<?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-20303086</id><updated>2011-04-22T01:50:32.812-04:00</updated><title type='text'>My so called life</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>60</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-117552728022020154</id><published>2007-04-02T11:20:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-02T11:21:20.233-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Learning to Love Again</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;            I know it’s been a while since I’ve been on here, but I have a lot on my mind right now. I have been seeing a guy for 2 months. He makes me so happy, to the point that I’m scared at what’s going to happen to break the bubble.   Even right now I’m crying at the thought. We have spent pretty much every night together for the last month, other than when he has gone back home.  When I am with him I just smile because he does make feel like I am the only one around.  Plus, I am comfortable around him. I’m to the point that I sleep like crap at night when he is not there, sad I know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Recently we had that “talk”.  Mainly he was had to force out of me my feelings.  I’m so guarded now with my feelings. After both Chris’s I’m basically scared to love again.  I don’t know if my heart can take being broken again.  I know part of life is stepping out into the unknown and not being scared.  But I don’t know if I want to venture out into to the unknown, just yet. I feel like I am better off in my little shelter world, with all my walls built up. Part of me knows that I do love him in the best way I can right now.  The other part truly cares about him. I want to tell him that I do love him just to make him feel better, but that’s not fair to him or me, when I say it I want to mean it. I don’t know if I can put all my trust and faith in someone again. I want to hold back just so I’m not totally let down again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know he cares about me, I think he may think he loves me, but my little mind does wonders a bit and thinks that he is just lonely and since he’s been with me for the last month he is confused love with lust. Or is in love with the idea of someone being there at night. Since he has made the comment to me about an ex, I think the phrase was he was in love with the relationship and not the girl. So to my little wondering mind, it thinks that this is the case again. I don’t want him to prove anything, that’s pointless, and in the end he will get tired of proving his love, and walk away, I wouldn’t blame him either.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am now at a point of what should I do, I don’t want to be pushed in either direction. I guess my first line of defense is to run away.  But I don’t want to, which I guess is a good thing. Running and hiding has always been my best defense against anything scary, hard, or anything regarding my feelings.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-117552728022020154?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/117552728022020154/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=117552728022020154' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/117552728022020154'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/117552728022020154'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2007/04/learning-to-love-again.html' title='Learning to Love Again'/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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-20303086.post-117154603544017812</id><published>2007-02-15T08:12:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-02-16T08:23:58.926-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Tag....I'm got tagged by RNG, so here is the list of all lists....lol! Here's the deal, all the things in BOLD are what I have done. At the end I'm going to tag a few of you guys so you have to copy and paste the list, then put in bold the things you have done. Okay? Good. So here we go!!!&lt;br /&gt;1. Bought everyone in the bar a drink&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;2. Swam with dolphins&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;3. Climbed a mountain&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. Taken a Ferrari for a test drive&lt;br /&gt;5. Been inside the Great Pyramid&lt;br /&gt;6. Held a tarantula&lt;br /&gt;7. Taken a candlelit bath with someone&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;8. Said "I love you" and meant it&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;9. Hugged a tree&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. Bungee jumped ( I want to do this)&lt;br /&gt;11. Visited Paris&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;12. Watched a lightning storm at sea&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;13. Stayed up all night long and saw the sun rise&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;14. Seen the Northern Lights&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;15. Gone to a huge sports game ( If Louisville Counts or the Derby and Oaks)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;16. Walked the stairs to the top of the leaning Tower of Pisa&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;17. Grown and eaten your own veggies&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;18. Touched an iceberg&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;19. Slept under the stars&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;20. Changed a baby’s diaper (Stupid Nieces)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;21. Taken a trip in a hot air balloon&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;22. Watched a meteor shower&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;23. Gotten drunk on champagne&lt;br /&gt;24. Given more than you can afford to charity&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;25. Looked up at the night sky through a telescope&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;26. Had an uncontrollable giggling fit at the worst possible moment(yeah thanks H2S)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;27. Had a food fight&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;28. Bet on the winning horse (being from Kentucky I've bet on MANY winning horses)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;29. Asked out a stranger&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;30. Had a snowball fight&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;31.Screamed as loudly as you possibly can&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;32. Held a lamb&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;33. Seen a total eclipse&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;34. Ridden a roller coaster (I cant do it to much anymore I get motion sickness)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;35. Hit a home run&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;36. Danced like a fool and not cared who was looking(yeah but I was drunk)day&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;37. Adopted an accent for an entire &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;38. Actually felt happy about your life, even for just a moment&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;39.Had two hard drives for your computer.&lt;br /&gt;40. Visited all 50 states&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;41. Taken care of someone who was shit faced&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;42. Had an amazing friend&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;43. Danced with a stranger in a foreign country&lt;br /&gt;44. Watched wild whales&lt;br /&gt;45. Stolen a sign&lt;br /&gt;46. Backpacked in Europe&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;47. Taken a road-trip&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;48. Gone rock climbing&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;49. Midnight walk on the beach&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;50. Gone sky diving&lt;br /&gt;51. Visited Ireland( I WANT TO GO)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;52. Been heartbroken longer than you were actually in love&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;53. In a restaurant, sat at a stranger's table and had a meal with them.&lt;br /&gt;54. Visited Japan&lt;br /&gt;55. Milked a cow&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;56. Alphabetized your CDs&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;57. Pretended to be a superhero&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;58. Sung karaoke&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;59. Lounged around in bed all day&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;60. Posed nude in front of strangers&lt;br /&gt;61. Gone scuba diving&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;62. Kissed in the rain&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;63. Played in the mud&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;64. Played in the rain&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;65. Gone to a drive-in theater&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;66. Visited the Great Wall of China&lt;br /&gt;67. Started a business&lt;br /&gt;68. Fallen in love and not had your heart broken&lt;br /&gt;69. Toured ancient sites&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;70. Taken a martial arts class&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;71. Played D&amp;amp;D for more than 6 hours straight&lt;br /&gt;72. Gotten married&lt;br /&gt;73. Been in a movie&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;74. Crashed a party&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;76. Gone without food for 5 days&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;77. Made cookies from scratch&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;78. Won first prize in a costume contest&lt;br /&gt;79. Ridden a gondola in Venice&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;80. Gotten a tattoo&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;81. Rafted the Snake River&lt;br /&gt;82. Been on television news programs as an expert&lt;br /&gt;83. Got flowers for no reason&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;84. Performed on stage&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;85. Been to Las Vegas&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;86. Recorded music&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;87. Eaten shark&lt;br /&gt;88. Eaten fugu (pufferfish)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;89. Had a one-night stand&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;90. Gone to Thailand&lt;br /&gt;91. Bought a house&lt;br /&gt;92. Been in a combat zone&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;93. Buried&lt;/strong&gt; one/&lt;strong&gt;both of your parents&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;94. Been on a cruise ship&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;95. Spoken more than one language fluently(I speak very little German)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;96. Performed in Rocky Horror Picture Show&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;div&gt;97. Raised children&lt;/div&gt;98. Followed your favorite band/singer on tour&lt;br /&gt;99. Taken an exotic bicycle tour in a foreign country&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;100. Picked up and moved to another city to just start over&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;101. Walked the Golden Gate Bridge&lt;br /&gt;102. Sang loudly in the car, and didn’t stop when you knew someone was looking&lt;br /&gt;103. Had plastic surgery&lt;br /&gt;104. Survived an accident that you shouldn’t have survived&lt;br /&gt;105. Wrote articles for a large publication&lt;br /&gt;106. Lost over 100 pounds&lt;br /&gt;107. Held someone while they were having a flashback&lt;br /&gt;108. Piloted an airplane&lt;br /&gt;109. Petted a stingray&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;110. Broken someone’s heart&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;111. Ridden a bike&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;112. Won money on a T.V. game show&lt;br /&gt;113. Broken a bone&lt;br /&gt;114. Gone on an African photo safari&lt;br /&gt;115. Had a body part of yours below the neck pierced&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;116. Fired a rifle, shotgun, or pistol&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;117. Eaten mushrooms that were gathered in the wild&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;118. Ridden a horse&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;119. Had surgery&lt;br /&gt;120. Had a snake as a pet(Yeah I dont do snakes)&lt;br /&gt;121. Hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;122. Slept for more than 30 hours over the course of 48 hours&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;123. Visited more foreign countries than U.S. states&lt;br /&gt;124. Visited all 7 continents&lt;br /&gt;125. Taken a canoe trip that lasted more than 2 days&lt;br /&gt;126. Eaten kangaroo meat&lt;br /&gt;127. Eaten sushi&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;128. Had your picture in the paper&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;129. Changed someone’s mind about something you care deeply about( I dont like to argue)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;130. Gone back to school&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;131. Parasailed&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;132. Petted a cockroach&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;133. Eaten fried green tomatoes&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;134. Read The Iliad and The Odyssey&lt;br /&gt;135. Selected one important author who you missed in school, and read&lt;br /&gt;136. Killed and prepared an animal for eating&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;137. Skipped all your school reunions&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;138. Communicated with someone without sharing a common spoken language&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;139. Been elected to public office&lt;br /&gt;140. Written your own computer language&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;141. Thought to yourself that you’re living your dream&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;142. Had to put someone you love into hospice care&lt;br /&gt;143. Built your own PC from parts&lt;br /&gt;144. Sold your own artwork to someone who didn’t know you&lt;br /&gt;145. Had a booth at a street fair&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;146. Dyed your hair&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;147. Been a DJ&lt;br /&gt;148. Shaved your head( does the back of my head count)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;149. Caused a car accident&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;150. Saved someone’s life&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dont have anyone to tag.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-117154603544017812?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/117154603544017812/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=117154603544017812' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/117154603544017812'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/117154603544017812'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2007/02/tag.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-116422647773597404</id><published>2006-11-22T15:13:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-22T15:14:37.753-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I have in my life 3 people that are in the same kind of relationship. One that is going nowhere, none of them wants to admit to this fact. I wont go into details or name names.  It kills me to see of them in this type of relationship. All three can do so much better, but have it stuck in their head that this is the only relationship out there for them. All give the same lame ass excuse for why they are still in this relationship.  And really I’m tired of the lame excuses.  None are healthy or productive relationships. Why do people wish to be treated like crap?  Or live with one everything is hunky dory and the next week nothing they do right?  I don’t understand.&lt;br /&gt; They are so busy with the crap they have, that they may miss the one that is perfect for them.  Maybe it’s just my jaded view right now.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-116422647773597404?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/116422647773597404/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=116422647773597404' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/116422647773597404'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/116422647773597404'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/11/i-have-in-my-life-3-people-that-are-in.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-116422568933352406</id><published>2006-11-22T15:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-22T15:01:29.346-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Do what you say you are going to do.  Lately I have noticed a lot of people say they are going to do something, and end up never doing it, why?  An example of this is, say someone told me that they are coming over tonight. Ok fine.  I wait around and wait, because they say they are coming over, I don’t want to be rude and leave to go do something else.  They never show.  How rude is that, no phone call nothing?  And then when you talk to them, oh I was doing this or doing that. Ahh, yeah rude!  Why is it so hard for people to follow through with plans?  Or why is it so hard to give a person a call?  If your not going to come over then don’t say I will be over.  Say something like I may come over tonight, not I’m coming over. That way I can go do something else or tell that person call before you do, I may not be home.&lt;br /&gt;  Really we all do this, including myself, but I do it more to myself. I may say, when I get home tonight I’m going to clean the basement or my room, then go home and not do either.  Usually when I tell a person I’m going to do something with them or for them I do it, I don’t want to let that person down. Why is it so hard for people to common courtesy for other people? I mean come on, how rude or disrespectful can you be?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-116422568933352406?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/116422568933352406/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=116422568933352406' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/116422568933352406'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/116422568933352406'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/11/do-what-you-say-you-are-going-to-do.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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-20303086.post-116353178680480040</id><published>2006-11-14T14:15:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-14T14:16:26.866-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#993399;"&gt;It’s been a few since I blogged.  The last few weeks I have been in a funk.  I find out two weeks ago that I will be losing my job on 12/29, do to off shoring.  That’s not why I have been in a funk.  Ever just have that feeling something is missing or just not there?  That’s what I have been going through for a few weeks.  I cant really put my finger on what’s missing.  Some days maybe its life that I’m missing and other days maybe it’s a person or a belonging.  Can you be missing life?  I guess I don’t know. I just wish I could find what I’m missing. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now about my job, I know I will be ok, there is a lot out there for “displaced workers” that’s what we are called. The thing that does bug me is, there is more help for single people with children.  Ok, why??  Maybe it was just myself, but I learned in school what prevented pregnancies, so I never had the joy of being an unwed Mother, or it could be I saw my single Mom struggle through life with two kids and knew I didn’t want to do that in my life.  I don’t get why they want to base my student loan off the income I make now, when a month and half I wont be making that salary.  Or they make you jump through hoops for WIA money.  Hello I didn’t ask to be there, I did go to my boss and say hey put me the welfare line. I think that will be fun. That’s something I have never done before, woo hoo what adventure that will be. &lt;br /&gt; Ok, answer me this question, I belong to a local website, an ex of mine checks my profile every week, ahhh why?  He has a girlfriend, I think; he was the one that wanted to break up, so why check on me?  Men I will never understand them.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-116353178680480040?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/116353178680480040/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=116353178680480040' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/116353178680480040'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/116353178680480040'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/11/its-been-few-since-i-blogged.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-116126289211640186</id><published>2006-10-19T09:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-10-19T09:01:32.146-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;I’m thirty today.   I have not blogged in a while, a lot has been going on, I’ve moved.  Be really busy at work, despite the fact that I may be losing my job to India, I don’t see a reason in not still doing my best.  And well I just have not felt like blogging, nothing really in my head that needs to get out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was looking at what I have learned in the last year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Christopher Joe Wall is a lying, cheating jackass.  Sorry it slipped, had to get it out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bleach will in fact bleach out paint on walls, well it did in my case, and damn if now I have to paint the baby shit brown walls down stairs. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not everybody is perfect.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My brother in fact does have terrible taste in women, and he really doesn’t like confrontation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m lazy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really hate my car, and it fights back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;People really do annoy me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think about others more than my self&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m more comfortable with my self than I thought&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have not gotten over my Mothers death&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need to stress less; it makes my tummy do funny things&lt;br /&gt; There maybe a lot more that I have learned, but there is a lot I still need to learn.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-116126289211640186?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/116126289211640186/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=116126289211640186' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/116126289211640186'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/116126289211640186'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/10/im-thirty-today.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-115437326588767405</id><published>2006-07-31T15:13:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-07-31T15:14:25.903-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I’m sick and tired.  What am I sick and tired of you ask.  I’m sick and tired of being underestimated.  Everyday people put little faith in what I can do, what I am willing to do, or what I know. And its not just work where this happens. Everyone in all aspects of my life do this. Just because I don’t speak up doesn’t mean I don’t know what’s going on around me.  I have always been an observer; even as a child I would sit and watch people.  But mostly at work I get treated like this, be it something simple, or a major job that needs to be done.  Mostly I’m just tired of people walking all over me, thinking I won’t notice what they have done.  Or think that I wont want to do something, so they don’t even asked, even after the fact I’m like that hello that would have been fun.  Or they act like I don’t know anything on a subject, so try to talk over me, thinking I wont get what they are talking about.  Sometimes I just want to scream, HELLO I HAVE AN OPINION ON THIS SUBJECT, but instead they just keep talking never once asking me a single question. Even when I do say something, I almost get this feeling that I’m being stared at and not heard.  Most people don’t realize what I know because they could care less about me, or my thoughts.  If you have to ask yourself, do I do this to her, the answer is yes you are in the group that underestimates me.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-115437326588767405?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/115437326588767405/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=115437326588767405' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/115437326588767405'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/115437326588767405'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/07/im-sick-and-tired.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-115383246014597896</id><published>2006-07-25T08:59:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-07-25T09:01:00.163-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Well another one has came and gone. The person I had been seeing for the last month told me last night that he didn’t see us going anywhere. You know I have to give him so much respect to be open and honest. I hope he finds the right person for him; he will make someone very happy. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;So now it leaves me on the hunt again, not that I was hunting to begin with, but as always I’m never alone for long. I have noticed that, I may have a dry spell for about a month or two, but for the most part there is always someone. Of course I can always go out to the redneck bar and find me another sucker. Anyone seen a wrapper? Personal inside joke with Redneckgirl.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt; Any who, I have learned from this really I have, I learned to not dwell and take life as it is. Also I have learned that my guy friends are really creepy, lol, no really they are their for me for almost anything. K is my softball husband. Also like a girlfriend to me, I can tell him almost anything, really no I can tell him everything and he doesn’t hold it against me, plus his story on the awful blind date was great. S, is a very funny guy that loves to use his screwdriver. I hope he finds a girl soon; he’s starting to get testy. So now it’s off to find the next adventure or sucker.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-115383246014597896?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/115383246014597896/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=115383246014597896' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/115383246014597896'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/115383246014597896'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/07/well-another-one-has-came-and-gone.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-115341382804133908</id><published>2006-07-20T12:42:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-07-20T12:43:48.060-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:180%;color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Oh I forgot to say, I am officially a Great-Aunt!  My Great-Nephew was born July 17th, he was 6lbs 13oz and 20 inches long.  No, it doesn’t make feel old; I’m proud and happy!!!!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-115341382804133908?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/115341382804133908/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=115341382804133908' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/115341382804133908'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/115341382804133908'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/07/oh-i-forgot-to-say-i-am-officially.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-115341279210883693</id><published>2006-07-20T12:26:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-07-20T12:26:32.126-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#993399;"&gt;I’m a dweller.  What I mean by this is, I dwell on the littlest things.  It’s something I have been working on; it’s so hard for me not want to constantly to think about things.  Recently I have been working hard on this problem. When I start to worry or dwell on something, I try to push the thought out and let it go, I’ve been doing good.  I replace the thought with a happy thought. By doing this I have noticed that I seem happier, easier going about things.  As some people put it, I kind of get wound tight. One reason I have started doing this is, when I get stressed I get sick to my stomach, I don’t like the feeling. There are so many things I dwell on in a day. Mostly I worry what my friends, family, and co-workers think of me.  I guess I have this urge to please people. When it comes to my co-workers mainly I worry about the ones that I am a friend with, I could really care less what the rest think. Then if I’m seeing a guy I get so worried that I’m going to screw up some how, that I end up driving them nuts.  So with this new plan I have in place hopefully it will get better.  Basically I’m learning to let things go and to stop dwelling. Kind whatever will be will.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Since calling my ex I have been thinking. Maybe it was a good thing. Kind of gave me so sort of closer to the relationship.  Even if we only talked to a few minutes, it was enough for me to say bye in my own way. Because since then I have not really thought about him or his family.  I’m ready move on to the next adventure in my life.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-115341279210883693?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/115341279210883693/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=115341279210883693' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/115341279210883693'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/115341279210883693'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/07/im-dweller.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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-20303086.post-115228933483732019</id><published>2006-07-07T12:19:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-07-07T12:22:14.860-04:00</updated><title type='text'>I couldnt help it, it made me laugh!</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;  Those who pass this on to almost all of their friends, "with or without boys", do it because:     &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;a) For those with no children - this is totally hysterical!      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;b) For those who already have children past this age, this is hilarious.      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;c) For those who have children this age, this is not funny.      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;d) For those who have children nearing this age, this is a warning.      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;e) For those who have not yet had children, this is birth control.        &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;Raising Boys came from an anonymous Mother in Austin, Texas...      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;Things I've learned from my Boys (honest and not kidding):      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;1. A king size waterbed holds enough water to fill a 2000 sq. ft. house 4 inches deep.     &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;2. If you spray hair spray on dust bunnies and run over them with roller blades, they can ignite.     &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;3. A 3-year old Boy's voice is louder than 200 adults in a crowded restaurant.     &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;4. If you hook a dog leash over a ceiling fan, the motor is not strong enough to rotate a 42 pound Boy wearing Batman underwear and a Superman cape. It is strong enough, however, if tied to a paint can, to spread paint on all four walls of a 20 x 20 ft. room.     &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;5. You should not throw baseballs up when the ceiling fan is on. When using a ceiling fan as a bat, you have to throw the ball up a few times before you get a hit. A ceiling fan can hit a baseball a long way.      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;6.The glass in windows (even double-pane) doesn't stop a baseball hit by a ceiling fan.      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;7. When you hear the toilet flush and the words "uh oh", it's already too late      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;8. Brake fluid mixed with Clorox makes smoke, and lots of it.      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;9. A six-year old Boy can start a fire with a flint rock even though a 36-year old man says they can only do it in the movies.     &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;10. Certain Lego's will pass through the digestive tract of a 4-year old Boy.      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;11. Play dough and microwave should not be used in the same sentence.      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;12. Super glue is forever.      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;13. No matter how much Jell-O you put in a swimming pool you still can't walk on water.      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;14. Pool filters do not like Jell-O.      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;15. VCR's do not eject "PB &amp;J" sandwiches even though TV commercials show they do.      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;16. Garbage bags do not make good parachutes.      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;17. Marbles in gas tanks make lots of noise when driving.      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;18. You probably DO NOT want to know what that odor is.      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;19. Always look in the oven before you turn it on; plastic toys do not like ovens.     &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;20. The fire department in Austin, TX has a 5-minute response time.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;21. The spin cycle on the washing machine does not make earthworms    dizzy.      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;22. It will, however, make cats dizzy.      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;23. Cats throw up twice their body weight when dizzy.      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;24. 80% of Men who read this will try mixing the Clorox and brake fluid.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-115228933483732019?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/115228933483732019/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=115228933483732019' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/115228933483732019'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/115228933483732019'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/07/i-couldnt-help-it-it-made-me-laugh.html' title='I couldnt help it, it made me laugh!'/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-115211941631406949</id><published>2006-07-05T13:09:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-07-05T13:10:16.320-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Killing spree and texting</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;What is it with the birds of Louisville using myself and my car as their way of meeting their demise? A few weeks ago I was getting off 65 and getting in the Watterson, I had a bird hit my windshield. Which yes of course it scared the hell out of me, heart beating faster and all that. Then about a week later I was driving to work, and I had a little bird jump on the road. Of course I was thinking he would move so I kept on driving. Well, I looked in the rearview mirror and all I saw was a wet flat bird. What the fuck, do I have a target somewhere on my car? I mean I know it’s the ugliest car on the road; I hate the car, so why do birds insist to use it to kill themselves? Oh then last week I was walking out to go smoke with one of the girls from work, all I heard her say ewww, then I looked out side. Next to the doors were two dead birds, we think they hit the glass and died. Who knows maybe they were heading for my car to sit and wait for it move so they could get under the wheels.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some people know that I have been trying to kill my car because I hate it so much. Lets see the things I have done to it, its needed oil for about 3 months, now the low coolant light is on, so I may put in some coolant. The front strut needs to be fixed and I refuse to fix it I don’t even care if it’s wearing the tires down. I need to do something with the plate on the back strut because you can hear me coming if I hit a bump. The paint is peeling; I even help it out by peeling the paint. I once told someone that I hope it rolls over and dies. Aside from all of this it refuses to die, everyday I walk out to my car praying it wont start, but of course it starts. I think it is getting the hint that I’m trying to kill it, because the other day I was driving down Arnoldtown road and my horn blew, ok here is the odd part, I cant even blow the horn, its missing the piece on the steering wheel. So after my initial shock that my horn blew, it blew again all by its self. Ok the car is trying to put up a fight it knows I’m trying to kill it. So I’m like fuck I going to be stuck somewhere with a horn going and nothing to do about it. I got to the ballpark and found someone to take the fuse out for the horn. Now I dare it to start putting up another fight because it will die.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is official I’m addicted to texting. As most people know I hate to talk on the phone. I would rather text someone than call him or her. I could be doing nothing that would keep me from talking, but just text instead. Where I work I sometimes have to call offices, I only do this once a month because I hate to talk on the phone that much. The days that I do call offices you can always tell, because by the end of the day my head is twitching and my eyes are all bugged out, plus I barely have a voice left. So when I am at home or work, or anywhere I text people. Even if it is to sat whatcha doing. Lame I know, but I hate the phone, I even pay extra to have unlimited texting.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-115211941631406949?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/115211941631406949/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=115211941631406949' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/115211941631406949'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/115211941631406949'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/07/killing-spree-and-texting.html' title='Killing spree and texting'/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-115197940896635948</id><published>2006-07-03T22:16:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-07-03T22:16:48.986-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Update</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;It’s been a while since I wrote something here; I have been busy with so much.  Softball is in full swing.  I play 4 nights a week sometimes playing two different teams in one night.  Crazy, I know but I love playing. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Right now I’m feeling kind of blue.  I have been down for a while.  I think mainly feel like I’m being used by the people around me, they don’t mean to do it, but they don’t do anything to stop it from happening.  I was talking to a guy a bit not long, but it seems I’m getting the brush off, I hate that feeling. It drives me nuts, and then makes me feel lower then what I was, I hate that feeling.  It’s not like I’m in love or anything, but it seems my jerk-o-meter is off, and it’s been off for a while.  Again I get used for that one thing and then dumped, it sucks.  Why is it so hard to find a guy that doesn’t want to play a game with me? It’s not like I push to hard I don’t call all the time I don’t hunt people down. I feel that if I guys wants to spend time with me he will put forth some effort or at least try. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I’m going to just give up on the whole guy thing and go celibate. My BOB is my friend.  Some days yeah I’m scared of being alone, but some days I feel better being alone.  Those days that I feel better being alone are great, but then the days that I’m scared, scared that I’m going to the little old lady with a ton of cats.  I want children I want that love that a child gives you, to share that joy they bring you. Yes I love my friend’s children, more than anything; I would do anything in the world for them. But I want that special bond a child has with their mother.  My sister told me to go out and find a donor; I may end up doing that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In a weak moment I called my ex, why do weak moments do that to people? I caught him off guard he wasn’t expecting me to call, and in the end I ended up crying.  He’s seeing the girl that he didn’t go out on a date with, lol. I’m fine with that because I kind of knew that’s what was going to happen.  I feel that I can’t get over him and until I get over him it’s not going to be fair for any over guy in my life.  But there are some days that I’m glad he is out of my life, I don’t need someone that is going to treat me like shit and lie to me.&lt;br /&gt;One of these days I will find the person for me that treats me like the princess that I am.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-115197940896635948?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/115197940896635948/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=115197940896635948' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/115197940896635948'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/115197940896635948'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/07/update.html' title='Update'/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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-20303086.post-114667697796982662</id><published>2006-05-03T13:21:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-05-03T13:22:57.980-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;As most of my friends know, I have food issues.   There some many to name I don’t know where to begin.  Today I’m going to write about popcorn.  I hate the smell of popcorn.  The reason I hate the smell is, I have smelled it for the last 4 years, every fucking day somebody in this building has eat that stuff.  And some days some dumb ass burns popcorn.  I’m still trying to figure out how as an adult, that people can still burn popcorn.  Its not like it’s a quiche’, please people when its stops popping take it out of the microwave; don’t let it keep cooking.  Another one of my peeves with food is people eating with their fingers.  I mean yes there some foods out there that are finger foods and then there are some that are not, for example a baked potato is food that you eat with a fork not your fingers.  We have opposable thumbs so we can us silverware. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; After serving for well over 7 years, I have watched so many people eat, and have developed a lot of peeves. I could write all day about these peeves, but neither you nor I have that kind of time.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114667697796982662?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114667697796982662/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114667697796982662' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114667697796982662'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114667697796982662'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/05/as-most-of-my-friends-know-i-have-food.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-114667498885379905</id><published>2006-05-03T12:49:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-05-03T12:49:48.863-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Selfishness.  This is something I am not.  But I know people who are, for instance, I know someone who is so caught up in them that they don’t notice when other people are hurting or annoyed.  They don’t try to make any effort to do something for other people unless they are getting something out of it, or a reward of some kind. All they care about is what’s going on with them, and don’t stop to listen to their friends.  Or notice when the friend just wants to be left alone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I have noticed over the years that I’m good at pushing people away when I feel like I’m starting to care.  Mostly it’s guys that I am seeing that I push away. I guess it’s a way to keep from getting hurt, kind of like self-defense.  I don’t try to, but seem to act in a way that will get them running for the hills.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114667498885379905?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114667498885379905/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114667498885379905' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114667498885379905'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114667498885379905'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/05/selfishness.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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-20303086.post-114659685680925627</id><published>2006-05-02T15:06:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-05-02T15:07:36.826-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Yesterday I found out that someone I thought was a friend is really not a friend. I recently had a friend who’s husband left her. In the process of comforting her I tired to help her out and let her use something of mine. Well let’s just say now its time to pay up, and she is beating around the bush on rather she is going pay. This leaves me in a very odd spot, I don’t want to be a bitch and lose that friend I did have, but in the same respect do I want someone around that is going to take advantage of me like that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I get take advantage of so easily. I hate it, people know I wont say anything and just take it and go on, but at the same time I wont let my brother do anything like this to me. So why do I let people who are not even related to me take the upper hand?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night I got upset with someone, I wish I hadn’t. Mainly because it shows me how weak I still am. I’m so scared that I’m going to revert back to the person I was and scared that I’m going to get stuck in a spot of being yelled at and ridiculed and cowering like a child in the corner, mentally. I’m such a strong person in most of my life; I want that strength in all of my life. I want the confidence I have work to be in every aspect of my life. I think more than anything I’m scared to let someone in my life or at least get to know who I really am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know that I have a lot to offer people. I have the humor to make most anybody laugh, or at least crack a smile. I’m willing to do anything for my close friends, even bury the body, lol. Almost every kid loves me, even animals, but one and that little rat dog needs to stay outside, and stop humping Mom’s leg. I love my eyes, for some reason I can stare at my eyes all day. And they change with my mood.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114659685680925627?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114659685680925627/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114659685680925627' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114659685680925627'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114659685680925627'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/05/yesterday-i-found-out-that-someone-i.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-114650716835347198</id><published>2006-05-01T14:12:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-05-01T14:12:48.366-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Well I went to the doctor today, it was just a medication review.  I got a script for Wellbutrin. It’s to help me to stop smoking, no big deal right.  Well one of the questions she asked me today besides do I have a history of seizures was, do I make myself vomit.  She wanted to know if there is any history of bulimia, I laughed and said look at me, do you think I want to keep food out or have a history of bulimia.  So wish me luck on my quest to quit smoking.  Wheezing be gone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I had a great weekend; I did nothing all weekend.  I cleaned a little and caught up on laundry.  But mainly did nothing, it was nice I have not had a weekend like that in a long time. I saw the guy again on Sunday. He’s so sweet. Its funny he went out Saturday night with his friends, he told me all about it, even though I didn’t care he still told me what they did, I’m sure some details were left out. But still it was sweet.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114650716835347198?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114650716835347198/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114650716835347198' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114650716835347198'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114650716835347198'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/05/well-i-went-to-doctor-today-it-was.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-114631073110293704</id><published>2006-04-29T07:37:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-04-29T07:38:51.120-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Ok, rarely do I blog about work, but I have on this subject.  Recently my team and another team have been combined.  So my team has grown from 35 to 75.  My old team used to have potlucks every month to celebrate someone birthday.  Myself and another girl would decorate their desk.  So in combining teams we have join in with the people that were doing it for the other team.  My darling manger decided to give up our names to be on the “Potluck committee”.  We have to organize potlucks and do the desks for birthdays. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now the humor in this is, I hate to cook.  Not that I don’t know how to, I choose not to cook. While sitting in the meeting for the potluck, I noticed, you put the fat girl on the potluck committee.  Like I know a lot about food or something, I’m the pickiest person when it comes to food. Then my whole food issues come into play. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Doing this potluck thing has been trying, you have 6 people in a room, each with different ideas, and the mangers are totally out of the whole process.  The only thing they have said to us is, don’t take to long, most of you are my high producers.  I have spent a total of 10 hours dealing with the potluck. Oh, and they want us to get this catered. Then we have to worry about the vegetarians on our team. How can you not eat meat?  &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Also, we have people that never participate and the mangers want us to try to get them involved. Sorry, I am not a motivational speaker; I’m not subtle.  Never have been, I have always been straight to point and go on, kind of person.  In a way this also has intimidated people.  So hopefully this whole potluck thing will be a success.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114631073110293704?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114631073110293704/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114631073110293704' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114631073110293704'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114631073110293704'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/04/ok-rarely-do-i-blog-about-work-but-i.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-114624651489200996</id><published>2006-04-28T13:48:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-04-28T13:48:34.913-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I have met a new guy.  I met him through a friend of mine. He so far is really nice, funny, and honest.  I like being around him, but I can seem to relax.  I don’t know why I just can’t relax. With any new person I’m around I’m quiet, but once I get comfortable you cant get me to shut up. In a way he does calm me down. So some day I may relax around him.  Plus he reminds me of my friend from Chicago.  I know I need to work on being more confident with myself, he has already said that’s a turn off to him.  I need to take to the confidence that I have at work and put towards the rest of my life.  But at work I know what the hell I’m doing, and don’t have to think about what I’m doing.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114624651489200996?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114624651489200996/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114624651489200996' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114624651489200996'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114624651489200996'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/04/i-have-met-new-guy.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-114624136797215995</id><published>2006-04-28T12:22:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-04-28T12:22:47.986-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Survivor. That’s what I am.  I look at what all I have been through in my live, and that’s all I am doing now surviving.  I have stopped living; I have stopped looking forward. I just wait around for the next thing to happen to my family or me. Recently I have realized that the last relationship I was in was not healthy, he didn’t treat me right, liked to play head games with me, and I think he enjoyed the game.  Why would you want to make someone feel paranoid? Or they are not worthy of being around anyone?  But enough about him, he is no longer in my life and is going to stay away.  What I have to do now is start living and have more fun. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Softball starts in less than 2 weeks.  I can’t wait; also I’m stoked about the Oaks.  This year will be the first time for me to go to the Oaks.  I’m not a big better, but I will bet that day.  Hopefully my friend can show me a few tricks of the trade.  Maybe I will win some money.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114624136797215995?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114624136797215995/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114624136797215995' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114624136797215995'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114624136797215995'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/04/survivor.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-114562401850630154</id><published>2006-04-21T08:53:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-04-21T08:53:38.520-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Well, well, well, it is Thunder time.  For some reason I look forward to this like a little kid. I cant wait for Thunder, I get to watch the air show, drink Bloody Mary’s, plus watch some fireworks.  We will be on the Great Lawn, or by Slugger Field. Either way I will be drunk by days end. I have been listening to the weather reports all week long, so far they all are saying it’s suppose to be pretty tomorrow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have been thinking here lately how to explain what my medicine does to me, the best way I can explain it is, it does not make as hyper.  I used to get bent out of shape over the littlest things.  Now I let things go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I’m getting very discourage with softball.  I’m getting discourage for two reasons. The first being I can’t catch a ball to save my life or throw.  Normally I’m pretty good, but the last few weeks I have sucked. Plus my batting is getting worst.  The second thing is, I belong to 4 different teams.  One of the teams we practice 2x a week.  I’m getting tired of seeing the same 7 people at practice.  No one new is coming or coming on a regular basis.  I can understand people are busy, but then again the schedule does not change.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114562401850630154?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114562401850630154/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114562401850630154' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114562401850630154'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114562401850630154'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/04/well-well-well-it-is-thunder-time.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-114538010617223127</id><published>2006-04-18T13:07:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-04-18T13:08:26.190-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Dear Blog,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;            People are driving me nuts today.  As most people know I HATE THE SMELL OF VANILLA.  There is a woman that I work with that wears this nasty ass smelling vanilla crap.  It wouldn’t be as bad if I couldn’t smell her still ten minutes after she has left the area. Or if I walk by an office that she is in and can smell her.  I know most people are not as sensitive to perfumes as me, but damn.  Do people have to bath in perfume?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also I work with a woman that is so freaking nosey and lazy it’s not even funny.  She sits in the same row as I do, but at the other end.  If she hears us talking, she will email or message one of us with a comment, instead of getting up off her lazy ass and walking over to us.  Also we work on the second floor, it does not take much to go up a flight of stairs. Not her she will go out of her way to us the elevator.  Please get up and move. Then I find out that she has FMLA for acid reflex. Hello, it can’t be that bad.  If so don’t eat shit that would make it act up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now back to the perfume thing.  I have been holding this in since Christmas.  Men, if you are dating a female and want to buy her perfume as a gift. Do not. I repeat do not, buy her perfume.  Unless you exactly what she wears.  My ex bought me some stinky ass smelling perfume.  I love the Arkansas Razorbacks; he bought this stuff called Lady Red. It smells like old lady ass.  I smiled when it was given to me, and even smiled he said its red for the Razorbacks.  So now I stuck with this shit, I cant even open the bag without the smell of the perfume assaulting my nose. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; So dear blog, maybe some man will read this and know to look for the right kind of perfume for his better half.  And maybe females will stop wearing so much fucking perfume in an office setting.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114538010617223127?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114538010617223127/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114538010617223127' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114538010617223127'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114538010617223127'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/04/dear-blog-people-are-driving-me-nuts.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-114511859365562531</id><published>2006-04-15T12:29:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-04-15T12:29:53.676-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I have not blogged in while. I’m just in a blah mood.  Ever have the feeling that something is missing. You don’t know what it is, just feel like something is missing.  I’m normally a pretty happy person, with a funny insight on life and people.  But here lately I just have not been feeling like myself. I feel like there is this big chunk just missing.   I don’t know what it is; I wish it would go away.  I can’t place my finger on the missing object.  Lately I have been listening to more sad songs, I guess because my mood is sad.  Mainly I have been listening to country music.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Softball season is almost here.  Starting the end of April all my games will be starting.  I’m not even really looking forward to that.  But then again it will take my mind off a lot of things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other day I was talking to a friend about my birthday. I don’t really care to celebrate my birthday.  My Mom died 2 days before my 26th birthday.  After that I really stopped looking forward to my birthday.  Mainly because its just a big reminder that my Mom is no longer here with me to wish me happy birthday.  I know my friends will try to plan a birthday party for me this year. I’m turning thirty.  I really wish they wouldn’t. I will be reminded of what I’m missing from my life.  Plus growing up, my birthday was never made out to be big deal.  Holidays in general were not a big deal in my house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Ever feel like everybody’s charity case.  Some days that’s what I feel like.  I know people mean well.  But I can help feel like an abused dog that everybody feels sorry for and wants to try to take in and rise.  Sometimes the dog just wants to left alone, to roam free.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114511859365562531?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114511859365562531/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114511859365562531' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114511859365562531'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114511859365562531'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/04/i-have-not-blogged-in-while.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-114469449190439452</id><published>2006-04-10T14:40:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-04-10T14:41:32.616-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;You want to know what burns my fuse?  It’s when people say something about you, but leave out key details. They leave out details so it makes you look bad.  Over the weekend I was at a party for Mom.  While Mom was opening gifts I hear someone say my name, I look up and hear someone say don’t let me near the wine.  Then said that I used to keep a lot of wine in the refrigerator, when I lived with their sister.  I lived with their sister 7 years ago and the bottles, which there were 3, only had maybe a glass of wine in each.  Also I had had the bottles for months.  But they forgot to say that part only tried to make me look like I was a wino.  I already can’t stand this person, so what she said didn’t help much.  Then she came over to say they had some clothes for me because they couldn’t wear them anymore.  You know, I have lost weight too, but I did it the old fashion way, I didn’t lose so much self control that I had to have a fucking surgery to help me to lose weight.  So don’t come to me and try to make me feel like I’m a fat slob.  At least I dress for my age and not some 50-year-old woman when I’m 35.  Can you tell she ticked me off?  Also if I want to drink wine its none of you damn business. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I sick and tired of people trying to make me feel less important.  I don’t care if you know something I don’t; I don’t care if you did something that I didn’t get to do.  If people have not figured me out by now, guess what I could care less what you know.  All I care about is if you had fun.  But don’t try and make me feel less important, because I don’t care!  Also if you don’t want my opinion don’t ask me, or if you are going to argue with me about what I think again don’t ask me.  I don’t do pity well, I don’t give it and don’t want it either.  I will say sorry when something bad happens or if you are sick, but that’s about as far as its going.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114469449190439452?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114469449190439452/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114469449190439452' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114469449190439452'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114469449190439452'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/04/you-want-to-know-what-burns-my-fuse.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-114443409402437418</id><published>2006-04-07T14:21:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-04-07T14:21:34.056-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Ok I found out that stress can truly make you sick.  I went to the doctor today and she said that I was basically sick because of stress.  Lovely now I get to stress about being sick only to make myself even more sick, something here just does not seem right.  So I get to take something that makes me sleepy, but hey I’m not nausea anymore. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt; Two things that I have noticed in the last day; White asparagus looks like look skinny dicks bunched together.  And if something is sent 2nd day, why mark it extremely important.  If it was so important why send it 2nd day?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114443409402437418?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114443409402437418/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114443409402437418' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114443409402437418'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114443409402437418'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/04/ok-i-found-out-that-stress-can-truly.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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-20303086.post-114434769128270322</id><published>2006-04-06T14:21:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-04-06T14:21:31.313-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;With my job I get a lot of time to reflect and think.  So today, while on hold I was thinking about my ex, why, I don’t know.  I was thinking how he was in the beginning, sending sweets emails or texts.  Then I was trying to remember when it changed. Things started to change after I busted him in a lie. A small lie mind you, but still a lie.  After that he changed, started getting shady.  Which in turn made me think that he was cheating.  Do I think he physically cheated? No. Do I think he was going to someone else for emotional support?  Yes.    At first I was upset that we broke up, now I just want him to leave me alone.  I want to be left alone.  He doesn’t contact me much, just sends email jokes every now and then, but it’s enough to bug me.  I think you were the one that wanted a break, so why do you keep sending me stuff? Why keep that little bit of contact? Before you say just email him back, saying please don’t contact me anymore. I don’t want any contact with him so much so that I don’t even want to email him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Also why do radio station keep playing the same damn songs over and over.   There are a few songs that drive me nuts. That damn grill song, oh can’t stand it and anything that has to do with Mariah Carey.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114434769128270322?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114434769128270322/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114434769128270322' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114434769128270322'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114434769128270322'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/04/with-my-job-i-get-lot-of-time-to.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-114432736572288553</id><published>2006-04-06T08:42:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-04-06T08:42:45.746-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I had my interview Tuesday, but I don’t think I did well. Call me crazy, but it’s just a feeling.  If it’s not meant to be then its not meant to be.  But I think I did better in that interview than the one for Humana. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate being nauseas; I didn’t think my sense of smell was so strong till my stomach was upset.  Now certain smells just kill me.  I wouldn’t mind being like this if something else were wrong, you know a head cold or something. No I just have to nauseas, ughhh.  &lt;br /&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I go Monday for my test.  I’m nervous, but I know I can get through anything that comes my way.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114432736572288553?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114432736572288553/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114432736572288553' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114432736572288553'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114432736572288553'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/04/i-had-my-interview-tuesday-but-i-dont.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-114409105072097008</id><published>2006-04-03T15:03:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-04-03T15:04:10.733-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I’m so happy I have a lot going on in the next few weeks.  Mom’s birthday, Thunder over Louisville, Oaks, Derby, and then I’m going to my sister’s.  It’s going to be a busy few months for me, plus softball is starting soon. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A friend of mine is going with me to the Oaks. I have lived here for 18 years and have never been to Oaks.  Plus he is going to help me pick out horses to bet on, or at least show me how.  I’m not a big gambler, but I can’t wait. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Over the weekend I saw my ex’s Mom.  I never understood why the guys I dated Moms liked me, even after I quit seeing the guys the Moms want me to keep in contact.  It seems odd to me, why keep me around, why do they want me to call them?  Then I have the dilemma of if I should or not, because I know anything I tell them is going right back to the guy.  So anything I tell them is going to be very limited.  I don’t know. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt; Also soon I’m going to start something that I have wanted to do for years.   After thinking about it hard for the last few weeks, I’m going to do it, but I’m still going to keep it to myself. Also wish me luck; I’m going for another job interview.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114409105072097008?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114409105072097008/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114409105072097008' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114409105072097008'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114409105072097008'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/04/im-so-happy-i-have-lot-going-on-in.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-114390989903427890</id><published>2006-04-01T11:44:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-04-01T11:44:59.056-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I have noticed that I have 3 stages of anger.  Mad, disappointed, and angry.  When I’m mad I get over it quickly. I maybe mad for a few moments or for an hour.  Disappointed.  I get disappointed in people a lot.  I get disappointed when they let me down, or when someone knows better, but still go on with what they are doing.  I get disappointed in my self a lot.  Angry, boy oh boy, when I’m angry, your best bet is to walk away from me and not say a word, unless of course you want your head ripped off and stuffed up your ass.  Most people have not seen me mad, close friends have and my brother.  I try to stay happy and let things go, especially on the ball field.  That’s where I have fun, so I don’t get upset there much.  Also when I’m angry I start to cry.  I never understood why I cry when I’m angry.  The reason I’m writing about this, is my friends kids got me angry last night.  I love them more than anything.  I would kill for those kids.  I try to spoil them as much as I can; they get away with a lot with me.  What I got upset about was, I had bought them a Leapster for Christmas.  Then a few months ago I got them both a game.  While we were cleaning up their room I found out that they had both lost the games I bought.  I got angry at the fact they both had no respect for me or what is bought them. I went off on her son because he was the one that lost the games.  Neither take care of what is bought for them from anybody, it upsets me because they get so much and are taking of so well from both of their parents.  I don’t think they will ever learn how much they are loved and are given.  As a child I didn’t have much, and hated it, there was so many things I wanted, but never got because my Mom could either not afford it and didn’t have time to take me any where. Once I was in Girl Scouts, but dropped out because I could never get any badges because my Mom would not spend the time with me to get them.  I think more than anything I envy her children because they are loved so much, but they don’t care.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114390989903427890?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114390989903427890/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114390989903427890' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114390989903427890'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114390989903427890'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/04/i-have-noticed-that-i-have-3-stages-of.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-114374870169222262</id><published>2006-03-30T14:57:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-03-30T14:58:21.706-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I wasn't going to write anything today, buttttt.  I got an email from someone.  They work at a professional office. You could not tell by the email, that they even finished grade school.  There were so many grammar errors that it was not even funny.  All I really wanted to do was print it out, correct it, and fax it back with a note.  It would state. I hope you do not send emails to your client like this one. If so they think you are as a big of an idiot as I do, only I think you are a liar, too.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt; Now, I'm was not the worlds best in English, but one thing I have learn is proof read proof read proof read, then spell check. Why should we expect people to come to our land and learn our language, if most people born here can't even write and read their first language?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114374870169222262?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114374870169222262/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114374870169222262' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114374870169222262'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114374870169222262'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/03/i-wasnt-going-to-write-anything-today.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-114364000944106361</id><published>2006-03-29T08:45:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-03-29T08:46:49.460-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;Yesterday was a very interesting day. First off had an ex call me. I don't want to talk to him, so I hung up on him, he called back. I hung up again. Now you one would think that's where it stopped. No he had to get in the last word, I get a 3rd call, and very maturely he yelled FUCK YOU. Hmmm, wow and I thought I was crazy, I'm beginning to think that I wasn't the crazy one. I have decided that I have no room in my life for liars, people who like to belittle and ridicule others to make themselves feel better. Yes he did all of this to me.&lt;br /&gt;Then I was driving home and get a text message from this guy I have been talking to, he asked what I was doing last night. I had made plans with friends. We are putting together a 50th birthday party for Mom. Anywho, he started on this rant of all I have time for is my friends. He needed someone with more time. I'm sorry but, I WILL NOT DROP MY PLANS WITH MY FRIENDS FOR A GUY. Get over yourself. I refuse to be anyone's doormat. Why do guys not like women that are independent? I'm beginning to think that B.O.B. and are going to spend some time together for while. I swear, I have a tattoo on my forehead that says Attract a Nut. If so please find me some remover. Because if all that is coming around are nuts, fuck that I will be nut less. I do not need a guy to complete the person that I am. All I need is me. I can be alone and be find and dandy. So to all you nuts out there, FUCK OFF.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And to you two out there I know how to spell APRIL, I'm blonde and cant do to things at once, so bite me. On a lighter note I did get a really good CD, Howie Day, nice voice, sweet songs. Now I'm done with my rant.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114364000944106361?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114364000944106361/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114364000944106361' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114364000944106361'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114364000944106361'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/03/yesterday-was-very-interesting-day.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-114348511820436557</id><published>2006-03-27T13:44:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-03-27T13:45:18.216-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;I can't wait for April to get here. One of the biggest reasons is Softball starts. For those people that do not know me very well, I love to play Softball. I had someone ask me the other day, why do you play so much. One of the biggest reasons is, its the only place I can go and not worry about anything. Once I'm on that field all of my worries go away, for that hour I'm not worried. I worry about so much in my life and worry about the people that are in my life. I need that escape from everything. I wish more people had a place they could go to and escape. But there is one thing I don't like about Softball, I never have anybody come and watch me or cheer for me. Not that I would want someone there all the time, but it would be nice if one of my friends would show up every now and then, without me having to beg.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;After reading a friends blog I had to write something. I have issues with public restrooms. Not as bad as some, but still an issue. I can not stand it when someone comes into the restroom and picks the stall right next to you when there 7 other stalls available. For the love of god why can't they pick one of others. Why do they have to chose the stall next to me? Oh, and when someone is using the cell phone in the bathroom. The person on the other side does not need to hear me pee.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114348511820436557?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114348511820436557/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114348511820436557' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114348511820436557'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114348511820436557'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/03/i-cant-wait-for-april-to-get-here.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-114322285709604131</id><published>2006-03-24T12:53:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-03-24T12:54:17.123-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;Ever have something in mind that you want to do, but never have told anybody. I have something I have been thinking about doing for years. I just never have made the time to do it, I'm scared to do it, I'm scared I will fail at it or suck. I mean I have never told any of my friends what it is I want to do. That's how much I have kept it to my self. I think it would be an awesome thing to do. Its just getting up the nerve to do it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;I have problem, all of sudden I cant stand to be alone. I mean just spending the night at my apartment by myself. This is odd for me, most of the time I like being by myself, but here lately I have to be around people. I have an idea why. I even go over to a friends house, I don't even talk to them. I just sit there its in way knowing that another person is in the room. For the most part its driving me crazy.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114322285709604131?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114322285709604131/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114322285709604131' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114322285709604131'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114322285709604131'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/03/ever-have-something-in-mind-that-you.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-114312809251621074</id><published>2006-03-23T10:34:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-03-23T10:34:52.566-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#ff99ff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;I have been thinking the last few days, about a lot of different things. One what's going with my health. Two getting past the past. But I still keep thinking about the say what does not kill us makes us stronger, and I think, damn I should be He-Man by now. Then I reminded what my Mom said to me a long time ago. I made the comment that only guys that are attracted to me are one that have something majorly wrong with them. She told me "they see the strength in you and need that." I wonder why it is other people can see this strength and I cant? I'm slowly changing my thought process on everything. Everyday I'm feeling better about myself and the person I am. I am a great friend. A great Sister and a great Aunt. I have an odd outlook on life and how people should be treated. I'm good at my job. I have more love to give than most people. I need to work at a lot of things, but its coming a long slowly.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114312809251621074?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114312809251621074/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114312809251621074' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114312809251621074'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114312809251621074'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/03/i-have-been-thinking-last-few-days.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-114294649050504859</id><published>2006-03-21T08:07:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-03-21T08:08:10.526-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;I wanted to write about going out with my friends Saturday night and the fact that I paid 3 dollars for some mother fucking guacamole. But one thing that sticks out to me about Saturday night, was this women that I saw dancing. She wasn't the most attractive person I have ever saw, but she had her own special look. She wore a ugly white dress with this jean jacket. Then she really needed a bra, I mean she wasn't even an A cup, but they were heading south for the winter. As I was watching her I kept thinking the phase "Dance like no one is watching." Because she was doing this, I had so much admiration for her. To be so confident in yourself to not care who is watching, some days I wish I could go through life with this attitude. Instead I care what people think of me, but only the ones I call friends, and to a point strangers.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114294649050504859?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114294649050504859/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114294649050504859' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114294649050504859'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114294649050504859'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/03/i-wanted-to-write-about-going-out-with.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-114294527890725534</id><published>2006-03-21T07:47:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-03-21T07:47:58.943-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Yesterday was a hard day for me, it wasn't the hardest day of my life but still hard. I had a call from my doctors office, and I have to go back in for a test. So many things are going through my head right at the moment. I'm scared and I feel dirty. I had a friend go through this a few years ago, and I feel guilty that I wasn't there for her more. At the time we didn't talk much, but that has changed now, but it doesn't change the fact that I should have been there. I know with all of my friends I will have the support to get through this, its just taking it all in and dealing with the issues. Now I have to take it one day at a time. I keep thinking a saying that has always been running through my head, what doesn't kill us only makes us stronger. I have been living with that saying for years, and to a point its true.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114294527890725534?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114294527890725534/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114294527890725534' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114294527890725534'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114294527890725534'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/03/yesterday-was-hard-day-for-me-it-wasnt.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-114286965737560454</id><published>2006-03-20T10:46:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2006-03-20T10:47:47.556-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;There are some many things going on in my life. The changes I need to make, the choices that need to be made. Plus what is going on in my everyday life. Why does it take so much for a person to make their mind up, when in their heart they know what needs to be done. I want to walk a way from something and be done, but the hard part is walking away. I don't know if I want to give everything up.&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever had a friend that you could talk to, but couldn't in the same respect? I have a friend that when I try to talk to them, they sometimes don't shut up enough for me talk to them. All they want to do is talk about themselves. Which is fine, but when a person needs someone to talk to about their problems, the last thing they need is someone being selfish and only want to talk about their life and not the person who has a problem. I some times don't even want to talk to them about what's wrong, because I feel like the they are not going to listen. It reminds me of something my Mom told me growing up, you need to sometimes stop and listen, you will learn more if you just sit and listen.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114286965737560454?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114286965737560454/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114286965737560454' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114286965737560454'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114286965737560454'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/03/there-are-some-many-things-going-on-in_20.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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-20303086.post-114286962263999448</id><published>2006-03-20T10:46:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-03-20T10:47:03.433-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;There are some many things going on in my life. The changes I need to make, the choices that need to be made. Plus what is going on in my everyday life. Why does it take so much for a person to make their mind up, when in their heart they know what needs to be done. I want to walk a way from something and be done, but the hard part is walking away. I don't know if I want to give everything up.&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever had a friend that you could talk to, but couldn't in the same respect? I have a friend that when I try to talk to them, they sometimes don't shut up enough for me talk to them. All they want to do is talk about themselves. Which is fine, but when a person needs someone to talk to about their problems, the last thing they need is someone being selfish and only want to talk about their life and not the person who has a problem. I some times don't even want to talk to them about what's wrong, because I feel like the they are not going to listen. It reminds me of something my Mom told me growing up, you need to sometimes stop and listen, you will learn more if you just sit and listen.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114286962263999448?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114286962263999448/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114286962263999448' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114286962263999448'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114286962263999448'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/03/there-are-some-many-things-going-on-in.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-114262714857287215</id><published>2006-03-17T15:25:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-03-17T15:25:48.590-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Ok, got to rant about March Madness. I under stand why they call it March Madness. You spend agonizing hours going over your brackets. Trying to make the right choices. How has this team been this, how has that team been. Then you make the choice, hand in the bracket. ONLY to have the team that you picked to go all the way to the final four. BLOW it in the first round. How can you lead the whole fucking game and blow it in the end, how, how! Can the real team please show up to the game. Its the big dance for Christ sake, bring your A game or at least the A- game.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114262714857287215?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114262714857287215/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114262714857287215' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114262714857287215'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114262714857287215'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/03/ok-got-to-rant-about-march-madness.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-114260507957912830</id><published>2006-03-17T09:17:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-03-17T09:17:59.596-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;It's odd how love for a person can change from love to anger in an instant. There is someone that I loved till I got a chance to think about everything they had done, they took every chance they could to piss you off. Doing little things knowing that it would piss you off. Why? Why would people do this, maybe they are to scared to commit to a person. Or scared that they truly love that person and know that they are not good enough. Who knows. At this point in time I'm mad, not at that person, but mad that I let it happen, I let my backbone shrink up and go away. I lost it. Now I'm on a mission to find my back bone or grow it back. Take that back, I'm mad at them too.&lt;br /&gt;This weekend I'm going out on a girls night. I cant wait, because the last one I wasn't up for it. I cant wait.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114260507957912830?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114260507957912830/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114260507957912830' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114260507957912830'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114260507957912830'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/03/its-odd-how-love-for-person-can-change.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-114242878029693831</id><published>2006-03-15T08:17:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-03-15T08:19:40.336-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Choices. There are so many choices in we make in our everyday life. It could be do I hit the snooze button to do I ran the yellow light. In talking with a friend yesterday, she told me that I have the choice between being happy and doing what needs to be done to make me happy. Or choose to not do something and in doing that it will make me miserable. So mainly I have to choice to be happy or miserable. If I don't get up move and do the right thing the end result is I'm miserable, but if I do I will be happy. So from this day on I choose to be happy, I choose to make the best out of my life.&lt;br /&gt;Also while talking to her she told me most people spend their life chasing after a perfect childhood, forgetting that they are adults and its not going to happen. They lose out on a chance to be a happy adult. Most people know that my childhood was not the best. I spent most of it being told I was a burden, being told that I wasn't a good child, too fat, or I was stupid. Even to this day I still think with this mentality, it effects everything in my life. I think its time for me to start thinking none of that matters now, because that's in the past and it has nothing to do with what the people in my life think of me now.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114242878029693831?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114242878029693831/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114242878029693831' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114242878029693831'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114242878029693831'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/03/choices.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-114235369894629311</id><published>2006-03-14T11:27:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-03-14T11:28:18.960-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;I have been thinking a lot here lately. The most I have been thinking about is me, what makes me, me. There are things I need to work on, my self esteem and confidence are the biggest. I need ideas on how to do this. I have always said that I am my only worst enemy. I need to quit that, one thing I have noticed is I can't talk myself up, I hate talking about myself. I don't see the good in myself. I know its there, but I just don't see what everyone else sees.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;The saga of my car continues. Well I called Monday about getting the lien release. They proceed to tell me that the guy that used to own the car took the title in there in Nov and used it as collateral and got a personal loan. So now I'm stuck, my friend is trying to figure out what we can do, he said we will try to be nice, if that doesn't work then we will get mean. I'm never going to get to drive this car!!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114235369894629311?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114235369894629311/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114235369894629311' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114235369894629311'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114235369894629311'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/03/i-have-been-thinking-lot-here-lately.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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-20303086.post-114225490660781796</id><published>2006-03-13T08:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-03-13T08:01:46.636-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;I wanted to thank all of my friends that have stood by me for the last few weeks. I know I have not been the same, I know its been hard to be around me, but really I do love you guys. You are to me a true friend, and I thank you.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114225490660781796?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114225490660781796/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114225490660781796' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114225490660781796'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114225490660781796'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/03/i-wanted-to-thank-all-of-my-friends.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-114225442668191985</id><published>2006-03-13T07:53:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-03-13T07:53:46.773-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Well I didn't go on that date, he didn't call and well I didn't call him. Which made it easier on me because I didn't want to lie to him. Everyday is a struggle for me, to pick up the pieces of my what is left of my life. I know it sounds odd or weird, but it just feels like everything is falling apart around me, and there is nothing I can do to stop it from breaking apart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Why do people treat the ones they love like shit. I never really understood. Is it because they know the person will be there for them no matter what. Or is it they take for granted that the person is never going away. Sometimes its to late to realize what you did wrong, the damage is done.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114225442668191985?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114225442668191985/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114225442668191985' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114225442668191985'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114225442668191985'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/03/well-i-didnt-go-on-that-date-he-didnt.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-114208886883999514</id><published>2006-03-11T09:53:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-03-11T09:54:28.866-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Well lets see, what happened yesterday. I left work at 2 to go and get my car transferred. I got to my friends shop at 2:30. After hanging out there for about 15 minutes, I left with the title. I went and got the insurance changed, then headed off to the clerks office. I should have known it was not going to be a good time. Because but the time I left the insurance office I had a headache. The guy in office was very annoying, to the point that I told my agent sorry, because I knew I could leave, she had to stay. Any who, I went to the clerks office, yeah try pulling the number 98, when they are on 62. Luckily there was a lady walking around checking every bodies paper work to make sure it was ok. Guess what mine wasn't. There used to be lien on the title, I had a copy of the release. No, they want to original, because its not out of the system yet. So I head back to my friends shop. Then he tells me just go get the car, it got a new transmission. So I'm driving back to his shop, because one it needs door pins and two there is something wrong with the battery. And guess what it blew a radiator hose, you know I'm beginning to think I'm never going to get this car. So I had to get someone to drive me back to my old car. All of this, and I had to pick my friends kids up, I needed to be there by 6, I got there at 5:55.&lt;br /&gt;You would think my sucky day would stop there, NO! I pick the kids up, take them to dinner, and as I walk in I see my oldest niece. Normally not a bad thing, but I don't talk to her Mom, to put it nicely, the women is crazy. So I had to find a seat so where that it was as far as hell away from that women. I call my brother to tell him, yeah all he did was laugh, fucker. Take the kids home, finally. and relax. Because I was not going anywhere, then I try to go to sleep, I didn't fall asleep till 2 2:30. I had to get up at 6. I just want to go home and sleep now.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114208886883999514?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114208886883999514/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114208886883999514' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114208886883999514'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114208886883999514'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/03/well-lets-see-what-happened-yesterday.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-114200291162033360</id><published>2006-03-10T10:01:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-03-10T10:01:51.643-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;I told myself that I wouldn't write about him, but I cant help it. I miss him so much, I want to call, but I don't, I don't want to be the one to make all the effort. I wonder if he is thinking about me, if he misses my smell, or my voice, because I miss all of that. I try to breath in and out, and go on with my life, but I cant help to think of him. I don't know how much longer I can take waiting for him to get his head out of his ass.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Oh my f-ing god, our system at work is crazy, they have upped our goal, but its kind of fucking hard to do anything when the system stops.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114200291162033360?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114200291162033360/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114200291162033360' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114200291162033360'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114200291162033360'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/03/i-told-myself-that-i-wouldnt-write.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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-20303086.post-114199557997169956</id><published>2006-03-10T07:56:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-03-10T07:59:39.983-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;I went and hung out with that guy I have been talking to, well lets just say, I felt like a cheat the whole time. I was good and didn't even kiss him, hugged him when I left, but that was about it. He was nervous the whole time, so that didn't help none. I really don't think I'm going to go out with him Saturday. And its sad to say that its really not him, its all me, lol. I'm trying to think what to say to him to cancel out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;I have something to say, after I left his house I went to a friends house to pick up some clothes, I was doing laundry over there earlier in the day. I knocked and then used my key that I have, when I walked in all I hear was what and I was asleep, what do you want. I mean I know she has to get up in the morning, but her living room light was on and I really wanted to talk to her about being over at that guys house and pick up something to wear to work. If I had known that she was asleep I would not have gone in there. She really needs to get laid. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Have you ever want to look at a person and say for the love of god will you shut up. There are a few people I work with that everyday I fight the urge to tell them that. I try to ignore them, it doesnt help, because I can hear them over my headphones. and they sit two rows away. What should I do?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114199557997169956?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114199557997169956/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114199557997169956' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114199557997169956'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114199557997169956'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/03/i-went-and-hung-out-with-that-guy-i.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-114191042147029192</id><published>2006-03-09T08:19:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2006-03-09T08:20:21.506-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Well I didn't get the job. My boss keeps talking like I'm going to have a job here no matter what. I'm just bored here. But then again I get away with so much. What other job can you goof off on the internet. Play around and still get paid. Plus my boss loves me, but that's only because he knows I can get the job done. Then if I got paid for being on time, I would never get paid, lol.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;So, I have been talking to this guy. He's nice, he makes me laugh, plus he boost my ego, always a good thing. The only problem I have is I keep feeling like I'm cheating. I mean I have only talked to him, but in the back of my head I feel like a cheat. We are going out this Saturday as friends only. Hopefully it goes well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Ok I'm going to rant. Normally I don't have road rage, but hello people there is a speed limit, can we at least try to go that limit. Its the expressway fucking drive. Push the little pedal all the way over to the right and go. I cant believe people will be on the highway and drive 45. Do you not get the hint when people are flying past you that you are driving to slow? Also my brother's girlfriend needs to get over herself. Why can a women be jealous of a person's sister, I'm his sister, he knows one thing about me, I not going to stop loving him or fighting for him.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114191042147029192?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114191042147029192/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114191042147029192' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114191042147029192'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114191042147029192'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/03/well-i-didnt-get-job_09.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-114191041619064627</id><published>2006-03-09T08:19:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-03-09T08:20:16.203-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Well I didn't get the job. My boss keeps talking like I'm going to have a job here no matter what. I'm just bored here. But then again I get away with so much. What other job can you goof off on the internet. Play around and still get paid. Plus my boss loves me, but that's only because he knows I can get the job done. Then if I got paid for being on time, I would never get paid, lol.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;So, I have been talking to this guy. He's nice, he makes me laugh, plus he boost my ego, always a good thing. The only problem I have is I keep feeling like I'm cheating. I mean I have only talked to him, but in the back of my head I feel like a cheat. We are going out this Saturday as friends only. Hopefully it goes well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Ok I'm going to rant. Normally I don't have road rage, but hello people there is a speed limit, can we at least try to go that limit. Its the expressway fucking drive. Push the little pedal all the way over to the right and go. I cant believe people will be on the highway and drive 45. Do you not get the hint when people are flying past you that you are driving to slow? Also my brother's girlfriend needs to get over herself. Why can a women be jealous of a person's sister, I'm his sister, he knows one thing about me, I not going to stop loving him or fighting for him.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114191041619064627?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114191041619064627/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114191041619064627' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114191041619064627'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114191041619064627'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/03/well-i-didnt-get-job.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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-20303086.post-114175355274227606</id><published>2006-03-07T12:45:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-03-07T12:45:52.756-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;I had my interview today for another company. I will be doing the same thing there as I do here, but a few more benefits. The thing that got me was when I did come back to work, two of my bosses were giving me a guilt trip. I was proud of my self because I just looked at them and said "Both of you all are some fuckers. You both know I have guilt problems. Your trying to put me on a guilt trip." I was proud of myself by just saying that, I know its odd, but it felt good. Don't get me wrong I love the company I work for, but there are something's I don't like that is going on with the future. Ther&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;e&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt; isn't much that would keep me here. I feel like its a restaurant mentality here, dead-end. I want to be able to move and learn more.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114175355274227606?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114175355274227606/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114175355274227606' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114175355274227606'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114175355274227606'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/03/i-had-my-interview-today-for-another.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-114165745809834713</id><published>2006-03-06T10:03:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-03-06T10:04:18.136-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Why is doing the right thing always the hardest? I wish I knew.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Ok, I talked to this guy on the phone, I met him the other night. So far he and I have talked about 7 hours, I didn't think I could talk that much. We have talked about many things, religion, politics, just life in general. I hope he becomes a great friend, by looking at him you would not think he was intelligent, but he is very intelligent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Standing up for myself has always been the hardest thing for me to do. I just want to stand there and take it and deal why it by myself, but I shouldn't. I should let it out and tell everybody how I feel right then and there. The only person I do that with is my brother. He is the only person I know that I can pretty much tell off and not think twice about it. Anybody else it takes an act of god for me to do that. Not any more! I'm not going to be every bodies door mat. Or for that matter for people to walk all over.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114165745809834713?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114165745809834713/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114165745809834713' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114165745809834713'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114165745809834713'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/03/why-is-doing-right-thing-always.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20303086.post-114148892911202016</id><published>2006-03-04T11:14:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-03-04T11:15:29.123-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;     I don't understand. How can a person say they love you, but when you need them the most they are not there, fare weather friend. Some days I feel like this fare weather friend. Some days I feel that all I have are fare weather friends. Or you get shut out of everything in a persons life and they except you to know what's going on in their life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;    Ok so I got the book my therapist told me to get, its a slow read. Or it could be I don't feel like reading. Who knows? So far its not given me enlightenment on anything only to confirm that I'm crazy, shocking I know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;    I'm getting tired of feeling like I have no rights to voice my opinion on anything or to get upset. Its almost like everybody wants me to be happy 24/7. I cant do that if I feel like I'm destroying everything in my life.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114148892911202016?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114148892911202016/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114148892911202016' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114148892911202016'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114148892911202016'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/03/i-dont-understand.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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-20303086.post-114140398030234627</id><published>2006-03-03T11:37:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-03-03T11:39:40.323-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm tired</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I don't get it, how am I suppose to act when someone answers the phone with yes, instead of hello. Or when you call and there is a female in the background, then you call back and you ask if they want you come over later, they say "NO, we need to talk". What exactly am I to think. Happy? Fuck no! Or in the last few weeks the most they have said to you is what do you want. Then get pissed because we don't talk. Why should I talk to them when all I'm going to get is my head bit off. Or when you do say we don't talk as much as we used to and the only comment you get is well we are a couple. You know I'm tired of feeling like crap, I'm tired walking on egg shells because I don't want to piss them off, I tired of the fact they would rather talk to anyone but me. I'm with the feeling that nothing I do is right, or I can't have a bad day.  I CAN'T BE HAPPY ALL THE TIME!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114140398030234627?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114140398030234627/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114140398030234627' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114140398030234627'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114140398030234627'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/03/im-tired.html' title='I&apos;m tired'/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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-20303086.post-114139455427207972</id><published>2006-03-03T09:01:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-03-03T09:02:34.283-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Update</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Ok so its been a while since I blogged. A lot has gone on, I lost my grandmother, dealt with her house, and ass of an Uncle. She was in a car wreak and died. As we were going through her house it was almost like instant flash back to my childhood. One of the favorite things I remember seeing was this cigar box. As soon as I saw it I knew what was in it and who did all the drawings over it, me!! that's right me. I was quiet the little drawer back in the day. Of course my sister had laugh as she read Lynnette Smith written in 3rd grade cursive. While I miss my grandma more everyday, I stop and think about the person she was and the things she taught me and my Mom. She was a great person, of course she had secret past, I'm trying to find out about it, just to know more about what made her Her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Some days I feel like I'm losing my mind, some days I'm ok. Recently I had a fight with my boyfriend. It was over a miscommunication, but it cant happen again. I know if I keep my crazy ways up, I'm going to push him away. I think in a way I expect him to do the same thing that an ex of mine did to me, so I keep punishing him for what others have done to me in the past. So I keep punishing him. I need to stop that! But in the same respect all he has done in the past few weeks is snap at me, to the point I don't want to go around him because I don't want to get upset. We have stop talking. Used to he would talk to me 2 or 3 times a day, and when I would go to get off the phone he wouldn't want to get off. I know he is stressed out right now due to work, tax season. So I keep thinking that, but its hard, especially when all he does is bitch. I cant get him to talk to me about anything. Its almost to the point I wish to be with someone else I dated, because at least he wanted to talk to me and be with me. All Chris and I do is hang out, he never wants to go and do something else. He never thinks of anything else to do, but I could suggest something, but I don't because I feel I would just get turned down, this show is on or that show, or he just doesn't want to do it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I was talking to my therapist the other day, she has told me to smile take it all in, and vent to her, write a journal, and walk 30 mins a day 4 to 5 days a week. Where in the hell am I going to have time for all that, I softball coming up, ugh. Plus she wants me to read Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus, she said it she help me with some things. I see a therapist for many different reasons. I cant get over my Mom death, her birthday was February 27th. But also I have lost 5 of my family members in 7 years. I'm only 29 so do the math there. Oh and I get to add another provider in the list of QUIT SMOKING, so that would be 5. She asked me what would it take for me to quit, I told her another vise.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-114139455427207972?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/114139455427207972/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=114139455427207972' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114139455427207972'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/114139455427207972'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/03/update.html' title='Update'/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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-20303086.post-113759792188756228</id><published>2006-01-18T10:24:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-01-18T10:25:21.896-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Just another day.</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"&gt;Can you find love and be truly happy? I think so, I have a boyfriend that I can honestly say is a best friend of mine. We have had our ups and downs, but for the most part it has always been up. I never thought I would find someone that I could put up with or could put up with my crazy ways. I have. Anyone that knows me knows our story. Also that it took so long for us to come around, sorry for me to come around, and be totally happy.&lt;br /&gt;I have a great weekend coming up, going to Chicago. I'm going with some good friends of mine. I have never been there so it should be fun. We are going to see a dear friend of ours, not sure what we will be doing, but I know we will have fun.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-113759792188756228?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/113759792188756228/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=113759792188756228' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/113759792188756228'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/113759792188756228'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/01/just-another-day.html' title='Just another day.'/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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-20303086.post-113682641104381043</id><published>2006-01-09T12:06:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-01-09T12:06:51.053-05:00</updated><title type='text'>One day at a time</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Ever just want to run away from everything? I mean just pack up and move to a new state, and start fresh. I sit and think about things and just want to drop everything and leave everybody behind and get away from all the bullshit. But then, I think about what I would leave behind, my friends, their kids, and boyfriend. Would they even care if I was gone? Plus my job, I love my job, but anybody can do the job.&lt;br /&gt;Maybe I'm just having a bad, and tomorrow will be better. Any who we will see.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-113682641104381043?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/113682641104381043/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=113682641104381043' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/113682641104381043'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/113682641104381043'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/01/one-day-at-time.html' title='One day at a time'/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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-20303086.post-113639088672875078</id><published>2006-01-04T11:07:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-01-04T11:08:06.736-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Just a thought</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Are you able to cheat without actually having sex with someone? I think if you go to someone else for emotional support that you are cheating. You should be able to get everything you want from the same person, but thats me. I think the idea of staying with a person because of "the kids" is stupid. You are doing more harm then good. Kids noticed things that you wouldn't think they would. I don't care how long you have been with someone either, if you are not getting everything from one person than you should leave. And after so many years its not going to change if it has not changed in the last 5 years.&lt;br /&gt;How can someone live in filth? I have a friend that keeps her place a mess. Now don't get me wrong I can be messy myself, but there comes a point when you have got to say clean up your mess. I think men come in and see the filth and think "dirty whore" and so treat her like that, but I don't think she knows that this is why. Or some men see it and just don't want to be with her. Also I think if your home is clean then you feel better, sunnier almost. Stuff just thrown here and there no order whats so ever makes it hard to have order in the rest of your life.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-113639088672875078?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/113639088672875078/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=113639088672875078' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/113639088672875078'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/113639088672875078'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/01/just-thought.html' title='Just a thought'/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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-20303086.post-113631131645289378</id><published>2006-01-03T13:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-01-03T13:01:56.460-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Ok I'm doing better today than last week. I had a great weekend, a good New Year's, spent it with people I care about. Yesterday was just a bad day all around for me, it started off I wanted to do a friend a favor, but ended up me costing her money. All I wanted to do was help her out and clean her house, wellll I broke her cats paw. And no I didn't step on it, something fell that I moved and it hit him. I cried like a baby and every time I looked at him I cried even more. I don't understand myself sometimes, how I can have no feelings what so ever about what's going in someone's life, but an animal gets hurt and I cry.&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes I feel like the go between with my friends. Both will call me and instead of standing up for the person I feel is right, I just take the side of the person that is calling me. But then again when I do stand up, I get treated like I was the one that did something wrong. I just want to be left out of the whole thing all the time.&lt;br /&gt;Over the weekend plans were being made for the new year. Well I didn't get called until the morning of and was told what we were doing, that didn't bother me. I wasn't bugged until later that day when another friend called me and asked what I was doing, when I told her, she got upset because she was not called. Now the last thing I was told was her kids were sick and she wasn't sure if she was coming. I don't know what was said between the other friend and her, but the other friend was pissed because the friend with sick kids was pissed. I don't know, maybe the one with sick kids was right or maybe the other one was sick. I think they both were in the wrong and it was miscommunication, on both parts.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-113631131645289378?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/113631131645289378/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=113631131645289378' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/113631131645289378'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/113631131645289378'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2006/01/ok-im-doing-better-today-than-last.html' title=''/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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-20303086.post-113595026276008191</id><published>2005-12-30T08:42:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-12-30T08:44:22.766-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Ughhhh!</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"&gt;I don't get men, I really don't. How can you say that you love someone, but make them feel that they are worthless? Maybe I'm just feeling low about myself, and its not him. Now before you go and say I'm wrong, you have to understand I take medicine for depression. I have a hard time with depression. When I get like this I want to push everyone away, and crawl into a corner and cry or sleep. I noticed that I have been sleeping more here lately so maybe that's what my problem.&lt;br /&gt;I love the guy I'm very deeply, but I keep waiting for the ball to drop, or me to fuck up. I'm thinking its going to be me fucking up first. Why must we be self destructive in our relationships with people? I guess you can say that I keep waiting for him to walk away from me like everyone else in my life. I don't know. In the past I have been hurt really bad by a guy, and since then I have not been able to keep a healthy relationship with a guy that I am dating. I know my boyfriend loves me, but is that enough to keep my fears at bay?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-113595026276008191?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/113595026276008191/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=113595026276008191' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/113595026276008191'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/113595026276008191'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2005/12/ughhhh.html' title='Ughhhh!'/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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-20303086.post-113586257365360699</id><published>2005-12-29T08:18:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-12-29T08:22:53.680-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My first time</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I'm new to this so bear with me, I hope to keep this up everyday, but I make no promises.  I think it will help to get out everything I can instead of holding it all in, and then letting it out in one big bang, kind of like a balloon, a slow leak is better than that big pop. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20303086-113586257365360699?l=mustangscarlett.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/feeds/113586257365360699/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20303086&amp;postID=113586257365360699' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/113586257365360699'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20303086/posts/default/113586257365360699'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mustangscarlett.blogspot.com/2005/12/my-first-time.html' title='My first time'/><author><name>mustangscarlett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07052402710126072043</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>
