<?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-2818476140729435956</id><updated>2011-10-08T18:44:29.906-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Dissecting Life</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Alaina Ione</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02170289716834893733</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SeejhoPF9jI/AAAAAAAAADA/zIyFC2xqJj4/S220/me.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>23</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2818476140729435956.post-7536608839889245739</id><published>2010-12-16T12:10:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-12-16T12:12:17.149-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Learning by Fire</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/TQpjoURHjEI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/Qi2C3VtjFcc/s1600/Hands_of_Fire.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/TQpjoURHjEI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/Qi2C3VtjFcc/s320/Hands_of_Fire.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5551359034973981762" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"  &gt;I was talking to a friend the other day - or rather, a while back if I'm being literal - and I got to thinking about a serious flaw in my character: I prefer to learn things the hard way.  Make logical sense?  No, I didn't think so, either.  Here are a few examples:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have these intuitions often that tell me, "This is about to happen.  You should probably adjust the situation at hand to prevent it."  Not Sandra Bullock-type of intuitions or premonitions where, no matter what she does, she ends up with the same results.  Or where she jumps back and forth between days.  Odd.  No, my intuitions, or premonitions or whatever, are little things like, "If you set that cup right there, it's going to tip and spill all over your mother's carpet.  Bad idea."  But it's a fleeting thought and I push it away.  Why?  Because, "Whatever, Alaina, it's sitting far enough back.  Plus, how can you of all people know the future?  Don't be ridiculous!"  Three steps away and I hear a small little thud and feel a few drops of liquid land on my ankle.  It's red.  Awesome.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another, rather humorous one, was when I was walking on a perfectly flat stretch of thin wood outside in a friend's yard.  It wasn't raised at all, it was just set into the ground, so I had no fear of falling off of anything.  The problem was my sandals.  No traction whatsoever.  As I walked along it, balancing like a tight rope walker, I saw in my head a vision of me slipping and falling backwards.  "Haha, that'd be funny," I thought, and took just one more step.  BAM!  Didn't even know what hit me for a second.  Literally.  I didn't feel myself falling, I dropped so fast!  I just felt something hit the back of my head, opened my eyes to see blue with little spots of white and took a second or two to deduct that I was flat on my back, looking up at the sky.  Then I heard friends running up to me and shouting questions of, "Are you okay!"  I couldn't help it; I burst out laughing.  I should have known.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As time went on, things only got worse.  I wrecked a friend's car after quite physically forcing down a very, vary bad feeling I had about going anywhere.  I hung out with someone I knew I shouldn't have, but couldn't imagine why it was such a bad idea until, not long into it I decided I should leave and the last words I heard him say were, "I could have given you a date rape drug!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is obviously something inside me that just doesn't listen.  I think the subconscious concern is, "Well, if I follow these negative feelings and avoid this situation, I'm pretty sure I'll never know what it was I was supposed to learn to avoid."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WHAT?!  How about believing that fire will burn and cause damage?  Concept?  Maybe if I go the other way I'll learn something &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"  &gt;good&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"  &gt;, rather than, "Ha, oh yeah!  I definitely should have listened and stayed away.  El-oh-el.  Ma bad."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I haven't already done it, I'm kind of concerned about burning my hands too many times, and beyond repair.  Then I'll be useless.  Audrey Hepburn once wrote to her sons, "If you need a helping hand, you have one at the end of your arm.  As you grow older, remember you have two hands.  The first is for helping yourself; the second is for helping others."  Metaphorically speaking, I need to stay out of harm's way so that I'll be able to help others when they need it.  In the states I've put myself in, I haven't been able to be there for many people lately.  That's a thought I hate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I'll try to break this habit.  Uhhh...good luck to me?  I really suck at this, in case I haven't painted a clear enough picture for you.  Did I mention it's a bad idea to take 4 energy &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"  &gt;shots &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"  &gt;(not regular drinks) in the space of 2 hours at work?  AT WORK?!  Or to take someone I absolutely know will annoy the hell out of me on a 16 hour (one way) driving trip to pick up a kitten?  Yeah, that one was a disaster (see &lt;a href="http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/06/adventures-to-missouri.html"&gt;Adventures to Missouri&lt;/a&gt; blog post).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Despite all the disasters of my life, I can't help but not regret any of it.  I've still learned lessons, regardless of how they were learned.  It'd just be easier if I'd go about it the easy way.  But let's face it...how many of us really do that?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"&gt;&lt;meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 12"&gt;&lt;meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 12"&gt;&lt;link style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Calainaw%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"&gt;&lt;link style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" rel="themeData" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Calainaw%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx"&gt;&lt;link style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" rel="colorSchemeMapping" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Calainaw%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml"&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:worddocument&gt;   &lt;w:view&gt;Normal&lt;/w:View&gt;   &lt;w:zoom&gt;0&lt;/w:Zoom&gt;   &lt;w:trackmoves/&gt;   &lt;w:trackformatting/&gt;   &lt;w:punctuationkerning/&gt; 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	mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; 	mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} &lt;/style&gt; &lt;![endif]--&gt;    &lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:10pt;"  &gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&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/2818476140729435956-7536608839889245739?l=alaina-ione.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/feeds/7536608839889245739/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2010/12/learning-by-fire.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/7536608839889245739'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/7536608839889245739'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2010/12/learning-by-fire.html' title='Learning by Fire'/><author><name>Alaina Ione</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02170289716834893733</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SeejhoPF9jI/AAAAAAAAADA/zIyFC2xqJj4/S220/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/TQpjoURHjEI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/Qi2C3VtjFcc/s72-c/Hands_of_Fire.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2818476140729435956.post-6233907578168856481</id><published>2010-10-01T11:38:00.015-06:00</published><updated>2010-10-01T12:09:08.618-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Thuh Animals</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;So I was glancing through my earlier posts and realized one huge thing: “Mina” is actually “Ellie,” and I don’t even remember my little brother planning on going with me to pick her up.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Obviously he didn’t.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;And speaking of pets, my brother just got a new one yesterday.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Out of 8 people in the family, we have 7 pets; and not everyone has one, like my middle brother on a mission or my youngest sister.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;So just for fun, I’ll blog about them.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;The first one to join the family was Pockets:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;a onblur="try  {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/TKYi4nrtO-I/AAAAAAAAAIw/XvmYL8pOWbo/s1600/Pockets.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/TKYi4nrtO-I/AAAAAAAAAIw/XvmYL8pOWbo/s320/Pockets.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5523140349136813026" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;A feisty little thing, she is.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;She has a dominant personality and destroys EVERYTHING left out for her to reach.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;So we have to be careful.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Many computer cords and cell phone chargers have we had to replace.  But she's very sweet when she has nothing to chew.  Always the first to greet you and lick your feet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;      &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;Next was my Ellie:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;a onblur="try  {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/TKYishp0TSI/AAAAAAAAAIg/D7QXdUsISXM/s1600/Ellie.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/TKYishp0TSI/AAAAAAAAAIg/D7QXdUsISXM/s320/Ellie.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5523140141359844642" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Adorable, quiet, shy, and very loving and loyal.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Her whole world revolves around me, basically.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;And our fish.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;She loves the fish.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;a onblur="try  {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/TKYigVLdpKI/AAAAAAAAAIY/ElIqwHIXWPQ/s1600/Ellie+and+Fish.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/TKYigVLdpKI/AAAAAAAAAIY/ElIqwHIXWPQ/s320/Ellie+and+Fish.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5523139931852874914" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;      &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;Then we had Pebbles join the ranks:&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;a onblur="try  {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/TKYgRQh0rRI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/pk9roNjVtMk/s1600/Pebbles.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/TKYgRQh0rRI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/pk9roNjVtMk/s320/Pebbles.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5523137473883188498" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;She’s Pockets’ little non-blood-related sister.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;As in they share the same owner.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;A bit more reserved than Pockets is, she is nonetheless an accomplice in those ruined cords and chargers.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;But she’s got a very gentle personality and you can easily hurt her feelings if you get angry at her.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;So get angry and then tell her you still love her, she’ll be just fine.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;      &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;Milliee is no longer part of the family, but she was briefly, so I thought I’d put a quick little doo-da about her on here, too.&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;a onblur="try  {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/TKYf9pwBYyI/AAAAAAAAAII/8MRkGux3fOg/s1600/Millee.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/TKYf9pwBYyI/AAAAAAAAAII/8MRkGux3fOg/s320/Millee.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5523137137056244514" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;She was in heat the entire time we had her, minus about 2 months of her kittenhood.  And she liked to stick her tongue out at us.  We laughed.  One time my computer screensaver hypnotized her to sleep.  It was SO funny!&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;      &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;Then we got Daxton:&lt;a onblur="try  {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/TKYf04FnCbI/AAAAAAAAAIA/DbsE13bMjVk/s1600/Daxton.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/TKYf04FnCbI/AAAAAAAAAIA/DbsE13bMjVk/s320/Daxton.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5523136986286066098" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;He came fully grown from the shelter and hates the indoors.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Except that last night, apparently, my youngest brother (Daxton’s owner) let him in and he fell asleep wrapped in my brother’s arms on the bed.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Cutest story ever.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;      &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;Then Jaden came along:&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;a onblur="try  {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/TKYfZLVkXDI/AAAAAAAAAH4/t3DplKHtVQk/s1600/Jaden.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/TKYfZLVkXDI/AAAAAAAAAH4/t3DplKHtVQk/s320/Jaden.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5523136510416935986" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Most tender soul a dog ever had.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;He cuddles while you watch TV and plays with dogs less than half his size without even hurting them!&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;So sweet.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;He actually gives &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;hugs&lt;/span&gt; when he greets you.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It’s adorable.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;Then little Taz:&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;a onblur="try  {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/TKYeSl_44qI/AAAAAAAAAHw/re2URNEyoxs/s1600/Taz.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/TKYeSl_44qI/AAAAAAAAAHw/re2URNEyoxs/s320/Taz.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5523135297803051682" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;Teeny, tiny little thing, all growed-up.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;He plays harder with Jaden than with anyone or anything else.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;He thinks he’s Jaden’s size, I’m pretty sure, and he &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;adores&lt;/span&gt; my mom!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;And as of yesterday, we got Dozer…we think (it’s not a permanent name yet):&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;a onblur="try  {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/TKYeAhJR7dI/AAAAAAAAAHo/DsQUYvH3sYc/s1600/Dozer.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/TKYeAhJR7dI/AAAAAAAAAHo/DsQUYvH3sYc/s320/Dozer.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5523134987262619090" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;He’s hard to see, because he’s all black.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;He’s also Jaden’s little non-blood-related brother. When I walked in the door yesterday, he came running up to me, wagging that little tail and so excited to see me as if he’d known me the whole 3 months of his life.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It made me to smile.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;=)&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:10pt;"  &gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;And there you have it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;The Whicker Pet Family.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Cute, ain’t they?!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2818476140729435956-6233907578168856481?l=alaina-ione.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/feeds/6233907578168856481/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2010/10/thuh-animals.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/6233907578168856481'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/6233907578168856481'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2010/10/thuh-animals.html' title='Thuh Animals'/><author><name>Alaina Ione</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02170289716834893733</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SeejhoPF9jI/AAAAAAAAADA/zIyFC2xqJj4/S220/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/TKYi4nrtO-I/AAAAAAAAAIw/XvmYL8pOWbo/s72-c/Pockets.jpeg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2818476140729435956.post-7662064309068058524</id><published>2010-05-07T14:15:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2010-12-15T14:25:13.367-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hyperness</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/S-R0_dOO0II/AAAAAAAAAGo/ZZx9yDjNwG8/s1600/HyperKid.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 234px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/S-R0_dOO0II/AAAAAAAAAGo/ZZx9yDjNwG8/s320/HyperKid.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468624481059524738" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"  &gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;So I'm sitting here, ready to blog about a crush, when &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;BAM!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;  &lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Some serious  energy hits.  Now I can't focus on words well enough to talk about this  guy.  Odd.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I've decided to blog about whatever comes to my  overactive mind right now, AS it comes to mind.  This should be  interesting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First up, my friend, Kelly, comes to mind because we  used to send emails like this.  We'd sit and write about whatever  entered our thoughts, following the train that led from one point to  another.  It was fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I'm thinking about something I haven't  told her yet.  I've alluded to it to her and the thing is that she and I  have no secrets between us.  Except for this one, but I really think  that she'd figure it out quickly, anyway.  She'd be surprised because  you'd THINK this wouldn't be a thing anymore, but it is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My little brother is  so cute.  The one on a mission.  Actually, all 3 of them are absolutely  adorable, but JJ's the one that just popped into my head.  I'm not  entirely sure why anymore.  Can't remember.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But Michael is living  with me and my sisters and it has been a BLAST!  He's so much fun and  brings such a unique vitality to the house that neither of my sisters,  nor I can imitate.  He's so cute.  I just love him to death.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I  love my job.  The people I work with are so great.  All of them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I  wish that everyone could love their jobs like I do.  I wish that  everyone could get along with each other.  It'd be happy, but that's not  life, is it?  Hell, I don't get along with everyone I come across and  most of us have more of a social life at work, where we spend all our  time, than anywhere else where we DON'T spend as much time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I  should get a fish.  No, I shouldn't, I kill them too easily because I  get annoyed at how much I have to clean up the damn tanks.  I wonder if a  bird would be different.  My cat, Ellie, might like it.  Hahaha!   That'd be cute.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Colten's a fun guy.  He's my cousin and we just  chatted on FB, that's why he's on my mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friend's son, Juno,  is freakin' cute.  His mother, Unhui, is a twig and you wonder how the  HELL a baby came out of her.  Juno is sucking on a little sucker.  But  he paused to look at me and smile.  He's so cute.  10 months old.  I'm  going to go to his first birthday party.  He's half Korean and their  first birthdays are apparently a huge deal, so his is going to be the  biggest party I've ever seen for a 1-year-old in my life.  Fun times.   He keeps staring at me and smiling when I look over at him.  HE'S SO  CUTE!  He's the only baby in the world who's ever made me baby hungry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who  am I kidding, I used to live to become a mother.  Then things changed.   Now I can't imagine it and it kinda freaks me out.  But Juno makes me  second-guess my second guess.  He's so adorable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I should go now.  Seriously, this could get  long, especially with how much energy I've got right about now.  Ha.   Ha, ha, ha.  Oh boy, k, I'm done.  'tis gonna be sad when this energy  dies down.  Sure is fun while it lasts, though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ADIOS!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&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/2818476140729435956-7662064309068058524?l=alaina-ione.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/feeds/7662064309068058524/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2010/05/hyperness.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/7662064309068058524'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/7662064309068058524'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2010/05/hyperness.html' title='Hyperness'/><author><name>Alaina Ione</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02170289716834893733</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SeejhoPF9jI/AAAAAAAAADA/zIyFC2xqJj4/S220/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/S-R0_dOO0II/AAAAAAAAAGo/ZZx9yDjNwG8/s72-c/HyperKid.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2818476140729435956.post-9081865770362690629</id><published>2009-10-14T14:18:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-14T14:43:12.699-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Who Made up All the Rules?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I’ve come to a conclusion. Hollywood is bad, as much as I love it (and by “Hollywood,” I mean the whole media world). Think about it. Where do we get &lt;em&gt;all&lt;/em&gt; of our ideas from?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Normal weight is bad, uber skinny is good.&lt;br /&gt;-All men are afraid of commitment, no women are.&lt;br /&gt;-Everything (and I mean everything) must be fast-paced. There is nothing good about slow. Even the shows about the future are more fast-paced than today is, forcing onto us the expectation of speeding up even further as we go along.&lt;br /&gt;-FBI, CIA and other government jobs are high-action and highly secretive, therefore highly entertaining and should be highly sought after.&lt;br /&gt;-Obese people should be made fun of.&lt;br /&gt;-There are conspiracies everywhere.&lt;br /&gt;-Personality doesn’t matter. It’s all in the looks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I could go deeper and less obvious. What about faithfulness? There are movies and TV shows out there that suggest that, once someone is married, it’s still possible for them to find “true love.” Um. Hi. Why didn’t they just wait to get married until they were sure that they loved the person? And once they were sure, why did they decide that it wasn’t enough? I swear, nobody realizes anymore that “true love” takes work. The story doesn’t end when you find it – that’s only the beginning. There will be hills to climb and battles to fight for the rest of your lives after finding each other. But from what I hear, if you stick together and fight side-by-side, it’s well worth it. We need some movies of people doing just that for once, rather than simply finding each other and that’s the end.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As for our conception of beauty, I won’t even get into that except to say, how many people are bulimic, anorexic, depressed, obsessed, and just don’t see themselves for who they really are because of Hollywood’s standards for beautiful?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And what about the men? I think they get some kind of idea of how they should act from the ideas that the media plants in our heads. For instance: non-committal, heartless, insensitive, violent, devoid of emotion, after one thing, etc, etc, etc. Any guy who doesn’t meet that description must not be a real man. If he cries, he’s a wuss. If he’s not afraid of commitment, he’s hiding something. If he’s sensitive, he’s girly and undesirable. If he prefers the arts over sports, he’s gay. The guy in the chick flick that comes around and wants romance and the girl is “nonexistent.” I am most definitely guilty of this frame of mind – I see guys as very predictable and one-track-minded. Which, for all I know, they are. But if that's true, would it be because of the influences in our lives and the way they are now expected to act? Or do we write according to what we see, suggesting that they truly are that way? Or is it a cycle where we exaggerate what we see for dramatic effect, thus inspiring more to be as we wrote, creating the need to be more dramatic in our writings, causing a more frightening inspiration for those who watch and read?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If that is the case (and I suspect it is because things are getting worse and so is the media), we are digging a deeper and deeper hole for ourselves. None of us are seeing reality for what it is. We prefer the escape. If life doesn’t go as we see it go for so many others who are putting on a show, we have a tendency to ignore it or run away or deal with it in some way unique to us but is ineffective nonetheless - such as actually acting out what we see.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have lost sight of who we really are, what we’re really worth; assuming we ever saw it to begin with. Even if we didn’t, I do believe that we at least had a better idea than we do now. We are so much more than the shapes of our bodies, the clearness of our skin, the color of our hair and our eyes. We’re more than our weaknesses, we’re more than someone else’s strengths. We’re more than the bad things that go on here, which seem to be the bulk of things we are told about. We are at the top of the animal kingdom, acting less than the lowliest of animals. Killing each other; raping; back stabbing; ridiculing; judging; fighting; mentally, emotionally, physically torturing each other. Where do we get off? We need to be who we really are, who we really can be! We need to stop letting people &lt;em&gt;tell&lt;/em&gt; us who we are and make up our own minds of who we want to be, then act accordingly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps one day we’ll get there. I believe that we can. We are humans. It is in our nature both to become what we can and yet to not make it that far. For now I’ll choose to believe in the best of us and hope to God that something happens to help us succeed. Because we obviously can’t do it on our own. We prefer to stick to what the media feeds us and make that our reality.  And although there can be good in there, we tend to focus on the negative and damaging, which is getting us nowhere.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2818476140729435956-9081865770362690629?l=alaina-ione.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/feeds/9081865770362690629/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/10/who-made-up-all-rules.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/9081865770362690629'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/9081865770362690629'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/10/who-made-up-all-rules.html' title='Who Made up All the Rules?'/><author><name>Alaina Ione</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02170289716834893733</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SeejhoPF9jI/AAAAAAAAADA/zIyFC2xqJj4/S220/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2818476140729435956.post-7494484252331720134</id><published>2009-10-14T10:39:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2010-08-19T15:53:26.053-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Energy Energy Energy</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/StX_JZIaexI/AAAAAAAAAGE/rU_ibim7Gis/s1600-h/Energy-Drinks1%5B1%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392496665676118802" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 209px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/StX_JZIaexI/AAAAAAAAAGE/rU_ibim7Gis/s320/Energy-Drinks1%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;You know what I love? Betcha can’t tell by the title and picture. ENERGY DRINKS! Actually, it’s a love/hate relationship. I hate them because they NEVER work on me, unless I have not had them more than once. Sometimes, &lt;em&gt;sometimes&lt;/em&gt; the first time I have an energy drink, it will wake me up and make me excitingly hyper and that's when I love them.  Cheers to that!  However, more than once and they start to actually put me to sleep. It’s a strange phenomenon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The only energy drink I’ve found that works consistently so far is Redline. Whew! Now &lt;em&gt;there’s&lt;/em&gt; an energy drink! One of those things makes me shake and tremble if I have nowhere to put the energy. Like, if I’m sitting at my desk at work and can’t go walking or something. Then it takes energy just to focus on my typing. One time I took two of those things within an hour of each other. Baaaad idea. Seriously. My hands were so visibly shaking I felt like an idiot. Every time I used a muscle, it shook every muscle connected to it. I tried to sit still and not move one part of me unless absolutely necessary. I hugged my brother hello that day when he got home (I was visiting my parents’ place and took the drinks for the tiring one hour drive) and he said he could actually feel me shaking. It was pretty bad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had half a Monster Khaos this morning and HELL’S YEAH! I am having fun today! So far. Until I start to come down off of it…which, btw, I can already feel happening. Sad. I’ve never had a Monster before, so that’s why I’m having so much fun right about now. Ha. I am, however, running out of options. Soon I will have sampled every energy drink known to mankind and will have no hope of waking up when needed. Such a bleak future. Ah well. Until then, I’ll just have fun with what I’ve got. Plus, I’ve still got time until Redline is no longer working for me. GO REDLINE!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2818476140729435956-7494484252331720134?l=alaina-ione.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/feeds/7494484252331720134/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/10/energy-energy-energy.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/7494484252331720134'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/7494484252331720134'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/10/energy-energy-energy.html' title='Energy Energy Energy'/><author><name>Alaina Ione</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02170289716834893733</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SeejhoPF9jI/AAAAAAAAADA/zIyFC2xqJj4/S220/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/StX_JZIaexI/AAAAAAAAAGE/rU_ibim7Gis/s72-c/Energy-Drinks1%5B1%5D.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2818476140729435956.post-7382095465846363384</id><published>2009-10-08T12:18:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2010-08-19T15:53:26.069-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Music is Grand!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/Ss4uTqpW-wI/AAAAAAAAAF8/SjRYy6BCuEk/s1600-h/brand+new+eyes.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390296719409216258" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/Ss4uTqpW-wI/AAAAAAAAAF8/SjRYy6BCuEk/s320/brand+new+eyes.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I. Love. Music. So much. Recently I bought the New Paramore album, Brand New Eyes. Can I say in a high, singsong voice, “Aawwwesoooooome!” ? I could seriously cry with how much I love that cd. In fact, to be totally open and honest, I have. Don’t judge. Hey, it’s good!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two of my favorite songs: &lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;The Only Exception&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt; and &lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#339999;"&gt;All I Wanted&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;. I also really, really like &lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;Bricky by Boring Brick&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;. Good times, those.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;The Only Exception&lt;/span&gt; confession:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; I fell asleep crying to this song because I realized something about myself whilst listening to it. Not sure I can quite be open and honest enough to share what that was yet. I’m still having a hard time admitting it even to myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#339999;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;All I Wanted&lt;/span&gt; confession:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; It made me cry at work yesterday when one of my friends asked me how things are going…I’d been listening to it on repeat when he came over. I had to put my head on the desk and tell him it’s best if I don’t talk right now. He patted me on the back and went back to his desk. Told me to email him. I never did. Couldn’t think of what to say. Hope he didn’t stay up too late waiting for it…(haha, it's a joke)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;Brick by Boring Brick&lt;/span&gt; confession:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; It’s just fun. Way fun.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;Paramore&lt;/span&gt; confession:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt; I will never stop loving them; they will always have a special place in my heart set aside solely for them.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2818476140729435956-7382095465846363384?l=alaina-ione.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/feeds/7382095465846363384/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/10/music-is-grand.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/7382095465846363384'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/7382095465846363384'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/10/music-is-grand.html' title='Music is Grand!'/><author><name>Alaina Ione</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02170289716834893733</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SeejhoPF9jI/AAAAAAAAADA/zIyFC2xqJj4/S220/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/Ss4uTqpW-wI/AAAAAAAAAF8/SjRYy6BCuEk/s72-c/brand+new+eyes.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2818476140729435956.post-6809411156547131021</id><published>2009-06-29T14:41:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-07-06T13:37:11.580-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Adventures to Missouri</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;This weekend, I had &lt;em&gt;the worst&lt;/em&gt; road trip experience I've ever had in my entire life. However, it was all for a good cause; one which was &lt;em&gt;definitely&lt;/em&gt; worth it. ...just...don't ask me to do it again.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I travelled with a guy I've been friends with for years. We've fallen in and out of touch throughout those years, so it's not like we were "so close" or anything. I had no other options available to me but him pretty much. We shall call him Jack. (Apparently I like that name.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Whilst on the 36-hour-driving-plus-however-many-hours-spent-on-breaks-and-sleeping road trip, I HAD to vent. So I deleted him from my Facebook friends and vented on Facebook. This is one of the notes I created and peoples' responses to it. I deleted it from there because I told "Jack" I'd accidentally deleted him instead of someone else and will be re-adding him as soon as my computer at home is set back up. If I'm going to do that, I had to get rid of all mean-ness. So I am moving it to my blog. Please. Do enjoy.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;*************&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Ok, so I decided to write about my adventures of annoyance this weekend just in case I was overexaggerating things. I'd like some feedback to see if I'm just too easily annoyed and need some help. If I am justified in my feelings, I of course would be pleased; but it is not necessary to say so if it is not true. Thank you for your assistance.&lt;br /&gt;I'm am on an 18 hour road trip with a friend named Jack. A good guy, generally speaking, but one who, generally speaking, lacks good ideas for social interacting.&lt;br /&gt;First of all, I like the occasional 80's song, okay? But consistently? Oy! Can't. STAND it! Yet he's stuck on it like it's all he's got left! "This was my favorite song in 1st grade!" he exclaims, turning it up even louder. I cringe, ready to plug in my earphones and block him out for the rest of the night. These are the only cd's he's got in his car, as he puts in one after the other filled with 80's pop, bobbing his head up and down to the various beats.&lt;br /&gt;Okay, insert this real quick: "Alaina, look really close right there. You see that? Right there," pointing ahead.&lt;br /&gt;"What?" I ask.&lt;br /&gt;"Look right there as far ahead as you can!"&lt;br /&gt;"What about it?"&lt;br /&gt;"You see that?"&lt;br /&gt;"See what?!"&lt;br /&gt;"The back of your head! It's so flat you can see the back of your head, you see that? Haha! Get it? You can see so far ahead of you?"&lt;br /&gt;Back to my story. I get several texts last night. Guess he gets annoyed that he's not my only center of attention. "Who's that?"&lt;br /&gt;"Kristi."&lt;br /&gt;"What does Kristi have to say?"&lt;br /&gt;Is it any of your business? "Um...she went to Lagoon today?&lt;br /&gt;"Oh fun!"&lt;br /&gt;Next text. "Who's that?"&lt;br /&gt;Omg. "Colten."&lt;br /&gt;"What'd he say?" And a Christmas song comes on that he turns up.&lt;br /&gt;He decides to pay for a cheap motel; nice of him, to be sure! Asks what time we're leaving in the am. 6:30, I tell him, bc of what time we need to be there. He asks if I have an alarm and I told him I'd already set it. "Groovy," he says.&lt;br /&gt;I go to bed, he goes to take a shower. When he gets out, I'm half asleep. He comes over to me, "You asleep?"&lt;br /&gt;"Well, I kinda was."&lt;br /&gt;"Sleeping baby," he says in a very baby talk voice, rubs my shoder and kisses my cheek. He goes back into the bathroom area and finishes getting ready for bed before he turns in.&lt;br /&gt;4:00 am. "You awake?"&lt;br /&gt;For REAL??! "Now I am."&lt;br /&gt;"Is it time to go yet?"&lt;br /&gt;"No...the alarm hasn't gone off."&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, okay."&lt;br /&gt;4:15 he laughs really loud. I open my eyes and see him sitting up in his bed facing me. CREEPY!! WHAT the hell!&lt;br /&gt;4:30 I scratch my nose and he laughs again and sits back up. "You awake?"&lt;br /&gt;I ignore him this time and go back to holding still. Next thing I know, he is literally right in my face, saying "hello?" or something.&lt;br /&gt;I don't know. I just turn my head away from him and get so pissed off I couldn't go back to sleep. On top of that, he starts trying to shake me awake. WHAT THE EFF??&lt;br /&gt;Now he's asking me what I'm writing and he won't drop it. "Is that your journal? What you writin'? I'm interested now!"&lt;br /&gt;Freak!&lt;br /&gt;We stop at a gas station this morning for food. I get a muffin. In the car a piece of it falls in my lap. He sees it out of the corner of his eye and gasps loudly! Seriously? "Are you okay?" he asks very concernedly. No. No I'm not. That tiny piece of bread broke my femer bone and now I must be rushed to the hospital, dang it! Road trip prolonged.&lt;br /&gt;Now he's talking politics and comparing Jesus to Obama and others who were for change. "Everyone who was for change has gotten assasinated. I think Barak Obama's next. Even Jesus Christ tried to change things up and He got killed."&lt;br /&gt;He reads almost every sign aloud.&lt;br /&gt;As we took off this morning he confirms that we had 11 hrs left. I said yes. "Soooo fuuuun! Definitely journal entry time!" [insert weird sound effect meant to demonstrate writing] "About 5 pages would be good."&lt;br /&gt;What the crap are you going to write about? You've been the only one talking. We've listened to 1 genre of music. You say every piece of scenery looks like Texas. And you had insomnia! What could possibly be 5 pages worth?&lt;br /&gt;Kay, I'm done venting for now. Let me know if I am just making a big deal out of nothing. I am honestly in no position to be able to tell. My vision is WAY too blurred by this irritation.&lt;br /&gt;Hope everyone is having a better weekend than I am!&lt;br /&gt;Oh and PS, he is no longer a FB friend, so there is no risk of him seeing this note...heh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Kelly&lt;br /&gt;Well the 80's music would have been enough for me!! Why didn't you change it!?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jessica &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;i would have smacked him for messing with me while i was trying to sleep&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alisha &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Yeah, um. I would have probably shot him by now. So if it is up to me, you're definitely justified in being annoyed. (Is this the same Jack who told me I was going to hell for playing bubble bobble? If so, you're a better woman than me)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alaina&lt;br /&gt;It's his car, so I didn't think I had the right to change the music.&lt;br /&gt;And yeah. Verrry tempted toward physical violence ;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Colten&lt;br /&gt;Man. apart of me is WISHING I would've just stuck it to the man, and come along! Then again. . . I don't know if we would feed off each others PATIENCE. . . or rip that poor boy to shreds in HALF the time.&lt;br /&gt;Hmm. . . Well! I'm excited to hear about the remaining 11 hours!!!&lt;br /&gt;You'll have to keep us updated :D Sympathizing you. . .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Brionna &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Wow...you are completely justified in being annoyed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tanya&lt;br /&gt;OMG Alaina! HAHHAH!! Hollywood cannot write that kind of stuff!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alaina&lt;br /&gt;Ok everyone, I have an announcement to make. 1st of all, yes Alisha.&lt;br /&gt;It is the same Jack. But mostly, my trip just got better - I gave him Tylenol PM in a Gatorade drink and took over the driver's seat.&lt;br /&gt;Life just got a whole lot easier! LOL!!! I'd like to thank my cousin for the idea. You're the best ever!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Brionna&lt;br /&gt;HAHA! You're evil! Thats awesome. =)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rachael&lt;br /&gt;Sneaky sneaky...whose idea was the trip, anyway? Just curious. Glad things are going better...hope it's not short lived.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Robert&lt;br /&gt;You what!!!! You are genius!!! Wow, I.. wow, i'm sorry to hear about all your problems with this man, but it just made my night.. I"m crying, from laughing so hard. Wow... Oh, and I would of shot the dude already.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Colten&lt;br /&gt;HAHAHAHA, pretty swaz thinking there!!! Kudos ;)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2818476140729435956-6809411156547131021?l=alaina-ione.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/feeds/6809411156547131021/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/06/adventures-to-missouri.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/6809411156547131021'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/6809411156547131021'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/06/adventures-to-missouri.html' title='Adventures to Missouri'/><author><name>Alaina Ione</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02170289716834893733</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SeejhoPF9jI/AAAAAAAAADA/zIyFC2xqJj4/S220/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2818476140729435956.post-1968216393104967809</id><published>2009-06-18T13:17:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2010-08-19T15:53:26.083-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Mina</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I, my friends, am getting the most &lt;em&gt;adorable&lt;/em&gt; kitten in the world! Just look:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348749080097548450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 228px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SjqS8w_paKI/AAAAAAAAAFs/uZ1iZfkh-QQ/s320/photo.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is she not SOOO beautiful!?!? She’s a Persian and will be absolutely gorgeous when she grows up! One of those rich cats that you see in the millionaires’ homes in the movies. Yeah. I’m gonna be a millionaire. Ha. Not so much, but I’ll have a beautiful cat. And a very loving cat, from the sounds of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her name is going to be Mina. It's Korean for "beautiful." It's also a Japanese name. I like taking oriental words and tweaking them for names for my animals. One of my cats was named Nakai, derived from the Japanese word for "soft." Not anywhere near the actual word anymore, but it's where it stemmed from. But this word didn't need any tweaking at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am driving to Missouri to get her and I think it’ll be so worth it. Hey. Road trip. That’s a bonus. My little brother will be coming with me and that will be quite fun methinks. I can’t describe my excitement.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have been craving the companionship of a kitten for a couple to a few years now and the time is finally here! *sigh* Life is good. I am so happy!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2818476140729435956-1968216393104967809?l=alaina-ione.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/feeds/1968216393104967809/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/06/mina.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/1968216393104967809'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/1968216393104967809'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/06/mina.html' title='Mina'/><author><name>Alaina Ione</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02170289716834893733</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SeejhoPF9jI/AAAAAAAAADA/zIyFC2xqJj4/S220/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SjqS8w_paKI/AAAAAAAAAFs/uZ1iZfkh-QQ/s72-c/photo.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2818476140729435956.post-7852904656236486937</id><published>2009-06-07T22:29:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2010-08-19T15:53:26.098-06:00</updated><title type='text'>These are a Few of My Favorite Things</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Recently I've been on the receiving end of some links to some very funny skits/clips/whatever-you-wanna-call-'em on youtube and hulu.  I thought I'd share my excitement in the discovery of these things.  I hope you enjoy them as much as I do!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.hulu.com/watch/37752/saturday-night-live-the-lawrence-welk-show"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;1) SNL Lawrence Welk Show Spoof&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B-Wd-Q3F8KM&amp;amp;feature=PlayList&amp;amp;p=A239923502112FAA&amp;amp;index=0&amp;amp;playnext=1"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;2) The Count Censored&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.hulu.com/watch/43220/family-guy-puke-contest"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;3) Family Guy (Surprise)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lj-x9ygQEGA"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;4) Total Eclipse of the Heart: Literal Version&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eUba0WtH-SY&amp;amp;feature=fvw"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;5) The Twilight Before Christmas&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bsTCrwWx-as&amp;amp;feature=related"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;6) Hermione and Ginny&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2818476140729435956-7852904656236486937?l=alaina-ione.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/feeds/7852904656236486937/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/06/these-are-few-of-my-favorite-things.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/7852904656236486937'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/7852904656236486937'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/06/these-are-few-of-my-favorite-things.html' title='These are a Few of My Favorite Things'/><author><name>Alaina Ione</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02170289716834893733</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SeejhoPF9jI/AAAAAAAAADA/zIyFC2xqJj4/S220/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2818476140729435956.post-786888494454970037</id><published>2009-06-05T15:27:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2010-08-19T15:53:26.112-06:00</updated><title type='text'>For the Girls</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;You know what I think is cool? Periods. Cramps. Bleeding ‘til you’re embarrassed to walk around because it’s gotten on your pants like you’ve peed red. I think it’s great! Writhing in pain wherever you are: in bed; on a chair at your desk at work; in a car waiting for your friend to freakin walk out of the damn store so that you can get to your room where there’s a heating pad and some pain pills…. It’s wonderful. You know why? Because it means a few things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One – you can feel. Feeling is good. If you were numb to the things of the world, where would you be? A cold-hearted, desensitized possible jerk, that’s where!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two – it means that one day you can have babies! How sweet is that! You get to go through all this pain for the rest of your life so that &lt;em&gt;you &lt;/em&gt;can be a mother one day. What do the fathers get? They get nothing. They don’t understand the meaning of the word sacrifice. You know what that means? No bond with the child. I mean, many of them just leave. What is that all about? They don’t even get to know what it’s like to change diapers and clean up throw up and muddy footprints and snot on the windows. They’re missing out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Three – let’s take a look at those who actually can’t have children for one reason or another. They get to just go through the pain. They get to get stronger with each passing month as they wrap their arms around themselves in hopes that a little bit of pressure will relieve a little bit of the hurt. Maybe it does, maybe it doesn’t. But there’s an even bigger benefit: along with getting stronger every month, they don’t &lt;em&gt;have&lt;/em&gt; to change diapers and clean up throw up and muddy footprints and snot on the windows. They don’t have to watch in slow motion as their great-great grandmother’s favorite vase is knocked over off of the small decorative table and crashes to the floor into tiny little pieces. They’ll have that family heirloom forever. &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343958904321352210" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 222px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 230px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SimOT1pcIhI/AAAAAAAAAFk/sr7scAbpyZo/s320/stomach%2520pain.bmp-for-web%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /&gt;So either way you look at it, these periods, this PMS, this intense pain is &lt;em&gt;worth it!&lt;/em&gt; Nothing should dampen your spirits, girls! Cheer up! Bear these so-called burdens with a glad heart and a happy soul! Because no matter the outcome of this pain you experience, you are getting the better end of the deal – something about which you should be smiling. Brightly.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2818476140729435956-786888494454970037?l=alaina-ione.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/feeds/786888494454970037/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/06/for-girls.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/786888494454970037'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/786888494454970037'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/06/for-girls.html' title='For the Girls'/><author><name>Alaina Ione</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02170289716834893733</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SeejhoPF9jI/AAAAAAAAADA/zIyFC2xqJj4/S220/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SimOT1pcIhI/AAAAAAAAAFk/sr7scAbpyZo/s72-c/stomach%2520pain.bmp-for-web%5B1%5D.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2818476140729435956.post-629687663001578648</id><published>2009-06-05T08:52:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2010-08-19T15:53:26.124-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Best Ever</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/Sik0kqJozhI/AAAAAAAAAFc/0KujrxstY3k/s1600-h/bxp67538%5B1%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343860237246451218" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 258px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/Sik0kqJozhI/AAAAAAAAAFc/0KujrxstY3k/s320/bxp67538%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;This post is going to be one of gratitude. I have got the BEST friends in the world. Seriously. Few though they may be, they are wonderful and they are always there for me no matter what.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Recently I went through a hard time and I was supported very much by such wonderful people. I will be forever thankful for and to them. I think I’m blessed more than anyone in this area and I almost don’t know what to do. I really, really hope they know that I love them a lot and will always appreciate them. I hope that they know that I will always be there for them, no matter the circumstances. My life is so much brighter because of them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So here’s a shout out to such wonderful people! Thank you for all you do and have done! Nothing will change the way I see you, which is with such high regard that if you saw yourself the way I do, you would never &lt;em&gt;ever &lt;/em&gt;think a single negative thought about you. Ever. You are quite simply amazing.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;(P.S. as you can tell, that pic is a professional one; I don't actually know these people, it's just depicting friendship. =D )&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2818476140729435956-629687663001578648?l=alaina-ione.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/feeds/629687663001578648/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/06/best-ever.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/629687663001578648'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/629687663001578648'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/06/best-ever.html' title='The Best Ever'/><author><name>Alaina Ione</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02170289716834893733</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SeejhoPF9jI/AAAAAAAAADA/zIyFC2xqJj4/S220/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/Sik0kqJozhI/AAAAAAAAAFc/0KujrxstY3k/s72-c/bxp67538%5B1%5D.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2818476140729435956.post-770124934553170</id><published>2009-06-02T11:43:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-06-03T10:17:18.399-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Not My Type</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;This last weekend, I went out with a very nice guy. For once. We shall call him…Jack Sparrow (there’s a train of thought that actually connects his name to Jack Sparrow, so don’t think I’m TOO weird). Well, “Jack” and I have known each other for at least 7 years now and we’ve been friends the whole time, albeit friends who don’t see each other constantly. Or even talk constantly. We’ve seen each other less than once a year, so when we do see each other, we spend a lot of our time smiling and catching up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I was 20, Jack tried to kiss me. I froze. No guy had made me freeze before at that age. If I didn’t want to give something to a guy, he didn’t get it. But for some reason, Jack caused a battle inside of my brain clear up until the very last split-second when I forced myself to turn my head and he kissed the very corner of my mouth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;About 3 or so years later, he tried again, only this time I was able to clear-mindedly dodge it both times that day (he tried once, wasn’t successful so tried again not 2 minutes later).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have seen him once since then and talked to him on Facebook only a little more. Until this weekend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had fun. We went to lunch and then to the mall to go to Barnes and Noble where he kept asking me to let him buy me a book because he knew I’d wanted one but was trying to discipline myself and not get it. I finally gave in, feeling like a bitch for doing so. This guy’s done more for me than any non-related guy has ever done before. So it was really hard for me to say yes and add to my debt to him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It sucks. He’s WAY too nice, WAY too good and I hate it! I haven’t met one single decent guy for a few years now and the more I meet, the further I get into thinking that all men are quite simply pricks, ass holes, jerks, idiots, losers, douche bags, you name it. Anything negative I could possibly think, I think. But I can’t think that way about “Jack” and it’s &lt;em&gt;pissing me off!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He said to me yesterday something along the lines of the idea that I know how to “inspire a man to be a better person” and such. Reaction: I freaked out. The whole way home from work, I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t. That statement of his is SO not true. Obviously, or else there’d be more good guys that I know, right? It kicked off so many memories I’ve been trying to forget about how I &lt;em&gt;do not&lt;/em&gt; inspire guys to be any kind of good, especially around me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so this morning, after fighting off freaking out all night, I came up with a conclusion: I’m fine. Things will be okay. I can let things go as they will go and not try to avoid him. You know why? Because a) after that, there is no danger of a crush, but b) &lt;em&gt;should&lt;/em&gt; a crush begin to develop, all I have to do is wait for a week at most. All of my crushes die within that short time lately. So things will be just fine. I don’t have to get frustrated or angry or uncomfortable that someone nice is hanging out with me and talking to me (because he has been emailing me every day since the date and such). I’ll be over it soon. Then all I’ll have to deal with is letting him know that I’m not interested in anything beyond friends. And he should be okay with that. It’s all we’ve been since we’ve known each other.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2818476140729435956-770124934553170?l=alaina-ione.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/feeds/770124934553170/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/06/not-my-type.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/770124934553170'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/770124934553170'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/06/not-my-type.html' title='Not My Type'/><author><name>Alaina Ione</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02170289716834893733</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SeejhoPF9jI/AAAAAAAAADA/zIyFC2xqJj4/S220/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2818476140729435956.post-5708601944562981687</id><published>2009-05-19T14:31:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-19T14:40:22.631-06:00</updated><title type='text'>My Lifesaver</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;So last…week, month, whatever, I wrote about one of my brothers. I have 3 of them and 2 sisters and, having a good relationship with all of them, I decided to dedicate a post to each one of them. My next subject: Michael.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I was 10, Michael (the youngest) came into our lives. Poor kid was accident prone right off the bat. His femur bone was broken when he was about 6 months old or so, and he was put into a body cast with a hole cut into the butt so we could change his diaper. Once he burned his hand on the iron. That was unnerving. It’s continued throughout his life. A couple years ago, he snapped both of his wrists cleanly in &lt;em&gt;half &lt;/em&gt;whilst playing around the rafters of an unfinished house in the rain. Smart kid. You definitely learn what &lt;em&gt;not&lt;/em&gt; to do with him around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/ShMYd8S4sfI/AAAAAAAAAE4/DbA9gSUqe6A/s1600-h/IMG_0114.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337636886044783090" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/ShMYd8S4sfI/AAAAAAAAAE4/DbA9gSUqe6A/s320/IMG_0114.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;All growing up, though, I never felt like I really knew him. After I went on a mission and came home, instead of moving out immediately, I decided to live at home for a while where JJ and Michael were still living. I wanted to develop a relationship with them that I hadn’t been able to because of the age gap. High School and College during Elementary School years. So I stayed put and hung around them as much as I could.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of the best things I could have done. I felt like I was starting to get closer to them. I felt my relationship with Michael was particularly affected since I knew him the least.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I still didn’t know him very well. I knew the laughing part of him, the teasing part, the up-front part. He’s my brother. Typically you know more than just the shell. As much fun as the teasing, the laughing, the getting along quite nicely was, I somehow still missed him. I didn’t know what it was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then something happened. The darling was uber accident prone and got himself into some trouble. Some pretty bad trouble. It killed us all. I mean, as a family, we’ve never for a second waivered from supporting him and letting him know that we still love him, no matter what. He was put into juvie, and Mom and Dad visit him every week. Us kids visit him whenever we can. It seemed like I was the only failure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I still loved him and that was what hurt. He writes to us every month at least once. In his letters, he would ask us to write him back. I felt so awful with guilt every time I read that line because I couldn’t. I didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t like I was going to chew him out if I didn’t hold myself back. I just didn’t have any words.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then one day I decided it was time. I missed him. So I wrote to him, letting him know at first that I’d been hurt, then letting him know that I’ll always love him. He wrote back immediately and since then we’ve been in constant contact. I’ve gone by myself to visit him, just the two of us. In those talks and letters, I’ve found someone that I rarely have: someone to tell everything to. Poor kid! He gets it all! I mean AAALLLLLL. He hears everything about me that I hate, everything I’ve done that I wish I hadn’t, all of my weaknesses, things that have happened to me that to me were traumatic in their own ways (they’d be no big deal to anyone else, I’m sure of it; I’m pretty weak). He hears it all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And he listens. He asks me questions. I remember one day I was sitting with him in the visiting room. Something had just recently happened in my life that affected me so much (like I said – weak) and I could hardly get past a certain point of conversation. I’d kept it light up to a point and then I couldn’t hold it anymore and my voice cracked when my thoughts wouldn’t stop. His face got serious and worried immediately. “Alaina,” he said softly. “What happened?” When I couldn’t talk or said it wasn’t anything really big at all, he repeated the question more firmly, more concernedly. “What happened?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337636227850031122" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/ShMX3oVB0BI/AAAAAAAAAEw/2IHwXMOfN28/s320/PB100095.JPG" border="0" /&gt;Of all the people that I know, if I think about it, I can honestly say that he is the one I am most proud of. I have never in my life been more proud of anyone or SO proud of anyone. Ever. He is now a 4.0 student when he was getting barely in the 1’s, if I am correct. His views on life have changed from “I don’t give a shit” to “This is something worth living.” He’s got a plan for his life and everything. He is, quite frankly, amazing. Absolutely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I miss him. I wish I could see him every day. He gives me a kind of hope that I rarely allow myself to feel; I’d rather not feel hope so that I don’t lose it when I fail. But with him around, I still just can’t help but feel this one – if he can climb up so far, maybe one day I can, too.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2818476140729435956-5708601944562981687?l=alaina-ione.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/feeds/5708601944562981687/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/05/my-lifesaver.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/5708601944562981687'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/5708601944562981687'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/05/my-lifesaver.html' title='My Lifesaver'/><author><name>Alaina Ione</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02170289716834893733</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SeejhoPF9jI/AAAAAAAAADA/zIyFC2xqJj4/S220/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/ShMYd8S4sfI/AAAAAAAAAE4/DbA9gSUqe6A/s72-c/IMG_0114.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2818476140729435956.post-6155067419503305559</id><published>2009-05-08T13:11:00.007-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-08T13:22:06.147-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Metamorphosis</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;It was a beautiful sunny day; the sky was clear, the air was cool and not cold; and we were stuck indoors. Such is the life of many Americans. We work indoors for a huge percentage of our lives. On this particular day, however, we were required to step outside just long enough to cross the parking lot and go to our other company building where they were holding a “quarterly meeting.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We walked slowly, enjoying our momentary freedom. Walking there we took our time…on our way back we took even more time because we didn’t have a deadline for a meeting to start.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friend/coworker and I were taking the long way around – the one with the most sun – chatting about this and that, when suddenly we both stopped abruptly in our tracks. Crossing the sidewalk as though it were a large road to put behind him was a fuzzy caterpillar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Trivia on Alaina: since I was a little girl, I’ve always loved caterpillars if only for one thing…they turn into &lt;em&gt;beautiful&lt;/em&gt; beings that should be absolutely impossible for something so slow, so simple, so earthbound and so ugly to turn into.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Awww!!” Both of us coo, looking down on the innocent little creature who is unaware of the turn its life is about to take. In fact, I think that only I was aware of the turn his short life was about to take. I bent down and allowed him to crawl onto my hand, standing up slowly once he did. After a few moments of evaluating and studying the little guy, the two of us continued our trek back to our desks. I hardly took my eyes off of him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I got back to my desk, I had nothing but an empty water bottle to put him into. So I did and was awed as I watched him crawl from one droplet of water to the next and saw each drop slowly disappear as an invisible mouth too small to see gulped it up. It was amazing. So simple, but so amazing. At the end of work, I took him home and put him in a little container that can hold probably a gallon of liquid, gave it a floor of dirt and some plants, complete with a stick he could climb up onto to spin his cocoon when he was ready.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few days later, he spun a cocoon. On the ground. Amongst the fallen leaves and grass. I thought he was dead, though I would never pass him off as so until he just simply did not come out of his cocoon. I was not going to give up on him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As anyone can tell, I have a thing for butterflies. As previously mentioned, the concept of them turning from something so basic to something that is free, can fly, and is among the most beautiful of all creatures is astounding. When I was a little girl, it was astounding that they could turn from an ugly worm into something so beautiful. I wanted to turn into a beautiful person when I grew up. So I loved butterflies. If they could do it, maybe, maybe I had a chance. As I grew, the concept of the metamorphosis sunk in deeper and butterflies came to mean more than simple beauty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From slow and crawling on their bellies to being the owners of pure freedom! They grow wings!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They go from eating leaves and weeds and anything they can to drinking nectar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From an existence focused solely on surviving to the next stage of their life, where chance is 90% of success, they become gods of their kind. They create life by fertilizing flowers and creating more of their own kind (albeit ugly worms again, but still they grow to be just like their parents). They have &lt;em&gt;reached&lt;/em&gt; that next stage of their life. They are living their lives to the fullest at this point and meeting the objective of their creation. They are the epitome of success.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So as you can imagine, I became quite attached to the little guy, anticipating this life for him. His cocoon was attached to long blades of grass that we could pick up and examine him more closely (I have since trimmed those down so that he could be left alone). One day I expressed my fear of his death to a coworker who then picked him up. We both saw him wiggle. He was alive! And every now and then when I’m looking at just the right time, I’ll see a tiny little movement, reassuring me that he still is. I love it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did as much research as I could and this is what I discovered: Little Xanthone (we named him Xanthone after the main component found in the main fruit that our company is based around) is a moth. So much for my illusions of a butterfly life for my little guy. He will aspire to be a moth. I always knew this was a possibility, though. A 50/50 chance, if you will.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Despite the moth-ness of his nature, I just can’t help but still love him the same as when I thought he could possibly be a butterfly. Let’s think about this: ugly worm to creature with wings. Course, it’s a creature that comes out at night. But still. It is amazing in and of itself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I deepened my research and I think I’ve narrowed down what type of moth he is and if he is, he is &lt;em&gt;so cool!&lt;/em&gt; For example: Moths can hear bats before bats can hear them. Gives them a great advantage. THIS moth, however, can actually &lt;em&gt;talk back&lt;/em&gt; to the bats. Well – communicate back, it’s not like they’ve got words. But seriously. How much greater of an advantage is that?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Moths can also remember things they learned as a caterpillar. Don’t ask me how they discovered that one, but they did. This makes moths quite smart. Helloooo…insect? Thinking? Learning? All I have to say is this: I knew it! Every living thing has more than just instincts. They’ve all got personality, too, right down to plants. This is what I believe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have found some pictures of what Xanthone could look like when he emerges. I personally think he is beautiful and I am excited to see him. He is due the end of this month.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And as soon as the butterfly caterpillars come out, rest assured that I shall be raising at least one of those, too. I love things like this!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SgSEoCsVaeI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/p9jXz6qtLr0/s1600-h/Tiger+moth.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333533682165967330" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 146px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SgSEoCsVaeI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/p9jXz6qtLr0/s200/Tiger+moth.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333533866170513858" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SgSEywKb-cI/AAAAAAAAAEY/38o-iEMlLvA/s200/Tiger+moth+2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SgSEoCsVaeI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/p9jXz6qtLr0/s1600-h/Tiger+moth.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SgSGDdjO38I/AAAAAAAAAEo/Q32eAp5EJ1c/s1600-h/tiger+moth+3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333535252743643074" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 151px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SgSGDdjO38I/AAAAAAAAAEo/Q32eAp5EJ1c/s200/tiger+moth+3.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2818476140729435956-6155067419503305559?l=alaina-ione.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/feeds/6155067419503305559/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/05/metamorphosis.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/6155067419503305559'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/6155067419503305559'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/05/metamorphosis.html' title='Metamorphosis'/><author><name>Alaina Ione</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02170289716834893733</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SeejhoPF9jI/AAAAAAAAADA/zIyFC2xqJj4/S220/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SgSEoCsVaeI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/p9jXz6qtLr0/s72-c/Tiger+moth.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2818476140729435956.post-5039127906126650822</id><published>2009-05-05T14:35:00.007-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-14T15:59:25.643-06:00</updated><title type='text'>He's Half of Who I Am</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:+0;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I said I’d have something happy to write about and I do! His name is JJ.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:+0;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;First thought when I said "his?" A crush? A new fling? A new &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;boyfriend?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt; No, not so. Trivia on Alaina: first thought when I say “his” followed immediately by “JJ” should go straight to “Awww, cute! Her brother!”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesh, JJ is my little bro. And a very good one at that. I have recently moved back home and over the last few months, I’ve watched this 18-year-old boy and have quite frankly been amazed. And envious. I wish I could be like him in SO many ways!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here’s a little story of my adorable brother. He was in the High School play this year, for which you have to be in a class of close to 100 people, all of whom are in the play. For an entire semester, they worked side-by-side, spending hours of over(school)time on the lines of the script, the set, the costumes, the rehearsals, other productions, etc. You get to know people real well in such a setting. Semester ends and the class is dissolved. A sad moment, as you can imagine, for friendships are forged and lives are changed forever from being touched by another life that is different from all others.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;An assembly is held at the end where 15 awards are given out. What these awards were is similar to “cutest couple,” and “most likely to be famous.” The titles were pre-chosen by the teacher, I believe, and the students voted on who should get them. I don’t know what the titles were, I wasn’t there. I was just told this story by my mom the next day because she was at the assembly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All 15 awards were handed out like so: “Award for [insert title]. You voted for [insert name]!” [insert much shouting and applause, the winner accepting a physical token of said award, and the moving on to next award]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After all awards had been handed out, the teacher proceeds to give a little speech that went something like this (and JJ may roll his eyes at me for botching this):&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Every production needs someone who is the comic relief. When tempers rose, this person knew just what to say and how to say it to lighten the mood and make everyone feel better. He knew exactly how to make us all laugh and when to do it….who did you vote for?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The ENTIRE class screamed without hesitation in one voice &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:+0;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;JJ!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt; And they kept on screaming and clapping as he walked up to accept his award. I can imagine his walk and it’s probably best that I wasn’t there. I cried at the storytelling. I would have cried harder had I been there to witness it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That, folks, is my brother. He knows how to work with people, he knows how to deal with them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SgCkhlmce8I/AAAAAAAAADw/cq9cikPgnF4/s1600-h/JJ.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332442855742667714" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SgCkhlmce8I/AAAAAAAAADw/cq9cikPgnF4/s320/JJ.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And he knows how to pull out my favorite part of me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have a complex that I am the most boring person that I know. I feel dull and unentertaining and unpopular and blah, blah, blah. But when I am with JJ, I swear, he makes me feel like the funniest, most awesome person to be around! How does he do that? I just don’t know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night we were watching X-Men II since we’d both recently seen X-Men Origins. The night before, we’d watched the first one. Last night I felt myself getting hyper and the more he reacted, the freer I felt! I didn’t feel trapped by that stupid complex. I felt like it didn’t matter what I was like and I didn’t have to impress – he’d still care for me no matter what. And damn it! I was FUNNY that night! I had ME laughing! Like, hard!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don’t know what it is about him, but he can make you forget about what you think is wrong with you. When you’re with him, just for those few moments, you are free of those depressing thoughts. You are just you as you were always meant to be. All because he has somehow nonverbally invited you to become that person in his presence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now can you see why I want to be like him?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:+0;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332442380029860498" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SgCkF5brGpI/AAAAAAAAADo/TZCAkuxRUtg/s320/JJ+and+me.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2818476140729435956-5039127906126650822?l=alaina-ione.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/feeds/5039127906126650822/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/05/hes-half-of-who-i-am.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/5039127906126650822'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/5039127906126650822'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/05/hes-half-of-who-i-am.html' title='He&apos;s Half of Who I Am'/><author><name>Alaina Ione</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02170289716834893733</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SeejhoPF9jI/AAAAAAAAADA/zIyFC2xqJj4/S220/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SgCkhlmce8I/AAAAAAAAADw/cq9cikPgnF4/s72-c/JJ.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2818476140729435956.post-2822006600633271982</id><published>2009-04-30T10:14:00.008-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-06T12:36:18.373-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Real Me</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I have been the most annoyed and negative person lately. What’s happened to me? And I’m just getting worse as time goes by. I used to be one of the happiest, most optimistic people I knew. Not peppy like, “OMG, everything’s always hunky-dory!” but more like, “Hey, despite this current hard time, like is okay. This will pass and things will be alright. You’ll see.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not so anymore. Now it’s, “Whatever, I hate this, I hate you and I hate life.” K, not “I hate you” for everyone. Just most people who aren’t actually involved in my life. I care about those ones involved, but not so much about those whom I have no connection with. They just annoy the hell out of me. They think they’re entertaining or something. Ew. Get a freaking life and leave me the hell alone!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m annoying myself being so aggravated so easily. It’s really getting old. It’s exhausting being filled with all this hate and frustration the moment someone stupid says something retarded to me. “Do you want to meet?” “Let’s go on a 2-day weekend date” “I’m going to squish your caterpillar.” “♪Welcome, welcome to [here]!♪” (yes, he sings. Gross)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And don’t even bring up the subject of the drivers on the road! Ugh!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope I snap out of this soon. Somehow, however, I don’t think that’s likely to happen. Like I said, it’s only getting worse as life continues, so I can’t expect anything better. Life just sucks. That’s all there is to it. I honestly can’t say there’s anything good to this piece of shit period of time. …except for the good people. The ones who still care. Can’t imagine why the hell they do, but they do. They’re the only thing worthwhile in this lame and pointless existence of mine, my family and good friends. I thank God for them every day. I’d be so much worse off without them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, hopefully my next entry will be a little more upbeat. I try to fake happiness for everyone around, it’s just hard sometimes. So I needed to turn to my blog to be real. But I don’t want it to turn into a 100% negative thing. So I won’t write again until I have something good to say this time. =) It’s got to happen sometime. So until then, may life treat you well.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2818476140729435956-2822006600633271982?l=alaina-ione.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/feeds/2822006600633271982/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/04/real-me.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/2822006600633271982'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/2822006600633271982'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/04/real-me.html' title='The Real Me'/><author><name>Alaina Ione</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02170289716834893733</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SeejhoPF9jI/AAAAAAAAADA/zIyFC2xqJj4/S220/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2818476140729435956.post-4786771990485729332</id><published>2009-04-27T11:33:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-05T22:12:38.111-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Welcome to Sin City!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;Last weekend I went to Vegas/Sin City/Home of the lowest morals and the highest prices anyone could ever find. Pretty much. It was awesome.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At first.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then it just got tiring. But overall it was still fun and I liked it. I re-learned a little something about myself that's kinda put me in a pissy mood for the last few days, but hey. That happens. The activities, however, were great. Worked my ass off, played hard, slept little (that part sucked, though).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went with my work for a regional we had where our distributors came from all over to get pumped up about selling, possible new products, and the renewing of old products. I worked the store there and, despite how busy it gets, you just can’t help but smile when they come to your register because of how energetic and enthusiastic they are. They’re always so happy and nice at such events. Makes it easy to keep going when you’re so low on rest.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On our down times, we walked the strip for a couple hours, ate at expensive restaurants and gambled. Well, I did. I’d planned to do a bit more like watch the Bellagio fountains and such, but that didn’t end up happening because I got too tired and just did not want to walk anymore. Can you blame me? Walking for hours, on my feet all day, rarely sitting down…my feet were &lt;/span&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;killing&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt; me! The fountains were who knew how far away from where we were at the time, so…I just gave in and didn’t go. My friend was sweet enough to let me and we just went back to our hotel. Then we talked until we were too tired to talk anymore. That was probably my favorite part of the whole trip. And that’s saying something, because I had a lot of fun with a lot of people. She’s one of the best people I know. I could never say enough good about her or about the good she’s done for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another highlight was one of the funniest people I know. She absolutely cracks me up! She had me doubled over while I was trying to walk. She made it easier to keep going when my feet were screaming at me to just stop already. She made it fun, too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes you just need to get away, but ultimately, if you don’t go with the right people, you don’t get the break you need. They make all the difference and make the trip worthwhile. A brief shout out to the people who make my life worthwhile (even those who don’t yet know about this blog). You’re the best and I pray to one day return the gesture.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329426068526673794" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SfXsxdc9L4I/AAAAAAAAADg/ZBYfKZC604Y/s320/Vegas.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;This pic was taken with my IPHONE when my CAMERA&lt;br /&gt;woulnd't take a good enough one!&lt;br /&gt;Go camera phones!&lt;br /&gt;I love Vegas at night!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2818476140729435956-4786771990485729332?l=alaina-ione.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/feeds/4786771990485729332/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/04/welcome-to-sin-city.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/4786771990485729332'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/4786771990485729332'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/04/welcome-to-sin-city.html' title='Welcome to Sin City!'/><author><name>Alaina Ione</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02170289716834893733</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SeejhoPF9jI/AAAAAAAAADA/zIyFC2xqJj4/S220/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SfXsxdc9L4I/AAAAAAAAADg/ZBYfKZC604Y/s72-c/Vegas.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2818476140729435956.post-1554949444871709057</id><published>2009-04-10T10:06:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-05T22:13:54.619-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Why Life?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/Sd9vg-2qQUI/AAAAAAAAACY/Ah6I7NYIWpc/s1600-h/DavepenmanRexFeatures01%5B1%5D.gif"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323095896993972546" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 218px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 140px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/Sd9vg-2qQUI/AAAAAAAAACY/Ah6I7NYIWpc/s200/DavepenmanRexFeatures01%5B1%5D.gif" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;So I know this girl whose situation kinda makes me sad, so I thought I’d write about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’ve known her for quite a while. In Jr. High all she dreamt about was being a mother. It didn’t seem like one of those “I want to be married soooo bad one day” things. Not at all. It was all about the children. She loved children. Her aunt had a professional daycare that she loved to go to and visit. She babysat a lot and the kids loved her. She could take care of babies a couple weeks old to children who were almost her age. Her whole existence was about family, especially about her own one day. She knew that someday she’d be a good mother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her dreams continued throughout high school and college. Now, seriously, do NOT get me wrong – she wasn’t ever focused on marriage, marriage, marriage. She did dream of getting married, but not for the wedding day. It was for the rest of the life experiences that came with marriage. The trials, the good times, the children, the companionship…. It was everything. From the way she talked, it seemed as though she’d never actually given a second thought to the dress she’d wear, the colors she’d have for the reception, or the time of year she’d prefer the wedding to be. It wasn’t about the day like it was for so many other girls I knew (which got SO old SO fast!).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Toward the end of college, a series of unfortunate events began happening. Eventually they interfered with the promise of her dream of a family – the husband, the children, the whole package. I’ve rarely seen anyone so down. The light in her eyes is dead, when she talks and isn’t putting up a front, her voice is dull; she’s stopped caring about anything. Around most everyone she’s got a rather good mask she wears. It seems that people can’t tell something is wrong now. No one knows her biggest dream has died, and with it, a part of her. Even her close friends, though, who &lt;/span&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;do &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;see more of her, don’t see the whole of her. She hides from us a little. I think it’s so that we won’t feel as bad for her as we would. But I can see there’s more to it than she’s letting on. I kinda wish she could just talk, but I understand how it goes – sometimes, even when you want to, you just don’t have the words. And then there’s the hesitancy to worry others more than is necessary. So I can see her point of view in hiding a little, even from those close to her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It doesn’t look like she’s going to make it much longer and she has welcomed the idea. That dream was everything to her and to live without it, to never be a mother she says isn’t worth living without; she’d rather this be the end anyway. The idea has made me cry sometimes. She’s working on saying goodbye to those she loves, getting things wrapped up before she isn’t here anymore, and it’s lucky that she’s got the time. But it’s kinda sad to me. I put myself in her shoes and real tears form. I hope things will be happier for her “on the other side.” Kinda makes you wonder what the hell this life is for.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2818476140729435956-1554949444871709057?l=alaina-ione.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/feeds/1554949444871709057/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/04/why-life.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/1554949444871709057'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/1554949444871709057'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/04/why-life.html' title='Why Life?'/><author><name>Alaina Ione</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02170289716834893733</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SeejhoPF9jI/AAAAAAAAADA/zIyFC2xqJj4/S220/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/Sd9vg-2qQUI/AAAAAAAAACY/Ah6I7NYIWpc/s72-c/DavepenmanRexFeatures01%5B1%5D.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2818476140729435956.post-5612504096940261568</id><published>2009-01-30T15:51:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-05T22:14:20.175-06:00</updated><title type='text'>ADD!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;Oh how I love these things: my car, my iPhone, my iPod, energy shots, the idea of having a laptop, organizing my agents’ folders.  Can I think of anything else?  These are some of my obsessions.  Just some, mind you.  And right now, all I can think of is … well, not them, actually.  I can’t think at all right now.  I can’t focus!  O’ whatever shall I do, whatever shall I do?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wonder how Shakespeare wrote like that with the O’s and the thou’s and thee’s, wilt’s and shalt’s?  And how the hell did we evolve from that kind of language to this now?  I sure am not complaining!  I prefer this language by far.  Have you ever heard Old English?  Sounds like German.  No wonder German is easier to understand than any other language without ever having studied it.  Entertains me, really.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another thing that entertains me is how they just make up words.  That’s what I hear, anyway, from someone who used to live there.  If they don’t have a word for it, they combine words and make one really long word to describe what they’re trying to get across.  I think that is genius!  Something liiiiike…”I’m in the mood to do something spontiferous.”  See?  Spontaneous and Terrific (ish) at the same time.  “Has to be a great activity.  I have to be overly excited about this spontaneous event!  No movies.  Those are just spontinomal.” (Spontaneous yet normal.)  I got this down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So this blogging thing is calming down my ADD.  This is good since I have to be here extra long today.  It’s the end of the month; always a fun time for us here at my job.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oy, now I’m getting ADD about writing in this, so I shall depart.  Hopefully next time I will be more focused and able to write for real.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The End.&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/2818476140729435956-5612504096940261568?l=alaina-ione.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/feeds/5612504096940261568/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/01/add.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/5612504096940261568'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/5612504096940261568'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/01/add.html' title='ADD!'/><author><name>Alaina Ione</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02170289716834893733</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SeejhoPF9jI/AAAAAAAAADA/zIyFC2xqJj4/S220/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2818476140729435956.post-7614871672805017425</id><published>2009-01-29T13:02:00.008-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-05T22:14:58.591-06:00</updated><title type='text'>SWF Searching for Cure</title><content type='html'>&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;I had an epiphany today: I take myself way too seriously. This is a depressing thought to me. Very depressing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m pretty sure I was born with this disability. Now that I can identify it, I recall very clearly doing this when I was in elementary school. Would you like me to spell that out for you? E-L-E-M-E-N-T-A-R-Y. Want proof? Here it is:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had crushes, just like any kid. All my friends wrote, “I love so-and-so” all over the place, including the bathroom stalls. Some of them knew who I liked, but even then I didn’t like advertising it. When they would tease me and say, “Alaina loves so-and-so,” this was my response (are you ready for this? Keep in mind that I am somewhere between 7 and 10 when I said this)… “I don’t &lt;/span&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;love &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;him, I only &lt;/span&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;like &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;him. I’m too young to know what love is.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Haha! Are you kidding me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This was my theme for years. I knew that one day I would find out what love really was, but today was not that day. So for now, I only had crushes. Strong though they may have been, they were still only crushes for me. When I was 16, I even me the guy I was “going to marry,” but I still only had a crush. I knew I would fall in love when the time was right and for some reason, it just wasn’t right. I didn’t understand that if I was going to marry him, but I accepted it for what it was and kept going with my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Boyfriends came and went and I was constantly aware that I did not love any of them. Until one. I finally knew what love was. It was true love, too – I literally would have died for him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aaaaand it didn’t work out. So now what happens to me? Just take a wild guess. Being one who takes herself too seriously, I hang onto that idea of the love that existed and won’t let go of it. I stop having crushes. “If I can’t have it again, I just won’t ever get close to a serious relationship again.” I don’t even give guys a chance anymore – they’ve become toys for me and people that I keep at a distance no matter what. If he has any hold on me, it’s that I like having him around or I feel obligated to. Any guy who says he is interested in me makes me laugh hysterically behind his back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need to change, but I don’t know how to. I need a cure. I am certainly not saying that I need a guy to enter my life and change me. That’s not going to happen. The change has to come from inside. I need to learn somehow on my own that it’s ok to loosen up and let people in. I need to re-learn that it’s ok to have crushes – just because I fell in love once does not mean that I have to find a crush that I could fall in love with this time. It could be one of those high school crushes. And most of all, I need to learn what I never knew how to do: just let go and enjoy life as it comes. Don’t wait so long for something to happen. Live in the moment. Make the little things that matter happen now so that I have memories later. I shouldn’t look forward to the future saying that the moment I’m in isn’t the one I’m waiting for.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So. Any ideas on how to create change inside oneself? I am definitely open to suggestions. Until I get some, however, I guess I just gotta start practicing focusing on the things in front of my face. No more glazed eyes looking far off in the distance. The new me begins now, even if it is slowly. She’ll speed up as she learns to walk. Hopefully this is the cure I’m looking for.&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/2818476140729435956-7614871672805017425?l=alaina-ione.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/feeds/7614871672805017425/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/01/swf-searching-for-cure.html#comment-form' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/7614871672805017425'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/7614871672805017425'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/01/swf-searching-for-cure.html' title='SWF Searching for Cure'/><author><name>Alaina Ione</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02170289716834893733</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SeejhoPF9jI/AAAAAAAAADA/zIyFC2xqJj4/S220/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2818476140729435956.post-845772883973367424</id><published>2009-01-25T00:55:00.011-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-05T22:15:22.555-06:00</updated><title type='text'>They's Bein' Hatin' Words</title><content type='html'>&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;How STUPID are girls sometimes?! Yes, we can include myself in this statement (more often than not), but not for this particular area of life. I. Don't. Fall. For. Words. To hell with any guy who tries to win me over with them! It just won't work. And what I don't get is why can't other girls see things like that for what they are? THEY'RE JUST WORDS! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;"When I saw you, I felt like falling to my knees. All I wanted to do was hold you," someone writes in a text to my friend. Aw, how sweet. BULLSHIT! Or how about this one: "We've had people line up for us in the past and they never worked out. Now we're here. This is our time. This is no time for control." Um. Hi. What does this say to you? Anyone? Anyone? It suggest one thing: "I want whatever the hell I can get out of you, now start putting out!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;What my friend is failing to see and what is getting to me so badly right about now is that this person is just like the last asshole who absolutely screwed her over. They both said the same things, they both acted the same way and they are both using her. There is no question about it - they don't care about her at all. She cares so much for them it actually hurts her. What is she doing? Why can't she see what everyone else is seeing and is trying to show her?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;"This is bad news, you know?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;"I know."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;"You know this person doesn't give a shit about you."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;"So?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;"So why are you keeping up with it?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;"I don't know."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;Then she gets texts similar to the ones above and shows them to me. I look at her. "Can you hear how lame that sounds? Seriously?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;"I love those texts," she says, looking at her phone and practically caressing it as if it were the actual person. What the hell? What can possibly be holding this woman to this jackass? I mean, I get the creep thing. I get it! But cheap words? Cheap words that are said solely to lure you in and ensnare you? I roll my frickin eyes every time a guy says something retarded like that to me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;"I think you're perfect."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;(Cough) "What?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;"You're practically perfect in every way."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;"Oh. Ok. What now, is this where I swoon, fall madly in love with you because you told me I was perfect and jump right into bed with you?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;"You're beautiful, too."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;"Oh, now that just adds a lot, doesn't it? I feel the sudden urge to jump you coming on. Say one more thing and I won't be able to control myself."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;"You looked amazing tonight."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;"You already said that one in a way."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;"There's no other girl like you."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;"And there's the winner. Bring it on, baby! You turn me on!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;And they all lived happily ever after.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;Until the next morning.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;If you're going to fall for someone, fall for them, not for their words. Make them take more of a risk than just saying how beautiful you are or how they want nothing more than to touch you. Those words are meant for anyone. You want words meant just for you and those don't come until you've gotten to know them better. If you have gotten to know them better and the old words are still coming, then you really haven't gotten to know them at all - they aren't opening up to you. So they don't want YOU, they want what you'll dish out for them. Drop them immediately. Unless you like the action, too, and it's all noncommittal. Then there's no worries because you haven't actually fallen for them, have you? You're not getting used.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;And thus you have my take on the mushy, gushy, cheesy romantic B.S. that so many girls eat right up. That's the part I'll never understand, so I thought I'd write about it. Don't hate.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2818476140729435956-845772883973367424?l=alaina-ione.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/feeds/845772883973367424/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/01/theys-bein-hatin-words.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/845772883973367424'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/845772883973367424'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/01/theys-bein-hatin-words.html' title='They&apos;s Bein&apos; Hatin&apos; Words'/><author><name>Alaina Ione</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02170289716834893733</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SeejhoPF9jI/AAAAAAAAADA/zIyFC2xqJj4/S220/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2818476140729435956.post-141747029109219539</id><published>2009-01-18T22:37:00.019-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-05T22:16:50.809-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Psycho Much?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;I am the TL for one of the departments in my company. With this comes responsibility that I can live up to. It's hard sometimes, but I can do it. One of those responsibilities is to keep my mouth shut, no matter how badly I want to say something. I could get into serious trouble. And I'm okay with that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Recently we just fired a woman we've so lovingly deemed "Agent B" for "Bitch." Her name starts with a "C," but they didn't want her to accidentally hear them talking about her and derive from the "C" that they were actually referring to her. If she was indeed smart enough to figure it out. So they went with "B" and it stuck. Even for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Somehow this woman is a little slow. How, I may never know. Maybe she was dropped on her head as a baby? Repeatedly? On purpose to get her to shut up? I just don't know. Poor thing. But regardless of the cause, we suffer the effects. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;Daily! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;You'd think we would have been rid of her after she was terminated, right? WRONG! This woman has not ceased to email, text or call at least one person at LEAST once a day since the day she was let go. I think it has rarely, if ever, been just one person per day, and it's even rare that it's only once a day per that person, though sometimes she will slow down the barrage of pointless communications that she throws at us. Yes, us. I am included in that list.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"HI ALAINA HOW RU?" "HI ALAINA I HOPE U AND YOUR FAMILY HAVE A SAFE AND HAPPY NEW YEAR" "HI ALAINA HOW WAS YOUR NEW YEARS?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Always simple things like this, always all caps, and &lt;/span&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;always my name! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;I love my name! Love it. But this woman is making me cringe whenever someone says it. I will read in an email from a guy from elementary school, "Have a good day Alaina and I'll talk to you later." Ugh! I used to love it when guys said my name. Will that day ever come again? I might kill me an ex-employee if it doesn't.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, so there are at least 7 of us who are being constantly bombarded and stalked by this woman. None of us will answer her, we just ignore her hoping that she'll get the picture. Right? WRONG! She never gets it! Finally we ask her to stop. We tell our security people what's going on and they call her and demand that she stop. Some of us block her email address and her phone number. Guess what? She's still at it! Can you believe that? She's, what? Mid 40's? Married! Get a life, woman! Let go of the past that you had control over, but did nothing with and therefore lost control of. That's how life goes! Deal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally we - "we" being several of us, including security - tell her that if she ever contacts us again, we will contact the police and file a harassment complaint.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I'M NOT HARASSING ANYONE I AM JUST TRYING TO BE FRIENDS WHAT IS WRONG WITH THAT I AM NOT A BAD PERSON!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So now what do I get? I get peace and quiet for about 2 days. Then the blank texts start coming. Joy. A new email address shows up in email boxes with the same subject lines of things like, "I got a new job yeah!" and nothing in the body of the email. So we are asked to take all of those emails (very, very many of those) and forward them to HR. I wonder what they've done with them? I wonder if it will even matter? I wonder if anyone will take their threat and follow through with it in taking it to the police? I sure hope so. I wonder if I have grounds to do that since all I'm getting now is blank texts? She's not accidentally sending those. I've never gotten one before from her in the entire almost-year that she had my number (why in the HELL did I ever give her the damn thing??) I even got one today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't say anything of how I really feel about the biotch to anyone at work (though I do, anyway, to one of my friends who isn't in the department). I keep it to "I'm so sorry you're going through this!" and "What is she thinking?" So it's such a nice relief to be able to say she's a freak somewhere.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SXQR2WM4S4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/1oDjw_8_cgk/s1600-h/PB070237.JPG"&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292875087437384578" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SXQR2WM4S4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/1oDjw_8_cgk/s320/PB070237.JPG" border="0" /&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SXQR2WM4S4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/1oDjw_8_cgk/s1600-h/PB070237.JPG"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SXQR2WM4S4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/1oDjw_8_cgk/s1600-h/PB070237.JPG"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; display: inline !important; "&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; "&gt;Agent B is 4th from the left in the veeeerrrry back.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;You can tell she's not really part of the group. Poor woman.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,238); TEXT-DECORATION: underline"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2818476140729435956-141747029109219539?l=alaina-ione.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/feeds/141747029109219539/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/01/team-leads-dream.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/141747029109219539'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/141747029109219539'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/01/team-leads-dream.html' title='Psycho Much?'/><author><name>Alaina Ione</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02170289716834893733</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SeejhoPF9jI/AAAAAAAAADA/zIyFC2xqJj4/S220/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SXQR2WM4S4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/1oDjw_8_cgk/s72-c/PB070237.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2818476140729435956.post-9047028511146703557</id><published>2009-01-18T18:49:00.012-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-05T22:17:13.949-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Umm...Introduction?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Obviously I'm new to blogging. In fact, I've probably read a grand total of about 3 or 4 blogs. Go team. But I like to write - a lot - and thought I'd check it out. We'll see how I do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Basically I love writing and I'll find any excuse and means to do it. Journals, books, stories (yes, I am separating books from stories for a reason), and now I have blogging for the category of "just for the hell of it." Which is actually just what I needed. I had all this direction for what I was writing, that I never could just write whatever I wanted. Now I can and I will. Someone kicks off a thought at work and I want to follow it? Now I can. I have a crazy idea and I want to write about it? Now I can! I used to write in these little notebooks, but nothing would happen with it besides pages getting ripped out and thrown all over the place. Ink stains all over my hands. It gets messy. Blogging is so genius! Who thought of it? And &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;who knew&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; that I would join in on the craze?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life is good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Most of the time.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2818476140729435956-9047028511146703557?l=alaina-ione.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/feeds/9047028511146703557/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/01/ummintroduction.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/9047028511146703557'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2818476140729435956/posts/default/9047028511146703557'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alaina-ione.blogspot.com/2009/01/ummintroduction.html' title='Umm...Introduction?'/><author><name>Alaina Ione</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02170289716834893733</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OEyYDTuF_qU/SeejhoPF9jI/AAAAAAAAADA/zIyFC2xqJj4/S220/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
