<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?>
<?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" media="screen" href="/~d/styles/atom10full.xsl"?><?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" media="screen" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/itemcontent.css"?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearch/1.1/" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" gd:etag="W/&quot;A0IGQXszeSp7ImA9WhRaF00.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744706971086722473</id><updated>2012-02-19T22:45:20.581-05:00</updated><category term="Me" /><category term="love aaj kal" /><category term="relationship" /><category term="believe" /><category term="hurt" /><category term="movies" /><category term="2011" /><category term="Philly" /><category term="Friends" /><category term="wait" /><category term="boys" /><category term="selfish" /><category term="grapevine" /><category term="winter" /><category term="90's" /><category term="Hit" /><category term="Crêpes India Germany" /><category term="Forget" /><category term="bff" /><category term="2012" /><category term="summer" /><category term="wave. recession" /><category term="travel" /><category term="dying" /><category term="Songs" /><category term="memories" /><category term="push" /><category term="cheating" /><category term="pooja" /><category term="not" /><category term="limits" /><category term="bachelor" /><category term="girl" /><category term="new year" /><category term="Forgive" /><category term="what is" /><category term="sorry" /><category term="nothingness" /><category term="like" /><category term="living" /><category term="dating" /><category term="Home" /><category term="hero" /><category term="India" /><category term="work" /><category term="past" /><category term="romance" /><category term="future" /><category term="eyes" /><category term="silence" /><category term="Happy" /><category term="freaking" /><category term="old" /><category term="Marie" /><category term="Rob" /><category term="vacation" /><category term="talk" /><category term="None" /><category term="Birthday." /><category term="random" /><category term="college" /><category term="bollywood" /><category term="2010" /><category term="geetika" /><category term="communication" /><category term="chances" /><category term="ugly truth" /><category term="fuck you" /><category term="curve" /><category term="time" /><category term="life" /><category term="80's" /><category term="stages" /><category term="Germany" /><category term="Thank you" /><category term="people" /><category term="cold" /><category term="Neuschwanstein castle" /><category term="Sad" /><category term="twitter" /><category term="bachelorette" /><category term="portland" /><category term="Damien Rice" /><category term="love stories" /><category term="house" /><category term="Bavaria" /><category term="emotional" /><category term="why" /><category term="remember" /><category term="blogging" /><category term="love" /><category term="human" /><category term="best friend" /><category term="Maciek" /><title>Girl Talk</title><subtitle type="html" /><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/" /><link rel="next" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false&amp;v=2" /><author><name>NicelyStupid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02787970299291354915</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nGDKvKy-ayw/TFp3G1_FKPI/AAAAAAAAAqU/AZKvy7oLxfE/S220/rome1.jpg" /></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>328</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/blogspot/fDxo" /><feedburner:info uri="blogspot/fdxo" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0IGQXszcSp7ImA9WhRaF00.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744706971086722473.post-3457400452321454163</id><published>2012-02-19T22:45:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-02-19T22:45:20.589-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-02-19T22:45:20.589-05:00</app:edited><title>Sensitive? Insensitive?</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/3457400452321454163/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6744706971086722473&amp;postID=3457400452321454163" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/3457400452321454163?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/3457400452321454163?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~3/0NFdrjHwkm0/sensitive-insensitive.html" title="Sensitive? Insensitive?" /><author><name>NicelyStupid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02787970299291354915</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nGDKvKy-ayw/TFp3G1_FKPI/AAAAAAAAAqU/AZKvy7oLxfE/S220/rome1.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">The truth of the matter is I am not a very sensitive person. Every time a friends or anyone tells me what's going on with their life, I don't feel very sad or upset for them. More often than not I end up saying, "Suck it up, you think this is bad?"

I don't know what kind of a person that makes me? I don't like my close friends being all sweet and nice. It drive me crazy. I like the blunt, point 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Br9r39iDzphMdwDKLg5mW9T7CZ0/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Br9r39iDzphMdwDKLg5mW9T7CZ0/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Br9r39iDzphMdwDKLg5mW9T7CZ0/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Br9r39iDzphMdwDKLg5mW9T7CZ0/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~4/0NFdrjHwkm0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/2012/02/sensitive-insensitive.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ak4FQ3c9eCp7ImA9WhRXF0o.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744706971086722473.post-7059249966317835881</id><published>2011-12-24T21:08:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-24T21:08:32.960-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-24T21:08:32.960-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="work" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="blogging" /><title>Two months later</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/7059249966317835881/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6744706971086722473&amp;postID=7059249966317835881" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/7059249966317835881?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/7059249966317835881?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~3/_FPBmD7cNAA/two-months-later.html" title="Two months later" /><author><name>NicelyStupid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02787970299291354915</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nGDKvKy-ayw/TFp3G1_FKPI/AAAAAAAAAqU/AZKvy7oLxfE/S220/rome1.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">It's been two months since I last wrote. Probably the longest I have ever gone without saying anything here.


I was just doing my normal browsing, watching random movies bit right now. Not working or answering emails for a change (everyone seems to be out of office for a week or so, hence I get the honor of not replying to emails or working this weekend). And then I thought, what did I do 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/4xiRhs_iOHEI8-VxozbK2_jx8b4/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/4xiRhs_iOHEI8-VxozbK2_jx8b4/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/4xiRhs_iOHEI8-VxozbK2_jx8b4/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/4xiRhs_iOHEI8-VxozbK2_jx8b4/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~4/_FPBmD7cNAA" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/2011/12/two-months-later.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEUFRn4-eCp7ImA9WhRTEEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744706971086722473.post-2019441635733640251</id><published>2011-10-31T16:16:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-10-31T16:16:57.050-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-10-31T16:16:57.050-04:00</app:edited><title>Happy Birthday Shahrukh</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/2019441635733640251/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6744706971086722473&amp;postID=2019441635733640251" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/2019441635733640251?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/2019441635733640251?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~3/XCUeMW1PBFA/happy-birthday-shahrukh.html" title="Happy Birthday Shahrukh" /><author><name>NicelyStupid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02787970299291354915</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nGDKvKy-ayw/TFp3G1_FKPI/AAAAAAAAAqU/AZKvy7oLxfE/S220/rome1.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">It boggles me how I am very unromantic and in real life, but then I see Shahrukh on TV as Raj and Rahul and the utter hopeless romantic in me starts dreaming and beaming.

I was just watching the making of DDLJ and nostalgia encapsulated with the love so rare, empowered me. I don't  know how just looking at Raj smile and saying, "Tujhe dekha toh ye jaana sanam, pyaar hota hai deewana sanam," 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/W9Kg4Iled98k9qac53-9_GpfiTw/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/W9Kg4Iled98k9qac53-9_GpfiTw/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/W9Kg4Iled98k9qac53-9_GpfiTw/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/W9Kg4Iled98k9qac53-9_GpfiTw/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~4/XCUeMW1PBFA" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/2011/10/happy-birthday-shahrukh.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0cAQnk6eyp7ImA9WhdRFkQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744706971086722473.post-2469957482374888829</id><published>2011-08-07T00:24:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-08-07T00:24:03.713-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-08-07T00:24:03.713-04:00</app:edited><title>The way it is</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/2469957482374888829/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6744706971086722473&amp;postID=2469957482374888829" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/2469957482374888829?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/2469957482374888829?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~3/3ISWR-PwDIQ/way-it-is.html" title="The way it is" /><author><name>NicelyStupid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02787970299291354915</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nGDKvKy-ayw/TFp3G1_FKPI/AAAAAAAAAqU/AZKvy7oLxfE/S220/rome1.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">When you are miles away from people, it gets harder with every day to communicate.

In today's day and world, we have made it very easy for people to stay in touch. There is Facebook, and cellphones, and IM and all that jazz, that is almost an easy and a free mode to communicate. Yet, communication, is what we always lack in, somehow or the other.

You can spend years with someone living in the 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/k3z6HQ2GyaKg9M2m2xwT7Sse73M/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/k3z6HQ2GyaKg9M2m2xwT7Sse73M/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/k3z6HQ2GyaKg9M2m2xwT7Sse73M/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/k3z6HQ2GyaKg9M2m2xwT7Sse73M/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~4/3ISWR-PwDIQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/2011/08/way-it-is.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEYCQnc6cSp7ImA9WhdSFkk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744706971086722473.post-5965579905142976169</id><published>2011-07-25T21:02:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-07-25T21:02:43.919-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-07-25T21:02:43.919-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="90's" /><title>Loving Indian Cinema (90's)</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/5965579905142976169/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6744706971086722473&amp;postID=5965579905142976169" title="3 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/5965579905142976169?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/5965579905142976169?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~3/hoPDTjCHNYM/loving-indian-cinema-90s.html" title="Loving Indian Cinema (90's)" /><author><name>NicelyStupid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02787970299291354915</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nGDKvKy-ayw/TFp3G1_FKPI/AAAAAAAAAqU/AZKvy7oLxfE/S220/rome1.jpg" /></author><thr:total>3</thr:total><content type="html">It's funny how I smile at songs that came out some 15-20 years ago now.

I grew up watching numerous hard core bollywood movies, and I guess then I didn't know how much I will cherish those million memories associated with each song.

I never thought I'll remember each movie, every song, every over cheesy lyrical piece made in the 90's. It amazes me sometimes, how so easily I start humming those 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/4RiyYT_RsBi2-j16bGd4L_N8SRU/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/4RiyYT_RsBi2-j16bGd4L_N8SRU/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/4RiyYT_RsBi2-j16bGd4L_N8SRU/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/4RiyYT_RsBi2-j16bGd4L_N8SRU/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~4/hoPDTjCHNYM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/2011/07/loving-indian-cinema-90s.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0INRHk-eyp7ImA9WhdTFUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744706971086722473.post-2266153407139561256</id><published>2011-07-13T19:26:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-07-13T19:26:35.753-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-07-13T19:26:35.753-04:00</app:edited><title>Abstinence</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/2266153407139561256/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6744706971086722473&amp;postID=2266153407139561256" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/2266153407139561256?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/2266153407139561256?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~3/Fy_LUBIB_rg/abstinence.html" title="Abstinence" /><author><name>NicelyStupid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02787970299291354915</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nGDKvKy-ayw/TFp3G1_FKPI/AAAAAAAAAqU/AZKvy7oLxfE/S220/rome1.jpg" /></author><thr:total>2</thr:total><content type="html">Whoa.. I went entire June without writing anything whatsoever.
Well I am busy...but then again who isn't.
I have thoughts, I do. But I don't know if I do justice to my blog anymore. Mostly it's just spending so many hours on the plane and sometimes genuinely wondering, "Where am I?"
By no means I have been in this profession for long enough to feel nomadic, but even then, sometimes I wake up (
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/_WGbWRHnhnilXuZl0gwuYxXIT-o/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/_WGbWRHnhnilXuZl0gwuYxXIT-o/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/_WGbWRHnhnilXuZl0gwuYxXIT-o/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/_WGbWRHnhnilXuZl0gwuYxXIT-o/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~4/Fy_LUBIB_rg" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/2011/07/abstinence.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CE8EQnY7fyp7ImA9WhZVE0s.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744706971086722473.post-5136877774696434342</id><published>2011-05-25T18:33:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-05-25T18:33:23.807-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-05-25T18:33:23.807-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="life" /><title>LIFE</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/5136877774696434342/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6744706971086722473&amp;postID=5136877774696434342" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/5136877774696434342?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/5136877774696434342?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~3/s3RP4c1zaOI/life.html" title="LIFE" /><author><name>NicelyStupid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02787970299291354915</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nGDKvKy-ayw/TFp3G1_FKPI/AAAAAAAAAqU/AZKvy7oLxfE/S220/rome1.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html">It's been almost 6 years since I moved to the States, and boy have I learned about life.

When you are 18, you think you will never change. You don't even know what's in front of you and how as you grow up life will happen, and you will feel/think differently. Then one day, you realize, nothing is constant, if there is something constant, it's the change, which creeps in so slowly sometimes that 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/BGupd9OEu9IePuD2nv8WON6onHI/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/BGupd9OEu9IePuD2nv8WON6onHI/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/BGupd9OEu9IePuD2nv8WON6onHI/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/BGupd9OEu9IePuD2nv8WON6onHI/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~4/s3RP4c1zaOI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/2011/05/life.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkEHRXo_eCp7ImA9WhZVEEg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744706971086722473.post-3185703263342953554</id><published>2011-05-22T04:57:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-05-22T04:57:14.440-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-05-22T04:57:14.440-04:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/3185703263342953554/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6744706971086722473&amp;postID=3185703263342953554" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/3185703263342953554?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/3185703263342953554?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~3/h4Z6i5QpYUU/its-been-while-truly-been-some-while.html" title="" /><author><name>NicelyStupid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02787970299291354915</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nGDKvKy-ayw/TFp3G1_FKPI/AAAAAAAAAqU/AZKvy7oLxfE/S220/rome1.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">It's been a while, truly been some while.

I can give the perfect, life is crazy excuse and trust me it is sort of legit too, but I think apart from that it's also I don't know if everything that goes on in my head is something that I can pen down.

I know I have spoken about quarter life crisis, but since I am living it to the best of my abilities right now, there is much more to talk about when
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/o8KDkZeK1uXj2hGLBvt-8K3qADc/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/o8KDkZeK1uXj2hGLBvt-8K3qADc/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/o8KDkZeK1uXj2hGLBvt-8K3qADc/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/o8KDkZeK1uXj2hGLBvt-8K3qADc/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~4/h4Z6i5QpYUU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/2011/05/its-been-while-truly-been-some-while.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CE4HQ3k-fyp7ImA9WhZREk0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744706971086722473.post-8592275419786094874</id><published>2011-04-07T15:02:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-04-07T15:02:12.757-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-04-07T15:02:12.757-04:00</app:edited><title>Being on the road</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/8592275419786094874/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6744706971086722473&amp;postID=8592275419786094874" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/8592275419786094874?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/8592275419786094874?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~3/vloJJSIvqL4/being-on-road.html" title="Being on the road" /><author><name>NicelyStupid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02787970299291354915</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nGDKvKy-ayw/TFp3G1_FKPI/AAAAAAAAAqU/AZKvy7oLxfE/S220/rome1.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">I have always listened to rock stars, movie stars, sports people and some others, saying how being on the road becomes a habit, and almost a need.


I think I relate to that. Very much so.


I have not been in the consulting business for long enough but there were few weeks when I stayed at home and didn't have to travel. Those weeks were the hardest.


It amazes me how I am way more productive 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/clz5R5Ml1pHgo1i7_VjyhRRM-Gw/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/clz5R5Ml1pHgo1i7_VjyhRRM-Gw/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/clz5R5Ml1pHgo1i7_VjyhRRM-Gw/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/clz5R5Ml1pHgo1i7_VjyhRRM-Gw/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~4/vloJJSIvqL4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/2011/04/being-on-road.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkYBSX06fip7ImA9WhZTGUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744706971086722473.post-1797024578875519118</id><published>2011-03-24T15:15:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2011-03-24T15:15:58.316-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-03-24T15:15:58.316-04:00</app:edited><title>Letter to Dhoni</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/1797024578875519118/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6744706971086722473&amp;postID=1797024578875519118" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/1797024578875519118?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/1797024578875519118?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~3/RvPG4DBMks0/letter-to-dhoni.html" title="Letter to Dhoni" /><author><name>NicelyStupid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02787970299291354915</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nGDKvKy-ayw/TFp3G1_FKPI/AAAAAAAAAqU/AZKvy7oLxfE/S220/rome1.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Dear Dhoni,


I am not sure if you are aware, but I as one of the billion Indians, would like you to know that we love and respect you. Now that being said, I know we just won against Australia, kicking them out of a world cup even before reaching the final after almost 15 years, but there are some things we should talk about…

First and foremost, what is up with your batting. I know you are in a
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/AdPETRmxu8cMKXBAWf3oa3q1oGg/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/AdPETRmxu8cMKXBAWf3oa3q1oGg/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/AdPETRmxu8cMKXBAWf3oa3q1oGg/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/AdPETRmxu8cMKXBAWf3oa3q1oGg/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~4/RvPG4DBMks0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/2011/03/letter-to-dhoni.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkYGRHo9eip7ImA9Wx9aF0U.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744706971086722473.post-2856721904515449394</id><published>2011-03-10T13:02:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-03-10T13:02:05.462-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-03-10T13:02:05.462-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="freaking" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="work" /><title>Freaking out</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/2856721904515449394/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6744706971086722473&amp;postID=2856721904515449394" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/2856721904515449394?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/2856721904515449394?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~3/wqyDTlrdjuE/freaking-out.html" title="Freaking out" /><author><name>NicelyStupid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02787970299291354915</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nGDKvKy-ayw/TFp3G1_FKPI/AAAAAAAAAqU/AZKvy7oLxfE/S220/rome1.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">So I have established I do very well under pressure and deadlines and I suck when I don't have deadlines.


Anyways that is not what I want to talk about, but rather some other things I have established.


I don't have faith in people when it comes to believing they'll be there in times of sadness and need. This has been established based on certain incidents in the past some weeks. As it appears
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/APslgVFtIJJRyWZaXLNCg0VZRFs/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/APslgVFtIJJRyWZaXLNCg0VZRFs/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/APslgVFtIJJRyWZaXLNCg0VZRFs/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/APslgVFtIJJRyWZaXLNCg0VZRFs/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~4/wqyDTlrdjuE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/2011/03/freaking-out.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CU8MQnczeSp7ImA9Wx9aEEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744706971086722473.post-7364548826444644433</id><published>2011-03-02T14:24:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-03-02T14:24:43.981-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-03-02T14:24:43.981-05:00</app:edited><title>Let's talk about cricket</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/7364548826444644433/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6744706971086722473&amp;postID=7364548826444644433" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/7364548826444644433?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/7364548826444644433?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~3/57iMUwPXX9c/lets-talk-about-cricket.html" title="Let's talk about cricket" /><author><name>NicelyStupid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02787970299291354915</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nGDKvKy-ayw/TFp3G1_FKPI/AAAAAAAAAqU/AZKvy7oLxfE/S220/rome1.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">If you know me, then you know Cricket and Bollywood makes my life worth living (like for most Indians).

So, since the ICC Cricket World Cup 2011 is on, I can't help but be glued to games and watch some unexpected results while wondering how the hell is India going to make it to the next rounds, all at the same time.

Let's talk about some games that make this world cup a heart racing, jaw 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/QXctjNFPCLOaLAAFSH8rxzDjyGs/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/QXctjNFPCLOaLAAFSH8rxzDjyGs/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/QXctjNFPCLOaLAAFSH8rxzDjyGs/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/QXctjNFPCLOaLAAFSH8rxzDjyGs/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~4/57iMUwPXX9c" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/2011/03/lets-talk-about-cricket.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DU4ESX47cCp7ImA9Wx9UF04.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744706971086722473.post-1979906676796077395</id><published>2011-02-14T21:45:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-02-14T21:45:08.008-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-02-14T21:45:08.008-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="old" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="college" /><title>Do not even read this</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/1979906676796077395/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6744706971086722473&amp;postID=1979906676796077395" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/1979906676796077395?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/1979906676796077395?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~3/-QnG1-SOdEs/do-not-even-read-this.html" title="Do not even read this" /><author><name>NicelyStupid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02787970299291354915</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nGDKvKy-ayw/TFp3G1_FKPI/AAAAAAAAAqU/AZKvy7oLxfE/S220/rome1.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html">So I have this "something is missing" feeling a lot these days. It is not suppose to be like that, but for some reason it is like that. I think I would like my blame my idiot BFF who decided to move half way across the globe, soon after which events took place which changed a lot around. 
NOT COOL!
I have friends but I am lazy, which means I would rather be in bed doing nothing, then making an 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/XZkh4xeD79U47zpQAWHa2e1mRSY/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/XZkh4xeD79U47zpQAWHa2e1mRSY/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/XZkh4xeD79U47zpQAWHa2e1mRSY/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/XZkh4xeD79U47zpQAWHa2e1mRSY/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~4/-QnG1-SOdEs" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/2011/02/do-not-even-read-this.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkMCQn0yfip7ImA9Wx9VF0g.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744706971086722473.post-5907492254494386226</id><published>2011-02-03T09:53:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-02-03T12:34:23.396-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-02-03T12:34:23.396-05:00</app:edited><title>I am alive :D</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/5907492254494386226/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6744706971086722473&amp;postID=5907492254494386226" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/5907492254494386226?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/5907492254494386226?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~3/OJnVmESlBQQ/i-am-alive-d.html" title="I am alive :D" /><author><name>NicelyStupid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02787970299291354915</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nGDKvKy-ayw/TFp3G1_FKPI/AAAAAAAAAqU/AZKvy7oLxfE/S220/rome1.jpg" /></author><thr:total>2</thr:total><content type="html">It truly sucks how much your life gets affected by 50-60 hours of work weeks. 


Don't get me wrong, I love working. I am not complaining about the long work hours. I guess I am disappointed that I don't get to blog as much anymore. When work is your priority and on your mind even after you are not at work, it's hard to sit down and come up with some coherent thoughts that can be jotted down here
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/c1moH7ioVsttBI_wFeZBSOVc3K8/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/c1moH7ioVsttBI_wFeZBSOVc3K8/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/c1moH7ioVsttBI_wFeZBSOVc3K8/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/c1moH7ioVsttBI_wFeZBSOVc3K8/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~4/OJnVmESlBQQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/2011/02/i-am-alive-d.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUINSHo_eCp7ImA9Wx9XGUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744706971086722473.post-7335469346152957503</id><published>2011-01-14T01:46:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-01-14T01:46:39.440-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-01-14T01:46:39.440-05:00</app:edited><title>Some new year rants</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/7335469346152957503/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6744706971086722473&amp;postID=7335469346152957503" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/7335469346152957503?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/7335469346152957503?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~3/OwR-zpbtPSw/some-new-year-rants.html" title="Some new year rants" /><author><name>NicelyStupid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02787970299291354915</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nGDKvKy-ayw/TFp3G1_FKPI/AAAAAAAAAqU/AZKvy7oLxfE/S220/rome1.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Happy New Year people! I believe we are allowed to say Happy New Year all of January so I won’t consider myself too late in doing same.Unfortunately I haven’t had the happiest of  a first week in the 2011 but that’s all in the past and I promise I would not let a piece of shrimp send me to the ER again, especially if I am in a city which is not Philadelphia (that makes the situation 100 times 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/hs7sLjGeXI_vEoi5unj2nl7khT8/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/hs7sLjGeXI_vEoi5unj2nl7khT8/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/hs7sLjGeXI_vEoi5unj2nl7khT8/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/hs7sLjGeXI_vEoi5unj2nl7khT8/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~4/OwR-zpbtPSw" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/2011/01/some-new-year-rants.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0cAQ38zcCp7ImA9Wx9QEEs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744706971086722473.post-7007174517689016262</id><published>2010-12-22T18:37:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-12-22T18:37:22.188-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-12-22T18:37:22.188-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="2011" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="2010" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="new year" /><title>The year that was...2010</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/7007174517689016262/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6744706971086722473&amp;postID=7007174517689016262" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/7007174517689016262?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/7007174517689016262?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~3/C3kcJpt84DE/year-that-was2010.html" title="The year that was...2010" /><author><name>NicelyStupid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02787970299291354915</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nGDKvKy-ayw/TFp3G1_FKPI/AAAAAAAAAqU/AZKvy7oLxfE/S220/rome1.jpg" /></author><thr:total>2</thr:total><content type="html">The year is coming to an end, and unlike last year I don't know if I can summarize 2010 as well as I summarized 2009.

2010 was a year where I think I discovered new things about myself or I guess I finally grew up. I learned to control my emotions, and many a times, I didn't feel any emotions.

I finished school, I spent 3 months doing absolutely nothing and sleeping 12 hours a day, I started 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/_ZxMzCq6J92aorqM3k2F2EYhPmI/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/_ZxMzCq6J92aorqM3k2F2EYhPmI/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/_ZxMzCq6J92aorqM3k2F2EYhPmI/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/_ZxMzCq6J92aorqM3k2F2EYhPmI/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~4/C3kcJpt84DE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/2010/12/year-that-was2010.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C08DQnc6eip7ImA9Wx9SE08.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744706971086722473.post-1983442763998424634</id><published>2010-12-02T15:31:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-12-02T15:31:13.912-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-12-02T15:31:13.912-05:00</app:edited><title>Growing up some more</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/1983442763998424634/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6744706971086722473&amp;postID=1983442763998424634" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/1983442763998424634?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/1983442763998424634?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~3/DLktaQliagM/growing-up-some-more.html" title="Growing up some more" /><author><name>NicelyStupid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02787970299291354915</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nGDKvKy-ayw/TFp3G1_FKPI/AAAAAAAAAqU/AZKvy7oLxfE/S220/rome1.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">It feels weird when the realization of being out in the world and making it on your own sinks in a little more on a daily basis.

I am so used to being surrounded by friends all the time that now when they have started leaving the city and move to places they have to be in or want to be in, my whole world is changing.

It's a weird feeling. It's like the first time you realize that there won't be
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Uxgc5nf4xBZfmynfM3ohwvm6af0/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Uxgc5nf4xBZfmynfM3ohwvm6af0/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Uxgc5nf4xBZfmynfM3ohwvm6af0/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Uxgc5nf4xBZfmynfM3ohwvm6af0/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~4/DLktaQliagM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/2010/12/growing-up-some-more.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkIMRH47fip7ImA9Wx9TFUo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744706971086722473.post-7450928708249932769</id><published>2010-11-23T22:49:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-11-23T22:49:45.006-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-11-23T22:49:45.006-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Friends" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="bff" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="best friend" /><title>:(</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/7450928708249932769/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6744706971086722473&amp;postID=7450928708249932769" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/7450928708249932769?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/7450928708249932769?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~3/XNGai-PvCCY/blog-post.html" title=":(" /><author><name>NicelyStupid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02787970299291354915</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nGDKvKy-ayw/TFp3G1_FKPI/AAAAAAAAAqU/AZKvy7oLxfE/S220/rome1.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">So you know how I have been saying there isn't much to talk about in terms of being super senti and emo stuff. I guess there is now, not something I thought I would write about.


There are very few people in your life, and you are lucky if there are any, who affect your life a lot, and without whom, it's hard to imagine it.


I don't know if I am lucky or unlucky to have had two such people in 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ADx33WrH0WbULJbOKj-KhMTbv5g/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ADx33WrH0WbULJbOKj-KhMTbv5g/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ADx33WrH0WbULJbOKj-KhMTbv5g/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ADx33WrH0WbULJbOKj-KhMTbv5g/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~4/XNGai-PvCCY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/2010/11/blog-post.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkQHQHo8eCp7ImA9Wx9TEk8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744706971086722473.post-9150210386858927100</id><published>2010-11-19T21:32:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-11-19T21:32:11.470-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-11-19T21:32:11.470-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="work" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="love" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="relationship" /><title>It's not what they all think</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/9150210386858927100/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6744706971086722473&amp;postID=9150210386858927100" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/9150210386858927100?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/9150210386858927100?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~3/tnUmkTJrA68/its-not-what-they-all-think.html" title="It's not what they all think" /><author><name>NicelyStupid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02787970299291354915</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nGDKvKy-ayw/TFp3G1_FKPI/AAAAAAAAAqU/AZKvy7oLxfE/S220/rome1.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">I was told today I need to think about things beyond work by someone who sees me once a week and has no idea about my hours the other four days.


She just came to my desk and said, "I get it you are young, but making work your life will not help much some years down the lane"


And after hearing that, I seriously wonder why does everyone, and I mean everyone think, all I do is work. I do have a 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/N3Pq0CSk_xjKIWm2Ec4HS2GDzt8/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/N3Pq0CSk_xjKIWm2Ec4HS2GDzt8/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/N3Pq0CSk_xjKIWm2Ec4HS2GDzt8/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/N3Pq0CSk_xjKIWm2Ec4HS2GDzt8/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~4/tnUmkTJrA68" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/2010/11/its-not-what-they-all-think.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0QAQXoyeip7ImA9Wx5aGU4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744706971086722473.post-5656021406161668126</id><published>2010-11-16T15:29:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-11-16T15:29:00.492-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-11-16T15:29:00.492-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="work" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="blogging" /><title>I think I am not a blogger anymore..sigh</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/5656021406161668126/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6744706971086722473&amp;postID=5656021406161668126" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/5656021406161668126?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/5656021406161668126?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~3/KDO1i16Hk_0/i-think-i-am-not-blogger-anymoresigh.html" title="I think I am not a blogger anymore..sigh" /><author><name>NicelyStupid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02787970299291354915</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nGDKvKy-ayw/TFp3G1_FKPI/AAAAAAAAAqU/AZKvy7oLxfE/S220/rome1.jpg" /></author><thr:total>2</thr:total><content type="html">It's sad how I don't feel like a blogger anymore.


I mean I can go on and on about how life is busy, and there isn't much time to sit down and write a blog post, but that's not the entire reason. 


The reason I think is I don't think about anything but work. I sleep, eat, drink, walk and talk work. (Very uncool I know), and the last thing I want is to blog about it too. I don't have any 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/cEPkoEzSzQxHZf5KdM0ie5b8a4A/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/cEPkoEzSzQxHZf5KdM0ie5b8a4A/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/cEPkoEzSzQxHZf5KdM0ie5b8a4A/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/cEPkoEzSzQxHZf5KdM0ie5b8a4A/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~4/KDO1i16Hk_0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/2010/11/i-think-i-am-not-blogger-anymoresigh.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEAERX0zfCp7ImA9Wx5bGU8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744706971086722473.post-3095699550559624524</id><published>2010-11-04T23:11:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-11-04T23:11:44.384-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-11-04T23:11:44.384-04:00</app:edited><title>Ramblings (from the sky)</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/3095699550559624524/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6744706971086722473&amp;postID=3095699550559624524" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/3095699550559624524?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/3095699550559624524?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~3/gb97D6I8A_E/ramblings-from-sky.html" title="Ramblings (from the sky)" /><author><name>NicelyStupid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02787970299291354915</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nGDKvKy-ayw/TFp3G1_FKPI/AAAAAAAAAqU/AZKvy7oLxfE/S220/rome1.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Alright then. Let’s talk about how it has been so far, or may be how it’s going.
Well, I feel very lucky in some ways I guess. I actually get to love my job, not only because of the work I do, but because of the miles I collect on plans, the points I collect in hotels, the places I get to see, the people I get to meet, different assignments/opportunities I am exposed to and may be I’d just stop a
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/OFGcIB3O6L0eo2-iM0ZHVg1MkZg/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/OFGcIB3O6L0eo2-iM0ZHVg1MkZg/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/OFGcIB3O6L0eo2-iM0ZHVg1MkZg/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/OFGcIB3O6L0eo2-iM0ZHVg1MkZg/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~4/gb97D6I8A_E" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/2010/11/ramblings-from-sky.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Dk8FRHY8eyp7ImA9Wx5bEEs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744706971086722473.post-3328086309173566398</id><published>2010-10-25T23:46:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-10-25T23:46:55.873-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-10-25T23:46:55.873-04:00</app:edited><title>The After-Life list</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/3328086309173566398/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6744706971086722473&amp;postID=3328086309173566398" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/3328086309173566398?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/3328086309173566398?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~3/y6wb1u9Qkjo/after-life-list.html" title="The After-Life list" /><author><name>NicelyStupid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02787970299291354915</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nGDKvKy-ayw/TFp3G1_FKPI/AAAAAAAAAqU/AZKvy7oLxfE/S220/rome1.jpg" /></author><thr:total>2</thr:total><content type="html">So now that I am clearly not in college anymore, and I clearly don't feel like being in one anymore (not yet at least), there are few things I would like to talk about the after life.
It's been way too long since I made a list, and this is my list for the after life, or some things that I realized (I sorta knew them on paper before) after finishing almost a month at work



Weekends are sacred. 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/nXLN9DHntwRzZnc375Rt7wq7z1M/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/nXLN9DHntwRzZnc375Rt7wq7z1M/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~4/y6wb1u9Qkjo" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/2010/10/after-life-list.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0ANSX8yfCp7ImA9Wx5UE0k.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744706971086722473.post-7693391560440681352</id><published>2010-10-17T17:09:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-10-17T17:09:58.194-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-10-17T17:09:58.194-04:00</app:edited><title>I am all grown up :O</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/7693391560440681352/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6744706971086722473&amp;postID=7693391560440681352" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/7693391560440681352?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/7693391560440681352?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~3/jEAjMCtxxFo/i-am-all-grown-up-o.html" title="I am all grown up :O" /><author><name>NicelyStupid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02787970299291354915</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nGDKvKy-ayw/TFp3G1_FKPI/AAAAAAAAAqU/AZKvy7oLxfE/S220/rome1.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">It’s hard to stay away from something so close to you even though you don’t seem to have much time for it.  Now, I know I can shut this down, and not rant (primarily because there isn’t much to rant about) and one less thing to maintain, but it’s hard.  So I am here, trying to figure out the best way to keep this going and give it an hour a week or some more. Shouldn’t be that hard, all I need is
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/sZGP0lEdwYOn7j99DaySk_RmlY0/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/sZGP0lEdwYOn7j99DaySk_RmlY0/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/sZGP0lEdwYOn7j99DaySk_RmlY0/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/sZGP0lEdwYOn7j99DaySk_RmlY0/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~4/jEAjMCtxxFo" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/2010/10/i-am-all-grown-up-o.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUIEQHg5fCp7ImA9Wx5VFU0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744706971086722473.post-7681193550540339116</id><published>2010-10-07T23:11:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-10-07T23:11:41.624-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-10-07T23:11:41.624-04:00</app:edited><title>Should I end it?</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/7681193550540339116/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6744706971086722473&amp;postID=7681193550540339116" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/7681193550540339116?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/7681193550540339116?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~3/QEjz6fHQvoY/should-i-end-it.html" title="Should I end it?" /><author><name>NicelyStupid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02787970299291354915</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nGDKvKy-ayw/TFp3G1_FKPI/AAAAAAAAAqU/AZKvy7oLxfE/S220/rome1.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html">First week of work.  I finally have a life now. I can’t say “yes” to hanging out to people all the time. I wake up before 7 am and go to bed by 1 am.   Who knew?  So anyhoo….  I haven’t been writing much lately. And I have a feeling it’s gonna be like that. Not because I don’t want to, but because I see work being my life now, and I don’t know whether there will be much to ponder here  But hey, I
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/QgdMnNEFmqjlSyRbWngk2Q2FSuA/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/QgdMnNEFmqjlSyRbWngk2Q2FSuA/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~4/QEjz6fHQvoY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/2010/10/should-i-end-it.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0QFQnk7eSp7ImA9Wx5WGU0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744706971086722473.post-3269921737073327034</id><published>2010-09-30T22:48:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-09-30T22:48:33.701-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-09-30T22:48:33.701-04:00</app:edited><title>100 days</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://talklikeagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/3269921737073327034/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6744706971086722473&amp;postID=3269921737073327034" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/3269921737073327034?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6744706971086722473/posts/default/3269921737073327034?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/fDxo/~3/rwQl0-4f-bc/100-days.html" title="100 days" /><author><name>NicelyStupid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02787970299291354915</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nGDKvKy-ayw/TFp3G1_FKPI/AAAAAAAAAqU/AZKvy7oLxfE/S220/rome1.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_nGDKvKy-ayw/TKVL_zSEABI/AAAAAAAAAt8/YsCbVh_oRIE/s72-c/videob56d0ec8493b%5B3%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html">More than 100 days ago I was anything but excited about the 100 days that were in front me that combined uncertainty with boredom.  100 some later, all I am is excited about how I am just 3 days away from my dream to kick start.  In a span of 100 days, I have learned to not be a college student and anticipate being a workaholic. I have learned to accept the fact that growing up is inevitable, but
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