<?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'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18975713</id><updated>2009-02-21T05:21:30.702-08:00</updated><title type='text'>when i look at the stars</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://firagas.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18975713/posts/default'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://firagas.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>antigone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05527597305824363285</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>6</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18975713.post-113450799089598110</id><published>2005-12-13T13:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-12-13T13:06:30.903-08:00</updated><title type='text'>So don't bother, I won't die of deception.</title><content type='html'>Okay, so I haven't been posting because I moved to my dad's a couple weeks ago and he doesn't have usable internet. I shall return soon, hopefully.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18975713-113450799089598110?l=firagas.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://firagas.blogspot.com/feeds/113450799089598110/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18975713&amp;postID=113450799089598110' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18975713/posts/default/113450799089598110'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18975713/posts/default/113450799089598110'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://firagas.blogspot.com/2005/12/so-dont-bother-i-wont-die-of-deception.html' title='So don&apos;t bother, I won&apos;t die of deception.'/><author><name>antigone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05527597305824363285</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07432982442777699834'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18975713.post-113276617025493882</id><published>2005-11-23T09:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-23T09:16:10.263-08:00</updated><title type='text'>They said she died easy of a broken heart disease.</title><content type='html'>What to update with, what to update with..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;School's been going okay I suppose. I'm getting a bit tired of being treated like a delinquent. Then again, I'm getting a bit tired of being treated like the backup friend, the "expendable" employee, the ignorable girlfriend. I'm a bit tired of a lot of things. I wish everything were different. Since the people that read this journal are people I trust with my life, I can talk about anything here I suppose. So just recently I found out something new about me -- I'm fiercely attracted to boys in preppy clothes. How sad. All this time I've been on this anti-preppy vendetta. And now I find out I'm attracted to the clothes. :\ Sigh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've also recently become a huge cologne fanatic. Gahh I love the smell of a good cologne.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's something severely wrong with me. Perhaps I'm.. enamoured. :]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18975713-113276617025493882?l=firagas.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://firagas.blogspot.com/feeds/113276617025493882/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18975713&amp;postID=113276617025493882' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18975713/posts/default/113276617025493882'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18975713/posts/default/113276617025493882'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://firagas.blogspot.com/2005/11/they-said-she-died-easy-of-broken.html' title='They said she died easy of a broken heart disease.'/><author><name>antigone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05527597305824363285</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07432982442777699834'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18975713.post-113236923552173521</id><published>2005-11-18T18:51:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-18T19:00:35.523-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The real me is a Southern girl with her Levis on and an open heart.</title><content type='html'>My paycheck was $307.04. I think I'm in heaven. :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18975713-113236923552173521?l=firagas.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://firagas.blogspot.com/feeds/113236923552173521/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18975713&amp;postID=113236923552173521' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18975713/posts/default/113236923552173521'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18975713/posts/default/113236923552173521'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://firagas.blogspot.com/2005/11/real-me-is-southern-girl-with-her_18.html' title='The real me is a Southern girl with her Levis on and an open heart.'/><author><name>antigone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05527597305824363285</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07432982442777699834'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18975713.post-113212698241676318</id><published>2005-11-15T23:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-15T23:43:02.426-08:00</updated><title type='text'>If you'll just hold one for one more second, just hold on to what you love.</title><content type='html'>I didn't love Bryan. I didn't even like him. I thought he was kind of gross. But the thought of having a boyfriend, much less one who was a sophomore when I was a freshman, was elating. So I agreed to date him. But then he started leaving me notes, creepy ones proclaiming that he wanted to have children with me and get married. I broke up with him not long afterward. He was heartbroken, and started cutting and threatening suicide. Stefanie, who really loved him, talked on the phone with him every night. He never reciprocated her love, and a few weeks later was off fucking some girl named Crystal. Good riddance, I say.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then came Reid. What can I say about Reid? I was infatuated. He was interesting. He represented this side of a person I'd never been introduced to. He was gothy and angsty. We held hands under the lunch table. I kissed him once (no tongue thank god!) after Mel dropped me off at home. I called him every night and we'd talk for hours. He was willing to listen to me rant on and on about whatever computer game I was infatuated with at the time. I think he knew more about Septerra Core than I did by the time I was done. I enjoyed our talks, until they started getting creepy. We'd be talking, and I'd realize he was masturbating on the other end. Then he started asking me to. Eventually, I felt pressured and cornered. I broke up with him not long after. He avoids me now. Lord knows I don't care.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nate was an interesting experience. I met him when he started dating my friend Rachel. Back then, middle of freshman year, we thought it was cool to hang out at Skateland and meet guys. Nate ended up breaking up with Rachel to go out with me, and then he broke up with me to go out with Stefanie. I was the only one out of us three who didn't screw him. He's a pathological liar and I hope he rots somewhere :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;During that whole time, I had a hugely major crush on my friend Mike who lived up north where my camper was. Ohmygosh I loved this boy. He was sweet, caring, funny -- I was attracted to him in a very unexplainable way. I spent all my free time hanging out with him when I was up there. We did stuff together with his twin brother Chris and their little brother Dale. One day, though, and I remember this well, Mike and I wanted to go swimming but Chris didn't feel like it so Mike, Dale, and me rode our bikes to this river by a bridge and went swimming. Shit, it was cold. Eventually Dale had to go to the bathroom and was too embarrassed to do so in "public" so he rode his bike back home and Mike and I hung out at the river for a while by ourselves, talking. I guess I grew a backbone because I grabbed his hand innocently for emphasis during a story of some sort. He didn't pull away. Nothing ever happened. I miss him. I haven't been up north in more than a year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The summer after freshman year brought Sean into my life. He'd originally been a friend of my friend Emily. She was infatuated with the poor guy. We started talking for some reason and hit it off. There was mutual attraction, and I guess we had an unofficial relationship. Eventually, though, we met. And I don't know.. I'm the kind of person who waits for that "click" and it wasn't there. So we broke up too. He's the only one of my exes I'm still on good terms with. I still love Sean as a friend, always will, and I'll always care about him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sophomore year, I reconnected with an aquaintence from the year before, Brian. He was a senior, but despite that we chatted in the library sometimes. He was wickedly smart, and a pretty nice guy. Eventually, I managed to coerce rides home from him. However, he also took a friend of his home, and this friend of his was a &lt;em&gt;jerk&lt;/em&gt;. He liked to pick on me and Stefanie (who also caught rides with Brian). I just generally didn't like him too much, even though he was cute. However, he was also a senior, and I thought there was no shot in hell even if I liked the guy. Then, a couple days later, I realized this jerk was &lt;em&gt;also&lt;/em&gt; in my Web Design class. Juuuust what I needed. I found out his name was Aaron and he started hanging around me and Bill, a guy I'd been assigned to do a project with.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As Aaron and I continued to talk and hang out more, I stopped disliking him. He turned out to be a fun guy to hang out with. My disappointment in finding out he had a girlfriend surprised me, but I managed to get over it. As time went on, however, I found myself increasingly attracted to him. Then he admitted to me that he and his girlfriend were having problems. She lived in Ohio (she'd moved there from Wisconsin) and they were fighting. I told him about Mike and my crush on him and everything seemed fine between us. We were good friends, nothing more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, ahh, the fateful computer conversation. I came into Web Design, frustrated about something, and decided I wanted to talk to no one. So, using my computer, Aaron and I chatted using a blank word document taking turns using the keyboard. Through this conversation, &lt;em&gt;he asked me out&lt;/em&gt;. I remember having butterflies I couldn't remember ever having that feeling before when a guy asked me out, and I said yes. Unfortunately, the plan (to see Matrix: Revolutions) got foiled by my father. However, we did end up hanging out and eventually dating. I remember running down the hall to Stefanie screaming "&lt;strong&gt;He asked me out!!!&lt;/strong&gt;" It was pretty amusing. We started going out on November 17th, 2003. Our two year anniversary is tomorrow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't remember a time when I didn't walk into Aaron's house and feel at home, almost moreso than in my own dwelling. At first I think Aaron's parents were iffy to accept me (his mom hated his old girlfriend) but eventually I think they did. Aaron's room feels more like my own. I've watched countless hours of tv, spent countless minutes sleeping in his arms on his bed. On October 31st, 2004 (not joking, it was on Halloween), I lost my virginity to him on my bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love him more than anyone else I've ever known. He is my light, my world, my heart and soul. Aaron, I know we'll get through all of this, together. I love you so much, sweetheart.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18975713-113212698241676318?l=firagas.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://firagas.blogspot.com/feeds/113212698241676318/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18975713&amp;postID=113212698241676318' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18975713/posts/default/113212698241676318'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18975713/posts/default/113212698241676318'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://firagas.blogspot.com/2005/11/if-youll-just-hold-one-for-one-more.html' title='If you&apos;ll just hold one for one more second, just hold on to what you love.'/><author><name>antigone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05527597305824363285</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07432982442777699834'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18975713.post-113211835729327670</id><published>2005-11-15T21:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-15T21:19:17.300-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hang up the phone before I tell you I still love you.</title><content type='html'>I still can't breathe when the phone rings late at night&lt;br /&gt;I should just let it ring and turn out all the lights&lt;br /&gt;Your voice is heavy like a black cloud in my ear&lt;br /&gt;Wish I could touch you, hate you, heal you, make you disappear&lt;br /&gt;Oh, please, oh&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hang up the phone&lt;br /&gt;Cuz I can't help you anymore&lt;br /&gt;Hang up the phone&lt;br /&gt;Before I tell you I still love you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your words are wet, you say you're sorry it's so late&lt;br /&gt;You just called to say hello -- I guess it couldn't wait&lt;br /&gt;We talk like strangers, yeah, we're both still doing fine&lt;br /&gt;I can almost feel you through the silence on the line, don't say a word&lt;br /&gt;Oh, please, oh&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hang up the phone&lt;br /&gt;Cuz I can't help you anymore&lt;br /&gt;Hang up the phone&lt;br /&gt;Before I tell you I still love you&lt;br /&gt;I still love you&lt;br /&gt;I still love you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, please, oh&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hang up the phone&lt;br /&gt;Cuz I can't help you anymore&lt;br /&gt;Hang up the phone&lt;br /&gt;Before I tell you I'll call tomorrow&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18975713-113211835729327670?l=firagas.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://firagas.blogspot.com/feeds/113211835729327670/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18975713&amp;postID=113211835729327670' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18975713/posts/default/113211835729327670'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18975713/posts/default/113211835729327670'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://firagas.blogspot.com/2005/11/hang-up-phone-before-i-tell-you-i.html' title='Hang up the phone before I tell you I still love you.'/><author><name>antigone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05527597305824363285</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07432982442777699834'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18975713.post-113202266507166486</id><published>2005-11-14T18:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-14T18:44:25.080-08:00</updated><title type='text'>When I look at the stars, I feel more like myself.</title><content type='html'>Yay, a blogger again. I kind of miss the ol' blogger days. I had like a million different bloggers for a million different reasons, I remember. I'm a little miffed though, they're all gone now :( Makes me a bit sad. But now I like this name a lot, and I've been needing a place to actually, you know, UPDATE at because half of gj is full of backstabbing bitches whom I'm wickedly jealous of. I can't leave there, my life would contain this unkillable void. Sigh my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I talked to the guy from UW-Platteville today, and he said there's actually a decent chance I'll get in! So yay, there's a huge weight off my shoulders. He told me my lack of extra clubs and programs won't hurt me either. Though the fact that I never took Geometry might, he said we can work around it. He was a really nice guy, and I was the only one there, so it was cool cuz we got to talk a lot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been playing FFX-2 again ever since I bought it at the mall with Cheryl on Saturday. I kind of suck -- I lost my touch. I'm working on that. I bought Xenosaga: Episode II as well, but I'm yet to play it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I swear to God, if this ugly-ass, muscle-head kid Alan in my class doesn't stop hitting on me I am going to kill him. He smells funny and eats &lt;em&gt;constantly&lt;/em&gt;. And he needs to, um, leave me alone. Right now. I mean it. :(&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18975713-113202266507166486?l=firagas.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://firagas.blogspot.com/feeds/113202266507166486/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18975713&amp;postID=113202266507166486' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18975713/posts/default/113202266507166486'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18975713/posts/default/113202266507166486'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://firagas.blogspot.com/2005/11/when-i-look-at-stars-i-feel-more-like.html' title='When I look at the stars, I feel more like myself.'/><author><name>antigone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05527597305824363285</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07432982442777699834'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry></feed>