<?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-9096540719651535893</id><updated>2011-07-31T01:00:03.485-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Life, the Universe, and Everything</title><subtitle type='html'>Well...this is more about my Life, Universe, and Everything. But I'm sure at least occasionally I'll stem off into some branch of randomness and rant about things that have absolutely nothing to do with myself, or with anything really for that matter.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Cheater Fish</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15319239775308811529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qsFfgmy0Mqc/ScFTgUTVHgI/AAAAAAAAAAs/6zBHDyeaXDM/S220/0007_copyrighted.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>22</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096540719651535893.post-1189059540120107120</id><published>2010-05-17T16:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-22T17:13:49.122-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Socrates in Me</title><content type='html'>He wants to know why society is good. Well, he actually wants me to figure out what I think about the qualities of society and decide 1) why we decided technological advances are good, 2) whether or not these advances have benefited the people that this society is supposed to benefit, and 3) what I want to do with my life based on my findings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think the real answer to the first question of why we all decided that technological advances are good is a bit deeper than I will be going with this today. I feel like I haven't reflected enough on the sentience of man, and what it is about us that meant we were to develop such complex psyches (I can't find a plural of 'psyche' so I'll assume my word is correct) and dreams and goals and love, unlike that of any other species on the planet. This path of thought might get me closer to the real truth of this matter, but I also feel like the origin of the sentience of man is a discussion that I will need to have with others, it is not an answer that I alone am capable of discovering.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think that it would suffice for today's topic of discovery if I go with a more simple answer to the question. I think that after technological applications were discovered, people believed it was a good idea because it could be applied to making resources more plentiful. Is bounty a good thing?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think yes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As technology advanced, so did the needs of people. And I think herein lies the first problem with our development of society. We let ourselves believe that we need an excess of things simply because it is available. This is the root of our money troubles as Americans. We let ourselves believe that we need things that logical creatures should be able to deduce that they do not need such as cars, big houses, frappuccinos, manicures, more than three pairs of shoes, newer clothes, and quick food. We pay dearly for all of these things simply because they are available. We need none of them. I need fruit, I need vegetables, I need beans and the occasional steak. I need a clean little home and an occupation that earns my needs. I need a means to have clean clothing and I need a shower, fairly often.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just about every other thing I spend my money on are things I allow myself to think that I need.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The economic system in which I live is one in which the people with all the money decide what the people without all the money spend their money on. They can put us into their debt, and use our sweat and effort to make themselves richer, by selling us things that make us poorer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, is technology a good thing? I think yes. But I think we have exploited our sophistication to a point that it is now being used against us in a systematic process of our own design. So these advances in technology aren't aiding the people who belong to society, it is entangling them. Once we became capable of producing enough food to sustain our society without any fear of famine, those in the food industry discovered that this left them no room to grow their profits. They had reached maximum efficiency. So now agribusiness has spent the past 70 or so years figuring out how to waste our commodities and sell us far more food than we could ever need. This is going on with most of the commerce in the United States. Advertising is used to tell the masses what we have, how we feel about it, and what we still need. It's a system that should flabbergast us humans, but instead of being confused or even outraged, we just buy into it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Society has given too much shit to too many individuals. So we squander what we have to make the rich richer, and keep the wealth away from the masses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have a very idealized image of the 1800's in my head. Just enough technology to make resources plenty and time for reading and politics plenty. But not so much technology that we lose sight of what our needs really are, and how gracious this Earth has been to provide us with them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So what do I do about it? How do I live in 2010 if I'm trying to manage my resources in a way that makes sense? I have considered finding a commune. Seriously. I love my Facebook account and my blog and my frappuccinos and new cars just as much as the next guy, but they make me feel...unsettled. All of these things in my consumer world that I don't need but desperately want are haunting me. And I'm glad. This problem needs to bother me. If it doesn't make me feel unsettled, then I'm obviously not using my brain at all. But then again, I can't help but feel like all of these luxurious things wouldn't be so bad if we had a system that spread the luxury around a little bit. There are too many people who live in squalor for me to be okay with my economic market just the way it is. And there are too many people who live in absurd luxury while I'm sucking down a Big Train and listening to my iPod and feeling desperate about gas prices.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's all too much. Society and technology have too much to offer me. I don't need it and I'm trying not to want it. I don't know if I'll be moving to a commune to earn a living by the sweat of my brow and sharing my resources with others who wish to share their resources with me. But it sure does sound refreshing, doesn't it? And if I don't go off to a commune and I decide to stay here with this society, then I will be working out a way to start eating plants again and stop buying into the cheap, synthetic, excessive, and unrealistic shit that they all want to sell me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some days I feel good about myself and how conscious I can be about where the wealth goes. And some days I forget myself and lapse into playing an MMO for an entire day while sucking down Code Red and vodka and eating Doritos for lunch and dinner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm getting off of my internal soap box. For the time being.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9096540719651535893-1189059540120107120?l=cheaterfish.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/feeds/1189059540120107120/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2010/05/socrates-in-me.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/1189059540120107120'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/1189059540120107120'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2010/05/socrates-in-me.html' title='The Socrates in Me'/><author><name>Cheater Fish</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15319239775308811529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qsFfgmy0Mqc/ScFTgUTVHgI/AAAAAAAAAAs/6zBHDyeaXDM/S220/0007_copyrighted.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096540719651535893.post-7359814209719508162</id><published>2010-05-16T09:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-16T10:04:34.989-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Compilation of 'Meh' Thoughts</title><content type='html'>I woke up just before 8am today, which is ridiculous for me. It's nearly 10 now, so I think I'm going to awaken my boyfriend soon. I wish I had some syrup for my waffles...&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I feel like maybe I'm just avoiding my life? Does that make any sense? And for Pete's sake I just want my car back. There's a topic: my car. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So I have bought three $90+ parts for my car including a battery, an alternator, and a module (that's nearly $300 already on a twenty-year-old car). While replacing the module has helped (kinda/sorta) my car still dies after running for short periods of time. So I'm borrowing Blake's car ALWAYS to go to school, and I'm sitting around and playing video games and NOT running errands because god knows how I hate being dependent on his car. And what's even worse is that my mom thinks that since I use  his car to go to school I can use his car to run all of her errands that I normally do in my own car. Well I'm not doing it anymore. I hate her for her dependency on me. Every favor that she needs me to do because she cannot do it herself drives me further away from her. It makes me not want to see her, or my sister that now lives with her, or her sister that now lives with her. It makes me not want to answer the phone for her and it makes me feel guilty about it too. I wouldn't mind so much if it was just doing her favors, but she NEEDS me to do them because she won't get a driver's license and she won't save her money for a car and she won't learn the bus system and she's making me crazy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I want my car back. I want my independence back. And I want everybody's money back. I want to spend today with my boyfriend because it's his one day off that I have off too, but we have spent the whole week together because I have been in constant need of his car. So I feel obligated to go home and leave him the fuck alone. But I don't want to. That would leave me car-less and he has no cell phone at the moment. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Shit in one hand and wish in the other, right?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm making waffles. Boring ones.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm not ending this blog on a sour note though. I went to PetCo yesterday to visit the kitties and there was an organization there with adoptable cats and dogs called Rescued Paws. I got a volunteer application and I should start volunteering by next weekend. I've been looking for something important to do with my time, and I think that this would be a good thing for me. I need more structure in my life. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9096540719651535893-7359814209719508162?l=cheaterfish.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/feeds/7359814209719508162/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2010/05/compilation-of-meh-thoughts.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/7359814209719508162'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/7359814209719508162'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2010/05/compilation-of-meh-thoughts.html' title='A Compilation of &apos;Meh&apos; Thoughts'/><author><name>Cheater Fish</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15319239775308811529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qsFfgmy0Mqc/ScFTgUTVHgI/AAAAAAAAAAs/6zBHDyeaXDM/S220/0007_copyrighted.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096540719651535893.post-7131030617183722289</id><published>2010-04-21T09:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-21T09:12:36.682-07:00</updated><title type='text'>An Ode to the Automobile</title><content type='html'>I hate cars.&lt;div&gt;I hate fixing cars.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I hate the greedy parts industry.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I hate the greedier manufacturing industry.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I hate purposefully bad gas mileage.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I hate needlessly killed deer on the side of the highway.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I hate the unthoughtful demand for excess mobility.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I hate cars.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now, where's my bike pump?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9096540719651535893-7131030617183722289?l=cheaterfish.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/feeds/7131030617183722289/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2010/04/ode-to-automobile.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/7131030617183722289'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/7131030617183722289'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2010/04/ode-to-automobile.html' title='An Ode to the Automobile'/><author><name>Cheater Fish</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15319239775308811529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qsFfgmy0Mqc/ScFTgUTVHgI/AAAAAAAAAAs/6zBHDyeaXDM/S220/0007_copyrighted.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096540719651535893.post-2343649846889317551</id><published>2010-04-20T13:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-20T15:32:17.625-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Ego Dilemma</title><content type='html'>This conclusion has been months in the working. Nine months ago was when Steven and I broke up and I feel no more healed from the damage to my self than I did nine months ago.  For the last half of our relationship he started remaking me. He told me flat out that I was heavily flawed, but he thought he saw some potential in me, so he was going to stick it out and make me what I should be. I was a disappointment to him. I was less intelligent than him. I was less talented than him. I was less emotionally supportive than him. I was inferior. Every time we had an argument he had to be right. There was never any agreeing to disagree. There was Steven's opinion, and there was wrong. That's all that he knew to exist in the world. I didn't believe that I was so incredibly...wrong...at first. But he made any disagreement something that we needed to break up over unless I could manage to "see the light". I thought it would be a complete idiotic waste of good companionship to break up over the stupid shit that he wanted to break up over, so I always just told him that he was right and that I was wrong and that I was sorry and that I didn't know how to change my opinions. That made me a project for him. I was something that malfunctioned and he was going to fix it. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I became terrified of talking in front of him. I couldn't contribute to a conversation unless he already knew the information that I was going to contribute, because if I said something that made him look wrong in front of other people then I was rude and mean for embarrassing him like that.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I couldn't do or say or want anything that wasn't preemptively Steven approved. I became very dependent on him. He got annoyed at how much I asked him to make decisions with me. But I was incapable of making the right ones on my own.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Nine months after I finally told him that I had to be me, I don't know who me is anymore. When he and I were dating I stopped listening to my music, or all music for that matter. My music sucked and he didn't like me for appreciating 'unartistic' music. I stopped blogging because he said I needed to work on my short stories more and make something out of them. I stopped doing puzzles because he thought it was a useless pastime. I stopped watching tv because that was useless too. I stopped reading because Steven didn't like reading for long periods of time and the fact that I did like it annoyed him. I stopped doing anything. He wanted me to learn soccer, guitar, and skateboarding. I was to take those hobbies seriously and become skillful at them. All three of those things were something I liked doing, but at my own pace. He made them into work for me because he wanted me to be skilled at them, when I was a noobie at them and just wanted to have fun with them. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The final conclusion: I have no functioning ego. The things I enjoy these days are eating and other such primal needs. I am very lazy and selfish. This is from my id. I feel guilty about never calling or visiting my mom, about putting off my homework, about being too lazy to cook most of the time. This sense of what I should be doing and the guilt that comes from not doing so are from my superego. But I have no part of me that makes me do the things I feel I should do, which would be my ego. The part of me that drives me to make conscious decisions to take care of business is stunted. I blow off my mom all the time even though I feel bad about it because my id just doesn't want to deal with her. Or with homework. Or cooking. Or exercising. And I feel like a bad an irresponsible person for not doing all of those things. But I don't want to, and I don't. I don't know what I like doing, and I don't do what I don't like doing.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm only perpetuating this with my attachment to my new boyfriend now too. In no way does he treat me that way that Steven did. But he doesn't need to. I just stay with him as often as possible so that he can effectively choose what I do and don't do. I get anxious and nervous when I know that I'll be spending my spare time without him. I don't know how to be me anymore.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I think the only place I can start is by spending more time alone. I hate the idea of it. But I've lost me. And I won't find me in anybody else but me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9096540719651535893-2343649846889317551?l=cheaterfish.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/feeds/2343649846889317551/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2010/04/my-ego-dilemma.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/2343649846889317551'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/2343649846889317551'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2010/04/my-ego-dilemma.html' title='My Ego Dilemma'/><author><name>Cheater Fish</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15319239775308811529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qsFfgmy0Mqc/ScFTgUTVHgI/AAAAAAAAAAs/6zBHDyeaXDM/S220/0007_copyrighted.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096540719651535893.post-6461715037944809637</id><published>2010-02-10T17:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-10T17:44:05.612-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Quick Little Rant, Then Back to Homework</title><content type='html'>When I'm doing my Health 250 homework I hate reading about health studies that differentiate the issues between ethnic groups. The rate of alcoholism in Native Americans has nothing to do with their ethnicity, but their social and economic status in the United States. This sentence in my book says "Scientists have also suggested that genetic factors may contribute to [unhealthy] patterns of alcohol use by Native Americans." Even if that is so, the real issue that should be addressed is. "The data shows that [unhealthy] alcohol use by Native Americans is caused at least partially by the white man raping and pillaging everything they once knew to be good and true."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, I don't like thinking of myself as belonging to the white demographic that this chapter refers to. Do their figures really represent me? Do they really represent anybody? Probably not.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9096540719651535893-6461715037944809637?l=cheaterfish.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/feeds/6461715037944809637/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2010/02/quick-little-rant-then-back-to-homework.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/6461715037944809637'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/6461715037944809637'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2010/02/quick-little-rant-then-back-to-homework.html' title='Quick Little Rant, Then Back to Homework'/><author><name>Cheater Fish</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15319239775308811529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qsFfgmy0Mqc/ScFTgUTVHgI/AAAAAAAAAAs/6zBHDyeaXDM/S220/0007_copyrighted.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096540719651535893.post-2910750698956328091</id><published>2009-11-20T22:13:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-20T22:18:49.926-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I Almost Died Last Night</title><content type='html'>Our cat, Goat, got into the window sill that is right above the head of our bed.  He knocked something off of it (could have been anything really, like a bug, but I think it was a coin) and the object landed directly into my windpipe.  I choked almost to death but after a minute or so I swallowed the thing.  I cried by eyes out and Blake comforted me until I fell back asleep. The clincher to this story is the fact that I don't remember it whatsoever.  The next morning when Blake mentioned it I had no idea what he was talking about.  He told me the whole story and still nothing.  Last night I nearly choked to death and it didn't even wake me up.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Holy crap.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9096540719651535893-2910750698956328091?l=cheaterfish.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/feeds/2910750698956328091/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2009/11/i-almost-died-last-night.html#comment-form' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/2910750698956328091'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/2910750698956328091'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2009/11/i-almost-died-last-night.html' title='I Almost Died Last Night'/><author><name>Cheater Fish</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15319239775308811529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qsFfgmy0Mqc/ScFTgUTVHgI/AAAAAAAAAAs/6zBHDyeaXDM/S220/0007_copyrighted.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096540719651535893.post-7652932733075834074</id><published>2009-11-17T20:49:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-17T20:53:22.652-08:00</updated><title type='text'>GRR</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qsFfgmy0Mqc/SwN9r7MsONI/AAAAAAAAACQ/_AG-waDgloY/s1600/sainthelens.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qsFfgmy0Mqc/SwN9r7MsONI/AAAAAAAAACQ/_AG-waDgloY/s320/sainthelens.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405302171353495762" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have to go to Portland on my day off to see a specialist because I live in a backward-ass hick town with nothing but a bowling alley and a river. I want out, sooner than later preferably. I hate this town.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9096540719651535893-7652932733075834074?l=cheaterfish.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/feeds/7652932733075834074/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2009/11/grr.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/7652932733075834074'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/7652932733075834074'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2009/11/grr.html' title='GRR'/><author><name>Cheater Fish</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15319239775308811529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qsFfgmy0Mqc/ScFTgUTVHgI/AAAAAAAAAAs/6zBHDyeaXDM/S220/0007_copyrighted.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qsFfgmy0Mqc/SwN9r7MsONI/AAAAAAAAACQ/_AG-waDgloY/s72-c/sainthelens.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096540719651535893.post-8967575394144902815</id><published>2009-11-16T10:50:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-16T13:48:56.244-08:00</updated><title type='text'>This is a Completely New Kind of Pissed Off for Me</title><content type='html'>Where do I start...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I suppose I should start by explaining how service at Sunshine Pizza works.  We have the resources for a partial service restaurant: customers order at our counter, there is a soda fountain available to them, and we have one waitress to tend to the entire floor.  But the management insists on projecting excellent customer service, so when you're the waitress for the night you're completley fucked.  There is seating for 178 customers in that restaurant and the waitress is expected to attended to every customers need.  Every togo box, or drink, or spoon, or cup that a customer gets up and asks for gets the waitress in trouble.  So keep in mind that a full house is a fucking nightmare for the waitress.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kiana asked me to work for her on Saturday night.   I was already going to work 9am-4:30pm on Saturday, but I agreed to also work from 5-9.  That's right, 12 hours with a 30 minute break.    Whoo.   I knew it wouldn't be too bad, I had done it before.  And I didn't have to work the next day so I was all for it.   But when I got to work Saturday morning the first opener was way behind.   The opener's job is not closely watched and recently we got a new opener.   Once she (Mindy) got into a routine for opening she got really fucking lazy really fucking quickly.   So Saturday morning I was behind in my job by more than an hour because she was so damn behind in her job.   The manager freaked out on me, not her, and so by 11am I was already pretty pissed off.   But it got way worse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SOMEBODY overbooked the restaurant for afternoon soccer parties and we had the busiest Saturday lunch I've ever seen.  Then Mindy went and bitched to my manager that I couldn't handle my job, I was way behind, and I was fucking things up for all the staff.   So I got bitched at again.   I was nearly yelling at Mindy by the time she got off of her shift.   I was enraged.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then (while we're understaffed, overbooked, and I'm kinda winging my entire job) Sarah calls to tell me that she wants ME to explain to Sissy (the manager who already wants to eat my soul at this point in the day) that she can't come in tonight because of a family emergency.  I asked her three times to just wait on hold and I'll get Sissy for her.  The third time she says, "No, I have to go right now." And she hangs up.  I was so mad at her because I knew Sissy was again going to be mad at me, this time for not letting her talk to Sarah directly.  And I was so busy with all the customers that I completely forgot to stop at actually tell Sissy that Sarah called.  So when 5:30 comes around and Sarah is half an hour late, a coworker jokingly poses me the question "Ya think Sarah's gonna come in to work tonight?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My stomach dropped.  I ran and told Sissy that I forgot to tell her Sarah had called this morning.  I got suspended from work for two of my next shifts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was so many new kinds of pissed off on Saturday night that I spent the last three hours of my shift half crying and half choking it back so I wouldn't cry.  I am SO looking for a new job.  I really can't summon the proper curses to show how indignant and pissed off I really am.  Wow.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9096540719651535893-8967575394144902815?l=cheaterfish.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/feeds/8967575394144902815/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2009/11/this-is-completely-new-kind-of-pissed.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/8967575394144902815'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/8967575394144902815'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2009/11/this-is-completely-new-kind-of-pissed.html' title='This is a Completely New Kind of Pissed Off for Me'/><author><name>Cheater Fish</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15319239775308811529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qsFfgmy0Mqc/ScFTgUTVHgI/AAAAAAAAAAs/6zBHDyeaXDM/S220/0007_copyrighted.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096540719651535893.post-8021539739328503513</id><published>2009-09-25T17:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-25T17:14:03.557-07:00</updated><title type='text'>College Continued</title><content type='html'>Well, first week wasn't so bad.  I had to change my shcedule a bit but I am thrilled with the change. I dropped Math 111B and picked up Political Science 201.  I have a very interesting and easy going PS teacher, which is awesome.  And this new class requires no text book. That's right, NO TEXT BOOK TO BUY!! I could cry for joy. That's an extra 98 bucks or so in my pocket. The text for the class is all online. I'm loving this. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I already have a test on Monday for Writing 121 but it's one I'm excited about honestly. The teacher is very entertaining.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And my Math teacher is awesome as well. She doesn't speak English well at all.  But the grammar for this class is all stuff I have learned, so now I'm getting the actual speaking practice that I've needed for so very long.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The only down side would be that I haven't felt anything but entirely exhausted since last Sunday. But I'm young. College students are supposed to abuse their youth, right?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I even got a little yellow button for free that reads 'I read banned books.'&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I love college.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9096540719651535893-8021539739328503513?l=cheaterfish.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/feeds/8021539739328503513/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2009/09/college-continued.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/8021539739328503513'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/8021539739328503513'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2009/09/college-continued.html' title='College Continued'/><author><name>Cheater Fish</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15319239775308811529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qsFfgmy0Mqc/ScFTgUTVHgI/AAAAAAAAAAs/6zBHDyeaXDM/S220/0007_copyrighted.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096540719651535893.post-3589992167610536318</id><published>2009-09-20T16:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-20T16:53:00.015-07:00</updated><title type='text'>College</title><content type='html'>I start college tomorrow and already I have a bit of a predicament. A new MMO called Aion launched today and under normal circumstances I would play this game until about 5 o'clock tomorrow morning. But I have to be up at 8am to go to my very first college class ever. AND my last class ends at 9pm tomorrow. It's going to be a very long day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Monday and Wednesday:&lt;br /&gt;WR 121 11am-12:50pm&lt;br /&gt;MTH 111B 1pm-3:30pm&lt;br /&gt;SPA 201 6:30pm-8:30pm&lt;br /&gt;SPA 211 8:30pm-9pm&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first two are at Rock Creek. The two Spanish classes are at Cascade. So I have 7 hours of class over a 10 hour period. Plus on a normal basis I'll be leaving Saint Helens at 10am and arriving back home again at 10pm. Twice a week. Blugh. I'm excitedfor it, truly I am, but it's not going to be so easy. Plus I'm working split shifts from 10am-2pm and 5pm-9pm 4 days a week. Ah, college life. At least my rent is super low so I will not be dining twice a day on ramen noodles. Though I will have to learn to get up early, eat breakfast before leaving, and pack food for the days I have school.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Realistically I'm probably going to stay up until like 2 in the morning to play Aion. But I know I ought to go to bed around 10. Ugh. Maybe I'll be smart and crap out at like midnight. It feels incredibly stupid, but I'm loving this game, and I must play it for hours tonight. Must.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9096540719651535893-3589992167610536318?l=cheaterfish.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/feeds/3589992167610536318/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2009/09/college.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/3589992167610536318'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/3589992167610536318'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2009/09/college.html' title='College'/><author><name>Cheater Fish</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15319239775308811529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qsFfgmy0Mqc/ScFTgUTVHgI/AAAAAAAAAAs/6zBHDyeaXDM/S220/0007_copyrighted.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096540719651535893.post-3558919070654727197</id><published>2009-08-30T20:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-30T20:27:37.666-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Great Migration</title><content type='html'>This will be the first summer since I moved to Saint Helens that I will not be going to California to visit family and friends. However I am going to California this coming weekend to help my Aunt move. She is moving here and she is going to share a place with my mom. I think this is a great plan because my aunt will help my mom get her head out of her ass. Living with her big sister will make my mom feel embarrassed to be as careless as she usually is. No one else could have this effect on my mom because coming from anyone else she would just want to resist being controlled or changed. Also, this will be good for my aunt because her girlfriend just died a little more than a year ago and she could use some loving company.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I love me aunt Janice. She's great in every way. She was a crazy liberated hippie woman back in the early 50's, before it was cool, and so she has her biasis against religion and government that are understandable. She is a feminist when it is really no longer necessary, which I understand too seeing as how she grew up. She loves me, she treats me like a woman and not like her little neice, and she understands my issues with my mother.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I miss her, I can't wait to see her.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And also, I'm really excited for the 13 hour drive back when i'm driving her truck for her. Really, I am, it's a beautiful drive.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9096540719651535893-3558919070654727197?l=cheaterfish.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/feeds/3558919070654727197/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2009/08/great-migration.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/3558919070654727197'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/3558919070654727197'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2009/08/great-migration.html' title='The Great Migration'/><author><name>Cheater Fish</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15319239775308811529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qsFfgmy0Mqc/ScFTgUTVHgI/AAAAAAAAAAs/6zBHDyeaXDM/S220/0007_copyrighted.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096540719651535893.post-7622285734656366998</id><published>2009-08-16T18:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-16T19:21:20.650-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Speaking of Ms. Megan Fox</title><content type='html'>I am sick of my job right now. And it isn't the unfair manager, the shitty money, or the dullness. No. It is the other girls I work with. Counter Girls at Sunshine Pizza are hired to be pretty and fluttery and giggly. I know because my boss told me so flat out. The more I think about the fact that I was hired to be one of those girls that is selling my face (which is the most mild body part I could use to express how sold I feel) and not the food, the more I feel disgusted with my job. I laugh at things that aren't funny and I smile until my face hurts and flatter piggish men who hit on teen aged waitresses until I feel exhausted at the end of a measly 5 hour shift.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And it gets worse. I am surrounded by girls who are prettier than me and make more tips than me simply because they're really ditsy and cute while I'm just feigning it. I have always been so jealous of how they look like models ready to have their photos taken even when they're at work. And I hate myself for that jealousy because I know they only look that way because they are so concerned about how they look, so much more than anything else in life, that they spent one or two HOURS making themselves up to look like that just to go to fucking work. None of them have a brain in their poor little heads and I get jealous of them. Jealous that I'm not attractive like that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Outside of the idea of selling myself as a waitress, when the hell did 'sexy' start taking two fucking hours to put on? Honestly? Why do people find the girls with 2 hours worth of makeup and hair styling to be so much more attractive than a real live women? It's disheartening, it's depressing, it's degrading, and it's fucking haunting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At least I haven't done something about it. The bit of dignity I have left to hold on to is that I allow my time to be consumed with other people, books, and life to the point that I don't have the time to make myself look like them. That's that way it should be.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9096540719651535893-7622285734656366998?l=cheaterfish.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/feeds/7622285734656366998/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2009/08/speaking-of-ms-megan-fox.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/7622285734656366998'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/7622285734656366998'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2009/08/speaking-of-ms-megan-fox.html' title='Speaking of Ms. Megan Fox'/><author><name>Cheater Fish</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15319239775308811529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qsFfgmy0Mqc/ScFTgUTVHgI/AAAAAAAAAAs/6zBHDyeaXDM/S220/0007_copyrighted.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096540719651535893.post-8165969191040523665</id><published>2009-06-10T11:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-10T11:55:34.848-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Fear</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;By Lilly Allen&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want to be rich and I want lots of money&lt;br /&gt;I don't care about clever I don't care about funny&lt;br /&gt;I want loads of clothes and fuckloads of diamonds&lt;br /&gt;I heard people die while they are trying to find them&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll take my clothes off and it will be shameless&lt;br /&gt;'Cause everyone knows that's how you get famous&lt;br /&gt;I'll look at the sun and I'll look in the mirror&lt;br /&gt;I'm on the right track yeah I'm on to a winner&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus: I don't know what's right and what's real anymore&lt;br /&gt;I don't know how I'm meant to feel anymore&lt;br /&gt;When do you think it will all become clear?&lt;br /&gt;'Cause I'm being taken over by The Fear&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life's about film stars and less about mothers&lt;br /&gt;It's all about fast cars and passing each other&lt;br /&gt;But it doesn't matter cause I'm packing plastic&lt;br /&gt;And that's what makes my life so fucking fantastic&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I am a weapon of massive consumption&lt;br /&gt;And it's not my fault it's how I'm programed to function&lt;br /&gt;I'll look at the sun and I'll look in the mirror&lt;br /&gt;I'm on the right track yeah I'm on to a winner&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus: I don't know what's right and what's real anymore&lt;br /&gt;I don't know how I'm meant to feel anymore&lt;br /&gt;When do you think it will all become clear?&lt;br /&gt;'Cause I'm being taken over by The Fear&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bridge: Forget about guns and forget ammunition&lt;br /&gt;'Cause I'm killing them all on my own little mission&lt;br /&gt;Now I'm not a saint but I'm not a sinner&lt;br /&gt;Now everything is cool as long as I'm getting thinner&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus: I don't know what's right and what's real anymore&lt;br /&gt;I don't know how I'm meant to feel anymore&lt;br /&gt;When do you think it will all become clear?&lt;br /&gt;'Cause I'm being taken over by The Fear&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q-wGMlSuX_c"&gt;Youtube music video for this song.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9096540719651535893-8165969191040523665?l=cheaterfish.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/feeds/8165969191040523665/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2009/06/fear.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/8165969191040523665'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/8165969191040523665'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2009/06/fear.html' title='The Fear'/><author><name>Cheater Fish</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15319239775308811529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qsFfgmy0Mqc/ScFTgUTVHgI/AAAAAAAAAAs/6zBHDyeaXDM/S220/0007_copyrighted.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096540719651535893.post-6867507617824917727</id><published>2009-06-03T10:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-03T11:05:39.550-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Graduation</title><content type='html'>In two days I will be walking in my high school graduation ceremony. I am fairly excited about it too. But my dad and a family friend keep trying to make me invite Tasha to the ceremony.  Which I really don't want to do. They are too old fashioned to accept the fact that someone they know and love is a twat. I don't want her in my life; she is a bad person. She has been too malicious to me, and has selfishly hurt one of the best people I ever knew.  She lies about me to my parents, has stolen from me, and has destroyed some of my property. There is no real value in a relationship with her and I don't want one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thankfuly my mom is a human with a soul and a mind and she understands my opinion. She has told me that I should never allow someone to make me do something that I don't want to do. She said this because she knows she can trust me to do right by people. She knows that I am not the type to just throw a fit and hate someone trivially. I don't like who Tasha is, and I don't want her around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is my damn night. Mine. Not Tasha's, not Mom's, and not Dad's. I earned my diploma with no help from any of them. Every grade I got was mine and mine alone. I can't let them take this out of my hands.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9096540719651535893-6867507617824917727?l=cheaterfish.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/feeds/6867507617824917727/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2009/06/graduation.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/6867507617824917727'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/6867507617824917727'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2009/06/graduation.html' title='Graduation'/><author><name>Cheater Fish</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15319239775308811529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qsFfgmy0Mqc/ScFTgUTVHgI/AAAAAAAAAAs/6zBHDyeaXDM/S220/0007_copyrighted.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096540719651535893.post-2825359513653445982</id><published>2009-05-18T14:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-18T14:32:26.967-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Now I Get It</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qsFfgmy0Mqc/ShHQ7bNr4PI/AAAAAAAAABY/jIJsnkDSnts/s1600-h/gotposilac.htm"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 272px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qsFfgmy0Mqc/ShHQ7bNr4PI/AAAAAAAAABY/jIJsnkDSnts/s400/gotposilac.htm" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337276752746766578" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dusty recommended to me a movie called The Future of Food. It's GREAT, look it up on Hulu. But that movie also connected some of the dots for me from this picture which I did not before fully understand. This picture reads;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Do you know why milk is being advertised? It's not to promote strong bones and healthy teeth. The Monsanto Company makes an artificial growth hormone which increases milk production up to 15%. This hormone also results in infection, deformity, and illness to the injected animal, and traces of this ends up in your breakfast cereal. But that isn't their problem. The American Milk Processor's problem is needing to sell the massive amount of excess milk before it all goes bad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As for me, I don't drink milk. I'm lactose intolerant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;got &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bovine_somatotropin"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;posilac&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;?&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; This man is Dr. Phineas Waldolf Steel. He is a musician, an entertainer, dreamer, and hilarious. Check out &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J48vuoO2PQY"&gt;this&lt;/a&gt; and other video's of his on youtube.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9096540719651535893-2825359513653445982?l=cheaterfish.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/feeds/2825359513653445982/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2009/05/now-i-get-it.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/2825359513653445982'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/2825359513653445982'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2009/05/now-i-get-it.html' title='Now I Get It'/><author><name>Cheater Fish</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15319239775308811529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qsFfgmy0Mqc/ScFTgUTVHgI/AAAAAAAAAAs/6zBHDyeaXDM/S220/0007_copyrighted.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qsFfgmy0Mqc/ShHQ7bNr4PI/AAAAAAAAABY/jIJsnkDSnts/s72-c/gotposilac.htm' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096540719651535893.post-5400023914088203719</id><published>2009-04-13T21:26:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-13T21:28:28.872-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Definition Can Bite Me</title><content type='html'>I don't give a flying shit about the botanical definition of a berry. I have just learned that by this definition pumpkins, oranges, and bananas are all berries. But raspberries, strawberries, and blackberries are not.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Fuck that dude. Bananas do &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;not&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; get to be berries!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9096540719651535893-5400023914088203719?l=cheaterfish.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/feeds/5400023914088203719/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2009/04/definition-can-bite-me.html#comment-form' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/5400023914088203719'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/5400023914088203719'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2009/04/definition-can-bite-me.html' title='The Definition Can Bite Me'/><author><name>Cheater Fish</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15319239775308811529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qsFfgmy0Mqc/ScFTgUTVHgI/AAAAAAAAAAs/6zBHDyeaXDM/S220/0007_copyrighted.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096540719651535893.post-7470005534963622731</id><published>2009-04-09T23:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-10T00:38:09.011-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Second Tremor</title><content type='html'>Why on Earth are people so &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;goddamned&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;obsessed&lt;/span&gt; with &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;controlling&lt;/span&gt; other people's lives? This particular 'why' has been on my mind much lately, and I just can't step past it. This has been beating my brain so much over the last week that I just want to scream it out sometimes. Why?! WHY?! &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;WHHHHYYYYY&lt;/span&gt;!?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And it isn't only for my sake. I am not particularly &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;oppressed&lt;/span&gt; but the people around are &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;barely&lt;/span&gt; allowed to think differently without being shutdown; I almost want to weep for them.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;No one is allowed to be gay, Native Americans can't be left the fuck alone, teachers can't hate their students, teenagers can't pray, people can't smoke in a car with their child, teenagers can't see nakedness or, God forbid, have sex (When biology does such torturous things too a 14 year old and then society tells that 14 year old that all of his urges and feelings and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;instincts&lt;/span&gt; are BAD, BAD, BAD, a person is bound to become a little confused and abashed about sexuality in general), boys can't like ballet, youth can't be republican, an 18 year old can't have beer, a student can't have her own prescription, a movie can't cuss (but blowing a German's head off? Now that's just &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;cool&lt;/span&gt; dude.), a woman can't dye her hair &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;blonde&lt;/span&gt;, you can't skateboard without being a hooligan, you can't have tattoos or colored hair without being a miscreant, you can't vote directly for your chosen candidate, you can't write in a journal without being &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;emo&lt;/span&gt;, you can't feel as if you were born into the wrong gender and body, and you most &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;definitely&lt;/span&gt; can't decide that you are right and your Representative is wrong because the media will change your mind, and if they don't well there doesn't seem to be a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;goddamned&lt;/span&gt; thing you can do about it anyway because billions of dollars have been invested in convincing the important people otherwise. And when you do try to do something about it or stand up for somebody or yourself you get mocked, laughed at, and ignored.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Why is it so &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;infinitely&lt;/span&gt; important to control other people? Why are we so afraid of each other? Why do we hate so many things? Why do we manipulate? Why do we sell our Senate seats? Why has the Information Age coincided with the Unhealthy, Lazy, Indifferent, and Ignorant Age? Why?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sometimes I just feel like "What the HELL am I going to do about it and &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;why&lt;/span&gt; the fuck should I?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Fuck!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9096540719651535893-7470005534963622731?l=cheaterfish.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/feeds/7470005534963622731/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2009/04/second-tremor.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/7470005534963622731'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/7470005534963622731'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2009/04/second-tremor.html' title='A Second Tremor'/><author><name>Cheater Fish</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15319239775308811529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qsFfgmy0Mqc/ScFTgUTVHgI/AAAAAAAAAAs/6zBHDyeaXDM/S220/0007_copyrighted.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096540719651535893.post-4878575089965205248</id><published>2009-03-30T13:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-30T13:23:17.330-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Laziness</title><content type='html'>Someone close to me pointed out that I don't spend any time on myself. When I have spare time I do not take care of things that I should. I don't try to learn something I have wanted to know, I don't practice anything that I want to be good at. I hardly even pick up my books anymore. I watch tv, I watch someone else in what they are doing, or I try to find someone who isn't busy to hang out with.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think the reason that I do this is because I grew up very poor in very dangerous neighborhoods. I went to school, did my homework, and then watched tv with my mom until I got tired and went to sleep. At one point I had a bike, which didn't last long. And at another point I had a Nintendo 64, which again did not last long. I never had a computer, I never had many books, I didn't have access to the knowledge and recreations that I do now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's my reasoning, but it's no excuse, and I really want to change it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9096540719651535893-4878575089965205248?l=cheaterfish.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/feeds/4878575089965205248/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2009/03/my-laziness.html#comment-form' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/4878575089965205248'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/4878575089965205248'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2009/03/my-laziness.html' title='My Laziness'/><author><name>Cheater Fish</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15319239775308811529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qsFfgmy0Mqc/ScFTgUTVHgI/AAAAAAAAAAs/6zBHDyeaXDM/S220/0007_copyrighted.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096540719651535893.post-8724681945048915464</id><published>2009-03-22T10:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-22T11:01:08.106-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Good Word</title><content type='html'>Expectorate: &lt;i&gt;v&lt;/i&gt;,  to eject or expel matter from the throat or lungs by coughing or hawking and spitting; spit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would have never realised that the term 'spit' was so grotesque that scientists needed to come up with a professional term for it. It's a kick ass word anyway.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9096540719651535893-8724681945048915464?l=cheaterfish.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/feeds/8724681945048915464/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2009/03/good-word.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/8724681945048915464'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/8724681945048915464'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2009/03/good-word.html' title='Good Word'/><author><name>Cheater Fish</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15319239775308811529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qsFfgmy0Mqc/ScFTgUTVHgI/AAAAAAAAAAs/6zBHDyeaXDM/S220/0007_copyrighted.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096540719651535893.post-8579002283219954880</id><published>2009-03-20T18:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-21T11:06:20.714-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Karma?</title><content type='html'>It has been a while now since my sister and I have gotten along well. To say the least, she's a terrible person.  She stole my couch, refused to take her name off of my bank account, and started lieing to my parents about what I've been up to in order to get me into serious trouble out of the blue, and for no real reason at all. This is really the least of the bull shit she has pulled. Not only to myself, but to other people who she has severly hurt with her selfish and shallow ways.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today I went to my bank, told them my situation, and they removed her from my account, adding my mother as the "cosigner" instead. Great. I went from customer service to a teller so I could make a cash deposit. When I got my reciept for the transaction it showed that there was almost $600 more in my checking account than there should have been. I was immediatly suspicious and went right back to the customer service desk. I asked the woman to tell me what the transactions had been since I had accessed the account two days ago. She responded with "Well...it looks like earlier today Tasha deposited a check for the amount of $584.25 into this checking account."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I didn't hesitate to respond "This is a mistake, that money should not be in there, could you transfer that into her own primary account?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I called Tasha to tell her about what was happening, and she ignored my call. I had my mom call her, explain to her the mistake she had made, and let her know that it was being corrected.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This is the only time in the 3 years that I have had that account that Tasha has made that mistake. AND she did it on the day that I had her removed from the account, so not only was it the last day she could have made that mistake, but also she could have done nothing to get that money back whatsoever.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It was Karma slapping her in the face for me. But I gave the money back. I've already had people tell me that I was stupid to give such a waste of air that money, that I deserved to gain it and she deserved to lose it. But I just can't handle that. It wasn't mine. I don't want her money.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Even though my mom was one of the people who said I should have run with it, she called me later and told me again how proud she was of me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9096540719651535893-8579002283219954880?l=cheaterfish.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/feeds/8579002283219954880/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2009/03/karma.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/8579002283219954880'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/8579002283219954880'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2009/03/karma.html' title='Karma?'/><author><name>Cheater Fish</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15319239775308811529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qsFfgmy0Mqc/ScFTgUTVHgI/AAAAAAAAAAs/6zBHDyeaXDM/S220/0007_copyrighted.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096540719651535893.post-6098044756114075493</id><published>2009-03-19T16:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-19T16:26:48.073-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dr. Meyer</title><content type='html'>Yesterday I went to a new dentist. I was squeamish all day. Dreading and fearing and worrying and freaking out; it was a rough day. I don't like going to the dentist. My teeth are sensitive and I don't like people's hands in my mouth. It was easily the best experience I have ever had with a dentist. I would even say it was enjoyable. My dentist, Dr. Meyer, was very much so like a friend of mine, only on speed. He didn't call me an idiot once, or give me the (you-have-been-a-very-very-bad-sugar-consuming-girl) look. He offered me a $80 tooth brush for $17. AND he recommend a paste that is guaranteed to build up my enamel and get rid of my weakness and sensitivity. I would even call the experience awesome.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9096540719651535893-6098044756114075493?l=cheaterfish.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/feeds/6098044756114075493/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2009/03/dr-meyer.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/6098044756114075493'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/6098044756114075493'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2009/03/dr-meyer.html' title='Dr. Meyer'/><author><name>Cheater Fish</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15319239775308811529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qsFfgmy0Mqc/ScFTgUTVHgI/AAAAAAAAAAs/6zBHDyeaXDM/S220/0007_copyrighted.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096540719651535893.post-5569734088531284475</id><published>2009-03-17T21:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-17T21:58:46.515-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Game</title><content type='html'>Not the one that you just lost. The one that we are playing right now. It's a game called Amber which is based on a book series. The game is so infinitely entertaining that I strongly recommend it to all. I am going to read these books. They sound mind blowing.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9096540719651535893-5569734088531284475?l=cheaterfish.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/feeds/5569734088531284475/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2009/03/game.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/5569734088531284475'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9096540719651535893/posts/default/5569734088531284475'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cheaterfish.blogspot.com/2009/03/game.html' title='The Game'/><author><name>Cheater Fish</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15319239775308811529</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qsFfgmy0Mqc/ScFTgUTVHgI/AAAAAAAAAAs/6zBHDyeaXDM/S220/0007_copyrighted.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry></feed>
