<?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-4877385195936701830</id><updated>2011-04-21T18:55:15.417-07:00</updated><title type='text'>something_to_give</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://somethingtogive.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4877385195936701830/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://somethingtogive.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01519785768912290528</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>2</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4877385195936701830.post-2942469845139664181</id><published>2008-07-16T11:12:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-16T11:13:15.515-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>mr. numer 2 is in town.&lt;br /&gt;i dont love him.&lt;br /&gt;i dont even like him.&lt;br /&gt;why do i hurt so much?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;tomorrow, i'm probably going to see him.&lt;br /&gt;it wont be on purpose.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4877385195936701830-2942469845139664181?l=somethingtogive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://somethingtogive.blogspot.com/feeds/2942469845139664181/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4877385195936701830&amp;postID=2942469845139664181' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4877385195936701830/posts/default/2942469845139664181'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4877385195936701830/posts/default/2942469845139664181'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://somethingtogive.blogspot.com/2008/07/mr.html' title=''/><author><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01519785768912290528</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4877385195936701830.post-1125524168074686379</id><published>2008-07-14T12:34:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-14T12:56:25.866-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dan in Real Life</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;at this very moment, i'm watching the movie : dan in real life. i'm sad as hell, but you cant see it. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;i'm not going to tell you my name for that exact reason. i appear happy and i'd like to keep it that way. i'm almost sixteen years old, i'm a girl. i'm not the kind of person that you would guess would blog. i'm a varsity cheerleader. i'm a successful singer at my school. i do plays. i'm usually busy. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;dan just fell in love at a coffee shop. love is confusing. i've never been in love. i've thought i've been before; twice. the first one i met in the eighth grade. i had never seen him before, but he was somebody i needed to know. we talked online and went to the movies a couple of times. have you ever had the feeling that somebody has changed your life? instantly. first, youre going about it as you should, be what it may. then the next, minutes later, youre more aware. youre aware of colors; youve never seen them as bright. youre eyebrowns are constantly raised and your eyes are bigger? everything is just bigger and better.  no. not just better. collosally, incredibly, humungusly better. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;anyway, we lost touch. i didnt think anything of it. you cant fall in love when you're 13. in highschool, though, i was surprised to see him there. in my classes, rubbing elbows with that one boy. he was amazing. we got to know eachother, and eventually, i met mr. number 2. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Despite meeting mr. number 2, me and mr. number 1 became a couple.  the "perfect couple." said everyone who knew us. we lasted six monthes, and  then i ended it. that was three monthes ago; i still miss him. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;quote and to describe this post: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Maybe I wasn't asking you to love me,maybe I was asking you to understand,because for so long I've been hurtand for so long you've ignored it,and maybe it is bad timing,but maybe, I don't care. I've been here all along just waiting,waiting for you to notice, waiting for you to care.Waiting for you to say that you've been waiting tooand you haven't and maybe you never willor maybe you're afraid to. But it all hurts the same,and in the end, I'm the one that's left brokenand when I lay down to sleep, I'm still the one crying,so screw the bad timing. I've loved you then,like I love you now,  I probably always will.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;by the way, in this movie, dan gets the girl ;] &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/4877385195936701830-1125524168074686379?l=somethingtogive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://somethingtogive.blogspot.com/feeds/1125524168074686379/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4877385195936701830&amp;postID=1125524168074686379' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4877385195936701830/posts/default/1125524168074686379'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4877385195936701830/posts/default/1125524168074686379'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://somethingtogive.blogspot.com/2008/07/dan-in-real-life.html' title='Dan in Real Life'/><author><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01519785768912290528</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
