<?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-6995557247419469621</id><updated>2012-02-14T14:44:51.093-05:00</updated><category term='Personal'/><category term='Springs'/><category term='Promises'/><category term='Advise'/><category term='Nature'/><category term='Quotes'/><category term='Boyfriend'/><category term='Relationships'/><category term='Friendship'/><category term='Music'/><category term='Friends'/><category term='Woody Allen'/><category term='Wekiwa Springs'/><category term='Women'/><category term='Camping'/><category term='Phone'/><category term='Men'/><category term='Computer'/><category term='Text'/><category term='People'/><category term='Life'/><category term='John Lennon'/><category term='Thursday'/><category term='Gym'/><category term='Trails. Love. Work'/><category term='Friday'/><category term='Driving'/><category term='Love'/><category term='Journal'/><category term='If Not Now When?'/><category term='Writing'/><category term='Humor'/><category term='Incubus'/><category term='Book'/><category term='Hiking'/><category term='Friday the 13th'/><category term='Dentist'/><title type='text'>Simple Little Kind Of Free...</title><subtitle type='html'>I love cheese!</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>72</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-8299572943737601378</id><published>2012-02-09T22:18:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-02-09T22:18:54.286-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Computer'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Writing'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Book'/><title type='text'>If Not Now, When?...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;February 9th, 2012&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was in the middle of a project of writing a book (&lt;a href="http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/07/only-yesterday-was-time-of-our-lives.html"&gt;see excerpt&lt;/a&gt;) and guess what happened...Ok, I know you won't so I will tell you either way: my computer's motherboard died! YES! You herd it correctly, it dies. Therefore the project is currently in a halt until further notice. Believe me, no one is more upset about this than mua, however I will look at the situation as my brain telling me I might be due for a writing break. &amp;nbsp;I was truly attempting to finish it by this month, but it looks like I have many months to go. I will post mor excerpts as they come along. I need to buy a new laptop 1st...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until Then...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-8299572943737601378?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/8299572943737601378/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/if-not-now-when.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/8299572943737601378'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/8299572943737601378'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/if-not-now-when.html' title='If Not Now, When?...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-5035193295646547712</id><published>2012-02-09T21:50:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2012-02-09T21:50:32.218-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Text'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Phone'/><title type='text'>My Own Worst Enemy...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;February 6th, 2012&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"&gt;Have you ever laid in bed with your phone in your hand texting and all of a sudden it falls out of your hand and hits you square in the face? Holy crap that hurts...&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/6995557247419469621-5035193295646547712?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/5035193295646547712/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/my-own-worst-enemy_5951.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/5035193295646547712'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/5035193295646547712'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/my-own-worst-enemy_5951.html' title='My Own Worst Enemy...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-1332057979106450641</id><published>2012-02-09T21:49:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2012-02-09T21:49:31.488-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Men'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Advise'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Gym'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Women'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Humor'/><title type='text'>A Word Of Advise...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;February 2nd, 2012&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"&gt;Just so you know Men: asking a woman @ the gym to help you pick up a weight that weighs more than they do, is a very lame pick up attempt...&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/6995557247419469621-1332057979106450641?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/1332057979106450641/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/word-of-advise.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/1332057979106450641'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/1332057979106450641'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/word-of-advise.html' title='A Word Of Advise...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-5809439491463194225</id><published>2012-02-09T21:48:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-02-09T21:48:33.145-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Music'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Incubus'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='If Not Now When?'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Promises'/><title type='text'>Music To Live By...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;January 26h, 2012&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Incubus...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://3.gvt0.com/vi/yExPBSDnbU8/0.jpg"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/yExPBSDnbU8&amp;fs=1&amp;source=uds" /&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /&gt;&lt;embed width="320" height="266"  src="http://www.youtube.com/v/yExPBSDnbU8&amp;fs=1&amp;source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-5809439491463194225?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/5809439491463194225/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/music-to-live-by.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/5809439491463194225'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/5809439491463194225'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/music-to-live-by.html' title='Music To Live By...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-3979355888588876019</id><published>2012-02-09T21:45:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-02-09T21:45:25.941-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Driving'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Humor'/><title type='text'>My Own Worst Enemy...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;January 25th, 2012&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"&gt;As a driver I hate pedestrians, and as a pedestrian I hate drivers, but no matter the mode of transportation, I always hate bicyclists...&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/6995557247419469621-3979355888588876019?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/3979355888588876019/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/my-own-worst-enemy_244.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/3979355888588876019'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/3979355888588876019'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/my-own-worst-enemy_244.html' title='My Own Worst Enemy...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-3973002048299770296</id><published>2012-02-09T21:44:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2012-02-09T21:44:26.994-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Dentist'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Humor'/><title type='text'>My Own Worst Enemy...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;January 17th, 2012&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"&gt;Is it just me or does a dentist chair look like some sort of a medieval torture devise?...&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/6995557247419469621-3973002048299770296?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/3973002048299770296/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/my-own-worst-enemy_6148.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/3973002048299770296'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/3973002048299770296'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/my-own-worst-enemy_6148.html' title='My Own Worst Enemy...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-7869192810057390539</id><published>2012-02-09T21:43:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2012-02-09T21:43:45.146-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Friday'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Friday the 13th'/><title type='text'>My Own Worst Enemy...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;January 13th, 2012&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"&gt;His name was Jason &amp;amp; today is his birthday. So Happy Friday the 13th &amp;amp; remember, if you're still a virgin, tonight's not the night to lose it...&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/6995557247419469621-7869192810057390539?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/7869192810057390539/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/my-own-worst-enemy_5494.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/7869192810057390539'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/7869192810057390539'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/my-own-worst-enemy_5494.html' title='My Own Worst Enemy...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-2531983938491900784</id><published>2012-02-09T21:42:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2012-02-09T21:42:48.157-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Quotes'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Woody Allen'/><title type='text'>Say What You Ned To Say...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;January 3rd, 2011&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"&gt;"In my next life I want to live my life backwards. You start out dead and get that out of the way. Then you wake up in an old people’s home feeling better every day. You get kicked out for being too healthy, go collect your pension, and then when you start work, you get a gold watch and a party on your first day. You work for 40 years until you’re young enough to enjoy your retirement. You party,&amp;nbsp;&lt;span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"&gt;drink alcohol, and are generally promiscuous, then you are ready for high school. You then go to primary school, you become a kid, you play. You have no responsibilities, you become a baby until you are born. And then you spend your last 9 months floating in luxurious spa-like conditions with central heating and room service on tap, larger quarters every day and then Voila! You finish off as an orgasm!”...Woody Allen&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/6995557247419469621-2531983938491900784?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/2531983938491900784/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/say-what-you-ned-to-say.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/2531983938491900784'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/2531983938491900784'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/say-what-you-ned-to-say.html' title='Say What You Ned To Say...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-1084997081621385729</id><published>2012-02-09T21:41:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2012-02-09T21:41:56.134-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Conversations At A Bar...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;January 1st, 2012&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"&gt;Someone just came up to me and said, "You are perfection immortalized" &amp;amp; I said, "I'm Puertorrican"...&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/6995557247419469621-1084997081621385729?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/1084997081621385729/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/conversations-at-bar.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/1084997081621385729'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/1084997081621385729'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/conversations-at-bar.html' title='Conversations At A Bar...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-1000805814977223449</id><published>2012-02-09T21:39:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2012-02-09T21:39:23.068-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Text'/><title type='text'>My Own Worst Enemy...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;December 14th, 2011&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"&gt;The only time I look forward to a red light is when I'm trying to finish a text message...&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/6995557247419469621-1000805814977223449?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/1000805814977223449/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/my-own-worst-enemy_8462.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/1000805814977223449'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/1000805814977223449'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/my-own-worst-enemy_8462.html' title='My Own Worst Enemy...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-5736788784374983146</id><published>2012-02-09T21:38:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2012-02-09T21:38:45.143-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My Brithday...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;December 11th, 2011&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10 years ago we were asked in English Lit class to write down on separate cards anonymously what we thought of each person. At then end, they were collected by the teacher and given to each one of us on our last day. My favorite card said, "I like your individuality - you march to your own drummer!" I didn't see the importance of that message then, but now, 10 years later, it's who I am and always been. Living life on my own terms...&amp;amp; I ♥ it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S. It was my English Lit teacher who wrote that. Thanks Miss Whitaker, wherever you may be...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-5736788784374983146?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/5736788784374983146/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/my-brithday.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/5736788784374983146'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/5736788784374983146'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/my-brithday.html' title='My Brithday...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-3582845325714621234</id><published>2012-02-09T21:37:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2012-02-09T21:37:54.904-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='John Lennon'/><title type='text'>Say What You Need To Say...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;December 8th, 2011&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"&gt;"When I was 5 years old, my mother always told me that happiness was the key to life. When I went to school, they asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wrote down 'happy'. They told me I didn't understand the assignment, and I told them they didn't understand life."...John Lennon...&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/6995557247419469621-3582845325714621234?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/3582845325714621234/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/say-what-you-need-to-say.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/3582845325714621234'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/3582845325714621234'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/say-what-you-need-to-say.html' title='Say What You Need To Say...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-8473851145604978915</id><published>2012-02-09T21:36:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2012-02-09T21:36:48.297-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Music'/><title type='text'>Lyrics To Live By...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"&gt;December 6th, 2011&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"&gt;♪ Sweet like candy to my soul.&lt;br /&gt;Sweet you rock and sweet you roll.&lt;br /&gt;Lost for you, I'm so lost for you...&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/6995557247419469621-8473851145604978915?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/8473851145604978915/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/lyrics-to-live-by.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/8473851145604978915'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/8473851145604978915'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/lyrics-to-live-by.html' title='Lyrics To Live By...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-4341667080918987769</id><published>2012-02-09T21:33:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2012-02-09T21:33:45.345-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Quote Of The Day...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;December 5th, 2011&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Mark:&amp;nbsp;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"&gt;"Baby! What did you do in here?! It's like the gods of good food farted!"...(His&amp;nbsp;reaction after smelling his B-Day dinner.)...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-4341667080918987769?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/4341667080918987769/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/quote-of-day.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/4341667080918987769'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/4341667080918987769'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/quote-of-day.html' title='Quote Of The Day...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-6183942709484392978</id><published>2012-02-09T21:32:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2012-02-09T21:32:28.310-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My Own Worst Enemy...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;December 5th, 2011&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"&gt;I love the sense of camaraderie when an entire line of cars team up to prevent a jerk from cutting in at the front. Stay strong, brothers and sisters!...&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/6995557247419469621-6183942709484392978?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/6183942709484392978/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/my-own-worst-enemy_8683.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/6183942709484392978'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/6183942709484392978'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/my-own-worst-enemy_8683.html' title='My Own Worst Enemy...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-1565740269248984964</id><published>2012-02-09T21:31:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2012-02-09T21:31:44.215-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My Own Worst Enemy...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;December 4th, 2011&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"&gt;I disagree with Kay Jewelers. I would bet on any given Friday or Saturday night more kisses begin with Miller Light than Kay...&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/6995557247419469621-1565740269248984964?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/1565740269248984964/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/my-own-worst-enemy_5776.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/1565740269248984964'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/1565740269248984964'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/my-own-worst-enemy_5776.html' title='My Own Worst Enemy...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-5641346552606913028</id><published>2012-02-09T21:31:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2012-02-09T21:31:09.212-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My Own Worst Enemy...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;December 3rd, 2011&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"&gt;"Do not machine wash or tumble dry" means I will never wash this - ever...&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/6995557247419469621-5641346552606913028?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/5641346552606913028/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/my-own-worst-enemy_6313.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/5641346552606913028'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/5641346552606913028'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/my-own-worst-enemy_6313.html' title='My Own Worst Enemy...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-8118537451547466350</id><published>2012-02-09T21:30:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2012-02-09T21:30:31.870-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My Own Worst Enemy...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;December 1st, 2011&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"&gt;I would rather try to carry 10 overloaded plastic bags in each hand than take 2 trips to bring my groceries in...&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/6995557247419469621-8118537451547466350?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/8118537451547466350/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/my-own-worst-enemy_6698.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/8118537451547466350'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/8118537451547466350'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/my-own-worst-enemy_6698.html' title='My Own Worst Enemy...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-3161435289208922929</id><published>2012-02-09T21:29:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2012-02-09T21:29:50.350-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My Own Worst Enemy...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;November 27th, 2011&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"&gt;Remember that awkward moment when you spell a word correctly, but it looks wrong so you stare at it forever, questioning it's existence...&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/6995557247419469621-3161435289208922929?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/3161435289208922929/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/my-own-worst-enemy_7908.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/3161435289208922929'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/3161435289208922929'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/my-own-worst-enemy_7908.html' title='My Own Worst Enemy...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-7168061125437735161</id><published>2012-02-09T21:29:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-02-09T21:29:08.424-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Thank You Silence...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;November 24th, 2011&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"&gt;I’d rather have a life of ‘of wells’ than life of ‘what ifs’. So be thankful for this moment, this moment is your life; live it, love it, be present, be grateful for everything &amp;amp; everyone and never take anything &amp;amp; anyone for granted...Happy Thanksgiving! ♥&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"&gt;P.S.&amp;nbsp;I would like to take a minute of silence to honor all of those brave turkeys that were sacrificed for our enjoyment.......ok that's enough. Let's eat!&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/6995557247419469621-7168061125437735161?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/7168061125437735161/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/thank-you-silence.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/7168061125437735161'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/7168061125437735161'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/thank-you-silence.html' title='Thank You Silence...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-2103778811377425779</id><published>2012-02-09T21:26:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-02-09T21:26:46.350-05:00</updated><title type='text'>You Know You've Got It, f It Makes You Feel Good...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;October 22nd, 2011&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just came back from an amazing trip to The FL Keys. There's is nothing more beautiful that riding in the car with the windows down and wind blowing in your face while you go from island to island. It was perfection. I felt free...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-2103778811377425779?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/2103778811377425779/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/you-know-youve-got-it-f-it-makes-you.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/2103778811377425779'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/2103778811377425779'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/you-know-youve-got-it-f-it-makes-you.html' title='You Know You&apos;ve Got It, f It Makes You Feel Good...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-1356745426152813740</id><published>2012-02-09T21:23:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2012-02-09T21:23:28.828-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My Own Worst Enemy...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;October 16th, 2011,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"&gt;You know when get the feeling that you're about to have this really bad snot filled sneeze and you rush to get a tissue, but before you even get to it, you end up sneezing all over your hand? Yeah, me neither...&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/6995557247419469621-1356745426152813740?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/1356745426152813740/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/my-own-worst-enemy_09.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/1356745426152813740'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/1356745426152813740'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/my-own-worst-enemy_09.html' title='My Own Worst Enemy...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-5321768213522908111</id><published>2012-02-09T21:22:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2012-02-09T21:52:14.835-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Thursday'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Humor'/><title type='text'>My Own Worst Enemy...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;October 6th, 2011&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"&gt;To make it fair, I have made it a rule to only drink on days that start with the letter "S", and to day is Sursday!&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/6995557247419469621-5321768213522908111?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/5321768213522908111/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/my-own-worst-enemy.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/5321768213522908111'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/5321768213522908111'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2012/02/my-own-worst-enemy.html' title='My Own Worst Enemy...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-7385724643729008087</id><published>2011-10-12T19:40:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2011-10-12T19:40:40.042-04:00</updated><title type='text'>My Own Worst Enemy...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;October 4th, 2011&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:1}" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;span class="messageBody translationEligibleUserMessage" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:3}"&gt;Next  time you decide to be yourself and try something new, don't do that at  the gym (or an airplane). I know you were motivated to do resistance  training and all, but maybe that's not for you being that it took you 5  minutes to take off you pants. Thank you...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h6&gt;&lt;h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:1}" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;span class="messageBody translationEligibleUserMessage" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:3}"&gt;P.S. If anyone needs me, I  will be in my sofa motionless and confused with Icy Hot.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h6&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-7385724643729008087?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/7385724643729008087/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/10/my-own-worst-enemy_8356.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/7385724643729008087'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/7385724643729008087'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/10/my-own-worst-enemy_8356.html' title='My Own Worst Enemy...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-6679546123177948472</id><published>2011-10-12T19:39:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2011-10-12T19:39:31.540-04:00</updated><title type='text'>My Own Worst Enemy...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;September 27th, 2011&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:1}" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;span class="messageBody translationEligibleUserMessage" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:3}"&gt;Got  this annoying neighbor who fancies himself a talented singer/musician  &amp;amp; has no problem with the whole neighborhood hearing his lack of  talent. Someone should do the dude a favor, knock on his door, tell him  he sucks ass &amp;amp; should find something better to do with his life.  Basically shatter his dreams. That could be me, could...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h6&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-6679546123177948472?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/6679546123177948472/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/10/my-own-worst-enemy_1924.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/6679546123177948472'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/6679546123177948472'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/10/my-own-worst-enemy_1924.html' title='My Own Worst Enemy...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-7253241702301582329</id><published>2011-10-12T19:38:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-10-12T19:38:41.049-04:00</updated><title type='text'>My Own Worst Enemy...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;August 24th, 2011&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:1}" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;span class="messageBody translationEligibleUserMessage" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:3}"&gt;So  last night I dreamed I was @ my High School reunion. 1st of all, there  were friends there that didn't even graduate w/ me, let alone go to my  school, so I dunno who the hell invited them to my dream. On top of  that, we all did a gift exchange &amp;amp; I gave someone a bathroom? And it  was pretty fucking ugly, if I may say so myself. Just an insight into  my dreams...they can be worse...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h6&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-7253241702301582329?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/7253241702301582329/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/10/my-own-worst-enemy_204.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/7253241702301582329'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/7253241702301582329'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/10/my-own-worst-enemy_204.html' title='My Own Worst Enemy...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-8048479572831388343</id><published>2011-10-12T19:35:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2011-10-12T19:35:58.589-04:00</updated><title type='text'>My Own Worst Enemy...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;August 17th, 2011&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:1}" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;span class="messageBody translationEligibleUserMessage" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:3}"&gt;So  I went to see Conan The Barbarian (and YES he is hot and not so good of  an actor). The whole time I'm looking for Skeletor and the Grayskull  Castle only to realize that that's Masters Of The Universe...great.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h6&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-8048479572831388343?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/8048479572831388343/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/10/my-own-worst-enemy_2897.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/8048479572831388343'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/8048479572831388343'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/10/my-own-worst-enemy_2897.html' title='My Own Worst Enemy...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-4018018177450844589</id><published>2011-10-12T19:34:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2011-10-12T19:34:14.618-04:00</updated><title type='text'>My Own Worst Enemy...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;July 14th, 2011&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:1}" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;span class="messageBody translationEligibleUserMessage" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:3}"&gt;If  one more person asks me "do you speaky espanish?" I will punch myself  in the face. No! I don't speaky espanish, I speak spanish! Bitch!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h6&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-4018018177450844589?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/4018018177450844589/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/10/my-own-worst-enemy_689.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/4018018177450844589'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/4018018177450844589'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/10/my-own-worst-enemy_689.html' title='My Own Worst Enemy...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-198513156841043967</id><published>2011-10-12T19:32:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2011-10-12T19:32:50.548-04:00</updated><title type='text'>My Own Worst Enemy...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;June 24th, 2011&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;span class="messageBody translationEligibleUserMessage" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:3}"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;span class="messageBody translationEligibleUserMessage" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:3}"&gt;Men have two emotions...Hungry and Horny. If you see him without an erection, make him a sandwich...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-198513156841043967?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/198513156841043967/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/10/my-own-worst-enemy_12.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/198513156841043967'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/198513156841043967'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/10/my-own-worst-enemy_12.html' title='My Own Worst Enemy...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-5998319853576426963</id><published>2011-10-12T19:31:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-10-12T19:31:20.276-04:00</updated><title type='text'>My Own Worst Enemy...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;June 17th, 2011&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:1}" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;span class="messageBody translationEligibleUserMessage" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:3}"&gt;Love  it when people judge me for doing things differently &amp;amp; doing  different things, when they're sorry ass be doing the same damn thing  every day. Accept differences in people, that's what makes them so  effing awesome...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h6&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-5998319853576426963?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/5998319853576426963/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/10/my-own-worst-enemy.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/5998319853576426963'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/5998319853576426963'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/10/my-own-worst-enemy.html' title='My Own Worst Enemy...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-6334080259413388781</id><published>2011-07-01T00:01:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-07-01T00:01:47.794-04:00</updated><title type='text'>My Own Worst Enemy...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;June 12th, 2011&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:1}" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="messageBody" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:3}"&gt;You  know when you're about to go #1 in a public restroom and you have your  ID &amp;amp; Card on your back pocket &amp;amp; as you're getting up you realize  they have fallen inside the toilet?...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h6&gt;&lt;h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:1}" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="messageBody" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:3}"&gt;Yeah, me neither...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h6&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-6334080259413388781?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/6334080259413388781/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/07/my-own-worst-enemy.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/6334080259413388781'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/6334080259413388781'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/07/my-own-worst-enemy.html' title='My Own Worst Enemy...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-1018047058010597141</id><published>2011-07-01T00:00:00.007-04:00</published><updated>2011-07-03T13:23:02.537-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Only Yesterday Was The Time Of Our Lives…</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;May 2011&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"&gt;This is an excerpt of a little project I’ve been working on:&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; In the Summer of 2005, shortly after I graduated from college and broken up my engagement with my then fiancé (like that wasn’t enough), my parents decided to separate. I must say, they couldn’t have chosen a worst time to do it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; I remember it like it was yesterday: I was taking a shower as I heard my parents having this huge argument about God knows what and as I exit the shower, there was quiet surrounding the house. Nothing else was spoken. I thought to myself, &lt;i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"&gt;The fight had ended, no problem. It was probably nothing to begin with.&lt;/i&gt; I remember going into my bedroom to start getting ready to go out that night. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; I had recently picked up socially smoking (which I had hidden from my father of course) and I remember packing up my handbag with the necessities for the evening (including my Benson &amp;amp; Hedges Menthols) and headed out of my bedroom. My mother was in their bedroom and my father was sitting on the terrace outside on this dining set they had there. I could see him thought the glass door that separated the living room from the terrace. I did my best to go unnoticed by him, or anyone at the house for that matter, but as I was exciting through the door my father called out for me to go to him because he needed to talk to me. As I am walking towards the terrace I remember feeling really nervous. The only thing that I could think of is that he had found out I had been misbehaving the entire Summer and he was going to have a talk about my behavior. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; As I sat down at the table directly across from him, the first thing that came out of his mouth was, “Can I have a cigarette?” (Now, for all of you who don’t know my father, well this doesn’t sound as shocking as it was for me to hear it. My father is a health junkie, who at the time lived an extremely healthy lifestyle consisting of no alcohol or cigarettes.) Imagine my shock. I thought to myself, &lt;i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"&gt;Well you can’t lie to him about it. Either way he’s apparently on your side. So, why not share a cigarette with your father while he tells you that you have been bad?&lt;/i&gt; So I did, and I lit one up for myself as well, I figured I would need it since he needed one. The second thing that came out of his mouth was, “Your mother and I are getting separated.”&lt;i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"&gt; &lt;/i&gt;I have never been punched in the face, but I’m pretty sure that’s what it feels like. The third thing that came out of his mouth was, “We have to move out of this house because I’m moving out and your mother is moving to another house.” &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; In summary: In less than one minute my father smoked a cigarette, told me they’re relationship was over and on top of that informed me that I was soon to me homeless as well. Well isn’t that great! Luckily, I had a friend closer to where I worked that wanted a roommate (even though she didn’t need one), so I did have a place to go. As I was contemplating all of this, there came the time to exit out the door and go out with my friends. I remember thinking that I needed to brush it off for the time being, since there was nothing that I could do at the moment. I was numb. Completely and utterly numb. Which, of course didn’t come as a surprise to me. See, I have this thing about me that I really don’t like, but can’t change: any time something big happens in my life, out of nowhere, regardless if it’s good or bad, I go numb. I go numb for a really long time. I don’t react to it, at all. In the mean time I accept it and move one. That’s it! And then, by the time that it actually hits me, it’s really too late to have a reaction (to cry or laugh). Needless to say I am the worst person to go to funerals. (Any who, talking in circles again.) I did it yet again. I brushed it off as if it was nothing and went out. Little did I know that it would come back to haunt me here and there years later. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; A couple of days after we found out the news, my father moved out. He found a one bedroom apartment perfect for him. My brother Sebastian was already living in New Zeeland with his girlfriend, so all that was left was my mom, my brother and me. And boy did my mother find the perfect house for all of us. She found a two bedroom house for all of us. Isn’t that thoughtful! One of us had to go, so of course I volunteered myself since my brother was still attached to my mother. I thought, &lt;i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"&gt;Why not leave? I don’t have to deal with this shit if I leave. &lt;/i&gt;(Wrong!) So I moved to an apartment closer to my job and all of the bars that I loved so much. I was also closer to all of my friends. I did go back home, usually from Mondays until Tuesdays to do laundry and spend some time with my mother and brother. It was easier for me to see my father since he lived a bit closer to me than my mom. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; My new roommate was awesome. She was an Adventist. Interesting...Me along with my friends de-virginized (Is that a word?) her. She had her first drop of alcohol with us (Cosmopolitan), her first drag out of a cigarette with us (Benson &amp;amp; Hedges of course), her first joint with us (kryptonite) and her first one night stand turn into fuck buddy with us (we introduced them to each other). I remember we didn’t have papers to roll the joint and she ripped a map out of the back of her Adventist bible. I thought to myself, &lt;i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"&gt;This is so wrong in so many levels.&lt;/i&gt; Don’t worry, we didn’t use it. I had some papers. Instead we took that page she had ripped off, we all signed and dated it and gave it to her in memory of the night she first tried the kryptonite. I also recall feeling older for some reason. I remember my firsts had just happened a few months before. I must admit I was nice to see someone else go through all of her crazy firsts. I think every woman should have them before they decide to settle down. And on the plus side, they are really fun!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-1018047058010597141?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/1018047058010597141/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/07/only-yesterday-was-time-of-our-lives.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/1018047058010597141'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/1018047058010597141'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/07/only-yesterday-was-time-of-our-lives.html' title='Only Yesterday Was The Time Of Our Lives…'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-9097337184318430684</id><published>2011-06-30T23:56:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-06-30T23:56:20.097-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Conversations Through BBM...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;&lt;h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:1}" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="messageBody" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:3}"&gt;&amp;nbsp;April 20th 2011&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h6&gt;&lt;h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:1}" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="messageBody" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:3}"&gt;Me: "Well, what did you have in mind for tonight?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h6&gt;&lt;h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:1}" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="messageBody" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:3}"&gt;J: "I dunno. You tell me. You have more tricks than Batman's belt!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h6&gt;&lt;h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:1}"&gt;&lt;span class="messageBody" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:3}"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"&gt;I'm Batman!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h6&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-9097337184318430684?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/9097337184318430684/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/06/conversations-through-bbm.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/9097337184318430684'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/9097337184318430684'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/06/conversations-through-bbm.html' title='Conversations Through BBM...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-4687452560243663235</id><published>2011-06-30T23:53:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2011-07-03T13:33:40.764-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Some May Say I’m Wishing My Days Away...No Way…</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: left;"&gt;April 2011&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"&gt;This is an excerpt of a little project I’ve been working on:&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: left; text-indent: .5in;"&gt;In the middle of all of this happening we had our annual sorority kiosk to attend to on this festival that they do at the town I lived in every year. My chapter always set up the kiosk that became a bar and we sold really cheap alcohol. Everyone loved us because besides the alcohol, we were a small kiosk full of sweaty sorority girls and for some reason, everyone found this appealing. We drank, ate, danced, smoked weed and had a great time. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: left;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; When you grow up in such a small island, everyone knows each other. So this was an event, considering that all of our friends ended up at our kiosk all night. I remember this one night, almost at the very end of the week where we were all in there working. The night was busy as hell and after we were done with the night, two of my friends that were at the festival drove me home. On the way to my house, they decided to blaze up in the car (this means smoke weed, in case you found yourself to be lost there for a second). Now, I was a newbie at this. I had only done it a couple of times and I had no control over myself. I mean, for God’s sake, the first time I smoked I was so high I was lying on my bed and I saw my closet door open (I’m afraid of my closet at night, so I don’t like to look at it and I certainly don’t like it looking at me) and I wanted to get up to close it. I was so high that I actually crawled all the way to my closet and thought about how the hell I was going to make my way back. So I laid there for a little, and crawled back to by bed and passed out. So tonight was no different.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: left; text-indent: .5in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The car ride home felt like we were smoking like an hour long (it was actually about 5 minutes). I finally get home. Now, my grandmother was actually there visiting for that week and was also sleeping in my room. I actually realized that I didn’t have the keys to get back inside the house. It was about 2:00 in the morning. So I knew someone had to be awake in that house. I got out of the car and started making my way towards my bedroom window. I remember I was wearing these bitchin’ high wedges I had just gotten. I tipped toed my way though the grass and when I got to the window I called my grandmother to open the front door and she actually got up to do so. As I am turning around to walk towards the front door, I noticed there’s this huge lizard on my window about to jump on me. (Let me explain something, I may have exaggerated the size of the lizard, but I was so high, it looked like Godzilla.) I started running away from Godzilla and in the middle of the fear I twisted my ankle and fell down. I smacked myself onto the grass. This is where it gets embarrassing. My two friends were still on the car seeing all this spectacle.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: left; text-indent: .5in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: left; text-indent: .5in;"&gt;One of then got out of the car hysterically laughing (I don’t blame her) and proceeded to help me get up. Thankfully, Godzilla was gone by now and I started questioning his existence at this point. I might have just hallucinated the whole damn thing (which reminds me, &lt;i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"&gt;that was good pot&lt;/i&gt;). As I get to my front door, my grandma is already there waiting for me and asked what had happened. (Of course, we only told her the “falling down” part of the story). My mother got home at this exact moment and my friend left and the only thing I could think of was, &lt;i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"&gt;I am really way too high to be seeing this many people I'm related to right now.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: left; text-indent: .5in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: left; text-indent: .5in;"&gt;My mother immediately turned on her nurse persona and filled a bucket of warm water and put some Epson salt on it and sunk my already swollen foot into it. I remember sitting down on my bedroom’s sofa thinking, &lt;i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"&gt;Are they noticing that I am high as a kite right now?&lt;/i&gt; Thankfully, they had absolutely no fucking idea. (That’s when I realized that neither my mother nor my grandmother had ever smoked pot, and I immediately felt sorry for them for just a moment.) I started waiting for the pain to go away and I realized that I had forgotten about it already (which made me think that people should be high whenever they feel physical pain). I grabbed the Epson salt container and started reading and noticed that it was also a laxative and I was outraged. I told my mother that, &lt;i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"&gt;I couldn’t walk to the bathroom in a hurry if I started shitting. &lt;/i&gt;She replied by telling me to not be stupid that that only happens when you drink it. Needless to say, I was hanging out the next day. Now, years after I graduated college, all of that seems like a distant bittersweet memory.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-4687452560243663235?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/4687452560243663235/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/06/some-may-say-im-wishing-my-days-awayno.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/4687452560243663235'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/4687452560243663235'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/06/some-may-say-im-wishing-my-days-awayno.html' title='Some May Say I’m Wishing My Days Away...No Way…'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-739717773886019785</id><published>2011-06-30T23:49:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2011-07-01T00:06:45.724-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Conversations At The Bar...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;&lt;h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:1}" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="messageBody" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:3}"&gt;April 3rd 2011 &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h6&gt;&lt;h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:1}" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="messageBody" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:3}"&gt;Melissa: (while tapping on her head) "I'm really afraid of  trying Ecstasy because it causes brain damage and I need this. I need  this."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h6&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-739717773886019785?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/739717773886019785/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/06/conversations-at-bar.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/739717773886019785'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/739717773886019785'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/06/conversations-at-bar.html' title='Conversations At The Bar...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-3417739190045682759</id><published>2011-06-30T23:48:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2011-07-01T00:07:03.598-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Conversations At The Bathroom...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;&lt;h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:1}" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="messageBody" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:3}"&gt;April 2nd 2011 &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h6&gt;&lt;h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:1}" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="messageBody" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:3}"&gt;Random woman just came up to me, put her arm around me  &amp;amp; said, "Let me show you a picture of myself... Isn't that great?"&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h6&gt;&lt;h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:1}" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="messageBody" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:3}"&gt;Bars...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h6&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-3417739190045682759?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/3417739190045682759/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/06/conversations-at-bathroom.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/3417739190045682759'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/3417739190045682759'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/06/conversations-at-bathroom.html' title='Conversations At The Bathroom...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-2313764132213521656</id><published>2011-06-30T23:47:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2011-07-01T00:07:20.706-04:00</updated><title type='text'>My Own Worst Enemy...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;&lt;h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:1}" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="messageBody" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:3}"&gt;March 25th, 2011 &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h6&gt;&lt;h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:1}" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="messageBody" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:3}"&gt;I actually looked in the mirror this morning and straight up laughed at what I was wearing. And then I left anyway...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h6&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-2313764132213521656?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/2313764132213521656/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/06/my-own-worst-enemy.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/2313764132213521656'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/2313764132213521656'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/06/my-own-worst-enemy.html' title='My Own Worst Enemy...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-3778527171149567623</id><published>2011-06-30T23:45:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2011-06-30T23:45:47.594-04:00</updated><title type='text'>You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes well you might find, you get what you need...(Rolling Stones)</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-3778527171149567623?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/3778527171149567623/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/06/you-cant-always-get-what-you-want-but.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/3778527171149567623'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/3778527171149567623'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/06/you-cant-always-get-what-you-want-but.html' title='You can&apos;t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes well you might find, you get what you need...(Rolling Stones)'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-3968224666362207150</id><published>2011-06-30T23:44:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2011-06-30T23:44:50.887-04:00</updated><title type='text'>"For being in love is to be relieved of gravity."...(Sting on 'Walking On the Moon')...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-3968224666362207150?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/3968224666362207150/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/06/for-being-in-love-is-to-be-relieved-of.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/3968224666362207150'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/3968224666362207150'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/06/for-being-in-love-is-to-be-relieved-of.html' title='&quot;For being in love is to be relieved of gravity.&quot;...(Sting on &apos;Walking On the Moon&apos;)...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-8575281778241435311</id><published>2011-06-30T23:40:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2011-07-03T13:39:33.754-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Anyone Could See The Road That They Walk On Is Paved In Gold...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: left;"&gt;February 2011&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"&gt;This is an excerpt of a little project I’ve been working on:&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: left; text-indent: .5in;"&gt;A couple of weeks after my birthday, New Years came and went and, there it was, 2011. &lt;i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"&gt;Great!!!&lt;/i&gt; I thought, &lt;i&gt;A new year, new transitions, new life&lt;/i&gt;. I immediately came up with a list of goals for this year. When I say "goals", I mean GOALS. Not to be confused with "New Year's Resolutions". Which, in my opinion, is a crock of shit. Why? You may ask yourself...because no one follows them, everyone breaks them and it ends up being the end of the year when you realize that you are still fat, have not broken up with that asshole of a boyfriend you still have, you're still stuck in that job that you hate, or miserable with yourself and in turn, end up making the same lame ass resolutions you made the year before. Let me tell you this, and pardon my English, but if you REALLY want to change something about yourself, you don't need to wait for the New Year's to do it for you, THAT, you may actually DO, YOURSELF, ANY DAY. Thank you!!! Fuck, that needed to come out! (Ok, I curse, like pirate sailor who's drunk on rum and I'm sorry, but there are no "bad words", just bad minds.) These goals have been a recompilation of things that I had been working on since I moved to Orlando about, hmmm 5 years ago (and it pains me to say five years because I never stay in one place for so long).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: left; text-indent: .25in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; In this list of goals that I compiled, I have ones that are more important than others. I have months for these "important" ones. (Which is crazy because I NEVER plan ahead for anything and I'm in shock with myself.) The few minor goals that I have for this year are:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;ul type="disc"&gt;&lt;li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list .5in; text-align: left;"&gt;Take Mark to Puerto Rico. (Oh,      Mark is my boyfriend, I forgot to mention that, but more on that later.) I      have been with him for a year and a half and he has never met my parental      units and I have met his...a couple of times. (I have some issues on this,      more on that later too.)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list .5in; text-align: left;"&gt;Make exercise such a big part of      my life that I never forget I have to do it. (You know, like breathing,      sleeping, taking a shit, eating, drinking, brushing your teeth, sex.)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list .5in; text-align: left;"&gt;Eat healthier.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list .5in; text-align: left;"&gt;Plant a garden and make all of      them survive winter. I want lots of herbs (I love to cook), tomatoes,      lettuce, peppers, potatoes, strawberries and anything else I can eat.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list .5in; text-align: left;"&gt;Buy and orchid and NOT kill it.      I've had some before, but I always feel bad they live indoors and I end up      sticking them to a tree out of fear I might murder them.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list .5in; text-align: left;"&gt;Organize a trip with my      girlfriends.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list .5in; text-align: left;"&gt;Take up voice lessons again. I      went to an after school music school where I learned to sing. I was in two      choirs and I loved it. Your voice is an instrument and, if you don't      practice, you lose it.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list .5in; text-align: left;"&gt;Buy a really bad ass camera and      hopefully take up photography.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list .5in; text-align: left;"&gt;Learn a new language; I'm still in      between French, Portuguese and Italian. (I already know Spanish and      English.)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list .5in; text-align: left;"&gt;Save enough money so we can go to      Mark's friend's wedding in New York in September. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list .5in; text-align: left;"&gt;Visit new places, go antique      shopping and re-decorate my life.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list .5in; text-align: left;"&gt;Develop a deeper spiritual      relationship with myself.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: left;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Yes, these are my minor goals. As for my "important" goals (these are the ones that have set time frames) I have three and, YES, I will bore you with them:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;ul type="disc"&gt;&lt;li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list .5in; text-align: left;"&gt;Buy a car at the end of April,      beginning of May. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list .5in; text-align: left;"&gt;Move/relocate to South Florida at      the end of August.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list .5in; text-align: left;"&gt;Be happy and not let anything that      I can't control make me lose sleep this entire year.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; So far, I have...decided that I want to learn how to learn French or Italian and have found the perfect program to do so. I am eating healthier, to the point I even bought organic waffles and, I have developed an addiction to veggie burgers and berries. I'm still exercising, so I guess I'm good there (for now).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;serif&amp;quot;; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"&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/6995557247419469621-8575281778241435311?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/8575281778241435311/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/06/anyone-could-see-road-that-they-walk-on.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/8575281778241435311'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/8575281778241435311'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/06/anyone-could-see-road-that-they-walk-on.html' title='Anyone Could See The Road That They Walk On Is Paved In Gold...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-2033773782829712457</id><published>2011-01-28T13:37:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-01-28T13:37:47.757-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Conversations At The Dinner Table...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;January 27th, 2011&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friend Rasi on why she's not having as much sex as before:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gini: "So you went from four dicks, to two?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rasi: "Yeahhh...I don't have enough&amp;nbsp;time."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks for that one...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-2033773782829712457?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/2033773782829712457/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/01/conversations-at-dinner-table_5656.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/2033773782829712457'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/2033773782829712457'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/01/conversations-at-dinner-table_5656.html' title='Conversations At The Dinner Table...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-205562241066898604</id><published>2011-01-28T13:34:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-06-30T23:31:48.217-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Conversations At The Dinner Table...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;January 26th, 2011&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After arriving at my friend's apartment for his birthday celebration:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Babe, you look like Jesus. No one wants to fuck Jesus!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Needless to say he got a kick out of it and it was the quote of the night...until, a couple of hours later, my friend A, drunk out his mind, came to me and yelled:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A: "I dunno. I'm drunk! I need a drink!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He won!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-205562241066898604?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/205562241066898604/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/01/conversations-at-dinner-table_28.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/205562241066898604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/205562241066898604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/01/conversations-at-dinner-table_28.html' title='Conversations At The Dinner Table...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-5685453302358686088</id><published>2011-01-20T15:58:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-01-20T15:58:25.237-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My Own Worst Enemy...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;January 20th, 2011&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Making Coffee 101:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Step 1: Put coffee on designated coffee filter.&lt;br /&gt;Step 2: Put filter on coffee maker.&lt;br /&gt;Step 3: Deposit approximately 1 cup of water in the coffee maker.&lt;br /&gt;Final and most important step: Turn on the coffee maker!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guess which one I forgot....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-5685453302358686088?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/5685453302358686088/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/01/my-own-worst-enemy_20.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/5685453302358686088'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/5685453302358686088'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/01/my-own-worst-enemy_20.html' title='My Own Worst Enemy...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-2066090050495538299</id><published>2011-01-18T01:57:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-01-18T02:02:39.099-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Conversations At The Dinner Table...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"&gt;November 8th, 2010&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friend explaining what his brother is studying in college:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: "So he is in Kinesiology? Like Telekinesis?"&amp;nbsp;&lt;span style="font-size: 7.5pt;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Van: "It's a derivative, it studies movement. 'Tele' means away from the body."&amp;nbsp;&lt;span style="font-size: 7.5pt;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gini: "Like the telephone!"&lt;span style="font-size: 7.5pt;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 7.5pt;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-2066090050495538299?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/2066090050495538299/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/01/conversations-at-dinner-table_18.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/2066090050495538299'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/2066090050495538299'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/01/conversations-at-dinner-table_18.html' title='Conversations At The Dinner Table...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-3405520680915604510</id><published>2011-01-18T01:53:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-01-18T01:53:44.800-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My Own Worst Enemy...</title><content type='html'>October 25th, 2010&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="messageBody"&gt;When  I was a teen I hated Sundays because it meant I had school the next  day. In my 20's I hate Mondays because I have to go to work. I'll  probably loathe Tuesdays when I turn 30...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-3405520680915604510?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/3405520680915604510/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/01/my-own-worst-enemy_5229.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/3405520680915604510'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/3405520680915604510'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/01/my-own-worst-enemy_5229.html' title='My Own Worst Enemy...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-9162593932898249423</id><published>2011-01-18T01:52:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-01-18T01:52:52.313-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My Own Worst Enemy...</title><content type='html'>October 20th, 2010&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="messageBody"&gt;Why  the fuck was it called the "Wisdom Tooth". I don't feel any more full  of knowledge than before and all it does is bring pain. They should've  called it "The Tooth of Death" or "The Devil's Tooth". Wisdom Tooth,  what a mockery...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-9162593932898249423?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/9162593932898249423/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/01/my-own-worst-enemy_9866.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/9162593932898249423'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/9162593932898249423'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/01/my-own-worst-enemy_9866.html' title='My Own Worst Enemy...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-7427015903503243153</id><published>2011-01-18T01:48:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-01-18T01:48:56.619-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My Own Worst Enemy...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="color: #666666;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="UIStory_Message"&gt;September 7th, 2010 &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #666666;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="UIStory_Message"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #666666;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="UIStory_Message"&gt;The     other day at the grocery store I had a bottle of wine in my hand and     then I said to myself "you don’t need to buy this." I regret making    that  statement now. I should start listening to my heart when it  comes   to  matters of the liver…&lt;/span&gt;&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/6995557247419469621-7427015903503243153?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/7427015903503243153/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/01/my-own-worst-enemy_4926.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/7427015903503243153'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/7427015903503243153'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/01/my-own-worst-enemy_4926.html' title='My Own Worst Enemy...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-7723140362173503974</id><published>2011-01-18T01:47:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2011-01-18T02:03:01.927-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Conversations At The Dinner Table...</title><content type='html'>August 27th, 2010&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me and my friend on the reality of what makes him cool: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: "'Cause you're British dude! Everything that comes out of your mouth is interesting."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Needless to say he understood the basis of his appeal...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-7723140362173503974?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/7723140362173503974/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/01/coversations-at-dinner-table_18.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/7723140362173503974'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/7723140362173503974'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/01/coversations-at-dinner-table_18.html' title='Conversations At The Dinner Table...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-3242552547540857959</id><published>2011-01-18T01:44:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-01-18T01:44:30.741-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Conversations At The Dinner Table...</title><content type='html'>August 19th, 2010&lt;span class="messageBody"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="messageBody"&gt;My roommate's take on online dating:&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="messageBody"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="messageBody"&gt;"I'm not gonna pay to date somebody. That's like prostitution."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="messageBody"&gt;Enough said... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="messageBody"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-3242552547540857959?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/3242552547540857959/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/01/conversations-at-dinner-table.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/3242552547540857959'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/3242552547540857959'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/01/conversations-at-dinner-table.html' title='Conversations At The Dinner Table...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-964763617210694655</id><published>2011-01-18T01:40:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-01-18T01:40:13.442-05:00</updated><title type='text'>According To Urban Dictionary...</title><content type='html'>&lt;h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;msg&amp;quot;}" style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="messageBody"&gt;Carla is the Canadian Condom Fairy. She is considered a very kind and sweet person with as many hugs to give as she does condoms. You will be glad to have her in your life because the Condom Fairy isn't just for sex, she's for life.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h6&gt;&lt;h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;msg&amp;quot;}" style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="messageBody"&gt;&lt;span class="text_exposed_hide"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="text_exposed_show"&gt;Ex: "We can't have sex tonight Jane, I'm unprotected."..."It's ok. Carla left a condom under my pillow this morning."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h6&gt;&lt;h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;msg&amp;quot;}" style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="messageBody"&gt;&lt;span class="text_exposed_show"&gt;Figures... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h6&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-964763617210694655?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/964763617210694655/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/01/according-to-urban-dictionary.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/964763617210694655'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/964763617210694655'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/01/according-to-urban-dictionary.html' title='According To Urban Dictionary...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-1693391951549932404</id><published>2011-01-18T01:17:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-01-18T02:03:22.521-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Conversations At The Dinner Table...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="color: #444444;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;August 5th, 2010&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #444444;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #444444;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;My Roommate and me on getting over a relationship:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #444444;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #444444;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="odd" style="color: #444444;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Gini:&lt;/b&gt; I've always said it. The only way to get over someone, is to fuck someone else. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="even" style="color: #444444;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Me:&lt;/b&gt; Hmm...well, that's kinda true. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="odd" style="color: #444444;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Gini:&lt;/b&gt; Think about it. You didn't get over you ex until you had sex with someone else. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="even" style="color: #444444;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Me:&lt;/b&gt; Well, it's no so much that  you get over someone by fucking someone else, rather than you get over  someone by getting under someone else.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="even" style="color: #444444;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="even" style="color: #444444;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;It's true!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="even" style="color: #444444;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="even" style="color: #444444;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&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/6995557247419469621-1693391951549932404?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/1693391951549932404/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/01/forever-and-always.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/1693391951549932404'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/1693391951549932404'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2011/01/forever-and-always.html' title='Conversations At The Dinner Table...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-5770766188216425041</id><published>2010-07-26T22:41:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-07-28T00:06:45.955-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Free Fallin'...</title><content type='html'>July 26th, 2010&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What can be said of those who abandon their tasks? Can we say they are quitters? Or are they simply just... otherwise engaged? I think I prefer to justify my abandonment of this blog with the ladder. After all, that's really what this is about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know, I know..I AM the worst blog keeper in the world, but really? When have I ever been consistent with anything that I do. I just do what I feel like doing, and tonight I feel like revisiting familiar territory. I missed writing here. And not to say that I don't do it at all just because I don't do it here, I do keep a journal you know, it's just easy to take it with me when a thought pops in my head. A computer, you can't take to the beach because I fear it might melt. But any who...what can i say...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This Summer has been ever changing and I have to admit, I kinda like it. Out with the old, in with the new. I guess that's what we call progression. You let go, you move forward even if it means losing things along the way. That's the only way we grow, by losing. But I have to tell ya that the only thing I keep losing and I actually don't miss, not one bit, is my fear. I have a mission to become fearless and I feel I'm conquering it more than it's conquering me. I have someone to thank for that, I can't credit all of that to just myself, but I think that that person serves as an inspiration for me. He inspires me to become that way not by judging me, but by letting me know that he's there to catch me...that really can make one take big leaps. Funny thing is that I want to do it for myself, no one else. Just me! I guess that's what I've been hearing people talk about when they say that their partner inspires them. I don't think I can call it inspiration, it's something else...it's called not looking like a big fat wuss next to your boyfriend...ahahha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Either way, there have been more changes...I have a new roommate and I have to admit a new person does change the dynamic of your living situation. This time it has been for the good of things. Things seem quieter, a little more peaceful. I guess it's like I said, in with the new. I also must say that I've almost conquered my fear of heights...and when I say almost, it is an almost because I won't know until I jump off a plane, which it's soon to come, so we'll see what new adventures I can come up with for the rest of the year. Hopefully...really amazing ones...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until Then...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-5770766188216425041?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/5770766188216425041/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/07/save-tonight.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/5770766188216425041'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/5770766188216425041'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/07/save-tonight.html' title='Free Fallin&apos;...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-8914253855886602639</id><published>2010-05-05T12:20:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-05-05T12:20:16.638-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Sit In The Rising Sun...</title><content type='html'>May 5th, 2010&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last week was tough. Really tough. It felt mostly as if I was mourning someone who had just passed. No one died, by the way, but I was feeling disappointed of a lot of things, but mostly I was feeling disappointed with myself. I was at work one day and started writing to clear my head. This is what I wrote:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;You know those people that are really good at something? You know, the ones that have been working on that &lt;b&gt;one&lt;/b&gt; thing their entire life? Well, I'm not one of them. In fact, I'm far from that. Don't get me wrong, I'm good at several things, but not really GREAT at one thing. Now, for those of you that don't understand, I don't blame you. For those of you that do, I feel you. You are what I like to call&lt;/i&gt; &lt;i&gt;(and have referred to on previous blogs &lt;a href="http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/03/cause-you-cant-jump-track-were-like.html"&gt;Cause You Can't Jump the Track, We're Like Cars On A Cable...&lt;/a&gt;) as a "wanderer."&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;As long as I've lived I've been extremely inconsistent. Moved around a lot. Never stay in one place. Changed jobs constantly. Several relationships. Those kinds of things. I think it all comes down to having an issue with committing to &lt;b&gt;just one thing &lt;/b&gt;for the rest of my life. Thing is, I know myself well enough to understand that I get bored so easily of things. I don't know if there's something out of place in my mind, or if it's all in my head, but I do know it's me. It's&lt;b&gt;  ALL &lt;/b&gt;me.The situation is that I am &lt;b&gt;SO &lt;/b&gt;aware of it, it scares me. I  feel like I'm in a constant battle with myself and no one ever wins. Trust me, &lt;/i&gt;&lt;i&gt;I've tried to change this about myself, but it's such a big part of  who I am, that I really don't know where to begin.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jnZznOGCyY8/S-GXlGo1pFI/AAAAAAAAAEM/oWxtFN-aSuM/s1600/931093fwaq7msdli.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jnZznOGCyY8/S-GXlGo1pFI/AAAAAAAAAEM/oWxtFN-aSuM/s320/931093fwaq7msdli.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;i&gt; I think that I'll start simple... &lt;b&gt;I won't think about it.&lt;/b&gt; My boyfriend tells me that I obsess over it, but I just think there's no way he could possibly understand my predicament due to the fact that he knows exactly what he wants. He's been good at it and he's worked hard for it. He sais that knowing what you want&lt;/i&gt; is "a&lt;i&gt; curse", because once you know, you have to work hard for it. I, on the other hand, look at it as a blessing. It's a blessing working towards something that you're not only good at, but something that makes you happy every day. Then again, when you have a career doing something you truly love, it doesn't feel like "work". You have a reason to get up in the morning. That's a blessing.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;It's Wednesday now, I wrote this about a week ago. I still feel the same way, but now I've stopped "obsessing" over it and instead started asking myself the right questions: &lt;i&gt;what do &lt;b&gt;I&lt;/b&gt; want? What makes &lt;b&gt;me&lt;/b&gt; happy?&lt;/i&gt; I think I'll start with that and I'll see where it takes me. Then again, I could be a writer. Who knows?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;Until Then...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jnZznOGCyY8/S-GTFVJ4zVI/AAAAAAAAAEE/nWXThK4NceU/s1600/931093fwaq7msdli.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&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/6995557247419469621-8914253855886602639?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/8914253855886602639/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/05/sit-in-rising-sun.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/8914253855886602639'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/8914253855886602639'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/05/sit-in-rising-sun.html' title='Sit In The Rising Sun...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jnZznOGCyY8/S-GXlGo1pFI/AAAAAAAAAEM/oWxtFN-aSuM/s72-c/931093fwaq7msdli.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-6006654513193402081</id><published>2010-04-25T23:57:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-29T02:19:16.428-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Nature'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Hiking'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Wekiwa Springs'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Springs'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Camping'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Boyfriend'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Trails. Love. Work'/><title type='text'>Fly Away On My Zephyr...</title><content type='html'>April 25th, 2010&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jnZznOGCyY8/S9ULYx0kH1I/AAAAAAAAAD8/FK9iNTO6iLU/s1600/IMG00108-20100424-1805.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jnZznOGCyY8/S9ULYx0kH1I/AAAAAAAAAD8/FK9iNTO6iLU/s320/IMG00108-20100424-1805.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;S&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;unday! I used to dread Sundays growing up. I thought it was the most boring of days and sometimes wished it was eliminated entirely from the week because I found no use for it. Now that I'm a bit older, I actually love them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm in Orlando, and if you're paying close attention to the news, we're actually right in the middle of a thunder storm. I love storms (notice that I left out the &lt;i&gt;"thunder"&lt;/i&gt; part). I love rain. I love the sound it makes as it hits my window in the middle of the night. It makes me feel like I'm exactly where I should be: in bed writing. I have this urge to write tonight, it only seems appropriate. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My weekend started out horrible. Not to sound negative, but it actually started out bad. I ended up requesting Friday off of work in order to accomplish something that, in the end, it just seemed like time wasted. Thankfully, I had my boyfriend with me, who's extremely creative in the cheering up part. So, he did! Saturday we spent the entire day at &lt;b&gt;Wekiwa Springs&lt;/b&gt; hiking. It was the best Saturday I've had. The weather was perfect, the Sun was shinning and we were happy just to be spending some quality time together. See, my boyfriend and I are currently living in different cities and even thought they are not that far apart, it certainly feels that way sometimes due to our busy schedules. So whenever we get time to be with each other, we make the best of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After spending three hours hiking through the trails we finally ended the day taking a dip in the natural spring water. I have to admit, it was &lt;i&gt;SUPER &lt;/i&gt;cold, but well worth it. Considering my fear of water, he held on to me like a champ. We decided to go camping there this upcoming month before his schedule gets even crazier, so I'm extremely excited for what's to come. I'm sure it will be more of an adventure. But for the mean time, I will leave you. It seems that I have a much needed date with Nicholas Sparks...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until Then...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-6006654513193402081?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/6006654513193402081/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/04/fly-away-on-my-zephyr.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/6006654513193402081'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/6006654513193402081'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/04/fly-away-on-my-zephyr.html' title='Fly Away On My Zephyr...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jnZznOGCyY8/S9ULYx0kH1I/AAAAAAAAAD8/FK9iNTO6iLU/s72-c/IMG00108-20100424-1805.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-339146941861706498</id><published>2010-04-18T22:25:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-18T22:45:41.124-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Friendship'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Friends'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Women'/><title type='text'>Do What You Have To Do...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jnZznOGCyY8/S8u-_E5GXZI/AAAAAAAAADk/sRtcLV8q5ag/s1600/477090ix9m1uc8jz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jnZznOGCyY8/S8u-_E5GXZI/AAAAAAAAADk/sRtcLV8q5ag/s320/477090ix9m1uc8jz.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;April 18th, 2010 &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After living with women for what seems like forever, I'm still puzzled  by their behavior (note how I'm excluding myself from the masses, it's  on purpose). As every day passes, I try to understand why is it that  they do the things they do. I mean, REALLY...I find myself constantly  asking: is that REALLY necessary? At the end, the answer always seems to  be the same, no it is NOT. That's when I look down and realize &lt;i&gt;I'm  one of them.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, I am a woman! Don't act so shocked! But in order for you to  understand this blog, I'll need to explain a few things about myself. So  excuse me while I attempt to bore you with a summary of my life's  story...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was born about twenty six years ago in a family of five. Three of them  were men, and my mother (not the girliest girl, if you know what I  mean). I proceeded to having an amazing childhood which consisted of me  hanging out with boys. Don't get me wrong, I did have girls as a my  friends, but I really wasn't interested in what they had to say. I  always thought to myself:&amp;nbsp; "Hey, I'm a girl! I already know what girls  do, what we think about, how we feel." Because of this theory I  implemented on my brain as a child, I grew up somewhat different. In  reality, I find girls annoying. Unless they think a bit like me, then we  can get along. Other than that, girls can be ridiculous (which is  another word for "stupid", but we're not gonna go there tonight). No!  I'm not being a traitor, I'm just being realistic. I find most of the  things women do completely ridiculous. I'm sure most of you can agree  with me on this one (the ones that don't, are because you're probably  partaking in these ridiculous things).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Example of this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you live with girls, you start noticing certain things. One of  these things is the craving for unnecessary attention. If you're a girl,  you know EXACTLY what I'm talking about. You know...when you're in your  room on your laptop and all of a sudden your friend walks by your  already opened door (never leave it open) and starts dancing. Then you  start noticing she walks by more than once. Or when you are in your room  (I spend a lot of time in my room, there's a reason for this) and your  friend is watching tv alone in the living room quietly and then when you  suddenly come out of your room she starts screaming at the tv and  laughing unusually hard as if they just heard the funniest thing in the world and  they want you to know. What a coincidence that they only do this when  you are around. If that's not a desperate attempt to get attention, I  don't know what that is then. I mean...where you not paid attention to  as a child that you feel the need to do these things? &lt;b&gt;I simply just  don't get it.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I sit here trying to understand this predicament, I am baffled by  this equation that I have in my head. I say equation because it is  really hard to figure out what would drive one to engage in such  behavior. I don't really think it has anything to do with your childhood  or how you were raised, I do believe it has everything to do with  always wanting to be the center of attention. Why? I dunno. Maybe a lack  of confidence, maybe they feel threatened by other women in group  situations, maybe it's just that they like the attention and they like  to feed into it. Either way, all I can say women is &lt;b&gt;stop it&lt;/b&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until Then...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-339146941861706498?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/339146941861706498/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/04/do-what-you-have-to-do.html#comment-form' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/339146941861706498'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/339146941861706498'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/04/do-what-you-have-to-do.html' title='Do What You Have To Do...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jnZznOGCyY8/S8u-_E5GXZI/AAAAAAAAADk/sRtcLV8q5ag/s72-c/477090ix9m1uc8jz.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-2342853836808422418</id><published>2010-04-13T17:04:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-17T22:04:19.632-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='People'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Advise'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Journal'/><title type='text'>I'm A Dagger And A Shield...</title><content type='html'>April 12th, 2010&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Waiting. Have I mentioned that I hate waiting? Well, I do. I dread waiting, and I'll tell you why: people are lazy. Simple! People are lazy, and most of all useless. The time it takes two people to complete one simple task, can be done by another in less time. If you don't believe me, take a good look around you. I mean, really take a look and observe people. Most of them have no reason, common sense. Most of them are selfish, not sympathetic. Why? Because they simply don't care. They don't care about others, specially when you put your fate in their hands.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This past week has been probably one of the hardest. I spent most of it working on overdrive just to keep my head above water, but most of it, I spent waiting. Waiting for this one person to determine one very big decision that would affect my reality as it is and possibly change it to what it could be, or better said, could have been. Of course, it ended up being the latter. Sounds negative, I'm well aware of that, but at this point in time I simply just don't care. See, it's just a testament to how things have always presented themselves. Never easy, always hard. The part that I don't understand is: why?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not to sound like a victim here, I know I'm not, but sometimes I wonder why is it that the people that are the most ungrateful in life get everything they want and not what they need? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been in deep though about this for the past week or so. Observing people around me, observing myself. I feel like I can't win at times. I never get what I need, for the most part. However, the things that I do get, mean the world to me and I'm so grateful for them, but it all comes at a price. You always have to give up one thing to get something in return. This is a theory I've been working on, so bare with me while I try to get my point across. It seems to me that when you work really hard to get something that you really need, it never fails to surprise&amp;nbsp;me that something pops out of nowhere to wake me up and tell me "hey, you're not gonna get it!" This is highly frustrating...grrrr. Everything is a battle, nothing can be given and everything has to be earned. Ever wondered why this only happens to some people only? I have, and it all seems unfair. But who said life is fair? It isn't, or maybe it is…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe we're more fortunate in other ways. Maybe life unfolds in a way that is not meant to be understood. Maybe it gives us the illusion that it isn't fair when in reality everything that happens to us, in one way or another, is a reaction of a previous action done by none other than ourselves. I've been pondering this. Some people call it faith, other's call it luck, I call it karma.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess we're not meant to know the truth until we're older. I've come to find that things become clearer once they come to pass. So I'll do what I do best, I'll be patient, I'll have faith, I'll have luck and I'll keep my karma in check.&amp;nbsp;We'll see what happens, because this too shall pass…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until Then...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/04/im-dagger-and-shield.html" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;script type="text/javascript"&gt;var gaJsHost = (("https:" == document.location.protocol) ? "https://ssl." : "http://www.");document.write(unescape("%3Cscript src='" + gaJsHost + "google-analytics.com/ga.js' type='text/javascript'%3E%3C/script%3E"));&lt;/script&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;script type="text/javascript"&gt;try {var pageTracker = _gat._getTracker("UA-15307205-1");pageTracker._trackPageview();} catch(err) {}&lt;/script&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-2342853836808422418?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/2342853836808422418/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/04/im-dagger-and-shield.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/2342853836808422418'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/2342853836808422418'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/04/im-dagger-and-shield.html' title='I&apos;m A Dagger And A Shield...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-4705198781060367490</id><published>2010-03-23T16:46:00.008-04:00</published><updated>2010-03-23T17:45:29.707-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Music'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Friendship'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Friends'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Boyfriend'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Advise'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Journal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Love'/><title type='text'>I Just Woke Up From A Fuzzy Dream...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;March 23rd, 2010&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night I had an awesome goodnight sleep! To some this may seem "common", but for me, it rarely happens. I had my boyfriend over and I felt safe in his arms like I always do. There's something about him that makes me feel like I have everything I need and that the world could fall appart, and I will still be without a care in the world. I miss him already, but either way, as good as my sleep was, I had the weirdest dream. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So this is how it all went down... it all started with me and my boyfriend in this strange, yet familiar house. It seemed like a normal house. Not too big, not too small. Not a fancy kitchen, smelled like there was a cat. Just a normal house. Then, as I am standing in the kitchen having a conversation with my boyfriend, Madonna comes in. It's her house! (I KNOW!) Crazy huh? Well, the weird part is that even in my dream I asked myself, "Madonna, what are you doing in my dream?". It made no sense, seriously. Madonna? I wasn't even thinking about her or listening to her music that day. You know when you spend the whole day thinking about something and you end up dreaming about it at night? Well, I have no idea why the heck I would dream about that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I was standing in the kitchen, I remember just talking about the fact that she was there and this was her house, but she didn't seem to notice us. Like we were invisible. I woke up thinking about that. Weird dream! Uffff…So I thought to myself, "weird dream, weird day". It hasn't been weird for the most part. I woke up early because my boyfriend had to leave early to go back home. As he left, I told myself that this time I wouldn't be left with that feeling that I get whenever he leaves or I leave. I still felt it, and it sucks equally as much every time it happens, but I guess that's what happens when you love someone and inevitably miss them just as much. Yes! I will talk about this today after nine months of being together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We met almost a year ago. It was at this venue that I love to go see local bands at. All I could remember is that we didn't talk, he just stared, and for some reason, I didn't find it weird. I found it mysterious. I go a lot by first impressions, but not in a judgmental way. I just think that you can observe a lot about a person in the first fifteen minutes of being around each other, and I just thought he was shy. I was right, well kinda...Two months went by and I had actually forgotten about that night, until we saw each other again. I have to admit, it was the eyes…Ohhh those eyes! It's like he stares into my soul. As the night went on, we talked about absolutely everything we could possibly talk about, and after that first kiss, I knew I wanted to hold on to him. I felt like I had something special. I mean, any guy that talks to me for more than six hours and doesn't fall asleep, is a keeper. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, nine months later, after meeting his parents, surviving him being on tour, long hours talking on the phone, being apart for weeks and all of the ups and downs, I can say that I still feel like that first day that he laid eyes on me and I laid eyes on him. I still feel like that girl in love. More than anything, I feel like it has gotten deeper, stronger. Not only that, but it has actually made me stronger. Being away from someone you love so much can be hard, lonely, but he's never failed me. He's never neglected me, and not a day goes by that I don't feel closer to him. Yes, I do get this weird feeling when he leaves, but I know that he's there somehow with me, never away. I will admit that I am in love, and for the first time, it feels real!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until Then...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I take that back. I am having a weird day…but it's the good kind of weird!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-4705198781060367490?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/4705198781060367490/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/03/i-just-woke-up-from-fuzzy-dream.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/4705198781060367490'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/4705198781060367490'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/03/i-just-woke-up-from-fuzzy-dream.html' title='I Just Woke Up From A Fuzzy Dream...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-2308443588657988337</id><published>2010-03-17T00:38:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2010-05-05T11:55:06.292-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Music'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Friendship'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Friends'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Advise'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Journal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Love'/><title type='text'>'Cause You Can't Jump the Track, We're Like Cars On A Cable...</title><content type='html'>&lt;script type="text/javascript"&gt;var gaJsHost = (("https:" == document.location.protocol) ? "https://ssl." : "http://www.");document.write(unescape("%3Cscript src='" + gaJsHost + "google-analytics.com/ga.js' type='text/javascript'%3E%3C/script%3E"));&lt;/script&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;script type="text/javascript"&gt;try {var pageTracker = _gat._getTracker("UA-15307205-1");pageTracker._trackPageview();} catch(err) {}&lt;/script&gt; &lt;br /&gt;March 17th, 2010&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's this noise in the back of my bedroom wall that's killing my brain cells one by one just about now,&amp;nbsp; so I decided to put them to good use before they get destroyed. Truth is, that noise come and goes. Some days it's there, others it disappears, but it always seems to come back at the most inconvenient of moments. Anywho...I haven't written in a while, at least not here, but that's always the case with me, I'm not a very consistent person. At least I've always prided myself in that. Now, as I am a bit older, it doesn't really sound like something I should be proud of.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, I've been thinking about that. I know I'm kind of a "flake", or "free spirit" or whatever you wanna call it, that I never stick to one thing. I know, well, it's been eating my brain to tell you the truth and I'm sick and tired of it. Now, I'll call myself a "wanderer". I'm just floating through life, from one end to the other, without a care and living in the now. Ok, I'm getting tired just talking about this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So it's about 12:30 a.m. which means my bed time is fast approaching and my head starts running wild. I'm feeling quite well these days. I spent the first two months of 2010 very ill with bronchitis. I felt so crappy that I was afraid of falling asleep and thinking my asthma would stab me in the back. Thankfully, I am much better now. I did notice how being sick can really affect your mood. Mine was a disaster. It felt like I was PMS'ing (Is that even a word?) for two months. My poor boyfriend must have thought I had either gone clinically insane or paranoid, but he stuck with me through it all. A true pro! That's the update.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Other than trying a new restaurant for brunch, talking with new people and having a sip of Guiness (which is awful by the way), not much has happened. I guess now I'm just getting back on track with my life, enjoying the new weather and my boyfriend who makes me smile on a daily basis.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until Then!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-2308443588657988337?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/2308443588657988337/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/03/cause-you-cant-jump-track-were-like.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/2308443588657988337'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/2308443588657988337'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/03/cause-you-cant-jump-track-were-like.html' title='&apos;Cause You Can&apos;t Jump the Track, We&apos;re Like Cars On A Cable...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-314506920426767629</id><published>2010-02-10T12:30:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-18T23:27:30.620-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Music'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Friendship'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Friends'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Advise'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Journal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Love'/><title type='text'>Out Of My Head...</title><content type='html'>&lt;script type="text/javascript"&gt;var gaJsHost = (("https:" == document.location.protocol) ? "https://ssl." : "http://www.");document.write(unescape("%3Cscript src='" + gaJsHost + "google-analytics.com/ga.js' type='text/javascript'%3E%3C/script%3E"));&lt;/script&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;script type="text/javascript"&gt;try {var pageTracker = _gat._getTracker("UA-15307205-1");pageTracker._trackPageview();} catch(err) {}&lt;/script&gt; &lt;br /&gt;February 10th, 2010&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ahhhhh...hmmmm...what a week! Been out of the loop for a bit. I've been feeling strange for the past couple of days. Strange with work, my friends, everything around me is being questioned as things start to get better on their own. I've been patient for a long time for things to come around. Now, it's looking like they will happen. I will not question them, especially since I've worked hard for them. So now, all that's left is a bit more patience, a bit more time, and everything will fall into place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until Then...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-314506920426767629?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/314506920426767629/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/02/out-of-my-head.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/314506920426767629'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/314506920426767629'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/02/out-of-my-head.html' title='Out Of My Head...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-6623279705757113721</id><published>2010-02-03T12:42:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-18T23:27:30.621-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Music'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Friendship'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Friends'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Advise'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Journal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Love'/><title type='text'>It's Been A Long Time Since 22...</title><content type='html'>&lt;script type="text/javascript"&gt;var gaJsHost = (("https:" == document.location.protocol) ? "https://ssl." : "http://www.");document.write(unescape("%3Cscript src='" + gaJsHost + "google-analytics.com/ga.js' type='text/javascript'%3E%3C/script%3E"));&lt;/script&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;script type="text/javascript"&gt;try {var pageTracker = _gat._getTracker("UA-15307205-1");pageTracker._trackPageview();} catch(err) {}&lt;/script&gt; &lt;br /&gt;February 3rd, 2010&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How is it possible that time has gone by so fast? Where did it go? I am trying to understand why is it that things no longer feel the same to me. Could it be that I'm getting older? Or is it just that my interests have changed? Regardless of what it may be, I can't help but feel, dare I say, older.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So Saturday night was one of those nights to remember. I was at the House Of Blues at this local show that some of my favorite Florida bands where playing at. Great venue full of people, my friends sitting at the bar, my boyfriend next to me and awesome music. I felt right at home and was ready to enjoy the company. As the night went on, I started feeling like I couldn't survive it. I kinda just wanted to be in bed with my boyfriend by then, but I know I had a couple of hours to go. That's when it hit me: I'm not a kid anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I seem to recall a time when I could wear a short skirt and a skimpy tank top and get away with it without looking ridiculous. A time when I could go to school all day, work in the afternoon, go out at night and do it all over again the next day. A time when I really wanted to be out there, at every party, gathering, concert, club, etc. Now, the reality is far from all of this. Now, it feels different. It feels like the things that once made complete and utter sense, no longer do. Now, I don't have an excuse to act stupid and irresponsibly all the time because I actually know better. Now, I am an adult. And damn, that feels different! But who says I can't still wear a short skirt?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until Then...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-6623279705757113721?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/6623279705757113721/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/02/its-been-long-time-since-22.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/6623279705757113721'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/6623279705757113721'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/02/its-been-long-time-since-22.html' title='It&apos;s Been A Long Time Since 22...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-6860792111908385555</id><published>2010-01-20T23:55:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-18T23:27:30.621-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Music'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Friendship'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Friends'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Advise'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Journal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Love'/><title type='text'>Another One Bites the Dust...</title><content type='html'>&lt;script type="text/javascript"&gt;var gaJsHost = (("https:" == document.location.protocol) ? "https://ssl." : "http://www.");document.write(unescape("%3Cscript src='" + gaJsHost + "google-analytics.com/ga.js' type='text/javascript'%3E%3C/script%3E"));&lt;/script&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;script type="text/javascript"&gt;try {var pageTracker = _gat._getTracker("UA-15307205-1");pageTracker._trackPageview();} catch(err) {}&lt;/script&gt; &lt;br /&gt;January 20th, 2010&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What a day! I feel mentally burned out, I mean...wewwww!!! It really did a number of me, so much&amp;nbsp; that I'm eating a bar of Hershey's Cookies &amp;amp; Cream. Yeah, I know! My day was consumed with drama, which I hate more than frogs...Ok, actually, I take that back, leave the drama. Anyway, my day consisted of an argument that was never intended, lots of extra work, and an evening with some beers (just to end the night on a good note). I guess tomorrow will bring far more greater adventures than today. Since today I had a meltdown.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, I know what you're going to say: "didn't you promise yourself yesterday you wouldn't worry about the future?" Well yes, I did. But then again today brought so many questions to my head that I've been thinking more and more about. Things like: my living situation, my career, my relationships, my family. It's hard not to wonder about what will happen, but in the mean time, I will just sit in silence, listen to music and relax for the rest of the night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until Then...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jnZznOGCyY8/S1feTdHtdsI/AAAAAAAAACY/0LZglKPEtnY/s1600-h/4192656528_f50e0b5feb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jnZznOGCyY8/S1feTdHtdsI/AAAAAAAAACY/0LZglKPEtnY/s320/4192656528_f50e0b5feb.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-6860792111908385555?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/6860792111908385555/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/01/another-one-bites-dust.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/6860792111908385555'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/6860792111908385555'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/01/another-one-bites-dust.html' title='Another One Bites the Dust...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jnZznOGCyY8/S1feTdHtdsI/AAAAAAAAACY/0LZglKPEtnY/s72-c/4192656528_f50e0b5feb.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-1176341853402605778</id><published>2010-01-19T13:42:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-18T23:27:30.622-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Music'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Friendship'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Friends'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Advise'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Journal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Love'/><title type='text'>Just One Of Them Days...</title><content type='html'>&lt;script type="text/javascript"&gt;var gaJsHost = (("https:" == document.location.protocol) ? "https://ssl." : "http://www.");document.write(unescape("%3Cscript src='" + gaJsHost + "google-analytics.com/ga.js' type='text/javascript'%3E%3C/script%3E"));&lt;/script&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;script type="text/javascript"&gt;try {var pageTracker = _gat._getTracker("UA-15307205-1");pageTracker._trackPageview();} catch(err) {}&lt;/script&gt; &lt;br /&gt;January 19th, 2010&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What can I say about yesterday? Hmmm...well for the most part, I spent most of it crying and complaining about things that have been clouding my brain for the past couple of months. Things like: what do I want to work for, where do I want to go. It's been a lot of thinking, I must say, and I'm quite tired of it. So today, I decided to continue reading this awesome book my boyfriend let me borrow. It's called "The Power Of Now" and boy is it awesome. I mean, I felt like an idiot after I was five pages into the second part of it. I realized how much time I waste just thinking about things, sorry, let me rephrase that, stupid shit!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Most of our waking ours are spent doing just this, thinking. Thinking about the past and what could have been. Thinking about the future and what could be, but this is only an illusion. The past and the future are both just an illusion. We dwell on things that happened and we try to imagine what could happen and sometimes we make ourselves miserable with these thoughts. We instill unhappiness onto ourselves, and blame it on other outside forces or things and even people, when in reality, WE are the ones making ourselves unhappy. Especially us women.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One thing in the book that made me open my eyes and realize how ridiculous women are sometimes was the mention of our menstrual cycle. I mean, we get crazy the days before, we really do, but it's not our fault, it's hormones. When I read that statement I suddenly realized I'm one of those women. So, starting today, I will start living on the present and I will promise myself to try hard to not deviate my thoughts from that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until Then...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-1176341853402605778?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/1176341853402605778/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/01/just-one-of-them-days.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/1176341853402605778'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/1176341853402605778'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/01/just-one-of-them-days.html' title='Just One Of Them Days...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-4456101346919862980</id><published>2010-01-18T13:36:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-18T23:27:30.622-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Music'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Friendship'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Friends'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Advise'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Journal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Love'/><title type='text'>Right Round...</title><content type='html'>&lt;script type="text/javascript"&gt;var gaJsHost = (("https:" == document.location.protocol) ? "https://ssl." : "http://www.");document.write(unescape("%3Cscript src='" + gaJsHost + "google-analytics.com/ga.js' type='text/javascript'%3E%3C/script%3E"));&lt;/script&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;script type="text/javascript"&gt;try {var pageTracker = _gat._getTracker("UA-15307205-1");pageTracker._trackPageview();} catch(err) {}&lt;/script&gt; &lt;br /&gt;January 18th, 2010&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I sit here at home awaiting the time that I have to detach myself from my computer in order to get ready for work, I am puzzled by how much I dread routine. Lately, it seems, my life has gotten quite comfortable. I wake up around 10:30 am, make myself a cup of coffee, turn on my computer, then I start doing things around the house as I listen to the news, then I eat, take a shower, get ready for work, go to work, come back home, have dinner, take a shower, watch tv, get on my computer, talk on the phone, then go to bed. There you have it! A summary of how boring my life is getting to be. The reality is that I'm not cut out for this. I've never been one to do the same thing every day. I hate the corporate world because of how routinary it makes my life, since I spend most of my day at work anyway. So today I decided to write instead, in hopes that I stray from this routine and breathe a little before going to work. We'll see how the day turns out, but I'm hopeful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until Then...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-4456101346919862980?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/4456101346919862980/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/01/right-round.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/4456101346919862980'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/4456101346919862980'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/01/right-round.html' title='Right Round...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-3975391457395001782</id><published>2010-01-18T00:19:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-18T23:27:30.622-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Music'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Friendship'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Friends'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Advise'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Journal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Love'/><title type='text'>Transistor...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="color: #666666;"&gt;&lt;script type="text/javascript"&gt;var gaJsHost = (("https:" == document.location.protocol) ? "https://ssl." : "http://www.");document.write(unescape("%3Cscript src='" + gaJsHost + "google-analytics.com/ga.js' type='text/javascript'%3E%3C/script%3E"));&lt;/script&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;script type="text/javascript"&gt;try {var pageTracker = _gat._getTracker("UA-15307205-1");pageTracker._trackPageview();} catch(err) {}&lt;/script&gt; &lt;br /&gt;January 18th, 2010&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #666666;"&gt;So, it's a new year (Thank God), and I'm feeling more optimistic than ever before. Considering the fact that I've been sick for the past two weeks, I think today I'm feeling much better, so I decided to open up my blog with a different source, one that is, dare I say, easy to use. So we'll see how this one goes. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #666666;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="color: #666666;"&gt;Until Then...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jnZznOGCyY8/S1PusZ4lTdI/AAAAAAAAAB4/YQ2OtxOqpIo/s1600-h/1413224061_0bf723b312.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jnZznOGCyY8/S1PusZ4lTdI/AAAAAAAAAB4/YQ2OtxOqpIo/s320/1413224061_0bf723b312.jpg" /&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/6995557247419469621-3975391457395001782?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/3975391457395001782/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/01/transistor.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/3975391457395001782'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/3975391457395001782'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/01/transistor.html' title='Transistor...'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jnZznOGCyY8/S1PusZ4lTdI/AAAAAAAAAB4/YQ2OtxOqpIo/s72-c/1413224061_0bf723b312.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-1992685098299650224</id><published>2010-01-17T22:41:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-18T23:27:30.623-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Music'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Friendship'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Friends'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Advise'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Journal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Love'/><title type='text'>I Had To Make A Choice That Was Not Mine…</title><content type='html'>&lt;script type="text/javascript"&gt;var gaJsHost = (("https:" == document.location.protocol) ? "https://ssl." : "http://www.");document.write(unescape("%3Cscript src='" + gaJsHost + "google-analytics.com/ga.js' type='text/javascript'%3E%3C/script%3E"));&lt;/script&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;script type="text/javascript"&gt;try {var pageTracker = _gat._getTracker("UA-15307205-1");pageTracker._trackPageview();} catch(err) {}&lt;/script&gt; &lt;br /&gt;August 21st, 2009&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="snap_preview"&gt;So&amp;nbsp;letting go is supposed to be as easy as I was once told by this very specific person. Truth is it really isn’t. It’s a long hard process that can make one drink more wine than a normal person should consume. But for me, it seemed fairly easy, with time! Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for others.&lt;br /&gt;It seems to me that whenever I am close to feeling like I have been put on that shelf, slowly letting go of those ties and breaking away, they always have to find a way to swoop in and try to tie that knot even more, as if I wouldn’t notice… The weird appearances with close approximation to the place where I reside, the ‘all of a sudden’ friendship that was there, but never really was taken care of, the way these things are becoming less sporadic…Yes, I really do notice. Yes, I am well aware of the intention. Yes, I really understand why… It’s kind of sad. Not that I should ever feel sorry for anyone in particular, but I can’t help but feel this way being that I’ve been riding on that roller coster for the past two years and it’s so funny how it all of a sudden shifted gears. I am particularly curious.&lt;br /&gt;Curiosity has always found a way to play with the way I see things. It’s were it all starts for me. I wonder, I study, I learn and hopefully, at the end of it all, I understand. I really am trying to this time. I really need some help here. I mean, really! Help me understand why, because, I would really like to sympathize. Sympathize with the situation, the feeling, the thoughts, the fear, the trying to let go, the letting go,&amp;nbsp; the cord breaking lose, the trying to hold on to that last bit of thread, but being forced to just let it break….See, I don’t need to understand, I don’t need to feel sorry, I don’t need to sympathize because fact of the matter is that I already sympathize, I sympathize because I understand, for a long time I’ve been understanding the situation, the feeling, the thoughts, the fear, the trying to let go, the letting go, the cord breaking lose, the trying to hold on to that last bit of thread, but being forced&amp;nbsp; to just let it break. It’s understood. So, you see, it is a lot harder when it’s real for you now, but for me, it has been real for a really long time. Advise? I’ll humor you!&lt;br /&gt;Hmmm, let’s see. It gets easy. Time heals all wounds. You’ll forget this with time.&amp;nbsp; You’re better than this. You deserve more. You’ll be better off without. The list goes on and on. Advise seems so pathetic when you are on the receiving end of it. It seems meaningless, impotent, with no value, but see, who better than me to say these things! I do know more than anyone should about this topic since it was imposed on me without me asking for it, the experience, the feeling. It feels like everything’s falling around you and you are just left floating in the air, without really hitting the floor, as if you were hanging by a thread that’s about to break. You’re left wondering what would happen if you actually fell.&lt;br /&gt;Well….it did break, I did fall, I did put myself back together and I did pick myself up. And now, as I’m watching the other half of it break the only thing I can say is: be careful with that thread, because when it snaps, the other half hits you even harder, but like I said, I understand!&lt;br /&gt;Until Then…&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-1992685098299650224?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/1992685098299650224/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/01/i-had-to-make-choice-that-was-not-mine.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/1992685098299650224'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/1992685098299650224'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/01/i-had-to-make-choice-that-was-not-mine.html' title='I Had To Make A Choice That Was Not Mine…'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-4849489681447202700</id><published>2010-01-17T22:41:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-18T23:27:30.623-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Music'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Friendship'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Friends'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Advise'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Journal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Love'/><title type='text'>I Had The World In My Hands, And I Let Go Of It…</title><content type='html'>June 30th, 2009&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="snap_preview"&gt;My head has been spinning out of control today. I’m sitting here wondering the person that I’ve become in the past year. I feel like I finally recognize myself in a way that I haven’t before. What can I say? I am overwhelmed by everything right now. I feel like I found something that had been lost for so long. I have everything and yet I feel like I have nothing. It may seem as selfish, the fact that I want more than this. I wish it’s what I deserve, or at least I hope it will be, but as I let my life transpire, I feel I’m losing the last bit of thread I was left holding.&lt;br /&gt;Story goes as always, I’m in the mood to make a point, and don’t worry, I may hesitate, but I will get around to making it. I just happen to be returning from a two week vacation. I went back home, which according to Thomas Wolfe it’s not possible, but I did, and surprisingly enough, it was the best of times. I felt comfortable, content, satisfied, but most importantly, I was finally able to let go of every single thought, anxiety, discomfort and hurt that has been haunting me and clouding my mind for the past year. I can’t help but feel like I can breathe, for now at least.&lt;br /&gt;As I sit here pondering what exactly shifted while I was back home, I can’t help but think about all of the things I have lost, missed, given up. This thought makes me feel a little perplexed. It’s as if I was blinded by my own anxieties, which now, I have to admit, seem petty. Funny, isn’t it? Whenever something life altering happens in your life, everyone seems to advise you with the same misguided, but ‘oh so true’ one liner: “Time heals all wounds”. A year later I come to find out it’s actually true. Truth is I wish I had believed it from the beginning. It would have saved me from sleepless nights, tormenting thoughts, bottles of wine, packs of cigarettes, misguided encounters. I could go on, but I don’t want to make myself look bad. At least I didn’t lose any opportunity to grow.&lt;br /&gt;To say the least, I am feeling a little adventurous. I feel like whatever was broken inside me healed itself magically. I got myself back, and now, I’m just enjoying getting to know me more. It’s as sad as the truth.&lt;br /&gt;Until then…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-4849489681447202700?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/4849489681447202700/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/01/i-had-world-in-my-hands-and-i-let-go-of.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/4849489681447202700'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/4849489681447202700'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/01/i-had-world-in-my-hands-and-i-let-go-of.html' title='I Had The World In My Hands, And I Let Go Of It…'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-7187233537697830292</id><published>2010-01-17T22:40:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-18T23:27:30.624-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Music'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Friendship'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Friends'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Advise'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Journal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Love'/><title type='text'>Anytime I feel Like I’m too far Than I Will Try To Remember All Ours…</title><content type='html'>December 8th, 2008&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"&gt;So I guess by the laws that bound’s us, it has been previously established that we are doomed from the moment we’re conceived. I mean, think about it; we live to die.&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;But how are we to know exactly how doomed we are? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"&gt;It’s Sunday, and I just got home from what seems to be like the longest day ever. Listening to music, candle lit, Christmas tree on, tea, and my roommate studying. I’ve been at a friend’s birthday all day today and as my own birthday approaches fast, I can’t help but feel old. And as I sit here I think, I’m really lonely and, the worst part is that I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this before.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"&gt;How to deal? I don’t know… See, for the most part, I’ve always been very optimistic about the upcoming future, but when the future that you expected isn’t what you thought it would be; where does that leave me? Stuck in between my past and my future, that’s where! What better way to explain it that this. Problem is I pictured it so different.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"&gt;If someone asked me to paint my life the way it should be, it would be nothing like it is now. Truth is I really don’t know what it would look like, the picture. I thought I envisioned myself in such a different path, somewhere different, surrounded by exactly the right person. The reality is far crueler being that I have neither. I’m still in this place, stuck, and I really don’t know how to leave it behind, say goodbye for good. It’s not just the place, is the person. How do you leave when you don’t know where you belong? I’ve always felt I don’t really belong anywhere that I go, that’s the main reason I end up leaving. I don’t have a home. Or at least nothing feels like home anymore. Not my house back “home”, not my apartment here. Nothing’s felt like home for a really long time. The worst part is that the only place I felt like home is no longer there and even worst is that it wasn’t an actual location, but a person.&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;This one person that made me feel like I did belong, I belonged with him. But that’s no longer the case and now I feel lost. I feel like that pictured I had invested so much time painting was suddenly erased. &lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;And almost a year later, I still don’t really know why. I wish I did. I really hate thinking about it, but when there’s never been closure, that chapter of the book is left open, unwritten, and unfortunately I don’t have the patience to leave it that way, but then again, that’s the unfair part. The “you know but I don’t”. Sucks, doesn’t it. But I try.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"&gt;I try to wake up every day pretending that that feeling’s gone, that it’s no longer there, and that smile…oh that great smile and pretend that everyone expects from me. Because God forbid I act like I actually feel, no, I should be over this. But that’s not how it works. But I sat there, next to that place, wine in one hand, blunt in the other, him next to me. I felt home. I felt like I belonged again. I wished I could’ve stayed right there and forever with him…now that would actually be fair. Wouldn’t it? Because that would actually involve him loving me, and that’s not the case. It’s always the familiarity, the comfort. I really don’t know. But I really wish I did.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"&gt;Either way nothing’s certain. I guess that’s the part I love and hate in equal measure about life. I just things were different. I wish I had the power to change things that I’m not supposed to. I wish I knew the truth. I wish I wouldn’t be here. I wish I had a home. I wish I could still shower and have it be as interesting as it once was. I wish I could go to bed with the light off and feel safe. I wish I were making breakfast to someone other than myself. I wish watching a movie on my couch felt comforting and fun. I wish I knew. I wish I were somewhere else with him, alone. I wish things were different. I wish he were here.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"&gt;Until Then…&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-7187233537697830292?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/7187233537697830292/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/01/anytime-i-feel-like-im-too-far-than-i.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/7187233537697830292'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/7187233537697830292'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/01/anytime-i-feel-like-im-too-far-than-i.html' title='Anytime I feel Like I’m too far Than I Will Try To Remember All Ours…'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-6323034764798660824</id><published>2010-01-17T22:39:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-18T23:27:30.624-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Music'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Friendship'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Friends'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Advise'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Journal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Love'/><title type='text'>It’s Not That We’re Scared, It’s Just That It’s Delicate…</title><content type='html'>December 7th, 2008&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.25pt; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;So this is how it its. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;By now you should have somehow realized&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt; its all about music. It’s what moves everything, makes everything better, or worse. You never realize it until you find yourself caught in this world of “meeting” or how I like to call it, “disappointment”. Truth is it’s a huge disappointment because in the beginning it’s just like a new car, its shinny and “new”, but it eventually gets old. But either way, when you find yourself part of this disappointment, you realize what really matters and, that to me, it’s music. I mean, think about it… You meet someone, all is well, and then you find yourself sitting in his car listening to this crap, and you think: “Could I live with this?” In theory, it sounds great, but when reality comes and you’re making breakfast on a Saturday morning and you find your significant other listening to Hip Hop at 10:00 am in the morning…you wouldn’t want to go that route, at least not me, a hard, progressive rock lover. So please, if&amp;nbsp; for&amp;nbsp;some reason you find yourself caught in this situation, I would recommend turning around and sticking to your roots before this other person starts singing country tunes coming out of a juke box. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.25pt; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;I guess it is what it is, but I love music, I mean I really do. I listen to it at all times. When I wake up, before I go to bed, when I cook, clean, take a shower, in the car, at work, when I paint, when I write (see, right now I’m listening to Andy McKee “Art of Motion”). It doesn’t go away. Imagine someone being part of that, of my music. It’s amazing to have that and, yes, you do find it, you just never realize how hard it is to find until is no longer with you. Someone to share one of your biggest passions with you. Imagine, you could do anything with this person, and know exactly how it feels to be undestood. Finally, something we can all agree on. There’s always something, that one song that sticks.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.25pt; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;Remember that time, that night, that precise moment of goodbye… It’s all a soundtrack if you think about it. Your lives are defined by not only moments, but by the music that was playing behind that specific moment. I can remember all of them. Especially the ones I’ve been listening to for the past three years; the tunes to my happiness. It’s really bittersweet. They go from moment to moment, bouncing back and forth between clouds of memories of what never was, but hope will be. Because that’s one thing that I’ve never lost…and it’s cold.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.25pt; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;It’s cold and dark and almost one thirty in the morning ad I’m still listening to music, only this time it’s “Delicate” by Damien Rice. Because, it’s like I said it’s not only the moment, but the music that was playing behind that specific moment.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.25pt; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;“we might kiss&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;when we are alone&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;when nobody’s watchin’&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;we might take it home&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;we might make out&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;when nobody’s there&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;it’s not that we’re scared&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;it’s just that it’s delicate&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;so why d’ya fill my sorrow&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;with the words you’ve borrowed&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;from the only place you’ve known&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;why d’ya sing hallelujah&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;if it means nothin’ to ya&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;why d’ya sing with me at all?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;we might live&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;like never before&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;when there’s nothin’ to give&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;how can we ask for more?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;we might make love&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;in some sacred place&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;that look on your face&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;is delicate&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;so why d’ya fill my sorrow&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;with the words you’ve borrowed&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;from the only place you’ve known&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;why d’ya sing hallelujah&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;if it means nothin’ to ya&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;why d’ya sing with me at all?”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.25pt; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;My life as a song…&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;Until then…&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/6995557247419469621-6323034764798660824?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/6323034764798660824/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/01/its-not-that-were-scared-its-just-that.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/6323034764798660824'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/6323034764798660824'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/01/its-not-that-were-scared-its-just-that.html' title='It’s Not That We’re Scared, It’s Just That It’s Delicate…'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-9148055280389310488</id><published>2010-01-17T22:38:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-18T23:27:30.625-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Music'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Friendship'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Friends'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Advise'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Journal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Love'/><title type='text'>Autobiografía Desde Una Perspectiva Filosófica…</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.25pt; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;Fecha: 01 de diciembre de 2004.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.25pt; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;Asignatura: Proyecto final de la clase de Filosofía, got a 100%.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.25pt; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;Autobiografía Desde Una Perspectiva Filosófica.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.25pt; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;Nací un 11 de diciembre, sagitariana. Lo que brevemente significa que eventualmente me convertiría en una persona libre, independiente, abierta de mente, pensante, creadora de mis propias ideas, que añora la soledad y vive cada día como si fuese el último. O por lo menos eso fue lo que mi mamá leyo al verme nacida bajo ese signo. Veite años después, se dio cuenta que iba a ser así.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.25pt; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;Fuí bautizada bajo la religión Católica Romana Apostólica. En aquel momento si hubise tenido la libertad de&amp;nbsp; hacerlo, probablemente hubiese dicho que no, ya que desde pequeña he tenido la habilidad para protestar todo hasta entenderlo por completo. En ese momento, no entendía, pero aún así, crecí en un hogar donde lo valores, la moral y la dignidad humana, era sumamente importante.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.25pt; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;De mis años como infante no vive ni un sólo recuerdo que pudiese convertir en una historia, pero sí puedo cerrar mis ojos y verme pequeña, frente al árbol de navidad, parpadeando al igual que las luces que lo adornaban. También a toda mi familia junta, y yo, observando o provocando. A veces algún olor me lleva a algún recuerdo que inmediatamente no poedo asimilar, pero sé que es parte de mi historia.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.25pt; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;Me criaron en un hogar completamente “unido”, un poco fuera de lo común, pero unido. Mi padre, amante a la música y la lectura, introvertido, chistoso, explorador y abierto de mente. Mi madre, amante a la decoración, extrovertida, poco sentido de humor, no aventurera y cerrada de mente. A veces me pregunto que vieron uno en el otro para enamorarse. Yo salí a mi papá. Ambos compartimos nuestro amor por la música, el arte y la lectura. Es la persona que más admiro en este mundo. Sabiéndo como soy, él me dio la potestad para escoger mis creencias y aprender de la vida de la manera correcta, cayéndome y aprendiendo a levantarme nuevamente. Me enseñó que cuando uno se cae, y está en lo más profundo de ese hoyo, es cuando verdaderamente maduramos y realizamos quiénes somos realmente. Aprendí ésto muy pequeña.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.25pt; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;A los cuatro años fuí ingresada&amp;nbsp;en la Academia San Agustín y Espíritu Santo de Sabana Grande. Estuve allí hasta que me gradué de sexto grado en el 1995, fueron los mejores años de mi vida. Ahí desde pequeña participaba en todo: obras de teatro, “talent shows”, oratorias, “spelling bees”, veladas de navidad, en fin, no hubo ni una sola actividad en la cual yo no participase. Me encantaba el arte desde pequeña y solía dibujar y pintar mucho. Me atraían las pinturas de Picasso, Van Gogh, Da Vincci. Eran los colores y la historia secreta trás cada una. También mi atracción por la lectura fue creciendo de libros de cuento a novelas y libros con un poco más de escencia. El primer libro que me leí, me acuerdo como hoy, fue “El Profeta” de Kahlil Gibran y, hasta el día de hoy, lo considero “Mi Biblia”. Me enseñó a ver todo de una manera diferente, a respetar a las personas y sus creencias, que por más locas o absurdas que fuesen, seguirían siendo sus creencias y las creencias de una persona son una parte sumamente personal.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.25pt; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;Cuando me gradué de sexto me movieron a un colegio llamado Colegio San José en San Germán. Es un colegio sumamente estricto y sumamente católico. Desde un principio, no encajé. Se me hizo difícil aceptar tal cambio&amp;nbsp; y justamente cuando comenzaba a acostumbrarme, mis padres me dieron la noticia de que nos mudaríamos a los Estados Unidos por un año. Pensé que sería lo peor que me pudiera pasar, pero luego, la vida me enseñó lo contrario.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.25pt; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;El 6 de septiembre de 1996 mis padres, dos hermanos, mi perro y yo, empacamos nuestras maletas y fuimos rumbo a Corvallis, Oregon, mi hogar por el próximo año. Tan pronto pisé tierra, me sentí como dentro de una película de cine. Todo era diferente a Puerto Rico. Anteriormente, había ido una vez de visita, pero esta vez, fue diferente. Fue uno de los mejores años que he pasado. Todo me parecía nuevo, fue como volver a nacer y justo cuando me estaba acostumbrando el tiempo se acabó y regresé a Puerto Rico, dejando atrás todo lo que viví en ese tiempo y espacio determinado.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.25pt; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;Volví a ingresar al colegio en donde estudiaba previamente y me tocó la sorpresa de tener que volver a acostumbrarme a todo nuevamente. Todos ya habían cambiado, y yo me sentía igual, con un poco más de sabor acerca del mundo y la gente, pero igual. Al pasar de los años de escuela superior, realizé que ya no era la misma. Discutía con los profesores por diferencias de opinión. Nunca me ha gustado que me impongan nada ya que soy libre de pensar las cosas a mi propia manera y entender. También ingresé a la Escuela Libre de Música. Luego me tocó vivir la experiencia más horrorosa, perder a una de las personas más importantes de mi vida y a mi mejor amigo. De la manera más injusta y en un suspirar, se fue a nueve días de mi quinceañero, y yo, me fuí de este mundo y no regresé hasta después de seis meses.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.25pt; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;Crecí, pensé, sobreanalizé y me ví obligada a tener que entender el por qué de todo ésto. Le eché la culpa a todos cuando al final ningunos la tenían. Aprendí que si la vida se acaba es por que tiene que pasar. Que las cosas pasan por una razón y que no existen las coincidencias ni los accidentes. Que no se acaba aquí por que, aunque nuestro cuerpo ya no dé vida, nuestra alma sí lo hace. Y maduré mucho antes de lo debido y aprendí antes de tiempo algo, que por la desición de alguien, me tocó aprender.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.25pt; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;Me gradué de la escuela superior llevándome a mis amistades más cercanas e ingresé a la Pontificia Universidad Católica de Ponce y luego me cambié a el recinto de Mayagüéz. Estudio mercadeo con fines de irme a otro país a estudiar diseño de modas. Soy ambisiosa, tengo una meta por cumplir. Me encanta el arte y todo lo que sea la creación junto a la imaginación. Todavía dibujo y pinto.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;En fin, que más puedo decir de mi vida filosóficamente. Te puedo decir que para los pocos años que he vivido, le doy gracias a Dios por haberme permitido aprender de la manera debida, viviéndo cada momento como si fuese el último y apreciando y no pasando por alto todo lo que me rodea. Aprendí a no arrepentirme de nada ya que uno aprende de sus errores y gracias a esos errores, yo soy quien soy y (créeme que) no me arrepiento de eso. Aprendí que uno debe aceptar y respetar a las personas por quienes son verdaderamente. Aprendí a tener una mente abierta para poder estudiar y absorber todo lo que me rodea. Aprendí que las religiones no existen, pero las creencias, la fé, los valores, la moral, el respeto, la confianza, el amor, la amistad, la vida, la muerte, las almas, los espíritus, lo negativo, lo positivo, lo bueno, lo malo, las leyes y la libertad, sí exixten. Aprendí que encontrar una persona que te acepte por quien tú eres, es una ocurrencia rara y, de encontrar a esa perosna, nunca dejarla(o) ir, por que esa persona podría terminar convirtiéndose en tu mejor amigo(a). En fin, aunque piense que la vida me ha llevado por caminos que me han hecho pensar que he madurado, aún no he aprendido nada.&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/6995557247419469621-9148055280389310488?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/9148055280389310488/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/01/autobiografia-desde-una-perspectiva.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/9148055280389310488'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/9148055280389310488'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/01/autobiografia-desde-una-perspectiva.html' title='Autobiografía Desde Una Perspectiva Filosófica…'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-2505311416687201491</id><published>2010-01-17T22:37:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-18T23:27:30.625-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Music'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Friendship'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Friends'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Advise'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Journal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Love'/><title type='text'>Beyond The Ties That Bind…</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="-moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous; -moz-background-origin: padding; background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; line-height: 14.25pt; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-family: &amp;quot;&amp;quot;; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;October 18th, 2008&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="-moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous; -moz-background-origin: padding; background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; line-height: 14.25pt; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-family: &amp;quot;&amp;quot;; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;I’ve been feeling uneasy lately…&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="-moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous; -moz-background-origin: padding; background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; line-height: 14.25pt; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-family: &amp;quot;&amp;quot;; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;Thinking back on how life used to be exactly one year ago, I still can’t believe it. You start wondering; how the hell did we get here? See, I’m usually the type of person who deals well with change, however it may come, but for some reason it doesn’t have the same effect on me this time. I find myself thinking and wondering over and over again what the fuck happen. Mistakes were made, that’s a given. I would really just want to know when did it all shift?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="-moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous; -moz-background-origin: padding; background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; line-height: 14.25pt; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-family: &amp;quot;&amp;quot;; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;As I sit here at work where I really shouldn’t be doing this, I find my mind wondering off towards this subject. It’s been on my mind for the past week, haunting me on the back of my head and it just won’t leave me and I hate it. I don’t particularly like that word “hate”, it’s so strong, but I really do hate it. I hate that everything’s changed so much. I hate that I have no control over the situation this time. I hate that I stayed when I should have done what I always do. I hate that you’re so close. I hate that I’m still here. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="-moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous; -moz-background-origin: padding; background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; line-height: 14.25pt; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-family: &amp;quot;&amp;quot;; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;For as long as I’ve known myself, this is how I deal, by leaving, running away. I wish I could say otherwise, but that’s the truth. Funny thing is that you never see these things about yourself until several people point it out over and over. Kinda makes you wonder, doesn’t it? Well, that’s not a recent new development about yours truly, but it sure as hell feels that way. Especially when people point it out as “not a good way to deal with things”. For the most part, it’s been convenient. Situation happens, I question why they happened, I determine the cause of the situation, if it’s something I have no control of, I leave.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="-moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous; -moz-background-origin: padding; background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; line-height: 14.25pt; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-family: &amp;quot;&amp;quot;; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;I believe things happen in your life that you will never understand. Things that will make you feel powerless, helpless. Things that strip you down to your core and make you feel vulnerable because there is no way of changing them. Those are things that I runaway from. I mean; why stay? Why dwell on things that you can’t change? It’s some sort of bizarre form of torture that I refuse to participate in. I don’t really consider it as “running away” (as my friends have so kindly stated), but as my way of coping with choices that were not made by me and, trust me, those are the worst kind. It’s another form of freedom. Of breaking those ties that binds us to something. I like to believe that I belong to me, and I’m not a part of anyone. And that is a choice. It always comes back to that.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="-moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous; -moz-background-origin: padding; background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; line-height: 14.25pt; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-family: &amp;quot;&amp;quot;; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;When, for the most part, you are able to live with the choices that you have made in the past, life seems simple enough. I mean, that’s really what it’s all about, a choice. The worst part is that one choice; just one choice can change the course of not only your future, but someone else’s. Imagine that power, that control. Well, apparently everyone around me seems to be making those choices for me. Come to think of it, I’ve never really had much of a choice. For as long as I can remember, my life as always felt like somewhat of a catch 22. There’s always something, so I’ve given up on that part. I lost that, and on the way, I think I may have lost a huge part of me. That part that is not afraid of making choices. That part that is not afraid to be alone. That part of me that is willing to be strong enough to stand by my choices regardless of the consequences. That part of me that is not afraid to running away. Because in the end, it’s always a catch 22…“I’m not running away from my responsibilities. I’m running to them. There’s nothing negative about running away to save my life” (J. Heller). And in reality, the risk is worth the gain…&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="-moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous; -moz-background-origin: padding; background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; line-height: 14.25pt; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-family: &amp;quot;&amp;quot;; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;Until Then…&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-2505311416687201491?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/2505311416687201491/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/01/beyond-ties-that-bind.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/2505311416687201491'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/2505311416687201491'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/01/beyond-ties-that-bind.html' title='Beyond The Ties That Bind…'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-6190862223751921376</id><published>2010-01-17T22:34:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2011-01-18T01:09:42.618-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Music'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Friendship'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Friends'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Advise'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Journal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Love'/><title type='text'>If It’s a Matter of Saying; I’ll Say That I Loved You…</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="line-height: 14.25pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-family: &amp;quot;&amp;quot;; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;October 9th, 2008 &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="line-height: 14.25pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-family: &amp;quot;&amp;quot;; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;After listening to the same song for what seems like a whole weekend, I’m trying to process what it’s saying without over analyzing it. I do this a lot; I tend to obsess when I listen to something that changes my way of thinking about a situation. And I hate that, I hate the fact that sometimes it takes some random outside force to take over and make me realize something that I should have known all along. And it had to be a love song…&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="line-height: 14.25pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: &amp;quot;&amp;quot;; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-family: &amp;quot;&amp;quot;; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;Hmmm, men hate them, women love them, but all in all, we all relate to at least one thing one of these horribly cheesy songs says to us. Love songs are so captivating to me and after listening to this one, it kinda makes me pull a John Cusack, get a boom box and plant myself with it in front of someone’s window with this particular song blasting so loud it would make him mad. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="line-height: 14.25pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: &amp;quot;&amp;quot;; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-family: &amp;quot;&amp;quot;; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;See, my theory is that if you have recently come out of a devastating relationship, you are more than allowed to engage in this kind of nonsensical behavior. And I really loved him, which is the part that sucks because he apparently didn’t. Truth is I still don’t know if he ever did. Sure, he did his share of nice things for me, but doesn’t every man when they feel they’re getting something out of the relationship, I just don’t know what that is or why he even ended the relationship in the first place. I heard so many different excuses that I’m still trying to put all of them together and they still don’t make sense. Not to me, not to anyone. Truth is, I don’t think he even knows why he made the decision in the first place, but I’m kinda glad he did (such a horrible thing to say). I know, I know, bitter words from a bitter heart, but what I’ve realized after all this turmoil is that just because we are right for each other (and it really is disgusting how right for each other we are), it doesn’t mean we are right for each other right now. Which leaves me with a broken heart, but I guess a broken heart is not that bad, especially when it’s been broken before. I guess you develop this natural glue which helps it spontaneously glue itself back together. I just wish everything didn’t remind me of a previous experience I had with this person, but I guess I’ve managed to convert them into bittersweet memories that I can look back and smile, because, I have to admit, it was the best of times.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="line-height: 14.25pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: &amp;quot;&amp;quot;; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-family: &amp;quot;&amp;quot;; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;Three years ago I found myself at the sight of this boy, who I thought the moment I first saw him “he’s mine”. I just knew. It was instantaneous. I’ve heard about this happening to people, but I actually never believed it. Until it happened to me and in the weirdest way, it was fate. And no, it wasn’t love at first sight. I am well aware of the difference between love, lust and fate. And this was definitely fate. But whatever was there in the beginning was no longer there in the end, at least not for him and needles to say he ended it. Funny thing is he always gives me hope, I hate that. But this is what I wish…for now…&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="line-height: 14.25pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: &amp;quot;&amp;quot;; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-family: &amp;quot;&amp;quot;; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;If it’s a matter of having to talk to him, I much rather not say anything at all. If it’s a matter of me being capable of something, I’m capable of saying that he deceived me, and the worst part is that I knew and I never said anything. If it’s a matter of insisting, I will steal words away so he can understand that he leaving me was the reprievement I was waiting for. If it’s a matter of me being capable of something, I’m capable of understanding that he didn’t love me, and the worst part is that he knew and he never said anything. Because if it’s a matter of loving we have to love even if we suffer, doesn’t matter what that may be and play with that hope that will never leave and inevitably wait for that fear to leave. That fear of losing it all, losing his bed, of losing my soul, of starting over and letting the flames burn out, and wait for a dream that might never come. It it’s a matter of saying; I’ll say that I loved you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="line-height: 14.25pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: &amp;quot;&amp;quot;; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-family: &amp;quot;&amp;quot;; font-size: 10pt;"&gt;Until then…&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/6995557247419469621-6190862223751921376?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/6190862223751921376/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/01/if-its-matter-of-saying-ill-say-that-i.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/6190862223751921376'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/6190862223751921376'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/01/if-its-matter-of-saying-ill-say-that-i.html' title='If It’s a Matter of Saying; I’ll Say That I Loved You…'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995557247419469621.post-2949265771002307185</id><published>2010-01-17T22:33:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-18T23:27:30.626-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Music'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Friendship'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Friends'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Advise'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Journal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Love'/><title type='text'>Those Who Mind Don’t Matter and Those Who Matter Don’t Mind…</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="snap_preview"&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.25pt; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;&amp;quot;; font-size: 12pt;"&gt;October 8th, 2008&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;&amp;quot;; font-size: 12pt;"&gt;I would assume, that as a person of this crazy wild world, one would understand the reasons behind why things happen the way they do. But after living for what is almost twenty-five years, I still haven’t got it right. After all, that’s why we’re here. Isn’t it? We think all is great, nothing seems complicated, there’s no problem that cannot be solved. It’s great, in thought, but it still doesn’t make it true. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.25pt; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;&amp;quot;; font-size: 12pt;"&gt;After living for what seems like forever accustomed to one thing, I have recently come to realize that just because things seem one way, it doesn’t mean they are. In actuality, life can through the biggest, most unexpected curve ball at you that, instead of passing right next to you with this rapid wind, it literally hits you in the face in slow motion. Ouch… That’s when you know it hurts and, as you slowly fall backwards to the floor, you see your entire life in a flash. Just not the flash that you expected. I don’t know if it’s the blow to your head that makes you see things clearly, but I really am glad it finally hit me. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.25pt; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;&amp;quot;; font-size: 12pt;"&gt;See, I believe people are part of your life for a reason. They come and go and, the ones that do stay are only there for the same reason you are, because ultimately you accept each other to a degree that no one else could even begin to comprehend. You feel, dare I say, lucky (for those who believe in luck). Call me naive, but I’ve always been one of those people. Firm believer in personalities, regardless of what that is or means to you. Because after all, what are we supposed to do, really? And don’t get me wrong, that’s one of the things that I love about myself, to have that ability in such an innocent way, but what that ball to my face taught me was that, in reality, just because you are that way, doesn’t mean everyone around you will be. Specially people who you may call “friends”.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.25pt; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;&amp;quot;; font-size: 12pt;"&gt;Things are here one second and in the blink of an eye, they magically disappear. One thing ends so another can begin. And most importantly, friends come and go. Sad part is that you never really know the reason as to why. Why do people walk in and out if your life? What can be done for this to be prevented? Truth is we never really know the answer to most of these questions. Is just they way life is. One of those mysteries that must remain unsolved. If you think about it, most of the time people walk out of your life for reasons that you may have no control of, but for once, just once; is it possible to be honest about this? Is it possible to really tell a person the truth as to why you are walking out of their lives? The answer is, yes. Things remain unresolved because most people don’t really have it in their heads to say what they really think or even feel. To most people this is a bizarre concept. Sad, isn’t it? But true. People must rather lie to each other in hopes of conserving whatever is left of a relationship (You know those little white lies we tell each other to avoid hurting someone?) Truth is, when is all said and done, it doesn’t solve anything. It doesn’t make whatever problem that was there to begin with disappear; it just makes it worse, because in the end, the truth always comes out.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.25pt; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;&amp;quot;; font-size: 12pt;"&gt;Whether it hurts or not, whether it tares your relationships apart, whether these people stay or leave, is it really worth it to lie to someone? I believe that we cannot be afraid to hurt someone’s feelings, specially the people you love. Trust is something that is crucial in a relationship. Is it worth it to break that trust? I guess this is something that still remains unsolved in my head, but for now, I’ll resort to what I do know. People are in your lives at certain times for a specific reason. It may be that they will teach you something that no one else in this life time would have. Or maybe they’re there at one point because it made sense. Or maybe you grow apart. Or maybe you grow so close together that fear takes over. Or maybe it’s just mere distance. Or maybe, they never left to begin with. Who knows? Life has a funny way of working and maybe, they leave at a certain time so&amp;nbsp;you can cross paths in the future. So keep the ones that love you and accept you for who you really are close and those that are gone will certainly be missed, until life throws us a date with destiny.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.25pt; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;&amp;quot;; font-size: 12pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;Until then…&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995557247419469621-2949265771002307185?l=chacce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/feeds/2949265771002307185/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/01/those-who-mind-dont-matter-and-those.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/2949265771002307185'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995557247419469621/posts/default/2949265771002307185'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chacce.blogspot.com/2010/01/those-who-mind-dont-matter-and-those.html' title='Those Who Mind Don’t Matter and Those Who Matter Don’t Mind…'/><author><name>CHACCE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01874598349519884987</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tmpM8PAlhds/TzSK17GSbrI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P9uYwdnXSVA/s220/chacce-57_o.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
