<?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-769856152614855501</id><updated>2011-07-08T04:19:24.651-07:00</updated><category term='A'/><category term='scary'/><title type='text'>miss stina</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>124</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-1831029614121404975</id><published>2009-08-22T09:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-22T10:00:34.217-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I don't think I really care about anything anymore. I'm not intending for that to sound depressed or anything, I just don't think anything really matters that much to me right now. I think I'm happy :) And I've had alot of caffeine and it's really put me in a funny mood&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-1831029614121404975?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/1831029614121404975/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=1831029614121404975' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/1831029614121404975'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/1831029614121404975'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2009/08/i-dont-think-i-really-care-about.html' title=''/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-1196552785637076387</id><published>2009-08-13T21:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-13T21:42:06.507-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I AM BEING DRIVEN INSANE.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-1196552785637076387?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/1196552785637076387/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=1196552785637076387' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/1196552785637076387'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/1196552785637076387'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2009/08/i-am-being-driven-insane.html' title=''/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-6457539854580289772</id><published>2009-08-12T07:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-12T07:59:33.797-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I think at a number of points in your life you kind of need to sit back and figure out what you're doing with yourself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On one hand, it's like hey, things aren't so bad. I'm at uni, actually going to class these days, I've got a steady job, I'm getting along with my mother for the first time in two decades and I just got my tax return. So far, so good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then you think about the fact that the one person you adore probably hates you because of a thoughtless, heartless thing that you did to her, and it's probably altered the course of the future for good. It's probably affected everything in your life, from what time you fall asleep at night, to the first thoughts that run through your head as you awake. It's affected the way you talk to others, the way you talk to yourself, how you judge your own character, how you judge others. It's got you feeling like complete and utter scum of the universe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've got this friend and I love her to bits. She's not the friend who only talks to me when the weekends coming up, nor is she the friend who uses me to vent and whine about every miniscule detail in their lives. She's not the friend who I see about once a month, who I swear to catch up with more often but I don't. She's not the friend who is secretly trying to get into my pants, or the friend who is trying to set me up with another friend. No. This girl gets everything right, down to a tee, and that's because she understands me. She's amazing and gorgeous and brilliant. She understands how I work and how I think. Probably better than even I did, because I obviously didn't understand a thing about myself if I went ahead and dogged her the way that I did. And I don't know what the hell is going on now. I feel like a giant peice of crap. As a friend described to me a long time ago, the two words I'm probably looking for to describe how I'm feeling- &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;morally bankrupt.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the fact of the matter is, Life is not about sticking to a moralistic path. It's about losing morals and (maybe) finding them again. People learn. People, by all means, lie and cheat and steal and throw away their souls. But they learn, or I hope they learn, to stop. But the problem is, you can only learn to stop after you've been punished. Or lost something important to you. Which I know I have. I've lost her, and I've lost faith in myself, and I've lost a large part of my self-worth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;People probably think I'm going overboard with this. Well, maybe I am because let's face it ya'll, its bloody 1am in the morning and I haven't had a decent nights sleep in a week. So I am in a bit of an intense mood. Not to mention the fact that earlier on tonight, I visited my grandparents and they were in the middle of writing a declaration of some sort, and I thought they were writing out their &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;will. &lt;/span&gt;They are one of the last family members I have and the thought of losing them made me suddenly burst out crying, and I cried like I never cried before. For longer than I've ever cried. And I think I'm still on edge from that. Very on edge. I should shut up now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I miss her.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-6457539854580289772?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/6457539854580289772/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=6457539854580289772' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/6457539854580289772'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/6457539854580289772'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2009/08/i-think-at-number-of-points-in-your.html' title=''/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-449188032249733093</id><published>2009-07-11T08:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-11T08:07:57.392-07:00</updated><title type='text'>what better sources of summing up life, than the bible?</title><content type='html'>Love is patient, love is kind.&lt;br /&gt;It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.&lt;br /&gt;It is not rude, it is not self-seeking.&lt;br /&gt;It is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.&lt;br /&gt;Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth.&lt;br /&gt;It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.&lt;br /&gt;Love never fails.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;I Corinthians 13:4-8&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;p&gt;For everything there is a season,&lt;br /&gt;And a time for every matter under heaven:&lt;br /&gt;A time to be born, and a time to die;&lt;br /&gt;A time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;&lt;br /&gt;A time to kill, and a time to heal;&lt;br /&gt;A time to break down, and a time to build up;&lt;br /&gt;A time to weep, and a time to laugh;&lt;br /&gt;A time to mourn, and a time to dance;&lt;br /&gt;A time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together;&lt;br /&gt;A time to embrace, And a time to refrain from embracing;&lt;br /&gt;A time to seek, and a time to lose;&lt;br /&gt;A time to keep, and a time to throw away;&lt;br /&gt;A time to tear, and a time to sew;&lt;br /&gt;A time to keep silence, and a time to speak;&lt;br /&gt;A time to love, and a time to hate,&lt;br /&gt;A time for war, and a time for peace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;Ecclesiastes 3:1-8&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-449188032249733093?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/449188032249733093/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=449188032249733093' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/449188032249733093'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/449188032249733093'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2009/07/what-better-sources-of-summing-up-life.html' title='what better sources of summing up life, than the bible?'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-8584136189625276463</id><published>2009-07-04T07:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-04T07:54:44.030-07:00</updated><title type='text'>--</title><content type='html'>Haven't blogged in AGES! Which is kind of weird since theres been so much on my mind. Why haven't I taken the chance to vent it out over good old blogspot? No idea. Maybe I just can't be bothered typing it allllll out- it would probably take me all day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tell me, is it normal to constantly feel like your own actions are upsetting others, even when they're making you happy? Maybe it's just how humans behave, always having to restrain themselves from doing what they REALLY want to do because they're scared of the consequences. Always wanting what they can't have, taking for granted what they do have, yearning to do something that they can't, feeling unsatisfied with what they're permitted to do on the daily basis of their measly little lives. God I feel like there is such an injustice going on here. What are we doing, really- are we doing what we want to do, or are we doing what is expected of us? Do we even think about what we really wanna do anymore, or has it become such a taboo to do that, that we just let the idea sink away into our subconscious and eventually disappear? Sigh. I'm really sick of my life as it is. I'm sick of everyone having a different opinion about my life. If I already had a clear idea of who I am and what I want to do, I wouldn't be finding everyone else's conflicting opinions of me to be such a headfuck. I'm completely sick of this!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And one more thing. Life really seemed to be a lot more simple when I was in a relationship. Kind of funny how I thought things would change but they ended up changing for the worst.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-8584136189625276463?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/8584136189625276463/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=8584136189625276463' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/8584136189625276463'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/8584136189625276463'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2009/07/blog-post.html' title='--'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-5224393201260715838</id><published>2009-05-27T06:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-27T07:36:55.247-07:00</updated><title type='text'>:)</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I entered the Miss Melbourne Chinese pageant last week and placed in the top 12, which was great news! (And can I just quickly add, my horoscope in some magazine I read in the salon was unbelievably spot on: it said that I would embark on something on the 24th, and this would lead onto a 4-6 week long committment in my life. The 24th was my first interview day, and the pageant finale is in less than 2 months! Scarily accurate, I'm full creeped out!) But the first requirement was to make a hair appointment with the salon sponsoring the event, Sense Hair. So today I had a haircut. And I must say (as I've been telling everyone since this afternoon) that I REALLY MISS MY HAIR! =[&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Here is a better idea of how my hair looked BEFORE this fateful day:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340505831259243442" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/Sh1JwiEcA7I/AAAAAAAAAPI/Ls_d0U0crxo/s320/P4250403.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;SIGH. Look at the length! True, it was mostly split ends at the bottom by the time it had grown to this length, but at least it was long...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So I went into Sense today and the hairdresser assured me that he was only going to trim it. And trim it he did indeed, trim trim trim TRIM x 1000 until I was ALMOST COMPLETELY BALD. Well not really:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340505835092646034" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/Sh1JwwWZGJI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/hbaRuxOC1bw/s320/P5270484.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Short hey? Haha, I'm being a drama queen. It isn't actually that short, because it only looks like that from the front. Including the back part, it looks like this.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340505844374558050" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/Sh1JxS7X1WI/AAAAAAAAAPY/7cxaqcAfDrw/s320/P5270487.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;I don't really know what to think of it, because most of the other girls in the pageant seem to have hair grown down to their asses, and it's very well known that in Chinese culture long hair is a symbol of beauty. So my short(ish) looking hair is kind of out of place atm. But anyway enough with the complaining already. On a completely unrelated topic, these are lovely:&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340505851008655410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/Sh1JxrpEIDI/AAAAAAAAAPg/XHHOWMyYFsE/s320/P5230476.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;From Waz, for our 9 month. They are quite amazing because they're hardly showing any sign of wilting, and they've been sitting in my ill-air conditioned room basking in the glow of my computer monitor for like 5 days already. Love you Waz :)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;One last thing, since this has become such a pictureful blog, I really must say that I've had the worst late-night food cravings EVER in the past few days, and the only 3 places open past midnight are Kebabs, China Bar and good old Maccas. Kebabs I love, but always make the BIGGEST mess eating them, and I don't trust the rats that hang around the Kebab joint since they are the size of small dogs. And maccas...well there is such thing as too much of a good thing!So last night Alison and I went to China Bar and I ordered the Nasi Lemak, which was sooo yummy! And now I've got a huge craving for it again, but since I have no one to go with tonight I have to settle for looking at pictures of it :( Sad I know but I love my food and I'm also quite bored. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340510204303095234" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/Sh1NvE7VtcI/AAAAAAAAAPo/75AXDdbGd-E/s320/bahau17.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;Rice cooked in coconut milk with curry chicken, preserved vegetables, anchovies and peanuts on the side. MMmm. Food porn. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-5224393201260715838?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/5224393201260715838/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=5224393201260715838' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/5224393201260715838'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/5224393201260715838'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2009/05/blog-post.html' title=':)'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/Sh1JwiEcA7I/AAAAAAAAAPI/Ls_d0U0crxo/s72-c/P4250403.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-4527506325647941628</id><published>2009-05-19T13:52:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-19T14:24:23.509-07:00</updated><title type='text'>need some new eyes</title><content type='html'>I'm glad I never slept tonight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's now almost 7am and I have been sitting here for a while. Thinking instead of sleeping. Well, not really thinking. I'm kind of in that weird state of not really being conscious and focused but with eyes that are still open, and seeing. I only realised something about 20 minutes ago, which kind of shows how long it took for the thought to occur to me (after all, I could have had this thought at ANY stage...but chose to only after 7 hours of sitting here).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I really do focus on the wrong things in life. For example, I always focus on the bad. And I always focus on what's wrong with the world, or what's wrong with other people. (Most of all, I secretly focus on what's wrong with me, but I try to keep that inside more- not working? Oh well.) Not only this, but I always focus on the surface value. Whether it's looks, or relationships with people, or relationships between other people- I give too much thought to the superficiality of things- and I'm sure someone wise and knowledgable would say how that shouldn't matter at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I relate pleasure to physical attraction. Being attractive, envying others who are attractive, admiring things that are attractive and aesthetically pleasing- not only is this a flawed way of perceiving things, it can be the downright WRONG outlook in plenty of situations. I seek validation for myself and for others, and judge others by physical attributes way too often. Sigh. Not an easy habit to change, once it's been formed and set in concrete.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes you just have to dissociate people's personalities from their looks. Easier said than done of course, but in the end you will think and see more clearly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What is ugly on the outside but still beautiful inside? I tried to consider possible answers for that...my first thought was 'pug dogs'. Lol. True, they're pretty ugly on the outside whilst still being a cute, friendly breed of dog, but I don't think they quite fit into what I'm trying to work out. Second thought was 'my mum's cooking'. Her stews look like colorful vomit, but taste kinda good. Emphasis on the 'kinda'- maybe they're not so beautiful after all. Anyway, just as I was writing this, I thought of one thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know that saying 'The road to hell is paved with good intentions?', well I think that is a good example of my little puzzle. OK, the saying doesn't fit perfectly here but it's sort of similar. Sometimes we do things, and say things, and behave in ways that are shocking, cruel, aggresive, terrible, you name it it could be done. Basically, we do things that are 'ugly'. But we have good intentions inside, intentions that may have gone askew, and that nonetheless makes us beautiful inside (despite how we interact on the outside). There are plenty of times where my intentions have gone askew, but to dwell on that would be a waste of time now. The only way is forward. The only way to set my life into forward motion is improvement. Not just aesthetic improvement, however necessary I think that may be, but to reconfigure my intentions and my outlook on life. And I don't doubt for a second that doing that will get me to where I wanna be. So it's 7:20am now, and I think I might sleep soon. I'll probably look back on this entry and think I was being delirious, in fact I AM delirious right now, and my shoulders hurt from hunching over the computer for so long. But I had to write all this.&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/769856152614855501-4527506325647941628?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/4527506325647941628/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=4527506325647941628' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/4527506325647941628'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/4527506325647941628'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2009/05/need-some-new-eyes.html' title='need some new eyes'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-5525776501734287276</id><published>2009-05-05T03:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-05T03:38:21.730-07:00</updated><title type='text'>if i had a top 10 songs, this would be in there:</title><content type='html'>I absolutely LOVE this song and its lyrics:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;46&amp;amp;2- Tool&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My shadow's&lt;br /&gt;Shedding skin&lt;br /&gt;I've been picking&lt;br /&gt;Scabs again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm down&lt;br /&gt;Digging through&lt;br /&gt;My old muscles&lt;br /&gt;Looking for a clue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been crawling on my belly&lt;br /&gt;Clearing out what could've been.&lt;br /&gt;I've been wallowing in my own confused&lt;br /&gt;And insecure delusions&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For a piece to cross me over&lt;br /&gt;Or a word to guide me in.&lt;br /&gt;I wanna feel the changes coming down.&lt;br /&gt;I wanna know what I've been hiding in&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My shadow..my shadow&lt;br /&gt;Change is coming through my shadow.&lt;br /&gt;My shadow's shedding skin&lt;br /&gt;I've been picking&lt;br /&gt;My scabs again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been crawling on my belly&lt;br /&gt;Clearing out what could've been.&lt;br /&gt;I've been wallowing in my own chaotic&lt;br /&gt;And insecure delusions.&lt;br /&gt;I wanna feel the change consume me,&lt;br /&gt;Feel the outside turning in.&lt;br /&gt;I wanna feel the metamorphosis and&lt;br /&gt;Cleansing I've endured within&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My shadow, my shadow&lt;br /&gt;Change is coming.&lt;br /&gt;Now is my time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Listen to my muscle memory.&lt;br /&gt;Contemplate what I've been clinging to.&lt;br /&gt;Forty-six and two ahead of me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I choose to live and to&lt;br /&gt;Grow, take and give and to&lt;br /&gt;Move, learn and love and to&lt;br /&gt;Cry, kill and die and to&lt;br /&gt;Be paranoid and to&lt;br /&gt;Lie, hate and fear and to&lt;br /&gt;Do what it takes to move through.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I choose to live and to&lt;br /&gt;Lie, kill and give and to&lt;br /&gt;Die, learn and love and to&lt;br /&gt;Do what it takes to step through.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See my shadow changing,&lt;br /&gt;Stretching up and over me.&lt;br /&gt;Soften this old armor.&lt;br /&gt;Hoping I can clear the way&lt;br /&gt;By stepping through my shadow,&lt;br /&gt;Coming out the other side.&lt;br /&gt;Step into the shadow.&lt;br /&gt;Forty six and two are just ahead of me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Although I don't have a very in-depth understanding about this song, 46 + 2 refers to the number of chromosomes in the human body. A normal, intelligent human being carries 46 chromosomes, but this still isn't the highest level of evolution. There is a higher level we can evolve to, one with 48 chromosomes (or 46+2), and at this level we are at a state of ultimate consciousness, almost divine in nature, enlightened, powerful, etc etc. basically we can acheive what no other human being can.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But in order to get to this level we must first shed the skin of our previous form, change ourselves, believe in something (anything) that gives us enough strength and understanding to evolve to the next level. I think this song is about the struggle involved in trying to 'do what it takes to move through', or basically break out of your own shell and undergo metamorphisis. I relate it to running down a hallway that never finishes, towards a door that you can never reach, attempting to open it and find a stronger, more intelligent, incredibly potent new version of yourself. This song is sung and played with a kind of guttural feel...very dark and haunting in my opinion. But still brilliant :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-5525776501734287276?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/5525776501734287276/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=5525776501734287276' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/5525776501734287276'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/5525776501734287276'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2009/05/if-i-had-top-10-songs-this-would-be.html' title='if i had a top 10 songs, this would be in there:'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-119411036380243548</id><published>2009-04-30T04:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-30T04:43:21.320-07:00</updated><title type='text'>just trying</title><content type='html'>If I could draw you&lt;br /&gt;I'd use up all the colors&lt;br /&gt;Just trying&lt;br /&gt;To draw who you are.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I could read your mind&lt;br /&gt;I'd cover the entire map&lt;br /&gt;Just trying&lt;br /&gt;To find out where your mind has been before.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I could see things through your eyes&lt;br /&gt;I'd stare back at myself&lt;br /&gt;Just trying&lt;br /&gt;To know how you see me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I could sing for you&lt;br /&gt;I'd never run out of breath&lt;br /&gt;Just trying&lt;br /&gt;To make you hear me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I could draw you&lt;br /&gt;Sing for you&lt;br /&gt;See how you do.&lt;br /&gt;I could love you&lt;br /&gt;Understand you&lt;br /&gt;And only you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But nothing compares,&lt;br /&gt;To hearing the same&lt;br /&gt;From you,&lt;br /&gt;Just trying,&lt;br /&gt;To tell me&lt;br /&gt;That you feel it too...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-119411036380243548?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/119411036380243548/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=119411036380243548' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/119411036380243548'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/119411036380243548'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2009/04/just-trying.html' title='just trying'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-8209539740722917447</id><published>2009-04-25T03:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-25T03:31:49.970-07:00</updated><title type='text'>W</title><content type='html'>Come up to meet you,&lt;div&gt;Tell you I'm sorry,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;You don't know how lovely you are.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I had to find you,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Tell you I need you,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Tell you I'll set you apart&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Tell me your secrets,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And ask me your questions,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Oh let's go back to the start.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Running in circles,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Coming up tails,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Heads on a science apart.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Nobody said it was easy&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Oh it's such a shame for us to part.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Nobody said it was easy,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;No one ever said it would be so hard.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Oh take me back to the start.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-8209539740722917447?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/8209539740722917447/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=8209539740722917447' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/8209539740722917447'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/8209539740722917447'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2009/04/w.html' title='W'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-5156148160871277429</id><published>2009-04-23T23:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-23T23:19:49.617-07:00</updated><title type='text'>in circles</title><content type='html'>why does it always have to be like this?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;thought i could keep my cool but i can't.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-5156148160871277429?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/5156148160871277429/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=5156148160871277429' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/5156148160871277429'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/5156148160871277429'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2009/04/in-circles.html' title='in circles'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-5126189935904798534</id><published>2009-04-21T09:34:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-21T09:38:02.625-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Maybe I should've started this assignment a little bit earlier. Or maybe I just shouldn't have tried so hard to avoid it! It's now 2:30am and I've added 10 words onto it in the past 5 hours...I'm really too delirious to keep going. I think I thrive off stress, but I don't actually accomplish anything at all when I'm stressed. I just run around in circles stressing about how much I have to do. Which is not good, like now for instance, I'm blogging about how tired I am when I should really just go to sleep.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-5126189935904798534?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/5126189935904798534/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=5126189935904798534' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/5126189935904798534'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/5126189935904798534'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2009/04/maybe-i-shouldve-started-this.html' title=''/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-2278048020094008542</id><published>2009-04-14T10:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-14T10:30:35.737-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I'm in such a mellow mood tonight&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Been looking back through my old posts- God I loved to complain!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Didn't realise that finding oneself involved so much...negativity&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's alright&lt;br /&gt;I will learn to be in a better place&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-2278048020094008542?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/2278048020094008542/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=2278048020094008542' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/2278048020094008542'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/2278048020094008542'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2009/04/im-in-such-mellow-mood-tonight-been.html' title=''/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-3110998906090731315</id><published>2009-04-05T06:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-05T07:01:54.777-07:00</updated><title type='text'>rant time!</title><content type='html'>I got pasted at work today by a man who wanted a further discount off a $9 t-shirt. &lt;em&gt;A $9 t-shirt&lt;/em&gt;. Normally things at Rodd&amp;amp;Gunn don't even come &lt;em&gt;close&lt;/em&gt; to being $9, and I had tightass of the century bugging me to take another 30% off. What is wrong with people these days?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My way of looking at it is. When you are on your deathbed, thinking over what you have done in your life, are you going to be proud of that time you harrassed a salesgirl into giving you a $9 shirt for only $7? It won't exactly seem like the best way to have spent your time, would it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know why people are so nit-picky nowadays. Everyones angry over something or other, and for no good reason. Everybody just seems to be complaining all the time. Well I complain a lot too, but would I complain about things like a $9 t-shirt? OK for example, everyones dissing Kevin Rudd because he had an angry outburst at a flight attendant on a plane. For God's sake, does it really matter? He lost his temper, and the last time I checked, we have ALL lost our tempers before! He's only Australia's Prime Minister, he's not Ghandi! Why do we kick up a massive fuss over shit like this, when Kevin Rudd has done WAY more important things, such as vowing to 'move heaven and earth' to improve Australia's economy? The poor guy can't win, he's giving us $900 worth of free money (that stingy guy could buy 100 tshirts!) and we're sitting here hanging poo-poo on him because he yelled at a flight attendant! Jeeeeez, the guy is trying to run a country (not to mention, a country full of COMPLAINERS), you'd think he'd be a little stressed out and short-tempered, wouldn't anyone?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm starting to really dread reading newspapers such as the Herald Sun, or watching Channel 10 news, because all I keep seeing are images of doom and gloom, murders, arson, kidnap the whole shebang, things which are not actual news... the Australian public are completely underinformed on topics such as recession or inflation, yet everybody is clued up on Fritzl, the Austrian guy who kept his daughter as a sex slave for 24 years! And everytime I watch the news, there is at least one shot of a little old lady clutching her purse at the shops saying "It's just disgraceful" or "It's just appalling" or "I'm just absolutely shocked" about some irrelevant topic or other! And to top it all off, the news finishes with some story about a new baby animal in the zoo or some kindergardener doing cute stuff, and then goes straight to 30 minutes of pure, hardcore sports tonight! What do we even learn from watching the news, apart from how to blame politicians for everything and what murders/deaths have occurred when/where in the past 24 hours?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, that rant went on for MUCH longer than expected. I only initially intended to post some stuff that makes me happy when I'm feeling a little deflated:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. The Hey Jude baby. &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KNHLywCfnHI"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KNHLywCfnHI&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This baby is basically the best baby ever. It's asian, it sings, it says 'berrer' instead of better and it knows the Beatles. AND it can hold up an adult sized guitar! This baby could cheer me up forever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Everything by The Lonely Island, like The 'Bu. Everything these guys make is funny!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qKMesCAe44Q&amp;amp;feature=PlayList&amp;amp;p=670CCE81C6D7F669&amp;amp;playnext=1&amp;amp;playnext_from=PL&amp;amp;index=8"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qKMesCAe44Q&amp;amp;feature=PlayList&amp;amp;p=670CCE81C6D7F669&amp;amp;playnext=1&amp;amp;playnext_from=PL&amp;amp;index=8&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. The smell of the ground just after it's rained.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. All my homemade CD's (minus the ones I made when I was going through a metalhead phase)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. Waz at my front door.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-3110998906090731315?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/3110998906090731315/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=3110998906090731315' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/3110998906090731315'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/3110998906090731315'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2009/04/rant-time.html' title='rant time!'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-3925650359733508418</id><published>2009-04-03T22:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-03T22:45:27.313-07:00</updated><title type='text'>random song i felt like writing</title><content type='html'>Give me ten minutes&lt;br /&gt;To look at my life&lt;br /&gt;Let me give you a list&lt;br /&gt;Of what I came up with&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got a conscience somewhere&lt;br /&gt;But it's trapped inside&lt;br /&gt;I got a problem with drink&lt;br /&gt;I like to underthink&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Give me ten seconds&lt;br /&gt;And I'll decide&lt;br /&gt;What's wrong or right&lt;br /&gt;What's black and white&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love makes a fool&lt;br /&gt;Out of you and I&lt;br /&gt;So just think twice&lt;br /&gt;About playing nice...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because all these dreams make a better me&lt;br /&gt;All these dreams just make a better me&lt;br /&gt;I want to believe that you can't see&lt;br /&gt;The worst of me&lt;br /&gt;The worst of me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-3925650359733508418?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/3925650359733508418/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=3925650359733508418' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/3925650359733508418'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/3925650359733508418'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2009/04/give-me-ten-minutes-to-look-at-my-life.html' title='random song i felt like writing'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-8101537881474940798</id><published>2009-02-17T00:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-17T00:50:24.769-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Everything over here is incredible but I don't have any time to blog!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm having the best time with Waz. We're in another country with no worries, no responsibilities, no parents, nothing even semi-related to Australia, no Uni, no part-time jobs, and its amazing! I am loving this guy more and more each day!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wanna live in China!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-8101537881474940798?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/8101537881474940798/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=8101537881474940798' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/8101537881474940798'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/8101537881474940798'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2009/02/everything-over-here-is-fun-but-i-dont.html' title=''/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-2204580511298029849</id><published>2009-02-01T02:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-01T02:36:05.414-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Sometimes your head is so clouded, not with thoughts, but rather with nothing at all, with non-descript, little bits and peice that cannot be distinguished from each other. With fuzzy little black clouds obstructing the path to a carefree existence. And you don't know why...has it always been like this? Or do you impose it upon yourself because you don't know better, because you don't know any different, because you're accustomed to living your life in this way and you just keep on doing so, unhappy with yourself but unwilling to try a different approach?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My manager at work says, you create your own reality.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish saturday nights didn't exist...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-2204580511298029849?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/2204580511298029849/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=2204580511298029849' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/2204580511298029849'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/2204580511298029849'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2009/02/sometimes-your-head-is-so-clouded-not.html' title=''/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-5627442255639658156</id><published>2009-01-31T05:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-31T05:02:28.019-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>The worlds best airline complaint letter, sent to Richard Branson of Virgin airlines.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.watoday.com.au/travel/travel-news/the-worlds-best-airline-complaint-letter-20090130-7tgo.html"&gt;http://www.watoday.com.au/travel/travel-news/the-worlds-best-airline-complaint-letter-20090130-7tgo.html&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hilarious!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-5627442255639658156?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/5627442255639658156/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=5627442255639658156' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/5627442255639658156'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/5627442255639658156'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2009/01/worlds-best-airline-complaint-letter.html' title=''/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-5924343635443394051</id><published>2009-01-30T23:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-30T23:28:35.291-08:00</updated><title type='text'>yay</title><content type='html'>I'm leaving in 3 days =] and despite this stupid heatwave, my grandma hassling me every spare moment she has about bringing thermal pants and antiseptic cream, me feeling rather sick at the moment, not really being able to have a going away thing, and being low on cash till 3 days after I've left already, I'm GOING ANYWAY!! nyah nyah nyah.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-5924343635443394051?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/5924343635443394051/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=5924343635443394051' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/5924343635443394051'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/5924343635443394051'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2009/01/yay.html' title='yay'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-8388726157008506533</id><published>2009-01-24T21:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-24T22:02:44.508-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Happy CNY everybody! Hope this year is awesome for all of you. This is one of the few times in the year where I truly get to feel ASIAN! =]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-8388726157008506533?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/8388726157008506533/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=8388726157008506533' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/8388726157008506533'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/8388726157008506533'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2009/01/happy-cny-everybody-hope-this-year-is.html' title=''/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-8249761612265316688</id><published>2009-01-22T08:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-22T08:56:22.935-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Oooooooooooh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is a giant red lump on my arm from the vaccination needle. And it's still growing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I haven't blogged in ages but I think it's actually quite healthy to let out my own frustrations directly towards with the world, or just with people I get angry at, instead of online. I saw that fat customer bitch from Sofias in Coles the other day though, and didn't say anything. She didn't recognise me, but then again she was probably so busy looking for cans of whipped cream to buy and spray in her mouth that she didn't see me. Hmmm guess I'm still not venting the healthy way after all. There are definetly a few things I would rather write about on here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It doesn't matter (about that bitch) and anywho, I don't work at Sofias anymore. I'm really actually enjoying my not-so-new-now job at Rodd &amp;amp; Gunn. I'm slowly but surely getting sucked into the world of retail; the dissapointment when customers can't find the right sizes, the pressure to meet daily budgets, the calming process of folding shirts, even if they are factory outlet shirts that are XXXL with obscene candy stripes that no one will ever buy....the whole vibe of retail is incredible, when you compare it to customer service. It's actually fun. Except for the radio- we have it permanently stuck on 101.1 and let me tell you, that station is bearable for a few minutes, maybe half an hour, but its TORTURE after hours, days, weeks...I now detest Hot n Cold by Katy Perry!! I secretly switched it to Nova one day, and Love Lockdown was playing....it made me so happy. But then I had to change it back. Oh the life of a lowly salesgirl, one day I will be allowed to play whatever I want.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And one last thing- China is VERY SOON! Time to get away from Aus. With the man I love :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-8249761612265316688?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/8249761612265316688/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=8249761612265316688' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/8249761612265316688'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/8249761612265316688'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2009/01/oooooooooooh.html' title=''/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-2897290959822040762</id><published>2009-01-16T02:29:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-16T03:24:57.898-08:00</updated><title type='text'>its one of those nights again</title><content type='html'>What does it mean to be a bad person?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are you a bad person if you steal? What if you are stealing from others because you feel that all the posessions you own are worthless? Are you a bad person if you lie? What if you lie because you think how you truly feel may hurt someone? What if you lie about your life because you feel like you've got to, because you're so unhappy with the way things are, with the wa&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;y&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; you are? Are you a bad person if you envy others? Are you a bad person for hating someones success? Do all these things indicate that you're a bad person, or do they just indicate that you have a bad case of low self-esteem?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Am I a bad person because no matter how much people seem to like me, or how much they perceive me as a good person, deep down I just feel like I'm always the exact opposite? Theres a song by Three Day's Grace called Pain. It goes&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; I can't get enough... cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all...&lt;/span&gt;maybe that's what I'm doing. Maybe I'm addicted to feeling depressed. When I'm high, I'm high, but when I'm low I'm just unbelievably low. There are days when I'm convinced that I am worth nothing, there are days when I look at my mother and can tell she had hoped for something better. I can't fathom how I'm always just stuck in this rut; thinking the worst of everything and of myself when theres nothing to feel bad about, trying to justify every pessimistic thought some way or another and just never really taking any action to change it once and for all. The more I dig, the deeper I fall, and the harder it is for me to crawl out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And it's crazy because I know that in a couple of nights time, I'm going to be in a cheerful again, and my short-term memory will refuse to acknowledge that such a sad episode as tonights ever existed at all. And then, what a surprise, the cheeriness will eventually wear away, and I'll be wanting another chance to wallow in some more depression. I'm just insane these days.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-2897290959822040762?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/2897290959822040762/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=2897290959822040762' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/2897290959822040762'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/2897290959822040762'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2009/01/its-one-of-those-nights-again.html' title='its one of those nights again'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-2376982109991348282</id><published>2009-01-11T03:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-11T03:28:20.735-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I am starting to really &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;itch&lt;/span&gt; to get out of Australia. I am counting down the days till China. Going, going....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-2376982109991348282?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/2376982109991348282/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=2376982109991348282' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/2376982109991348282'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/2376982109991348282'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2009/01/i-am-starting-to-really-itch-to-get-out.html' title=''/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-8239301666319004865</id><published>2009-01-09T11:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-09T11:24:02.732-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I've made it through the night! 0 hours sleep. The sun is starting to rise outside. I think I might take a nap. At least I made it through the night without getting hacked to death!! Which doesn't really matter because I'm going to die at work today anyway. I start in 3.5 hours, should I try and sleep? I watched an episode of 30 days and it was soo interesting. They got an anti-gun activist lady to live with a family of gun-enthusiasts for a month. And I think they were supposed to yell and scream at each other, but they actually ended up providing some really reasonable and sane arguments supporting each respective party, and now I know a little bit more about gun control in the United States, because that's all morning television on a Saturday is. United States stuff. I watched an episode of Good Morning America and learnt how to make vegetable and dumpling soup. Comfort food that is guilt-free due to the lack of calories. I also learnt that Michelle Obama is now the 'first lady of fashion' and that whatever she wears now will inspire millions of women across the US and motivate them to stimulate the economy by making many similar retail purchases. I think I would have been better off sleeping.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-8239301666319004865?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/8239301666319004865/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=8239301666319004865' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/8239301666319004865'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/8239301666319004865'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2009/01/ive-made-it-through-night-0-hours-sleep.html' title=''/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-4483007890629786692</id><published>2009-01-09T05:38:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-09T05:41:10.071-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='scary'/><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Can I just say that I absolutely hate sleeping alone in the house. I can hear something fidgeting in my front yard.....its probably a bird....it could also be a psychotic serial killer......but probably a bird.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hate hate &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;hate &lt;/span&gt;sleeping alone.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-4483007890629786692?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/4483007890629786692/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=4483007890629786692' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/4483007890629786692'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/4483007890629786692'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2009/01/can-i-just-say-that-i-absolutely-hate.html' title=''/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-1015170938492871605</id><published>2009-01-09T00:06:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-09T11:15:41.793-08:00</updated><title type='text'>what is 2009?</title><content type='html'>I tend to be a bit behind everyone else when it comes to technology. Like my computer is the size of a brick shithouse and I think I have Windows ME (aka Mistake Edition). I have like....32GB RAM and my floppy drives broken, and I have like 10000000000 viruses that I don't even know where they came from, and have had NO SOUND for about 2 years now.....I don't think I could be any more worse off when it comes to my computer. And I have an ipod but my computer system is so old it is not compatible with iTunes, and I lost my iPod headphones so I can't listen to my old mp3 player either....plus, my mobile phone is an old nokia that shuts off and restarts every 10 minutes (this I don't mind so much because I always lose my phones anyway).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So this year all (well, almost all) I want is a laptop. And I want to be able to record some of my songs on it. And while I'm at it, I want a new guitar. That'll make me really, &lt;em&gt;really&lt;/em&gt; happy. Watch out for me on Youtube (as soon as I save enough to be able to buy a lappy, which might be awhile....but it will happen). I wouldn't mind busking either, but I would so much rather do it with a friend. If just one of these goals come true, I'm gonna be pretty effing over the moon...but first thing I'd do, is make Waz a cd.. =]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-1015170938492871605?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/1015170938492871605/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=1015170938492871605' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/1015170938492871605'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/1015170938492871605'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2009/01/what-is-2009.html' title='what is 2009?'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-7975570763932830007</id><published>2009-01-08T03:31:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-08T04:12:24.683-08:00</updated><title type='text'>never gonna survive unless you go a little bit crazy</title><content type='html'>I felt like blogging but I wasn't completely sure about what to write.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My life is a fish bowl, I think.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel like a fish, swimming round and round in circles, and everytime I shit it just ends up hitting me in the face again because all I know how to do is swim in a circle and return to the shit. Metaphorically. See I don't even know if that makes sense. All I know is that I am just really tired of being who I am. It's like living with someone who annoys the shit out of you, everyday, for the rest of your life. Only I'm the one annoying myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I annoy myself because I can't make my life match my intentions. And I annoy myself because I never get around to fixing my own flaws. Probably a little unreasonable, I guess. You can't just expect these kinds of problems to go away. Flaws can't always be fixed. No matter how well-intentioned I may be, I end up doing stupid shit that gets me nowhere- that keeps me going in circles. This is how I have been for as long as I remember. I went out with my family for dinner tonight and I remember seeing people on the streets, just walking around, completely immersed in their own lives, in their own private thoughts, moments, situations. And then I remember thinking really wearily, fuck. My life is about them. My life is just about dealing with others. Everyones life is about dealing with others. At the end of the day I just spend my life working out &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;who&lt;/span&gt; I'm gonna work for, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;who &lt;/span&gt;I'm gonna impress, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;who &lt;/span&gt;I will be taking care of, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;who&lt;/span&gt; I am letting down, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;who &lt;/span&gt;I love, hate, feel indifferent towards, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;who&lt;/span&gt; I'm going to treat like a king and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;who &lt;/span&gt;I'm going to treat like shit. My life is just going to be all about meeting people, nominating them, rearranging all the little figures in my life, establishing some kind of network and just spending the rest of my life trying to deal with that network, those figures.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know this barely even makes sense. I wonder if those other people feel as dissatisfied with themselves as I do. I wonder if they know that they may think they're living for themselves, but they're actually living for the rest of the world. I have a tiny but perfect example (well it seems perfect to me anyway). My mother was complaining that everyone in her workplace is sick, and that now when she goes to work she's going to become sick too. So I said to her, why don't you just wear a mouth guard to work. My grandparents walk around with mouthgaurds on all the time. I told her, you can take it off when you deal with outside clients but when you're just at that computer all day,you can wear a mouth guard. Anyway she looked at me like I was crazy. I can't do that, she said, people are going to think I'm crazy. Well fine, I said, enjoy your cold. It's not about doing things to protect yourself, it's about doing things to protect other peoples perception of who you are. In a perfect world, where people aren't dickheads and judge each other for things like that, my mum would be able to wear a mouth gaurd to work and not get sick. In a perfect world, people will not think I'm insane for putting tomato sauce on rice. For fucks sake, they're just 2 food ingredients, I will put them together if I want to. God did not create a bunch of food and then say that we could only eat certain things together. People who create so many rules for life should just get over themselves. And in a perfect world, I will be able to voice everything I am thinking, and my voice will reach everyone I want it to, and they will understand who I am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am even reading what I have written and thinking that I sound fucking stupid. I think the whole point to this is that tonight, just tonight, I'm tired of people. I'm tired of trying to figure people out when I can't even figure myself out. I give myself a headache just thinking about useless shit. &lt;----see? Another flaw that I have to fix, but won't.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-7975570763932830007?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/7975570763932830007/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=7975570763932830007' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/7975570763932830007'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/7975570763932830007'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2009/01/never-gonna-survive-unless-you-go.html' title='never gonna survive unless you go a little bit crazy'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-1667569364835934367</id><published>2009-01-04T18:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-05T01:26:57.658-08:00</updated><title type='text'>nothing worthwhile is ever easy</title><content type='html'>At first I was going to do a bit of thinking before this entry. I think I made that pretty clear in my last one. Figure out what I was going to say, make it articulate, make it work. Make it interesting to read. But honestly, I don't want to dress up my words anymore. To be honest I've never impulsively blogged before, there always has to be some kind of issue at hand, that I've meditated over, that I eventually determine how to express through my words on this thing. But blogging whatever I felt, at that exact moment in which I felt it, no. I can't do that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because it puts me on the spot and it makes me fret over whether or not the entry sounded just right, whether it made me come across as the type of person I wanted. It's all very stressful, it's so unnecessary and stupid, and it's something that I avoid, because I have always avoided stress, in addition to confrontation, and the possibility of being misunderstood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I'm misunderstood anyway. So I guess it doesn't really matter. I've decided, in recent times, that it's probably best to just go with my intuition, and say or write what I am actually thinking, in that moment, instead premeditating and searching for the socially desirable answer, or the answer that would win me more friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let me tell you a story.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back in August this year, I went to a party with an ex-boyfriend. I had met some of his friends before, but never such a big crowd within the one setting, everybody talking, drinking and sticking to their own social clan. I knew, even before going to the party, that I would be painfully shy and unable to talk to many people. I knew this, but thought that maybe if I just went and winged it, things would not turn out so badly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, they did. My ex did not hold on to my hand all night; this made me nervous. I talked to one girl that I recognised from Uni, for quite a long time, and everybody else I just shut out. Not because I didn't want to talk to them; I was &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;dying &lt;/span&gt;to talk to them. But I couldn't. Because I didn't feel validated, I didn't feel accepted, there were these girls, in their acid washed jeans, perfect haircuts and gladiator heels, and they just scared the shit out of me. I was terrified of meeting new people, talking to them, showing them who I was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so I became withdrawn, not just withdrawn, but angry at my ex for supposedly abandoning me with strangers. I ended up having a few too many and bursting into tears in the backyard, calling a friend and begging her to come pick me up. And when my ex came down and asked me what was wrong, I could only cry. I couldn't give him a proper reason, because back then I didn't know what the reason was either.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But it was only a short while ago that I discovered how his friends, at that party, thought of me as a bitch. And called me &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;high maintennance&lt;/span&gt;. I know I have been stressing over this label for weeks now; I know the average person would be thinking 'who gives a shit, honestly', but you try going somewhere, and meaning well, but being unable to break out of your own cage and ultimately being completely misunderstood and despised, being labelled as the exact &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;opposite&lt;/span&gt; of what you were trying to be. And no, not just on the one occasion, but almost every time you meet somebody new.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Probably the whole reason for this is because you have such a low sense of self-esteem, that you &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;know&lt;/span&gt; before meeting somebody that they will hate you, or at the very least find you boring and unattractive. And then when you do meet them, you &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;are&lt;/span&gt; boring and unattractive, because you fucking told yourself you would be, and that's all you know how to behave as.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A strange thought, isn't it? And it's been bugging me for so long. I haven't even managed to explain it properly. But it's one of my many problems, and if it wasn't for Waz I would not be able to understand or appreciate the severity of the handicap that this problem places on me. In the past few days, Waz and I have fought, come together, broken up and reunited, and after much soul-searching I have realised that he is the one I live for. And it's sad, because he never needed to realise this; he had known it all along. And I'm finally catching up to him, and the love between us feels brand new, because I am now seeing him in a completely different light. I can honest to God say that he is the only person who really made an effort to understand my problems; the only person to love me, despite what my problems imposed on my behaviour, and our relationship, the only person who could ever bring such a huge positive out of a negative. Faith can move mountains, and I really do believe that Waz has faith in me, and just knowing that gives me faith in myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, I look back at my other relationships and I laugh. If they weren't just stupid boys chasing pretty things, then they were people in love with my &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;qualities&lt;/span&gt;, and that love faded when my qualities faded away. They 'loved' me because I was this and that, or they wanted me because they wanted a root. And it's become apparent to me that they were all dumbasses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well no, I can't call them that, but to be quite honest, I actually feel sorry for them. Because they have never really had the privelege of falling in love with a person, and loving every tiny aspect of them, every corner of their mind, every little thing they do. They may have thought they were in love with me, but the truth is they weren't, because their love dissapeared when our relationships crumbled. They were only ever in love with my presence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I pity them, because I don't think they will ever truly understand what it means to love a person so much that you are unwilling to let them go, even after they have hurt you, and shown you how utterly confused they are on the inside; instead, you fight for them, dig to the root of the problem and destroy it, or at least make it your aim in life to destroy it. And that is exactly what he did. He is like my hero.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't think I have ever understood a love as deep as me and Waz, because I have never understood anything, period. I just took things as they came, never appreciating it, never stopping to think about what it truly was, and what it truly meant to me. Well, I am stopping to think about things now. And I can honestly say that I have never felt more appreciated, more wonderful, more loved. And I will never appreciate another man, because Waz is the only man out there for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I know I'm still a baby, but after what happened I feel a thousand times older, like I've thrown away the old looking-glass and been gifted with a new one. And I am so grateful to Waz for everything he has put up with, not only in the past few days but in the past 4 months, and he had better realise that I am going to spend the rest of my days proving to him how grateful I am. He is so beautiful, when he laughs, when he cries, when he gets mad and stomps around the house. When he talks with his mouth full of food, when he calls me by my Chinese name, when he just lies there and tells me to hug him! When he says he doesn't want a massage but we both know that he will give in 5 seconds later. When he drives to my house in his blue Astra and walks to my front door and I never have the key. When he tells me I'm beautiful and that he loves me. I smile because he smiles, and he smiles because I smile. I love you baby, you've got me feeling sky high.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-1667569364835934367?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/1667569364835934367/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=1667569364835934367' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/1667569364835934367'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/1667569364835934367'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2009/01/nothing-worthwhile-is-ever-easy.html' title='nothing worthwhile is ever easy'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-2582883862094985733</id><published>2009-01-04T02:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-04T02:38:53.346-08:00</updated><title type='text'>...oh, and happy new years</title><content type='html'>It's been an absolutely exhausting few days, and when I get the time to, I will sit down and write out everything that needs to be. But right now, I am just going to watch TV and eat a bowl of noodles, not the instant crap but home made beef and vegetable soup with egg noodles, and enjoy the quiet for a little bit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Updating this soon.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-2582883862094985733?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/2582883862094985733/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=2582883862094985733' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/2582883862094985733'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/2582883862094985733'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2009/01/oh-and-happy-new-years.html' title='...oh, and happy new years'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-5524561960540967573</id><published>2008-12-26T19:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-26T20:04:35.021-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hypnogagogic Hallucination</title><content type='html'>That is what I keep having. Being paralysed while sleeping. Thinking I am awake and conscious but actually being in a limbo state that is neither asleep nor awake. Being unable to move after actively trying to. It is an incredibly scary experience and even though there are scientific explanations for it, I don't wanna know what the paranormal websites have got to say on it!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-5524561960540967573?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/5524561960540967573/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=5524561960540967573' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/5524561960540967573'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/5524561960540967573'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/12/hypnogagogic-hallucination.html' title='Hypnogagogic Hallucination'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-2651307735869439129</id><published>2008-12-25T04:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-25T05:36:47.087-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I like Christmas, but it's only fun when you have others to spend it with. Otherwise your screwed. If the bright lights and decorations and cheesy Christmas movies don't do your head in first, then the advertising surely will. Get them what they &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;really &lt;/span&gt;want this Christmas- a gift voucher! Keep her happy this Christmas with Bevilles jewellry! Let the wife and kids have a stress-free Christmas, get Criso hampers!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Businesses capitalise on Christmas and that's all there is in terms of the holiday's surface value. The only way to really spend Christmas is to eat with your family. (And by eat, I mean ravage. Like Waz said, kidnap some farmyard animals and shove prods up their bums, and grill them till their unrecognisable hunks of brown.) It's actually even better to have a boyfriend around Christmas, because you get to eat his family's food as well as yours, during the day at least. And then you come home before dinner and there's nothing in the fridge, and your mum is at your grandparents house so you decide to skip dinner because it means you won't wake up with such a fat stomach tommorow, but then at the last minute you crack and at midnight you raid your fridge and make some wonky sushi with the leftover salmon and rice and stuff it all into your mouth at whilst crying tears of guilt at the same time. Haha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But no really, Christmas was good today. I loved all of my presents, and can't wait to consume the Yellow :) Prehaps for New Years? This year, Christmas was definetly in my good books.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things that are most certainly NOT in my good books (I'll keep this quick):&lt;br /&gt;- FUCKING EDWARD CULLEN. He is NOTHING BUT A FIGMENT OF SOME OLD WOMAN'S IMAGINATION. MY GOD. The bandwagon of Edward Cullen adorers is now so effing big that you really have to wonder if these girls actually jump on it because they love Edward Cullen, or because they jumped on because their friends did. Regardless, I have only read the first Twilight book and I don't plan to read the rest. Why? Because Twilight is gay. Utterly and Irrevocably Gay. Poorly written, oldest concept in the world being treated like its something fresh and new and amazing, shit heroine with personality of a peice of wood, Robert Pattison looking like he can fit small coins between every gap in his teeth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know Stephanie Meyers thinks she deserves all that money, but all she really did was transform screaming 13 year old girls into &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;more &lt;/span&gt;screaming 13 year old girls, which doesn't really deserve positive recognition. At first I didn't care about it all, but just being surrounded by the twilight craze is enough to make me hate it. It's not that good. I LOVE vampire romance stories- but they could have picked a better one to make a fuss over than this 3rd grade peice of boring poo poo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Customers. Of all shapes and sizes. The negative ones. The fat bitches who yell at you because you don't give them every second of your precious time, like they're the most important person on the world. The ones who make complaints at the end even when you apologise and tell them that you'll never make that mistake again. Some stupid fat bitch at Rodd &amp;amp; Gunn said ignored her when I was on my break. Well I was ON MY BREAK, and I didn't even see her walk past! NOT done out of malice! I came off my break (only 10 mins later) and asked her if she needed any help. She said no, I'm going to be served by the other lady, because you have ignored me. I look at the 'other lady'. She's completely busy. I say look, I can help you now if you'd like, to save you time waiting for the other lady to finish up. And the fat bitch says no, I will just keep waiting for her, because you ignored me and I don't want to be served by you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She also made sure to tell me "I have trained in customer service and I've never seen someone ignore me like you have" (which I guess makes sense, it can be hard to miss such a fat person in the store, and for that I feel abit guilty) like she was some kind of customer service pro. Whatever, just pretend like you're bloofy Anna Wintours from Vogue and not some middle aged whale bitch with botox, buying size 104 pants for her husband. So I make my heartfelt apology and tell her that I will keep my ears out open next time. And she says OK, fine. Then later complains for a good 5 minutes that the service she just had was the slowest she's ever experienced. Well that's her own fault for refusing to accept my help! God, do people just TRY and be stupid?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the record, the customer is NEVER right!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-2651307735869439129?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/2651307735869439129/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=2651307735869439129' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/2651307735869439129'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/2651307735869439129'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/12/i-like-christmas-but-its-only-fun-when.html' title=''/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-3356920766456607905</id><published>2008-12-25T03:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-25T04:55:59.326-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic;"&gt; We are always running for the thrill of it thrill of it&lt;br /&gt;Always pushing up the hill searching for the thrill of it&lt;br /&gt;On and on and on we are calling out and out again&lt;br /&gt;Never looking down I’m just in awe of what’s in front of me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Walking on a Dream- Empire of the Sun&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&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/769856152614855501-3356920766456607905?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/3356920766456607905/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=3356920766456607905' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/3356920766456607905'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/3356920766456607905'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/12/we-are-always-running-for-thrill-of-it.html' title=''/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-1959449899544369571</id><published>2008-12-17T23:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-17T23:40:15.669-08:00</updated><title type='text'>this heart attack</title><content type='html'>I'm so tireddddddddd!&lt;br /&gt;How could I be so tired from doing nothing? My body is so weird...I seriously have not done a &lt;em&gt;thing&lt;/em&gt;  today and yet I was so tired earlier on that I couldn't even move off the couch. I couldn't keep my eyes open. My whole body was cramping. Wtf mate =[&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think it might be because in the past three days I've eaten nothing but fast food. And now I've got clogged up arteries and I'm feeling tired because my heart is practically killing itself trying to send the blood around my body. I just yawned and it made my heart hurt. That confirms it. Ughhhhh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-1959449899544369571?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/1959449899544369571/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=1959449899544369571' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/1959449899544369571'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/1959449899544369571'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/12/this-heart-attack.html' title='this heart attack'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-6092210296805907525</id><published>2008-12-15T20:27:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-15T20:34:55.572-08:00</updated><title type='text'>the most despised phone conversation in the world</title><content type='html'>"Hi good afternoon, is this ______?" = &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;(please don't hang up)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes." = &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;(suspicious)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It's Christina calling from __________, how are you today?" = &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;(please don't hang up)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Good." = &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;(fuck off)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That's good." = &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;(please don't hang up)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Silence" = &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;(silence)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;"We're currently conducting some research on ______, I was just wondering if I could ask-" = &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;(please don't interrupt me by hanging up)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yeh look. I'm not interested thanks. Byeeeeeee." = &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;(seriously, fuck off, you've ruined my day)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ok...bye. Have a good day" = &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;(I want to go home and hug my mummy.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guess who got another job interview at &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;another &lt;/span&gt;market research company?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-6092210296805907525?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/6092210296805907525/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=6092210296805907525' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/6092210296805907525'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/6092210296805907525'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/12/most-despised-phone-conversation-in.html' title='the most despised phone conversation in the world'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-7891725969470412019</id><published>2008-12-11T15:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-11T16:11:46.892-08:00</updated><title type='text'>i am a non-retard!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;You know what they say! P'S GET DEGREES!!! ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;=]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After having mucho nightmares about failing, I got up this morning and did a zombie walk straight to the computer. After opening portal I could already see that I had no new emails. Usually, if you fail, you immediately get sent a 'Student at Risk' email telling you to make an appointment with a course advisor. BUT I DIDN'T HAVE ANY NEW EMAILS!!! SO I OPENED UP THE 'GET MY RESULTS' PAGE AND I SAW ROWS AND ROWS OF GLORIOUS P'S!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! P'S WHICH GET ME MY DEGREE!!!!!! I'VE FINALLY PASSED QM AND CAN NOW MOVE ON TO BIGGER AND BETTER THINGS!! (SUCH AS MARKET RESEARCH! COZ I'M TOO STUPID TO DO QM2!!)&lt;br /&gt;AFTER DOING ABOUT 20 MINS STUDY FOR EACH SUBJECT, DOING AN EXAM WITH EFFING EYELINER BECAUSE I HAD NO PENCIL AND THUS MAKING HEAPS OF UNERASABLE MISTAKES, REPEATING A SUBJECT I'VE FAILED A BILLION TIMES ALREADY, NOT READING UP ON A SINGLE CASE STUDY FOR MARKETING, AND PULLING STUFF OUT OF MY BUMHOLE IN EVERY EXAM, I ACTUALLY PASSED EVERYTHINGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sorry to gloat!!!!! But I feel really, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;really &lt;/span&gt;relieved right now!!!!! I AM HERE TO STAY IN COMMERCE!!!!1 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-7891725969470412019?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/7891725969470412019/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=7891725969470412019' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/7891725969470412019'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/7891725969470412019'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/12/you-know-what-they-say-ps-get-degrees.html' title='i am a non-retard!!'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-4263744255556923838</id><published>2008-12-11T04:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-11T05:11:53.049-08:00</updated><title type='text'>anxiousness and glory</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;OKAY........are you ready for this?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My work and hence money plan:&lt;br /&gt;2 x Sofias a week ~ $90&lt;br /&gt;1 x Rodd Gunn ~ $100&lt;br /&gt;At least 4 x somewhere else ~ ?&lt;br /&gt;1 x Stripping ~ $1000&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm ONLY JOKING about the last one! But seriously job hunting today was almost kinda fun. And it's handy when your mum is your referee and no employers know this, because asian mums still keep their maiden names after marriage. So at least I get a glowing reference from somewhere. The lady from Rodd Gunn today phoned up my mum, and my mum told her all about how great I was at customer service, how much everyone in the workplace liked me, how there wasn't even a single thing I needed to improve on. Haha. A bunch of lies! But it worked. So I work in an old mans clothes store now. If I wanted to, I could get discount clothes for my grandpa, and transform him into the hippest grandpa around Mitcham. I can be a stylist for old men, and teach them how to color coordinate their sandals with their socks, how to dress for garden parties, and whether or not to pick the turtleneck or the T-shirt with squiggles all over it, for whatever upcoming occasion. Looking good matters when you're older too, you know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Btw. Exam results come out tommorow. I have the craziest feeling that I've failed at least one subject. Will update if this is found to be true and hence I will need to jump off Eastlink.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And ONE MORE THING:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is sort of going to be like a mini-rant. I think I relate well to people sometimes, but alot of the time I have absolutely no understanding about their preferences and pastimes. I think the best example of this, is TV shows. I have NO attachment whatsoever to ANY TV show, apart from the Simpsons (and Days of Our Lives, but thats sort of like a childhood thing. And Xtreme Makeover.) What I'm getting at is, I don't follow dramas. At all. I guess you could call Days of Our Lives dramatic in some ways, but it's like I-died-and-came-back-to-life-3-times-and-my-mother-is-also-my-sister kind of dramatic, whereas the shows that my friends seem to enjoy are just.....boring.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everyone I know has at least one TV show that they consider their vice. Waz is in love with Blue Heelers. I can name about 100000000000 friends who follow Gossip Girl and Grey's Anatomy almost religiously. And then there's Friday Night Lights. Back in the day it was the OC, Lost, Heroes etc. etc. Anyway I tried to get into them, I honestly did. And all the manic fans of these shows will probably say scornfully "Oh, you've only watched like 2 episodes. You have to watch from start to finish, otherwise of COURSE you won't get into it like duh."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But it's not like that! I don't form attachments to the characters on TV shows. I HATED the OC. Everyone on that show was annoying, I'm sorry. But the craze that followed the actors.....I don't understand it when people say "Oh, she's sooooo funny and loveable," like 'she' was a real person. When in fact, 'she' is a fictional character played by some coke-snorting Hollywood actress with no actual personality apart from what she puts on when acting. And people can talk for HOURS about these shows, like "Oh my god, I wish A and B would just hook up already! It's totally pissing me off!" or "Oh my god, the code used by so-and-so in episode 3 of season 4 was just sooo clever,  who would have thought that A managed to figure it out?" and "Oh my god it was soooo funny when A was cooking breakfast and then B walked in and said BLAH BLAH BLAH! HAHAHA!!" and "I adoreeeeeeee A, I love the little flick thing he does with his hair, and he has the coolest music posters on his wall!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gah. These are not REAL PEOPLE! Talk about your own lives!! Talk about stuff that is not brainstormed, scripted, acted out repeatedly, edited and distributed to networks!! How can people just sit there and watch entire seasons all day!? Where is the fun in watching a bunch of fake people do stuff that 80-90% mirrors your own life?  I admit that I do watch the odd show or two for escapism....but to follow a TV show with almost more interest than you have for your own life? To treat the characters like friends or accquaintances, to quote endless dialogue exerpts instead of speaking REAL WORDS about the life that YOU lead? I know I can't talk, because I like Xtreme Makeover and Days of Our Lives, which really indicates that I have shit taste, but seriously.....SERIOUSLY.......WHY ARE TV SHOWS SO FASCINATING TO PEOPLE!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-4263744255556923838?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/4263744255556923838/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=4263744255556923838' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/4263744255556923838'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/4263744255556923838'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/12/anxiousness-and-glory.html' title='anxiousness and glory'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-4978910299651137210</id><published>2008-12-10T00:29:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T01:53:23.377-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Wow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just read an article and it's pissing me off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;http://www.villagevoice.com/2006-11-07/news/yellow-fever/&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yellow fever. Asiaphilia. What a concept. Ever since I can remember, I have been singled out by others for one trait: being Asian. In primary school, it was the whole "ching chong china man" bullshit. In high school, I was an asian nerd. And then, ever since I ditched my glasses and started straightening my hair everyday, the racist nonsense progressed into something else. I don't even know if it's better or worse, but I became more and more aware of guys who possessed yellow fever. Courtesy of urban dictionary, here are only two out of almost 30 definitions for the "condition":&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table id="entries" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="font-weight: bold;" class="index"&gt; 6. &lt;/td&gt; &lt;td style="font-weight: bold;" class="word"&gt; Yellow Fever &lt;/td&gt; &lt;td class="tools" id="tools_1562268"&gt; &lt;span class="status"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?page=1&amp;amp;term=yellow+fever#" onclick="Thumbs.userClickedUp(1562268); return false"&gt;&lt;b&gt;221&lt;/b&gt; up&lt;/a&gt;, &lt;a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?page=1&amp;amp;term=yellow+fever#" onclick="Thumbs.userClickedDown(1562268); return false"&gt;&lt;b&gt;64&lt;/b&gt; down&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="thumbs"&gt;&lt;a id="thumbs_up_1562268" href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?page=1&amp;amp;term=yellow+fever#"&gt;&lt;img alt="love it" src="http://www.urbandictionary.com/images/thumbsup.gif" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a id="thumbs_down_1562268" href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?page=1&amp;amp;term=yellow+fever#"&gt;&lt;img alt="hate it" src="http://www.urbandictionary.com/images/thumbsdown.gif" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="favorite"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/td&gt; &lt;/tr&gt; &lt;tr&gt; &lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/td&gt; &lt;td class="text" colspan="2"&gt; &lt;div class="definition"&gt; When a white male has an excessive attraction towards females of the Asian persuasion regardless of how FOBISH or jacked up looking the girl really is; he’ll still think she’s the most fuckable thing on the planet. Also, they know nothing about the girls culture, can rarely tell the difference between any nationalities, think they all fuck like the girls they see in porn and never heard of Laos until King of The Hill. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table id="entries" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="font-weight: bold;" class="index"&gt;12. &lt;/td&gt; &lt;td style="font-weight: bold;" class="word"&gt; Yellow Fever &lt;/td&gt; &lt;td class="tools" id="tools_1231804"&gt; &lt;span class="status"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?page=2&amp;amp;term=yellow+fever#" onclick="Thumbs.userClickedUp(1231804); return false"&gt;&lt;b&gt;131&lt;/b&gt; up&lt;/a&gt;, &lt;a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?page=2&amp;amp;term=yellow+fever#" onclick="Thumbs.userClickedDown(1231804); return false"&gt;&lt;b&gt;93&lt;/b&gt; down&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="thumbs"&gt;&lt;a id="thumbs_up_1231804" href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?page=2&amp;amp;term=yellow+fever#"&gt;&lt;img alt="love it" src="http://www.urbandictionary.com/images/thumbsup.gif" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a id="thumbs_down_1231804" href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?page=2&amp;amp;term=yellow+fever#"&gt;&lt;img alt="hate it" src="http://www.urbandictionary.com/images/thumbsdown.gif" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="favorite"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/td&gt; &lt;/tr&gt; &lt;tr&gt; &lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/td&gt; &lt;td class="text" colspan="2"&gt; &lt;div class="definition"&gt; One is said to have yellow fever if one finds himself most attracted to Asian or Asian-American women. Rightfully so because they are the most beautiful women on earth. Everyone should have yellow fever. &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div class="example"&gt; Yellow fever is not a crime. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is how I view yellow fever (in the most objective way that I am capable of putting it).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Asian girl likes asian boys. Asian boys like asian girls. This is the natural order. Neither are considered to have yellow fever. White boy has preference for asian girls, he has yellow fever. White boy &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;only &lt;/span&gt;dates asian girls, he has yellow fever VERY BAD. Asian girl likes white boys, she has white fever. Asian boy likes white girls, no one cares because 99% of the time he will get rejected.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I quote- not word for word, but close enough- that asian girls are especially appreciated by certain white guys because we are polite, smart, submissive and- this is a &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;quote&lt;/span&gt;- more slender than white girls. We are also tigresses in bed, because apparently white girls aren't as horny as us, which is bullshit, but I'll get to that later.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What bothers me most is the idea that asian girls are all replaceable. Is that not true? Guys can't even tell which part of Asia we're from. I get Korean, Japanese, Thai, you name it, someone has suggested it. I think they are just in love with that entire area of the world; as long as we're small, skinny, have black hair and dark brown eyes, we're good enough. White boys can take their pick from the crop. And that just pisses me off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's bad enough that some white guys just sleep with us because we're asian, but it's worse that so many of us are willing. Just because they're white. I don't think we're amazing in bed; and even if we are, no more so than other girls. Maybe it's more to do with the fact that we sleep with white guys to a) keep their eyes and attention on us and b) they're Western so they can't really understand any qualms that we may have had about sleeping together. And maybe our "gynaecological advantages" come from the general way that our body is built; small, slender etc. etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Theories aside, when you're an asian girl and you're looking at this whole situation, you feel absolutely no sense of individuality, no sense of independence or deviance from the rest of them. We're cute, shy, have straight black hair, and virtually nothing else stands out. We are a clump, a demographic; a list on the menu for white boys to look at.  And we think it's perfectly ok, we even find it flattering.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I suppose I don't usually let it bother me, but when a fat, perverted sweaty middle-aged man starts talking to me out of nowhere, the conversation starter being which part of Asia do I come from, then I sort of notice something nagging at the back of my mind, yeah. Or when I meet a white guy, and he just so happens to fuck a new asian girl every week because they'll easily go home with him, and has no respect for them, or when I hear stories about my white friends being worshipped by asian girls when they go overseas, who just stand around him giggling, speaking nonsensical English and throwing themselves at him, that nagging kinda does return also.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-4978910299651137210?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/4978910299651137210/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=4978910299651137210' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/4978910299651137210'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/4978910299651137210'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/12/wow.html' title=''/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-2624215855620999922</id><published>2008-12-06T19:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-06T19:28:14.319-08:00</updated><title type='text'>typical blog</title><content type='html'>Isn't it weird when you have really, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;really &lt;/span&gt;vivid dreams that you can't even differentiate from reality? Even weirder still is when you have a dream that almost reflected what happened to you earlier in the night, so that you barely even make distinctions between which was real and which was concocted by your mind. For fucks sake, why do I dream about stuff that is so realistic that it just leaves me so confused as to whether or not it actually happened? Aren't people supposed to dream of wonderfully unique things like flying or rainbows or monsters?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On another note, my mum bought a new house and didn't even tell me until last night!! She called me and asked me if I was coming home for dinner. And then just before we were about to hang up, she added "By the way, I bought a new house." And I was all like "WHAT!!!" So apparently I'm moving to Nunawading soon! EEEEEP! I haven't seen the new house in real life, but she showed me an ad for it and it is gorgeous. It is literally smokinnn'.  I get the upstairs area, while the rest of my family (including grandparents) move into the downstairs. It's like a similar arrangement to what I have now- my own seperate part of the house, except that now instead of having grandparents living one block away, they will be living downstairs. But my grandparents are pretty quirky, so they'll be fun to live with. Sort of.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway Waz's reaction to me moving: "DON'T MOOOOOVE! I WON'T BE ABLE TO DRIVE TO YOUR HOUSE AS QUICKLY!!" Hahaha I love you Waz.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had tom yum soup last night and I burnt my tongue HARD. I can still feel it this morning. My tongue feels like sandpaper and I can't talk properly =[&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-2624215855620999922?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/2624215855620999922/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=2624215855620999922' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/2624215855620999922'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/2624215855620999922'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/12/typical-blog.html' title='typical blog'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-953077013915906783</id><published>2008-12-01T17:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-01T18:13:44.688-08:00</updated><title type='text'>i don't know what to do with myself</title><content type='html'>I just had the most SCARY dream ever!! I mean my heart is literally pounding its way out of my chest right now, because of this dream aka NIGHTMARE!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Picture this: I'm lying in bed and I think I'm awake. So I try and get up. But I can't get up. I can move my eyes around, but I can't move my head. I try to turn my neck sideways. And for the longest time I can't, but when I finally do my neck makes a series of snapping sounds. I'm freaking out and just KEEP trying to get out of bed. When I manage to crawl out, 2 seconds later, I'm back in bed. In the same position as I was when I awoke. Like nothing ever happens. I crawl out again, this time landing on the floor, and 2 seconds later I'm lying down in bed as though I had just woken up. Again. It happens about 15 times in a row. Finally I give up, and tell myself I'm going back to sleep. But before I go to sleep, I try and raise my arm over my head. I can feel the arm going over my head, but I can't see it. It's like I can feel everything, but my body can't move the way I want it too. I can't even see my arms. God it sounds so weird, but it's exactly what happened.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I realised I was dead. And I said out loud, "Am I dead?" And suddenly this guy appears and he's lying next to me, and he looks unconscious. I look at him and I say, "Jesus, am I dead?" And he gets up straight away, and he's just this modern-looking version of Jesus with shoulder length brown hair, a beard and casual clothes, and he (with a completely serious face) says "Yes. You died this morning, that's why you can't move your body." And I couldn't register what he said. I mean I couldn't accept it. I finally asked him "How?" and he said, "Your boyfriend calls you every morning, so you always keep the phone by your head. This morning you had it near your face, and the little flap that covers the USB broke off and went up your nose and down your throat. And you choked to death."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God it was such a weird dream. I remember thinking, wow. So this is what it's like to be dead. Everyone's gonna laugh at me, because I died in such a retarded way. Trust me to die this way. I haven't even done anything with my life yet. How am I gonna tell Waz that I'm dead. How am I gonna tell &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Your Source &lt;/span&gt;that I'm dead??&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't believe I thought of that last thing. Hahahaha!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, the second after I thought about that, I woke up. And I actually woke up gasping for once. You know in those movies when the lead girl has a nightmare about being naked, then wakes up and feels her body everywhere just to make sure she's not? I did that the second I woke up. I mean I put my hands EVERYWHERE. It was nice to feel that I had a body again. And that my voluntary movement was back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm still so chilled by the concept of what I just dreamt. This isn't the first time it's happened either. God I have the worst imagination ever.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-953077013915906783?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/953077013915906783/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=953077013915906783' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/953077013915906783'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/953077013915906783'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/12/i-dont-know-what-to-do-with-myself.html' title='i don&apos;t know what to do with myself'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-8936922808062651229</id><published>2008-11-27T17:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-26T07:57:31.242-08:00</updated><title type='text'>unexplained hatred</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I've got time&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;To watch you spin around in circles&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Falling through the cracks inside your mind&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;That's fine&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And I've been through the darkest hour&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Made it to the other side of you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I just can't live without you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I live for the day&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I live for the night&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;That you will be desperate&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And I am inside&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I live for the tears&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;To fall down your face&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I live for the words&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;You'll finally say...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I live for the day&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I wanna see you crying&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Just wanna see you crying&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I live for the day&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Hard to believe, but sometimes when you harbor a deep enough hatred for a person, you actually fall in love with that hatred. And the hatred is usually irrational. You don't even know where it stems from- well, you do, but the reasons given really aren't powerful enough to explain how intensely you feel. You secretly &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;enjoy&lt;/span&gt; the feeling of hating that person. It goes nowhere. But still it rages on within you; they are thoughts so easily ignited, they leave you seething, but you do so quietly. And in your own little world, you are sastisfied. Is this true? Or am I just crazy?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-8936922808062651229?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/8936922808062651229/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=8936922808062651229' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/8936922808062651229'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/8936922808062651229'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/10/unexplained-hatred.html' title='unexplained hatred'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-6522290897926052962</id><published>2008-11-25T06:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-25T07:19:04.093-08:00</updated><title type='text'>the finished product of a long day</title><content type='html'>It's been a while since I blogged last. And there has been a reason for that- I felt like there hasn't been all that much to say; every mood I've been in hasn't lasted long enough to actually drive me to blog. Here's what is on my mind. Tonight I have been eating like a pig and I'm still craving one thing. Just &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;one thing:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;JAPANESE FOOD.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SSwPev60q9I/AAAAAAAAAK0/JY1cNEkrYHA/s1600-h/soy_teriyaki_lg.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 256px; height: 245px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SSwPev60q9I/AAAAAAAAAK0/JY1cNEkrYHA/s320/soy_teriyaki_lg.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272606284677688274" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SSwPeduPYcI/AAAAAAAAAKs/BXhL6ajKRrg/s1600-h/mega-teriyaki1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 293px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SSwPeduPYcI/AAAAAAAAAKs/BXhL6ajKRrg/s320/mega-teriyaki1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272606279793074626" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SSwPS_9TChI/AAAAAAAAAKk/X0YKDkzgWy0/s1600-h/Megumi_051013113803812_wideweb__300x375.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 256px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SSwPS_9TChI/AAAAAAAAAKk/X0YKDkzgWy0/s320/Megumi_051013113803812_wideweb__300x375.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272606082824604178" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SSwPS1u0kxI/AAAAAAAAAKc/EUvtFQxLlPc/s1600-h/japanese-food-art-02.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 233px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SSwPS1u0kxI/AAAAAAAAAKc/EUvtFQxLlPc/s320/japanese-food-art-02.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272606080079532818" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SSwPSrkO_aI/AAAAAAAAAKU/DY4aFfyRFoE/s1600-h/japanese-food-art-00.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 230px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SSwPSrkO_aI/AAAAAAAAAKU/DY4aFfyRFoE/s320/japanese-food-art-00.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272606077350772130" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SSwPR6rbubI/AAAAAAAAAKM/DAWUCa9dDvY/s1600-h/japanese-food.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SSwPR6rbubI/AAAAAAAAAKM/DAWUCa9dDvY/s320/japanese-food.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272606064227629490" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm Chinese, so I'm not really allowed to love Japanese people. Har har. Not until they officially admit that they were cold, heartless monsters back in the day anyway. I'd also have to agree that whaling is a pretty bad practise. But oh my gooooood, I love their food. They make some of the nicest food in the world. I live in Australia, a country where barbecues, roasts and fish&amp;amp;chips dominate. But I just wish that everyone here ate Japanese food, then it wouldn't be such a hassle to get to and it wouldn't be so expensive either! Then our Maccas would have the Mega Teriyaki burger too!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Plus I really do think that we get 90% of our recipes from other countries. It's not cause we're uncreative, it's because our country hasn't really had the long and colorful history and culture of others. I'm not sure what we have that we can call our national food, apart from kangaroo meat, vegemite, lamingtons (?) and pavlovas (which New Zealand claim came from their country first anyway). And anzac biscuits. So I guess in conclusion, there should be ten thousand billion times more Japanese food in Australia than there is right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also have one more thing to mention. I don't know why I'm writing this, but when I was babysitting with Waz tonight I watched him walk away from me, down the hallway. I actually stared at him walking down the hallway. And I sat there with a smile on my face. I know it sounds almost creepy, but it was just a happy smile. On a happy girl. I've never watched anyone like that before. This is getting deep.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-6522290897926052962?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/6522290897926052962/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=6522290897926052962' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/6522290897926052962'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/6522290897926052962'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/11/finished-product-of-long-day.html' title='the finished product of a long day'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SSwPev60q9I/AAAAAAAAAK0/JY1cNEkrYHA/s72-c/soy_teriyaki_lg.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-1668300906987481765</id><published>2008-11-18T04:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-18T05:58:21.365-08:00</updated><title type='text'>neuroticism</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="txt_1"&gt;Why does everybody hurt &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="txt_1"&gt;  Every bitter sickening word breaks my heart &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="txt_1"&gt;  Why can't anybody hear &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="txt_1"&gt;  When the thunder disappears&lt;br /&gt;And the sun breaks free&lt;br /&gt;It's time for mercy&lt;br /&gt;Pretty please...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Don't know how to explain. Don't know how to fight. Don't want to win or lose. Don't want to think anymore. Let's just be happy and pretend nothing ever existed. Let's learn how to!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&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/769856152614855501-1668300906987481765?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/1668300906987481765/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=1668300906987481765' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/1668300906987481765'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/1668300906987481765'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/11/neuroticism.html' title='neuroticism'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-309006632575108186</id><published>2008-11-17T04:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-17T05:08:35.859-08:00</updated><title type='text'>bubbles</title><content type='html'>Terrible. Terrible terrible terrible terrible terrible terrible terrible terrible terrible terrible terrible terrible terrible terrible. It is actually so terrible that I typed out every single "Terrible" instead of just copy pasting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"How did you go on your psych exam today?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Terrible."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"But psych is so easy and the questions were multiple choice-"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"TERRIBLE."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know what to make of myself. At times I feel so insanely happy, then at times I feel like there is nothing motivating me to move forward in my life and grow up. I failed a psych exam today. The Arts hippies were probably clucking their tongues in disapproval.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My result would turn the entire bell curve into a negatively skewed graph, my one shit result being at the complete end of the left tail, while everybody else's sits comfortably within the 'pass' region. I can picture the machine, trying to figure out what the hell I had completed my exam in (eyeliner, as a pathetic substitute for a pencil), then just concluding someone had basically taken that exam paper and wiped their ass with it, and had somehow managed to sneak it into the pile of other papers, papers which, unlike mine, are destined for a big fat pass.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am almost in tears. Why didn't I remember to bring a pencil and eraser! The examiners had none left. I could change any of my answers, even when I realised that some were obviously wrong.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't like Melbourne University. I don't like the masses of geniuses who attend and I especially don't like being compared to them. I am competent in some areas. But proving myself whilst trying not to let other student's and their ridiculously high IQ's affect me is not one of them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The saddest thing of all is, I would transfer to somewhere and do a course I actually like. For example, I would transfer to RMIT and embark on some freakin' sweet creative course (I watched Napoleon Dynamite last w/e). But I can't, because I can't leave Melbourne, because that would make me a failure. To my family, it would leave me stranded for future work options and to myself, it would strip me of the empty prestige I revel in when I think about the fact that I attend the best University in Australia. I seemed to have forgotten that along with the so-called 'best quality education' comes its genius students, spilling forth their clever brains onto the school courtyards, the lawns, the libraries. All I see are giant, walking brains. Glowing and full of knowledge. I know I sound a bit weird right now. I'm in that kind of mood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two other thoughts:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-I couldn't help smiling everytime I saw a guy with a moustache today. Even the ones who have obviously struggled to grow a few straggly strands on their upper lip; I find you all hilarious. Unfortunately, I still wax my upper lip this month and so I will not be joining you guys in all your moustache glory. Maybe next year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-I love Waz. It kind of always amazes me that I could feel so certain about someone. When I turn into a senile old grandma I will still love you. And hopefully my senility will get rid of the sore memory that is Melbourne University along the way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh no, wait. I have another thought.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I know I've blogged about you before, only I've always kept your identity secret. Well tonight I'm still letting you stay anonymous. But I'm &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;this &lt;/span&gt;close to saying your name out loud, just so I can let whoever reads this know that it's you, and you're the one person I despise. Since I can't make you face me so I can cram these words down your throat, because I'm too stubborn to act as though I'm aware you exist, I will just write what I feel here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You are a fuckhead. You are, quite possibly, the shittest person alive. I fucking hate you with a passion. I just can't believe I've dedicated so much time and brainpower, towards fucking hating you. What a waste of my life. And you know what? I don't care. I'm hating because you're hating.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I knew it was there in you, waiting for an excuse, any excuse, to come out. I'm glad I gave you that excuse; because I got to see who you really were. Now, words cannot describe my opinion of you. They really can't. Because an adequate enough vocabulary has not yet been crafted to cater to my word selection when I think of you. Yes, this is one complicated hatred. Because you are one complicated, hateful, spiteful little shit. You're the mother of all messed up, hateful, spiteful little shits. And you're so goddamn petty. You were always like that. Old habits die hard, yours ain't gonna die at all. You stupid shit.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-309006632575108186?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/309006632575108186/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=309006632575108186' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/309006632575108186'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/309006632575108186'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/11/bubbles.html' title='bubbles'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-1601856191486601338</id><published>2008-11-15T21:38:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-15T22:26:32.270-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Things that are making me soo attractive today:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Stale breath&lt;br /&gt;-Scum feet covered in cuts&lt;br /&gt;-Gross random rash on my calf&lt;br /&gt;-Bloatedness&lt;br /&gt;-Headache&lt;br /&gt;-Eye bags the size of the universe&lt;br /&gt;-'I am nauseous' facial expression&lt;br /&gt;-Being a wanker to my boyfriend&lt;br /&gt;-Just being an overall feral person......&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I belong in the outback, in a mud shack. Living amongst the wilderness...catching and eating bugs and taking baths in swamps. And not ever socialising with anyone, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;ever&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-1601856191486601338?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/1601856191486601338/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=1601856191486601338' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/1601856191486601338'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/1601856191486601338'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/11/things-that-are-making-me-soo.html' title=''/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-5408186068260494296</id><published>2008-11-11T17:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-11T17:44:34.604-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>rmI was up late last night again reading a book I hadn't touched in ages. Michael and I went to the author's book signing a few years back, and we thought we were so smart. We waited in line, he gave her work about a 8/10, I complained that she wrote in too much of a rambling fashion. It was so stupid. Who were we to criticise? Everything she wrote about rang true to me at some stage in my life. She was a solicitor, a teacher and a writer. She was nothing short of a genius. I was engrossed by the book but at the same time, I despised her because she had managed to write and publish almost everything I had ever thought about writing myself. Her childhood almost mirrored mine. Damn us Asians! All leading identical, sheltered lives growing up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I asked him whether I made him happy, which was something I had never doubted before, but now I was losing faith in my own capacities. He laughed, there was no doubt about it, he gave me his answer and I knew he meant it. He had laughed because it was a stupid question with one obvious answer, and he meant the answer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Do &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I &lt;/span&gt;make you happy?" he asked me in return, and I knew he expected the same honesty. But the only answer I could give him was a white lie, and then I started to cry. He probably thought that this confirmed what I had said, but actually I was crying becaue I was a liar, and the truth was that being with him made me miserable. No longer did I feel the urge to share my observations of the world with him. He could see my world for what it was- a set of rules and finely drawn lines and fraudulent erasures."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-From Alice Pung's &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Unpolished Gem&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-5408186068260494296?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/5408186068260494296/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=5408186068260494296' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/5408186068260494296'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/5408186068260494296'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/11/i-was-up-late-last-night-again-reading.html' title=''/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-529192135925183685</id><published>2008-11-04T03:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-04T03:55:35.035-08:00</updated><title type='text'>high school dramas</title><content type='html'>To all you high schoolers going through VCE exams:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Exams suck, I know. And I probably shouldn't be saying this, because I did them myself two years ago, so I know how painful they can be. BUT. Stop complaining about them!! To be honest, my (completely unbiased of course) view on VCE exams are that they HAVE NOTHING ON UNI EXAMS!! So suck it up, princesses!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You guys keep going on and on about how you 'failed' a certain exam when it's quite obvious that a majority of those who do the complaining are asian kids who have never seen an F in their life, and have spent the past semester or even year in complete lockdown at home, I'm talking hardcore hermit mode, memorising entire textbooks and cutting up cue cards and hanging posters on their walls so that they can be the last thing they see before they sleep. DON'T SAY YOU FAILED WHEN YOU KNOW YOU'RE GOING TO GET A BLOODY 99.95. You may think that you're being 'humble', but at the end of the day, you're just being rude!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Think about those kids who genuinely did fail! Do they ever ramble on and on about how they bombed out? You not only eventually prove to them that you're smarter, but you also rub it in their faces by complaining about how badly you thought you went, and how 'surprised' you are that you got A+ for every SAC and exam. Yeh right. It's sooooo surprising that you got a perfect ENTER because after all, you only managed to live, breathe and eat homework all year. You've probably missed every single 18th party to study at home. HOW THE HELL DID YOU DO WELL?! woooooow!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Uni, we worry about failing because every time we do it costs us about $2000, and looks nasty to our future employers. In high school, you asian kids worry about failing because YOU'RE OBVIOUSLY NOT GOING TO FAIL AND JUST WANT TO FEED YOUR HUGE ACADEMIC EGOS. SO GIVE IT A REST. KINDLY PLEASE.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank You,&lt;br /&gt;Me (pissed off uni student ABOUT TO FAIL HER QM EXAM FOR THE LAST TIME)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-529192135925183685?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/529192135925183685/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=529192135925183685' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/529192135925183685'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/529192135925183685'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/11/high-school-dramas.html' title='high school dramas'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-5887123111774069250</id><published>2008-11-02T03:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-02T05:37:18.209-08:00</updated><title type='text'>stina gets soppy</title><content type='html'>It occured to me not long ago, that there are such simple pleasures to be derived from love. Love does not always have to play out the way it would in a movie. It needs no hero or heroine. It is not some overblown drama. It needs no complexity. Nor does it need any of the excess bullshit that we find ourselves swimming in for the sake of love. It does not have to screw with your head or tear you up inside.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can fight with the person you love, cry over them, lose control and rage at them....but you can't forget them, and maybe all that bullshit will obstruct you from love, but you know that deep down it does not reflect the concept of love and what it means. When you are mesmerised by the color of someones eyes, when you feel a dull ache in your heart for no apparent reason...when you sit next to them and experience a cocktail of emotions...bliss, and fear, and hope, and a little voice reminding you that it's almost too good to be true....these are moments gratifying enough for me to be able to call love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you think about that person and suddenly there is a feeling there, so profound and so ingrained within yourself that you honestly believe you'll never be able to eradicate it....that is what I call love. It's something that confuses you, and you can't even describe how much they mean to you- because what they represent is immeasurable, it takes all the words out of your mouth, it frees you of all logic and reason, replacing them with the sudden awareness that you are &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;alive&lt;/span&gt;, and living with a purpose...and that purpose is to love them as much as they love you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So next time, go back to the lowest common denominator. Think about the way they talk, and smile and laugh- the way they look at you, the feel of their hands on your skin, how they say "I love you", that simple statement which makes you feel anything &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;but&lt;/span&gt;...and cast aside the rest, because you need to savor what is created during these moments... because honestly, nothing else matters.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-5887123111774069250?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/5887123111774069250/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=5887123111774069250' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/5887123111774069250'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/5887123111774069250'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/11/stina-gets-soppy.html' title='stina gets soppy'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-7912322749508406715</id><published>2008-10-30T05:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-30T06:45:16.330-07:00</updated><title type='text'>i can literally feel the severity of my mood right now</title><content type='html'>Do I want to be perfect?&lt;br /&gt;The living, breathing definition of perfect, in all aspects that I consider important, in all aspects that I aspire to be? Cultured, confident and wise? And happy?&lt;br /&gt;Do I want to fucking live in some cutesy little city apartment with pot plants hanging off the balcony?&lt;br /&gt;Do I want to work at some pretentious Chanel boutique or illustrious accounting firm to pay it off?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes. It's not something I think about everyday, but the feeling is there.&lt;br /&gt;But what will happen? Fucked if I know. These things just aren't a part of me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tell me, how does a girl who does nothing, eventually get everything that she desires?&lt;br /&gt;How can she look within for support when all she ever does is tear herself down?&lt;br /&gt;And why the fuck does she stress about all of this, while she sits still, unwilling to make a change?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Where am I in my life right now? It's like my thoughts are tangled into one giant, grungy knot. The good is intertwined with the bad and I can't even extract one clear thought.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I make mistakes. I don't learn from them. I make them again, put it down to bad luck. Put it down to being me. But I still don't learn. I will never learn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can dismiss what I've said. You can tell me that I have all this anger, anger that comes from nowhere, bottled up inside me. And I'll agree with you. I will easily tell you that I love playing the victim. That it comes naturally to me, that I will do it because I was born to. I want to be a greater victim than I really am. Because I am attention-seeking. And selfish. And conceited. And foolish. And irresponsible. I will admit all this. Are you happy now? Because I think you should get fucked. I am not in self-denial any longer, but nor will I attempt to do anything about my problems. So get fucked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tell me it's just my hormones messing with me tonight.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-7912322749508406715?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/7912322749508406715/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=7912322749508406715' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/7912322749508406715'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/7912322749508406715'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/10/i-can-literally-feel-severity-of-my.html' title='i can literally feel the severity of my mood right now'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-1054823325448146000</id><published>2008-10-28T05:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-28T06:53:12.626-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I don't know why, but I stayed up till 4am last night reading revenge plots that people have exacted on their exes and other ppl. Read this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SHEETS OF ICE PISS!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Best revenger ever, aside from shooting the bastard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, this is how it works.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Utensils:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4 Mates&lt;br /&gt;Case of Beer&lt;br /&gt;Thin cooking trays&lt;br /&gt;A Cup&lt;br /&gt;Coat hangers (3 or 4)&lt;br /&gt;Plyers&lt;br /&gt;Screw driver&lt;br /&gt;Fridge/Freezer&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Method:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Consume beers with friends. When needing to go for a piss, pee in cup. Poor contents from cup into thin cooking tray. Place trays into freezer. Wait until contents are frozen! Take trays out from freezer. Gently remove frozen piss from tray. Now using a screw driver, and a stabbing motion, try and make a hole close to the edge of the frozen piss. You don't want it to be a big hole, just enough for coat hanger wire to go through. Quickly move to 'victims' house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, grab the coat hangers and straighten them out. Join 3 or 4 coat hangers together using plyers. Be sure to put a hook on the last coat hanger so it can be hooked on the hole of the frozen ice piss sheet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gently feed the flat frozen ice piss under the 'victims' door (there should be a small gap between door and ground). Using the coat hangers push that sheet of ice piss to desired length. Wiggle and jiggle that coat hanger (like you've been snagged in fishing) so it unhooks from the frozen piss. Do this until all the ice sheets of piss you froze, are in the victims house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Leave the premises.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you do it right, this fucker will be cleaning the stenchy piss stains off his carpet, and not having any fuckn clue where it came from (unless a pet is present in the house).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FAQ:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Q1. I don't have a friends, or any other of the utensils?&lt;br /&gt;A1. This task will be useless, grab a gun and shoot the fucker.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Q2. When i stab the frozen ice piss sheets, chunks just break off?&lt;br /&gt;A2. You will have to use something smaller and sharper and 'chip' away at it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Q3. My sheets of frozen ice piss unfroze before i got to victims house?&lt;br /&gt;A3. You should do it at a 'friends' place next time who lives closer to victim.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Q4. My sheets of frozen ice piss won't fit under the door?&lt;br /&gt;A4. You need to use thinner cooking trays. duh!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Q5. Have you tried this before and did it work?&lt;br /&gt;A5. Sure did! the dick at the uni deserved it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Enjoy! and good luck!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;......Oh. My. Lord. When I read that I COULD NOT STOP LAUGHING. Sheets of ice piss? That's sooooo awesome! Some other revenge stories included:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Feeding the ex 'beef stew' made from dog food&lt;br /&gt;2. Toothbrush dipped in toilet&lt;br /&gt;3. Pouring water over their carpet, then scattering alfalfa sprout seeds everywhere&lt;br /&gt;4. Prawn shells in the curtain rods&lt;br /&gt;5. Keying their cars&lt;br /&gt;6. Scooping out their margarine and taking a dump in the container, then putting it back in the fridge&lt;br /&gt;7. Giving away all their clothes to charity&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the best one by far is frozen sheets of ice piss!! Hahahaha&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-1054823325448146000?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/1054823325448146000/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=1054823325448146000' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/1054823325448146000'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/1054823325448146000'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/10/i-stayed-up-till-4am-last-night-reading.html' title=''/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-754886199388204176</id><published>2008-10-27T05:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-27T06:15:44.460-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I have no thoughts at all</title><content type='html'>......&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is what happens when I get forced to blog.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm hungry. I want a quarter pounder. I'm thinking about a new song I wrote and how I can make it sound better. And I'm avoiding uniwork. That's literally ALL there is to me right now. I have NO OTHER THOUGHTS AT ALL. See Waz! Making entries when you feel uninspired is shit! BUT I wanted to write something so that you have something to read in the morning, no matter how stupid. Because I love you. If I had a quarter pounder, I would even share it with you. Hahahaha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok so I will make two points:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. I LOVE the quarter pounders with seasoned avocado (in case you haven't guessed). And I LOVE the radio ad about it! I can't find a picture of the burger with avocado, but look at this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SQWz0ElFhQI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/umUTNfHGZ0c/s1600-h/mcdonalds_double_cheeseburger.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SQWz0ElFhQI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/umUTNfHGZ0c/s320/mcdonalds_double_cheeseburger.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5261809446816154882" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Mmmm. Heaven.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And Point no. 2:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How ugly are these shoes?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SQW0KtmkXfI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/y-qHNn03eoU/s1600-h/p4583596dt.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SQW0KtmkXfI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/y-qHNn03eoU/s320/p4583596dt.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5261809835785346546" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Crocs + Uggs!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It looks like dried vomit chunks on a log of pink diahorrea" hahahaha!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok I have one more thing. It's a joke!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt; After opening the first restaurant on the moon, Bob was disappointed to receive only 2 stars in the newspaper's restaurant review section. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;  "Great food, no atmosphere."  &lt;/p&gt;HAHAHAHAHA!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OK that's my shit blog post for tonight!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-754886199388204176?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/754886199388204176/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=754886199388204176' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/754886199388204176'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/754886199388204176'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/10/i-have-no-thoughts-at-all.html' title='I have no thoughts at all'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SQWz0ElFhQI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/umUTNfHGZ0c/s72-c/mcdonalds_double_cheeseburger.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-3316959464301206499</id><published>2008-10-21T22:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-22T06:24:00.258-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Just read one of the most fascinating articles ever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hipster: The Dead End of Western Civilization&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.adbusters.org/magazine/79/hipster.html"&gt;http://www.adbusters.org/magazine/79/hipster.html&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"We are a lost generation, desperately clinging to anything that feels real, but too afraid to become it ourselves. We are a defeated generation, resigned to the hypocrisy of those before us, who once sang songs of rebellion and now sell them back to us. We are the last generation, a culmination of all previous things, destroyed by the vapidity that surrounds us. The hipster represents the end of Western civilization – a culture so detached and disconnected that it has stopped giving birth to anything new."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For reasons unbeknownst to me I am fascinated by Hipsterdom. The trend itself seemed to suddenly emerge out of nowhere; adbusters describes it as 'the first “counterculture” to be born under the advertising industry’s microscope...less a subculture, the hipster is a consumer group – using their capital to purchase empty authenticity and rebellion.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;For anyone who doesn't know what I'm talking about, refer to this diagram as a loose sketch of your average hipster:&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259954889761065026" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SP8dGpLJiEI/AAAAAAAAAJk/LFWmc6CqCw0/s320/hipster.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alternatively, you can try visiting clubs like Click Click....or Melbourne University. My uni is overflowing with these specimen; refer below to my loving, hand-drawn (on MS Paint) version of a Melb Uni hipster/scene kid:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SP8n1IeiU0I/AAAAAAAAAJs/ZfinBH9cVQY/s1600-h/scene.bmp"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 430px; height: 318px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SP8n1IeiU0I/AAAAAAAAAJs/ZfinBH9cVQY/s320/scene.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259966683554140994" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I quite like this, and I find it funny because the captions are actually true and if you ever come down to Melb Uni you will find approxiamately 10 billion clones of this guy. All of whom will talk in a small, muttering voice, own a camera, take shots of themselves wherever necessary, probably ride a junky old bicycle of some sort, go to some unknown band's gig on the weekend and dance like a chicken, and possibly take speed, wear grandpa jumpers when it's cold and give cynical sneers at students from every other faculty.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-3316959464301206499?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/3316959464301206499/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=3316959464301206499' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/3316959464301206499'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/3316959464301206499'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/10/just-read-one-of-most-fascinating.html' title=''/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SP8dGpLJiEI/AAAAAAAAAJk/LFWmc6CqCw0/s72-c/hipster.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-6006005520204588730</id><published>2008-10-20T05:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-20T21:40:00.020-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Right now I want nothing more than a large sweet chilli and chicken pizza topped with melted mozzarella cheese, and an ice cold Stella.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When this stupid bronchitis blows over, I am gonna be A NEW WOMAN. I will go to the beach and frolic in the icy waves and roll around the sand in a bikini and drink ALOT OF STELLA! and I will stuff my face with products containing chilli, cream and cheese, and eat super spicy hotpot all day and all night, and go to karaoke and sing my lungs out, and do lots of naughty things that my bronchitis wouldn't let me do before!! Having said all that I'll probably relapse :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-6006005520204588730?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/6006005520204588730/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=6006005520204588730' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/6006005520204588730'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/6006005520204588730'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/10/right-now-i-want-nothing-more-than.html' title=''/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-747432922754331624</id><published>2008-10-16T06:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-16T06:37:01.482-07:00</updated><title type='text'>damn it feels good to be a gangsta</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SPdB3utUpWI/AAAAAAAAAJc/KEE4k6DJy0k/s1600-h/n564537030_1360146_3484.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257743515665081698" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SPdB3utUpWI/AAAAAAAAAJc/KEE4k6DJy0k/s320/n564537030_1360146_3484.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-747432922754331624?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/747432922754331624/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=747432922754331624' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/747432922754331624'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/747432922754331624'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/10/damn-it-feels-good-to-be-gangsta.html' title='damn it feels good to be a gangsta'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SPdB3utUpWI/AAAAAAAAAJc/KEE4k6DJy0k/s72-c/n564537030_1360146_3484.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-5720505258811921639</id><published>2008-10-14T08:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-14T08:30:38.657-07:00</updated><title type='text'>do u want to run away?</title><content type='html'>I think facebook is an addiction. It's a legitimate disease that you can suffer from. I think I have it. Which is the worst because nothing really even happens on my facebook.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I sit and wait for something to happen...or I just lurk the facebooks of people I don't even like or (can't bring myself to look at). Either way, it feels soooooo good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hahaha so moving on, I had the best day......of being a BOGAN!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me and Alison sat in the library, did 10 mins of study, then moved to a cafe, did about 30 seconds of study, then went to Dan Murphy's, got knocked back because I'd left my ID at home, went to Coles, bought Pulse, went to the park behind her house, sunbaked for a long time but NOT LONG ENOUGH....I tutored, went to uni, got Simon then went to St Kilda beach, sat there with more Pulse.....admittedly, true bogans would have worn thongs (or no shoes at all), skipped uni and bought VB instead.....I am aware of this, and will probably do this next week....same day, same time!! Same haunts :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm going to go shoeless, force myself to like VB and sit on the grass (or the bonnet of her car) eating a 4n20, or a poineapple donut, in trackies and a singlet!! I might even go to uni and do it there....to spite all the metro asians!! (no offence)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And ONE LAST THING.......the Aussie dollar grew STRONGER today!! And that means more spending money in CHINA!!! Thanks to our wonderful Government for reviving the Australian economy, I love you Government!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And one LAST LAST thing.....I love you Waz&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;x&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-5720505258811921639?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/5720505258811921639/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=5720505258811921639' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/5720505258811921639'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/5720505258811921639'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/10/do-u-want-to-run-away.html' title='do u want to run away?'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-7969939331438680631</id><published>2008-10-11T05:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-11T06:43:48.166-07:00</updated><title type='text'>the world is too complex</title><content type='html'>For me, trying to understand the economy is impossible. I hear something about it, it flies out of my brain. I read something about it, it flies out of my brain. I talk to someone about it, I go blank mid-sentence. Sometimes I think that I was actually born to just become a trophy housewife who doesn't really talk or think.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish I was smarter, I don't understand myself sometimes...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SPCtAfCGsPI/AAAAAAAAAJU/gTw-DUVkXDc/s1600-h/patrick.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 167px; height: 248px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SPCtAfCGsPI/AAAAAAAAAJU/gTw-DUVkXDc/s320/patrick.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255890988983300338" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&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/769856152614855501-7969939331438680631?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/7969939331438680631/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=7969939331438680631' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/7969939331438680631'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/7969939331438680631'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/10/world-is-too-complex.html' title='the world is too complex'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SPCtAfCGsPI/AAAAAAAAAJU/gTw-DUVkXDc/s72-c/patrick.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-3649149898879685907</id><published>2008-10-10T02:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-10T02:50:31.571-07:00</updated><title type='text'>really weird mood</title><content type='html'>Arrgh I have no idea what's happening tonight!! ARGHHHHHHH @ indecisiveness!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish the night was endless so I didn't have to think about tommorow's consequences. But then again, I wish people didn't hype up Friday nights and make it out to be like the one time you can have fun in your otherwise boring existence. EVERYONES out tonight and I feel like I should join them all!! But at the same time, I can't be bothered racking up the effort to get ready.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On another note, I'm hating skinny girls!! You can eat entire loaves of garlic bread and family sized pizzas and the food just dissapears while its in your stomach!! Damn all of you and your skinny waists!!!!!!!!!!!!! I AM FRUSTRATED!!!!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-3649149898879685907?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/3649149898879685907/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=3649149898879685907' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/3649149898879685907'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/3649149898879685907'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/10/really-weird-mood.html' title='really weird mood'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-7532654022219294424</id><published>2008-10-08T03:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-08T03:41:13.918-07:00</updated><title type='text'>interesting passage</title><content type='html'>The logic behind these Bible exerpts is so easy to see, but so hard to digest, and even harder to obey.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I empathize with your strident sense of futility. Allow me to explain the true nature of the problem. If you don't have a relationship with your Creator, then life is "Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless." [Ecclesiastes 1:2]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I have seen all the things that are done under the sun; all of them are meaningless, are chasing after the wind." [Ecclesiastes 1:14] Wisdom and folly are Meaningless. Pleasures Are Meaningless. Toil Is Meaningless. Advancement Is Meaningless. Riches Are Meaningless.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"How frail is humanity! How short is life, how full of trouble! We blossom like a flower and then wither. Like a passing shadow, we quickly disappear." [Job 14:1-2]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I know that everything God does will endure forever; nothing can be added to it and nothing taken from it. God does it so that men will revere him." [Ecclesiastes 3:14]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God is using your Emotional Distress to capture your Undivided Attention. If God is trying to communicate with you, then I would advise you to pay attention. LISTEN, LEARN, and OBEY."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-7532654022219294424?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/7532654022219294424/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=7532654022219294424' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/7532654022219294424'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/7532654022219294424'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/10/interesting-passage.html' title='interesting passage'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-5773388266793015934</id><published>2008-10-05T17:17:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-05T17:27:49.884-07:00</updated><title type='text'>late again</title><content type='html'>Still feeling a touch crap today. Wish I could have slept in till about 3 or 4pm...!&lt;br /&gt;I have a lot on my mind but maybe I'll write it all down on paper instead of posting here, it's all a bit nonsensical anyway. I have to be optimistic!!!!! The glass is HALF FULL! I am going to go to work at Sofias for the first time in 3 months and I will eat sweet chilli bread with cheese dipped in mushroom sauce and maybe some vegetarian risotto with chicken and I'll feel better. I wish everything was as simple as food! Food is so delicious, and is always there just waiting for you, and all you have to do is pick it up and take a bite. It never rejects you. It has no feelings, all it wants to do is get eaten. It's the best form of free therapy in the world.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-5773388266793015934?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/5773388266793015934/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=5773388266793015934' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/5773388266793015934'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/5773388266793015934'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/10/late-again.html' title='late again'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-461014994964777836</id><published>2008-10-04T17:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-05T00:12:03.008-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;As you walk in the crowded empty spaces &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And you stare at the emptiness around you &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;You wanna go to the city and the bright lights &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And get away from the sinners that surround you...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Blank screen&lt;br /&gt;Blank mind&lt;br /&gt;I had a script all worked out.....but plans don't always follow through do they?&lt;br /&gt;I need to sleep some of this insanity away.&lt;br /&gt;My mouth is filled with sawdust and my head is filled with cotton&lt;br /&gt;I'm an idiot and my life is a speck of sand&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-461014994964777836?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/461014994964777836/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=461014994964777836' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/461014994964777836'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/461014994964777836'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/10/last-night-was.html' title=''/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-5388883905829244971</id><published>2008-10-01T07:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-01T07:21:18.389-07:00</updated><title type='text'>=(</title><content type='html'>Can someone teach me about html? I can't code at all and trying to install a new template has just wasted 2 hours of my life because it looked so shocking that I had to go back to minima black. This has been a sad night.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-5388883905829244971?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/5388883905829244971/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=5388883905829244971' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/5388883905829244971'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/5388883905829244971'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/10/blog-post.html' title='=('/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-8282658161517784706</id><published>2008-09-29T05:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-29T05:50:11.390-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Hey Waz...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;您的妻子爱您!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My msn has broken down so I guess I'll have to write what I'm feeling here!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm gonna be honest. You're pretty much the first guy that I can REALLY see myself staying with. I don't know how this happened, but everytime I think about you and me I just know there's going to be such a great future between us. I hope you feel the same back. Even when I get pissed off at you, it wears off so quick because you're still an amazing guy. I mean it. And I love you! Love love love love love love love love love you THE MOST :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-8282658161517784706?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/8282658161517784706/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=8282658161517784706' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/8282658161517784706'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/8282658161517784706'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/09/hey-waz.html' title=''/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-3282411102007314928</id><published>2008-09-22T07:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-22T07:37:15.512-07:00</updated><title type='text'>the life and times of</title><content type='html'>I think that sometimes I get so caught up in blowing one issue out of proportion or focusing my entire blog on one particular thing that's been bugging me, that I forget to sort of document the other stuff (e.g. the &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;fun &lt;/span&gt;stuff) in my life. Here are a few pictures that I really have been meaning to post for ages, and while these nights haven't always ended well, I think ultimately all that matters is that we looked like we were having fun in the photos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So for once I am not going to subject any reader to one of my rants and instead I will show you what I have been up to during many a weekend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SNeqVU5qqSI/AAAAAAAAAI8/A9Eqd0Mn07E/s1600-h/n878290623_3996479_8433.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SNeqVU5qqSI/AAAAAAAAAI8/A9Eqd0Mn07E/s320/n878290623_3996479_8433.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248851174088157474" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SNeqVh3bUWI/AAAAAAAAAJE/9xCvdHh7cec/s1600-h/n820575276_3050938_9852.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SNeqVh3bUWI/AAAAAAAAAJE/9xCvdHh7cec/s320/n820575276_3050938_9852.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248851177568424290" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SNeqFHhljxI/AAAAAAAAAIU/KMnFMedqFqY/s1600-h/n533575682_928858_3709.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SNeqFHhljxI/AAAAAAAAAIU/KMnFMedqFqY/s320/n533575682_928858_3709.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248850895619591954" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SNeqFKpufBI/AAAAAAAAAIc/BPzMxr_vkmA/s1600-h/n543498355_1055499_5145.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SNeqFKpufBI/AAAAAAAAAIc/BPzMxr_vkmA/s320/n543498355_1055499_5145.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248850896459037714" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SNeqFRExjdI/AAAAAAAAAIk/4_I3NyeK-uU/s1600-h/n572449045_1178285_9809.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SNeqFRExjdI/AAAAAAAAAIk/4_I3NyeK-uU/s320/n572449045_1178285_9809.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248850898183097810" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SNeqFq96meI/AAAAAAAAAIs/2aMwiQDgkzM/s1600-h/n647410246_3272972_6947.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SNeqFq96meI/AAAAAAAAAIs/2aMwiQDgkzM/s320/n647410246_3272972_6947.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248850905133652450" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SNeqF-HwT9I/AAAAAAAAAI0/5tLnhxCvqRI/s1600-h/n680536174_1163046_7655.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SNeqF-HwT9I/AAAAAAAAAI0/5tLnhxCvqRI/s320/n680536174_1163046_7655.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248850910275194834" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SNepjNuaaiI/AAAAAAAAAHs/3dBq9hd84Rc/s1600-h/n1198180412_30138512_8110.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SNepjNuaaiI/AAAAAAAAAHs/3dBq9hd84Rc/s320/n1198180412_30138512_8110.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248850313168448034" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SNepjCVR_HI/AAAAAAAAAH0/FYB2BLOKyjY/s1600-h/n1198180412_30138525_2505.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SNepjCVR_HI/AAAAAAAAAH0/FYB2BLOKyjY/s320/n1198180412_30138525_2505.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248850310110248050" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SNepjS2lmcI/AAAAAAAAAH8/oOVIeFfBGaw/s1600-h/n1198180412_30138544_9539.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SNepjS2lmcI/AAAAAAAAAH8/oOVIeFfBGaw/s320/n1198180412_30138544_9539.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248850314544912834" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SNepjg2VnqI/AAAAAAAAAIE/bU3Obz_plIg/s1600-h/n1198180412_30138553_3807.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SNepjg2VnqI/AAAAAAAAAIE/bU3Obz_plIg/s320/n1198180412_30138553_3807.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248850318301961890" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SNepj7y2iuI/AAAAAAAAAIM/5-SiCUnnxnQ/s1600-h/n206900150_30534764_6262.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SNepj7y2iuI/AAAAAAAAAIM/5-SiCUnnxnQ/s320/n206900150_30534764_6262.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248850325535099618" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SNepHMz_MqI/AAAAAAAAAHk/s4hDUB8FSdc/s1600-h/GetAttachment.aspxl.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SNepHMz_MqI/AAAAAAAAAHk/s4hDUB8FSdc/s320/GetAttachment.aspxl.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248849831887057570" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are heaps and heaps more, but I'll post them another day. Most of these were from birthdays and clubbing, but what I really need to do is buy a decent camera and take shots of the other random places that I go to. =)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-3282411102007314928?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/3282411102007314928/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=3282411102007314928' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/3282411102007314928'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/3282411102007314928'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/09/i-think-that-sometimes-i-get-so-caught.html' title='the life and times of'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SNeqVU5qqSI/AAAAAAAAAI8/A9Eqd0Mn07E/s72-c/n878290623_3996479_8433.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-5331472410070950173</id><published>2008-09-18T23:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-21T21:49:22.546-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>The 'Nice Guy' Syndrome- what kind of woman wants a wimpy doormat?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apparently the majority of us females are looking for a blend of cocky, rude and dominant qualities in their men. Though our behaviour suggests otherwise, subconsciously we don't want the man who can treat us best. We want the bad boy, whom we can turn good. This is something that I hear time and time again. It causes me to wonder, why the hell do women contradict themselves like that? Why do we voice our wants for a charming, romantic and sensitive man when inwardly we are probably desiring to be mistreated in some way shape or form? I really think that we are just addicted to things going wrong, to drama. To excitement.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You're a nice guy, but....." Exactly. It's because you're too nice, and you won't stir something major up our lives. Can we ever rise above that?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-5331472410070950173?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/5331472410070950173/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=5331472410070950173' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/5331472410070950173'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/5331472410070950173'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/09/nice-guy-syndrome-what-kind-of-woman.html' title=''/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-6205002386331033111</id><published>2008-09-15T18:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-15T19:15:25.180-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>The lymph node in my neck is swollen. I googled this and all my other symptoms and it is pointing towards lung cancer. Not that I'm trying to worry myself...but....yeah. Google probably isn't too trustworthy anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On another note, I am actually taking a mild interest in American politics today. I love the way everything is sensationalised over there, from the 'lipstick on a pig' to the Palin family scandals. It is a complete hoot compared to Australian politics. I don't think anyone in their right mind should vote for McCain/Palin, not with Palin's anti-&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;everything&lt;/span&gt; stance on life. Her church is promoting a conference which will &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;convert &lt;/span&gt;gays into heterosexuals through the power of prayer. Tell me she's joking. First of all, can you convert a heterosexual into a gay? Even through the power of prayer? What makes her think she can do the opposite?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because unlike other behaviour patterns, humans don't always get any say on how their sexual orientation is programmed from birth. People who are gay...are simply gay, it is their right. It is their natural preference. And it is their lifestyle. So leave them alone. I know other people cling onto their traditionalist views, and they have a right to do so. Only they shouldn't try to enforce these views on everybody else. Treat others as you want to be treated. Not everyone opposes homosexuality, and they certainly shouldn't have to if they are non-Christian. You know what they should oppose instead? Shotgun-toting hags who run around killing for sport and selling pictures of their babies to tabloid magazines. I think she belongs on Jerry Springer.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-6205002386331033111?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/6205002386331033111/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=6205002386331033111' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/6205002386331033111'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/6205002386331033111'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/09/lymph-node-in-my-neck-is-swollen.html' title=''/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-3121318321486402968</id><published>2008-09-13T20:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-13T20:54:24.081-07:00</updated><title type='text'>*#^$&amp;#</title><content type='html'>Words cannot describe how shitty I am right now. I. AM. VERY. SHITTY. I feel like going out and killing something for the sake of killing it. I want a machine gun. Or a rocket launcher. If I was someone out of Quake, I would ask for the Big Fucking Gun. I really can't stop thinking about weapons at the moment.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-3121318321486402968?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/3121318321486402968/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=3121318321486402968' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/3121318321486402968'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/3121318321486402968'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/09/blog-post_13.html' title='*#^$&amp;#'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-3665124528813890357</id><published>2008-09-12T19:25:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-12T19:38:47.869-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I'm about to go to Moe (aka Moccasins On Everyone says Waz) the land of paddocks and ute-steering, flannel-wearing, pub-going lumberjacks. For the weekend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wish me luck!&lt;br /&gt;Love you Waz xoxox&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-3665124528813890357?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/3665124528813890357/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=3665124528813890357' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/3665124528813890357'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/3665124528813890357'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/09/im-about-to-go-to-moe-aka-moccasins-on.html' title=''/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-6282732502424409793</id><published>2008-09-11T22:21:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-11T22:40:25.623-07:00</updated><title type='text'>my incredibly tb tribute to varsity fanclub</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;It's kind of bad that I'm in love with this boyband.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SMn9CCBbi1I/AAAAAAAAAHY/0CIQZx2K2sQ/s1600-h/2468406578_60fd5d990b.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 282px; height: 224px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SMn9CCBbi1I/AAAAAAAAAHY/0CIQZx2K2sQ/s320/2468406578_60fd5d990b.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245001452394089298" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't deny it, Varsity Fanclub. I am passionately in love with their music. I've been listening to their stuff all day and it's just really doing it for me. I'm in such a good mood!! While I do think they all look abit like douchebags, and some of them are definetly making the gayface in pictures, I simply can't resist their exquisite vocal stylings and catchy tunes. Maybe it's the 13-year-old girl in me, but so far I can't even name a song of theirs that I dislike.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, if you're reading this, add them to your playlist. You probably won't like them at first, but forget about the fact that they're all about 16 years old/look like they wear makeup. And they will begin to sound really good. Ryan Tedder wrote one of their best songs, Future Love, and he is a protege of Timbaland, and I can't say no to anything that is affiliated with Timbaland, because he wrote The Way I Are.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="file:///C:/WINDOWS/TEMP/moz-screenshot-1.jpg" alt="" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So my reccomendations for today are:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Varsity Fanclub- Future Love&lt;br /&gt;Varsity Fanclub- Let Her Go (beatmix)&lt;br /&gt;Varsity Fanclub- Zero&lt;br /&gt;Varsity Fanclub- Why Not Me&lt;br /&gt;Varsity Fanclub- Maybe This Is Love&lt;br /&gt;Varsity Fanclub- Complicated Girl&lt;br /&gt;Varsity Fanclub- Half of You&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also listen to Stephen Speaks- Just a Little Girl (if there's time.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PS- Can anonymous people who comment on my blog tell me who they are? Because I'm really curious!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-6282732502424409793?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/6282732502424409793/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=6282732502424409793' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/6282732502424409793'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/6282732502424409793'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/09/my-incredibly-tb-tribute-to-varsity.html' title='my incredibly tb tribute to varsity fanclub'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SMn9CCBbi1I/AAAAAAAAAHY/0CIQZx2K2sQ/s72-c/2468406578_60fd5d990b.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-4719023417010100820</id><published>2008-09-11T04:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-11T05:54:57.365-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Pain, without love&lt;br /&gt;Pain, I can't get enough&lt;br /&gt;Pain, I like it rough&lt;br /&gt;Because I'd rather feel pain then nothing at all.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why is it within human nature to want what we can't have? Why is it that we experience things we can't change, and change when we don't have to? What a complex and funny little world we have created for ourselves. Everybody is living under self-applied pressure, driven by their consummate desire to fit in and succeed. We all want to be extraordinary, and ironically we end up conforming to laws, social norms, what shops sell, what our friends think. But we're here to do so much more than just breed, which was our biological reason for existence. We will keep on doing more than we have to. We create hardships for one another. We laugh and cry. In the end, we do it to pass the time and keep ourselves within the realms of sanity.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-4719023417010100820?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/4719023417010100820/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=4719023417010100820' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/4719023417010100820'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/4719023417010100820'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/09/pain-without-love-pain-i-cant-get.html' title=''/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-2886133798910816297</id><published>2008-09-08T06:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-08T06:20:32.963-07:00</updated><title type='text'>another random thought</title><content type='html'>Why do aussies grow fruit trees in their backyards, but never eat from them? And when other people try to take them, they will get all stingy and don't let them. Then birds just eat them. What causes this behaviour? Are there deep-rooted psychological problems within the Australian society? Godammit, eat the fruit that grows on your trees!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-2886133798910816297?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/2886133798910816297/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=2886133798910816297' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/2886133798910816297'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/2886133798910816297'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/09/another-random-thought.html' title='another random thought'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-566966253745106201</id><published>2008-09-06T03:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-06T03:59:22.566-07:00</updated><title type='text'>random thought of the day</title><content type='html'>I'm going to get my mind out of the gutter. I want to learn and think about the country and world that I live in, instead of just taking everything for granted and being absorbed with nothing but my own life. It's not just something that I'm doing for the sake of turning into a smarter person, I am genuinely curious about everything outside of the bubble that is Melbourne. I want to learn about other countries but not by reading what some rich white journalist has written about them; I want to visit them and explore them for myself and completely step out of my comfort zone. It's about time I took some initiative and prepped my brain for life. Food for thought, but empty stomach. Haha. (I found out today that I have gone up a clothing size and it's killing me.)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-566966253745106201?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/566966253745106201/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=566966253745106201' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/566966253745106201'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/566966253745106201'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/09/random-thought-of-day.html' title='random thought of the day'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-8464433928565986067</id><published>2008-09-02T02:38:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-02T02:39:53.337-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm going to write a non-emo song</title><content type='html'>Don't worry if the sun don't shine, you've seen it before, you'll see it again.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-8464433928565986067?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/8464433928565986067/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=8464433928565986067' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/8464433928565986067'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/8464433928565986067'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/09/im-going-to-write-non-emo-song.html' title='I&apos;m going to write a non-emo song'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-5604312484072946902</id><published>2008-08-26T06:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-27T01:53:53.560-07:00</updated><title type='text'>the magical 'win at life' pill</title><content type='html'>CONGRATS TO PETER* FOR BEING AWESOME AT LIFE!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NOW ITS TIME TO BREAK THE BED...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OK I'll shut up now....hahaha. But seriously, wow, I'm SOOOO HAPPY FOR YOU! DOUBLE DATE BOWLING TIME!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've added another 10-15 words onto my essay and know I'm just gonna keep procrastinating, so I'm going to bed. Goodnight everyone. And if you're Waz lurking my page, good morning sunshine! I miss you already. xoxoxo&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*name is not Peter&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-5604312484072946902?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/5604312484072946902/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=5604312484072946902' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/5604312484072946902'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/5604312484072946902'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/08/magical-win-at-life-pill.html' title='the magical &apos;win at life&apos; pill'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-3149341652477228407</id><published>2008-08-25T18:12:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-25T18:24:07.191-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>At what point was the dumb high schooler supposed to morph into an educated and critically analytic young lady? I'm being confronted with the reality that, hey, everyone in commerce AND media is a genius and I'm the village idiot whose knowledge of media/anything to do with media/commerce/anything to do with commerce could probably fit through the head of a needle? Why did I ever think I was capable of doing this course? I can't even schedule my week without double booking, I can't even calculate how to split a bill at a resturant, I can't even cook without burning something, I can't even save a grand, I can't even drive properly, I can't even eat without spilling food onto my clothes, WHY DID I THINK I COULD DO THIS STUPID COURSE REQUIRING A 98.00 TER?!!? How did I even get into the damn course when where I truly belong is at the front of a bus where the 'special' people hang, with my backpack and kmart trousers, trying to work out where to get off so I can go back to the mental instution/special school that I escaped from?! I know all I ever do is complain but maybe if I was GOOD AT LIFE I WOULDN'T HAVE TO!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-3149341652477228407?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/3149341652477228407/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=3149341652477228407' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/3149341652477228407'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/3149341652477228407'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/08/at-what-point-was-dumb-high-schooler.html' title=''/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-4821668982313354307</id><published>2008-08-25T01:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-25T01:46:52.593-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I'm being swamped this week. Completely, utterly engulfed by committments. I've got a total of three jobs now, excluding the tutoring, and just thinking about how much I have to work this week makes my brain hurt. If I'm not at one job, I'm at the other, and the rest of my time off will be spent at uni and the gym. As much as I want to just lie around with Waz and sit in bed and watch Spongebob and melt into a happy sloth puddle, I have to make enough to get myself out of debt!! Independent woman!! Yeah! (Who am I kidding)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the phone interviewing job was almost kinda tolerable. Well, it was actually alot better than I was expecting. One guy ran off during the break because he couldn't cop it, and that was before we'd ever started. He should've stayed though, it paid off in the end. There was no abuse over the phone. The hours are fine. The managers weren't tight or humorless or mean. The rate is SOOO GOOD. So I'll be staying for as long as they need me!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-4821668982313354307?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/4821668982313354307/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=4821668982313354307' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/4821668982313354307'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/4821668982313354307'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/08/im-being-swamped-this-week.html' title=''/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-8132988576951085686</id><published>2008-08-21T06:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-21T06:48:58.741-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I don't know much&lt;br /&gt;But I know I love you&lt;br /&gt;And that may be all I need to know&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;=]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hey guess who just had the best night ever?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks Warren. I can't believe I was lucky enough to have met you.&lt;br /&gt;If I could find the words I would, but I'm speechless remember? Besides, I don't really need words. I don't need to show you how I feel through a blog. I can make you happy in other ways.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So when is Sky High Pt. II?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-8132988576951085686?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/8132988576951085686/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=8132988576951085686' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/8132988576951085686'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/8132988576951085686'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/08/i-dont-know-much-but-i-know-i-love-you.html' title=''/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-2805329615805884216</id><published>2008-08-13T17:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-13T17:51:08.397-07:00</updated><title type='text'>in a library with a lollipop in my mouth</title><content type='html'>Audio lectures are sooooooooooooooooooooo boring x 100000000000 and they're pretty nonsensical too. The lecturer is trying really hard, I can tell, but my god he is so boring. Normally if I was sitting in the lecture I'd be looking out for hot guys or something, making lectures infinitely more interesting. I should really go to class more!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And my body is still sore from gym. Two days ago.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-2805329615805884216?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/2805329615805884216/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=2805329615805884216' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/2805329615805884216'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/2805329615805884216'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/08/in-library-with-lollipop-in-my-mouth.html' title='in a library with a lollipop in my mouth'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-7933836370976516085</id><published>2008-08-11T10:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-11T10:37:02.616-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I've been coughing my lungs out for about 2 weeks now, and I've almost finished the amoxycillin. But still not feeling much better. This is quite bad but has also obviously been my own fault. I started off taking them at regular times (e.g. 10am, 2pm, 8pm) and today its been 3pm, 9pm and 3am. Last night I seriously sunk into a black hole, I was that asleep, and didn't manage to wake up till 2 today. And so, the repercussions of drinking : the next day, there is a chance you will be forced to wake up early, if not for a function then at least to convince your family nothing is wrong, and you will feel like complete and utter shit and sit there all day being a vegetable and all your 'moving' will only consist of blinking and breathing because that's all autonomous. Then, at night, you will pass out and by the time you wake up everything you were supposed to have shown up for the next day is missed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I HAVE to get well for Torquay! Otherwise I'm going to try an alternative way of becoming healthy again: sitting in a spa all weekend and boiling my sickness away! And for some strange reason I'm also trying to convince myself that I can get a tan there; that's right, when its wintertime and Melbournians are all FREEZING OVER and the sun comes out for approx. an hour a day, with patches of rain in between. Good to see my sense of logic is working.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, time to get off the net and sleep my cold away. Tommorow I'm going to the gym for the first time.....EVER! My body is completely foreign to gym equipment (and most forms of exercise) so I'm sure I'll handle it really, really well. Just in case I don't, I'm going to get alot of Maccas straight after.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-7933836370976516085?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/7933836370976516085/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=7933836370976516085' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/7933836370976516085'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/7933836370976516085'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/08/ive-been-coughing-my-lungs-out-for.html' title=''/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-6491168296877298108</id><published>2008-08-09T20:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-09T22:25:54.873-07:00</updated><title type='text'>i'm such a loser</title><content type='html'>I had an incredibly vivid dream about you this morning. To the point where I actually thought it happened. And yeah, I wish it did. The way you were, the way you&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; looked at me&lt;/span&gt;, the way you talked, the way your voice sounded, everything that happened, it was so lifelike...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I miss you already!! What's wrong with me!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-6491168296877298108?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/6491168296877298108/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=6491168296877298108' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/6491168296877298108'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/6491168296877298108'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/08/im-such-loser.html' title='i&apos;m such a loser'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-1230464583655706828</id><published>2008-08-04T07:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-04T07:29:53.893-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='A'/><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I like Emerson. He was an American essayist, philosopher, poet, and leader of the Transcendentalist movement in the early 19th century. Wikipedia told me so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From "Give All to Love"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-family:Georgia;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;     Though thou loved her as thyself,&lt;br /&gt;    As a self of purer clay,&lt;br /&gt;    Tho' her parting dims the day,&lt;br /&gt;    Stealing grace from all alive,&lt;br /&gt;    Heartily know,&lt;br /&gt;    When half-gods go,&lt;br /&gt;    The gods arrive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;"&gt;oh&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I LOST MY WALLET TODAY.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;....is there anything I manage NOT TO LOSE!?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-1230464583655706828?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/1230464583655706828/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=1230464583655706828' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/1230464583655706828'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/1230464583655706828'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/08/i-like-emerson.html' title=''/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-1161353643707467393</id><published>2008-08-01T03:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-01T03:17:36.498-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I've come to this</title><content type='html'>Thanks to you, and you, and you. I thought you'd changed my life at one point, and you have. But I don't care about that anymore. It's liberating to me. This new found sense of apathy. Life is good, you are not. Things can still be vibrant and funny and colorful without you in the picture. So thanks but no thanks, kid. I'm happy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-1161353643707467393?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/1161353643707467393/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=1161353643707467393' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/1161353643707467393'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/1161353643707467393'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/08/ive-come-to-this.html' title='I&apos;ve come to this'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-5510060105079076995</id><published>2008-07-30T08:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-30T08:31:11.747-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I google pictures of food instead of eating</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really, really, REALLY, REAALLLLLLLLYYYYYYYYYYY want Japanese food right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SJCIZzgwWvI/AAAAAAAAAFw/MMZPpsFvSic/s1600-h/sushi.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SJCIZzgwWvI/AAAAAAAAAFw/MMZPpsFvSic/s320/sushi.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228829144282847986" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SJCIHGZT8zI/AAAAAAAAAFY/dflIE8zPED0/s1600-h/japanesecuisine.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SJCIVAT09pI/AAAAAAAAAFo/IRhdK2qu0Ic/s1600-h/japanese-food-01.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SJCIVAT09pI/AAAAAAAAAFo/IRhdK2qu0Ic/s320/japanese-food-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228829061818939026" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SJCINBy1l1I/AAAAAAAAAFg/VSALOHq-RJo/s1600-h/jap-food.jpg"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SJCIHGZT8zI/AAAAAAAAAFY/dflIE8zPED0/s1600-h/japanesecuisine.jpg"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SJCINBy1l1I/AAAAAAAAAFg/VSALOHq-RJo/s1600-h/jap-food.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SJCINBy1l1I/AAAAAAAAAFg/VSALOHq-RJo/s320/jap-food.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228828924778485586" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SJCIHGZT8zI/AAAAAAAAAFY/dflIE8zPED0/s1600-h/japanesecuisine.jpg"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SJCIHGZT8zI/AAAAAAAAAFY/dflIE8zPED0/s320/japanesecuisine.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228828822934385458" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Freakin- OMG. Those random asian chicks look so happy&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-5510060105079076995?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/5510060105079076995/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=5510060105079076995' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/5510060105079076995'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/5510060105079076995'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/07/i-google-pictures-of-food-instead-of.html' title='I google pictures of food instead of eating'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SJCIZzgwWvI/AAAAAAAAAFw/MMZPpsFvSic/s72-c/sushi.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-3932460307329215733</id><published>2008-07-28T12:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-28T13:13:18.103-07:00</updated><title type='text'>you're a right proper ****</title><content type='html'>I have to wake up and stop being a baby. I have to realise that what I'm doing right now isn't good for me. Get smart and get on top of things. I don't even know what the hell I can call the past 2 months of my life. It was a chapter in which I acted like a complete moron, and the regret is only just beggining to sink in. And not only regret; but also anger, and loathing, and sadness. I was fine with it all until tonight, before I had the opportunity to 'visualise' things. Lucky me. But next time I'll be smart, and composed, and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;think &lt;/span&gt;before I act, and learn to be the shrewdest girl you'd ever met. Hey, it's already happening with the alcohol. (Sort of). So thanks for trying to contact me. That was sarcastic by the way! You're just another person to do my head in this year. But no, it's probably not the person you'd think it was.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-3932460307329215733?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/3932460307329215733/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=3932460307329215733' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/3932460307329215733'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/3932460307329215733'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/07/youre-right-proper.html' title='you&apos;re a right proper ****'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-6267659521336844823</id><published>2008-07-26T16:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-26T16:52:19.235-07:00</updated><title type='text'>indescribable pain</title><content type='html'>So why do I bother when I KNOW this is how I'm going to end up feeling. Why do I still go through with it....? It's not worth it in the end, I knew it never was. It's nothing, but thats only how you see it. I have to find a way out of this cycle.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-6267659521336844823?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/6267659521336844823/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=6267659521336844823' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/6267659521336844823'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/6267659521336844823'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/07/indescribable-pain.html' title='indescribable pain'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-207308352620343899</id><published>2008-07-20T10:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-24T01:07:44.973-07:00</updated><title type='text'>grrr</title><content type='html'>I'm such a pushover.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"christina get in the car"&lt;br /&gt;"ok"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"christina get stir fry instead"&lt;br /&gt;"ok"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"kiss me"&lt;br /&gt;"ok"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When will I learn to SAY NO!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also it could just be me, the only person in the whole world who thinks this way, but Dark Knight wasn't THAT good. &lt;span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;*SPOILERS MIGHT FOLLOW* &lt;/span&gt;I know the movie set box office records, but in some ways I think Ledger's death played a huge factor for the success of an otherwise only half-decent movie. Am I being too fussy here? The dialogue was fairly boring and cliched (except for the few wise cracks Alfred made), I thought Maggie Gyllenhaal was all wrong for the part, she had no chemistry with Aaron Eckhart, whose transformation into Harvey Two-Face I did not believe for one second...come on, the Joker goes and visits him and says a couple of lines and suddenly Two-Face has no will for vengeance against him, but is bent on destroying the innocents of Gotham?? Christian Bale was incredibly hot, and suited the role, but then again that man doesn't ever make mistakes with movie choices! And he did have more chemistry with Maggie, it was nowhere near as awkward/mismatched as her and Eckhart seemed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the JOKER...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SIQbJweHyCI/AAAAAAAAAFA/r9Z5Vwsavw4/s1600-h/joker.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225331322100631586" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 263px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 198px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SIQbJweHyCI/AAAAAAAAAFA/r9Z5Vwsavw4/s320/joker.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, he was good. Great, even. Oscar quality. Always one step ahead of Gotham, what a genius. Outsmarted Batman quite often too. In fact Batman became much more of a dumbass in this movie. But look at THIS JOKER:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SIQbp0AzeMI/AAAAAAAAAFI/rpSaV-FULi0/s1600-h/the-joker-darkn-knight.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225331872807221442" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 371px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 297px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SIQbp0AzeMI/AAAAAAAAAFI/rpSaV-FULi0/s320/the-joker-darkn-knight.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sexy, no? Probably not as kid-friendly, but sooooo much cooler looking....I think beneath Heath's makeup you could actually sort of tell that he was an attractive guy, and he had really decent guns in the movie too, which were also tanned, and all in all he was maybe a tad too hot for the role. But THIS JOKER....pure evil. No mistaking what he is. Anyway I'm gonna shut up now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-207308352620343899?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/207308352620343899/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=207308352620343899' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/207308352620343899'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/207308352620343899'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/07/grrr.html' title='grrr'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SIQbJweHyCI/AAAAAAAAAFA/r9Z5Vwsavw4/s72-c/joker.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-1210159266856192284</id><published>2008-07-18T17:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-18T19:06:41.265-07:00</updated><title type='text'>typical saturday morning mood</title><content type='html'>You wake up to a gorgeous day, the type that you've been waiting for all winter, and you're too hungover to do anything other then sit in front of a computer screen for hours on end. You took another puff or two last night and today your singing voice is better than ever. You drank way more than usual, but ended up semi-sober. Right now your makeup is smudged everywhere, Heath Ledger style. You want noodle soup but the fridge is as empty as your stomach. You hooked up with a guy whom you might consider cute, but hes already seeing someone. Makin wrong decisions is a talent. Bad luck little girl.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-1210159266856192284?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/1210159266856192284/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=1210159266856192284' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/1210159266856192284'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/1210159266856192284'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/07/typical-saturday-morning-mood.html' title='typical saturday morning mood'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-4437689221561225126</id><published>2008-07-16T02:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-16T06:57:19.830-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm not a bitch, the worlds just stupid</title><content type='html'>I love the fact that I can watch youtube at work. I know, how sad is that? At home, youtube is a thing of the past (with me being like permanently capped and also having no sound). So today I was just searching for anything that came to mind, which for me tends to be people sitting on their beds playing their guitars and singing. I love that sort of stuff. And the best one I could find was this: &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UNK2L8-V5dQ"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UNK2L8-V5dQ&lt;/a&gt; (I dunno if I can put the video directly up, I sort of don't think my computer can handle it) So I've been on the site all day looking at endless displays of talent and the best clip turned out to be a fobby dude covering Soulja Boy acoustic style. Made me wet my pants from laughter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another thing that's been wearing me down all week (are you reading Tait?) is my mum. AGAIN. She's been bagging me nonstop for no apparent reason! In the past three days shes made comments about my hair, eyes, complexion, breath (ew i know), boobs (she called them SAGGY, the 50 year old calling MINE saggy), and weight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway I just lost the motivation to blog halfway through this. I'll update later!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Hmm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Theres so much that I want to write about, but I don't know how to express it all. You know when you have all these thoughts inside your head and you can't get them out? Because you're afraid that the way you write them down is not gonna do what you're &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;really&lt;/span&gt; thinking any justice. So I'm going to leave it. For now. Give it time and I'll know what to say. Or maybe when enough time has passed I won't even want to write about it anymore. Who knows, I'm always second guessing myself anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-4437689221561225126?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/4437689221561225126/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=4437689221561225126' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/4437689221561225126'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/4437689221561225126'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/07/im-not-bitch-worlds-just-stupid.html' title='I&apos;m not a bitch, the worlds just stupid'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-1012431174498688787</id><published>2008-07-14T19:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-14T20:06:44.519-07:00</updated><title type='text'>day 2 of office</title><content type='html'>I am surrounded by so much paper its not funny. I seriously think i have like 10,000 peices of paper around me. I'm going to dream about paper tonight. I hate paper.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night I slept about 4 hours, then this morning woke up at 7 30. My skin is greyish and my eyes bags are hanging halfway down my face. Where is lunch!? I can smell everyone elses lunch. I want a McAsia baaaadd!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I 've been listening to new old music (new to me but actually pretty old) to expand my comparatively tiny playlist and I can't tell if it's actually good or not. I got some Mos Def, Handsome Boy Modelling School, Johnny Cash, Portishead, No Doubt, The Script, Imogen Heap and Carrie Underwood. I even downloaded a song by Tila Tequila....omg! What's happening to me?? I guess I just wanted to hear what her sucky music sounded like. Lol. If anyone reads this, you hav to listen to Andy Warhol by Little Birdy, Ex-Girlfriend by No Doubt and Hurt by Johnny Cash. Those songs are describing my mood down to a teeeee. Little Birdy are amazing, I have to go to one of their gigs in the near future. My fingers are itching for some guitar strings to pluck, I wanna learn these songs as soon as I can!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So anyway, being the emo person that I am, with emo being my default mood right now, I can never run out of things to complain about: e.g, I hate this weather so much. Winter is NO. Everyone is freezing. Oh hang on, maybe some people are warm- my friend once said to me, that in winter you're supposed to settle down with someone so that you can cuddle them and keep warm through the freezing nights. Isn't that sooo romantic? IF YOU ACTUALLY HAVE SOMEONE, that is. I want summer to come back. Now. Because I want to eat watermelon and not wear shoes and tan my shoulders, and also because I don't want to think about my friends theory.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I'm sort of trying to ramble because I really really need a break from printing and filing tax invoices and credit adjustment notes and placement orders and whatever else they decide to give me. God there is so much paper on my desk. The stacks are so big. I hate paper so much.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-1012431174498688787?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/1012431174498688787/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=1012431174498688787' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/1012431174498688787'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/1012431174498688787'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/07/day-2-of-office.html' title='day 2 of office'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-2828095781560310570</id><published>2008-07-13T21:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-14T00:24:22.448-07:00</updated><title type='text'>$$$</title><content type='html'>Im temping at my mums work and omg, it is a party and a half. im using a lappy the size of a dictionary to destroy a half a rainforest, i have to print tax invoices, all 4000 of them...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So i get through about 2000, and my mum walks in and asks...'can u finish this by wednesday night?'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And im like PFFT OF COURSE, this is sooo easy!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then the office guy walks in and says hey, when u finish printing, ill show u how to scan all the pages...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have to stick 4000 peices of paper in a scanner, one by one, and scan them all. this is gonna be really fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This fat chinese cleaner guy just walked in, and vaccuumed all around me without saying anything. Now hes gone into in office across from me and hes talking about me. I think he's yet to realise that glass walls aren't soundproof.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-2828095781560310570?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/2828095781560310570/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=2828095781560310570' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/2828095781560310570'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/2828095781560310570'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/07/im-temping-at-my-mums-work-and-omg-it.html' title='$$$'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-1396871671977233982</id><published>2008-07-10T20:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-10T20:20:45.223-07:00</updated><title type='text'>this is awesome</title><content type='html'>Net Comm lost my final assessment peice. Therefore I received a fail. But THEY WERE THE ONES WHO LOST IT! So I didn't actually &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;fail &lt;/span&gt;fail. Win =]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-1396871671977233982?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/1396871671977233982/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=1396871671977233982' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/1396871671977233982'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/1396871671977233982'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/07/this-is-awesome.html' title='this is awesome'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-5297742619424561794</id><published>2008-07-10T08:14:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-10T08:22:46.970-07:00</updated><title type='text'>wow</title><content type='html'>Ok so I know I'm over-blogging a bit, but something tonight just struck me as puzzling; I've had the shittest week ever, I have no money, no (real) phone, lost alot of dignity, sobriety and self-esteem (haha) and have failed two of my exams. I got yelled at tonight at work even though I had been working hard (and making zero mistakes for once), but I finished work kind of happy. I was trying to distance myself from all those depressing thoughts and it was actually working. In all respects, I had learned to "turn my frown upside down". And for a second there, I thought I had somehow been transformed into an optimist. And then later on it all fell apart because of that &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;one person&lt;/span&gt;. And then I realised that I had been happy earlier on because everything I screwed up this week didn't matter nearly so much to me as that person&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;did. And now it's gone and I don't know where to go from here.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-5297742619424561794?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/5297742619424561794/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=5297742619424561794' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/5297742619424561794'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/5297742619424561794'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/07/wow.html' title='wow'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-8545093049242319416</id><published>2008-07-10T00:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-11-26T07:41:30.383-08:00</updated><title type='text'>uni = death</title><content type='html'>So the University of Melbourne has officially confirmed to me that I am a dumbass. I'm just doomed to NOT pass. I don't wanna say the f-word (and its not fuck), but man I am good at getting alot of those f-words. Just when I was having a really awesome day, for no particular reason (and I'm hardly ever in a fantastic mood for no particular reason) Melbourne Uni goes and shits all over me. Why do I always have to be reminded of the fact that no matter how hard I try, I can never do well enough? I just want to know what I did wrong! Why am I able to communicate with fellow students in a way that makes me believe that we sit on equal levels in terms of intellect, but when assessment time comes around I get the f-word and they get the h1? Am I really that oblivious to my own stupidity? Does my true destiny lie in street-cleaning or poop-scooping or being someones maid? WILL I ALWAYS BE THIS STUPID!?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-8545093049242319416?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/8545093049242319416/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=8545093049242319416' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/8545093049242319416'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/8545093049242319416'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/07/uni-death.html' title='uni = death'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-1683027976052469441</id><published>2008-07-08T20:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-08T20:46:49.693-07:00</updated><title type='text'>something sweet to throw away</title><content type='html'>She said "I'll throw myself away,&lt;br /&gt;They're just photos after all."&lt;br /&gt;I can't make you hang around.&lt;br /&gt;I can't wash you off my skin.&lt;br /&gt;Outside the frame, is what we're leaving out&lt;br /&gt;You won't remember anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can go&lt;br /&gt;With the flow&lt;br /&gt;Don't say it doesn't matter anymore&lt;br /&gt;I can go&lt;br /&gt;With the flow&lt;br /&gt;Do you believe it in your head?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's so safe to play along&lt;br /&gt;Little soldiers in a row&lt;br /&gt;Falling in and out of love&lt;br /&gt;Something sweet to throw away.&lt;br /&gt;I want something good to die for&lt;br /&gt;To make it beautiful to live.&lt;br /&gt;I want a new mistake, loses more than hesitates.&lt;br /&gt;Do you believe it in your head?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can go with the flow&lt;br /&gt;Don't say it doesn't matter anymore&lt;br /&gt;I can go with the flow&lt;br /&gt;Do you believe it in your head?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-1683027976052469441?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/1683027976052469441/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=1683027976052469441' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/1683027976052469441'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/1683027976052469441'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/07/something-sweet-to-throw-away.html' title='something sweet to throw away'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-2677755577331718195</id><published>2008-07-04T19:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-04T19:21:17.119-07:00</updated><title type='text'>o m g.</title><content type='html'>I win at life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My phone (aka my life) has dissapeared off the face of the earth and I ruined an entire night out before it even properly started. I spent half the time throwing up and got kicked out before midnight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the taxi guy ripped me off. I bet he stole my phone too!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need scrambled eggs and sausages and grilled tomato and onions and hash browns and toast with butter and OJ... but at the same time thinking about food makes me sick. And I think I've got a grand total of $2 left. Like I said I win at life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-2677755577331718195?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/2677755577331718195/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=2677755577331718195' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/2677755577331718195'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/2677755577331718195'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/07/o-m-g.html' title='o m g.'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-4640802639574072796</id><published>2008-06-22T17:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-22T00:12:33.133-07:00</updated><title type='text'>my latest</title><content type='html'>This world is so damn big now&lt;br /&gt;I've got to get a grip now&lt;br /&gt;Feel you slipping away now&lt;br /&gt;But I just can't turn away&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Being tugged in two directions&lt;br /&gt;Can't face my own decisions&lt;br /&gt;Living inside a prison&lt;br /&gt;But all you did was turn away&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Theres stars along the sky now&lt;br /&gt;Theres stars inside your eyes now&lt;br /&gt;And when I look inside&lt;br /&gt;All the drama and the hope and the lies just fade to grey&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can't even smile without it being a mistake&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-4640802639574072796?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/4640802639574072796/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=4640802639574072796' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/4640802639574072796'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/4640802639574072796'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/06/my-latest.html' title='my latest'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-9008146994668955707</id><published>2008-06-15T04:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-15T23:58:18.551-07:00</updated><title type='text'>i used to be grown up. then i grew down</title><content type='html'>I used to have a xanga. I put up about 8 posts, then tried to change the template of it, entered some screwed up html and made it look retarded. So I left it...forever. Actually no, I visited it again the other day, and wow... at my second entry. '50 things about me', dated April 28, 2005. Half of the list isn't true anymore. Actually very amusing to read. All I do is ramble on about how much I love God and my (ex) youth group and how I've never kissed a guy. Oh my. So it's only been 3 years, but how? When did I begin to change? I don't feel the difference. It's weird to think that maybe, on just a couple of those days, I maybe went to bed a slightly different person then who I was at the start of the day. Haha. And in some ways, I feel like I'm &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;stupider now &lt;/span&gt;then I was back then, which is completely unsettling. 3 years down the track, and I haven't grown at all, save for the odd lesson or two in heartbreak. And alcohol consumption. And how to hate Uni.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table class="blogbody snap_preview" border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" width="100%"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-9008146994668955707?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/9008146994668955707/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=9008146994668955707' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/9008146994668955707'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/9008146994668955707'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/06/i-used-to-be-grown-up-then-i-grew-down.html' title='i used to be grown up. then i grew down'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-958075456109840233</id><published>2008-06-14T05:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-14T06:01:02.838-07:00</updated><title type='text'>&lt;3</title><content type='html'>You put the biggest smile on my face.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-958075456109840233?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/958075456109840233/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=958075456109840233' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/958075456109840233'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/958075456109840233'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/06/3.html' title='&lt;3'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-2458704811847922577</id><published>2008-06-12T07:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-12T07:29:17.159-07:00</updated><title type='text'>yay</title><content type='html'>im so drunk&lt;br /&gt;man i think that's all i have to say&lt;br /&gt;hahaha&lt;br /&gt;happy happy happy sunshine fairies rainbows and unicorns =]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-2458704811847922577?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/2458704811847922577/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=2458704811847922577' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/2458704811847922577'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/2458704811847922577'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/06/yay.html' title='yay'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-5067828070884651846</id><published>2008-06-11T00:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-11T00:44:38.112-07:00</updated><title type='text'>misguided</title><content type='html'>I wrote this awhile back, think almost a year ago. It's about someone who I haven't seen in 5 years. And even then it was for less than an hour. He's basically just a faded memory by now. But sometimes old memories resurface and they tear you up inside, you think you've been apathetic this whole time and maybe even a little proud of the fact that you don't care. But you haven't been like that at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i think of you&lt;br /&gt;nothing comes to mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i think of music.&lt;br /&gt;rain.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;amp;shine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i think of moments long forgotten&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and falling from my eyes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;killing what was promised&lt;br /&gt;while time just flew on by&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i think of you in&lt;br /&gt;calm&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;it led to your&lt;br /&gt;demise&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;just you and me and silence;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;your little lullabye...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-5067828070884651846?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/5067828070884651846/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=5067828070884651846' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/5067828070884651846'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/5067828070884651846'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/06/i-wrote-this-awhile-back-think-almost.html' title='misguided'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-6853815880858981295</id><published>2008-06-08T18:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-08T18:54:18.082-07:00</updated><title type='text'>relapse</title><content type='html'>Would things have been different if I had told him the truth? What would have happened if I actually admitted to all the reasons why, giving him that harsh reality check he so clearly needs? Would he have learnt to recover sooner? Instead of always just wondering what went wrong, blaming the wrong people and coming up with empty explanations? Would it eat at him not knowing and never knowing? Should I have been completely straightforward and said Hey, look at all your flaws. This is why. This is why I couldn't handle it anymore. But I didn't want to tell you because you probably would have gone and jumped off a bridge.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This whole thing is like one long unpleasant dream.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-6853815880858981295?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/6853815880858981295/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=6853815880858981295' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/6853815880858981295'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/6853815880858981295'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/06/relapse.html' title='relapse'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-769856152614855501.post-1538185051151355937</id><published>2008-06-07T05:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-07T05:16:46.895-07:00</updated><title type='text'>who is this about?</title><content type='html'>hey guess what&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;YOU ARE SUCH A WANKER&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GET OUT OF MY LIFE&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;amp;*#^&amp;amp;*$@*(@)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NOW&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;AND BTW&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;learn to shut up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/769856152614855501-1538185051151355937?l=xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/feeds/1538185051151355937/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=769856152614855501&amp;postID=1538185051151355937' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/1538185051151355937'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/769856152614855501/posts/default/1538185051151355937'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://xtinathepolkadot.blogspot.com/2008/06/who-is-this-about.html' title='who is this about?'/><author><name>stina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08580152755533751130</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wl3l59LeeeM/SdixNZIxCqI/AAAAAAAAAOo/gWxdtHU7Jr8/S220/P4010261.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
