<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><rss xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/" xmlns:blogger="http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" version="2.0"><channel><atom:id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048674314217438987</atom:id><lastBuildDate>Fri, 08 Nov 2024 15:37:08 +0000</lastBuildDate><category>The big gay conference mglbtacc</category><title>Ava Bea and the Fluckery of Normalcy</title><description>The rah-rah-rantings of a 20-something year old lesbian stranded in the cornfields. I write about life-- as it is, and as it should be.</description><link>http://avamarcea.blogspot.com/</link><managingEditor>noreply@blogger.com (AvaBea)</managingEditor><generator>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>51</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048674314217438987.post-1648454787651052692</guid><pubDate>Thu, 14 Apr 2011 00:50:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2012-06-08T10:10:01.030-05:00</atom:updated><title>A proposal of sorts</title><description>A proposal begins with a sincere question, a pouring out of sorts that is only supposed to  come from a warm place. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I&#39;m sincerely afraid of that warm place. I&#39;m so used to keeping people at arm&#39;s length</description><link>http://avamarcea.blogspot.com/2011/04/proposal-of-sorts.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AvaBea)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048674314217438987.post-6023463504219660165</guid><pubDate>Fri, 31 Dec 2010 20:16:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2012-06-08T10:10:01.041-05:00</atom:updated><title>I believe....</title><description>I figured it was about time I broke the silence...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
This isn&#39;t a New Year, new me post. This isn&#39;t remotely related to the holidays we cling to. This is more like fuck I haven&#39;t checked this in a while, it&#39;s about time I updated my life records.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Well... I know the whole point of a blog is to NOT make the long story short but... Let&#39;s just gloss over the details for now- I&#39;m on limited time and internet here, kiddies.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;script src=&quot;http://w.sharethis.com/button/sharethis.js#publisher=18d7056a-915c-4172-a512-824db6cd89d2&amp;amp;type=website&quot; type=&quot;text/javascript&quot;&gt;&lt;/script&gt;</description><link>http://avamarcea.blogspot.com/2010/12/i-believe.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AvaBea)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048674314217438987.post-535594244356366540</guid><pubDate>Tue, 16 Mar 2010 21:19:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-03-16T16:19:02.635-05:00</atom:updated><title>we mark ourselves with pen and ink</title><description>&lt;a href=&quot;http://trace-yr-name.blogspot.com/2009/09/we-will-set-this-world-on-fire.html#links&quot;&gt;we mark ourselves with pen and ink&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;script src=&quot;http://w.sharethis.com/button/sharethis.js#publisher=18d7056a-915c-4172-a512-824db6cd89d2&amp;amp;type=website&quot; type=&quot;text/javascript&quot;&gt;&lt;/script&gt;</description><link>http://avamarcea.blogspot.com/2010/03/we-mark-ourselves-with-pen-and-ink.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AvaBea)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048674314217438987.post-3392881369493881113</guid><pubDate>Fri, 12 Feb 2010 21:10:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-02-12T15:10:18.709-06:00</atom:updated><title>Five Six Seven Eight</title><description>It&#39;s been a doozy of a month. That&#39;s all I really have.</description><link>http://avamarcea.blogspot.com/2010/02/five-six-seven-eight.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AvaBea)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048674314217438987.post-8676461661395926613</guid><pubDate>Sun, 31 Jan 2010 06:47:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2012-06-08T10:10:01.061-05:00</atom:updated><title></title><description>&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-family: verdana, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10px; line-height: 20px;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-size: x-large;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;All I know&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Is that you&#39;re the &lt;i&gt;nicest &lt;/i&gt;thing I&#39;ve ever seen&lt;br style=&quot;clear: left;&quot; /&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-size: medium;&quot;&gt;I wish that we could see&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br style=&quot;clear: left;&quot; /&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-size: x-small;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;If we could be something...&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;script src=&quot;http://w.sharethis.com/button/sharethis.js#publisher=18d7056a-915c-4172-a512-824db6cd89d2&amp;amp;type=website&quot; type=&quot;text/javascript&quot;&gt;
&lt;/script&gt;</description><link>http://avamarcea.blogspot.com/2010/01/all-i-know-is-that-youre-nicest-thing.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AvaBea)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048674314217438987.post-7453634758652132684</guid><pubDate>Sun, 31 Jan 2010 03:52:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2012-06-08T10:10:01.057-05:00</atom:updated><title>On Imperfections</title><description>&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;Some people think way too highly of me, and when I disappoint them, it ruins the entire image they have of me. So. I&#39;m putting my imperfections on the table- every little thing I can think of.. So before you think you might &lt;i&gt;want&lt;/i&gt; to be my friend, you should probably read this.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;I&#39;m one of those girls that has had everything sort of handed to her in life. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;I&#39;m not exaggerating or trying to over-emphasize; it&#39;s just a simple fact.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;This fact has led me into a long life of whining and expecting things to be perfect, or really freaking close. I&#39;ve also developed this habit of never wanting to apologize, rarely taking accountability for my actions, living far above and beyond my means, and expecting my family to pay for my last-minute, mind-boggling decisions (usually travel). I&#39;m materialistic, shallow, and fail at most types of intimate relationships. I crave attention, but don&#39;t do anything to deserve it - or keep it. I enjoy being by myself, only because I get annoyed with putting on a show for people. Oh- I&#39;m pretty fake sometimes. If I don&#39;t know someone, I&#39;ll put on my stage face until I can study them on my own turf. Then I decide whether or not they&#39;re worthy enough to witness my bitchiness first-hand.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;I&#39;m pretty bitchy. Sometimes I&#39;m pretty bitchin&#39;, but we&#39;re talking about my flaws here.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;I have serious wanderlust. I have an obsession with being the first to leave. I have a fondness for doing things impulsively and not thinking about the consequences. I give up easily when it&#39;s something that I didn&#39;t really care about in the first place, but I will destroy anything that steps between me and what I really want. I care about money. A lot. As in I&#39;m consumed by the need for money, sometimes, and cannot stand being poor, but don&#39;t want to work for anything. I don&#39;t like working for anything. I like jobs that don&#39;t require my lifting a finger. I don&#39;t think minimum wage is acceptable, and I don&#39;t work for anyone very long if I don&#39;t get a raise within three months. I think I&#39;m better than a lot of situations that I find myself in. I sometimes consider people &quot;lower&quot; than me, as if I have a &quot;higher&quot; rank in society. I love drama, but don&#39;t have any interest in actually following through with it, so I just start things between other people and watch everything unfold. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;I push my overt gayness on people when I sense that they are homophobic, and laugh at their small-mindedness. I get incredibly mean when I&#39;m hormonal (you know what hormonal means), and everyone turns into my enemy. I have a penchant for saying things that come out &lt;i&gt;completely&lt;/i&gt; the wrong way.. but again, I don&#39;t apologize. I judge people based on the way they talk. I insist on being right, even when I&#39;m very, &lt;i&gt;very&lt;/i&gt; wrong. I have to have things my way. Period. And when things don&#39;t go my way, I whine and gripe about how awful the world is. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;When I&#39;m up, I&#39;m really up. And when I&#39;m down, I&#39;m really fucking down. The roller coaster ride in between is a trip.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;I care more about my books than people. I write shitty poetry that&#39;s speckled with some good. I obsess with different artists, writers, and youtubers, and push them onto other people.. then I get upset when they get noticed by the mainstream. I eat like a hog sometimes, but worry about my weight obsessively. I get wrapped up in reality television, but I get over it so soon, that I always miss the &quot;good stuff&quot;. Then I get pissed that I missed &quot;the good stuff&quot;.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;I keep my friends at arms&#39; length. I offend the hell out of people. I piss people off like it&#39;s my job.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;I live my life minute to minute... I don&#39;t deny myself any indulgence. But I do take credit for my fuck-ups. I do point out that my hair isn&#39;t symmetrical. I like the fact that I have the most vulgar mouth and thoughts of any one person I know, male or female. I&#39;m too proud, broke or not.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;And I love myself, just the way I am. So take me or leave me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;Either way, my wicked ego will always be here to keep me company.&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://avamarcea.blogspot.com/2010/01/on-imperfections.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AvaBea)</author><thr:total>1</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048674314217438987.post-7023355544819202316</guid><pubDate>Fri, 29 Jan 2010 22:52:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2012-06-08T10:10:01.049-05:00</atom:updated><title>Just the way I&#39;m supposed to be...</title><description>&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;http://www.team-captin.com/art/Clean_Freak_final.gif&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;320&quot; src=&quot;http://www.team-captin.com/art/Clean_Freak_final.gif&quot; width=&quot;320&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;I&#39;m not a stickler for absolute cleanliness. I&#39;m not. Really. But I was always brought up to believe that respecting myself is respecting my household... And when I not only let other people come in and disrespect my home or my order of things, but begin to leave disasters myself, then there&#39;s something terribly wrong. At least in my view.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;Again, I&#39;m not an OCD cleaning nazi, but I like my space, and I like my space to be relatively clutter/junk/disgusting-free. My girlfriend and I disagree on that, apparently. I respect the fact that she doesn&#39;t feel as if she should be constricted to the whole cleaning up your room thing. I know it&#39;s probably tied to the fact that most of us (meaning our generation) have probably been told twenty million times by our parents to go clean our rooms before we are punished by some means. Fine. I get that. That&#39;s totally your prerogative... But that&#39;s also why you have your own room to fuck up? Maybe I&#39;m just being mean and callous because I&#39;m hormonal, but honestly...&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;Come on.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;When I&#39;m so uncomfortable with the way that my room looks that I don&#39;t let people even peek in the door, I&#39;m too ashamed to say hey we can move this to my room, I&#39;m not even comfortable putting people&#39;s coats in my room when we&#39;re having a get-together... There&#39;s an issue. And if I&#39;m the only one seeing the issue, then it&#39;s an even bigger issue...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;I think that it bothers me the most because I feel like this is one of the many ways I&#39;ve been losing myself, my ideals, and my autonomy since I&#39;ve been here. I&#39;ve been slipping so much, and not caring about myself, what I&#39;ve accomplished, what I&#39;ve done in my life that I&#39;m beginning to fade into my queen sized plaid sheets (yes they&#39;re flannel. yes I&#39;m that gay). I think I&#39;m upset not just because of the whole trashed room thing, but because I lost so much when I came here, and now I&#39;m losing even more, when it seems like I have nothing.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;I&#39;m seriously down to nothing. I&#39;m nine bucks away from being bankrupt, and one more disappointment away from going absolutely insane. I&#39;m a recluse; my only friends are my girlfriend&#39;s and again... They&#39;re not allowed in my room so I rarely see them. I haven&#39;t had more than maybe three hours of human contact other than my girlfriend all week. I&#39;m disappearing... And I&#39;m not doing anything about it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;I don&#39;t have a really happy ending or transition for this post, so I&#39;m going to stop while I&#39;m ahead, listen to something that involves Conor Oberst (he always makes me feel better about my whining), write some sucky poetry, and continue with my grooming day.&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://avamarcea.blogspot.com/2010/01/just-way-im-supposed-to-be.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AvaBea)</author><thr:total>1</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048674314217438987.post-5367060202219000447</guid><pubDate>Thu, 28 Jan 2010 09:36:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-01-28T13:25:25.268-06:00</atom:updated><title>When the prayer breaks</title><description>&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVk1dPQ6XG34YW6IqNAsiPaTNpegZLaNm1s0_CE7gDapF10LkigKl547rhPGwbY34PVHBrttKjIxGX7Mvw9M_qA0yGLmmFiH5b4QYScT3VCRiFb6WMuChO-zdtpN93UZDhK2tZeElhYTY/s1600-h/la+pictora+025.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVk1dPQ6XG34YW6IqNAsiPaTNpegZLaNm1s0_CE7gDapF10LkigKl547rhPGwbY34PVHBrttKjIxGX7Mvw9M_qA0yGLmmFiH5b4QYScT3VCRiFb6WMuChO-zdtpN93UZDhK2tZeElhYTY/s320/la+pictora+025.jpg&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;My family never directly tells me when someone I love has died... They say things like &quot;Your aunt isn&#39;t doing very well&quot; and then it turns into &quot;I&#39;m not sure if we&#39;re going to keep fighting&quot; which magically turns into &quot;I can buy your ticket home...&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
When my grandpa died, they just told me we couldn&#39;t visit anymore. I was eight. I threw up at his funeral.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When my uncle died late last year, I thought it was the most devastating thing that had happened to me in a really fucking long time. I donno... it just comes at a complete surprise when someone is watching television with you one second, and the next is on the floor, not breathing. I was absolutely speechless, and for four days straight all I did was work, cry, lie awake, and get angry at the fact that people were claiming his things...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And I can&#39;t believe I&#39;m in the same situation, four months later.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I&#39;m not home this time to watch the things get packed up, to watch her husband fall apart. I wasn&#39;t camped out at the hospital, waiting for a doctor to tell me good news. And I feel awful. I feel like I wasn&#39;t a good niece because I wasn&#39;t there when she probably needed as many of us around as possible.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My great-great-great-uncle, my great-great-aunt and her husband all lived in one home in Washington DC. When we found out my aunt was terminally ill in &#39;08, I left Chicago, and moved into the house with my Mom and sister coming closely behind me. We have this pact, kind of, in my family: when one of us needs help, all of us come running... And that&#39;s what we did. And we also believed that things were getting better. We noticed her rapidly disappearing memory. We panicked when we thought my uncle had pneumonia and we tried to quarantine him (but he refused to stop walking/jogging in the morning and paying visits to the sick and elderly of his church). We tried to just live life normally and be everyone&#39;s source of entertainment... And we did. Until he was gone. And now she&#39;s gone... And it feels like God is picking us apart one by one.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I can&#39;t imagine dying is easy.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Neither is watching my family go.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I can&#39;t really imagine myself without any of them, with all our complicated histories, and all our stupid fights, all our experimental dinners, all our love and kindness.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;http://photos-c.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-sf2p/v78/184/7/1224210175/n1224210175_30030088_9611.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;281&quot; src=&quot;http://photos-c.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-sf2p/v78/184/7/1224210175/n1224210175_30030088_9611.jpg&quot; width=&quot;320&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: x-small;&quot;&gt;me and my grandma. the only photo i have of us in the last five years. =(&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://avamarcea.blogspot.com/2010/01/when-prayer-breaks.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AvaBea)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVk1dPQ6XG34YW6IqNAsiPaTNpegZLaNm1s0_CE7gDapF10LkigKl547rhPGwbY34PVHBrttKjIxGX7Mvw9M_qA0yGLmmFiH5b4QYScT3VCRiFb6WMuChO-zdtpN93UZDhK2tZeElhYTY/s72-c/la+pictora+025.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>2</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048674314217438987.post-1468684351368148850</guid><pubDate>Mon, 25 Jan 2010 23:32:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-01-25T17:32:39.278-06:00</atom:updated><title>I have a confession</title><description>&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFSCOMi_Ff3mPdRzZ1bUpKX0e6ptGtmEd_Zn5R_ckG24CXUYNZU87bmOIZ2wYZYc_LlFzvFY1v8R1XG4ufH9uvA1hOCjqiCLW6BZ5IWiw1I_RBeTnIu1_qgJxPU9n1CiJrTZTJ2Mxt6cA/s1600-h/Snapshotfinal_002.png&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFSCOMi_Ff3mPdRzZ1bUpKX0e6ptGtmEd_Zn5R_ckG24CXUYNZU87bmOIZ2wYZYc_LlFzvFY1v8R1XG4ufH9uvA1hOCjqiCLW6BZ5IWiw1I_RBeTnIu1_qgJxPU9n1CiJrTZTJ2Mxt6cA/s320/Snapshotfinal_002.png&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;For the past two days, nearly straight, I have been an active addict.&lt;script src=&quot;http://w.sharethis.com/button/sharethis.js#publisher=18d7056a-915c-4172-a512-824db6cd89d2&amp;amp;type=website&quot; type=&quot;text/javascript&quot;&gt;
&lt;/script&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;No. I haven&#39;t started smoking.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;No. I haven&#39;t picked up porn in months.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;No. I haven&#39;t even been shopping... In the real world at least.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Readers, browsers, stumble upon-ers...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I&#39;ve been living a &lt;a href=&quot;http://www.secondlife.com/&quot;&gt;Second Life&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Thanks to a twitter friend, I&#39;ve been secretly perusing the worlds of SL and relishing in the fact that I can live lavishly and go to thousands of places in another life.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Yes. I&#39;m that dork you see with the computer screen attached to her glasses. You may now stop reading.&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://avamarcea.blogspot.com/2010/01/i-have-confession.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AvaBea)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFSCOMi_Ff3mPdRzZ1bUpKX0e6ptGtmEd_Zn5R_ckG24CXUYNZU87bmOIZ2wYZYc_LlFzvFY1v8R1XG4ufH9uvA1hOCjqiCLW6BZ5IWiw1I_RBeTnIu1_qgJxPU9n1CiJrTZTJ2Mxt6cA/s72-c/Snapshotfinal_002.png" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048674314217438987.post-5952155278291026003</guid><pubDate>Fri, 22 Jan 2010 21:35:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-01-22T15:35:18.730-06:00</atom:updated><title>I need a trans-friend</title><description>&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: Arial; font-size: small;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-size: 13px;&quot;&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;http://media-cdn.tripadvisor.com/media/photo-s/01/5a/08/3a/burn-orange-martini-cmyk.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;320&quot; src=&quot;http://media-cdn.tripadvisor.com/media/photo-s/01/5a/08/3a/burn-orange-martini-cmyk.jpg&quot; width=&quot;320&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;\&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-size: x-small;&quot;&gt;Cosmo made from Ocala Oranges&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;This week, Karma has just been kicking. my. ass.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: Arial; font-size: small;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-size: 13px;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: Arial; font-size: small;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-size: 13px;&quot;&gt;After the fiasco with my girlfriend taking over my former roommate&#39;s part of the lease, we were left to clean up the mess of two other angry roommates segregating the space. When I walked into the apartment on Tuesday, it seriously looked like someone had come in and drawn a line through the entire space. The roommate that I was sharing a bathroom with decided she would permanently switch to the other bathroom (everything was supposedly done to give AJ and I space... Yea or sequester us), conveniently leaving her heap of trash behind. Funny.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: Arial; font-size: small;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-size: 13px;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: Arial; font-size: small;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-size: 13px;&quot;&gt;In fact, the entire situation was hilarious to me. I couldn&#39;t, for the life of me, take anything seriously this week, and I&#39;m sure that didn&#39;t help ease the tension. I still don&#39;t exactly care... But I try to at least look like I&#39;m making the effort =/&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: Arial; font-size: small;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-size: 13px;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: Arial; font-size: small;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-size: 13px;&quot;&gt;Wednesday, I wake up to a nice little email from the school, attempting to claim $582 from my rapidly drained bank account... Yea... It&#39;s just not happening. The attempt and the school thing. What is happening: plans to move.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: Arial; font-size: small;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-size: 13px;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: Arial; font-size: small;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-size: 13px;&quot;&gt;My dear interwebz pal T* has proposed I just keep moving west... And I think she&#39;s right. I&#39;m happiest when I have places to go and money to visit random places and meet random people (like my current gf). And of course when I don&#39;t have responsibilities. I&#39;m a kid of the 90&#39;s. We don&#39;t want to grow up. Ever.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: Arial; font-size: small;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-size: 13px;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: Arial; font-size: small;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-size: 13px;&quot;&gt;Which is my next issue.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: Arial; font-size: small;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-size: 13px;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: Arial; font-size: small;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-size: 13px;&quot;&gt;My mom called yesterday to tell me that my great(x3)-aunt was suffering some complications because of her&amp;nbsp;edema&amp;nbsp;in her legs or something... I can&#39;t really understand what she was saying, but pieced together what I could from my days not spent sleeping during anatomy. To make a long story short... I&#39;m afraid my entire family is dying off. Most of my family is elderly now. My nana and her sisters (including my great aunt) were all sick last year at the same time, and I&#39;m afraid that this year will be the same. They&#39;ve always been that way, for some reason. When one breaks a hip, it follows in order of birth that something equally horrible will happen to the next sister. It scares me. And I don&#39;t mean to make it sound morbid, like they have a pact or something, but it&#39;s the way things have been for always.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: Arial; font-size: small;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-size: 13px;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: Arial; font-size: small;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-size: 13px;&quot;&gt;I don&#39;t know what I will do if I lose my family.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: Arial; font-size: small;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-size: 13px;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: Arial; font-size: small;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-size: 13px;&quot;&gt;My mom has already prepared for the worst, telling me not to come home to DC because she doesn&#39;t know if we&#39;re going to have the funeral there or in our hometown (where most of my family still lives) in Florida... I don&#39;t deal well with giving up. I don&#39;t deal well with losing. I don&#39;t deal well with this.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: Arial; font-size: small;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-size: 13px;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: Arial; font-size: small;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-size: 13px;&quot;&gt;So I&#39;m putting everything aside for a while, getting myself together... Because, in order for me to stay sane, I&#39;m going to have to either work myself to death or do something drastic.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://avamarcea.blogspot.com/2010/01/i-need-trans-friend.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AvaBea)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048674314217438987.post-6607676031803719426</guid><pubDate>Thu, 21 Jan 2010 19:29:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-01-21T13:29:48.740-06:00</atom:updated><title>At the end of the day....</title><description>My life is pretty sweet. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Yeah it may not be my previous &quot;standard&quot; of acceptability, but I&#39;m finding faith in the little things. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Like friends, who, even though they&#39;re going through some shit themselves, find the time to make me perfect grilled cheese sandwiches on my birthday and stay up with me, eating Coldstone cake and skyping people in florida who stayed up waaay&amp;nbsp; past their bedtime for a few laughs. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I don&#39;t have many friends like that.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And, quite honestly, this one came at a surprise. Who knew that someone who lived and thrived in this small town could have such a big heart?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Who knew that someone as materialistic as I am could be fnding love and hope and stability with a nearly maxed out credit card and an overdrawn bank account (PS Wachovia, you kind of suck)? Who knew that with absolutely everything falling apart for me right now, that I would find solace simply lying in my love&#39;s arms and &lt;em&gt;know&lt;/em&gt; that things will eventually work out. No matter how long we have to live on nothing but dreams. No matter how many nights we spend worrying about money or roommates.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Today I start hoping that school will work out, that financial aid will give me a leg up... But even if it doesn&#39;t, my priorities are already elsewhere. I have a life to l ive. And I have things to say and write. I have a love to hold and an obligation to myself to make myself happy.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So, I know I&#39;m kind of late, but 2010... You are my year to be happy. You are my year to be safe. You are my year of exploration. And you are my year to finally, finally go after what I want.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
As soon as I figure that out.</description><link>http://avamarcea.blogspot.com/2010/01/at-end-of-day.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AvaBea)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048674314217438987.post-4836343529484888226</guid><pubDate>Sun, 17 Jan 2010 03:31:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-01-16T21:31:28.792-06:00</atom:updated><title>But I know the difference...</title><description>So.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Birthday week. A pretty big week and a pretty sweet birthday. I honestly thought that it would be like any other boring day. And I was proven wrong.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
We spent the night with a friend of my love&#39;s, and, knowing my mom would beat her to the punch of wishing me a happy birthday, my love started the party at midnight east coast time.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiskWkI1hVZ0pCuGL-81yVoy6ynOSeEyPsooVzWWzrxMSFhTo9QL6fOK2TmoLY9iVPTTGffrTFMfILQ5MmkvQfahX2RvQ3NoTWjRE9ZxwjTkU3U2djHaP6w8l3BKRbwKl9-xK56L8MlbLM/s1600-h/IMG00062-20100113-2322.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; ps=&quot;true&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiskWkI1hVZ0pCuGL-81yVoy6ynOSeEyPsooVzWWzrxMSFhTo9QL6fOK2TmoLY9iVPTTGffrTFMfILQ5MmkvQfahX2RvQ3NoTWjRE9ZxwjTkU3U2djHaP6w8l3BKRbwKl9-xK56L8MlbLM/s320/IMG00062-20100113-2322.jpg&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;i probably shouldn&#39;t take photos when i haven&#39;t slept in a while and have been crying like a little bitch.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieaFaQ1CfYWEfvlMJk4AeW_W3k51h14QTMdnFraAnhlo_B79kPJZfIQ17o-72OQdL3i131IRtS5DtCcup1Vkn78fuM4MiFqK_jQltXXUpotvm-aWhSXLwiksXdCfJeCAb66t-RlvsPv3I/s1600-h/IMG00070-20100113-2330.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; ps=&quot;true&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieaFaQ1CfYWEfvlMJk4AeW_W3k51h14QTMdnFraAnhlo_B79kPJZfIQ17o-72OQdL3i131IRtS5DtCcup1Vkn78fuM4MiFqK_jQltXXUpotvm-aWhSXLwiksXdCfJeCAb66t-RlvsPv3I/s320/IMG00070-20100113-2330.jpg&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;i got to use a big girl knife!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNR8tmD5nNi2OebNSi1SZmlUotjdrsuDuRoUVbxwfqWPATXSMH1oWJyH0IGspinp8Z7Em_tft1kLRZMGiL_VND4hw4JF9G5ONoZJ6zt2ulcWaSY1HRk2zTXRJ5L3ipoCIoLUPdM25spWk/s1600-h/IMG00066-20100113-2328.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; ps=&quot;true&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNR8tmD5nNi2OebNSi1SZmlUotjdrsuDuRoUVbxwfqWPATXSMH1oWJyH0IGspinp8Z7Em_tft1kLRZMGiL_VND4hw4JF9G5ONoZJ6zt2ulcWaSY1HRk2zTXRJ5L3ipoCIoLUPdM25spWk/s320/IMG00066-20100113-2328.jpg&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNhEV58gSgb5cpWsNcJr-Iw0L_eGFswGFre5KM3XTxUrpoZBHZsRxhj-0Z-q1kQ1KFjNBN5nI6OdAPY6fs6JEH9_xvbzxG6FHTGJDPi_5UxTis7qrwJswqfHniS8GtG_7hAppC_o0argU/s1600-h/IMG00058-20100113-2321.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; ps=&quot;true&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNhEV58gSgb5cpWsNcJr-Iw0L_eGFswGFre5KM3XTxUrpoZBHZsRxhj-0Z-q1kQ1KFjNBN5nI6OdAPY6fs6JEH9_xvbzxG6FHTGJDPi_5UxTis7qrwJswqfHniS8GtG_7hAppC_o0argU/s320/IMG00058-20100113-2321.jpg&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNsLnTCIneRHG-8dgX1korF1KSxTFdonuE0VFnPPODpn_GAgZ0ZjpqmiU46olxSj-xE-IhahzLY87QmXR3HQcWOiPLcrPoWlNCcOmhN_FBUuQZymn_UXVoFqm1nSHrQVQgyI-Eo5ANctU/s1600-h/IMG00059-20100113-2322.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; ps=&quot;true&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNsLnTCIneRHG-8dgX1korF1KSxTFdonuE0VFnPPODpn_GAgZ0ZjpqmiU46olxSj-xE-IhahzLY87QmXR3HQcWOiPLcrPoWlNCcOmhN_FBUuQZymn_UXVoFqm1nSHrQVQgyI-Eo5ANctU/s320/IMG00059-20100113-2322.jpg&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4yxDnEQIGU3cMrUDjb3Kpig6Uk7HI56UL7yhyphenhyphenxlgmsYN9G6IXxn1vWTEZdrNEAvjKrYcfMhQrA2XbbPV7Kw1r19xkMSEK1VReo3qhRvOwBwTuSodmZX_2P8AOT7tO-FxeV6LTpSKX1w8/s1600-h/IMG00060-20100113-2322.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; ps=&quot;true&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4yxDnEQIGU3cMrUDjb3Kpig6Uk7HI56UL7yhyphenhyphenxlgmsYN9G6IXxn1vWTEZdrNEAvjKrYcfMhQrA2XbbPV7Kw1r19xkMSEK1VReo3qhRvOwBwTuSodmZX_2P8AOT7tO-FxeV6LTpSKX1w8/s320/IMG00060-20100113-2322.jpg&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;apparently, these are the levels of sex appeal. especially with tequila. oh btw, that glass is called the dick.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Anyway, since Thursday, we&#39;ve been having random dinner parties (involving tequila and yummy yummy food) and I&#39;ve been treated like a little princess.. Par the usual course ;)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Toodle-lu!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
PS- seriously just watch the trailer for &lt;a href=&quot;http://www.fishoutofwaterfilm.com/&quot;&gt;this&lt;/a&gt;&amp;nbsp;and uh hit up tricia&#39;s &lt;a href=&quot;http://www.youtube.com/user/tricia025&quot;&gt;channel&lt;/a&gt; on youtube. she&#39;s a little musical genius.</description><link>http://avamarcea.blogspot.com/2010/01/but-i-know-difference.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AvaBea)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiskWkI1hVZ0pCuGL-81yVoy6ynOSeEyPsooVzWWzrxMSFhTo9QL6fOK2TmoLY9iVPTTGffrTFMfILQ5MmkvQfahX2RvQ3NoTWjRE9ZxwjTkU3U2djHaP6w8l3BKRbwKl9-xK56L8MlbLM/s72-c/IMG00062-20100113-2322.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048674314217438987.post-6369164019759791718</guid><pubDate>Wed, 13 Jan 2010 05:01:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-01-12T23:01:59.539-06:00</atom:updated><title>Time to Pretend</title><description>It&#39;s fun to pretend that nothing changes. But here&#39;s the kicker, shit changes all the time. People change, situations change, scenery changes, and--love-- changes. For better or worse, love changes in relationships and it&#39;s something that everyone has to deal with.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Earlier tonight, I read this post-secret (a little obsession of mine):&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8zdu2EbQHmycgpPutBAAI-noAzySFgTg6Sq4CxWXn2dPt8pnVbg-LfaX6fMUr8lIoMQUuU-NsY7vODRx2E0vQVSWc5dAltguWPnTCOnwcAdlqAGsglCTLAu8lMjjb1WVGoOqlPCq5uik/s1600-h/justcomfortable.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8zdu2EbQHmycgpPutBAAI-noAzySFgTg6Sq4CxWXn2dPt8pnVbg-LfaX6fMUr8lIoMQUuU-NsY7vODRx2E0vQVSWc5dAltguWPnTCOnwcAdlqAGsglCTLAu8lMjjb1WVGoOqlPCq5uik/s320/justcomfortable.jpg&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: left;&quot;&gt;And you know what? Sometimes I do get scared that I&#39;m &lt;i&gt;&#39;just comfortable&#39;&lt;/i&gt;, not just in my relationships but in every aspect of my life. Sometimes I think that I don&#39;t strive for more because I already have just enough to make it. I&#39;ve been telling my girlfriend for weeks that I&#39;m not happy with my life, but that I am going to deal with it, just cruising along until things until I feel like my life is heading toward a semblance of the old normalcy.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: left;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: left;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;I feel like a brat, a whining teen-aged girl that doesn&#39;t know how to grow up and accept that things won&#39;t always be perfect. And, you know what? I&#39;m fine with that. I think I deserve &lt;i&gt;at least&lt;/i&gt; damn-near-close-to-perfect and I won&#39;t let my life become something less than.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So yea, I&#39;m done with the bitching and complaining... But don&#39;t think that the issue has disappeared... I&#39;m just biding my time until I&#39;m back in my own element.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;script src=&quot;http://w.sharethis.com/button/sharethis.js#publisher=18d7056a-915c-4172-a512-824db6cd89d2&amp;amp;type=website&quot; type=&quot;text/javascript&quot;&gt;
I
&lt;/script&gt;</description><link>http://avamarcea.blogspot.com/2010/01/time-to-pretend.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AvaBea)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8zdu2EbQHmycgpPutBAAI-noAzySFgTg6Sq4CxWXn2dPt8pnVbg-LfaX6fMUr8lIoMQUuU-NsY7vODRx2E0vQVSWc5dAltguWPnTCOnwcAdlqAGsglCTLAu8lMjjb1WVGoOqlPCq5uik/s72-c/justcomfortable.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048674314217438987.post-3923558490943257513</guid><pubDate>Wed, 13 Jan 2010 01:31:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-01-12T19:43:13.297-06:00</atom:updated><title>T-Minus</title><description>I&#39;ve got to say, I didn&#39;t think I would actually &lt;i&gt;make&lt;/i&gt; it to 21.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But hot damn, here I am, anticipating my birthday and hoping that it isn&#39;t a complete fail.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I&#39;ve been a bit up and down about the whole ordeal. I personally know hrmm 5 people in this town that I can call a little more than acquaintance.. All of whom are Ashley&#39;s friends. Not to say they&#39;re not fabulous people but... I miss having my own little crew.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I&#39;m determined to make the best of it though. And I promise to have updates full of liquor and Scrabble photos. And compromising situations of course.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
In other news, I had a pretty okay day today. I was ridiculously bored in all my classes, but it felt so good to be in those tiny little butt-punching desks again that I didn&#39;t even mind so much that my teachers were rambling on and on about themselves. Honestly, I don&#39;t see the difference between public and private schools so far except for acreage. Most of my courses are discussion courses, not lecture, so I&#39;m still getting the same &quot;I&#39;m-a-name-not-a-number&quot; feeling without &lt;i&gt;completely&lt;/i&gt; breaking my bank or credit score with loans.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Oh- one thing that makes things kind of okay... 3 out of&amp;nbsp; of my professors are OVERTLY gay.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dammit, I just reel them in.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;script src=&quot;http://w.sharethis.com/button/sharethis.js#publisher=18d7056a-915c-4172-a512-824db6cd89d2&amp;amp;type=website&quot; type=&quot;text/javascript&quot;&gt;
I
&lt;/script&gt;</description><link>http://avamarcea.blogspot.com/2010/01/t-minus.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AvaBea)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048674314217438987.post-5387057003903917004</guid><pubDate>Sat, 09 Jan 2010 00:30:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-01-08T18:31:00.457-06:00</atom:updated><title>Be my roommate. Please.</title><description>I am officially bumming it out.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I have a job interview tomorrow... Although I&#39;ve never heard of having a job interview on a Saturday, so I&#39;m skeptical about this prospect. But I need cash. Quick, fast, and in a hurry. So, to refrain from giving into stripping for a while-- even though I think I&#39;d be a pretty rad stripper, I&#39;m going to this interview. At a pub. On a Saturday.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But I&#39;d be a pretty rad stripper.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Anyway, that&#39;s the only real update I have on life. I&#39;ve been sitting here, staring at my laptop screen for... Hm... At least 8 days. I&#39;ve been avoiding drama as much as I can and getting more use out of my bed than I thought I&#39;d ever be comfortable with. I&#39;ve been devouring Lunchables and Yoplait (even though I really, really wanted Greek yogurt instead- but that&#39;s another boring story) and anything I can get my hands on that doesn&#39;t make me feel overtly obese.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I&#39;ve been a cow, basically.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I&#39;ve also been contemplating making moves. I started apartment searching for places in the city... But then I thought &lt;i&gt;how the fuck am I going to get all of my stuff to Chicago?&lt;/i&gt; and then &lt;i&gt;what if I can only find a really homophobic roommate?&lt;/i&gt; and then &lt;i&gt;maybe I can show them Ky&#39;s film and they&#39;ll back off a little. Hopefully not six weeks down the line&lt;/i&gt;. and then I took a nap. Because thinking just wastes too much energy these days.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So, if you&#39;re out there and you&#39;re queer or queer-friendly and you need a roommate, please find me? Let the universe be your guide.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;script src=&quot;http://w.sharethis.com/button/sharethis.js#publisher=18d7056a-915c-4172-a512-824db6cd89d2&amp;amp;type=website&quot; type=&quot;text/javascript&quot;&gt;
I
&lt;/script&gt;</description><link>http://avamarcea.blogspot.com/2010/01/be-my-roommate-please.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AvaBea)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048674314217438987.post-6298861819381686211</guid><pubDate>Fri, 08 Jan 2010 12:37:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-01-08T18:43:18.535-06:00</atom:updated><title></title><description>So sidebar.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I have a pretty rad job. I work for &lt;a href=&quot;http://www.fishoutofwaterfilm.com/&quot;&gt;Ky Dickens&lt;/a&gt;, a film maker and director, who has a new film &lt;i&gt;Fish Out of Water&lt;/i&gt;.I&#39;m going on &lt;a href=&quot;http://greatamericanouting.com/&quot;&gt;tour&lt;/a&gt; with said awesomeness this summer and you should (pretty please) do these few things:&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Click the links above&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Check to see if your city is on the map&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;If it is, LET ME KNOW so we can meet up&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;RETWEET my tweets about the film and the tour&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;And, of course, have an awesome day =)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;script src=&quot;http://w.sharethis.com/button/sharethis.js#publisher=18d7056a-915c-4172-a512-824db6cd89d2&amp;amp;type=website&quot; type=&quot;text/javascript&quot;&gt;
&lt;/script&gt;</description><link>http://avamarcea.blogspot.com/2010/01/so-sidebar.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AvaBea)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048674314217438987.post-2010548247134118558</guid><pubDate>Fri, 08 Jan 2010 06:57:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-01-08T00:57:37.911-06:00</atom:updated><title>My girlfriend likes plans</title><description>Right now, I&#39;m living on dreams and a lack of passion.&amp;nbsp; I&#39;m &lt;i&gt;trying &lt;/i&gt;to motivate myself to find a new job. And possibly a new apartment in the city. But, right now, I want to enjoy myself in the last couple of weeks before I have to take real responsibility for myself and my life.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I don&#39;t really have a game plan. I don&#39;t think anyone is understanding that it&#39;s not exactly the way that I live. I have one general goal in life that&#39;s so far down the road I haven&#39;t even started on that journey-- and I&#39;m not worrying myself to death about anything else.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Yea, plans fall through. Things change. People change. Attitudes change.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
What&lt;i&gt; isn&#39;t&lt;/i&gt; changing is my ambition and the fact that I know things are going to work out in the end. I know myself. I know that I&#39;ll probably leave this town and I&#39;ll love the life I imagine I will be able to live in the city. I know I&#39;ll miss sleeping next to my girlfriend. But I know that there will be many a night that I will spend in her arms. I know that I&#39;ll try to make myself as busy as possible. I know that I will become obsessed with being financially secure and I&#39;ll work myself to death to make sure that I can keep house &lt;i&gt;and&lt;/i&gt; travel back and forth to Normal.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I want to make things work here. I want to be able to do things without feeling constricted.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And honestly, I knew what I was getting into when I decided to move here. But I thought, and still do sometimes think, that love was enough to keep the world out, to make and keep everything perfect.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Well, now my vacation&#39;s over. I have to face reality and act like a grown-up.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But I don&#39;t live my life in lists. I don&#39;t answer to anyone but myself. And when I feel like my back is against the wall, that&#39;s when I&#39;ll make my move and &lt;i&gt;I&lt;/i&gt; am the only one who can and will decide when that move is coming.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So. Out of normalcy and into the fire. I&#39;m ready.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;script src=&quot;http://w.sharethis.com/button/sharethis.js#publisher=18d7056a-915c-4172-a512-824db6cd89d2&amp;amp;type=website&quot; type=&quot;text/javascript&quot;&gt;
&lt;/script&gt;</description><link>http://avamarcea.blogspot.com/2010/01/my-girlfriend-likes-plans.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AvaBea)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048674314217438987.post-4354581150669041647</guid><pubDate>Thu, 07 Jan 2010 00:28:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-01-06T18:28:47.333-06:00</atom:updated><title>DJ Earworm</title><description>I&#39;m pretty late. I&#39;m just discovering this world of mash-ups.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
These are my favs, so far:&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;br /&gt;
I promise I&#39;ll write a real post soon. Right now, I&#39;m just devouring books and filling up my bookshelves.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;script src=&quot;http://w.sharethis.com/button/sharethis.js#publisher=18d7056a-915c-4172-a512-824db6cd89d2&amp;amp;type=website&quot; type=&quot;text/javascript&quot;&gt;&lt;/script&gt;</description><link>http://avamarcea.blogspot.com/2010/01/dj-earworm.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AvaBea)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048674314217438987.post-8048627809797112273</guid><pubDate>Tue, 05 Jan 2010 19:05:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-01-05T13:06:14.729-06:00</atom:updated><title>Bam</title><description>And just like that, new minimum wage opportunities have presented themselves.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Did I mention that I still haven&#39;t technically &lt;i&gt;quit&lt;/i&gt; my last job? I just kinda haven&#39;t... gone in... to work...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Anyway, I&#39;ve been completely bumming it out, watching &lt;a href=&quot;http://www.youtube.com/user/babybeaverbunch&quot;&gt;youtube &lt;/a&gt;videos and making new friends on the &lt;a href=&quot;http://www.twitter.com/avainfinite&quot;&gt;interwebs&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So, in a nutshell, that is my life right now. I&#39;m writing in a journal that is falling apart and waiting anxiously for about a dozen packages to come in before I go to LA. Come on USPS, UPS, and FedEx-- gimme a break.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But since I have absolutely nothing to talk about, I shall not waste your valuable blog-reading time. Here&#39;s a few HA-larious videos to tide you over&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;object height=&quot;344&quot; width=&quot;425&quot;&gt;&lt;param name=&quot;movie&quot; value=&quot;http://www.youtube.com/v/zaT5qyVQnBY&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;&quot;&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name=&quot;allowFullScreen&quot; value=&quot;true&quot;&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name=&quot;allowscriptaccess&quot; value=&quot;always&quot;&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src=&quot;http://www.youtube.com/v/zaT5qyVQnBY&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;&quot; type=&quot;application/x-shockwave-flash&quot; allowscriptaccess=&quot;always&quot; allowfullscreen=&quot;true&quot; width=&quot;425&quot; height=&quot;344&quot;&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Toodles til I do something with my life</description><link>http://avamarcea.blogspot.com/2010/01/bam.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AvaBea)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048674314217438987.post-1759577347212141271</guid><pubDate>Sat, 02 Jan 2010 20:45:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-01-02T15:36:04.845-06:00</atom:updated><title>Recap: Lez Lost In the City Part Deux</title><description>Title: How I Played Hookie and Bummed it Up in&lt;br /&gt;
Chicago, IL&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
December 31st &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Yesterday, I was homeless. And jobless. I rode the trains for eight hours with my love and I didn&#39;t wish for a bed. I guess I should start at the beginning...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
After my wonderful &quot;interview&quot;, which really just turned out to be a lunch date that I was way overdressed for, I went out with Amour and my love. We shopped a little, ate a little, and laughed an awful lot. And because of all our tomfoolery- and my inability to watch the clock- I missed my 7 o&#39;clock train back to responsibility and the corn fields. So Ashley and I, after realizing there was &lt;i&gt;no&lt;/i&gt; way we were going to make it to Union Station before my train pulled off... We just decided to enjoy my being in the city.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
We called Amour to tell her that I was stuck here and she was stuck with me. Ashley also called one of her friends to tell her we were coming over so she could meet me... We didn&#39;t go over there... But that&#39;s an entirely different story. We hopped in the car with Amour to do god knows what with her Southside attitude quasi-girlfriend. At first, I was a little apprehensive because, walking in, I was met with question marks and blank faces. It was obvious that &lt;i&gt;one of us was not like the oooothers&lt;/i&gt;. But you know what I do in uncomfortable situations? I laugh until everyone else feels they can laugh with me. Besides, I was with the two people I loved most in the city, I had had a really amazing day, and I was at a party... kind of. We had to hop back in the car, though, to go grab alcohol and that was a battle in and of itself. Somehow, six of us thought we could all fit into Amour&#39;s &quot;Lexus&quot; tat should really only hold four people and one small dog. I sat squished between my girlfriend&#39;s lap and the roof, cursing God for the new addition to my backside. I was a jerk to the rest of the car though. I didn&#39;t try to make conversation and I judged them a little harshly. But honestly, who says &quot;Hold my dick&quot; when they want you to hold their cigarellos? I wasn&#39;t feeling in my element. I wasn&#39;t feeling welcome, either. But when we got back to the house, Amour, my love, and I had girl talk for a little while (it was Amour&#39;s first day meeting my girlfriend, so the questioning got a weeeee bit personal), and I started to feel a little better. The rest of he party came in, drinks in hand. I&#39;m not sure if it was the liquor or my girlfriend&#39;s smack-talking abilities while playing Spades. but it seemed like, within half an hour, the thick tension-filled atmosphere became easy and free. It was a party.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I spent the night trying to be on my P&#39;s and Q&#39;s about too much PDA though and it kind of got hard (pun intended) at times to hide the fact that I really, really wanted my girlfriend. But everyone seemed pretty cool with it. Especially our host&#39;s elder sister, who suggested Ashley and I go in the bathroom for a quickie. Amour&#39;s quasi-girlfriend... I didn&#39;t know about her opinion on the touchy-feely. She kept looking in our direction and I didn&#39;t know if it was because she wanted us to stop or because she wished she was doing the same thing. I don&#39;t mean to seem all-knowing or as if I have an absolutely perfect, model relationship... But I know that she and Amour have been having problems... And that night I felt like my love and I were teaching her a lot about genuine affection, not just making out.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But more on that later.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
We actually had a &lt;i&gt;lot&lt;/i&gt; of fun. So shoutout to: Quitta, Amour, Nene, Qwame, Kyosha, Ryan, and Chauncey (even though I only saw the back of your head the entire time lol)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
We left with all lovers in arms. I hated to see it, but Amour and Q actually seemed really in love. I&#39;ll have to friend her on FB.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Anyway, after we left the party, Amour dropped us off at Ashley&#39;s best friend&#39;s house... Ashley hadn&#39;t seen him in forever, but assured me it was cool that we were crashing on his couch. We didn&#39;t get there until like 1AM, but he was up talking with someone until almost 2, so I didn&#39;t feel so guilty. We chatted a bit, but he had to leave early in te morning for something so we cut it short. We work up in a tangle of sweat and blankets and legs and sexual frustration. It was after noon and we were officially bums. I mean we looked and probably smelled like &lt;i&gt;bums&lt;/i&gt; and we waited for a ride to her home... But it turned out her mother locked us out so the plans changed to... ME MEETING HER MOTHER. And as if that wasn&#39;t scary enough, we were meeting her at church... Actually at the reception for a funeral. Grandtastic. Not only was I meeting Ashley&#39;s mother, who intimidates the bejeezus out of me, I was meeting her at one of &lt;i&gt;the most personal&lt;/i&gt; events I could imagine. After not showering or changing. After keeping her daughter out all night. so &quot;how would you like to meet my mom&quot; was met with deer-in-headlight eyes and &quot;holy shit no thank you&quot;. But we went. And it was actually quite awkward. We sat in the reception for a while. I watched and stood with Ashley as she greeted old friends and talked with her family. for the most part, I wasn&#39;t really acknowledge outside of introductions. I was kind of pushed to the background, which is fine by me. I mean, the alternative could very well have been You&#39;re going to &lt;i&gt;HELL&lt;/i&gt; you filthy sinner!!&quot; So I took it. After enough awkwardness to last the rest of eternity, Ashley got the keys to the car so that we could sit outside while the friends and family of the deceased had dinner. I seriously sat with my hands in my lap and wrote depressing entries like the *&lt;a href=&quot;http://avamarcea.blogspot.com/2009/12/recap-lez-lost-in-city.html&quot;&gt;this one&lt;/a&gt;* to pass the time. I didn&#39;t want to have one hair out of line in case Momma Bear went nuts on me. We were planning on going to see Avatar after we picked up some things from her home, so when her mom finally came to the driver&#39;s door, we breathed a sigh of relief. One step closer to Avatar 3D =) The car ride was actually kind of awkward for me. I didn&#39;t know if I should try sparking up conversation or just sit in the back and try to blend in with the seat and just hope that I didn&#39;t accidentally choke myself with the seat belt. Her mom made it easy. She just called one of her friends every time Ashley got out of the car to pick something up or any time there was a lull or lapse in conversation. That suited me fine. I had my music blasting every second of the awkwardness because I learned at a young age that when I&#39;m in compromising or awkward situations... It&#39;s just best for me to occupy myself and ignore my surroundings.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
We finally got the hell out of dodge after stocking my bag with candy and snacks for the movie. Avatar 3D (yea you&#39;re gonna get sick of me saying it) at the River East theatre was... Just fucking awesome. i had a headache at the end, but I was also shocked and amazed that it lived up to the hype. I seriously enjoyed every single solitary second of that film. &lt;i&gt;Every&lt;/i&gt; second.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But... After te film, life become a little complicated. Ashley and I flipped through our phone books to try to find a friend to stay the night with... And came up empty. Everyone I knew was an ex or out of town and everyone she knew... Was an ex or out of town. Stephen, the friend we had stayed with the night before, was out and about... And there was really no one else answering the phone. So, we decided, after a very formal &quot;Don&#39;t come home with company&quot; call from her mother to just ride the red line for the remainder of the night or until someone rescued us. We rode back and forth until five the next morning. Maybe it was our secret, underneath our breath prayers to God, Eywa, Buddha- which ever deity was on duty that night- that finally got us the phone call from her Dad... But it was like a blessed event. He yelled at us for being so stupid and not calling the house when we couldn&#39;t reach his cell pone. I was glad to be yelled at. It was five something by the time we actually began the journey to his home and 6:13 when we walked in the door of the home he shared with his girlfriend, who was actually the one to pick us up. Not saying that the train ride was absolutely terrible, I was so deliriously happy to be on cushioned, warm seats that I didn&#39;t really know what to do with myself or what was going on. Her dad&#39;s girlfriend was pretty awesome. She was such a genuinely cheerful and happy person, and while that&#39;s not usually my cup of tea so early in the morning... It was a breath of fresh air that was really needed. She was the first adult in the family to recognize, acknowledge, and, I felt, bless our relationship. She saw our picture on my phone&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;http://photos-a.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc3/hs121.snc3/16834_1208483289732_1158180003_30524564_2614713_n.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;240&quot; src=&quot;http://photos-a.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc3/hs121.snc3/16834_1208483289732_1158180003_30524564_2614713_n.jpg&quot; width=&quot;320&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: left;&quot;&gt;and she didn&#39;t care. She awwwed and ooooohed and said it was cute. My kinda lady ;) &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Again, the train experience wasn&#39;t bad. Ashley and I got to talk about any and everything and I got to have this experience with someone I love and who is utterly in love with me. It was good for us. I felt so much happier stranded on the train with her than I feel when we&#39;re in this godforsaken shithole.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Today was mundane.. A rest period I&#39;d call it. We went to grab my train ticket back to Normal, then went to spend some time with her cousins Toiya (slap me if I spell it wrong) and David. It was actually pretty rad, a good way to end my stay =) David and I talked about the philosophy (theory) and psychology (science) behind readers&#39; views of an author&#39;s message. He had a lot of interesting things to say and I definitely can&#39;t wait to pick his brain again.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Which I guess means I&#39;m sticking with her family. And I&#39;m making them love me. Dammit.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Anyway, I&#39;m on the train home now.&amp;nbsp; And I&#39;m accepting Ashley&#39;s facebook relationship request. And I&#39;m.. Falling in love all over again with my girlfriend.</description><link>http://avamarcea.blogspot.com/2009/12/recap-lez-lost-in-city-part-deux.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AvaBea)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048674314217438987.post-1846044000991677531</guid><pubDate>Sat, 02 Jan 2010 18:35:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-01-02T14:46:09.162-06:00</atom:updated><title>Recap: Lez Lost In the City</title><description>I have no idea what I&#39;m doing here. I have no place to stay and no funds to offer for lodging or favors. I&#39;m completely out of my element, waiting for my not so openly out girlfriend&#39;s mother to come to the car so that I can begin the awkward journey to her home... I&#39;m not staying. I have no plans. I don&#39;t even think that I have a job at this moment. I&#39;m kind of just drifting... And hoping that things will work out in the end.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
My interview/group session yesterday went fantastically =) I think I got tired and intimidated toward the end and just let Kira steal the show.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I just want a chance to be involved with something great.</description><link>http://avamarcea.blogspot.com/2009/12/recap-lez-lost-in-city.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AvaBea)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048674314217438987.post-250922078477682904</guid><pubDate>Fri, 01 Jan 2010 17:26:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-01-01T11:26:36.927-06:00</atom:updated><title></title><description>&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;http://photos-a.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-sf2p/v149/238/38/1149751160/n1149751160_30816974_9725.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;478&quot; src=&quot;http://photos-a.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-sf2p/v149/238/38/1149751160/n1149751160_30816974_9725.jpg&quot; width=&quot;640&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://avamarcea.blogspot.com/2010/01/blog-post.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AvaBea)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048674314217438987.post-1954159948985123613</guid><pubDate>Tue, 29 Dec 2009 00:39:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-12-28T18:39:30.843-06:00</atom:updated><title>A+</title><description>Today was a good day.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I smiled. I hoped. I found out that one of my favorite bands&#39; songs is on full blast at Old Navy.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Okay maybe that wasn&#39;t so good. Seriously, Tegan and Sara? I mean it&#39;s one thing to sell to Coldstone. They&#39;re like a fucking... Luxury ice cream place. But Old Navy? Home of distressed jeans and $3.99 shirts? Tsk on you. But I do love hearing your voices in the middle of a shit day =)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I think my coworker has a crush on me. And I also think she is an elf. But that&#39;s beside the point. What matters is that she only wants to work when I (pretend to) work and that&#39;s dangerous. Everybody and their mother knows that this ring is holding the place for a bigger bling bling ring so one would think that would scare people off... Nope.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I felt a little bit safer today and more in my element. Maybe because I got *mostly* amazing customers, but also because I was working with Brian, who never sends me to lunch or home late, who always asks if I need anything anytime he&#39;s in the vicinity, and who always has a &lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;genuine&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt; smile plastered on his face. Plus, he&#39;s a super cutey-patootie elf creature who constantly has that &quot;I-Just-Got-Married-and-We&#39;re-Still-Sexing-Like-Rabbits&quot; look on his face.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Gotta love Brian.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I met some pretty rad twitterlings last night. Shoutout to:&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
@       &lt;span class=&quot;label screenname&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;http://twitter.com/SecondBecky&quot; hreflang=&quot;en&quot; title=&quot;SecondBecky&quot;&gt;SecondBecky&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
@       &lt;span class=&quot;label screenname&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;http://twitter.com/Julio_Angel&quot; hreflang=&quot;en&quot; title=&quot;Julio_Angel&quot;&gt;Julio_Angel&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
@&lt;span class=&quot;label screenname&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;http://twitter.com/arielleisnow&quot; hreflang=&quot;en&quot; title=&quot;arielleisnow&quot;&gt;arielleisnow&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;label screenname&quot;&gt;and @&lt;/span&gt;       &lt;span class=&quot;label screenname&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;http://twitter.com/leslovelifelust&quot; hreflang=&quot;en&quot; title=&quot;leslovelifelust&quot;&gt;leslovelifelust&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;label screenname&quot;&gt;who all share my hate of snow, love for the city, and envy of &lt;i&gt;warm&lt;/i&gt; sunshine.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;label screenname&quot;&gt;That&#39;s all folks.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;</description><link>http://avamarcea.blogspot.com/2009/12/blog-post.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AvaBea)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048674314217438987.post-1605453179497584235</guid><pubDate>Mon, 28 Dec 2009 00:35:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-12-27T18:36:01.391-06:00</atom:updated><title>Fashionista. NOT</title><description>&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;http://ny-image0.etsy.com//il_430xN.110340636.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;320&quot; src=&quot;http://ny-image0.etsy.com//il_430xN.110340636.jpg&quot; width=&quot;320&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;So things are finally, finally set for the informal interview on Tuesday. I&#39;m kind of excited, but kind of FREAKED out at the same time. Since K*&#39;s car is kind of... Gone... We&#39;re meeting at a restaurant that was kind of like my second home when I lived with S*. Fuck my life. I was more than happy not even going back up to the Edgewater/Andersonville area (save trips to &lt;a href=&quot;http://www.womenandchildrenfirst.com/&quot;&gt;Women and Children First &lt;/a&gt;) and dammit now I&#39;m within &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;50 meters of absolute insanity and I have no idea whether I should joke it off and forget that she exists... Or wear sunglasses and a bomber hoodie.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
In other news, I&#39;m having a wardrobe crisis. What the hell do I wear to this completely informal interview that will still say &quot;Hey you better not forget about me because this outfit rocked both of our tiny little worlds&quot;?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I have this shirt I just bought:&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;a href=&quot;http://www.thelimited.com/detail/ultra-pleated-shirt/4522006&quot;&gt;Ultra Pleated Shirt&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
that looks so much better on me than this mannequin. I&#39;ll upload photos later ;)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And this one:&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;a href=&quot;http://www.thelimited.com/detail/ruffle-neck-top/5314455&quot;&gt;Ruffle Neck Top&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Which&amp;nbsp; makes me feel like I&#39;m going to a holiday party...&amp;nbsp; And I have an assortment of black. Pure black waves in my closet. I&#39;m screwed, completely screwed lol and AM IN DESPERATE NEED of a fashion consultant.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I wish my gay best friend was fashion smart =(</description><link>http://avamarcea.blogspot.com/2009/12/so-things-are-finally-finally-set-for.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AvaBea)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048674314217438987.post-5697936809570168335</guid><pubDate>Sun, 27 Dec 2009 08:19:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-12-27T02:25:05.526-06:00</atom:updated><title>Gud.Ness.Gray.Shus.</title><description>I&#39;m pretty lax these days, contemplating life movements and restoring hopes. I hate to do New Years Resolutions, but by golly, this may just be the year to stick it to my inability to follow through with things (more on that later).&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
My list so far:&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
1) write every day, no matter if it&#39;s only as small as repeating my name or a word on a page&lt;br /&gt;
2) make a weekly commitment to create- food, decoupage, scrapbooking, whatever&lt;br /&gt;
3) make a positive effort to meet more people and make more&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt; friends&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
4) blog at least four to five days a week&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
5) seek. counseling. and make an effort to open myself up not only in the privacy of counsel, but in the open air of community&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Good, yea?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Anyway, as I&#39;ve probably dramatically lamented about before, it&#39;s been a pretty rough time around these parts.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But things have been slowly picking up. The good thing about not getting a paycheck on time is that when the next pay period comes around, I have more dough to blow (yea I said it) on things such as these:&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href=&quot;http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/413RJRW4Y3L._BO2,204,203,200_PIsitb-sticker-arrow-click,TopRight,35,-76_AA240_SH20_OU01_.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; src=&quot;http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/413RJRW4Y3L._BO2,204,203,200_PIsitb-sticker-arrow-click,TopRight,35,-76_AA240_SH20_OU01_.jpg&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href=&quot;http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51YV1D6GHGL._BO2,204,203,200_PIsitb-sticker-arrow-click,TopRight,35,-76_AA240_SH20_OU01_.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; src=&quot;http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51YV1D6GHGL._BO2,204,203,200_PIsitb-sticker-arrow-click,TopRight,35,-76_AA240_SH20_OU01_.jpg&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;and most especially, this guy:&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;http://ny-image0.etsy.com/il_430xN.86367584.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;320&quot; src=&quot;http://ny-image0.etsy.com/il_430xN.86367584.jpg&quot; width=&quot;240&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: left;&quot;&gt;I&#39;m telling you, when I spend, I go hard, homie. I&#39;m already planning on blowing my next check. Either the tattoo I keep tring to psych myself into getting from an artist OTHER than the artist&amp;nbsp; I love at home... Or on decorating the hell out of my room with &lt;a href=&quot;http://www.etsy.com/profile.php?user_id=8831937&quot;&gt;these&lt;/a&gt;. Dammit Etsy, stay out of my head!&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: left;&quot;&gt;And speaking of things that get in your head, today&#39;s discovery is that Starbucks Espresso shot Light is a mindfuck and gives the simulation of a caffeine high, but wears off within minutes, ruining one&#39;s buzz and making them crankier than they were before the supposed caffeine injection.&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: left;&quot;&gt;No one should be able to sell that stuff.&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: left;&quot;&gt;As a result of my caffeine low, I snapped a few times at the stupid bitch I&#39;ve mentioned before. Jeez oh pete. Give a mouse a freaking crumb...&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: left;&quot;&gt;Apparently she&#39;s in training to be a cash handler, which means absolutely nothing to me except that she can get my change and check my bag when I leave. Maybe she got a raise, too, who knows? But when you give crazy bitches power, it goes to their heads. Take Jane. Once she obtained an actual title, she began dishing orders that are usually reserved for people with the titles ending in &quot;manager&quot;.&amp;nbsp; I wasn&#39;t aware of said advancement in retail hell, so I treated her like I always treated her... I ignored the hell out of her.&amp;nbsp; And apparently that pisses Jane off to no end. I didn&#39;t notice.. Because I ignored the hell out of her.&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: left;&quot;&gt;Well, today, she offered unwanted and unneeded information like she always does. She jumped into conversations between myself and my customers. She pissed me off. So I cut her off. And pushed her to the other side of the room.&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: left;&quot;&gt;And knowing that Jane isn&#39;t the best to listen to when it comes to important things... I probably shouldn&#39;t have listened when she said that Mandy had come in to take over for me... I should have probably radioed to find out if her statement was actually valid or if I would be on a perpetual shit list for listening to her... But then I wouldn&#39;t have been able to witness the ACTUAL managers completely tear her apart.&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: left;&quot;&gt;It was fun. I felt better about life. And I got over everything.&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: left;&quot;&gt;Anyway, someone put my sucky Christmas into perspective. I wish that I had known about it sooner. I would have spent the day.. doing something other than feeling sorry for myself.&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: left;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;http://www.pantagraph.com/news/local/article_c6066fc6-f27f-11de-bf3e-001cc4c002e0.html&quot;&gt;Read the story here...&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: left;&quot;&gt;And to all a good night.&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://avamarcea.blogspot.com/2009/12/gudnessgrayshus.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AvaBea)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item></channel></rss>