<?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-7986153745363096955</id><updated>2011-05-04T02:26:11.055-07:00</updated><title type='text'>missmardipants</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7986153745363096955/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>missmardipants</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15177335589707288913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>10</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7986153745363096955.post-2887390329822607224</id><published>2011-02-11T10:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-11T10:26:02.801-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Someone Who Loves You</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;You know the funny words about, “I’m fine,” or “I will be fine”?  is you don’t believe you are going to be fine within the next minute or five minutes; hour even….you don’t believe the pain will go away, all you know is the pain that you feel right now.  But you know you will be fine eventually.  That’s the logical truth…&lt;br /&gt;When you’ve been given a great deal to handle; when you don’t know what else could go wrong; that’s when you keep hoping for the best. That’s the strong will inside of you. Close your eyes, take a deep breath, find yourself again, and trust in God that He knows what He’s doing. He would never hurt you, He would never do things to you to make you feel this way. He does not hate you, He’s there for you, holding you when you collapse in tears. Believing in Him is that strong will keeping you going forward.&lt;br /&gt;So when you say, “I will be fine” believe it. Because you will be. Maybe not now, or by the end of this message, but you will. You are strong. You will.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Xo,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Someone Who Loves You.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7986153745363096955-2887390329822607224?l=missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com/feeds/2887390329822607224/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com/2011/02/someone-who-loves-you.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7986153745363096955/posts/default/2887390329822607224'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7986153745363096955/posts/default/2887390329822607224'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com/2011/02/someone-who-loves-you.html' title='Someone Who Loves You'/><author><name>missmardipants</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15177335589707288913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7986153745363096955.post-6896737823114110932</id><published>2011-01-28T18:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-28T18:38:54.489-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Be You for You</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;Don’t turn your world into theirs.  Don’t make your every move revolve around them. If you want to say something, say if for yourself. If you want to do something, do it for yourself. If you want to be someone, be that someone for yourself.  When you become someone else’s idea of something amazing… then you’ve already lost who you are.  You want to be loved for the person you are, not for someone you’re not. Everything is not about that person. No one is perfect. You don’t have to be perfect.  Be you.&lt;br /&gt;Think. Would you want someone to change for you? IF you like someone, you like them for who they are.  What right does anyone have to tell another how to be?  Do whatever makes you happy. At the end of the day, you have yourself to blame for your actions.  Ask yourself, “Did I do it for me or for someone else?” &lt;br /&gt;Take people for who they are. And allow them to take you for who you are. If they don’t accept you, then they aren’t meant having in your life.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7986153745363096955-6896737823114110932?l=missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com/feeds/6896737823114110932/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com/2011/01/be-you-for-you.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7986153745363096955/posts/default/6896737823114110932'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7986153745363096955/posts/default/6896737823114110932'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com/2011/01/be-you-for-you.html' title='Be You for You'/><author><name>missmardipants</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15177335589707288913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7986153745363096955.post-4940824264757015190</id><published>2011-01-27T22:10:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-27T22:11:18.523-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Fate? Meant to Be?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;If things are ever meant to be, if there’s ever destiny in the world, why do we ever attempt anything at all?  For example, when we like someone, and we talk to them… if it is meant to be some serendipity act of fate would bring two people together, no one would pursue anyone right?  I’m getting this idea from 500 Days of Summer.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7986153745363096955-4940824264757015190?l=missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com/feeds/4940824264757015190/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com/2011/01/fate-meant-to-be.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7986153745363096955/posts/default/4940824264757015190'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7986153745363096955/posts/default/4940824264757015190'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com/2011/01/fate-meant-to-be.html' title='Fate? Meant to Be?'/><author><name>missmardipants</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15177335589707288913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7986153745363096955.post-6073301930418310097</id><published>2011-01-27T22:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-27T22:09:43.894-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Just Forget</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;Just forget.... sometimes it's the best thing we can do for ourselves... Just forget them... because they forget us... and then we move onto the next prospect... we screw it up with them, and the process just continues.... Until we find that someone who won't give up on us.... I guess that's just how finding that special someone works....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7986153745363096955-6073301930418310097?l=missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com/feeds/6073301930418310097/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com/2011/01/just-forget.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7986153745363096955/posts/default/6073301930418310097'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7986153745363096955/posts/default/6073301930418310097'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com/2011/01/just-forget.html' title='Just Forget'/><author><name>missmardipants</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15177335589707288913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7986153745363096955.post-4156535064622272091</id><published>2011-01-27T22:06:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-27T22:08:13.564-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Fear</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;I’m tired of being afraid.  Yes it’s wise to take realistic caution…. look both ways before you cross the street, don’t stick a fork in the toaster to retrieve your toast, get out of the water when there’s lightning… But things like, being too afraid to introduce yourself to a boy is silly.  Fear of rejection is silly, yes it’ll hurt for a bit but the pain, humiliation, and embarrassment wears away.  Eventually you look back and laugh.  Being careful is no way to live life.  It’s about taking risks because we never know when it will be our last day.  We will never be more beautiful than we are now.  Life is more precious for us because it’s so short.  I don’t want to be in an accident and lying in the emergency room with my last thoughts being, “I should have been more adventurous, more active, more fun, more brave.”  I want to be able to ask a boy out, to sing loud even if I’m off key, to dance when people are watching, to throw my hands in the air, to try things I never would.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7986153745363096955-4156535064622272091?l=missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com/feeds/4156535064622272091/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com/2011/01/fear.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7986153745363096955/posts/default/4156535064622272091'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7986153745363096955/posts/default/4156535064622272091'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com/2011/01/fear.html' title='Fear'/><author><name>missmardipants</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15177335589707288913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7986153745363096955.post-5203569530405118820</id><published>2011-01-27T22:03:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-27T22:06:24.741-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Death</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;I am a little confused about death… today my I went to visit my cousin Anita in the hospital… she fell down the stairs and cracked her skull and is continuing to bleed from her head. She’s on blood thinners, but had to be given a blood clotting medication to control the bleeding… sadly; her death is going to be inevitable eventually.  Thing about Hispanics is we always come together when someone is in a horribly near death situation, especially when one is in the hospital.  Personally I don’t think I want everyone around me my final moments in life… grant it, when they took the breathing aid out Cousin Anita’s chest she was okay.  My thing is, I don’t want to be remembered in pain, and non responsive. I want people to remember how alive, witty, snappy, life embracing self I was.  Today driving to the hospital, apparently it was the same hospital my Grandpa Sanchez died in.  He died when I was 3 years old… but I had a strange memory jog when I looked at the characteristics of the parking garage…. Yes, all parking garages seem the same, but there was something about this one that jogged my memory. Of course at the age of 3 a child doesn’t really remember things.  I have photographic images I remember of certain ages of my life.  That garage was one of them.  Me, mom and someone else (Tía Connie presumably) were in Bessy and I was in the backseat playing with a Polly Pocket.  I asked mom if that was all correct, she said it was.  I had always had that image in my mind, but never was sure of what it was.  Now I know. &lt;br /&gt;I’m not sure how I’m going to react when I lose someone I truly and deeply love.  I cried when Steve died, because he was a sweet, funny cousin, but I wasn’t torn up about his death.  I cried when Tía Susie died but only because of how she died; alone and of a heart attack.  I’m going to be 22 in 7 minutes and still do not really understand death yet.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7986153745363096955-5203569530405118820?l=missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com/feeds/5203569530405118820/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com/2011/01/death.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7986153745363096955/posts/default/5203569530405118820'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7986153745363096955/posts/default/5203569530405118820'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com/2011/01/death.html' title='Death'/><author><name>missmardipants</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15177335589707288913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7986153745363096955.post-3293815011587736658</id><published>2011-01-27T21:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-27T22:03:09.449-08:00</updated><title type='text'>What If?</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;What if you had the world at your finger tips, but you were too afraid to reach out?  I think I am too afraid to reach out.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;What if you saw the most beautiful person everyday and did not get the courage to talk to them until it was too late? I lack this everyday courage. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;What if you had everything another would consider everything, but that still was not enough? I have this feeling.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;What if you knew of the person you wanted to be, some days you are this person, other days you hide this person for fear of being embarrassed? I have this fear.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;What if you were afraid you were going to die alone, unloved, unkissed, unmarried, without child but you tell yourself you don’t want anyone or children in hopes to contradict what you receive? I tell myself this all the time. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;What if you don’t know where you will end up in 10 years but you have hopes to become someone someday? I never plan ahead.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;What if the love of your life is your best friend but you don’t see it? I don’t see this.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;What if all you wanted was to be loved intimately, but you still have not received this love? I don’t know how to finish this one….&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7986153745363096955-3293815011587736658?l=missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com/feeds/3293815011587736658/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com/2011/01/what-if.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7986153745363096955/posts/default/3293815011587736658'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7986153745363096955/posts/default/3293815011587736658'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com/2011/01/what-if.html' title='What If?'/><author><name>missmardipants</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15177335589707288913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7986153745363096955.post-4516865455105767080</id><published>2011-01-27T21:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-27T21:59:12.744-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sometimes I wish...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;Sometimes I wish I were blind, deaf and dumb. If I were blind, I wouldn’t be so shallow when it came to looking at myself and others. If I were deaf I wouldn’t listen to nonsense. And if I were dumb, then my stupidity could be excusable.&lt;br /&gt;However, I am thankful I am not. Today; yes I wish I were all these things.  I’ve been all of these things, shallow, I’ve taken advice and distorted it into what I think I should do, and I have done stupid things. On a day like today, I wouldn’t mind being all these things. It’s cliché but I’ve never felt as alone as I do right now. If I were all of these things, it wouldn’t matter because I’d be alone in my head, but wouldn’t know any better.&lt;br /&gt;However, this is shitty of me to write this, because I am well. I can see all the beauty in the world a blind person cannot see themselves. I am not deaf, because I can hear the sound of music and to the voices of the people I love. And I am not dumb, because I am in college…. I really don’t know how else to fill that gap other than I am writing an intellectual journal entry…. I have done some pretty stupid things in my days…. However, the difference is… I will learn from it.  I have hurt 4 people; myself for doing things out of character, my best friend for treating her like a dispensable item, and a guy I apparently, “care about”….. I was going to make a disaster of him to relapse into his old bad self. And I hurt God, I hurt Him by breaking my character. I was not the person He created me to be.  I feel so guilty. Where do I go from here? I’ve never felt so alone than I do right now. Lost my best friend, lost a guy friend, I lost God. He didn’t lose me, I lost Him. But… as my mother tells me, “IF GOD LEADS YOU TO IT; HE WILL LEAD YOU THROUGH IT” I hope she is right. I don’t know if He led me to this per say… but I will trust in Him to help me out of this mess. He knows I’m not perfect. God knows I’m not. I’m far from perfection. I’m a good girl, but I’m no angel. I sin, but I’m not the devil. I’m only human.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7986153745363096955-4516865455105767080?l=missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com/feeds/4516865455105767080/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com/2011/01/sometimes-i-wish.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7986153745363096955/posts/default/4516865455105767080'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7986153745363096955/posts/default/4516865455105767080'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com/2011/01/sometimes-i-wish.html' title='Sometimes I wish...'/><author><name>missmardipants</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15177335589707288913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7986153745363096955.post-5794683494545126887</id><published>2011-01-27T21:50:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-27T21:52:21.068-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Beauty</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;Whenever I am feeling down, I shall read this to myself. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No one is perfect. Beauty lies deep within ones soul. Beauty is a girl who is 280 lbs but still manages to look at herself in the mirror and think she’s a diva. Beauty is confidence.  Beauty is a woman with breast cancer and is not sitting down crying about it; she’s fighting it with all her strength.  Beauty is someone who does the right thing even if people may judge them for it.  Beauty is a pregnant woman. She’s your mother, grandmother, aunt, sister, best friend, the girl next door. Beauty is blind.  It isn’t seen, but can be felt through the heart.  It’s looking into someone’s eyes, heart, mind, and soul and seeing the light they hold them.  Beauty is a girl who tries with all her might and puts 100% effort into doing something.  Beauty is a girl who laughs when she stumbles.  It’s tragic when a girl doesn’t see the beauty inside herself.  Beauty is a girl who puts it all on the line and has no regrets.  It’s sad when all she sees is just her reflection in the mirror.  It’s sad when she lets television, models, music, and others shallowness make her feel any less beautiful. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don’t see a fat girl when I look in a mirror.  If I could break every mirror I would sometimes.  But without mirrors… how would I know how awesome I looked in my outfit?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7986153745363096955-5794683494545126887?l=missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com/feeds/5794683494545126887/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com/2011/01/beauty.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7986153745363096955/posts/default/5794683494545126887'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7986153745363096955/posts/default/5794683494545126887'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com/2011/01/beauty.html' title='Beauty'/><author><name>missmardipants</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15177335589707288913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7986153745363096955.post-1427127565877801542</id><published>2011-01-27T21:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-27T21:50:35.622-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hurts like Hell</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;There are some things in this life that just hurt like hell.  When you work hard at something and bust your rear end all for it to just come tumbling down in the very end.  You wish you had just dreamt it.  You fall asleep at night, crying yourself to sleep, then you wake up… praying it was all just a dream… but it wasn’t.  You are then forced to re-think every detail of what went wrong…and where you went wrong. You hate yourself if what you caused what went wrong. Or you ask “what if” or “what could I have done different?” In a world of balance… we cannot ask ourselves these questions… because we are not meant to have it all.  Life told us misfortune would arise… we just have to deal with it. It’s rotten but I guess it makes for a stronger individual.  “Things go wrong so we can appreciate them when they’re right, and good things fall apart so better things can fall together.” Onward march. Go forth and live. It’s not easy right now, and it’s still going to hurt for a good bit.  But always remember; just when you think you’ve got it bad, someone has it 10 times worse.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7986153745363096955-1427127565877801542?l=missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com/feeds/1427127565877801542/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com/2011/01/hurts-like-hell.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7986153745363096955/posts/default/1427127565877801542'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7986153745363096955/posts/default/1427127565877801542'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missmardipants-autobiographyii.blogspot.com/2011/01/hurts-like-hell.html' title='Hurts like Hell'/><author><name>missmardipants</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15177335589707288913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
