<?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-788158006489589537</id><updated>2012-02-16T21:40:05.845-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Stellar Ladies</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>mrsbitchly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08623110931893521633</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>67</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-788158006489589537.post-4203765864761641598</id><published>2010-01-07T14:26:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2010-01-07T16:00:02.224-06:00</updated><title type='text'>transition 2</title><content type='html'>when the cliches settle you and i are standing face to face, without heavy sighs, long gone firsts, our baggage out in the open.  i'm walking because i love myself more than i love the way you make me feel.  school girl crushes have turned to grown woman rational.  thank you for reminding me that i deserve more than in between.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-4203765864761641598?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/4203765864761641598/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=4203765864761641598' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/4203765864761641598'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/4203765864761641598'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2010/01/transition-2.html' title='transition 2'/><author><name>naughti</name><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-788158006489589537.post-3996050353280180005</id><published>2009-07-12T22:27:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T23:39:58.196-05:00</updated><title type='text'>transition</title><content type='html'>school girl crushes.  damn these uncontrollable smiles that creep up on me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-3996050353280180005?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/3996050353280180005/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=3996050353280180005' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/3996050353280180005'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/3996050353280180005'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2009/07/transition.html' title='transition'/><author><name>naughti</name><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-788158006489589537.post-8806401558001702326</id><published>2009-07-07T10:05:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-07T16:27:02.589-05:00</updated><title type='text'>excerpt #3</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;i refuse to be &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;that girl&lt;/span&gt;.  and that must kill you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;when you begin to feel your self-inflicted loneliness, i will have come to terms with the fact that i wasn't in love with you, but in love with what i was waiting for you to become and with what you once were.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;with all do respect, you should have known. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-8806401558001702326?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/8806401558001702326/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=8806401558001702326' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/8806401558001702326'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/8806401558001702326'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2009/07/excerpt-3.html' title='excerpt #3'/><author><name>naughti</name><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-788158006489589537.post-8427607827186956725</id><published>2009-06-30T00:22:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2009-06-30T00:34:47.945-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Some people feel like they don't deserve love. They walk away quietly into empty spaces trying to close the gaps of the past.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;-christopher mccandless; into the wild &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;...my gap is too deep.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;you wouldn't even know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-8427607827186956725?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/8427607827186956725/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=8427607827186956725' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/8427607827186956725'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/8427607827186956725'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2009/06/some-people-feel-like-they-dont-deserve.html' title=''/><author><name>nik</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08829477782957344681</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='30' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DVYClB1TCUo/SUoB3QK9XvI/AAAAAAAAAAM/koz_EEEf28c/S220/music.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-788158006489589537.post-5075013435604406447</id><published>2009-04-28T23:28:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-28T23:56:19.755-05:00</updated><title type='text'>impossible possibilities</title><content type='html'>a small gesture of generosity. i've always sought being generous--with my time, my work, my love. i'm no altruistic saviour, but i have strong beliefs backed by passion. today, i, along with 4 of my friends received a gift in which we had hoped for. the man that gave this gift had no idea how much we needed it, but did it because, as we hoped, he saw good in us. i'm being vague, because it doesn't matter what the gift was, but rather he saw our vision of love and compassion. love without expecting to be loved back. agreed. but, a functioning relationship is based on mutuality and reciprocity. if we weren't loved back for all the love we were giving, our ultimate goal would have failed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i am so thankful for love.  i am so thankful for faith in impossibilities.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;currently: ohming out&lt;br /&gt;craving: a warm embrace and a kiss on the forehead&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-5075013435604406447?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/5075013435604406447/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=5075013435604406447' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/5075013435604406447'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/5075013435604406447'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2009/04/impossible-possibilities.html' title='impossible possibilities'/><author><name>naughti</name><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-788158006489589537.post-4154913043774274184</id><published>2009-04-27T01:06:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-28T00:16:14.535-05:00</updated><title type='text'>another excerpt</title><content type='html'>i watched the morning rays of light hit your sleeping face. i have no words to explain how light can brighten light. you said you loved your apartment for its windows. wide, antique borders, thin enough to hear the commotion of the city below. i painted the beauty of those windows on the canvas of my mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-4154913043774274184?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/4154913043774274184/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=4154913043774274184' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/4154913043774274184'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/4154913043774274184'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2009/04/another-excerpt.html' title='another excerpt'/><author><name>naughti</name><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-788158006489589537.post-1907731811685261346</id><published>2009-03-31T01:06:00.008-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-31T01:13:57.360-05:00</updated><title type='text'>aygamisou</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;i wish we were strangers again.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-1907731811685261346?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/1907731811685261346/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=1907731811685261346' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/1907731811685261346'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/1907731811685261346'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2009/03/aygamisou.html' title='aygamisou'/><author><name>nik</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08829477782957344681</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='30' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DVYClB1TCUo/SUoB3QK9XvI/AAAAAAAAAAM/koz_EEEf28c/S220/music.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-788158006489589537.post-2317031394600525</id><published>2009-02-15T16:58:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-15T17:07:06.745-06:00</updated><title type='text'>random tidbits...</title><content type='html'>i came across these when i was looking for a writing sample, truth is i have no idea what i wrote them in reference to, but they are intriguing nonetheless:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Welcome to limbo my dear friend.&lt;br /&gt;I’m somewhere in between the last kiss you gave me as the second tear fell from my eyes and the late night phone call I received from you talking gibberish about some girl with green eyes.&lt;br /&gt;****&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m not too into labels…they make me nervous to be honest. Even when I received a reply to an email from a friend of a friend that said, “so you’re the excited email-type” because I put three exclamation points..i felt as though I was being put in a box. You get periods from now. Boring, insignificant periods.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-2317031394600525?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/2317031394600525/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=2317031394600525' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/2317031394600525'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/2317031394600525'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2009/02/random-tidbits.html' title='random tidbits...'/><author><name>naughti</name><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-788158006489589537.post-3982486837208594351</id><published>2009-02-11T16:36:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-11T16:46:55.449-06:00</updated><title type='text'>This ride: OUT OF ORDER</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;fall in love or fall in hate.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;get inspired or be depressed.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ace a test or flunk a class.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;make babies or make art.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;speak the truth or lie and cheat.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;dance on tables or sit in the corner.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;life is divine chaos. embrace it.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;forgive yourself. BREATHE.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;and enjoy the ride...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:78%;"&gt;(Solbeam)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;This ride is making me terribly sick.  This ride is making me loose all hope.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-3982486837208594351?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/3982486837208594351/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=3982486837208594351' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/3982486837208594351'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/3982486837208594351'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2009/02/this-ride-out-of-order.html' title='This ride: OUT OF ORDER'/><author><name>nik</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08829477782957344681</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='30' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DVYClB1TCUo/SUoB3QK9XvI/AAAAAAAAAAM/koz_EEEf28c/S220/music.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-788158006489589537.post-1412736613386799661</id><published>2009-02-09T02:29:00.007-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-09T02:35:27.187-06:00</updated><title type='text'>what do you expect?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;pissing everywhere is not very &lt;strong&gt;Chanel&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;--Lagerfeld Confidential&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt; (leave it to the fashion design extraodinnaire, Karl himself)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-1412736613386799661?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/1412736613386799661/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=1412736613386799661' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/1412736613386799661'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/1412736613386799661'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2009/02/what-do-you-expect.html' title='what do you expect?'/><author><name>nik</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08829477782957344681</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='30' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DVYClB1TCUo/SUoB3QK9XvI/AAAAAAAAAAM/koz_EEEf28c/S220/music.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-788158006489589537.post-6114834848772493280</id><published>2009-01-27T01:05:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-27T01:06:58.169-06:00</updated><title type='text'>BIG apple is calling me</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I want to move to New York City right now, tomorrow, the day after, forever.... maybe.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-6114834848772493280?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/6114834848772493280/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=6114834848772493280' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/6114834848772493280'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/6114834848772493280'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2009/01/big-apple-is-calling-me.html' title='BIG apple is calling me'/><author><name>nik</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08829477782957344681</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='30' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DVYClB1TCUo/SUoB3QK9XvI/AAAAAAAAAAM/koz_EEEf28c/S220/music.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-788158006489589537.post-6909473832677569297</id><published>2009-01-26T21:46:00.005-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-26T22:48:24.268-06:00</updated><title type='text'>y+x (wtf)=?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/SX6QGZSOPzI/AAAAAAAAAEc/dFD8bkOol0A/s1600-h/DSC_1867.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295828651375214386" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 213px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/SX6QGZSOPzI/AAAAAAAAAEc/dFD8bkOol0A/s320/DSC_1867.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;i am so indecisive it's sick. i need to make decisions and commit to them. i am always torn, one foot out and one firmly in, an infinite pro/cons list that i never complete, balancing the traditional with the rejectionist in me. the reason for this madness is that i do not know what i want. &lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;plain and simple. &lt;em&gt;just take your time&lt;/em&gt; everyone says. yet, my mind, my tired thoughts are ready to skip ahead to a time when i can have a bit of consistency. just a bit. not too much because the average person's life-- 9-5's, dinner as the highlight of the evening with oooh perhaps watching a dvd, weekends for couples only dinner parties--will never (ever) be my life. but at the moment, i would love for there to be no more unattainable variables added to the equation. i'm a sociologist, not a mathematician.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;****&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-6909473832677569297?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/6909473832677569297/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=6909473832677569297' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/6909473832677569297'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/6909473832677569297'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2009/01/yx-wtf.html' title='y+x (wtf)=?'/><author><name>naughti</name><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><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/SX6QGZSOPzI/AAAAAAAAAEc/dFD8bkOol0A/s72-c/DSC_1867.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-788158006489589537.post-7713454932729110204</id><published>2009-01-22T01:08:00.007-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-22T01:25:21.668-06:00</updated><title type='text'>mr.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I desire what I cannot have, the oldest story in the oldest book.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-7713454932729110204?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/7713454932729110204/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=7713454932729110204' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/7713454932729110204'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/7713454932729110204'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2009/01/mr.html' title='mr.'/><author><name>nik</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08829477782957344681</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='30' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DVYClB1TCUo/SUoB3QK9XvI/AAAAAAAAAAM/koz_EEEf28c/S220/music.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-788158006489589537.post-3647795650086799390</id><published>2009-01-20T23:19:00.005-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-21T00:26:32.320-06:00</updated><title type='text'>plagued by a lost navigation system</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Uneasiness is part of my being now.  I’ve found that I’ve been too much so many times that I have no idea how to be what I am.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-3647795650086799390?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/3647795650086799390/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=3647795650086799390' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/3647795650086799390'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/3647795650086799390'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2009/01/plagued-by-lost-navigation-system.html' title='plagued by a lost navigation system'/><author><name>nik</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08829477782957344681</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='30' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DVYClB1TCUo/SUoB3QK9XvI/AAAAAAAAAAM/koz_EEEf28c/S220/music.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-788158006489589537.post-1448347389816672774</id><published>2008-12-22T23:10:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-22T23:34:26.769-06:00</updated><title type='text'>an excerpt</title><content type='html'>i want to feel warranted for feeling the way i do.  yet, from you i get nothing.  but i'm giving myself the authority to feel regardless of expectations, rhyme or reason.  for what it's worth you turned my gaze.  it's not your fault that you don't know the enormity of doing so.  you don't really know me or the ways in which i erect walls and tend to push rather than pull.  yet, you know me.  solely by observation, reading body language and tone of voice.  so as much as you don't know my story, almost hoping to understand me rather than the bags i carry, you have intrigued me by the way in which you approach me with little fragility.  you will not let me wear my 'handle with care' badge across my chest, because doing so would define me in ways that you don't see me.  never have i felt so transparent.  never have i felt so opaque. &lt;br /&gt;****&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-1448347389816672774?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/1448347389816672774/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=1448347389816672774' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/1448347389816672774'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/1448347389816672774'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/12/excerpt.html' title='an excerpt'/><author><name>naughti</name><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-788158006489589537.post-3449544812759920845</id><published>2008-12-21T01:05:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-21T01:21:19.896-06:00</updated><title type='text'>pg 52</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;'That's why you'll never know. Years will go by and you'll never know. I will never say the things that I want to say to you. I know the damage it would do. I love you more than I hate my loneliness and pain. Somewhere someone is thinking of you. Someone is calling you an angel. This person is using celestial colors to paint your image. Someone is making you into a vision so beautiful that it can only live in the mind. Someone is thinking of the way your breath escapes your lips when you are touched. You will never know how you have cauterized my wounds. So sad that we will never touch. How it hurts me to know that I will never be able to give you everything I have.' &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;henry&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;rollins&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;***&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-3449544812759920845?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/3449544812759920845/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=3449544812759920845' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/3449544812759920845'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/3449544812759920845'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/12/thats-why-youll-never-know.html' title='pg 52'/><author><name>naughti</name><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-788158006489589537.post-3951438476547429194</id><published>2008-12-20T00:11:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-20T00:47:46.337-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Follow Your Bliss</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;It seems the storm hit me just as life had seemed to be getting a little more organized.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;I do want to believe Jospeh Campbell, American mythologist and writer extraordinaire. He claimed that &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;we must be willing to get rid of the life we've planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us. We must trust the changes that happen...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;Today, I find myself unable to let go.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-3951438476547429194?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/3951438476547429194/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=3951438476547429194' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/3951438476547429194'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/3951438476547429194'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/12/follow-your-bliss.html' title='Follow Your Bliss'/><author><name>nik</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08829477782957344681</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='30' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DVYClB1TCUo/SUoB3QK9XvI/AAAAAAAAAAM/koz_EEEf28c/S220/music.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-788158006489589537.post-9117704376269969632</id><published>2008-12-19T23:36:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-20T00:24:26.101-06:00</updated><title type='text'>skttrbrain</title><content type='html'>embracing uncertainty.  falling in love with things i do know, and rediscover all the time.  giddy from the initial paint touching a white canvas.  completely in awe of a love, and better yet, understanding between two people i respect everytime i see them laugh.  i will not be misguided by the thoughts of having things figured out.  why it is that people feel the need to stand firmly somewhere is understandable.  always in serious relationships, or always looking for one.  life not beginning until the next serious obstacle is overcome...but there's always something.  yet i find that there is something exhilirating about welcoming the idea of knowing nothing and having no expectations for a stage in your life.  if we accept the fact that we don't need to know who we are, what we are, where we're going, all the while searching we could be more content.  how often did you think you had things figured out, only to look back and laugh at yourself? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;on the mind: how you made me fearless at my most vulnerable state.&lt;br /&gt;in the ears: skttrbrain, radiohead&lt;br /&gt;on the canvas: abstract&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-9117704376269969632?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/9117704376269969632/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=9117704376269969632' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/9117704376269969632'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/9117704376269969632'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/12/skttrbrain.html' title='skttrbrain'/><author><name>naughti</name><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-788158006489589537.post-8017478191161643873</id><published>2008-12-18T01:56:00.006-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-18T02:34:49.495-06:00</updated><title type='text'>troppo tardi</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;One day you're going to wake up and realize how much you care for her and love her, and when that day comes, she'll be waking up next to the guy who already knew...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-8017478191161643873?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/8017478191161643873/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=8017478191161643873' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/8017478191161643873'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/8017478191161643873'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/12/one-day-youre-going-to-wake-up-and.html' title='troppo tardi'/><author><name>nik</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08829477782957344681</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='30' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DVYClB1TCUo/SUoB3QK9XvI/AAAAAAAAAAM/koz_EEEf28c/S220/music.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-788158006489589537.post-7488949381840883149</id><published>2008-11-13T21:30:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-13T23:12:58.971-06:00</updated><title type='text'>ranting and rambling as usual</title><content type='html'>isn't it appalling how little depth people have? that was probably the most pretentious statement ever uttered. but take away politics, celeb-gossip, sports, the everyday conversations of 'how was your day?', the reliance on chat/videochat/facebook/etc. to cater to your imaginary conversations when no one is really talking. can you really have a conversation on chat about whether it is more important to live life for the betterment of the collective whole full of altruism, or to give into your selfish passions that are for the sake of yourself but may ultimately lead to the betterment of society? i mean a real conversation. i want depth from people so badly it makes me want to scream. i want that philosophical shit that makes me question things, i want someone to create something from scratch, to put down their goddamn electronic gadgets and use a paintbrush or get lost because sometimes it's just more exhilarating without a gps. things aren't so simple that the abstract, the philosophies of life, need to take a backseat. we stop questioning things when instead we should read lengthy novels about them and instead we google stuff and don't use our minds. when i ask is happiness relative i don't want to know what wikipedia thinks. i want to know what you think. and i want to know why you think that. you feel me? i mean do you really feel me? i want to know your thoughts. i want to know why you think god exists or why you don't. i want to have a conversation for an hour a week. that's all. because all this practicality is killing your mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i'm not building anything, but i keep laying the bricks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;currently: wanting to share my bed (not in a tasteless kind of way)&lt;br /&gt;listening to: keane&lt;br /&gt;enjoying: the rain&lt;br /&gt;on the mind: how you used to radiate. i see a flicker of light and i smile knowing she's still there.&lt;br /&gt;thankful: to people who inspire me.&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-7488949381840883149?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/7488949381840883149/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=7488949381840883149' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/7488949381840883149'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/7488949381840883149'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/11/ranting-and-rambling-as-usual.html' title='ranting and rambling as usual'/><author><name>naughti</name><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-788158006489589537.post-4672318764931299544</id><published>2008-10-28T00:17:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-28T00:39:03.896-05:00</updated><title type='text'>take it as a lesson</title><content type='html'>i do not know much about the opposite sex, two things i do know about men are as follows:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. they love to hear themselves talk.  i realized this while taking a feminism class with three men enrolled.  needless to say they had a lot to say about issues they knew nothing about, yet felt they had some sort of authority in understanding the struggles of women. now i'm not saying that no men understand feminist issues, because i know of a few who could probably rant about third world women's movements better than myself, but these guys hadn't a clue. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. they are self-consumed.  which often leads to number 1.  furthermore, this is a hard one for them to accept, because they are often too self-consumed to realize they are being self-consumed.  now, settle down my dear guy friends who are reading this...most likely this isn't you.  that is unless you've named a consulting company after yourself or just had an entire conversation with someone about how your day was only to cut the conversation short because you had some important work to finish without so much as asking that someone how her day was.  and when you ask 'how are you?' at least act like you care.  and if you're going to do something like write poetry please understand and read the works of people who are actually poets.  respect the work of others before you delve into things you want to own.  and become invested in the interests of that girl you like, because god know she know everything about you.  and it's not that she's not telling you the music she likes, her passions, her fears, you're just not paying any attention.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;currently: wanting to read this amazing poem to anyone who will listen and understand the soul in it.&lt;br /&gt;listening to: cat power&lt;br /&gt;longing for: inspiration&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-4672318764931299544?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/4672318764931299544/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=4672318764931299544' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/4672318764931299544'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/4672318764931299544'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/10/take-it-as-lesson.html' title='take it as a lesson'/><author><name>naughti</name><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-788158006489589537.post-3291165197071357130</id><published>2008-10-21T23:39:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-22T00:13:44.427-05:00</updated><title type='text'>let it be me</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;i've&lt;/span&gt; felt alone the past few days.  unable to focus, wanting the closeness of people who are far, both physically and emotionally.  i was trying to explain to someone how you begin to forget memories you shared with people who are no longer in your life. people who you never imagined becoming strangers with.  and then i digressed: i remember every memory.  every single glance, light brushing of my hand, the first tears falling because of overwhelming love, the way he laughed, every insignificant moment is there.  the missing piece, the part that makes you able to breathe with a little ease, is that the emotions tied to the memories are gone.  i cannot remember how it felt to catch his glance when i walked in a room, or how i felt when he laughed uncontrollably.  it's like remembering a dream--you're able to recall events, but can never feel the sensations and emotions you felt while asleep.  i don't know which one is saddest: remembering or forgetting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;currently: sharing a moment with ray &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;lamontagne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;lately: getting hope from unconventional places and losing hope from conventional ones.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-3291165197071357130?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/3291165197071357130/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=3291165197071357130' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/3291165197071357130'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/3291165197071357130'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/10/let-it-be-me.html' title='let it be me'/><author><name>naughti</name><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-788158006489589537.post-496981382249038158</id><published>2008-10-13T01:56:00.006-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-14T23:54:12.588-05:00</updated><title type='text'>woah man!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/SPVx-VDRIcI/AAAAAAAAADI/hr-psC_gLI8/s1600-h/amor.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257233455641600450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/SPVx-VDRIcI/AAAAAAAAADI/hr-psC_gLI8/s320/amor.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;if heaven be a place where soul-mates sit side by side, where past lovers reunite, where new love blossom, i would not be satisfied. if heaven be a place where all my sisters sit around laughing and are truly happy, then i would be content. i imagine sitting under an immense and beautiful tree with the women i've met along my journey of life. we get a bad rep, we as in women, for being caddy and not reaching a hand out to help one another. like guys have some sort of natural camaraderie, while women compete. yet, i have never felt warmth as i have from the women in my life. i've never had to question loyalty of the sisters i found through friendship, not once. women who are so different from me telling stories, intimate fears, looking for hope. for every woman who is insecure and unable to open herself up to other females, there are ten who approach with open arms. you see, men are often the ones to create insecurity in women, but no one wants to talk about where the competitive nature of women comes from. i have seen a community of women come together to raise a child, and i have seen dozens of broken-hearted women picked up off the ground by fellow women. so while men shoot the shit about sports and politics and think it's so easy to make friends and get along with other guys, women are bettering themselves, gaining insight and knowledge from other women. i rubbed the pregnant belly of my friend today. she has so much fear in her eyes, even more in her voice. but i know her little baby girl will be great and that she is in good hands, because i know the women around her. give me heaven with these women and it will be well worth the journey...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;currently: finding balance&lt;/div&gt;currently wearing: a very warm hoody&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;****&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-496981382249038158?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/496981382249038158/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=496981382249038158' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/496981382249038158'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/496981382249038158'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/10/if-heaven-be-place-where-soul-mates-sit.html' title='woah man!'/><author><name>naughti</name><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><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/SPVx-VDRIcI/AAAAAAAAADI/hr-psC_gLI8/s72-c/amor.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-788158006489589537.post-623831338731559738</id><published>2008-08-28T02:15:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-28T02:39:33.391-05:00</updated><title type='text'>i have &lt;3</title><content type='html'>in the uncertainty when faced with all the questions about my future, both on a personal and professional level, there are few things i am sure about.  finding passion in unconventional subjects, such as urban sociology, anthropology, women's studies does not lead myself along with fellow colleagues of mine to cookie cutter jobs.  we must become imaginative, creative in our search for how our passion plays out into the real world through attainable (and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;livable&lt;/span&gt;) careers.  the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;financiers&lt;/span&gt;, doctors, and engineers of the world don't usually 'get' us.  they think we are free spirits with little direction.  it is true that perhaps our paths aren't as clear as those going into highly trained professions, but we have bold goals that few have courage to begin to obtain.  we may not be living the luxurious life, although with today's economy few do, but we understand what we like to call the bigger picture.  upon being asked 'what will you do after you get your masters?' my friend has been responding, 'i plan to save the world' because she is tired of explaining her passion to people who don't understand.  i say that i have no idea, but i &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;envision&lt;/span&gt; the woman i want to be.  i think, and i hope that that is enough.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-623831338731559738?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/623831338731559738/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=623831338731559738' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/623831338731559738'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/623831338731559738'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/08/i-have-3.html' title='i have &lt;3'/><author><name>naughti</name><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-788158006489589537.post-2641513799998783000</id><published>2008-08-21T13:08:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-21T13:30:34.594-05:00</updated><title type='text'>ahhhh......clarity. (day 1)</title><content type='html'>as i walked into one of my best friend's studio late last night i saw a magazine cutout that read, &lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;"if i ever cease to love"&lt;/span&gt; held up by a magnet on her fridge.  we interpreted the phrase differently; mine was surprisingly a bit more optimistic than hers.  but as i contemplate on it further i find that i am brimming with love for my friend who i only get to see on long weekends every few months.  she laughed at my over-sized hot pink suitcase (so not me) and rambled on about how she was going to paris to find a well-dressed man.  although we are very different, we have an unexplainable connection.  she is my home.  and i'm happy to be home for a few weeks, despite that my home is in a city that strips people of their souls.  this is the love that never ceases, and we all need to believe that.  at times i think that &lt;em&gt;love&lt;/em&gt; is far greater and deeper than being &lt;em&gt;in love.  &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-2641513799998783000?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/2641513799998783000/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=2641513799998783000' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/2641513799998783000'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/2641513799998783000'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/08/ahhhhclarity-day-1.html' title='ahhhh......clarity. (day 1)'/><author><name>naughti</name><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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-788158006489589537.post-4404217985766108699</id><published>2008-07-19T13:17:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-19T13:23:17.938-05:00</updated><title type='text'>untitled, in response</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;You have a right to your poetic justice,&lt;br /&gt;But you see some things are sacred. While you’re profiting off of being recognized as some lyrical militant, wide-eyed girls wishing your poem was about them, the one you wrote about feels like you just capitalized on her.&lt;br /&gt;Are you that self-righteous to assume she would want to be your muse?&lt;br /&gt;This isn’t about censorship, it’s about respect.&lt;br /&gt;While you copyright your life, their assumptions burn her deep.&lt;br /&gt;Most girls may be delighted, but she’s not &lt;em&gt;most&lt;/em&gt;, or does your self-perceived social ineptness exempt you from acknowledging that?&lt;br /&gt;I hope your artistic expression of words on a page keep you sane, I hope people find comfort in them, I hope your friends are touched by the beautiful articulation of the human soul.&lt;br /&gt;Because to her, they are only words on a page. She didn’t live those words, those stanzas you created do not define any moment in time for her.&lt;br /&gt;So, while you’re swooning the crowd at a reading, plastering imagery in a show-do-not- tell manner on a wall for everyone to see, that girl in your poem thinks the showcase is egotistical.&lt;br /&gt;You see, she read it after someone already picked his favorite line. A line about her. A line that lost its meaning because someone read it three times in admiration.&lt;br /&gt;You’re right, it is your life. And as a man, as an American, commodity comes in every form.&lt;br /&gt;Hey, Mr. Salesman, sell your own life and stop selling hers.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-4404217985766108699?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/4404217985766108699/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=4404217985766108699' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/4404217985766108699'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/4404217985766108699'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/07/untitled-in-response.html' title='untitled, in response'/><author><name>naughti</name><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>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-788158006489589537.post-5439267841425351687</id><published>2008-07-03T01:47:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-03T02:04:09.940-05:00</updated><title type='text'>H_2</title><content type='html'>it rained on her wedding day. we would have danced in puddles in our finest clothes for her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-5439267841425351687?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/5439267841425351687/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=5439267841425351687' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/5439267841425351687'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/5439267841425351687'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/07/it-rained-on-her-wedding-day.html' title='H_2'/><author><name>naughti</name><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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-788158006489589537.post-3211991957208059091</id><published>2008-05-21T08:17:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-05-21T08:20:23.269-05:00</updated><title type='text'>familiar tune.</title><content type='html'>If you don't care&lt;br /&gt;I don't care&lt;br /&gt;we don't belong together&lt;br /&gt;cause&lt;br /&gt;we don't belong anywhere.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you're not sure&lt;br /&gt;Then i'm not sure&lt;br /&gt;what all these tears are falling for.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;let's decide not to care anymore.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-3211991957208059091?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/3211991957208059091/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=3211991957208059091' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/3211991957208059091'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/3211991957208059091'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/05/familiar-tune.html' title='familiar tune.'/><author><name>mrsbitchly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08623110931893521633</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>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-788158006489589537.post-7349384228456384446</id><published>2008-05-19T13:10:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-05-19T13:17:29.221-05:00</updated><title type='text'>set the fire</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;i'm slowly ashing your existence...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;just thought i'd let it be known.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;****&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-7349384228456384446?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/7349384228456384446/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=7349384228456384446' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/7349384228456384446'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/7349384228456384446'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/05/set-fire.html' title='set the fire'/><author><name>naughti</name><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-788158006489589537.post-8471837662919272953</id><published>2008-05-10T23:05:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-05-13T13:44:33.003-05:00</updated><title type='text'>the travel song</title><content type='html'>san francisco love. the walls hand-painted by someone who was inspired by the vibrancy of the city, someone who believed that love existed by the bay. too many poets sang their love stories here for it to be untrue. but it was uncommonly cold for september when we arrived. we hadn't even packed warm clothing. people were changing; we just didn't know those people were us. we all felt something happening to the things that once defined us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;we sat at a table munching on edamame and as she got drunk i knew she wondered how we were so happy. i hated her false assumptions. i knew she loved her but she was done because she wanted to grow, she wanted nothing with her and everything with a world she didn't understand. she begged us to stay. she could no longer stand to be alone with the woman she loved for the past 6 years. guilt. because her forever ended.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i saw her walk ahead as he made promises of forever in between unfamiliar kisses. he wanted her but his forever didn't start today...maybe tomorrow. tomorrow he would laugh about his promises. she desperately tried pulling out the familiar, but the man she loved for past 5 years died in a comfortless city. i saw his eyes linger on her face as she playfully whined, and quickly look away. fear. because he no longer knew himself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i sat crying in the bathroom, for nothing that he said, for nothing that he did. i composed myself, straightened the ring on my shaking left hand, walked into the room, and he smiled. he told me i was beautiful... he did so everyday with as much affinity as the first time he said it. i touched the stubble on his face. i didn't speak but he held me tight, my eyes said more than i ever could. he buried his face in my neck and sighed. love. too passionate for our own good. the only love he ever felt. one he was willing to give up even if it meant i would never feel the way i did for the first two years of our relationship. hanging on his hope that someone else would see me in the same light.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;san francisco love. we sat in the bookstore where all the poets went. all the poets who read their lives to strangers. we memorized their poems because they were our poems. love lived in their books, in their stories. their books were on shelves for people like us to read. we live on your shelves, in your closed books, san francisco.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;****&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-8471837662919272953?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/8471837662919272953/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=8471837662919272953' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/8471837662919272953'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/8471837662919272953'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/05/travel-song.html' title='the travel song'/><author><name>naughti</name><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-788158006489589537.post-2941031077020241279</id><published>2008-05-01T22:01:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-05-01T22:48:20.205-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>it's nights like tonight that i wish i drank. &lt;br /&gt;*&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-2941031077020241279?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/2941031077020241279/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=2941031077020241279' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/2941031077020241279'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/2941031077020241279'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/05/its-nights-like-tonight-that-i-wish-i.html' title=''/><author><name>naughti</name><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>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-788158006489589537.post-5309179915468806435</id><published>2008-04-23T23:57:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T16:27:06.216-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/SBAj35t2vMI/AAAAAAAAAC8/V8WZlNYxzmU/s1600-h/DSC01518.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5192689813651111106" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/SBAj35t2vMI/AAAAAAAAAC8/V8WZlNYxzmU/s320/DSC01518.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;something beautiful happened in my class tonight. i definitely don't miss undergrad classes, but one thing that i do find refreshing is people's ability to admit what they don't know. so often grad students, because of the expectations placed upon them by god knows what internal or external power, pretend they know everything when they don't know anything. yeah, sure we may be able to think critically a bit more efficiently than undergrads, but really we don't know shit. so i'm sitting in class tonight and my professor plays a documentary called occupation 101. it was the third time i had seen the film and my professor told me that i could leave for the hour and half viewing if i wanted to. i am so glad i stayed. the mental strain and emotion i saw occurring in that room was unreal. eventually when the floor was open to discuss the film these quiet non-verbal actions turned into words of confusion, rage, and disgust toward an occupation of an entire people (the palestinians). people they knew existed but never knew what their existence comprised of. people they normally would ignore because of the saturation of information about them on tv and in newspapers. people they thought were enemies. violent people. tonight they cried for these people and with these people, and they cried for themselves. because they know they are somehow responsible and they feel helpless. i can't say i want people to feel this helplessness, it's one of the most frustrating feelings. but if feeling uneasy will make people take action against injustice then i hope the whole world feels it. everyone wants to live a busy, happy life. i understand why it is appealing to simply ignore issues such as the inhumanity endured by the palestinians in gaza, the west bank, and in refugee camps. but as privileged people who belong to a country who is the largest supporter of one of the most unjust governments in the world, you better believe you have a responsibility. at the moment, gaza is the worst place to live on the planet. the lack of water, electricity, food, freedom of movement are only the basic necessities not being met...the psychological effects and violence are completely different issues. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;"the greatest enemy of knowledge is not ignorance, it is the illusion of knowledge"-stephen hawkins&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://chezzag.vodpod.com/video/56787-occupation-101-new-trailer"&gt;http://chezzag.vodpod.com/video/56787-occupation-101-new-trailer&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-5309179915468806435?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/5309179915468806435/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=5309179915468806435' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/5309179915468806435'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/5309179915468806435'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/04/something-beautiful-happened-in-my.html' title=''/><author><name>naughti</name><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><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/SBAj35t2vMI/AAAAAAAAAC8/V8WZlNYxzmU/s72-c/DSC01518.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-788158006489589537.post-5510473323902373815</id><published>2008-04-22T00:01:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2008-04-23T00:16:56.428-05:00</updated><title type='text'>macluba</title><content type='html'>i've had a rough day, to say the least. i won't get into all the reasons why i have 5 unread articles sitting before me, why i was told i look like i need a drink, and why my advisor stalled me and gave me a concerned look before i left her office. but as i contemplate upon numerous issues floating in and out of my head, i am learning from my madness. here are a few realizations, most of which will sound cliche, but at the moment i don't care about sounding unoriginal:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-words are garbage. when someones says one thing, and acts in complete contradiction to those words, you are not crazy. trust how you feel...despite the words, pay attention to action. it's not that the words are untruthful, they simply don't matter at times. so all the i love yous, the i can handle its, the don't worries are garbage when it's time to react. you may love me, but it doesn't matter when you're leaving.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-communication is for losers. you see, communication only works when two people admit there's a problem. yet, i have found that quite often one person wants to pretend that a lack of usual connection is simply well, due to being &lt;em&gt;so&lt;/em&gt; busy lately. i always thought i was a good communicator, but my dear friend, wey, has taught me to become a better one.  but just because you use your vocal chords doesn't mean you're a great communicator. and then there are those, i am now discovering to be non-verbal communicators.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-forgiveness doesn't mean you're off the hook, idiot. the jews say, never forgive, never forget. i'm starting to understand why. if you forgive people, they seem to develop some sort of handicap in understanding that just because you have forgiven them it means they didn't do anything wrong.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-think for one more minute. before you decide to take action in a relationship, think long hard about whether you want to commit to that decision and think about how your action is affecting someone else. i am always aware of how my actions affect someone else, sometimes to the point where it's annoying. but it's because you never know what that other person may be going through in his/her life. so all the grudges, all the stupid vendettas should go down the drain. my brother and i fight constantly, but we never let anger or sadness linger. when i care about someone i will go out my way to make sure they understand at every point in any relationship that they have security with me. that they are aware of how i feel. i have felt insecurity to a degree that would make anyone have anxiety attacks, to a degree that makes me only keep those who have that ability to provide security in my life. as much as i'm working through some hard times, i never push people away. i never want to make someone feel helpless in trying to reach out to me. you never know what kind of day someone is having, so if it's stupid shit, drop it or if it's real and deep then let it be known and stick to your decision.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;currently: worn out and red-eyed&lt;br /&gt;yea of the day: proposal complete, aside from a few grammatical blunders&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-5510473323902373815?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/5510473323902373815/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=5510473323902373815' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/5510473323902373815'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/5510473323902373815'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/04/macluba.html' title='macluba'/><author><name>naughti</name><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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-788158006489589537.post-5703169463634646686</id><published>2008-03-29T00:39:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-29T02:17:13.947-05:00</updated><title type='text'>scattered</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;i considered starting a new blog where i could write without anyone seeing it, because i'm scared of people being judgemental.  but we all think alike; it's just most people are too scared to express their deep inner thoughts.  i understand why, especially when you're going through a shaky phase.  to all those who are in their blissful stage, the rest of us will meet you there eventually.  so here's the thoughts i shouldn't say aloud (oh, and please keep in mind it's very late and my scattered thoughts may make no sense tomorrow, but regardless they are important):&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;i want to be alone and to be happy.  a pipe dream to believe that i can have both.  if you know the following quotes you know that i am free in thought inspired by the writings of a man who died searching for what in its simplest form resembles solace.  i thought i was justified in my desire upon reading his quote early on in his journey, "happiness isn’t found in human relationships." he goes on to say that happiness is all around us, and although isn't a firm believer of a particular religion, he mentions that god allows happiness to be everywhere.  he was aware of the pain that humans cause one another, and abandoned everyone he knew to seek a spiritual cleansing.  i wish i could say i never hurt anyone, but i have hurt myself which inevitably causes me to hurt others.  i push people away out of fear and i keep people close because i'm scared of being alone--both are selfish and cowardice.  there's a thin line between independence and detachment/self-absorption.  there's a thin line between who gets pushed and who gets pulled.  is it selfish to want to discover happiness in myself?  or is it more selfish to want to find it in some sort of human relationship?  are both actions the result of fear--one of being hurt, one of being alone?  so many thin, blurred lines.  a human relationship caused me to suffer, or was it me who continually allows myself to suffer?  before his death at the age of 24 he said, "happiness only real when shared."  it seems that the one thing that causes the most suffering is the thing that allows happiness to exist.       &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;***             &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-5703169463634646686?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/5703169463634646686/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=5703169463634646686' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/5703169463634646686'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/5703169463634646686'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/03/scattered.html' title='scattered'/><author><name>naughti</name><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>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-788158006489589537.post-6810593956153600952</id><published>2008-03-24T00:09:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-24T13:01:02.497-05:00</updated><title type='text'>another one bites the dust...</title><content type='html'>i'm tired.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and he's cheating on you, but it doesn't matter, because you'll stay.  you'll stay because it's easier than walking away. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and just for the record, i'm not strong.  but i'm trying and that's worth something. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;currently: trying to forgive god.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-6810593956153600952?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/6810593956153600952/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=6810593956153600952' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/6810593956153600952'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/6810593956153600952'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/03/another-one-bites-dust.html' title='another one bites the dust...'/><author><name>naughti</name><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-788158006489589537.post-857368519180413298</id><published>2008-03-21T13:36:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T16:27:06.406-06:00</updated><title type='text'>revised</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/R-QKsUWseFI/AAAAAAAAAC0/2p5Atc7Lkeo/s1600-h/quote.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5180277227877333074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/R-QKsUWseFI/AAAAAAAAAC0/2p5Atc7Lkeo/s320/quote.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i deleted it cuz it was whack.  i get it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-857368519180413298?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/857368519180413298/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=857368519180413298' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/857368519180413298'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/857368519180413298'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/03/its-good-time-to-start-lying.html' title='revised'/><author><name>naughti</name><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><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/R-QKsUWseFI/AAAAAAAAAC0/2p5Atc7Lkeo/s72-c/quote.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-788158006489589537.post-617460000745948119</id><published>2008-03-19T01:24:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-19T01:34:20.864-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;"I was never one to patiently pick up broken fragments and glue them together again and tell myself that the mended whole was as good as new. What is broken is broken -- and I'd rather remember it as it was at its best than mend it and see the broken places as long as I lived."  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;i've had it both ways, i don't want it either way...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;***&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-617460000745948119?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/617460000745948119/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=617460000745948119' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/617460000745948119'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/617460000745948119'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/03/i-was-never-one-to-patiently-pick-up.html' title=''/><author><name>naughti</name><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-788158006489589537.post-2287158587748510577</id><published>2008-03-14T22:58:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-15T00:05:47.914-05:00</updated><title type='text'>V for.....vapid?</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;there are always numerous choices actually, &lt;/em&gt;says one of the wisest men i know as he catches me in a flustered state of being. advice that i never knew was possible--that's how i feel &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;every time&lt;/span&gt; i talk to him. that's who i am these days--one who takes advice. i use to only dish it out, and i still am if anyone needs some dishing, but &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;i've&lt;/span&gt; been more of a receiver lately. it is true, i can't control the way someone feels, at times i can't control the way i may make someone feel, i can't control how someone deals with his/her feelings (even if it may seem childish)--i am not in control. but how i react is in my control..and i have always been one to try to react with dignity and honesty. and then here's my thought process: yeah, but how people deal with things is just plain rude at times. wise man, as he chuckles: yes, but deal with it. so i deal with it. it would be an ideal world if people would know how to directly communicate with one another. but we all need to deal with things in our own way. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;i'm&lt;/span&gt; not sure how to alter my way in order to deal with another person's way...i can't promise it'll be pretty. to my friend who has never made me feel warranted to be angry at ANYONE, even if they have truly deserved it, i am slowly working to reach your level. somehow you claim that i contribute to our friendship, that i actually have something to offer you. so, if it's that i make you laugh and boost your ego, well then &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;i'll&lt;/span&gt; take it as my point of contribution.&lt;br /&gt;bring home some sand for me...&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-2287158587748510577?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/2287158587748510577/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=2287158587748510577' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/2287158587748510577'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/2287158587748510577'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/03/v-forvapid.html' title='V for.....vapid?'/><author><name>naughti</name><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>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-788158006489589537.post-1388845428804547793</id><published>2008-03-13T12:34:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-13T13:10:49.483-05:00</updated><title type='text'>suckitup</title><content type='html'>sitting at my favorite &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;coffee shop&lt;/span&gt; yesterday, I heard a woman talking about death over lunch.  it was strange and i didn't know what to make of it.  her mom had died recently and she told the story with so much composure.  it was one of the saddest stories &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;i've&lt;/span&gt; heard and yet she was able to remove her emotion from the conversation.  i mean she was saying, "it is one of the hardest things &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;i've&lt;/span&gt; ever experienced", but they were just words.  i guess there comes a point where you have to remove your feelings from a situation in order survive.   how much strength this woman had to share her story between bites of spinach and artichoke dip.  i felt ungrateful and weak.    since my grandfather passing a month ago, i haven't talked to my dad about it.  mostly because he's the one person that it truly pains me to see sad.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;i've&lt;/span&gt; only recently started to visit memories of him in my head...the stubborn man with a youthful face.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;currently: chills, sweating, then chills again and slightly delirious. &lt;br /&gt;what i want: a really big hug&lt;br /&gt;on my mind: you, and the uncomfortable distance between us&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-1388845428804547793?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/1388845428804547793/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=1388845428804547793' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/1388845428804547793'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/1388845428804547793'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/03/suckitup.html' title='suckitup'/><author><name>naughti</name><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-788158006489589537.post-3480476286346547983</id><published>2008-03-11T17:41:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-11T17:48:07.401-05:00</updated><title type='text'>tightly laced</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I want to jet without looking back,&lt;br /&gt;but you got me stopping dead in my tracks&lt;br /&gt;Outcomes are uncertain because of my inability to open&lt;br /&gt;Choking,&lt;br /&gt;on my words articulating themselves into colorful murals on walls&lt;br /&gt;I can paint it any color you want, but when you say my name they won’t fall&lt;br /&gt;Abstract, modern, sadness blended with bliss&lt;br /&gt;You see, someone used to call me his beautiful goddess&lt;br /&gt;It wasn’t a deity between the sheets kind of adoration&lt;br /&gt;I was his Om, the ultimate height in meditation&lt;br /&gt;Elevation&lt;br /&gt;Blinded dedication to a man who had no intention&lt;br /&gt;to back words with action&lt;br /&gt;forgive him, God, for he knows not the reaction&lt;br /&gt;love redefined, or rather indefinable&lt;br /&gt;Displaced blame, but I know I am the one with sins unforgivable&lt;br /&gt;Because I have led you here&lt;br /&gt;Should have passed the test before I began to steer&lt;br /&gt;Crossroads, dead-ends—they all begin to look the same&lt;br /&gt;How patient you are to want to bring me to truth without playing the game&lt;br /&gt;But the truth is that I sit at the tombstone of us each day&lt;br /&gt;Shoes tightly laced—the only promise I can offer is that I’ll run away&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;****&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-3480476286346547983?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/3480476286346547983/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=3480476286346547983' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/3480476286346547983'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/3480476286346547983'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/03/laces-tied-tight.html' title='tightly laced'/><author><name>naughti</name><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-788158006489589537.post-7480240578155146241</id><published>2008-03-09T23:50:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T16:27:06.578-06:00</updated><title type='text'>random first liners</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/R9TGg5IQOZI/AAAAAAAAACs/ocME3DDOf74/s1600-h/crazy+colors.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5175980140149094802" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/R9TGg5IQOZI/AAAAAAAAACs/ocME3DDOf74/s320/crazy+colors.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;quickly, shake it off!&lt;br /&gt;the emotions on your sleeve&lt;br /&gt;love is too risky&lt;br /&gt;~ &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;share a story with yourself over some coffee.&lt;br /&gt;they don’t know you, nor do they care to.&lt;br /&gt;deny the ugly, and turn the world beautiful.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;~&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;currently: lost between thoughts&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;word of the day: fuck&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;clumsy&lt;/span&gt; act of the day: attempting to sit on a chair that wasn't there with my nephew in my arms&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;where are you, and what have you done with you?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-7480240578155146241?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/7480240578155146241/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=7480240578155146241' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/7480240578155146241'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/7480240578155146241'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/03/first-lines.html' title='random first liners'/><author><name>naughti</name><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><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/R9TGg5IQOZI/AAAAAAAAACs/ocME3DDOf74/s72-c/crazy+colors.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-788158006489589537.post-2865593990666487398</id><published>2008-03-04T16:40:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T16:27:06.751-06:00</updated><title type='text'>page 82</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/R83TqQgmt2I/AAAAAAAAACk/XhL2OzyUlns/s1600-h/DSC_0664new.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5174024269858256738" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/R83TqQgmt2I/AAAAAAAAACk/XhL2OzyUlns/s320/DSC_0664new.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;"art is not the imitation of life, but life is the imitation of a transcendental principle which art puts us into communication with once again." -antonin artaud&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;"images bury history..."&lt;/div&gt;****&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-2865593990666487398?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/2865593990666487398/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=2865593990666487398' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/2865593990666487398'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/2865593990666487398'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/03/page-82.html' title='page 82'/><author><name>naughti</name><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><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/R83TqQgmt2I/AAAAAAAAACk/XhL2OzyUlns/s72-c/DSC_0664new.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-788158006489589537.post-5303942708207600712</id><published>2008-02-28T23:46:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-02-29T00:44:34.364-06:00</updated><title type='text'>p.s.</title><content type='html'>i haven't felt beautiful in 10 months.  how did he manage to steal that away from me?   &lt;br /&gt;***&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-5303942708207600712?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/5303942708207600712/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=5303942708207600712' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/5303942708207600712'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/5303942708207600712'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/02/ps.html' title='p.s.'/><author><name>naughti</name><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>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-788158006489589537.post-3053750269458398820</id><published>2008-02-21T00:18:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-02-21T00:38:00.397-06:00</updated><title type='text'>and....action!</title><content type='html'>advice of the day:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;for those who wonder why the world keeps shitting on them...do something about it.  stop feeling sorry for yourself, the world shits on everyone. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;you can't live in opposition to what your body and soul want.  too many people go against the innate feelings they have and spend most of their lives trying to fix the outcome of doing so. live in harmony with what that little voice is saying. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;word.&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-3053750269458398820?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/3053750269458398820/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=3053750269458398820' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/3053750269458398820'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/3053750269458398820'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/02/andaction.html' title='and....action!'/><author><name>naughti</name><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-788158006489589537.post-7407293961318497038</id><published>2008-02-11T13:02:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T16:27:07.191-06:00</updated><title type='text'>believe me natalie...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/R7H-YTI9IwI/AAAAAAAAAB8/OFlX5PT7YuM/s1600-h/IMG_1642new.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5166189940978819842" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/R7H-YTI9IwI/AAAAAAAAAB8/OFlX5PT7YuM/s320/IMG_1642new.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i was overcome with memories that made me smile today. a simple song popping up on shuffle at work made me a bit nostalgic. some people claim that nostalgia is an outlet for those who aren't happy in their current lives...this i disagree with. i simply cherish so many people in my life and i am grateful for every moment, which at the time may have had no significance, but today puts the "happy" in my "ness". music can often bring me back to particular events or people in my life. today it was the old killers album. plane to spain. nikki had a new mini ipod (yea i talk about music a lot!) and i bummed it off of her for a bit to give it a listen. i feel like our lives were so different then...that was three whole years ago! marriage, (divorces, ha!...sorry had to put that one out there), new jobs, relocations, new bad habits, broken ipods... but no one needed to tell us not to take things for granted...to live it up. madrid greeted us...the metro with huff dragging her oversized suitcase down the stairs, pms-ing boys back home on payphones paid for by fake phone cards, 7 floors of different music, Victor!!, olives stuffed with what??, dancing, the son of a duke of spain and his crew, toledo, sweaty bus rides, sharing single beds, waking up to sam rubbing my belly, english boys with bad teeth, scary indian guy selling beer, art, mini ice creams and huff's disappointment with the large one, sam's flawless spanish while drunk in the cab ride that stopped at no red lights, cats sleeping at the palace, nik's excitement with chinese food, singing guantanamera with a band on las ramblas, almost making the sunset on the beach, damn sandwiches, hot pink shoes...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;****&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-7407293961318497038?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/7407293961318497038/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=7407293961318497038' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/7407293961318497038'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/7407293961318497038'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/02/believe-me-natalie.html' title='believe me natalie...'/><author><name>naughti</name><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><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/R7H-YTI9IwI/AAAAAAAAAB8/OFlX5PT7YuM/s72-c/IMG_1642new.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-788158006489589537.post-1559054132323264245</id><published>2008-02-09T15:32:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T16:27:07.346-06:00</updated><title type='text'>echo</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/R65p7TI9IvI/AAAAAAAAAB0/P1N7fHHX1cE/s1600-h/IMG_1726.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5165182290111570674" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/R65p7TI9IvI/AAAAAAAAAB0/P1N7fHHX1cE/s320/IMG_1726.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;damn, lady. i prayed that you were wrong. no such luck. resurrect the wall, but this time build it with metal...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;mantra of the day: &lt;span style="color:#330099;"&gt;"we live in a beautiful world, yeah we do, yeah we do".&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the most powerful word in the english language:&lt;span style="color:#ffff00;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;resist. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-1559054132323264245?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/1559054132323264245/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=1559054132323264245' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/1559054132323264245'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/1559054132323264245'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/02/echo.html' title='echo'/><author><name>naughti</name><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><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/R65p7TI9IvI/AAAAAAAAAB0/P1N7fHHX1cE/s72-c/IMG_1726.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-788158006489589537.post-1751695467136165844</id><published>2008-02-08T12:54:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-02-08T14:44:11.695-06:00</updated><title type='text'>track 13</title><content type='html'>i live for the small momements. &lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;the ones where i &lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;connect with a complete stranger&lt;/span&gt; who holds the door open for me.&lt;/span&gt; the man who walked and &lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;dodged the falling drops of water from melting snow&lt;/span&gt; on roofs with me for an entire two blocks. i can't put my finger on what was so deep about that ten minutes. &lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;perhaps it was the genuine laughter that erupted between us&lt;/span&gt; or that he waited for me while i tucked my hair into my hat. he was shopping for his ex-girlfriend. despite the fact that he just met me, he understood the meaning of my raised eyebrow. &lt;em&gt;yea&lt;/em&gt;, he said,&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt; she has the grip of death on my heart&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;. i imagined what she was like--the girl from new york who wore stylish urban clothes, the girl who didn't want to marry him. as he walked backwards facing me while he talked, he talked with his hands a lot, i realized that &lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;i admired this man&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;to trust a stranger with so much of who he is.&lt;/span&gt; he is a spoken-word poet, a writer, a freelance photographer. his family is cuban and his mom makes the best empanadas. bearded, kind eyes, a small ring in his nose. &lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;what type of spontaneous interaction makes two people feel safe to share so much? &lt;/span&gt;it wasn't the type of interaction which ended in an exchange of phone numbers. we respected the the moment we shared for what it was. we parted ways with a loose embrace, while we stood in a puddle of muddy water.&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-1751695467136165844?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/1751695467136165844/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=1751695467136165844' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/1751695467136165844'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/1751695467136165844'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/02/track-13.html' title='track 13'/><author><name>naughti</name><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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-788158006489589537.post-455287384136916193</id><published>2008-02-05T20:44:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-02-06T12:38:12.212-06:00</updated><title type='text'>in our heaven</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;lately, i've been depressed. not the kind of depressed where i lay in bed, face in my pillow, but depressed because i'm tired of the world and the fact that i'm stuck at my computer all day trying to figure out how to formulate a paper instead of putting my mind, body, spirit toward things i believe in. depressed that i'm trying to understand my place in this big mess of a world and remain conscious of things that i think i have no control over. yes, i made a huge mistake investing into a mutual fund with an 11-12% return when i was 19 and now i cringe at the thought of what type of corporation my money is going to and how many people i am affecting because of my mistake. i don't eat particular food, wear certain clothes, and have vowed to never wear a diamond again. what did that cook that's making my food have to go through to get here?  and who the hell made my underwear? because our actions and decisions do matter. i'm depressed that people say they want change and think some politician will do all the work for them. you can choose to be comfortable and keep your eyes closed because it's easier. but your heaven is always someone else's hell.  and there's someone in this world who is affected by your actions (or lack of actions for that matter). someone who believes in love the way you do, who loves the way the sky turns pink during rare sunsets the way you do, who finds relief in art on a stressful day the way you do, someone who is praying you don't get too comfortable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;truth of the day: i'm scared to death, and i'm sorry for that.&lt;br /&gt;nostalgic memory of the day: dancing in firas' kitchen one year ago.&lt;br /&gt;quote of the day: i hope for your sake, you don't wake up as broken as i am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-455287384136916193?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/455287384136916193/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=455287384136916193' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/455287384136916193'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/455287384136916193'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/02/never-get-too-comfortable.html' title='in our heaven'/><author><name>naughti</name><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-788158006489589537.post-393752850555571116</id><published>2008-01-26T12:58:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T16:27:07.747-06:00</updated><title type='text'>night images</title><content type='html'>&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159943791499004738" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/R5vNijFHy0I/AAAAAAAAABk/temsVbv_pg0/s200/cityscene1+copy.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159943851628546898" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/R5vNmDFHy1I/AAAAAAAAABs/wMIvT40tz-g/s200/DSC_0283.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel your presence,&lt;br /&gt;it never leaves.&lt;br /&gt;My soul has not forgotten yours,&lt;br /&gt;but they don’t dance the way they used to&lt;br /&gt;they stay put, confused.&lt;br /&gt;I didn’t turn.&lt;br /&gt;My body feels your gaze, why hasn’t it changed?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Es ella?&lt;/em&gt; Your distinct accent takes me back to late nights, whispers, laughter.&lt;br /&gt;When words were sweet. When distance had no place between us.&lt;br /&gt;I didn’t look at your face. The boots I bought you never moved.&lt;br /&gt;So I walk slowly, gracefully, the way you always said I moved.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Stay put&lt;/em&gt;, I prayed. &lt;em&gt;Stay put&lt;/em&gt;. I close the door softly behind me.&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-393752850555571116?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/393752850555571116/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=393752850555571116' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/393752850555571116'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/393752850555571116'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/01/contrast.html' title='night images'/><author><name>naughti</name><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><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/R5vNijFHy0I/AAAAAAAAABk/temsVbv_pg0/s72-c/cityscene1+copy.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-788158006489589537.post-2197439354231595131</id><published>2008-01-20T19:26:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-26T20:40:24.028-06:00</updated><title type='text'>a bit cheezy, but hey, that's me...</title><content type='html'>copy, paste, and fill out.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;childhood amibition: to become a professional singer&lt;br /&gt;fondest memory: seeing a sunrise for the first time from the porch of the house where my dad grew up &lt;br /&gt;soundtrack: anything with good hip hop, rock, soul, jazz&lt;br /&gt;retreat: rooftops with gentle breezes&lt;br /&gt;wildest dream:  being self-employed and living somewhere on the coast for a few years&lt;br /&gt;proudest moment: tbd&lt;br /&gt;biggest challenge: my self-diagnosed A.D.D.; realizing when to walk away&lt;br /&gt;alarm clock: ummm, 8, 8:30, then 9&lt;br /&gt;perfect day: good food, family, friends.  taking pictures.&lt;br /&gt;first job: putting together skateboards and selling clothes at local retail store&lt;br /&gt;indulgence: music and funky shoes&lt;br /&gt;last purchase: skinny jeans, oh wait, coffee&lt;br /&gt;favorite movie: i hate this question.  changes depending on my mood, right now, babel (thank you to my grammar nazi), paris, je taime, the sea inside...&lt;br /&gt;inspiration: anyone enduring oppression and those who have courage to stand up to injustices. my parents, my brother&lt;br /&gt;My life: is strangely beautiful&lt;br /&gt;My card: library&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;my favorite photographer&lt;br /&gt;http://www.peightir.blogspot.com/&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-2197439354231595131?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/2197439354231595131/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=2197439354231595131' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/2197439354231595131'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/2197439354231595131'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/01/bit-cheezy-but-hey-thats-me.html' title='a bit cheezy, but hey, that&apos;s me...'/><author><name>naughti</name><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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-788158006489589537.post-3921649152820573285</id><published>2008-01-16T14:24:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-17T22:07:48.940-06:00</updated><title type='text'>3 days shy of 2 months</title><content type='html'>i turned 25 recently. normally, for a few months following my birthday i forget that i am in fact a year older...when i turned 24 i would accidentally say i was 23 for a good three months after. 25 sticks. it's in every part of my body and my lips never forget to pronounce that last 'v'. most women dread getting older, like they have to worry about their lives passing them up, like they're running out of time. i like getting older. i mean i could do without the dark circles, but i love realizing how i've grown in my life. to look back and realize how far away and close i am to certain chapters in my life. in some ways i am more confident in what i want and who i am than i've ever been. it's an age where i can crack immature jokes with 18 year olds and enjoy the company of those in their 40's. somehow i'm still my 5 year old neighbor's favorite person to play with...and i'm grateful. of course, none of this may have to do with age at all, but whatever it is, something feels different. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;today's agenda:&lt;br /&gt;on the ipod: "you got me",erykah badu and the roots &lt;br /&gt;also digging: "breakable", ingrid michaelson&lt;br /&gt;in my mouth: mentos (thanks nik for reminding me of my addiction)&lt;br /&gt;on my feet : boots (flat and tan)&lt;br /&gt;hero: you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-3921649152820573285?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/3921649152820573285/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=3921649152820573285' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/3921649152820573285'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/3921649152820573285'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/01/3-days-shy-of-2-months.html' title='3 days shy of 2 months'/><author><name>naughti</name><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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-788158006489589537.post-1772937981132458975</id><published>2008-01-15T15:42:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T16:27:07.923-06:00</updated><title type='text'>and in the midst...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/R41bWFxeP7I/AAAAAAAAABM/I7FSD04MwUE/s1600-h/DSC_0370.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/R41bWFxeP7I/AAAAAAAAABM/I7FSD04MwUE/s200/DSC_0370.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5155877583474016178" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i received a final phone call from a dear friend of mine as he waited at the newark airport before his trip abroad for the next five months. yes, there's an end in sight for when one of my closest friends will return, nonetheless i am overwhelmed. it was not a "see you later, call me when you get there" kind of goodbye. it was a goodbye where you know a part of that person and a part of you will change when he returns. not necessarily a bad thing. but goodbyes should be taken seriously, just as serious as hellos. you are in fact saying goodbye to that person and everything that person is in that moment. these types of journeys transform people. despite me being sad about not being able to share yet another stupid story about tripping in the middle of a coffee shop via text message with him, i am so excited to say hello to that new person he will be when he returns home.&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-1772937981132458975?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/1772937981132458975/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=1772937981132458975' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/1772937981132458975'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/1772937981132458975'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/01/and-in-midst.html' title='and in the midst...'/><author><name>naughti</name><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><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/R41bWFxeP7I/AAAAAAAAABM/I7FSD04MwUE/s72-c/DSC_0370.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-788158006489589537.post-8316620447480449906</id><published>2008-01-12T14:50:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-12T15:09:35.495-06:00</updated><title type='text'>work it out</title><content type='html'>not at all judy garland...my bad...here's the quote that i did no justice:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Forgiveness is not the misguided act of condoning irresponsible, hurtful behavior. Nor is it a superficial turning of the other cheek that leaves us feeling victimized and martyred. Rather it is the finishing of old business that allows us to experience the present, free of contamination from the past" -joan borysenko&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;brutally beautiful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;love of the day: my ipod is working after throwing it on the floor four times and restarting it six times...nonetheless shuffle mode is on and i'm focusing on my work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;peeve of the day: inconsistent people. if your going to be a jerk, just be a jerk all the time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-8316620447480449906?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/8316620447480449906/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=8316620447480449906' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/8316620447480449906'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/8316620447480449906'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/01/work-it-out.html' title='work it out'/><author><name>naughti</name><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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-788158006489589537.post-8939812154663791899</id><published>2008-01-10T15:44:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-10T15:57:49.756-06:00</updated><title type='text'>so estranged</title><content type='html'>and of these cut- throat busted sunsets,&lt;br /&gt;these cold and damp white mornings&lt;br /&gt;i have grown weary.&lt;br /&gt;if through my cracked and dusted dime-store lips&lt;br /&gt;i spoke these words out loud would no one hear me?&lt;br /&gt;lay your blouse across the chair,&lt;br /&gt;let fall the flowers from from your hair&lt;br /&gt;and kiss me with that country mouth, so plain.&lt;br /&gt;outside, the rain is tapping on the leaves,&lt;br /&gt;to me it sounds like they're applauding us the the quiet love we made.&lt;br /&gt;will i always feel this way?&lt;br /&gt;so empty, so estranged&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;well i looked my demons in the eyes,&lt;br /&gt;laid bare my chest, said do your best, destroy me.&lt;br /&gt;you see, i've been to hell and back so many times,&lt;br /&gt;i must admit you kind of bore me.&lt;br /&gt;there's a lot of things that can kill a man,&lt;br /&gt;there's a lot of ways to die,&lt;br /&gt;listen, some already did that walked beside me.&lt;br /&gt;there's a lot of things i don't understand,&lt;br /&gt;why so many people lie.&lt;br /&gt;its the hurt i hide inside that fuels the fire inside me.&lt;br /&gt;will i always feel this way?&lt;br /&gt;so empty, so estranged &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-empty, ray lamontagne&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;on a different note: i really hate talking politics with friends. i'm too passionate about certain things and i respect the opinions of others but certain things don't deserve respect or tolerance. i'm tired of living in a generation where people don't have opinions or even more so, reasons to back their opinions. can you imagine if those who fought against racism in this country, to a degree we can't understand, tolerated those politicians and people who talked intelligently about hate? certain people, certain topics don't deserve an audience, they don't deserve that respect. not when that someone is allowing inhumanity to prosper in our world. &lt;br /&gt;***&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-8939812154663791899?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/8939812154663791899/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=8939812154663791899' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/8939812154663791899'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/8939812154663791899'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/01/and-of-these-cut-throat-busted-sunsets.html' title='so estranged'/><author><name>naughti</name><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-788158006489589537.post-2707889236849972853</id><published>2008-01-07T15:04:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-07T15:18:38.863-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Well every hour on the hour...</title><content type='html'>Reminders,&lt;br /&gt;they are not&lt;br /&gt;reluctant.&lt;br /&gt;So stop me if you've heard this one before.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sideways blinders;&lt;br /&gt;I can't find a way&lt;br /&gt;around...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have to&lt;br /&gt;you just have to...&lt;br /&gt;trust me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whoever I was then, I can't ever be again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;~TBS; Miami.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-2707889236849972853?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/2707889236849972853/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=2707889236849972853' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/2707889236849972853'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/2707889236849972853'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/01/well-every-hour-on-hour.html' title='Well every hour on the hour...'/><author><name>mrsbitchly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08623110931893521633</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-788158006489589537.post-4881593650763051330</id><published>2008-01-02T23:07:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T16:27:08.147-06:00</updated><title type='text'>In Dedication...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/R3xuOFxeP5I/AAAAAAAAAA8/hmGWSYUdC-4/s1600-h/001.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/R3xuOFxeP5I/AAAAAAAAAA8/hmGWSYUdC-4/s320/001.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151113262151909266" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i came across this when i went to a particular coffee shop i despise...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-4881593650763051330?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/4881593650763051330/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=4881593650763051330' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/4881593650763051330'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/4881593650763051330'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/01/in-dedication.html' title='In Dedication...'/><author><name>naughti</name><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><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/R3xuOFxeP5I/AAAAAAAAAA8/hmGWSYUdC-4/s72-c/001.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-788158006489589537.post-6825961687019924351</id><published>2008-01-02T17:21:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-02T17:23:49.410-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Eternal sunshine</title><content type='html'>Joel:  It would be different if we can just give it another go around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Clementine:  Remember me.  Try your best.  Maybe we can.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-6825961687019924351?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/6825961687019924351/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=6825961687019924351' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/6825961687019924351'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/6825961687019924351'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/01/eternal-sunshine.html' title='Eternal sunshine'/><author><name>nik</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08829477782957344681</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='30' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DVYClB1TCUo/SUoB3QK9XvI/AAAAAAAAAAM/koz_EEEf28c/S220/music.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-788158006489589537.post-5496780188245944383</id><published>2008-01-02T17:17:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-02T17:21:19.591-06:00</updated><title type='text'>life is an experiment</title><content type='html'>finish each day and be done with it.  you have done what you could.  some blunders and absurdities have crept in; forget them as soon as you can.  tomorrow is a new day.  you shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--emerson&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-5496780188245944383?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/5496780188245944383/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=5496780188245944383' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/5496780188245944383'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/5496780188245944383'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2008/01/life-is-experiment.html' title='life is an experiment'/><author><name>nik</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08829477782957344681</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='30' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DVYClB1TCUo/SUoB3QK9XvI/AAAAAAAAAAM/koz_EEEf28c/S220/music.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-788158006489589537.post-4920671813447775101</id><published>2007-12-23T23:45:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T16:27:08.479-06:00</updated><title type='text'>balancing act</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/R3ShDLBh-cI/AAAAAAAAAAs/Y7ThRI7FIhE/s1600-h/DSC01660.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/R3ShDLBh-cI/AAAAAAAAAAs/Y7ThRI7FIhE/s200/DSC01660.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5148917349862209986" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/R3ShDbBh-dI/AAAAAAAAAA0/FSQoM3oK6gk/s1600-h/DSC01681.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/R3ShDbBh-dI/AAAAAAAAAA0/FSQoM3oK6gk/s200/DSC01681.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5148917354157177298" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;yes, my ancestors came from southern india. my tan skin and skinny ankles will attest to that. yes, i am palestinian. my stubborn hair and stubbornness, for that matter, are proof. i am confident in explaining my two halves, perhaps american comes in somewhere, but that's understood. yet, i don't know if i'm balancing the right amount of any of them. i wonder what my parents must feel like to live worlds away from the people they love. what it must feel like to yearn for the smell of ripe figs in the fall, or for the scent of freshly cut coconut. everything here must seem so stale...the food, the people, the work. i can't imagine crying myself to sleep every night for months because i'm in a strange country where i don't speak the language, or leaving my family behind after a parent's death. i wonder if they are disappointed in who i am. if they must cringe at my constant use of "you guys" in reference to them when i'm angry, or at my constant journeys into the city. i am one to always shy away from tradition if it doesn't make sense, if it hinders on my beliefs, yet i am one to embrace it for its beauty and passion. i think i've finally met my father's match in palestinian history, and my love for poetry runs through me. i nag at my mother to tell me about a country she seems to have forgotten, one that she never seems to want to return to if even for a visit. i get my fixes of stories about guyana from my uncle, the one brother amongst seven sisters, and i'll be going to visit this summer. i roll grape leaves, pack a mean argeela, bail roti, but my arabic and broken english are far from anything to brag about. my passion is palestine and social justice in general. in all of my confusion and certainty i think i disappoint them. i feel selfish all the time. when i spend hours on end studying, when all i want to do is kick back with some friends, when i want to get out of this town. yet i know they live for me, my parents. and that's why i stay here. in this house, in this town. not to say i don't value and cherish our time together...don't get me wrong, it's not out of pity. but despite my constant arguing to stay out a bit later every time they call, which is every time i go out past 11, i always stay. i constantly think about the two years i lived in the city, or about my dream to move to barcelona for a year,yet i reside in a place that stunts my creativity and passion. i don't belong here, that's for sure. the roads are too perfect, the land is too flat, all the people that give me life are gone. i love my family dearly, but if they knew that i was just trying to make the best of a life that isn't for me, would they understand why i wanted to leave? although i feel closer to them and to who i am when live an hour away, i hold my family together. my brother has been gone for years, and this house would be too empty, too quiet for my parents to endure. they mean more to me than anything, so much that just like their sacrifice for me, i've given up a part of who i am to give them a life they deserve.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-4920671813447775101?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/4920671813447775101/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=4920671813447775101' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/4920671813447775101'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/4920671813447775101'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2007/12/yes-my-ancestors-came-from-southern.html' title='balancing act'/><author><name>naughti</name><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><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/R3ShDLBh-cI/AAAAAAAAAAs/Y7ThRI7FIhE/s72-c/DSC01660.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-788158006489589537.post-8016708792717867184</id><published>2007-12-16T15:26:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T16:27:08.730-06:00</updated><title type='text'>torn, but still trying</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/R2WvLrBh-aI/AAAAAAAAAAc/duEetNl-utE/s1600-h/DSC_0190.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/R2WvLrBh-aI/AAAAAAAAAAc/duEetNl-utE/s320/DSC_0190.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5144710764403227042" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;it's difficult trying to not turn into that person you know you will one day become. tricking fate is near impossible. we are people who have been hurt and are surrounded by people who love us. god give them patience to love us. god give us strength to allow them to do so. with every word of adoration we turn running, stumbling along the way, but when do we just stop and stand still? boy, you did a number on me...for that, i resent you. forgiveness only gets you so far, and then you realize the immensity of damage. i'm trying so hard not to be that person who doesn't believe,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;in my worth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-8016708792717867184?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/8016708792717867184/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=8016708792717867184' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/8016708792717867184'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/8016708792717867184'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2007/12/torn-but-still-trying.html' title='torn, but still trying'/><author><name>naughti</name><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><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XZth8cbw4fM/R2WvLrBh-aI/AAAAAAAAAAc/duEetNl-utE/s72-c/DSC_0190.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-788158006489589537.post-7951975102902986297</id><published>2007-11-16T00:26:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-11-16T00:39:08.067-06:00</updated><title type='text'>permanent reminders</title><content type='html'>i promise. my word is one you can trust, my dear friend. you are loved and nothing is your fault. in all the madness, at least you can be sure of at least that much. what's strange is that we realize when we feel immense pain, but we don't realize the slow process of healing. the bandages fall off, and there are indeed scars, serving as permanent reminders. a warning to those in the future and to yourself to handle with care. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;you can only get better, you have no choice. it's the only way your body knows how to react to pain...you just have to succumb to healing. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-7951975102902986297?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/7951975102902986297/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=7951975102902986297' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/7951975102902986297'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/7951975102902986297'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2007/11/permanent-reminders.html' title='permanent reminders'/><author><name>naughti</name><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-788158006489589537.post-1315710006504800043</id><published>2007-10-30T20:02:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-10-30T20:07:29.028-05:00</updated><title type='text'>welcome to naughti's blog (where is everyone?)</title><content type='html'>"In the deepest ocean&lt;br /&gt;The bottom of the sea&lt;br /&gt;Your eyes&lt;br /&gt;They turn me&lt;br /&gt;Why should I stay here?&lt;br /&gt;Why should I stay?&lt;br /&gt;I'd be crazy not to follow&lt;br /&gt;Follow where you lead&lt;br /&gt;Your eyes&lt;br /&gt;They turn me..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;my dear, dear radiohead has returned.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;arpeggi, in rainbows&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;****&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-1315710006504800043?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/1315710006504800043/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=1315710006504800043' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/1315710006504800043'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/1315710006504800043'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2007/10/welcome-to-naughtis-blog-where-is.html' title='welcome to naughti&apos;s blog (where is everyone?)'/><author><name>naughti</name><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-788158006489589537.post-6523461663014394109</id><published>2007-10-10T00:08:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-10-10T00:27:51.354-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>i stand in the rain now with no hesitation,&lt;br /&gt;wouldn't you like to stand with me?&lt;br /&gt;wouldn't you like to see me now?&lt;br /&gt;but you're in your car,&lt;br /&gt;driving to where it's safe and dry.&lt;br /&gt;for once in my life i'm standing still.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-6523461663014394109?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/6523461663014394109/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=6523461663014394109' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/6523461663014394109'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/6523461663014394109'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2007/10/i-stand-in-rain-now-with-no-hesitation.html' title=''/><author><name>naughti</name><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-788158006489589537.post-738555039771245783</id><published>2007-10-02T22:46:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-10-04T00:18:35.085-05:00</updated><title type='text'>deficiency</title><content type='html'>today was one of those days. i don't mean to sound melodramatic but i just really don't know what came over me today. i went to the doctor's office and ended up fainting in the lobby as i was leaving. the doctor and staff carried me into the one of the rooms and took good care of me. they all left while i sat on the bed drinking orange juice and eating cashews and i have no idea why but at that moment i felt alone to a degree i have never felt before. i composed myself as i thanked everyone and apologized to the doctor since he had to carry me in his arms and run to the room, and he jokingly responded with a comment about getting his &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;exercise&lt;/span&gt; for the day. when i got to my car, i sat down, put on my sunglasses and cried. for the first time in a long time i felt a void that overtook me to the point of no control. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;i've&lt;/span&gt; been so busy and trying so hard to avoid feeling alone, but it catches up with you in the end. sitting there in my car i wanted to call anyone that could tell me that it would be okay, but how do you explain feeling alone to friends who have been there for you...sounds a bit selfish and ungrateful, doesn't it? i guess when you get scared you want the comfort of that person who knows you best...but i have to remind myself that &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;i'm&lt;/span&gt; not that person anymore and neither is he.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-738555039771245783?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/738555039771245783/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=738555039771245783' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/738555039771245783'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/738555039771245783'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2007/10/deficiency.html' title='deficiency'/><author><name>naughti</name><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-788158006489589537.post-4609703838522501262</id><published>2007-09-26T20:09:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T16:27:08.982-06:00</updated><title type='text'>IF - and only if...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2PNc-T-uZNA/RvsDK0IkI6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/jhrESx12leY/s1600-h/Love+Is+A+Gamble.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5114685286137471906" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2PNc-T-uZNA/RvsDK0IkI6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/jhrESx12leY/s320/Love+Is+A+Gamble.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;If I were ever to get a tatoo - this would be my top contender.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-4609703838522501262?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/4609703838522501262/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=4609703838522501262' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/4609703838522501262'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/4609703838522501262'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2007/09/if-and-only-if.html' title='IF - and only if...'/><author><name>mrsbitchly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08623110931893521633</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><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2PNc-T-uZNA/RvsDK0IkI6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/jhrESx12leY/s72-c/Love+Is+A+Gamble.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-788158006489589537.post-3859467501921342305</id><published>2007-09-24T23:52:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-09-24T23:56:22.232-05:00</updated><title type='text'>looking good, fine lady.</title><content type='html'>well needed change...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-3859467501921342305?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/3859467501921342305/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=3859467501921342305' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/3859467501921342305'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/3859467501921342305'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2007/09/looking-good-fine-lady.html' title='looking good, fine lady.'/><author><name>naughti</name><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-788158006489589537.post-4126443382258759334</id><published>2007-09-24T20:29:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-09-24T20:37:42.976-05:00</updated><title type='text'>testing...</title><content type='html'>Is this thing on?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Idle Neurosis has has been out of commission for quite some time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This picks up where we left off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stay tuned.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;XOXO&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/788158006489589537-4126443382258759334?l=stellarladies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/feeds/4126443382258759334/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=788158006489589537&amp;postID=4126443382258759334' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/4126443382258759334'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/788158006489589537/posts/default/4126443382258759334'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stellarladies.blogspot.com/2007/09/testing.html' title='testing...'/><author><name>mrsbitchly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08623110931893521633</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>
