<?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-8097218217888471605</id><updated>2011-09-15T09:25:27.024-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Thinking...</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>-britni*</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17304576478284908461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DIiidpwdwHg/SRnZZpUoMcI/AAAAAAAAAB4/Tc38yNdmpWw/S220/Photo+87.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>24</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8097218217888471605.post-2111469720876511832</id><published>2009-06-22T12:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-22T12:46:11.580-07:00</updated><title type='text'>We're all in a hurry.</title><content type='html'>We're all in a hurry to get out of High School &amp;amp;&amp;amp; start our own lives.&lt;br /&gt;After graduating I thought I'd live a life like I couldn't believe. I thought I'd go about&lt;br /&gt;things the way I wanted to, but growing up...school is all you know. The people you go to school&lt;br /&gt;with, you learn with, play with, and sit with at lunch. They're all you know and when the time&lt;br /&gt;comes to leave them, you look back at all of that, not realizing how much you're going to miss them until you graduate and you're walking around walmart at 1:oo in the morning and you've seen one of your classmates since graduation. It's a feeling like no other, and it's not the greatest.&lt;br /&gt;I always thought the summer was a sad time. It was great, but I always missed everyone, but the summer you walk into knowing you're not going to be going back to school...It's hard. I loved every single class mate I graduated. I can't stand the fact that I may never see some of them again. It's hard when you grow with them, not even thinking about life after graduation and then come graduation you can't keep growing with them. It's a time of walking that stage, getting that diploma, and knowing you did, but as you sit there waiting to be called, you look back at all your fellow classmates, and you want to break down. You see them walking with a smile wondering if they hate it too. They say everyone wants to get to heaven, but no one wants to die. I'm not ready for either, and I darn sure wasn't ready for graduation, but we're all in a hurry to escape something. I felt school was where I escaped too, being surrounded by people that have watched you grow and having grown ups enjoy taking time to teach you and prepare you for the real world and for your own life. I miss school so much.! I had to get it out.!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8097218217888471605-2111469720876511832?l=reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/feeds/2111469720876511832/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8097218217888471605&amp;postID=2111469720876511832' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/2111469720876511832'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/2111469720876511832'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/2009/06/were-all-in-hurry.html' title='We&apos;re all in a hurry.'/><author><name>-britni*</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17304576478284908461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DIiidpwdwHg/SRnZZpUoMcI/AAAAAAAAAB4/Tc38yNdmpWw/S220/Photo+87.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8097218217888471605.post-1318038252719847545</id><published>2009-05-04T06:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-04T06:55:36.228-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The teacher that made a difference.</title><content type='html'>I think all the teachers here at Childress High School are amazing, but there is one teacher that really stands out. The name would be Mrs. Kirkpatrick. Mrs. K for short. Mrs. K not only wants us to work, but she makes it work worth doing. I enjoy getting the chance to blog. Mrs. K actually reads them and comments them. I know teachers aren't suppose to be friends with the students, but she really gets along with all of us. The smile on her face, and the morning greetings; make us feel like she cares. It's easy to come to school, when you have someone that makes you feel like you want to be here. Not only is she they fun teacher, but she's like a counselor, she's just not that pushy. Yeah, she expects you to get your work done, but it's like she understands she's not the only teacher you have work for. There are a few days out of every six weeks she gives us to catch up on our work. It's not that she's ready to get rid of us...lol, but she wants to make sure we get the best grades we can get or can stay caught up. Mrs. K really makes it easy; especially with it being our senior year. Senior year isn't so exciting anymore. It's going to be too hard to leave a teacher you never thought you'd have. I never thought someone so caring, understanding, hardworking, yet fun all at the same time, would ever be a teacher. I'd have to say Childress High School is the best place to go to school even though I can't stand the fact that I live in Childress. We have great teachers, and an extremely awesome principle. Mrs. K has made all the difference; for the better. (:&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8097218217888471605-1318038252719847545?l=reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/feeds/1318038252719847545/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8097218217888471605&amp;postID=1318038252719847545' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/1318038252719847545'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/1318038252719847545'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/2009/05/teacher-that-made-difference.html' title='The teacher that made a difference.'/><author><name>-britni*</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17304576478284908461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DIiidpwdwHg/SRnZZpUoMcI/AAAAAAAAAB4/Tc38yNdmpWw/S220/Photo+87.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8097218217888471605.post-766966015139175890</id><published>2009-03-27T06:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-27T06:11:51.791-07:00</updated><title type='text'>unfunny uncomically comic</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DIiidpwdwHg/SczQitbr90I/AAAAAAAAAC4/PuF-eCP_OK4/s1600-h/Picture+1.png"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 94px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DIiidpwdwHg/SczQitbr90I/AAAAAAAAAC4/PuF-eCP_OK4/s400/Picture+1.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317854554747565890" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8097218217888471605-766966015139175890?l=reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/feeds/766966015139175890/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8097218217888471605&amp;postID=766966015139175890' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/766966015139175890'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/766966015139175890'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/2009/03/unfunny-uncomically-comic.html' title='unfunny uncomically comic'/><author><name>-britni*</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17304576478284908461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DIiidpwdwHg/SRnZZpUoMcI/AAAAAAAAAB4/Tc38yNdmpWw/S220/Photo+87.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DIiidpwdwHg/SczQitbr90I/AAAAAAAAAC4/PuF-eCP_OK4/s72-c/Picture+1.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8097218217888471605.post-5023812203110378273</id><published>2009-03-11T06:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-11T06:38:20.562-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Seniorness</title><content type='html'>[&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;S&lt;/span&gt;]sometimes it's hard, sometimes it's easy, it can be fun, just not when it's almost done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;[&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;e&lt;/span&gt;]even though the time is nearing, there is a hole in your heart.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;[&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;n&lt;/span&gt;]never stops tearing.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;[&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;i&lt;/span&gt;]I'll miss these days as my future comes closer.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;[&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;o&lt;/span&gt;]over and over I think these things through.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;[&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;r&lt;/span&gt;]rather than leaving, I wish I could stay.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;[&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;y&lt;/span&gt;]yet my time here is going away.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;[&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;e&lt;/span&gt;]everything is changing, nothing stays the same&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;[&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;a&lt;/span&gt;]as a senior you find it's not so lame.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;[&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;r&lt;/span&gt;]realizing I'm no longer a kid. My future awaits me and it's time to go.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm grown now, you see. It's time to let me go.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;However, I must say, your senior year is the greatest &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;you'll get lunch detention when you're the latest, but&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;it's all worth it and you just end up loving it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The laughter, the teachers, the awesome principle and his assistant.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The early morning greetings and the no reason high fives.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;You see you'll miss this, it's all so complicated.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;With the memories you have it keeps you a smile.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;For I have learned there is a place like home. It's your senior year.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A time you hold forever and dear.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Say goodbye to the faculty, the staff, and your friends, but&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;you can't say goodbye to the seniorness, it sticks&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;with you like the first time you rode a bike. I never thought school &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;could be so much fun, till the very first day I started this thing.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm a senior &amp;amp;&amp;amp; soon I'm gone, but to the good, the bad, the easy, and&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;the complicated...It was ALL WORTH IT, BABY!! &lt;/div&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/8097218217888471605-5023812203110378273?l=reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/feeds/5023812203110378273/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8097218217888471605&amp;postID=5023812203110378273' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/5023812203110378273'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/5023812203110378273'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/2009/03/seniorness.html' title='Seniorness'/><author><name>-britni*</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17304576478284908461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DIiidpwdwHg/SRnZZpUoMcI/AAAAAAAAAB4/Tc38yNdmpWw/S220/Photo+87.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8097218217888471605.post-2185105066089104354</id><published>2009-03-10T06:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-10T06:44:43.298-07:00</updated><title type='text'>In Salem</title><content type='html'>If I were being accused of witchcraft. Of course, like any other person I'd deny it.&lt;div&gt;I wouldn't keep on and keep on. It'd be a waste of time, but I would tell them it would come&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;back to bite them in the butt, when God punishes them for killing innocent people. I would let them know that they chose to find the worst in a person and that's not something God would do and for them to claim their acceptance of God, they sure aren't acting upon it. Also, it's all weird to me. How does it one day just happen? Why would they honestly believe in witches? Do they not believe in their God so much as to think witches exist? I would look at them in disgust, for they have disappointed their Lord and fellow people. I would pray for them loud enough for them to hear me and I would apologize that they do not know better. They are the sinners; not the accused. I would share all of that with them. If they chose to keep on. Well, my last words to them would be...It is not I whom I feel sorry for. It is you, because you chose to be a murderer to the innocent and I tried to keep you from making this mistake. I could not make you listen. Let's see how well it is to explain yourself when you meet your creator at his beautiful golden gates. It is then, you will see and by then it will be too late.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8097218217888471605-2185105066089104354?l=reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/feeds/2185105066089104354/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8097218217888471605&amp;postID=2185105066089104354' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/2185105066089104354'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/2185105066089104354'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/2009/03/in-salem.html' title='In Salem'/><author><name>-britni*</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17304576478284908461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DIiidpwdwHg/SRnZZpUoMcI/AAAAAAAAAB4/Tc38yNdmpWw/S220/Photo+87.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8097218217888471605.post-895032355671399696</id><published>2009-02-27T06:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-27T06:43:00.382-08:00</updated><title type='text'>They Call Me Juicy</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DIiidpwdwHg/Saf76loaD6I/AAAAAAAAACw/ykVGn_1BTCs/s1600-h/Picture+1+08-39-29.png"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DIiidpwdwHg/Saf76loaD6I/AAAAAAAAACw/ykVGn_1BTCs/s400/Picture+1+08-39-29.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307487669831995298" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="file:///Users/bschlinker/Desktop/Picture%201.png" alt="" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8097218217888471605-895032355671399696?l=reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/feeds/895032355671399696/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8097218217888471605&amp;postID=895032355671399696' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/895032355671399696'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/895032355671399696'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/2009/02/they-call-me-juicy.html' title='They Call Me Juicy'/><author><name>-britni*</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17304576478284908461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DIiidpwdwHg/SRnZZpUoMcI/AAAAAAAAAB4/Tc38yNdmpWw/S220/Photo+87.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DIiidpwdwHg/Saf76loaD6I/AAAAAAAAACw/ykVGn_1BTCs/s72-c/Picture+1+08-39-29.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8097218217888471605.post-5604532265098257727</id><published>2009-02-26T06:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-12T06:10:05.564-07:00</updated><title type='text'>10 Reasons why I love Spring Semester.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;1.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"&gt;We're&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);font-family:verdana;" &gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 204, 204);font-family:verdana;" &gt;not&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 204, 204);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"&gt;so eager to learn!!&lt;/span&gt; (j/k it was on Mrs. K's list so I went &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"&gt;against&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"&gt; it)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;2.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;We're&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);"&gt;not&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;excited&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;to be in her class!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt; (I'm joking again. Her class is the stuff)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"&gt;3.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"&gt; The wind blows&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51); font-weight: bold;"&gt; a lot&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"&gt;while they are trying to be trackin. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;4.  We are &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;not&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;dreading&lt;/span&gt; graduation.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. I get &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;more &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"&gt;time with my babe.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;6. Spring Break!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);"&gt;7. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Trevor &amp;amp;&amp;amp; I&lt;/span&gt; get to &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;get out &amp;amp;&amp;amp; do things.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);"&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Instead of&lt;/span&gt; just sitting around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255);"&gt;8. Easter!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;9. Seniors &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;don't&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;have taks testing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);"&gt;10. I think I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;forgo&lt;/span&gt;t &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"&gt;SPRING BREAK&lt;/span&gt;!&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"&gt;!&lt;/span&gt;! Yeah baby!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8097218217888471605-5604532265098257727?l=reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/feeds/5604532265098257727/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8097218217888471605&amp;postID=5604532265098257727' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/5604532265098257727'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/5604532265098257727'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/2009/02/10-reasons-why-i-love-spring-semester.html' title='10 Reasons why I love Spring Semester.'/><author><name>-britni*</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17304576478284908461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DIiidpwdwHg/SRnZZpUoMcI/AAAAAAAAAB4/Tc38yNdmpWw/S220/Photo+87.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8097218217888471605.post-3120114923480898467</id><published>2009-02-09T08:47:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-10T06:26:13.252-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Things that make me so sad.</title><content type='html'>So, I'm super bored in Speech class and felt like blogging. I hope you care to read the whole thing.&lt;br /&gt;So, to start off...it hasn't hit me yet that we have lost the great Josh Ackerman. You know, he was something else. He had his life planned out he was taking himself somewhere. I can remember times where that boy has made me laugh and laughed at me and I can still see him posted up against the lockers in the hall way. I think he is a really great guy, but I want to share something. [They] say don't ever leave someone in words of hate because you really never know if you'll ever see them again. Well, as for Josh I just want to apologize to everybody, because my last words to him weren't the nicest, and now I'll never see him again and it hurts so bad. I regret it very much and I hope he knows he is loved so very much and missed more than words  can ever begin to explain. He actually has done somethings for me that I appreciate and I haven't showed him and now it's too late. I still want to thank him. Josh was the boy people got up for in the morning. He was the cool kid that didn't try so hard. He was very sweet and had so much potential. Josh was super smart. I'm very proud of things he has accomplished. Josh has done so well. Missing him won't bring him back and I want to be happy that he's in a better place, but I'm so mad. He had so much going for him and could have succeeded in so many ways, but now he's not going to get to see all that. I hate that!! It pisses me off more than anything in the world. However, I found out he's an organ doner. While his life may not have been saved, he one day will save the life of another. Just one more reason to be ever so proud of that boy.  It's so hard having to force myself into believing God has taken him now, but I believe he knows we still love him the same and we'll miss him so much. Josh, I'm very proud of you and who you were becoming. You surprised us in many ways. You worked, took care of school, and made time to have fun. You tackled the world and all it's obstacles and you were strong enough to handle it. We're going to miss you so much. I know you dont' know this because I didn't get to tell you, but I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being mad at you and I'm sorry I didn't apologize sooner, but just know you're still the amazing person you've always been. I think you're beautiful inside and out. I can't wait to see you soon. With more love than you could know. - Britni.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*everybody loves and misses you Josh.* * Don't worry we'll help you look out for your family. I bet they're just as strong as you and I know they miss you. They love you, we all do. You're a great son, brother, friend, cousin, uncle and just everything.*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is no second reason. :(&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8097218217888471605-3120114923480898467?l=reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/feeds/3120114923480898467/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8097218217888471605&amp;postID=3120114923480898467' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/3120114923480898467'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/3120114923480898467'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/2009/02/things-that-make-me-so-madsad.html' title='Things that make me so sad.'/><author><name>-britni*</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17304576478284908461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DIiidpwdwHg/SRnZZpUoMcI/AAAAAAAAAB4/Tc38yNdmpWw/S220/Photo+87.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8097218217888471605.post-5539515004335281381</id><published>2009-02-02T06:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-02T06:24:50.432-08:00</updated><title type='text'>18+5</title><content type='html'>18 reasons why I'm thankful for my parents:&lt;br /&gt;1. my daddy makes me laugh.&lt;br /&gt;2. my step dad has never let us go without things we really need.&lt;br /&gt;3. my mommy takes care of me when I'm sick.&lt;br /&gt;4. my step mom- I can tell her anything and everything and she helps me.&lt;br /&gt;5. My daddy is there when I need a shoulder to cry on and he cries with me and makes it better.&lt;br /&gt;6. My step dad got me a job and helps with the most important things.&lt;br /&gt;7. my mommy-she's planning my life after I graduate. so, I can be someone.&lt;br /&gt;8. My step mom is my best friend.&lt;br /&gt;9. My daddy knows I'm not perfect but doesn't hold it against me.&lt;br /&gt;10. my step dad loves me like his own.&lt;br /&gt;11. my mommy accepts my wrongs and helps fix them.&lt;br /&gt;12. my step mom makes my daddy happy.&lt;br /&gt;13. my daddy works his booty off for us.&lt;br /&gt;14. my step dad loves my mommy.&lt;br /&gt;15. my mommy works her booty off for them.&lt;br /&gt;16. my step mom makes me appointments because she fears for my health.&lt;br /&gt;17. THEY ARE ALL JUST SO AMAZING.&lt;br /&gt;18.THEY ALL LOVE ME UNCONDITIONALLY. (:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. REASONS THEY ARE THANKFUL FOR ME.&lt;br /&gt;1. I'm funny.&lt;br /&gt;2. I like to help.&lt;br /&gt;3. If they aren't feeling well I do my best to make them better.&lt;br /&gt;4. I don't get in trouble.&lt;br /&gt;5. I'm loud. (they get irratated but I know they happy  because they be all laughing telling me I'm goofy)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8097218217888471605-5539515004335281381?l=reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/feeds/5539515004335281381/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8097218217888471605&amp;postID=5539515004335281381' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/5539515004335281381'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/5539515004335281381'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/2009/02/185.html' title='18+5'/><author><name>-britni*</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17304576478284908461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DIiidpwdwHg/SRnZZpUoMcI/AAAAAAAAAB4/Tc38yNdmpWw/S220/Photo+87.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8097218217888471605.post-2273428860382335811</id><published>2009-01-16T06:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-16T06:18:15.541-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;Meet miracle baby who was born twice &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="abstract"&gt;Returned to womb after life-saving surgery, she arrived 10 weeks later&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img src="http://msnbcmedia.msn.com/j/msnbc/Components/Video/080606/tdy_curry_baby_080606.mobile.jpg" alt="Meet miracle baby who was born twice " border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="caption"&gt;By Mike Celizic&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="source"&gt;TODAYShow.com contributor&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p class="textBodyBlack"&gt;When Chad and Keri McCartney say their infant daughter, Macie Hope, is born again, they aren’t referring to religion — the month-old miracle baby really was born twice.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="textBodyBlack"&gt;The first “birth” was about six months into Keri McCartney’s pregnancy, when surgeons at Texas Children’s Hospital took the tiny fetus from Keri’s womb to remove a tumor that would have killed Macie before she was born.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="textBodyBlack"&gt;The second time was on May 3, when the McCartneys welcomed their surgically repaired — and perfectly healthy — baby girl into the world.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="textBodyBlack"&gt;The happy couple talked exclusively to TODAY’s Ann Curry on Friday from the hospital, where they were joined by Dr. Darrell Cass, the fetal surgeon who led the team that performed a surgery that has been successfully completed fewer than 20 times around the world. In Macie’s case, he said, “We were very, very fortunate. It really turned out perfectly.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="textBodyBlack"&gt;The McCartneys’ story began in Keri’s 23rd week of pregnancy, when the couple took their entire family to their obstetrician’s office to discover the sex of the baby Keri was carrying.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="textBodyBlack"&gt;“We had our whole family,” Chad McCartney told Curry. “Our four kids had piled into the van, and we headed to our routine ultrasound to find out what the sex of the baby was going to be. That was the big discussion on the way up, so there was lots of excitement.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="textBodyBlack"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;A deadly revelation&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Everyone went into the ultrasound room, eager to see the image of the fetus displayed on the screen. “All of a sudden the ultrasound tech had a very concerned look on her face,” Chad said. “She rushed our kids out of the room and then informed us there was a large mass on our baby.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="textBodyBlack"&gt;The ultrasound image showed what looked like a balloon growing out of Macie’s tailbone — except that it was full of blood vessels and was as big as the fetus itself. The tumor was noncancerous ... but still deadly.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="textBodyBlack"&gt;“This tumor was gigantic,” Cass said. “It was the size of a grapefruit.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="textBodyBlack"&gt;The McCartneys’ obstetrician had never seen such a tumor in all her years of practice. After some research, she discovered that Texas Children’s Hospital in Houston — six hours away from the family’s Laredo home — was one of only three hospitals in the world that specialized in such conditions.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="textBodyBlack"&gt;“This is incredibly rare. It’s about one in 40,000 births,” Cass said. “Many times, these tumors can grow and remain small and they don’t really affect the fetus very significantly. In Macie’s instance, this tumor grew incredibly rapidly … and basically it was stealing the blood that her body needed to grow. She would have died if nothing had been done.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="textBodyBlack"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;A fitting name&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Keri and Chad went home with the desperate prognosis and decided they needed to name their infant right then.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="textBodyBlack"&gt;“We both made a decision that we have a name for her, because we had been told that there was less than a 10 percent chance that she was going to make it,” Chad McCartney said, fighting back tears as he told the story. “We wanted to pick a name that would be appropriate, so we named her Macie Hope — because that was all we felt we had.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="textBodyBlack"&gt;They went to Houston for the surgery, which Cass described, with a surgeon’s understatement, as “tricky.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="textBodyBlack"&gt;“It required that Mrs. McCartney went under a very, very deep anesthesia, about seven times deeper than the average operation,” he said. “That’s necessary in order to have the uterus very, very relaxed.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="textBodyBlack"&gt;He and two other surgeons opened Keri’s abdomen and brought her uterus entirely outside her body. “We had to find an area of the uterus that we could open safely so that we didn’t disturb the placenta,” he explained.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="textBodyBlack"&gt;When they found such a place, they opened the relaxed womb and extracted about 80 percent of Macie Hope’s body — which weighed no more than a quarter of a pound — leaving just the head and upper body in the womb. Exposing the fetus to the air carried the danger that she would go into cardiac arrest, and the surgeons worked quickly to remove the tumor and return Macie to the safety of the womb.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="textBodyBlack"&gt;That part of the four-hour procedure took about 20 minutes. The surgeons then had to carefully close up the uterus so that it would be watertight, to keep the amniotic fluid from leaking out. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="textBodyBlack"&gt;“Then we had to hope that the pregnancy was going to last,” Cass added.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="textBodyBlack"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Born again&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That hope was also answered. Macie Hope didn’t make it the entire nine months, but, Cass said, “The pregnancy lasted another 10 weeks, which allowed Macie to recover from this tumor that had been killing her.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="textBodyBlack"&gt;On May 3, Macie Hope was born again, this time to stay. She and her mother have remained at Texas Medical Center since as they both fully recover from the miracle surgery. Macie still has a large scar on her backside, which surgeons say can be repaired when she gets older.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="textBodyBlack"&gt;Keri and Chad McCartney were expecting to take their miracle baby home on Saturday, and they couldn’t have been happier.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="textBodyBlack"&gt;“We are doing great,” Keri McCartney told Curry. “I am so excited to think that we’re leaving tomorrow.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="textBodyBlack"&gt;She cradled Macie Hope in her arms. The infant, sporting a thick head of hair, slept through it all, prompting her mother to say, “Obviously she is completely at peace and content with it all.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8097218217888471605-2273428860382335811?l=reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/feeds/2273428860382335811/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8097218217888471605&amp;postID=2273428860382335811' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/2273428860382335811'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/2273428860382335811'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/2009/01/meet-miracle-baby-who-was-born-twice.html' title=''/><author><name>-britni*</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17304576478284908461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DIiidpwdwHg/SRnZZpUoMcI/AAAAAAAAAB4/Tc38yNdmpWw/S220/Photo+87.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8097218217888471605.post-8041915716815760250</id><published>2009-01-15T06:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-15T08:17:06.619-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Through the eyes of a dog!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DIiidpwdwHg/SW9Ibshu8MI/AAAAAAAAACY/wBAeSyw8jaA/s1600-h/yorkie3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 259px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DIiidpwdwHg/SW9Ibshu8MI/AAAAAAAAACY/wBAeSyw8jaA/s320/yorkie3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291527727829938370" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ahh, the sweet smell of the bacon!! I could smell it here in my dog house!! My, it smelled good.&lt;br /&gt;I charged at the small door my grown fellows made for me. Which I find it very useful. It allows me to get in and out of the house. I don't know if they know this, but it's pretty genius I think. I ran after the smell as fast as my small legs would take me as my mouth dripped with juicy slobber. Oh, it's beautiful. A big puddle of chocolate water. I rolled in it and jumped around in it, but then I couldn't get the bacon out of my nose. I ran back up to the door. I jumped in ready to eat!! "No, bad dog." I heard. "Bath time for you, little missy." I didn't understand it. I just put my head down as I was carried into this place with lots of things. My personal favorite. The water bowl!! I climb this small thing I see Britni standing on when she's playing with her hair. Britni is my bestfriend. That's what she tells me. She says later in the day she's taking me to the park. I have lots of other friends there, too. I'm not liking this thing called a bath too much. The water tickles my nose and I have to blow it out. I love the belly rub. It's my favorite. Boy, does it tickle!! I wait to shake it off. I can't take this torture. I like to run around in the free air. Oh boy, oh boy , oh boy. It's time. The park. I run to the door waiting to be put in my suitcase. This is my best part of everyday, well, the days I get to go. We arrive. The trip was a little bumpy. I had to tinkle bad. I held it in. Oh yes, the clean fresh air. I spot a tree. A beautiful tree I mark my belonging and I run around. I play with my bestfriend and my friends happy as could be. I run after them and they run after me. Our bestfriends chase and when they catch us they laugh and rub our bellies. We feel like Kings and Queens. It's a great feeling. I'm getting kind of hot. I'm very thirsty but my friend doesn't let me out to the lake where I can enjoy the water. I sit sad and scared. Sad because I can't drink it and scared to run off. I run off anyways. I drink up the water as fast as I can, but she's already coming. I get as low to the ground as I can as she yells at me. I feel bad and unloved. I don't know why I had to run off. Now, I don't think she likes me very much. I just lay my head on her as she carries me back telling me I did a bad thing. It makes me feel better that she carries me but I still hurt from being yelled at. We arrive home and she tells me she loves me and calls me her baby. I feel so much better. I look at her and notice her mouth beginning to widen. I know now it's time to go to sleep. After a days running around I sure am tired. I cuddle up against her warm tummy and slowly my eyes begin to droop. THE END&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8097218217888471605-8041915716815760250?l=reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/feeds/8041915716815760250/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8097218217888471605&amp;postID=8041915716815760250' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/8041915716815760250'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/8041915716815760250'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/2009/01/im-dog-whuff-whuff.html' title='Through the eyes of a dog!!'/><author><name>-britni*</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17304576478284908461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DIiidpwdwHg/SRnZZpUoMcI/AAAAAAAAAB4/Tc38yNdmpWw/S220/Photo+87.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DIiidpwdwHg/SW9Ibshu8MI/AAAAAAAAACY/wBAeSyw8jaA/s72-c/yorkie3.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8097218217888471605.post-599029911111442646</id><published>2008-12-05T06:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-05T06:46:24.202-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A jolly good fellow he was.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DIiidpwdwHg/STk7bFkmpOI/AAAAAAAAACQ/EW1qe8CAFHM/s1600-h/NeumayerWilbur2007_119.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DIiidpwdwHg/STk7bFkmpOI/AAAAAAAAACQ/EW1qe8CAFHM/s400/NeumayerWilbur2007_119.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276313774979458274" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There once was a horse who wasn't a dear of course, but the thought of it was overwhelming.&lt;br /&gt;He dressed in clothes had some candy cane antlers a jolly good fellow he was. No deer none the less, still no shame nor no stress. Wilbur the name being a deer was his game riding Santa around to spread joy to the town and a jolly good fellow he was.&lt;br /&gt;A deer was what he longed to be a deer race ahead he longed to see. He ran and he galloped with giddy and grace now it was time for the deer race. One  deer looked him up and down, "not so much a deer you look like a clown." The kids they all cheered and Wilbur felt deared and he ran like the deer he embraced. So, you see Wilbur there just look to your left. You see he's a horse that wishes to be a deer this of course and a jolly good fellow he was. He finished the race and pleaded with grace a jolly good feeling he felt. The deer hurried to him he smiled to please them.&lt;br /&gt;For he knew; No deer was he, still faith had he and a jolly good fellow he was. He was no Rudolph no Prancer or Vixen, yet he rode them to town anyway. The big night was coming they all did some running a jolly good time they had. Santa offered Wilbur a spot he could take so he could ride with him over the lake. Over the houses and over the yards bearing gifts to all the kids and eating their cookies of course. As you can see he was no ordinary horse. For a jolly good fellow he was. A darn good reinhorse he was. Wilbur was he, a deer? Close as could be and a jolly good deed he's done.&lt;br /&gt;(you see wilbur was a horse with special powers...he's the hancock of animals)&lt;br /&gt;THE END!!!&lt;img src="file:///Users/bschlinker/Desktop/NeumayerWilbur2007_119.jpg" alt="" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8097218217888471605-599029911111442646?l=reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/feeds/599029911111442646/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8097218217888471605&amp;postID=599029911111442646' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/599029911111442646'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/599029911111442646'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/2008/12/jolly-good-fellow-he-was.html' title='A jolly good fellow he was.'/><author><name>-britni*</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17304576478284908461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DIiidpwdwHg/SRnZZpUoMcI/AAAAAAAAAB4/Tc38yNdmpWw/S220/Photo+87.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DIiidpwdwHg/STk7bFkmpOI/AAAAAAAAACQ/EW1qe8CAFHM/s72-c/NeumayerWilbur2007_119.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8097218217888471605.post-4785437249569162908</id><published>2008-11-25T06:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-25T06:21:30.400-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Turka day!!</title><content type='html'>oh geez la weez....okay, so on Thanksgiving Day my family makes all kinds of food but I'm going to list my faves:&lt;br /&gt;•stuffing&lt;br /&gt;•empanadas&lt;br /&gt;•these egg things&lt;br /&gt;•dry salted turkey&lt;br /&gt;•casserole&lt;br /&gt;•tamales&lt;br /&gt;•tres leches&lt;br /&gt;•mole&lt;br /&gt;•arroz con carne/arroz con pollo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;now. I'm Happy for the Break for these reasons as follows ha:&lt;br /&gt;1. No school on Wednesday.&lt;br /&gt;2. No school on Thursday.&lt;br /&gt;3. No school on Friday.&lt;br /&gt;4. I get to stay out later.&lt;br /&gt;5. Then it's saturday....still no school.&lt;br /&gt;6. Of course Sunday...No school.&lt;br /&gt;7. I get to eat all kinds of yummy tasting food. oooooooo boy!&lt;br /&gt;8. I get to see a lot of my family.&lt;br /&gt;9. I get to dress up in my thanksgiving skirt (:&lt;br /&gt;10. Lot's of Dr. Pepper.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8097218217888471605-4785437249569162908?l=reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/feeds/4785437249569162908/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8097218217888471605&amp;postID=4785437249569162908' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/4785437249569162908'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/4785437249569162908'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/2008/11/turka-day.html' title='Turka day!!'/><author><name>-britni*</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17304576478284908461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DIiidpwdwHg/SRnZZpUoMcI/AAAAAAAAAB4/Tc38yNdmpWw/S220/Photo+87.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8097218217888471605.post-4896890178589446426</id><published>2008-11-21T06:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-21T06:18:29.317-08:00</updated><title type='text'>They Packed my Chute</title><content type='html'>1. The Grandma (she's my whole world)&lt;br /&gt;2. The Mom&lt;br /&gt;3. The Uncle (Andrew...I'd be lost with out him)&lt;br /&gt;4. The twin brother&lt;br /&gt;5. The Daddy&lt;br /&gt;6. Last but most definately not least....Growing up my best friend was Callie Jaclyn Eaton.&lt;br /&gt;It's a little different, but back then she was always there...through the worst times and the greatest times I always shared them with her and I know when I needed someone at the worst time of my life she was right there to help me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8097218217888471605-4896890178589446426?l=reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/feeds/4896890178589446426/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8097218217888471605&amp;postID=4896890178589446426' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/4896890178589446426'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/4896890178589446426'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/2008/11/they-packed-my-chute.html' title='They Packed my Chute'/><author><name>-britni*</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17304576478284908461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DIiidpwdwHg/SRnZZpUoMcI/AAAAAAAAAB4/Tc38yNdmpWw/S220/Photo+87.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8097218217888471605.post-3784977611494747373</id><published>2008-11-20T09:29:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-20T09:41:25.334-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hypothetically asking...feel FREE TO COMMENT</title><content type='html'>Okay, so let's say there is this girl. This girl though she was in love once and no matter what she did it was hard to get over this first love. Later in life, she meets more guys and nothing changes she still misses this boy. She then meets a boy and forgets all about him. When they end she has an even harder time moving on but during all this...that first love was always trying to walk back into her life. Seriously, he played games. After getting over this person that helped her get over the first love (well she's not over the other person but she's over him...ya dig?) Anywho, so now there is this boy, while this boy is 16 and she is 18 she can't help but be majorly into this kid. Now, she feels a little weird about the whole thing but she doesn't want it to keep her from him because it's what she really really wants. Okay so here is more...before this boy was another boy...a boy this girl planned her whole life with...she knew she didn't love him like that but she didn't have the heart to upset him in any way other than when she was mean and made him sad and she laughed at him then apologized...but anyways...so she meets this 16 year old, breaks up with her b/f who is deeply in love with her...then her first love wants to try walking right back into her life....now thanksgiving is coming and so is the first love and the one she planned a life with...on that very day...both in which want to see this girl. She doesn't know what to do...oh in the process the boy that helped her get over the first love...yeah he was a jerk to her then he'd be sweet then he'd be a meany then he'd be nice then he'd be a butt...he was too bi polar...any ways back to this....so every time the first love would come around she'd give in and feel like that's what she wants again...but now she has somebody....somebody that's really young BUT he makes her feel amazingly great all the time....he makes her laugh, makes her happy, drives her crazy, listens to her past even though it's far from perfect...i'm talkin far...and instead of backing away or leaving he holds her hand and listens to her and promises never to tell a single soul...he knows he's got her wrapped and they are pretty into eachother...oh if you only knew how she felt...but he also knows what is going on with the two guys and although he tells her to ignore them tell them you got me...she still just doesn't know....she knows she won't give them a chance...but should she really keep going with a 16 year old????????? again...this is just all thought but if you have any suggestions...please help!!! Remember age isn't anything but a number....that's a lie it sure is something when it comes to the law! dang it!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8097218217888471605-3784977611494747373?l=reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/feeds/3784977611494747373/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8097218217888471605&amp;postID=3784977611494747373' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/3784977611494747373'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/3784977611494747373'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/2008/11/hypothetically-askingfeel-free-to.html' title='Hypothetically asking...feel FREE TO COMMENT'/><author><name>-britni*</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17304576478284908461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DIiidpwdwHg/SRnZZpUoMcI/AAAAAAAAAB4/Tc38yNdmpWw/S220/Photo+87.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8097218217888471605.post-5319881049774686248</id><published>2008-11-11T11:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-11T11:11:13.508-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Free Post!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Well...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;ii am pretty bored.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;It's &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;boring &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;sitting here in class.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Texting&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; and sitting here while Colby Williams messes with my&lt;br /&gt;back pack and he is fixing to get &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;slapped. J/k.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;he sure is smacking on that gum like it's really that &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;good! Ha!&lt;br /&gt;He about to get &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;slapped &lt;/span&gt;for that &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;too.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well I blogged.&lt;br /&gt;Peace!!&lt;br /&gt;-brittany*&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8097218217888471605-5319881049774686248?l=reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/feeds/5319881049774686248/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8097218217888471605&amp;postID=5319881049774686248' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/5319881049774686248'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/5319881049774686248'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/2008/11/free-post.html' title='Free Post!!!'/><author><name>-britni*</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17304576478284908461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DIiidpwdwHg/SRnZZpUoMcI/AAAAAAAAAB4/Tc38yNdmpWw/S220/Photo+87.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8097218217888471605.post-8843982232577456047</id><published>2008-10-31T06:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-31T06:30:13.512-07:00</updated><title type='text'>*ten reasons I love Halloween*</title><content type='html'>1. I be loving halloween for that candy, boy! (shuuuuuuu)&lt;br /&gt;2. Uh, it's my besty's birthday. (: (booyah!)&lt;br /&gt;3. I get to take my sister trick-or-treating. (starting this year will be her first year)[yay]&lt;br /&gt;4. Black out pep rally [skiiiiir]&lt;br /&gt;5. Scary movies. [monsters and zombies and killers, oh my!]&lt;br /&gt;6. Dressing up. [whoo hooo. *fun time*]&lt;br /&gt;7. I get to hang out with my friends. [going crazy]&lt;br /&gt;8. I take the candy from the candy bowl i'm suppose to be handing out [sure.do]&lt;br /&gt;9. Halloween parties at school. [we sure are having one in spanish II. go me!]&lt;br /&gt;10. I love the people that are real superstishus. [they.go.cray-c]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8097218217888471605-8843982232577456047?l=reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/feeds/8843982232577456047/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8097218217888471605&amp;postID=8843982232577456047' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/8843982232577456047'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/8843982232577456047'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/2008/10/ten-reasons-i-love-halloween.html' title='*ten reasons I love Halloween*'/><author><name>-britni*</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17304576478284908461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DIiidpwdwHg/SRnZZpUoMcI/AAAAAAAAAB4/Tc38yNdmpWw/S220/Photo+87.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8097218217888471605.post-5883100508460841405</id><published>2008-10-31T06:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-31T06:25:23.006-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Response.</title><content type='html'>Okay, first of all, I think it's rather sad they can't dress up. I mean I know how one student dressed was inappropriate, but seriously? Come on, make him pay for that. Don't let him dress up. Also, how are you going to give them the privilege of dressing up for Halloween and then take it away from them? Seriously, no even better. How could you give them that privilege, and then say it's disruptive? Uh, be real? There was no problem before. Just like our school, this year we can't dress up, yet, in previous years it was no problem? I don't think so. I'm glad it's my senior year. Now privileges won't keep getting taken away from me. The only different thing I like about this year is our new principles. KP is awesome and Mr. Waldron is pretty tight. I understand alot of people go over board with their costumes, but I think if they want to disobey specific rules set since pre-k then keep them from dressing up, and show them they did wrong. I mean we get punished for the wrong doings, and no rewards or acknowledgement for our good doings, and the kids that dressed appropriately enjoyed it and also respected the conduct, but didn't get shown any respect for it. Now, think about it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8097218217888471605-5883100508460841405?l=reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/feeds/5883100508460841405/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8097218217888471605&amp;postID=5883100508460841405' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/5883100508460841405'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/5883100508460841405'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/2008/10/response.html' title='Response.'/><author><name>-britni*</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17304576478284908461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DIiidpwdwHg/SRnZZpUoMcI/AAAAAAAAAB4/Tc38yNdmpWw/S220/Photo+87.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8097218217888471605.post-4968634494858306465</id><published>2008-10-24T06:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-24T06:30:05.235-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Well I really don't know.</title><content type='html'>Coach Rhodes. My my my...okay so this one time when I was a little fish Coach Rhodes was my history teacher. He would always be working my little nerves boy! He always had me out in the hall, standing up in the corner with my nose in it, or just standing up. One day he told us to turn in our papers and I couldn't find mine...so I told him...I would find it and give it too him. Then, I found it and when I got up to turn it in and he said "schlinka sit down" I was like "you told me to turn in my paper. He was like "schlinka sit down." So, I threw my paper at him. Then, he said "grab yo things you is goin' to the office." So, I slowly(real slowly) grabbed my stuff and the bell rang and coach rhodes was like "schlinka, saved by the bell." it was too funny. Also me and Callie use to be real mean...we would draw arrows (well she drew them) saying like loser, mr.clean,  stupid and stuff and his head would always be right there where them arrows would be pointing. Boy! It was too funny.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8097218217888471605-4968634494858306465?l=reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/feeds/4968634494858306465/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8097218217888471605&amp;postID=4968634494858306465' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/4968634494858306465'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/4968634494858306465'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/2008/10/well-i-really-dont-know.html' title='Well I really don&apos;t know.'/><author><name>-britni*</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17304576478284908461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DIiidpwdwHg/SRnZZpUoMcI/AAAAAAAAAB4/Tc38yNdmpWw/S220/Photo+87.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8097218217888471605.post-1179077396674630634</id><published>2008-10-23T11:29:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-11-11T06:20:23.567-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Changed my mind.</title><content type='html'>Whoo Hoo!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8097218217888471605-1179077396674630634?l=reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/feeds/1179077396674630634/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8097218217888471605&amp;postID=1179077396674630634' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/1179077396674630634'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/1179077396674630634'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/2008/10/walk-line-walk-line.html' title='Changed my mind.'/><author><name>-britni*</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17304576478284908461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DIiidpwdwHg/SRnZZpUoMcI/AAAAAAAAAB4/Tc38yNdmpWw/S220/Photo+87.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8097218217888471605.post-2098592476128778251</id><published>2008-10-10T06:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-10T06:22:07.649-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Heepsman To Be Or Not To Be. (not to be)</title><content type='html'>Once upon a time in a land far far far from wherever you are lived a mansheep...yes, one of those...he was half man half sheep if you haven't already guessed. This mansheep was named Heepsman...He was ruler of all the land in this far far far away place. Nobody really liked him, but they had to pretend or he would eat them. One cold winter morning Heepsman was sleeping away when he heard a cry. He didn't pay very much attention to it, but it wouldn't stop so he charged towards the voice to his surprise there was a human...no one ever suspected a full human to come to this far far far away place...this human however wasn't crying...he was laughing. All the half human half animal creatures were running around and playing around with this man. His name was Billy Bob Joe. Billy Bob Joe was rather entertained with these creatures...now most people would be terrified, but no not Billy Bob Joe. Billy grew to love these creatures. So he decided to stay with them for as long as they would allow him. All the creatures started to love him so much they actually wanted him to be king. Heepsman got too furious with all this he planned an attack, a killing, kidnapping anything he could to keep Billy from taking his spot. He told himself no human could last here, but when he seen how things were going he began to think he was wrong. Two months had passed and Billy was still there. Heepsman couldn't take anymore he was about to explode. See in this place anger killed these creatures. The more angry they were the sicker they got. Heepsman himself was getting sick but he could outlast the rest because he was mighty. One day he walks up to Billy and says "hey, i've seen you around for quiet someday, you see I'm king of all this land." Billy replies, "I've heard, it's nice to meet you." Heepsman doesn't take that he is too angry to make friends. In his head he's thinking I need to be nice, bring him over my place and lock him up. So he invites him over to his lair. Billy says "I would really love to come but I have plans with all the other creatures. Heepsman gets so angry he falls over and dies. Billy becoms king of all the land and they hang Heepsman on a tree with targets because they hated him. THE END.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8097218217888471605-2098592476128778251?l=reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/feeds/2098592476128778251/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8097218217888471605&amp;postID=2098592476128778251' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/2098592476128778251'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/2098592476128778251'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/2008/10/heepsman-to-be-or-not-to-be-not-to-be.html' title='Heepsman To Be Or Not To Be. (not to be)'/><author><name>-britni*</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17304576478284908461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DIiidpwdwHg/SRnZZpUoMcI/AAAAAAAAAB4/Tc38yNdmpWw/S220/Photo+87.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8097218217888471605.post-3184769785975952733</id><published>2008-10-03T06:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-03T06:20:44.158-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bee-eye-are-tee-aych-dee-aye-why</title><content type='html'>When it comes to my birthday I don't get too excited...but this year I sure will be too excited, Boy! I'm going to be 18...heck yes. My most favoritest birthday ever was when I was like well I can't remember but I got this barbie and she was real pretty and I wanted to keep here forever and ever but my brother drew on her face with fingernail polish and I was sad and so my grandparents bought me a something else which was this movie I wanted but that was the next day but on the day of that party on my birthday...lol...my daddy who had been away some where for all my whole life called me to tell me happy birthday and I was real happy about that. My worst birthday ever was when I was like 11 or 13 or something and my mom got a phone call saying my daddy wasn't going to be coming to see me on my birthday cause he was in jail or something no he was in prison. I was too sad. Anyways back to this birthday....so yeah it's going to be exciting me and my twin bubba are going to be 18 and I am too excited because I sure can move out of my dads house. I will be old enough. Yes, I sure will be and I don't want to be living with parents especially seeing as how they treat me like I am a kid. No thanks! So also one birthday I know I have some pictures of it. I was little and I did my own hair thinkin' my hair was really lookin' cute, but now looking at them pictures it sure wasn't cute it was looking too rough. I think I was dumb or something growing up cause I know I really didn't think that hair was look too cute. Also uh...one thing I get too sad about on my birthday is I share it with my brother cause we are uh twins ya know and so yeah he sure does brag that he is a whole nine minutes older than me and that makes me all kinds of sad. thanks! (:&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8097218217888471605-3184769785975952733?l=reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/feeds/3184769785975952733/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8097218217888471605&amp;postID=3184769785975952733' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/3184769785975952733'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/3184769785975952733'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/2008/10/bee-eye-are-tee-aych-dee-aye-why.html' title='Bee-eye-are-tee-aych-dee-aye-why'/><author><name>-britni*</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17304576478284908461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DIiidpwdwHg/SRnZZpUoMcI/AAAAAAAAAB4/Tc38yNdmpWw/S220/Photo+87.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8097218217888471605.post-4141482059027642144</id><published>2008-09-19T06:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-19T06:05:47.582-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Fridays (:</title><content type='html'>10 reasons I love Fridays.&lt;br /&gt;1. Bobcat Football!!!!&lt;br /&gt;2. Fridays is the days I get off work.&lt;br /&gt;3. I get to see my boyfriend.&lt;br /&gt;4. I pretend I stay with a friend and I really stay with my boyfriend (at my friends house they are&lt;br /&gt;both of our best friends so we stay their together)&lt;br /&gt;5. I go out to eat with my daddy.&lt;br /&gt;6.First night I don't have to worry about school the next day.&lt;br /&gt;7. My brother and me have lunch together.&lt;br /&gt;8. poker night at the house.&lt;br /&gt;9. I have more time with my boyfriend (: (lol)&lt;br /&gt;10. Don't have a ten cause this is the last friday for three months I have with my boyfriend&lt;br /&gt;then after those three months its the last friday for a long time while he goes to the navy :( *sad time* (true.story)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8097218217888471605-4141482059027642144?l=reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/feeds/4141482059027642144/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8097218217888471605&amp;postID=4141482059027642144' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/4141482059027642144'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/4141482059027642144'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/2008/09/fridays.html' title='Fridays (:'/><author><name>-britni*</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17304576478284908461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DIiidpwdwHg/SRnZZpUoMcI/AAAAAAAAAB4/Tc38yNdmpWw/S220/Photo+87.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8097218217888471605.post-6419903738444544184</id><published>2008-09-05T06:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-05T06:29:40.838-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bonfire</title><content type='html'>So the bonfire is usually a big thing...for most people anyway.&lt;br /&gt;I think if we have serious doubts about ourselves then yeah we should&lt;br /&gt;stand aside and not fight for anything or attempt to get it going again.&lt;br /&gt;Honestly, we have Cops, Fire people and Parents there any one that was injured&lt;br /&gt;had to be playing to close or driving crazy...they can put it on the school&lt;br /&gt;as a reason others were injured...you do what you do...if you're your own person&lt;br /&gt;or you listen to others thats all on you. I think we should have the stinking bonfire&lt;br /&gt;and call it good not just because it's our senior year...I think we should keep having it.&lt;br /&gt;Our Justice system in my opinion is screwing us over...I do have a right to say what I want and&lt;br /&gt;that's how I feel. Instead of taking away....set rules and limits to make it safer....I know I would want my kids to enjoy the bonfire... It's sad when your senior year there is no bonfire but it's even sadder that there are no more period... You get pulled over for not wearing your seatbelt...but are you caught everytime?? No! you think no one knows....character is who you are when no one is watching...if you really think playing around going crazy and getting hurt is worth losing the bonfire over...then dude seriously...you need counseling...i feel bad for you. If you try to show off like that...not only are you hurting others but you're just making them dislike you....point is...we make our own decisions whether its to get to close to a fire or drive up down the roads like maniacs....but what about all days before or after the bonfire??? Can you keep blaming it?? No! So find another thing to point out because the whole bonfire subject is way overrated...it's lame and sad! Thanks.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8097218217888471605-6419903738444544184?l=reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/feeds/6419903738444544184/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8097218217888471605&amp;postID=6419903738444544184' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/6419903738444544184'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8097218217888471605/posts/default/6419903738444544184'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://reknilhcsynattirb.blogspot.com/2008/09/bonfire.html' title='Bonfire'/><author><name>-britni*</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17304576478284908461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DIiidpwdwHg/SRnZZpUoMcI/AAAAAAAAAB4/Tc38yNdmpWw/S220/Photo+87.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
