "Tenth," I try to say but fail horribly. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;"Oh!" she removes her hands, "What was that, sweetie?" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;"Tenth." I say more clearly.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;This went on and on, each question requiring more than a grunt : &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Well, other than that my day was pretty good. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I cleaned my room today, and it took about on hour. I organized all my cothes, and I'm getting rid of a lot of them. I have noticed that most of the only shirts that I have left are graphic tees! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Well, today my mom was pretty freaking funny.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;We were talking about favorites, and I think my sister is her favorite by faarr!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;"Why?!" she asked harshly.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;"Because! You always want to hang out with Marie. You are always calling Marie. You are always shopping for Marie. Marie, Marie, Marie!" I said while laughing.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;She shook her head, "No! I don't have a favorite." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;"Mom, when we go shopping, just the two of us, you always ask if &lt;em&gt;Marie&lt;/em&gt; would like this dress or this shirt. You make me try stuff on to see if it would fit &lt;em&gt;Marie &lt;/em&gt;properly." By the way, I don't see how me trying on clothes will help her see how it will fit on Marie. Marie and I have totally different body shapes. For instance, she is tall. I'm not. I have boobs, she doesn't. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Anyways, she still hasn't confesed to Marie being her favorite, but I know. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Atleast I'm my dad's favorite (;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;(My parents don't really have favorite, we know this. But I do. &lt;strong&gt;My favorite is Carlos (;&lt;/strong&gt; )&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-6966421183098599562?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/6966421183098599562/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/10/me-my-mom-just-called-me-boobie-girl.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/6966421183098599562'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/6966421183098599562'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/10/me-my-mom-just-called-me-boobie-girl.html' title='Favorite and Dentist'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-4072497432804816875</id><published>2009-10-18T18:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-18T18:15:43.590-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Today</title><content type='html'>Was really boring. Didn't talk to Carlos much, so that was a bit depressing.&lt;br /&gt;I got some new pjs. They have white cats on them with pink bows. I feel like a little kid. I'm so wearing these when I go to Gabby's house! I have a feeling that she will be very jealous.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well today I slept a lot. Being sick makes me very lazy and sleepy. I took a very long nap so that means I'll be up fairly late. Doesn't exactly matter becaue I'm on Fall Break!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Funny think my mom said today;&lt;br /&gt;She walks in, "Where have you been?" I asked while examining the bag she held in her hands.&lt;br /&gt;"Mexican bakery." she stated.&lt;br /&gt;"Mexican bakery?" I asked with a laugh.&lt;br /&gt;She nodded, "Mhm."&lt;br /&gt;"Why not the American bakery?" I joked.&lt;br /&gt;"...I don't think we have those anymore." her face serious.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We live in lil Mexico, for sure.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-4072497432804816875?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/4072497432804816875/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/10/today.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/4072497432804816875'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/4072497432804816875'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/10/today.html' title='Today'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-2006293331593224513</id><published>2009-10-17T17:29:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-17T17:34:23.980-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Radio Radio</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;"I can't believe the radio is playing this song.."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;"Oh my god! Are you serious?! I knew this band and now everyone loves them!"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;"I knew them before they were popular."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I'm done with getting upset about my 'little known' bands getting discovered. I mean, yeah it's nice knowing these people before they are all nice and popular, but I think that we should be happy for them. Happy that their songs are being liked by people all over. That their talent is being recognized. Their whole goal is to make music and for people to hear it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I don't get why we get upset when others start to listen to them. It's helping their career! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;This was just a random thought while I was listening to the radio. I'm going to stop getting mad at these radio stations for playing these bands, but applaud them. You obviously have good taste in music too!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-2006293331593224513?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/2006293331593224513/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/10/radio-radio.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/2006293331593224513'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/2006293331593224513'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/10/radio-radio.html' title='Radio Radio'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-3787471352038837671</id><published>2009-10-16T17:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-16T17:45:36.956-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My cats</title><content type='html'>My cats are the most loving cats you'll ever meet. They are such sweethearts. Sometimes they can get annoying, but I think it's just because we can't take this much love. These cats always make me happy, no matter how much they annoy me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Taz, my favorite, is with me right now while I write this blog. He is the softest cat, &lt;em&gt;ever&lt;/em&gt;. He is so cute and sweet too! Whenever I'm on the computer he will sit in my lap and then lay his head on my hands. His head his kinda bobs up and down as I type. It's cute. He always wants to be pet and loved on. He will rub his head on yor legs as you walk, and you'll more than likely trip. It will annoy you but will also put a huge smile on your face. Taz is always so happy. You just look at him and he starts purring.&lt;br /&gt;Taz has two brothers and three sisters. Mara, one of my bestfriends, has one of his sisters. Her name is Duck.&lt;br /&gt;Duck is the most spastic cat. She is dumb. She eats human food. Mara and I think that she is really a dog at heart.&lt;br /&gt;She is also one of my other favorite cats, eventhough she isn't really &lt;em&gt;my &lt;/em&gt;cat anymore. Duck runs into walls and sleeps under lights. She is so cute. She looks exactly like Taz but smaller. She was like the runt of the litter. Her and Mara clicked fast. They are just alike (:&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-3787471352038837671?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/3787471352038837671/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/10/my-cats.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/3787471352038837671'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/3787471352038837671'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/10/my-cats.html' title='My cats'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-1143547050777881245</id><published>2009-10-14T19:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-14T19:35:17.809-07:00</updated><title type='text'>School.</title><content type='html'>I like when we don't do anything in class.&lt;br /&gt;It's really fun (:&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-1143547050777881245?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/1143547050777881245/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/10/school.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/1143547050777881245'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/1143547050777881245'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/10/school.html' title='School.'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-6041062206039058623</id><published>2009-10-13T15:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-13T15:33:54.971-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hmm</title><content type='html'>I love Carlos, a lot.&lt;br /&gt;(;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-6041062206039058623?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/6041062206039058623/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/10/hmm.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/6041062206039058623'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/6041062206039058623'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/10/hmm.html' title='Hmm'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-8220053914906252467</id><published>2009-10-12T13:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-12T14:03:25.008-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Twilight</title><content type='html'>The classic love story. The perfect, yet so totally misunderstood, boy falls for the sweet innocent girl. She loves him too, and it's all basically perfect for them. Besides the few mishaps that happen along the way, that is. But even then, everything works out in the end.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Twilight, Edward is a vampire that is in love with Bella, a normal human. Now, in the first book another vampire that's obsessed with the hunt tracks Bella. Edward and his 'family' all help out, and of course it all works out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This basically happens again over in the second, third, and fourth book. Don't get me wrong, I loved the books, but why do people always write like this? Write so that there's a happy ending? Everyone knows that in the end our lives won't end up like that. This isn't a fairy tale, and I don't know why people always try to trick us into thinking otherwise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In real life, stuff like this doesn't happen. You more than likely won't find the love of your life your junior year of high school. You won't have this amazing boyfriend that won't screw up. Things will happen, and you more than likely won't have some miraculous solution to the problem. That's just how life is. Tough, I know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, the whole point I was even writing this blog was to make a little fun of those Twi-hards, people who are overly in love with Twilight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the book, Bella is Edward's 'singer'. It means that her blood smells &lt;em&gt;extra&lt;/em&gt; good to him. It &lt;em&gt;sings&lt;/em&gt; to him, if you will. Now, Marie and I were talking one day about what a vampire would think what&lt;em&gt; &lt;/em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;we &lt;/strong&gt;would smell like, stupid I know. Anyways, so we go to thinking..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were going to write a book about how to make yor blood smell better. How to become &lt;em&gt;Edward's &lt;/em&gt;singer, every girl wouldn't mind if Edward took a little sip of their blood.&lt;br /&gt;So we got to talking and decided that we were going to make it all up. Tell these girls reading the book to eat the nastiest foods. To do the most ridiculious things, just so their blood would smell better. HAH!&lt;br /&gt;We were going to become millionairs because I know for a fact that girls all over the United States would be eating this crap up! Pun intended (:&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-8220053914906252467?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/8220053914906252467/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/10/twilight.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/8220053914906252467'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/8220053914906252467'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/10/twilight.html' title='Twilight'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-4247474636863320376</id><published>2009-10-07T19:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-07T19:40:07.163-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh my</title><content type='html'>Today was a fairly good day. Nothing went wrong, but nothing went amazing.&lt;br /&gt;My friend, Sam, is in the hospital again.&lt;br /&gt;Lee made me laugh a lot today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ms. Marcia wants to see you and Jamie later." Lee said to Jamie and I.&lt;br /&gt;"Ms. Marcia?" I asked.&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah, the one that dances and stuff." he replied.&lt;br /&gt;"Are you sure?" I asked. Ms.Marcia wouldn't usually have a need to talk to me.&lt;br /&gt;"No Melissa, I'm lying to you." his face serious.&lt;br /&gt;I start to laugh, "Well-" he cuts me off.&lt;br /&gt;"No, I just decided 'hey lets lie to Melissa! Hm, but what should I say?'" he started laughing too.&lt;br /&gt;" 'Hm, lets see. Lets just pull it outta my ass! Lie to her about Ms.Marcia, yeah sounds like a winner!' "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hahaha ohh man.&lt;br /&gt;I was rolling.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-4247474636863320376?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/4247474636863320376/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/10/oh-my.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/4247474636863320376'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/4247474636863320376'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/10/oh-my.html' title='Oh my'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-7027843004116217842</id><published>2009-10-04T16:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-04T16:15:12.866-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Rain Rain..</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;Rain Rain Go Away. Come Again Another Day.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Today is Sunday. It rained. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Nothing special. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;We went out to eat after church, and my dad wasn't acting very Christian like. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;He got really upset with the waitors D;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-7027843004116217842?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/7027843004116217842/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/10/rain-rain.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/7027843004116217842'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/7027843004116217842'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/10/rain-rain.html' title='Rain Rain..'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-4111810032528763281</id><published>2009-10-03T08:25:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-03T08:36:39.949-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It's October.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;"Look for the girl with the broken smile, and ask her if she wants to stay awhile. And she will be loved."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I love Maroon 5&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;It has been awhile since I have posted. That whole 'I'm going to post everyday!' thing didn't last long, go figure. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I think I have a problem. I can't commit to anything. Well, I can, but I always think about quiting or somehting like that. I can't write in a blog once a day. I can't watch a full movie without getting bored. I don't like to listen to songs all the way through, usually. I get bored of txting people and just stop. I usually don't stick to the outfit I pick out the day before. I almost quit tennis. I gave up the violin for a year. I started writing a book, stopped. Tried it again, got bored. Once, I tried to curl my hair, I gave up half way through it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I'm sure you get the jist of things by now. Before you know it, I won't even get on blogspot anymore. I actually had to write it down on my hand the night before just to remeber that I needed to post &lt;em&gt;something&lt;/em&gt;! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Well anyways, the last couple days have been the bee's knees, well not really. Nothing all too exciting. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I've been on youtube a lot lately. Found this dude Tommy Knox. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Check him out. His singing is great, and his covers are pretty orginal. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Random Fact&lt;/strong&gt;; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I like dreadlocks. They are really cool (:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-4111810032528763281?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/4111810032528763281/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/10/its-october.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/4111810032528763281'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/4111810032528763281'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/10/its-october.html' title='It&apos;s October.'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-444511815143667688</id><published>2009-09-27T17:11:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-27T17:11:55.452-07:00</updated><title type='text'>9.27.09</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;I suck at life. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;That is all.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-444511815143667688?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/444511815143667688/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/92709.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/444511815143667688'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/444511815143667688'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/92709.html' title='9.27.09'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-92276799897563490</id><published>2009-09-26T21:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-26T21:47:14.193-07:00</updated><title type='text'>today</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;Today;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Was a pretty good day. I talked to Carlos basically all day today, and I loved it. He always makes me smile. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;So, we were on Yahoo and we decided to watch Korean movies all day today, thank goodness for subtitles.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Anyways, we watched My Sassy Girl and Windstruck.  If you ever watch these, watch Windstruck first then My Sassy Girl. I &lt;strong&gt;think&lt;/strong&gt; Windstruck is like the prequel, and I'm pretty sure that I spelled that wrong.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Anyways, good movies. Windstruck made me cry. Wasn't diggin that, but what can ya do?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Oh, another note;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;This is Why I Love Carlos:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;carlos: shows who's the boss&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;muhlayy: yeah i know [:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;muhlayy: i wear the pants&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;carlos: hahhaha&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;carlos: and what do i wear?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;muhlayy: uhm..&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;muhlayy: pants, but they arent Boss Pants like mien&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;carlos: hahhaha&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;muhlayy: its funny cause its true&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;carlos: i've got the Hugo Boss brand pants , doesn't make me the boss&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;muhlayy: uh nomuhlayy: i have the Real Deal Boss Pants&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt; muhlayy: and thats whats up &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;muhlayy: i win&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Yeah, we pwn.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-92276799897563490?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/92276799897563490/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/today.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/92276799897563490'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/92276799897563490'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/today.html' title='today'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-3955318790421501393</id><published>2009-09-26T21:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-26T21:29:37.626-07:00</updated><title type='text'>day 19, 20, and 21</title><content type='html'>I suck at writing blogs everyday.&lt;br /&gt;Too much stuff going, and just not enough hours in the day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As you can tell, I'm a weak person and I'd rather spend my time talking to Carlos then writing this pointless blog. So, I won't write every day.&lt;br /&gt;Every couple days.&lt;br /&gt;This is just a notice to those of you who actually read it (:&lt;br /&gt;Kthanks&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-3955318790421501393?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/3955318790421501393/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/day-19-20-and-21.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/3955318790421501393'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/3955318790421501393'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/day-19-20-and-21.html' title='day 19, 20, and 21'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-2520791717464214759</id><published>2009-09-23T19:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-23T19:22:06.192-07:00</updated><title type='text'>8teen BRUH</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:180%;"&gt;Today was 80s day, and let me tell you, I beasted that sh*t.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Nothing all that special today either. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;First;&lt;/strong&gt; Volleyball. Again.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Second; &lt;/strong&gt;Quiz that I totally forgot about. Good thing I'm a beast and totally passed. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Third; &lt;/strong&gt;Pretty fun. Watched a movie then had a test over it. Pretty sure I failed that one though, but who cares? Also, Mario and I were obviously drunk. 'Ballchinagin!'&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Fourth;&lt;/strong&gt; Notes. LOTS AND LOTS OF NOTES. On Buddhism and Hinduism. Some very confusing religions, might I add. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Sorry all my blogs have been nothing but boring lately. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Just seem that I can't find time to write them, and I just can't seem to put into words my whole day anymore. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;"Love it like oxygen. All you need is love."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;-Moulin Rouge&lt;3&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-2520791717464214759?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/2520791717464214759/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/8teen-bruh.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/2520791717464214759'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/2520791717464214759'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/8teen-bruh.html' title='8teen BRUH'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-1179247031398488264</id><published>2009-09-22T17:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-22T17:43:29.413-07:00</updated><title type='text'>seventeenth day</title><content type='html'>Today was a pretty good day.&lt;br /&gt;I was cramping pretty bad, but still a pretty good day.&lt;br /&gt;Nothing special to talk about though :/&lt;br /&gt;I don't have any stories soo.. boring blog.&lt;br /&gt;:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can't wait till tomorrow though. It's 80s day and I'm going all out.&lt;br /&gt;Big hair and big sweaters! That's what's up bruh (:&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-1179247031398488264?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/1179247031398488264/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/seventeenth-day.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/1179247031398488264'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/1179247031398488264'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/seventeenth-day.html' title='seventeenth day'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-6771362677675570689</id><published>2009-09-21T17:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-21T17:26:28.687-07:00</updated><title type='text'>day sixteen!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;I started my period today, bite me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;School was really boring. First period I stood around with Sam, Kaylen, and Carly. Sam hit me in the back of my head with a soccer ball, and then I was attacked by frisbees. Round objects like me a lot. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Second period was boring. Very boring. I hated it, and I wish that I wasn't taking Laitn. That random guy that was repeating the teacher the other day sat next to me and talked about weed. I was asked him "Do I really look like the kind of person that does that kind of stuff?" &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;He looked me up and down, "Nah bruh, but you never know." he replied with a wink. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I stared at him for a second, "You remind me too much of Mara's almost step-brother." I replied. Then I turned around and tried to ignore him the rest of the period. Yeah, lame. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Third period was art. Did book work then played kemps. Ruth and I beasted it, like always. &lt;strong&gt;ASIAN POOWEERRR&lt;/strong&gt;. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Fourth we took notes on this Buddist movie. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;After school, Nancy came over! We went to the thrift store to go buy clothes for 80's day at our school, and let me tell you.. we look rather rad in our outfits. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I'm so excited! Teased hair and tights. Big sweaters and funky colors. Good day (:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Anyways, that's all for tonight. Sorry, don't really feel like writing a lot. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Periods always put me in a lazy kind of mood. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-6771362677675570689?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/6771362677675570689/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/day-sixteen.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/6771362677675570689'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/6771362677675570689'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/day-sixteen.html' title='day sixteen!'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-5609743675227608899</id><published>2009-09-20T16:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-20T16:34:29.769-07:00</updated><title type='text'>5teen</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;I SAW 9 TODAY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;And it made me very upset. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I won't tell you why because you might go see it and I'll ruin it for you. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I don't want to do that :&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Anways&lt;/span&gt;, today was church. Nikki and I sat in the balcony today. Nothing special. We drew pictures of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;eachother&lt;/span&gt;. It was pretty funny because she made me have a huge nose, and I made her look French. You're jealous, understandable. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;After church we asked if we could go to the movies, my mom said no. She had 'errands' to run. I didn't understand why we still couldn't go. She isn't the only one in the house that can drive. It was whatever though. We dropped the subject. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Then we went out to eat, and afterwards I tried again.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"So can we go to the movies?" I slightly begged. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;She shook her head slowly, "No I don't think so.." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I looked at Nikki, of course. "Okay." I muttered while looking out the window. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Then my mom yawned, "I don't think I'm going to run those errands today. I might do them tomorrow." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I looked at Nikki and then my dad, was she &lt;em&gt;really&lt;/em&gt; saying this? Right after she told us that we can't go the movies she says that she isn't going to do those errands. What is her deal?! She can't make up her mind. She's a pin-ball, that's what my dad called her. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I gave her a 'are you serious' look, "So, you &lt;strong&gt;aren't&lt;/strong&gt; going out?" I asked her. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;She shook her head, "Yeah." she replied. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"So we can go to the movies?" I tried again. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;She sighed, "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Nooo&lt;/span&gt;, I don't think so." she turned to look at my dad. It was like she was saying 'back me up or you're sleeping on the couch'. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;He looked at us through the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;rear view&lt;/span&gt; mirror, laughing slightly. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Pin-Ball wasn't going to let us go, and it was final. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Nikki and I surrendered silently, but we knew it wasn't over.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Once we got home, Nikki and I began to talk. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"I bet right when I get out of this dress and comfy in my bed she will pop her little Asian head in and say 'want to go to the movies?' " I said while changing out of my church dress.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Nikki laughed, "Oh I know. She does that all the time." she sat on my bed. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"Yeah!" I spat. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"Like that one time when we wanted to go to the movies," she paused, "and I bet she will come right when they stop selling &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;matinees." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;I nodded my agreement and sat down on my bed beside her.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;We slowly began to drift to sleep, and &lt;em&gt;right&lt;/em&gt; when I was falling asleep my mom waltzs in...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;"Do yall still want to go to the movies?" she asks. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;I sit up slowly and look at Nikki, "Yeah. Sure." I state clearly. I give Nikki a look of knowing. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Called it.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;I guess you could call that the Daily Mom Story. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;No person of the day. I'm  done with that.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-5609743675227608899?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/5609743675227608899/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/5teen.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/5609743675227608899'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/5609743675227608899'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/5teen.html' title='5teen'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-6778296319120101082</id><published>2009-09-20T16:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-20T16:21:01.268-07:00</updated><title type='text'>14</title><content type='html'>I missed a day. I'm sorry.&lt;br /&gt;I know no one reads these anyway, so I don't know why I'm apologizing, more like &lt;em&gt;who. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, Saturday was  a pretty good day.&lt;br /&gt;Nikki came over. Nothing really special. Went to the zoo and chilled.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everyone in my family basically ignored me. I'm unloved.&lt;br /&gt;Well, my dad loves me. That's it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, short post because this was technically yesterday.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-6778296319120101082?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/6778296319120101082/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/14.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/6778296319120101082'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/6778296319120101082'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/14.html' title='14'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-3985700686689857913</id><published>2009-09-18T22:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-18T22:21:05.916-07:00</updated><title type='text'>thirteen</title><content type='html'>Good day.&lt;br /&gt;Nothing to talk about.&lt;br /&gt;Won the football game.&lt;br /&gt;The End.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sorrry it's so short. I forgot to write today!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-3985700686689857913?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/3985700686689857913/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/thirteen.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/3985700686689857913'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/3985700686689857913'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/thirteen.html' title='thirteen'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-2241675423243371208</id><published>2009-09-17T19:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-17T19:51:07.827-07:00</updated><title type='text'>day:ten plus two</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;"Imma cut chu!" &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;- Nancy&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;She is one of the funniest girls I know. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;My day was pretty good. Wellness was boring. Volleyball &lt;strong&gt;again&lt;/strong&gt;. I wish that we would stop playing this stupid game. It's been a month and then some and we are still playing this game. Can't we move on? A new sport? Anything. I'd rather do book work than &lt;em&gt;this&lt;/em&gt;. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Latin was great. Marshall is now my new best friend. He is the biggest suck up in the world to Mrs. K. After our test she asked us all to write her a short note on the back of the paper, telling her what we like about the class and stuff like that. His took up the whole back and all he talked about was how &lt;em&gt;great &lt;/em&gt;of a teacher she was. That's why he has a freaking 100 in that class. He will have to show me his ways then. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Another reason why Marshall is my best friend is the stupid stuff he says, and how easily he sets himself up... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Marshall gives me a mean look, " You're just like Sherod. Always putting things in my mouth." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I give him a evil grin, "Oh I bet Sherod is always putting &lt;em&gt;stuff&lt;/em&gt; in your mouth." I give him a suggestive smile. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;He doesn't get it at first, his face blank, but then soon realizes what I mean. "Oh man!" he gives me another mean look. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;What can i say, Latin class is very entertaining. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;We also have this boy in there that, obviously, likes to copy every other word the teacher says. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"...English.." Mrs.K is talking, and you can hear this boy, Kevin, talking softly. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;He is gradually getting louder, more confident. He is repeating everything Mrs.K says.  "Engish... Declensions... Latin..." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Marshall and I give him strange looks, what is his deal? We laugh at him and at the fact that Mrs.K is getting annoyed. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Latin est magnus (:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;My other classes were very bland in comparison. Nothing special to talk about really. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Person of the Day;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;NANCY&lt;/strong&gt;; She is one of the happiest people you will ever meet. She is always smiling and she can usually put me in a better mood. She is so optimistic and tries to see the good in things. She is really loud, but not in an obnoxious way. She gets along with most people, and she is just a good person in general. She can hardly be mean without an 'I'm sorry' right after it. She is an all around good person, and I love her to death. I'm glad that me and her are friends. She's my main chick, yo. I love you Nancybean &lt;3&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-2241675423243371208?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/2241675423243371208/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/dayten-plus-two.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/2241675423243371208'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/2241675423243371208'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/dayten-plus-two.html' title='day:ten plus two'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-2254451784847040877</id><published>2009-09-16T17:54:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-16T17:59:05.198-07:00</updated><title type='text'>eleven</title><content type='html'>Don't even want to talk about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All my classes were crap.&lt;br /&gt;My dad forgot to pick me up from school. I stood outside for about 20mins.. in the rain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bad day.&lt;br /&gt;No person of the day or anything :&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-2254451784847040877?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/2254451784847040877/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/eleven.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/2254451784847040877'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/2254451784847040877'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/eleven.html' title='eleven'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-6876375799496702353</id><published>2009-09-15T18:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-15T18:43:32.954-07:00</updated><title type='text'>day ten.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I like green eggs and ham (:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Today was an&lt;strong&gt; A day&lt;/strong&gt;, and I love &lt;strong&gt;A days&lt;/strong&gt;. They are by far my most easy going days. None of the teachers are mean or like to give loads of homework. An all around good day. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;First period was wellness. Volleyball again. I suck at volleyball. It's just not in my blood to play a sport like that. I can't seem to hit the ball straight. It's awful and I hate it, but I still manage to have fun. I have some pretty cool kids in my wellness class, so it makes it all worth while.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Second period was Latin. Nothing special. Got Adam's sweater though. It smells like Hollister, my favorite.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Third period, art.  We had a sub. All we had was book work. I didin't know you had book work in art, but obviously, we do. Vocabulary. Easy and fast, kinda like a few girls I know, but that's besides the point.  After the book work my table pulled out the cards and played kemps. Ruth, my asian, and I beasted everyone. Everyone complained how the two asians were partners. "It's not fair!" they would complain as Ruth and I gained point after point after point!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Fourth period was World History, and we actually did work. We took notes on religion and watched a movie on the Holocaust. I really like this class, even if we do work. Mrs. L makes it fun and I'm &lt;strong&gt;so&lt;/strong&gt; thankful for that.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Well, yet again, no &lt;strong&gt;Daily Mom Story&lt;/strong&gt;. It's really sad. I wish that she would do something funny :/&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;Person of the Day;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;CARLOS&lt;/strong&gt;; What can I say about Carlos. He is a pretty great guy. He always makes me smile and he's really sweet. He was a cute little kid and an  even cuter teenager. He is half Filipino, like me, so that makes him even more amazing! I love this guy so much. I look forward to talking to him everyday. He says the funniest crap and one day I'll make his babies (: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I love you Carlos.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Sidenote!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Went to the fair today. It rained, FML!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;D;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-6876375799496702353?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/6876375799496702353/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/day-ten.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/6876375799496702353'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/6876375799496702353'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/day-ten.html' title='day ten.'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-4474759156297209692</id><published>2009-09-14T14:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-14T14:46:03.236-07:00</updated><title type='text'>dayy ninnee</title><content type='html'>My day was exceptionally bland.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;First period&lt;/strong&gt; we had a sub. I guess that's a good thing because we didn't have to take the rest of that test that we didn't finish.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Second period&lt;/strong&gt; was orchestra. Talk about annoying teachers. Ms. B had us play this one part of the song over and over and over agian. It was only four measures. Four stinking measures that she had us play multiple times. It was getting obnoxious and the bell was going to ring any second. "Again." she would say, her face looked upset. Everyone sighed and muttered how they were going to be late. Yeah Ms. B &lt;em&gt;late&lt;/em&gt;. Your stupid bandroom is actually kind of cut off from the rest of the school! Did you know that? Hmm? Did you!?&lt;br /&gt;Anways, Ms.B totally ruined me and Brady's plans to take a picture with our bad-butt shirts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Third period/ lunch&lt;/strong&gt; was really boring too! We had a test in third, but it was really easy. Then lunch... oh God lunch was the best. Breanna and I laughed &lt;em&gt;at &lt;/em&gt;everything.&lt;br /&gt;Jackie started laughing, "Is it funny Jackie? Is it?" I asked her, my face serious.&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah, is it funny? Real funny?" Breanna asked her.&lt;br /&gt;Jackie gave us a weird look but still laughed.&lt;br /&gt;Breanna and I kept up with this. Making funny sounds and laughing at &lt;em&gt;everything&lt;/em&gt; that we could.&lt;br /&gt;Finally Cassidy asked us what was going on, "What is so funny!?" she turned to look at me.&lt;br /&gt;"What the &lt;strong&gt;f*ck &lt;/strong&gt;are you talking about?!" I screamed at her.&lt;br /&gt;She stared back at me, startled, while everyone else errupted into laughter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I love lunch.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anywows (Ian's word!)&lt;br /&gt;No &lt;strong&gt;Daily Mom Story&lt;/strong&gt;, yet again.&lt;br /&gt;I think she is holding out on me. She knows that I blog about her..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;Person of the Day;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Marie; my big sister.&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;She is the best person I know. She really is my hero. When I grow up, I hope that I'm a little bit like her, at least. She is so funny and pretty. She dances like a total white girl, but I love that about her. She is smart and shy and just so many other things. She plays fantasy football with her husband and their friends. She makes lame jokes and doesn't always know what's going on in the 'celebrity world', but when she does, she is &lt;strong&gt;all&lt;/strong&gt; over that stuff. I love her. I wish that one day I'll be as lame/cool as my sister is. She means the world to be (:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;[Carlos was one cute little kid (; ]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-4474759156297209692?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/4474759156297209692/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/dayy-ninnee.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/4474759156297209692'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/4474759156297209692'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/dayy-ninnee.html' title='dayy ninnee'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-2987831757516734643</id><published>2009-09-13T18:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-13T18:57:24.631-07:00</updated><title type='text'>day 8(:</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;"You're only as tall&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;As your heart will let you be"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;-NeverShoutNever&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, &amp;amp; 8. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;It has been 8 days since I have started this blog. It feels a lot longer for some reason.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;My day was a pretty good one. Woke up, got ready for church, talked to Carlos.  Got to church, hung out with Lee, we saw a female body builder in church, and then went out to eat. Chinese food, yum. That always puts me in a good mood. After China Pan, went to the mall. Called Lee up, he chilled with me like the best friend he is. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;At the mall we just kinda walked around, laughed a lot. Surprisingly I didn't threaten to punch his face in today. That's a first. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;While we were at the mall Lee was one smooth dawg and hit on the gorilla at Romancing the Stone. He felt up on her bum and she didn't even notice.  (I'm talking about the gorilla in the window of the story, if you're confused.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I was cracking up, I mean, how could she &lt;em&gt;not&lt;/em&gt; feel that? (: &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Then we went to Hot Topic. Graphic Tees are my best friends &lt;3&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;He got me a Where the Wild Things Are shirt. It's possibly the most amazing shirt I own. I love it more than anything, well, not really. But still, I'm going to take a picture in it tomorrow with B-ray! Yall will get to see it then, consider yourself lucky.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Oh, but there was a down side.. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"Melissa! Look at that shirt!" Lee said while pointing at it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I turned around to see the best shirt in the world, &lt;em&gt;ever&lt;/em&gt;. "Oh. My. God." I stared. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;It read &lt;strong&gt;That's What She Said&lt;/strong&gt;. I wanted to cry. "Lee, oh my God! D-do you &lt;em&gt;see &lt;/em&gt;that?!" &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I turned and smiled at him. I ran over to it, "Do they have it in your size?" he asked. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I bent down to look through the pile, and was crushed, "NO!!!" I looked up at Lee, my heart broken in two. "All they have is medium, large, and extra large." I said. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"Maybe the medium.." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;As he said this I held the medium shirt up to me, it was huge. "Yeah, no." I said while looking down at it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Bummer. I really was in love with that shirt from first glance. So, I went with the Where the Wild Things Are shirt. Not that I had to 'settle' just, I was disappointed that I didn't even have the choice to have the other one. Sucks, and it still makes me sad.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Anyways, after Hot Topic we had to meet my mom. It was time for me to leave, sadly.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;So, we headed for Macys to meet my mom, and when I was giving Lee a hug he whispered, "That lady behind us.." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"Yeah, I know." I said while laughing. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Her boob was showing. It was pretty gross. Perfect ending to a good day (:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;After the mall, I came home, changed, and took a nap. Woke up to LOTR, Lord of the Rings. I was pretty excited, and you know what's even better? 300 was coming on after LOTR. So, at this moment I'm watching 300. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I love this movie so much. After this I will more than likely talk to Lee and Nikki then head to bed. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Nothing special. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;Person of the Day;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Jee(Lee);&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;He is one of the best guys you'll ever meet. He may annoy you, or make you mad, but it's all in good fun. You just need to have a good sense of humor to hang out with this kid. He is amazing and no one could ever replace him. He makes me laugh all the time. Everything he does makes me smile, even when I feel like sh*t. He is the most thoughtful guy I've ever met. He knows me like the back of his hand. We are like the same person almost. Just, I have boobs and he has.. male parts (: He is truely someone I could trust with my life. I love him &lt;strong&gt;so&lt;/strong&gt; much. And Lee, thanks. Thanks for being there for me, always. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I love you Jee! &lt;3&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Sorry there isn't a Daily Mom Story. Surprisingly she didn't do anything funny or stupid. I was kind of disappointed. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;C'mon mom, we have people to entertain!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Oh, and Carlos I hope you're not sore too long :/ &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Lovee yaa&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-2987831757516734643?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/2987831757516734643/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/day-8.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/2987831757516734643'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/2987831757516734643'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/day-8.html' title='day 8(:'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-2026505324621767859</id><published>2009-09-12T18:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-12T18:58:05.891-07:00</updated><title type='text'>seventh day</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;Oh, Apple you don't even know how your laughter taste so sweet.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;- Joe Brooks&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;[ me gusta Carlos (; ]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;My day was pretty good. Nothing really special. I woke up and my mom had made breakfast. I was pretty excited about that. I talked to Mara pretty much all day, man I miss that girl. Once it was around lunch, my mom and I went to my little cousin's car wash. Her basketball team was raising money. We were only there for about 20 seconds before my mom noticed there was a Lowes near by, so after we got her car washed we drove over there. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Warning; Daily Mom Story&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;As we walked into the flower part of Lowes, my mom began to smile, "These are so pretty!" she said as she touched all the flowers lightly.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I laughed and followed behind her. I'm pretty sure that my mom could spend &lt;em&gt;days&lt;/em&gt; in a flower shop. She would be perfectly content with just having a room of flowers to look after and her Bible.  "How long are we going to be here?" I asked her after awhile. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"We won't be here long." she replied. "I know that you don't like being here, but once you re old you start to love flowers." she stated while examining some flowers.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I laughed, "Okay mom." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;We kept browsing the fowers for awhile, till she was almost done, "Are we do-"  she cut me off. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"Oh look at those yellow flowers!" she exclaimed happily. She walked over there and I followed, and sighed. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"Oh look, these are &lt;em&gt;six &lt;/em&gt;dollars." she said it like it was a bargin! &lt;em&gt;Six &lt;/em&gt;bucks for a plant? But obviously, this was some amazing deal to my mom. She started to look at the plants that she picked up earlier, "I think I'm going to get these yellow ones."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I looked at the ones that she held in her hand and the yellow ones, "I like the ones that you got first better." I commented. They were a mix between orange and red. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"But these are &lt;em&gt;six &lt;/em&gt;dollars!" my mom whined. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I looked over my shoulder at the table where the red-ornage flowers were, "And those are only &lt;em&gt;two&lt;/em&gt;." I laughed. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;She looked over at the other table, "But.." she looked back at the yellow ones, "these are &lt;em&gt;six&lt;/em&gt;." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I looked at her for a second, really? "Yeah, six is more than two." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;She started couting out how many red-orange flowers she had, "Two, four, six.." she muttered under her breath, "I'm getting these!" she held up the red-orange flowers with a smile of victory on her face. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Good job mom, you did fourth grade math. I'm proud.. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;________&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Besides that, I was in bed all day. I finished homework and read some. Nothing special, like I said. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;So today..&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Lee and I decided that we are going to make Laundry Island, and evertone will get underwear hearts. Thanks Flapjack for the idea (:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Well, that's basically it for my day. Sorry it was so boring :/&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;em&gt;The End!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-2026505324621767859?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/2026505324621767859/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/seventh-day.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/2026505324621767859'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/2026505324621767859'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/seventh-day.html' title='seventh day'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-9136729224457128862</id><published>2009-09-11T12:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-12T07:52:32.205-07:00</updated><title type='text'>S!Xth DAY</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;... and 360 more to go&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;Today was a pretty stinkin' good day. First period was Wellness, and this guy, Sam, was playing the guitar before class started. I was totally hypnotized. I'm a sucker for a guitar. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;Second period was boring. I mostly talked to Alan and Adam., my only source of entertainment in that class. Had a few laughs, but the teacher seemed to keep bending over in mine and Brionne's face. I think she likes us a little too much. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;Third block was art, and it was okay. Mario wrote poop on my arm, and it looks like &lt;u&gt;poop&lt;/u&gt;. He drew dots in the middle of the O's.. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;"Mario, did you just make the O's into boobs?" I asked, disgusted. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;He looked at my arm, "No! You pervert! Those are eyes!" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;I looked at them again, "Uh, no. Those are most definitely boobs." I confirmed while I moved my arm away from him. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;He looked at me for a second, his face confused, "Okay Melissa." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;4th period we took notes on religion, and then we went to the pep rally.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"&gt;The Pep Rally &lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;.... was okay. Nothing special. We couldn't boo the freshmen, and the cheerleards didn't do the 'Are You Proud' cheer. They did make fun of the school we are playing. Our mascot, the bobcat, beat up their mascot, a mustang. We also had some cheerleaders dress up as kids from their school and we booed them. A lot. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;The bad part about the pep rally was Gabriele and I basically got sat on by five other people. It was intense and stinky. The band was playing a song that obviously everyone loves, and people in the Sophmore section began to hit and jump and fall down. Turns out, all those people were &lt;em&gt;behind&lt;/em&gt; Gabriele and me. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;I hear people saying 'ow' behind us, and I turn around slowly, "What the.." right as I'm facing the huge group of boys behind me they fall. Almost all of them, at once. "Gabby! Watch out!" I say as two of them come tumbling towards us. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;We scream and get pushed. "Oh my God." I hear Gabriele say. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;We both are sitting on the floor of the stands with about three or four other people on/around us. Teachers are yelling at the boys to stop, but they keep yelling and cheering. Boy have I missed Overton pep rallies. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:180%;"&gt;Daily Mom Story(&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;With a Splash of Dad.) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;I hear my door open and my mom is sitting on my bed, waking me up as usual. "Meling," she cooes my nick-name, "it's time to wake up." she starts to scratch my back.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;I yawn and smile into the pillow, ahh back scratching. "Okay." I whisper. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;She continues on, "It's six.." and I tense up. Six? It's &lt;em&gt;six&lt;/em&gt; in the morning? I only have, &lt;em&gt;maybe&lt;/em&gt;, twenty minuets to get ready.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;"What?!" I sit up and look around the room. What do I need to do first? I climb out of bed and run towards the bathroom. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry!" I hear my mom chanting behind me. I ignore it. There is no time to be upset. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;I start the shower and grab my tooth brush and tooth paste, I have to double up on things today. I get everything I need done in the bathroom quickly, and run back to my room. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;"Do you want anything to eat?" my mom asks meekly while she pokes her head in the door. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;"No, I'm good." I say quickly. She tries to protest, that I must eat something, but I tell her I'll eat at school. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;Finally my dad and I leave for school, when he looks at his dashboard, "I need gas." he says softly. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;I roll my eyes, you have &lt;em&gt;got &lt;/em&gt;to be kidding me. I'm going to be late to school and you are worried about &lt;em&gt;gas&lt;/em&gt;?! Where are your priorities man? "Okay." I reply. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;He pulls into the gas station, and let me tell you, he takes his dear sweet time at the pump. "Really?" I mutter under my breath. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Finally &lt;/strong&gt;we leave the gas station, and we are on our way to school. I get there just in time for first period. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;How about them apples!? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;___________________________________________&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Person of the Day;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Jason Mraz (: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;I love his guitar playing skills. I love his lyrics. I love &lt;u&gt;him&lt;/u&gt;. His songs make me happy, and I think I could listen to him for hours upon days on end. Lately I have been obsessed with his song, &lt;u&gt;Higher&lt;/u&gt;. I can't get enough of it. It's really sad actually, but I just can't stop listening to it. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Anyways, I've just been thinking about Mr. AZ a lot lately. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;Well, looks like my blog is going to be done for tonight because I have a football game to go to. I don't think I will post about it tonight. I'll be sure to talk about it in tomorrows blog (: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Anyways, ciao.&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:180%;"&gt;WE WON OUR GAME!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;17-12 , that's what's up!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;[&lt;em&gt;p.s. I love Karnalito R.]&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-9136729224457128862?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/9136729224457128862/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/sxth-day.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/9136729224457128862'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/9136729224457128862'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/sxth-day.html' title='S!Xth DAY'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-8537198910932856659</id><published>2009-09-10T13:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-10T14:04:24.712-07:00</updated><title type='text'>DAY FiiVE!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;You know what bothers me?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Not knowing the whole number of pi. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;When I can't find matching socks. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;When I ask for a Frosty, and they ask me "Chocolate or vanilla?" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Bad teeth. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Homework that I don't understand. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;When people are mad at me for no good reason. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;When people are mad at me, period. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Liars. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;When someone tells me that they love me, but in the end you know they don't. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Quote for today: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;"Love is when you give someone the chance to destroy you, and trusting that they won't." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I thought that was a cute little quote, but anyways, I had another &lt;u&gt;boring&lt;/u&gt; day.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;School went by in a blur. First block was English II Honors. Had a test over our summer reading, and I &lt;em&gt;know &lt;/em&gt;that I did bad. I'm pretty upset with myself, but that's besides the point. Second block, orchestra. Boring, boring, and even more &lt;em&gt;boring&lt;/em&gt;. We got a new song, beasted at it, that is all. Third block was geometry. Oh Coach. He is the best teacher. He is the only reason I enjoy B Days anymore. That and my lunch. I get to see Annie, and she is absolutely amazing. Anyways, third block was pretty good. I had to 'tutor' Slader and Austin. They obviously suck at math, but who am I to talk? Well, fourth block was awful. I hate Chemistry. I wish that I didn't have to take science. I suck at it. Worse than math. Worse than singing. I suck more than the world's best sucking machine. That's how bad it is. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Anyways, as you can tell my day hasn't been exciting. I really want something to happen. A fight at lunch. A horrible rumor about someone I know. A love triangle. Something. &lt;em&gt;Anything&lt;/em&gt;! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Well, I guess it's time to do my ..&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:180%;"&gt;Daily Mom Story;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;This morning my mom made muffins. Blueberry muffins. Now, I like muffins, but I don't like fresh muffins. I'm weird, I know. Well, she got them out of the oven and put some on a plate for my dad and me. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;"Do you not like them Melissa?" she asked me while taking a bite of hers. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;"I do, but I don't like &lt;em&gt;fresh&lt;/em&gt; ones." I stated while taking a sip of my milk. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;"You don't like &lt;em&gt;fresh&lt;/em&gt; ones?" my dad asked from the kitchen. My parents laughed a little, but dropped the subject of me being &lt;em&gt;weird&lt;/em&gt;. As if.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;"I like when my muffins are fresh. I like it when they are soft too." my mom commented. "Do you, hon?" she asked my dad. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;He nodded, "Yeah, and these are really good. Thank you hon." he put his plate in the sink. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;"And I like it when they are kinda crunchy. Are mine crunchy?" she asked him, her look hopeful. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;He licked his fingers, "No, not really." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Her face looked shocked and hurt, "Well, I like it crunchy on the &lt;em&gt;bottom&lt;/em&gt;, I mean. Are they crunchy on the &lt;em&gt;bottom&lt;/em&gt;?" she asked him again. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;He shrugged, "Eh, I guess. You ready to go Baby Doll?" he turned to look at me. I laughed lightly. My mom was begging for compliments on her food. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;"They are great muffins." I said as I stood up.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;She smiled brightly, like a little girl, "Thank you!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;My mom went back to her normal self, and kept on nibbling on her muffin. I guess everyone needs to be thanked every once in awhile. It's good to be recognized for good things you do. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;So, I suggest everyone thank people today and everyday. You might just make someones day (:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;_________________________________________&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Side Note;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Whoever invented this 'Girl/Boy Code' sucks. Just because I &lt;em&gt;talk &lt;/em&gt;to someone you &lt;u&gt;used&lt;/u&gt; to go out with, DOES NOT, let me repeat, &lt;strong&gt;does not&lt;/strong&gt;, mean I'm planning on going out with them. So, chill out and calm down. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;_________________________________________&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Oh; this is what I live for&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Slader&lt;/strong&gt;:i absolutely love you for teaching me math lol&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;This is why I want to be a teacher. (: &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Except, not in math.. in English. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Like Nikki, I'm going to have a person of the day.. even though she has three people, but that's besides the point. Yesterday it was Nikki, today it is going to be... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;ANDY:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;So, I met this kid awhile back ago. About three years I'd say. I met him over WoW, World of Warcraft. I was in his guild, but then we left and made one that was called 'is Awesome'. If you know anything about WoW you know that that is a pretty cool name. Well, ever since then Andy and I have been pretty close friends. He is always there to when you need to talk to someone and hes super funny. Andy used to make some really kick-butt improv stories, here is a snippet of one of his old ones.. "gold, it was a gold painted nail clipper. My nails were a bit long, so i decided to use it, but then a flying turtle yelled at me, "&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Then i kept walking, with the nail clippers and turtle soup, when i ran into nikki and melissa, I said hi, and they said hi, and i gave them the soup, and they ate it, but then complained about how their talking pet flying turtle was missing.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;" You see, Andy is like the sunshine on a cloudy day, and when it's cold outside, he's like the month of July. Because he is hot, not warm, hot. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Andy, I love you a whole bunch. [&lt;em&gt;one day we will watch The Covenant with each other!&lt;/em&gt;] &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Andrew:&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;the only solution&lt;br /&gt;go to home depot&lt;br /&gt;and&lt;br /&gt;get some acid&lt;br /&gt;and pour on him&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;[By the way; I love Carlos and Lee too!]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;The End :/&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-8537198910932856659?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/8537198910932856659/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/day-fiive.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/8537198910932856659'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/8537198910932856659'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/day-fiive.html' title='DAY FiiVE!'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-7309322290122362547</id><published>2009-09-09T14:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-09T18:01:19.818-07:00</updated><title type='text'>day 4our</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Day 4our.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Three hundred and Sixty-One more to go.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;School seems to be going by fast. The classes seem to zoom by, especially when you have great people like Marshall, Slader, Austin, Mario, Brionne, Adam, Gabriele, Jackie, and Alan in your class.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;Block uno wasn't anything special. We played volley-ball. The big, competitive, testosterone filled boys against the smaller, pathetic, timid girls. Now, coach told us that whoever wanted to play could, and me being a Mc(rest of last name) &lt;em&gt;had &lt;/em&gt;to play. We are all competitive. Wether it be about Monopoly, grades, or just who is the favorite of my dad's, &lt;strong&gt;me&lt;/strong&gt;. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;Back to the point, it was the girls against the guys. And let me tell you, we had about six girls playing compared to their oh, I don't know, ten? Not to mention they had Sam on their team whos serves scare the heck out of me! So, we played. The game was on, and we weren't doing half bad. We all took turns serving, but then it came to me. "Oh, my turn?" I asked timidily. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;I had served before, and I never thought I was any good, "Yeah, go on Melissa." I heard one of the girls say. I took the ball and looked over at the other side of the net, Sam smiling at me. Challenging me. I could almost hear him saying, "C'mon Melissa." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;I held the ball out infront of me and hit it. I hit it hard, and it went over the net! That's all I was looking forward to, but obviously it did much more. It went straight towards a guy and he missed it. We had gotten a point! Everyone on my team cheered, "Good job Melissa!" I heard Seble say to me. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;I smiled, "Thanks!" The other teamed passed us the ball again, and I got another go...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;About ten points later and I was &lt;em&gt;still &lt;/em&gt;serving! The faces on the guys faces now seemed annoyed. I knew they were thinking, "How is this little girl beating &lt;em&gt;us&lt;/em&gt;?!" I smiled at each of them, that's right boys, the girls are &lt;strong&gt;winning&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;I got to serve a few more times before the boys finally got the ball back, and it was their turn to serve again. We played a little longer, but in the end the girls still won. Sweet, sweet victory. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;Say hello to my kick-butt volleyball skills!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;Second block, Marshall danced. And boy did he dance a lot. "Hey Melissa, can you do the pancake?" I hear Marshall ask me while I'm translating my Latin work. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;"No." I say before I look at him. "Can yo-" I see him &lt;em&gt;trying &lt;/em&gt;to do the pancake. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;"I can't either," he is still trying to dance, "but I swear I'm going to be the best dancer at this school." his face is so serious.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;"Okay Marshall.."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;Third period was boring, plain as that. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;Fourth block was okay. Did actual work, boo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;In the least, uneventful day.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:180%;"&gt;PERSON OF THE DAY;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;My bestfriend. My sister. My better half. Nicole. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;She is amazing. I know this is probably the first time I have mentioned her in my blog, but hey, I'm one busy gal. Nikki means a lot to me, and I hate that she ever doubts that. She means the world to me, and I can truely say that she is my bestfriend. It has been &lt;strong&gt;4years&amp;amp;1month &lt;/strong&gt;since we became best friends, and we are still going strong. Nikki is someone that has changed my life in so many ways. Through all the drama, she was there. Throuhg all the tears, she was there. Through the laughter and almost peeing on ourselves, she was there. And to the best of my knowledge, she will &lt;em&gt;always &lt;/em&gt;be there. Just how I will always be there for her. In short, I care about this girl a lot. I love her to death. No matter how much we fight and say that we hate eachother, we know that we will be close forever. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;Nikki is my &lt;strong&gt;FAFA&lt;/strong&gt; (: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;"I'd laugh if she was like 'uhm, I don't'." &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Well, I don't, but that's besides the point."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;"They are hairy as a jungle and dry as a desert!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;"The bed white snow leopard!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;_______________________________&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;side note!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;"&gt;CARLOS EST MAGNUS! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;"&gt;For those of you who don't take Latin, that says "Carlos is great!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;"&gt;Because, well, he is. And I will keep reminding you of this. Every. Single. Day. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;"&gt;By the way, I love him (: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;So; Funny things my friends say&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;Lee: You better say sir to me!! Cause im your pappy(: cause i make you scream oh pappy every night!!! :D&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;Alan: Would you tap that? Yeah, with a stick.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;Marshall: Hey, hey, hey! You know Tupac?! Yeeeeaaah.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:130%;"&gt;DAILY MOM STORIES;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;My mom: Look at the cute cats!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;Me: That's a dog.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;My mom: Melissa, look, those cats are so cute!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;Me:.....That's a &lt;em&gt;dog&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;My mom: A dog?.... &lt;em&gt;Oooohh&lt;/em&gt;, that's a dog!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;The end of day 4our!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-7309322290122362547?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/7309322290122362547/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/day-4our.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/7309322290122362547'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/7309322290122362547'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/day-4our.html' title='day 4our'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-3440753422321802514</id><published>2009-09-08T13:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-08T19:23:43.449-07:00</updated><title type='text'>day three!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SqbChba5-0I/AAAAAAAAABc/ep9FRzvv9Dg/s1600-h/blog.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379200684492716866" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 226px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 193px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SqbChba5-0I/AAAAAAAAABc/ep9FRzvv9Dg/s200/blog.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;My day sucks today.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;I just can't seem to do anything right.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;- Mrs.C totally ignored me during class, and I didn't &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;understand the lesson. &lt;strong&gt;FAIL&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;- Ms.B got mad at me because my violin didn't have a fine tuner. &lt;strong&gt;FAIL&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;- Lee's text made me feel boy crazy. &lt;strong&gt;FAIL&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;- Alex was/is upset with me. &lt;strong&gt;FAIL&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;- Mrs.M's brownies sucked bawls. &lt;strong&gt;FAIL &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;Why does my life suck so bad?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Besides that, my day was okay. Had school today, and it went by really fast. First period we went over the Old English worksheet, and I have to admit that I suck at it. I don't know how I'm going to be an English major. Mrs. C wouldn't listen to me or my question, so I just gave up. I think my only highlight in first period was hearing Marshall and Fredrick talk about Gaylo, uhm I mean Halo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Second period wasn't that much better. Ms. B got mad at &lt;em&gt;me &lt;/em&gt;because &lt;em&gt;she &lt;/em&gt;gave me a violin that didn't have a fine tuner on the D string. I'm sorry that &lt;em&gt;you &lt;/em&gt;are the stupid one, Ms. B. And the only thing that made &lt;em&gt;that &lt;/em&gt;class fun was Nancy and her white-girlness and Brady. Brady could make my day any day. He is beyond funny, and he pisses off Ms.B on purpose (:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Third block was my only &lt;em&gt;good &lt;/em&gt;class, and mind you, it wasn't that good. Coach talked on and on about how we can't boo freshmen at pep-rallies anymore. That. Is. Crap. On a brighter side, I lost mt voice. I love when I loose my voice, and obviously so does Austin.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hey! Austin!" I tap his desk repeatedly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He looks over at me, "Yeah?" he gives me a weird look. You get used to it after awhile. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"My voice is all raspy! I'm loosing it! Yay!" I grin at him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He laughs at me, "Most people hate when they lose their voice. You are a weird kid Melissa." he shakes his head at me while turning his attention back to the worksheet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You know I sound cute." I state before getting up to turn in my work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I didn't totally lose my voice, bummer, but it has been getting raspy. I've been trying to talk a lot, scream, and sing. Anything that will make it go raspy for a long time. I love when my voice is like that, and well, it hardly ever gets like this. Obviously God doesn't want me to be happy. (Just kidding, I know he wants me to be happy.) &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well fourth period wasn't that fun either. I hate taking tests. I especially hate chemistry tests. I'm not good in science, so I don't know why I'm in honors. Yeah, we had a test. The writing part was easy enough, and she gave us brownies. And I know a lot of you are probably be like, 'Oh that's not too bad!' but they sucked. I took a bite and almost let it drop out of my mouth. It was like she molded poop to look like a brownie. Worst. Brownie. Ever. True story.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;side note*&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;I love Carlos; &lt;strong&gt;Carlos R:&lt;/strong&gt; i was lookin forward in reading ur blog, but u havn't made one yet&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Carlos R:&lt;/strong&gt; as soon as i got home i went to ur blog. haha &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He is obviously my number one follower (:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Have I told yall about Lee? Oh, I have? Well, have I told you how his dreams make me laugh? Oh, I haven't? Hm... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Well, check it. He had a dream about us and other people going to visit homeless people under a bridge. While we were there a girl tried to rob Lee because he had money on him. Silly, silly Lee. Who brings money when they go to visit homeless people? Anyways, he kept calling out to me to help him, and I told him, direct quote, "ONE FU**ING SECOND!!" &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;He replied with "GET YOUR FU**ING ASS OVER HERE! SHE IS TRYING TO ROB ME!!" &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;And me being the awesome friend I am, came over there and kicked her in the back of her head. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;___________&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Mom's Daily Section&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;strong&gt;: &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"Mamma, the people who made the Barbie movies &lt;em&gt;obviously&lt;/em&gt; don't know how to count."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"Why?" she asks, not really paying attention. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"They made their own version of the Three Musketeers, but there is &lt;strong&gt;four &lt;/strong&gt;of them." I say while laughing.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"Okay?" she gives me a confused look, "It's supposed to be &lt;em&gt;four &lt;/em&gt;people anyway, right?" she asked. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I started at her for a moment. Was she serious? I just told her Three Musketeers&lt;em&gt;. Three&lt;/em&gt;, mom, three. "Seriously?" I ask her. I can feel the laughter building as she gives me this serious face.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"Yes..." I begin to laugh and she joins in, "Whaaat?" she asks, still laughing. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"It's called the &lt;em&gt;Three &lt;/em&gt;Musketeers for a reason." I reply. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"Ooooh!" she says after a thoughtful moment. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Yet again, more proof that my mom kicks your mom's butt.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-3440753422321802514?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/3440753422321802514/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/day-three.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/3440753422321802514'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/3440753422321802514'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/day-three.html' title='day three!'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SqbChba5-0I/AAAAAAAAABc/ep9FRzvv9Dg/s72-c/blog.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-7136623906701828679</id><published>2009-09-07T15:12:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-07T19:27:17.572-07:00</updated><title type='text'>day dos!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SqWFcxt5NKI/AAAAAAAAABU/kPp3t1Ya2DY/s1600-h/994822.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378852059392586914" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SqWFcxt5NKI/AAAAAAAAABU/kPp3t1Ya2DY/s320/994822.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Commercials and Moulin Rouge are my best friends (:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Friend request; accepted!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I love that commercial. I think of it anytime I get gum out of my mom's purse, or anytime I get gum, period. I think the little containers they come in are pretty cute too. What's with girls and small things? (Oh, I know all my friends will be taking that in a perverted way. I love yall!)&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, my day has been pretty good. I was up until all hours of the night talking to Carlos, who was in fact helping me delete my messages on myspace. And let me tell you, we needed about three other people to help us. I had about 600 PAGES of messages. That means about 16000 messages in my inbox. I also had twenty-four unread messages scattered around in there. Yall must be crazy if you think I was going to go through 16000 messages just to find twenty-four of them, so I deleted them all. Yeah, and it took a lot longer than it should have :/&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hm, after I talked to Carlos,&lt;strong&gt; he's the best by the way&lt;/strong&gt;, I had to hit the hay. &lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;[how carlos is the best;  &lt;strong&gt;Carlos R: if i had ur cellphone, i'd be telling him, you weren't being a little pussy, u were being a big fucking hairy bombay pussy&lt;/strong&gt;]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;There wasn't school today but I still had to wake up kind of early to be able to get ready to go to the mall. My mom was making me go hang out with some of her co worker's daughters. And obviously my mom thinks I'm shallow. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"So mom, what are they like?" I asked her while getting dressed.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"Oh they are really nice." she says back to me. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I shrug, "Okay, but I mean, what are they into? Or do you not know?" I try again, trying to at least get a little information about these girls.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"Oh.. well, I'm sure they like the same things you do. I mean, you'll like them... they are pretty!" she says while smiling at me. I bust out laughing.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Does she really think that I am that shallow? "Do you really think I'm that shallow? That I can only be friends with pretty people?" I ask, still laughing.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"No no no! I was just saying..." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Again, my mom rules.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the mall...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;-Waited for about 30mins for Alisa and Zoe.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;-Saw Lee, we chilled. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;-Told him about &lt;strong&gt;9995438953 &lt;/strong&gt;times that I was going to punch him in his face.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;-And..&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, you know how when you are walking around the mall people always try to get your attention to see you stuff, or maybe it's just at our malls? Anyways, one of them tried to talk to us, shocker. "Hey, you wanna buy (_product name here_)?" a less than enthusiastic saleswoman asked as we walked by.&lt;br /&gt;Now, I always feel bad for ignoring them, but there isn't really anything else for me to do. So as they ask me this I shake my head no and try to give an apologetic smile, all the while thinking 'Wow Melissa, you're a mean person.'&lt;br /&gt;"I hate that." I say once we are farther away from the saleswoman.&lt;br /&gt;Zoe nods her head, "I know, me too."&lt;br /&gt;"I always feel like a total female dog when I just ignore them, but.. I don't want to stop and listen to them try and sell me crap."&lt;br /&gt;Alisa and Zoe both start laughing at me. Hopefully not because of my stuffed-up-nose voice. (I think I sound like a little boy.)&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah I know. I really hate it when those Chinese people try and give me massages." Alisa comments... right as a Chinese person comes up to us.&lt;br /&gt;"Yo wan to twy ouwr back-a-rubb?" she asks us, accent thick as can be. I hold in my laugh while looking at Alisa. We shake our heads no and keep walking.&lt;br /&gt;"Wow, ironic." I say while laughing.&lt;br /&gt;Great way to start off the day at the mall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;XXI: &lt;/strong&gt;Alisa and I saw these vest things that looked like you just draped a full sheep over your shoulders. I think we laughed for about 5 mins. straight. "Yup, we are gonna be sheep for halloween!" "Haha, yeah! Baaah!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Pac Sun:&lt;/strong&gt; Cute cute cute cute cute stuff. I want to walk in there one day and buy almost &lt;u&gt;everything&lt;/u&gt;. Lee was gonna buy me something, but I changed my mind. "Melissa, you are so frustrating!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;C Ruse: &lt;/strong&gt;UNDERWEAR! That is all I have to say about that. "Why can't you just &lt;em&gt;tell &lt;/em&gt;me?!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Spencers: &lt;/strong&gt;Best. Store. Ever. The shirts are amazing, mount and dew me, my personal favorite. The hats, even better. I mean, they have Ninja Turtle hats! And the &lt;em&gt;other &lt;/em&gt;stuff is just hilarious. "Melissa! Melissa! Look! It's boobs, you &lt;em&gt;have &lt;/em&gt;to get me that."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So; good day (:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;GOOD:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- No school.&lt;br /&gt;- Met &lt;strong&gt;cool&lt;/strong&gt; new people.&lt;br /&gt;- Got a Marvel shirt, sweater, and underwear!&lt;br /&gt;- Not as sick as yesterday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;BAD:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Still sound like a little boy.&lt;br /&gt;- Starving.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Goods ftw brahh (:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Side note; Happy Birthday to Andy and Ericka! Andy is one of the most amazing people you will ever meet. He is so funny, and I love him to death. And Ericka.. oh Ericka. I could write a song about this girl. She can always make me feel better and she always smells good, mmm (: &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;[I'm really starting to think that it is Every Guy Hate Melissa Day! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;:/ FML ]&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-7136623906701828679?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/7136623906701828679/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/commercials-and-moulin-rouge-are-my-bes.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/7136623906701828679'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/7136623906701828679'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/commercials-and-moulin-rouge-are-my-bes.html' title='day dos!'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SqWFcxt5NKI/AAAAAAAAABU/kPp3t1Ya2DY/s72-c/994822.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-726085997200851444.post-120450097619243411</id><published>2009-09-06T14:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-06T18:40:10.251-07:00</updated><title type='text'>day one</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SqQ3V5boWJI/AAAAAAAAAAw/SwO3UMxxrRE/s1600-h/fhksa.bmp"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378484704320706706" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SqQ3V5boWJI/AAAAAAAAAAw/SwO3UMxxrRE/s320/fhksa.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;I'll be writing once a day, every day, for a year. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;(&lt;u&gt;Pride and Prejudice&lt;/u&gt; &amp;amp; Halls are my best friends.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;I hate being sick. My nose feels like it will spontaneously com bust any second, my head is pounding, my throat itches, and my body is stiff. Everyone keeps telling me to sleep, take medicine, or drink a lot of water. I've been sleeping almost all day. Medicine is &lt;strong&gt;not&lt;/strong&gt; an option, and I'm so tired of drinking water. It makes me have to pee too much. I want to go sit outside with my book, &lt;u&gt;Pride and Prejudice&lt;/u&gt;, and maybe go for a walk. I hate being sick, and I don't hate many things. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;Anyways, Day One has been a pretty bland one at best. Although one of my best friends Lee bought me a book. He is one of the most thoughtful guys I have ever met in my life. I really do love this guy. Yesterday we were talking about books. Books I wanted to read, books I have read, just books. He asked me why I haven't really bought books, and well, frankly I don't know. He asked me what book I'll be checking out next, and I said &lt;u&gt;Wuthering&lt;/u&gt; &lt;u&gt;Heights&lt;/u&gt;. He comes to church today with a present. I wasn't expecting a book. Maybe a bag of cough drops, but not a book. He is the greatest, true fact. When I opened the present I was so excited. It made me forget that I was sick, even for a little. I must say, I have some of the best friends ever! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;Well, besides church, I haven't really don't anything. Sleep, eat cough drops, and read. Read, read, read. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;u&gt;Pride and Prejudice&lt;/u&gt; is a good book so far. I like it, a lot. Although I don't really like Mr.Darcy, but maybe my opinion will change. Can't wait to start &lt;u&gt;Wuthering Heights&lt;/u&gt;. I heard that it is a really good book.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;On another note, my mom is probably the funniest person I know. She says the dumbest things that make me cry with laughter. I wish she would have a video blog. People just send her questions and her give her honest to God opinion about these things, or her just talk about our cats. She hates our cats. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;Ah our cats. My mom's arch nemesis. But there is one cat that she likes. Baby Cat, or Spaz. A couple months ago Baby Cat was hurt. Her back legs wouldn't work, and my mom and I nursed her back to health. My mom always had a soft spot for hurt/sick things. Well, today, Baby Cat was sitting on the dinner table and my mom got mad.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;Now, my mom is awful at telling all our seven cats apart, so she had no clue it was Baby Cat. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;Baby Cat jumps up and the table and my mom gives her a dirty look, "Hey, you, get down!" she says while jumping at her. Attempting to shake Baby Cat's confidence. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;Baby Cat doesn't move an inch. She stares back at my mom, challenging her. "Meow." Baby Cat finally says. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;My mom stands up now, and Baby Cat makes a mad dash through the kitchen towards the stairs. My mom isn't far behind, spoon in hand.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;Now I start to panic, Baby Cat is going to get hurt! "Mom! Stop!" I shriek, but she is waving the spoon at Baby Cat now, aiming. "Mom, it's Baby Cat!" I repeat this three times, but then I hear a bang. She threw it. She threw her spoon at Baby Cat. I look around and see Baby Cat run out, thankfully unharmed. "Mom!" I say again. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;"Whaaaat?" she asks innocently. Like &lt;em&gt;she &lt;/em&gt;was the victim. Baby Cat trots down the stairs, victoriously. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;But then my dad chimes in from downstairs, "What was &lt;em&gt;that&lt;/em&gt;?!" I hear him shout at us. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;Quickly I call back before my mom, "Mamma tried to hit Baby Cat with a &lt;strong&gt;SPOON&lt;/strong&gt;!" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;My mom shoots me a mean look, "Tattle tail." she whispers at me harshly. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;Tattle tail? &lt;em&gt;Tattle Tail?! &lt;/em&gt;My &lt;strong&gt;mom&lt;/strong&gt; just called me a &lt;strong&gt;tattle tail&lt;/strong&gt;. See, she is the best.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;-END OF DAY ONE-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/726085997200851444-120450097619243411?l=melissa-says.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/feeds/120450097619243411/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/day-one.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/120450097619243411'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/726085997200851444/posts/default/120450097619243411'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://melissa-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/day-one.html' title='day one'/><author><name>maemae</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04238743866868766398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SyPyJnT6xCI/AAAAAAAAABk/NP9xDmHwNL0/s1600-R/m_abb735522ab640ad810797d93216df75.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3ckdm6SehGc/SqQ3V5boWJI/AAAAAAAAAAw/SwO3UMxxrRE/s72-c/fhksa.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
