tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5288215990534901122024-03-13T17:54:41.339-07:00The Colder FireThis Blog contains my Me-ness. I thank you.Cold.Firehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00105648445446007421noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-528821599053490112.post-53379797299902020452010-05-25T14:27:00.000-07:002010-05-25T14:49:01.066-07:00It's a GIRL!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieYKlQoOmfZTmR9H8YR3D11kJB3xvqrwPsMaE3K-KVvPciGtVEbuD5D5X75jKB4Cv43MR-SE5jZZe0QYLNoAHonhXi28DQKD2Q3-JGKDzKBR5rFxHfmxOyW_mlLn4GXIz2dX22nz_x0327/s1600/HPIM2547.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 363px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieYKlQoOmfZTmR9H8YR3D11kJB3xvqrwPsMaE3K-KVvPciGtVEbuD5D5X75jKB4Cv43MR-SE5jZZe0QYLNoAHonhXi28DQKD2Q3-JGKDzKBR5rFxHfmxOyW_mlLn4GXIz2dX22nz_x0327/s400/HPIM2547.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475327778707457810" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">I know it's been a while since I posted a new blog, but so much has happened! My ultrasound showed that I am definitely carrying a baby girl (not a boy, which means I was wrong, laugh it up), and I am so thrilled! I wanted a girl so badly, but Avery wanted a boy, and hey, I should get to pick anyway since I have to push it out, right? </span><br /><br /> <span style="font-family:courier new;">Well, the day of the ultrasound was an awesome day. We woke up early, we all met at my house (Avery and his parents and my mom and I) and then we hit the road, Jack. I was so excited I could barely contain myself on the way there. The waiting room was torture, but once she finally called us all back (they even let everyone in the room!), I laid down on the table (and everyone got to see my lovely stretchmarks) and Dr. Nyan walked in. She put that gooey cold stuff on my belly, and there she was, my baby, on that I-have-no-idea-what-I'm-looking-at screen. She measured everything she had to measure, and then she says, "It's definitely a girl, no question!" I smiled so big, Avery's mother started crying, I was so happy and so was everyone. She told me everything looked great, the placenta is in the perfect spot, and my baby is 15 ounces (that day anyway). </span> <span style="font-family:courier new;">I've never felt so happy in my life. Afterward, we all ate at white-castle, then we went to Target and bought a whole bunch of girly baby things. Later on that day Avery had his senior ring ceremony, so we got to tell everyone in the world what we were having. It was such an awesome day! Even though I still don't know what I'm looking at when I see the ultrasound pictures, but it's my baby, so who cares!<br /><br />We have decided on the name Lyanna Belle. Last night she kicked me so hard I could see it and feel it from the outside! I cried I was so excited. Friday, I am finally moving in with Avery and his parents. I can't wait! It will be even better when little Lyanna arrives!<br /><br /><br /><br /></span>Cold.Firehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00105648445446007421noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-528821599053490112.post-18438194748570554212010-05-12T11:33:00.000-07:002010-05-12T11:37:45.970-07:00<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:courier new;">For those of you who can’t stand it any longer, my sweet Avery got for me only the greatest most comfortable pregnancy pillow in the whole world, and now he’s mad because I cuddle it more than him. Haha.<br /><br /></span> <span style="font-family:courier new;">Tomorrow is my first ultrasound since I was only 11 weeks. Now here I am, 22 weeks along, and I finally get the typical ultrasound that you see people get on TV, and not the one that you would rather not get because it is awkward and uncomfortable, but you get it anyway because you are so excited about seeing your baby for the first time.<br /><br /></span> <span style="font-family:courier new;">But excitement is hardly a word worthy of describing how I feel about tomorrow. I feel so many different emotions, some bittersweet. Since we will find out the sex tomorrow (It’s a boy, I may be wrong, but I’m not, it’s a boy), and Avery has his senior ring ceremony tomorrow, it is a very big day, so were going to celebrate.<br /><br /></span> <span style="font-family:courier new;">Were going to the most expensive restaurant and were buying the most expensive things on the menu! HA. Yeah right. Were poor, so we’ll probably just get an ice cream or something. But its still celebrating.<br /><br /></span> <span style="font-family:courier new;">Now that there are babies on your mind, I would like to announce the birth of my miniature horse Holly’s baby, Jasper. He is the most beautiful and adorable thing I’ve ever seen! You must agree when you scroll down a tad ;D</span></span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8LfgGAbi8GHDlVhq4EvSkbtHsKoVkrEYwsBbLkrISw-qbqoXP1ygP2OsktGhyphenhyphenuNvpBLJVyJcaxFZ_p2kJaSNd4lR_mfYeXfmS65-kxO4g8KJKO3AqPY1k56ovqxiDzSF1W4LW3pB9O_Vm/s1600/HPIM2707.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8LfgGAbi8GHDlVhq4EvSkbtHsKoVkrEYwsBbLkrISw-qbqoXP1ygP2OsktGhyphenhyphenuNvpBLJVyJcaxFZ_p2kJaSNd4lR_mfYeXfmS65-kxO4g8KJKO3AqPY1k56ovqxiDzSF1W4LW3pB9O_Vm/s320/HPIM2707.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470454347251530642" border="0" /></a>Cold.Firehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00105648445446007421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-528821599053490112.post-91215570496500898152010-05-07T11:27:00.000-07:002010-05-07T11:30:48.743-07:00Happy Early Mother's Day<span style="font-family: courier new;font-size:78%;" >To all you wonderful Mother's out there (: </span>
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<br /><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 9"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 9"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/Lizzy/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/msoclip1/01/clip_filelist.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:donotoptimizeforbrowser/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Alright. So is it really acceptable of a person to; first of all, tell you they have an awesome present for you for Mother’s day, several days before the actually holiday, and second, to not even give you one tiny little hint about what that present might be? I think NOT.</span></p><p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal">
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<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal">Well apparently that IS acceptable to some people, namely, my darling Avery-face. I guess I never really thought of myself as a ‘mother’ yet, I kind of took the title ‘mother-to-be’. But I suppose I am sharing half my nutrients and I am taking care of two here… so I suppose you could call me a mother.
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<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal">Furthermore, this isn’t even the worst part. Upon entering his house the yesterday, I am standing at the beginning of the hallway, while he is standing at the end. </p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“STOP!” he yells. “Don’t come any closer!” So of course I have to come closer, but I see the look on his face. He really does want me to stop. So I do. That’s when he opens the door to the soon-to-be baby’s room. He stands there longingly for a moment, with his hand on his chin, and his nose in the air, and I’m standing there like get oooon with iiiiiit. </p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“What is it?” I ask, hoping for my curiosity to be satisfied. </p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“Ooooh… nothing… I’m just looking at the awesome present I got you for Mother’s day that your not allowed to see! MWAHAHAHA!” Upon saying this, he slams the door, and then runs down the hallway towards me laughing maniacally the whole time.
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<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-weight: bold; font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal">The absolute nerve!</p><p style="font-weight: bold; font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold; font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: courier new;">So of course I want to know what it is so bad it’s making the baby inside me antsy with curiosity. But we don’t get to! The good thing about Avery though, is that he has even less patience than I do, so of course he can’t wait till Sunday to give it to me… He can’t even wait till Saturday (yippee). So I’ll be getting it later on tonight (YIPEE). I’ll clue all of you in when I find out ;D</span>
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<br />Cold.Firehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00105648445446007421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-528821599053490112.post-31853643692786545982010-05-05T13:23:00.000-07:002010-05-05T13:26:54.219-07:00Can't wait for Thursday!<meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 9"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 9"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/Lizzy/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/msoclip1/01/clip_filelist.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:donotoptimizeforbrowser/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style> <p style="font-family: courier new;font-family:courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">I love Frosted Flakes with chocolate milk. Mmmmm. Alright moving on.</span></p><p style="font-family: courier new;font-family:courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span> <!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--> <!--[endif]--></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;font-family:courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">So I have made a list of everyone that will be attending the baby shower, and so far it totals over 80 people. WOW!</span></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;font-family:courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">I should hope to win the lottery before the baby shower day gets here! That’s a lot more people than I had originally thought would come, for sure. But its very exciting, I can’t wait to see how everything plays out. The only thing they are letting me organize for it is the invitation cards… but I will take on this responsibility and kick it in the butt, they will be the best invitation cards <span style="font-weight: bold;">EVER</span>.
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<br /></span></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;font-family:courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><span style="font-size:85%;"> <o:p></o:p></span><!--[endif]--></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;font-family:courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">Next Thursday is the big ultrasound day when we find out the sex of my little bundle of joy, and I am too anxious! I want it to hurry up and be here, but you know how time is. It never does what you want it to. Did I mention I can’t drink orange juice without getting sick to my stomach? AGH.</span></p><p style="font-family: courier new;font-family:courier new;" class="MsoNormal">
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<br /></span></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;font-family:courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><span style="font-size:85%;"> <o:p></o:p></span><!--[endif]--></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;font-family:courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">Anyway, I am getting very nervous, excited, paranoid, stressed out and all that good stuff, because there’s only 3 and a half months left in this pregnancy of mine, and we have hardly anything done. The baby’s room is not a baby’s room yet, its still a storage room. We have to get the carpet steam cleaned, the room clean out completely, the walls painted, the light switch changed, many many many things to be bought for decorating. We still need to buy a crib, a stroller, a lamp, <span style="font-weight: bold;">EVERYTHING</span>. Oh except a bassinet, we already have one of those. But in the category of things we DO have, we can cross off one thing, bassinet.</span></p><p style="font-family: courier new;font-family:courier new;" class="MsoNormal">
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<br /></span></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;font-family:courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><span style="font-size:85%;"> <o:p></o:p></span><!--[endif]--></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;font-family:courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">WOOPDY DOODLES</span>.</span></p><p style="font-family: courier new;font-family:courier new;" class="MsoNormal">
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<br /></span></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" face="courier new" class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><span style="font-size:85%;"> <o:p></o:p></span><!--[endif]--></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" face="courier new" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">So of course you can see why I’m freaking out. But of course we have the most awesome bassinet ever. Originally, I wanted a cradle, because cradles rock. Avery wanted a bassinet because they roll, from room to room. Well we decided on this awesome bassinet that has wheels that pop in and out so it rocks and rolls all over the place. Tell me that isn’t awesome!</span></p><p style="font-family: courier new;" face="courier new" class="MsoNormal">
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<br /></span></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" face="courier new" class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><span style="font-size:85%;"> <o:p></o:p></span><!--[endif]--></p> <span style="font-family: courier new;font-size:85%;" ><span style="">That is all for today, folks. </span></span>Cold.Firehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00105648445446007421noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-528821599053490112.post-11443127796510934652010-05-03T12:34:00.000-07:002010-05-03T12:36:45.686-07:00Many Profanities!<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: courier new;">Call it pregnancy hormones, but I’m pissed off. Maybe I should be and maybe I shouldn’t, but that really doesn’t matter, because I am anyway, so they can get the hell over it. I’m so sick of being the pregnant 17 year old who can’t drive and dropped out of school, and who has to rely on people to take her places when they don’t even seem to want to in the first place, even though I’m supposed to be ‘part of the family’. I can’t even rely on my own mother for support or help. What the hell am I supposed to do when this baby gets here? </span></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: courier new;">OH WAIT!</span></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: courier new;">I won’t have a thing to worry about then, because I’ll be the seventeen-year-old mother who has a cute little helpless baby by her side. I’ll be the life of the party then, won’t I! I’ll be the person who everyone loves and wants to be around, because I have a baby in my arms. Everyone will be nice to me, so that I’ll let them hold my baby. Who am I mainly talking about here? You guessed it, my boyfriend’s parents. </span></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: courier new;">Right now, I’m not on the top of anyone’s priority list. I don’t even feel like I’m on the top of Avery’s. But as soon as my baby is born, everyone will fawn over me and my baby, everyone will loooove me and my baby, everyone will want to do everything for me and everyone will bow before me because I have a little baby (in terms of Avery’s parents). Because they know that if they’re jerks to me like they are now, that I’ll stay away from them, and you know what that means!!! Yep. My baby will stay away from them too. Because baby will always be with mommy. </span></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: courier new;">How can they treat me like this? I’m carrying their grandchild, they’re son’s son. How can they act like I’m so unimportant? How can they make me feel this way? I feel so hurt and upset, just tossed to the side, overlooked, neglected… With my due date getting closer and closer, I just keep feeling worse and worse, less and less reassured. Sometimes I wish none of this ever happened. Sometimes I feel like it’s the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. But right now, I just feel like I want it all to go away. I can’t take this anymore! </span></span><br /><br /><br /></div>Cold.Firehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00105648445446007421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-528821599053490112.post-11152981627511550142010-04-28T15:49:00.000-07:002010-04-28T15:57:11.295-07:00Chinese Food, Baby Showers, and Jamaican Meanie Heads.<meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 9"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 9"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/Lizzy/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/msoclip1/01/clip_filelist.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:donotoptimizeforbrowser/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style> <p style="font-family: courier new;font-family:courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">I went out to lunch today with my Mommy, to Ginger’s. If you don’t have a Ginger’s in your town, GET ONE! It is a very quaint, relaxing Chinese restaurant, with the most amazing thing you’ll ever drink in your life, strawberry milk tea. I loooove strawberry milk tea. It makes my pregnant belly and I very happy (don’t tell it has a little caffeine in it, it’s a secret).</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:courier new;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:courier new;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">But anyway… we met up with Avery’s Mommy, to discuss baby shower ideas. We finally decided on a date, that being July 30<sup>th</sup>, when I’ll be about ready to pop. Which hopefully by then I’ll actually look pregnant and not just fat. So I can get my belly loved and touched by everybody and I can be the center of attention and actually not hate it for once. I decided that I don’t want just girls to come I want all the dudes to come too. It won’t be any fun without all the idiot dudes that Avery and I know.
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<br /></span></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">So Dawn (Avery’s Mommy) was telling me about this game she wanted to be included in the baby shower. The rules of this game, consist of melting a king sized candy bar in a diaper, and then making everyone smell it to guess what kind of candy bar it is. All I had to say to that idea was:
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<br /></span></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:85%;" >EWWWWWWWWWWWWW</span><span style="font-size:85%;">.</span></p><p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">How can you not look at that and think to yourself POOPIE. </span></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">As immature as that sounds, I just don’t want to do it. I would probably take one look and lose my lunch. </span></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">But nevertheless, we thought of some very clever and fun things to do, and not to mention some awesome food/cake ideas. So I am very much looking forward to my baby shower. I can’t wait to decorate invitations, because I’m good at being creative. Sometimes.</span></p><p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">Now have I mentioned how much I want to hit my OB in the face? No? Well I am now! My ultrasound day was May 10<sup>th</sup>. It had remained May 10<sup>th</sup> for a series of several months. Monday when were about to leave the office, she says she has to move it to May 13<sup>th</sup>, because she can’t come in on Mondays anymore.
<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:85%;" >WHAT THE HELL!?</span><span style="font-size:85%;"> (</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >I hope my baby didn’t hear that</span><span style="font-size:85%;">)</span></p><p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">Really!? I’m almost killing myself to keep my suspense and excitement contained and your telling me you move it three days FARTHER just because you don’t want to come in on a Monday!?
<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">The </span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:85%;" >INDECENCY</span><span style="font-size:85%;">!</span></p><p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">I want to know if it’s a boy or a girl RIGHT NOW. I don’t have patience for waiting games! So now, I have to wait three extra days to see my little baby and how he/she is doing in there (I think it will be a boy but I could be wrong). Soooo… I suppose I’ll have to tie my hands and feet to keep myself from running all the way to the Hospital and wagging my finger at my Jamaican OB, who I don’t really like in the first place, and who I like even less now. But, she is very professional, and intelligent, so I believe she will do a great job delivering my baby, she’s just not a people person. Oh well!</span></p><p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> Cold.Firehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00105648445446007421noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-528821599053490112.post-11055925993131659892010-04-26T18:42:00.000-07:002010-04-26T18:49:54.441-07:00This baby is making me fatter than I already was!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHu-baoDYD2gcJMwKGgaw-moQpRXI-01Krm0ZJdIEdRwPaEf7QKmyaHsftp8HGSbZXgTj_X1-RHMD0fWrSL7i966uxlpCU1Gbw0H64hPc4AYmnT4a_GiO4KX5kyrhZMx4b1Yo8rXNZw4un/s1600/Avery+and+Me+039.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 149px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHu-baoDYD2gcJMwKGgaw-moQpRXI-01Krm0ZJdIEdRwPaEf7QKmyaHsftp8HGSbZXgTj_X1-RHMD0fWrSL7i966uxlpCU1Gbw0H64hPc4AYmnT4a_GiO4KX5kyrhZMx4b1Yo8rXNZw4un/s200/Avery+and+Me+039.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464627931149827202" border="0" /></a><br /> <span style="font-family:courier new;">Well today was my 5 ½ month doctor’s appointment. I got to hear my baby’s little heartbeat, and that was very comforting. Doc said everything was normal and all my tests came back negative.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >RELIEF!</span> <span style="font-family:courier new;"> <br /><br /> My soon to be mother-in-law insists on planning my baby shower herself, and she also insists that my sisters help (no, no, no, noooo). While I secretly want to be in charge of my own baby shower, and make all the decoration plans and the activities and the food and the invitations and the themes and the FOOD. </span> <span style="font-family:courier new;"> <br /><br /> While I hate every second that I have to think about selling my horse Bella, Jodi (her buyer) came out today to spend some quality time with her, and to pay for her coggins to be done. But it’s ok, because I like Jodi. Jodi has piercings and so does her boyfriend. Jodi also knows a LOT about horses and she has already fallen in love with my Bella. I know she will have a great home with Jodi. Plus Jodi has a cool name. </span> <span style="font-family:courier new;"> <br /><br /> I am so very much looking forward to this weekend because Avery doesn’t have school on Friday. Which means a three-day weekend, which means three nights I get to sleep in the arms of my love. Which is very comforting when you know you are carrying his child in the fist place. Snuggling up against him until I lose consciousness is one of those things in life for me that just make you go <span style="font-weight: bold;">ahhhhhhhhhhh</span>. Breathing. Kind of like eating your favorite food while watching your favorite show, or knowing you have several things to look forward to at one time, or knowing you get to go home after being away for a long period of time. It just makes you go <span style="font-weight: bold;">ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh</span>. </span> <span style="font-family:courier new;"><br /><br />It’s a beautiful thing!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">Now someone please take away my stretch marks, I don’t deserve this! I take care of my skin!</span>Cold.Firehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00105648445446007421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-528821599053490112.post-53825499500347510472010-04-24T14:59:00.000-07:002010-04-24T15:02:48.133-07:00The Giant Cloud Monster.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbcqMTvbJLDOx-rIEHccekqpBWkGfBXuy6LLR5QcfpBG2b2RlChyphenhyphenuaizOURtnGslC3AUVvky2ZKOA101F4s7q_QSh_6-mEhDO51aT-ZSFURIXVQDFtKzT9infitzrIfGwX1MLQzGHk3HHZ/s1600/tornado.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 132px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbcqMTvbJLDOx-rIEHccekqpBWkGfBXuy6LLR5QcfpBG2b2RlChyphenhyphenuaizOURtnGslC3AUVvky2ZKOA101F4s7q_QSh_6-mEhDO51aT-ZSFURIXVQDFtKzT9infitzrIfGwX1MLQzGHk3HHZ/s200/tornado.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463827807179666274" /></a><br />You know what? I HATE tornadoes. Hate hate hate. They scare me and I think they should go away. You know what else? My current area is under a tornado watch, so of course I'm freaking myself out. I'm not a hypochondriac, I just HATE tornadoes! <br /> Why do I feel so strongly about these giant man eating whirlwinds? Because when I was barely 3 years old, I was out playing in the front yard. It was a great day, the sun was out, it felt amazing, and I had my binky. So of course I'm happy, content and I have no worries. My Dad was not too far away from me cutting the front lawn. All of a sudden, the lawn mower stops. I hear a scream, but that's not all. I also hear a loud, rumbling sound, that almost sounds like a train, but not quite. Before I know what hit me, I'm being slung over my father's shoulder, and when I look up, I see a gigantic, dark grey, swirling monster, that looks like it wants nothing more than to swallow me up and spit me out dead. All I remember after that is crying and screaming and getting put into the basement in a corner with a blanket while my parents scrambled around in circles...<br /> I've always cried when storms start getting really bad. Although not so much anymore, I still feel the urge sometimes, because all I can think about is a giant swirling monster chasing after me and gulping me down its black cloudy gullet. <br /> Not only do I have myself to worry about, but if something happens to me, then something happens to my baby. That's what I'm most afraid of. Something hitting my in the belly, or me falling or getting slammed up against something. On top of that, the love of my life, who is also my best friend, is 45 minutes away, working, in the middle of all of this, probably completely unaware of how truly worried and afraid I am for all three of us. I may be overreacting, but I don't want anyone I love being on the menu for a funnel cloud today! Clearly, I need to calm down. <br />And that is all for today. Because now, I have to curl up in a ball and wait for the storms to come, so they can leave.Cold.Firehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00105648445446007421noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-528821599053490112.post-13543067747142266392010-04-22T11:30:00.000-07:002010-04-22T11:38:02.231-07:00Pregnancy Jitters.Well, I only have about one more day left in the 4th month of pregnancy, and I have started feeling a little bit left out of the pregnancy spectrum. Only a tad less than 20 weeks, and strangers still can’t tell that I’m pregnant! Maybe it’s the belly fat that I should blame. Maybe it’s the way I walk. Maybe it’s that I’m not drinking enough milk (which I do not think is possible). Either way, I don’t feel very pregnant, I don’t look very pregnant (I just look fat), and yet I want to. I want to feel everything a pregnant woman should feel. Including the not so pleasant things. <br /> First trimester: can you say morning sickness? I had plenty of it. I lost my appetite for pretty much everything. I lost a few pounds because I could barely eat, and what I could eat, I usually tossed back into the world (UGH!). But I was proud of the fact that I knew what all of that felt like. <br /> Second trimester (which I am still not finished with): Absolutely NOTHING! I don’t have any heartburn. I never had the achy boobs, or the freakish cravings, or the increase in appetite, or the inability to sleep, or the swollen feet, or the tiredness/fatigue, I feel like I always feel. Sometimes that worries me; because it makes me think maybe something could be wrong. But everyone tells me that it’s perfectly normal. But how can they be so sure!? <br /> I have felt the baby move, several times. But they are very slight movements/jerks/flutters, and I don’t feel them as often as I want to, which saddens me. I want it to make it known to me that it’s in there, and never to let me forget it! Sometimes I go several days without feeling any movement, and I hate every second! I want to know exactly what it’s doing in there, so I can know it’s ok and safe and healthy. Maybe I’m just worrying too much, but a little reassurance from my baby would be wonderful.<br /> I can’t wait until it moves so much that I want it to stop, and I can’t wait till I can’t bend over because my belly is so big, and I can’t wait till I can only walk for a few minutes because my feet are hurting. I want to feel all of it and experience all of it. But sometimes I feel like it will never happen. Sometimes I feel like it will just keep growing and I will feel and look the same. I mean, or course when I push on my belly down there I can feel the extreme tightness, and I do feel a little bit off balance, and I feel a little pain from ligaments stretching, but I don’t feel enough to be satisfied just yet. It makes me sad that my baby is probably practicing kung fu inside me and I can’t feel it! But I suppose this is something a lot of pregnant women go through. <br /><br />As long as the baby is healthy, I will be happy.Cold.Firehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00105648445446007421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-528821599053490112.post-65762083377611899622010-03-31T17:03:00.001-07:002010-04-24T20:25:21.796-07:00Forever Changed.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioNRDUP4KbcSLo2JglEoyrlpq6hB6Fyn9PWBKcUAWaH09MiNCHrG2DVOL0AFrhzkQqb1AAi7n4OejOhnuaOyO3eacosgmcww_uZC7EjRMSffvn_VPIXxz1z9jM5n47UO9SolxZn-oGy-fU/s1600/Picture+009.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 149px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioNRDUP4KbcSLo2JglEoyrlpq6hB6Fyn9PWBKcUAWaH09MiNCHrG2DVOL0AFrhzkQqb1AAi7n4OejOhnuaOyO3eacosgmcww_uZC7EjRMSffvn_VPIXxz1z9jM5n47UO9SolxZn-oGy-fU/s200/Picture+009.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454953318387281234" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 9"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 9"><link style="font-family: courier new;" rel="File-List" href="file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/Lizzy/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/msoclip1/01/clip_filelist.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:donotoptimizeforbrowser/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-size:85%;" > </span><span style="font-family: courier new;font-size:85%;" >I know I haven’t written in a while, besides in my journal. Even then it is still more work than play.</span><span style="font-family: courier new;font-size:85%;" > </span><span style="font-family: courier new;font-size:85%;" >I try to keep it going, but I don’t find myself wanting to write much anymore. </span></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-size:85%;" > </span><span style="font-size:85%;">So much has happened in the past few months. I’ve dropped out of school, that being one. I still haven’t gotten my GED but I WILL. Soon. </span></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-size:85%;" > </span><span style="font-size:85%;">I am 17 weeks pregnant on the 3<sup>rd</sup> of April. Which is Saturday.</span><span style=";font-size:85%;" > </span><span style="font-size:85%;">Avery and I are still together, and will always be. I will soon be moving in with him and his family. Despite my being only 17, I’m very excited to become a mom. I’m very excited indeed. </span></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-size:85%;" > </span><span style="font-size:85%;">The hardest part was telling Avery’s parents. They cried and cried, and so did we, there was a lot of anger, and a lot of yelling, but we got through it, together, and now everyone is excited and accepting. </span></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-size:85%;" > </span><span style="font-size:85%;">My mom was 16 when she had her first. I told her before anyone, and she was so understanding. She told my dad for me. He didn’t really care, and he still doesn’t. I guess he didn’t want to be a grandfather so early. </span></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-size:85%;" > </span><span style="font-size:85%;">I felt my baby move for the first time on March 28, 2010.</span></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-size:85%;" > </span><span style="font-size:85%;">Doctor visits are always exciting. At my last one, I had 5 viles of blood drawn, and a Doppler rolled across my belly. I got to hear its heartbeat for the second time. I was so happy. </span></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-size:85%;" > </span><span style="font-size:85%;">On May 10<sup>th</sup>, I get my second ultrasound. We will know the sex, and I know I will cry that day, as soon as I lay eyes on my baby again. But Avery will be there to hold my hand and wipe my tears, as he always is. </span></p> <span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:";font-size:85%;" ><span style=""> </span>I will face this new chapter of my life with a smiling face, no matter how hard things get. I will love my baby no matter what. I will stay with my love no matter what. No matter what the future holds, we will be a family, and we will be strong for one another. </span>Cold.Firehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00105648445446007421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-528821599053490112.post-20169849425769050172009-11-16T20:36:00.000-08:002009-11-16T20:44:23.506-08:00Family Ties.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc4PkROy-G5JiqUf15vzSzzf6GfnjbpYOztHLPwZwvSyatRk_CXCUJwyFjiB00K43Ilf6gSIRpAbFTxxZrEUS_6_NbKJwzrqUZNpcWErQreChSnzfrpjmY2X3pNUKgCWejsD2QEE4sRelf/s1600/lonely+road.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 121px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc4PkROy-G5JiqUf15vzSzzf6GfnjbpYOztHLPwZwvSyatRk_CXCUJwyFjiB00K43Ilf6gSIRpAbFTxxZrEUS_6_NbKJwzrqUZNpcWErQreChSnzfrpjmY2X3pNUKgCWejsD2QEE4sRelf/s200/lonely+road.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404928686863323890" border="0" /></a><br /><span>You know, when I think about it, the only thing that is bothering me about my life right now is the fact that I live everyday knowing that I have an unhappy family. But you see, no one really cares. No one in </span><span>my the-people-I-see-everyday-</span><div><wbr><span class="word_break"></span><span>when-I-come-home family I mean. Well, besides my mother that is. No one else is going to change anything about their behaviors anytime soon. I have a father who dislikes animals very much, especially animals in the house, and everyone else in the house loves animals very very much, especially in the house. Lovely isn't it? Can you imagine the arguments! Trust me, you don't have to live with them... every single day. I try my best not to be here as often as I can, to be honest. It helps me stay at least a little sane. My father never helps. My mother says, well he doesn't do anything, so why should I. He sees that she's not doing anything, and he says, well she's not doing anything, so why should I? They act like a couple of regular children, I'm telling you. My sisters. If one doesn't do anything, the other says the same thing. Well she isn't, so why should I? It's a never ending cycle. This is only talk about helping around the house! You can't imagine how wrong one small little discussion can go. Everyone contradicts everyone. We all have the greatest differences. None of us are alike. I think if there was a contest for the least-like-a-family family in the world, I think George Gray would pop out of thin air laughing hysterically, and say, 'You ARE the weakest link'. Seriously, that wouldn't surprise me. My parents haven't spoken to each other as if they were both human beings in months. All my sisters do is nag the both of them, which makes everything even harder. I just don't understand why my father doesn't want to try to love my mom anymore. I don't understand why my mom won't stand up to him. I don't understand why my sisters hate my dad so much, just because he can't give them everything in the world that they want. I don't understand lots of things. But one thing that I do understand, is that we all desperately need help from somewhere, and I don't see that help raising a hand and saying 'over here!' anytime soon. Help is too busy with everyone else right now. We must be on the bottom of the list. I don't really know either of my parents. I know that I have a very kind-hearted mother, and a very set-in-his-ways father, and that they clash worse than orange and blue. I know that I have a very self centered sister, and a very set-in-her-ways-vegetarian</span><wbr><span class="word_break"></span><span>-I-don't-care-about-you-go</span><wbr><span class="word_break"></span>-die sister, and that I pretty much don't get along with either of them. I know that my father has money, but he isn't willing to share. I know that my mother needs money, and she isn't willing to tell. I know that my sisters want everything, and they aren't willing to shut up about it. I know that I have a real problem with all of this, and I'm too afraid that no one will care to tell. I'm too afraid my sisters won't listen. I'm too afraid my dad won't act according to my words. I'm too afraid the truth will deeply upset my mom. I'm too afraid that if I tell, I won't feel any better. I just hope that someday, when I have a family of my own, things will be so much better, so much happier, and that my family will always love one another. I hope that this hope will one day turn into an action, and that it won't be so hard to get there. Maybe one day, I won't be afraid to tell anymore. Maybe...</div>Cold.Firehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00105648445446007421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-528821599053490112.post-41601115006675067992009-11-15T15:43:00.001-08:002009-11-15T15:44:35.546-08:00Goodbye Old Woman.His pace was faster than usual that day. The clouds were beginning to darken, as if a spring storm was on it's way. There weren't as many people walking as there usually were, but nevertheless it was still a crowded sidewalk. That's usually how things ran in New York. Everything was crowded, all the time. But he was one of those people, that tended to look at their shoes as they made their way, and yet he always knew were he was, and if he was ever in danger of tripping. The noise was the same as every other day, loud honking horns, people yelling profanities, construction work in the distance. He missed the silence. As he neared the intersection ahead, he could see an elderly woman, attempting to make her way across, but she was walking so very slowly... He quickened his pace. There weren't that many kind-hearted people left in the world, and he intended to keep himself in that category. Almost to the edge of the sidewalk, he heard a loud noise coming near. Before he had time to look around, a large dump truck hit the old woman with tremendous force, knocking her to the ground so fast it looked like the special effects of a horror movie. His heart froze in his throat. People around him were screaming, but he dared not look. He dared not cast his eyes at the sight, for he knew how terrible it must be. But he couldn't keep his eyes away. He saw her. He looked directly at the bloody mess in the middle of the road. "Oh my god," he said. He repeated this several times, before he got out his phone to call 911. He had a bad taste in his mouth, and he was sick to his stomach. He slowly walked toward her. "Oh my god," he said again. He could no longer hold in the tears. They were not so much tears of sadness, but tears of shock. He hadn't known this woman, and yet the gore and terror of her death has sparked pity and fear in his heart. He would be forever scarred. The man who had been driving the dump truck got out, and screamed like a child, running from the monster in his closet. Perhaps this was one of them now, for him. The very back of his mind being the closet, and what he had done, being the monster. This monster would haunt him for the rest of his life. He looked upon the driver with pity, and then his eyes again befell the mess on the road. The woman's scalp had been torn backwards, revealing the peak of her skull. Blood covered what was left of her face, and her lower jaw had been severed. Her tongue hung out of her throat like a dog's from the edge of his mouth on a hot summer day. People were still screaming. Her left leg had been twisted backwards, and was barely hanging on by a thin piece of mangled skin. Blood was running along the road like a growing puddle, a little girl somewhere in the crowd was wailing. One of the old woman's ears was laying in the middle of the street, next to a tattered piece of her hand. The body was completely mutilated. He could no longer look at the woman. This would be a monster in his closet, too. For the rest of his life, this woman, this sight, would haunt him in his most terrifying nightmares. He turned down the sidewalk. Home, and his children far from his mind. All he could think of was that woman's face. Her scalp pulled back, and her lower jaw missing. He stopped. He dared not look back. It started to rain. Suddenly everything went black.Cold.Firehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00105648445446007421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-528821599053490112.post-63498335128205083312009-11-10T20:26:00.000-08:002009-11-10T20:29:12.357-08:00What makes me smile.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKg4q-flIDWwhCS_hVwQGONH98_hha5XUoFL4L3cvHwdM5VafzO9iFDpraMSKcbWUk-5-hPDSZPSGnmSY_UflAJI3F8qnwnsNtjv-VL_O2I2X7sZYgEmLUvl0yn60jzI_oTTzgG3mchmg0/s1600-h/Nature+444+photos.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKg4q-flIDWwhCS_hVwQGONH98_hha5XUoFL4L3cvHwdM5VafzO9iFDpraMSKcbWUk-5-hPDSZPSGnmSY_UflAJI3F8qnwnsNtjv-VL_O2I2X7sZYgEmLUvl0yn60jzI_oTTzgG3mchmg0/s200/Nature+444+photos.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402698395810460162" /></a><br /> His laugh. His smile. His eyes. His touch. His kisses. His embrace. His sweet sweet gaze. <br /> The sky. The birds... singing. The wind, pushing us all along. The trees, and their silhouette against the dark night sky. The moon. The pouring rain. Piles of colorful leaves in the fall. Cool air that smells of the earth... being inside a cave. Exploring through the woods on a beautiful day. Watching water fall. Playing in a waterfall. Climbing tree trunks. Riding Bella bareback. Swimming in lakes, and rivers. Animals. Darkness. Walking in the dead of night. <br /> Who doesn't love physical humor? Sarcasm. The stupidest things you could possibly think of. Making people smile. <br /> Writing. Reading. Drawing and doing it well. Singing. Getting along with the most unlikely of people. <br /> The strangest of beauties. Oddness. Unexpectedness. Illusion. Spontaneity. Strangeness. What I know that you don't know that you know I know and you'll never know.Cold.Firehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00105648445446007421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-528821599053490112.post-39554063411052354172009-11-02T14:39:00.000-08:002009-11-02T15:05:30.059-08:00For My Future.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Fbko-LfuEZidFebC6LHoSLeLVyQeDNdSDIiEBhaPZO4yOaWLI_lGp-TeMy8GoRvzZPaE0OSdWUWPB4YKuCtgEc2Bqi_2BfHzLvRd9JA217XYrH4Nv0SlDNgsfBu9XyqU_AoIpqWfxDpO/s1600-h/caged.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Fbko-LfuEZidFebC6LHoSLeLVyQeDNdSDIiEBhaPZO4yOaWLI_lGp-TeMy8GoRvzZPaE0OSdWUWPB4YKuCtgEc2Bqi_2BfHzLvRd9JA217XYrH4Nv0SlDNgsfBu9XyqU_AoIpqWfxDpO/s320/caged.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399646268605109202" /></a><br />Lately life at school has been non-existent, simply because I have been refusing to go. I do plan on graduating high school, I know I need an education to have a future, I don't know why I stopped going. I think it is because I am naturally lazy, as are all humans. My depression and mood instability issues probably don't help this. I've been on so many medications its insane. I cannot blame all of my insufficiency on a few bumps in my road, and yet that is what I have been doing. But now is my chance to start anew at a new school... with new people... I am honestly looking forward to starting over. No matter what it takes I will beat my mind this time. I will succeed. No more excuses, no more procrastination, no more laziness. I am rising out of this depressive hell hole I like to call my imagination. I miss my old one, and I will fight to bring it back. <br />I am transferring to a new school within a week from now, and I know it will be hard. Especially since my love will not be attending with me. But I know that I need all distractions put aside while I'm at school so that I can succeed. I need to focus on studying and doing my homework and such to get acceptable grades and do well. I plan on going to U of L as soon as I can afford it, and I need all of the help I can get. As much as I like to write, draw, and work with horses, I cannot spend my life being a hobo who does nothing but sit around being lazy all the time. I need to begin focusing on my future. My problem is that I never really think about what might happen later if I don't do this, or what future hirer may think of what is on my record. I live in the clouds! I never exist in reality, I act like everything is a dream that will go in my favor eventually, that I don't have to do anything to get it there. This is not so. Maybe one day I will learn. I am really looking forward to my second chance. But as of now I feel as if I'm in a prison that I put myself in.<br />I'm looking for new opportunities. To find something, you have to get up and look for it. No one is going to bring it to you. apparently this is what I've been thinking for the past 2 and a half years. I've been through just about everything that should have told me otherwise. I just wouldn't listen. But I swear I will listen now. I have too many things going for me to not be trying. I'm an acceptable artist and horse trainer, for such a young age. I would like to become a better writer. The only way I will get a career in something I am passionate about is to work for it, and do well in school. I guess it is time for me to start.Cold.Firehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00105648445446007421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-528821599053490112.post-29612437412284705142009-11-02T12:19:00.000-08:002009-11-02T12:21:46.630-08:00A Fairy's Story Part I.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5xg9l1c16La2a3_kKZgJzMj0QBrzOVEDfOQU_pkajHURX9bRb7tWOO6_mp3nDAlUh82cddzEuXyofrhJf5euBZ6GUCWSoRdFtZFK5ivv61axHebdcY5dT38QMOLHyDBvDTNvlHNefuxjv/s1600-h/hein-van-den-heuvel-forest-path.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5xg9l1c16La2a3_kKZgJzMj0QBrzOVEDfOQU_pkajHURX9bRb7tWOO6_mp3nDAlUh82cddzEuXyofrhJf5euBZ6GUCWSoRdFtZFK5ivv61axHebdcY5dT38QMOLHyDBvDTNvlHNefuxjv/s320/hein-van-den-heuvel-forest-path.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399604074469881138" /></a><br />The birds are singing beautifully on this day. They seem so happy to awaken to the beams of sun sneaking through the crooked branches that surround me now. I know that I am happy to be here. Walking along this man-made trail in this beautiful forest, I automatically feel my spirits rise. Rise even higher at the sight of a clear stream ahead of me. I'm almost tempted to drink from it. It's small luminescent waves peak just enough to carry a few oak leaves along with it's current. The warm air around me fills my soul with laughter. What a beautiful day this is! How happy we all who enter here are to be alive! Oh, the magnificence nature will share with you. And yet, suddenly I feel a presence. I am no longer alone. I feel something watching me. Something that is almost burning a hole through my shoulders with it's gaze... I turn around, but nothing is there. But I can feel it, I know its there. I can almost hear a faint breathing. But before I have a chance to look further, I hear a faint voice. "Over here child," I hear it say. It was the very faint, almost silent voice of an elderly woman. I turned once more but I could see no one. "Look in the tree darling," she said. But there are so many trees! How am I to know which one to look in? Then my eyes fell upon a very large one with a noticeable hole right in the middle, at my eye level. I looked inside and my eyes were filled with surprise. It was a fairy. "Hello, my sweet." She said weakly. <br /> "Your-your-y-... a fairy! I would never believe it!" I was so very excited, a real fairy, how could it be so? I thought they were something I could only dream of. And yet this was the saddest looking fairy I could have ever imagined. The woman had long, black stringy hair, that had a total lack of sheen. Her wings had no glow, and were ripped in several places as if a dragonfly had flown straight through a thorn bush. She was a pathetic sight, and I couldn't help but feel sympathy for her. <br /> "What is left of one, love." She closed her eyes sadly. <br /> "If you don't mind my asking, what happened to you?" I couldn't help but be curious. <br /> "Humans happened to me, my dear. What terrible creatures most of you are. Don't get me wrong sweetie, there are a very, very select few in which I hold some respect. Namely untainted children, such as yourself, but all others are destructive mosters whom I think deserve to become part of a dragon's cake." What was dragon's cake? A cake made specifically for dragons? Hmmm...<br /> "I see. I understand. Anything that would do this to such a nice creature must have evil deep inside." I had to agree with her. Humans are very self centered things, and I was one of them. How silly I felt talking to her... as if there was anything I could do to help her. She looked on the verge of death.Cold.Firehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00105648445446007421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-528821599053490112.post-9662108931621690722009-10-30T10:18:00.000-07:002009-10-30T10:38:22.004-07:00With Love.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3J5R6Q2WkBTC3kMSpr46Mbd18mL9nazgn6DU4pAX7ZGqDVwp2HyYLlJVyJBVnchmZ7ykQW06vql3YE77BXoDOtDGOl6b5vrNBEj3JElKQtHy85k4kyEEcUZQJoI8CK36NCeGE56moEfYl/s1600-h/images.jpeg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 104px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3J5R6Q2WkBTC3kMSpr46Mbd18mL9nazgn6DU4pAX7ZGqDVwp2HyYLlJVyJBVnchmZ7ykQW06vql3YE77BXoDOtDGOl6b5vrNBEj3JElKQtHy85k4kyEEcUZQJoI8CK36NCeGE56moEfYl/s320/images.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398448698831992050" /></a><br />Everyday, I think of him. His smile, his eyes, his laugh, his baby soft hair. Oh how I love to run my fingers through it... and entwine my fingers through his. Every time I see his face, a smile plays across my lips. Every time I feel his touch, warmth engulfs my heart. Words cannot describe the way I feel about him. He gives me such a lovely sense of reassurance, it is impossible to feel uncomfortable around him. When we embrace, all I can feel is love, and happiness. He always knows how to make me smile, make me laugh, cheer me up. I cannot stay angry or melancholy when I am in his presence. The connection I feel with him is unlike that I have ever felt with any other human being. We always share our thoughts, our dreams, our feelings, our wishes, fears, hates, and loves... I love him more than anything, more than words could possibly describe. I love his name... Avery Willman. Every time I hear it I feel my heart leap out of my chest. My love and I have shared one of the most amazing and yet forbidden experiences any young couple could possibly share. Oh how much closer it has drawn us! And what a beautiful thing! It will always be the utmost special experience I have ever shared with anyone. My darling, I will always hold you with love. Every adventure we ever tackle, we always go at as one. I have that craziness about me, where I do not think before I do things. That crazy that can sometimes be unhealthy. But your diffidence and your cautiousness will always even everything out between us, to where we have just the right amount of fun, and doing whats acceptable. Without you my love, I would be a wreck. Without you, I may even be dead. When I begin to slip into darkness, you always show me the light. My darling, I will always hold you with love, and I will love you forever and always. We share a love everlasting.Cold.Firehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00105648445446007421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-528821599053490112.post-49909104990383326562009-10-29T21:40:00.000-07:002009-10-29T21:49:19.571-07:00Official Newb.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM9tjSc_VVyMppoZDIbsEojkHGb82ADBOiTQ45bWLZo853PVQ4INTa_JGZP5TIf4SVlp7Dmph6aI9sQ0P5wK_q6Ywkk1xRaxExf8msAreYKoLb7k8tTqOqxIKDFtcuN_dw1SgIpIJyStzj/s1600-h/dh200088lzn2ret.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 185px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM9tjSc_VVyMppoZDIbsEojkHGb82ADBOiTQ45bWLZo853PVQ4INTa_JGZP5TIf4SVlp7Dmph6aI9sQ0P5wK_q6Ywkk1xRaxExf8msAreYKoLb7k8tTqOqxIKDFtcuN_dw1SgIpIJyStzj/s200/dh200088lzn2ret.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398250520671684930" /></a><br />Well I'm new here, as you probably have already realized. I honestly do not know how to work this not-as-simple-as-it-looks site, but I'm trying the best that I can. My main goal here is to become a better writer. I would like other people to understand what I'm about, and I would like feedback so that I know what to work on. I've been looking for a way to share my random writings, and it looks like I may have found it here. I hope to learn a lot from this, and I hope to grow as a young writer. <br />Writing is something I have only been doing continually for about the last year. Since my start I have nearly filled 2 notebooks full of words. I never knew I could enjoy it so very much. Writing relieves all of my thoughts, which is the liberation I so desperately require daily. If anyone out there has any tips for me, I would be happy to listen. Thank you!Cold.Firehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00105648445446007421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-528821599053490112.post-8845679556377454992009-10-29T19:02:00.000-07:002009-10-29T21:01:20.122-07:00The Judgemental.Earlier today I had the 'pleasure' of talking with a woman that I haven't seen in quite a while. Since the last time I did see her, I have gained 10 piercings and some turquoise hair. Well apparently in her opinion, all of this so called 'hideous crap' makes me an ugly person who will one day have a criminal record. The second I take it out I would become pretty, and innocent again. Does a few piercings and some colorful hair really change who I am that dramatically that I become an ugly criminal? If we can't have fun with the way that we look, then honestly, what is the point? <br />Judgmental people make me sick. Just because someone looks a certain way on the outside, doesn't mean that it affects who they are on the inside. It deeply bothers me when someone makes a judgment about me before they even know me. Even when people do it to others that I don't even know. We all have the right to do whatever we want with our bodies. In my opinion body art is a beautiful thing. How can someone look at a man with long hair, and say that he is a troublemaker based on that observation alone? Only a small minded person would make such an assumption without cold hard facts. Jesus had long hair, did he not? Would you insult him the same way? You cannot assume a truth about someone until you've had a chance to get to know them. Remember this the next time you make an unfair judgment on someone.Cold.Firehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00105648445446007421noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-528821599053490112.post-83597881476984310932009-10-29T14:48:00.000-07:002009-10-29T20:30:26.689-07:00Halloweenies.Ever since I was a little girl, I always loved Halloween. I always loved to dress up, go trick or treating with my friends, and get creative with costumes. The only problem I had with all of this, was that I wasn't allowed to dress up as what I wanted to. I always had to go as an animal, or an angel, or an indian, or somthing that emphasized my innocence. My mother wouldn't even let me be a witch. What sort of insult to Halloween is this!<br />In my life's experience, Halloween is a time when all your greatest fears come alive. When all the fake blood you could possibly lay your eyes on is available at your local convenient store. When you can dress up as the scariest creature you could possibly imagine, and run up to random people to scare the living daylights out of them and get away with it. When you can go to any neighborhood around and go door to door getting free candy and show off your awesome costume at the same time. <br />What is it with all of these silly pumpkins, poke'mon, vegetables, and candies? Where, I ask, is the psychotic creativity!? Where is the horror? Where is the gore? Halloween is supposed to be scary, in my opinion. Dressing up as a lame food product, or some other cliche just isn't right to me. It is hooplah I tell you! <br />And what about all of these 'scary' haunted houses. Lets blame the feeble minded creators. What sort of 3 year old wants to go inside a haunted house? Why not leave the haunted houses for the ones that won't piss themselves when they are tapped on the shoulder in the dark, eh? Your supposed to be scared when you enter a haunted house, not full of laughter. Save that for a happier holiday. Trick or treat kiddies. <br />(Where is the justice!?)<br /><a href="http://tinypic.com" target="_blank"><img src="http://i37.tinypic.com/14snkly.jpg" border="0" alt="Image and video hosting by TinyPic"></a>Cold.Firehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00105648445446007421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-528821599053490112.post-38488284990667087692009-10-29T14:12:00.000-07:002009-10-29T20:36:18.252-07:00When you run<br />Through the dark<br />There is a chance<br />You will fall.<br />But do you stop and wait for light?<br />Or do you run into the night?<br /><a href="http://tinypic.com" target="_blank"><img src="http://i37.tinypic.com/243kzrs.jpg" border="0" alt="Image and video hosting by TinyPic"></a>Cold.Firehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00105648445446007421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-528821599053490112.post-27852005725465539522009-10-29T13:15:00.000-07:002009-10-29T20:29:38.484-07:00Insane Corpse.The case was officially closed. We solved the crime, we have all the victims, and we've caught our killer. There is only one problem. He's dead. That's right, sprawled along the bathroom floor of this godforsaken hotel, is the body of Michael William Edwards, serial killer wanted by the F.B.I. since 1998. The only thing more disturbing than his crimes, is the way we found his body. Every one of his fingers were cut off except a finger and a thumb. All of his toes were found ground up inside his stomach. One of his eyes were found salted on the counter. His tongue was stapled to a roll of paper towels. I'm sure everyone in Law Enforcement is saying what the fuck right now. How could a man do this to himself? Simple. He was clinically insane.Cold.Firehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00105648445446007421noreply@blogger.com0