tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-152232172024-03-13T22:10:30.382-04:00Running CommentaryThe ramblings of a snarky mind…Ms ♥ Isabellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13394099734210916441noreply@blogger.comBlogger142125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15223217.post-8684616403608848362011-08-08T12:31:00.003-04:002013-03-12T22:53:31.159-04:00Weight loss, Work, and Weddings...oh my!(Part 1 of a 3 Part series. This time: Weight loss. Next up: Work.)
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I slipped into a size four this morning.
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I say slipped and not pulled, yanked, or struggled, because that’s exactly how easy it was. They came on without one iota of an issue.
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Now, for those of you who’ve known me for awhile, you know that a size four is nothing too earth shattering for me. I’ve been smaller, by a lot. Working in an industry where image was almost more important than talent, I am very familiar with size zeros and working out six-plus hours a day.
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The thing is…is that lifestyle wore me down. I’ve never been particularly confident in my appearance or body, and the need to constantly be thinner, taller, and hotter, built upon that shaky foundation. I began, like many women, to look at food a bit like a daily challenge. I literally remember thinking, “I can’t live with it…but can’t live without it.”
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During my time as a working actress/model, I always thought I could lose another twenty pounds. I have no earthy idea, looking back, where those twenty pounds would have come from, but I had a firm vision in my head that they should be gone. Working in Canada was a bit easier, as the competition seemed to be a little more about who could do the best emotional range and a little less about who had the best boobs.
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The other thing living in Toronto did, was give me more opportunity to expand my other creative outlets. I began to gain more confidence in my writing, and even go so far as to allow things I’d written to be submitted for competitions and even—God forbid—payment.
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I also felt like I had accomplished a lot in the acting world. I’d done TV, movies, independent projects. I’d managed to get paid to act by reputable companies, and see a lot of my desires come to fruition. In a big way I was just plain ready to move on to something else for awhile.
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In the years that followed, I went back to school, met my future husband, and finished my first full-length novel. I also managed to gain about forty pounds.
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Here’s the thing, though; I was fine with it. I really feel like I had to “get fat” in order to get over a lot of my hang ups about weight, food, and what it means to be beautiful. Through the purging fire and cleansed out the other side or what have you.
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And yet…
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I have a wedding coming up this year. My wedding. And despite my newfound contentment with my larger form, a few things happened in quick accord that made me stop and really ask where I wanted to go from here. The first of which was my mother.
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Her battles with weight definitely contributes to my own issues. I think the major difference is, she was naturally slender as a child and into her twenties. I wasn’t, so my weight/size has always been directly correlated with how much I worked out and ate. I won’t say that she never pressured me to be thinner, but it wasn’t in a mommy dearest scary way. If anything it was her own manifestations of fear projected onto me. That’s not what factored into my decision to lose some weight, though. What did, was when she told me that she was on a diet that not only required constant injections, but a daily caloric intake of only 500.
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I recalled a month or two earlier, an Advanced Reader Copy of some new diet craze book showing up in the staffroom, and our subsequent discussions about dieting. Shortly thereafter, Random House held their bi-yearly bookseller preview where this same book was featured. The Dukan Diet, I was assured, was making huge waves in Europe.
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I thought first of my mother. I took the book from the staffroom and started to read. A lot of what Dr. Dukan spoke about made sense to me, but the major appeal was that there was no counting involved with the overall diet. You just ate, as much as you wanted, whenever you wanted, from a given list of food. My personal interest, as they say, was peaked.
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You see, my former job as a bookseller meant that my days never started or ended at the same time. I never knew exactly when my meals would be, or whether I’d be at all hungry (or practically starving) by the time they rolled around. The only other diet I’d ever been on (while I was acting) required you to eat every single four-hour period you were awake. I knew that wouldn’t work in my new situation. I needed flexibility in a diet.
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But not so fast. Buzz is fine, but fad diets are called so for a reason, right? What about real people, and their real experiences? I was off to the races (er…rather, the internet) to find blogs, reviews, and just a better general understanding of who had done Dukan, and how things had turned out. I found a lot of positive stuff. (The negative seemed to be manly from people who hadn’t actually done the diet and were blasting it with their assumptions of what it was or wasn’t.) By pure luck, I stumbled upon a man with a self-proclaimed “keg stomach” who had written a funny, honest, and DAILY blog. Months were listed and the more I read about his journey with Dukan, the more I realized I wanted to do it.
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I made the decision, set a start date, and phoned my mother to ask if she wanted to get off her crazy diet and try Dukan with me. She declined, but was overjoyed to hear I was taking the initiative. In the first two days I dropped five pounds. By the end of Phase One (Dukan sets out four Phases to take you from strict intake, all the way to “normal” eating) I’d lost ten pounds. After a full month, I was down almost twenty-five pounds.
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My goal was to hit July first thirty pounds lighter and start Phase Three of the diet. I hit that marker before July first, and promptly stopped weighing myself. (I don’t need to be obsessed about the numbers. I hit my goal, and that’s what matters to me.) I can tell you with 100% confidence, however, that I’m actually still loosing weight.
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You see, remember that whole getting married nonsense? Well, I had to get measured for my wedding dress. From the end of my weighing, until the second week of July, I’d managed to loose another inch. I can happily report that I’ve lost at least 32 pounds, at least 10 inches, and am down at least 6 clothing sizes.
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The best part? I don’t have that crazy panic this time ‘round. I don’t feel like I’d look better if I could just loose another 5-10-15 lbs. I’m quite happy however the numbers fall. (Or don’t, as it may be.) And it’s so very nice to be able to walk into a store, grab a size, and know it will fit. Or better yet, dust off my old wardrobe and make it all new again.
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Was it hard? No. But, I have pretty spectacular willpower. I also don’t decide to do anything unless I’m going to follow through with it. (See: career, acting and novel, ATSOU) Having said that, a diet where you can sit on the couch and eat all day (assuming the foods you eat are on “the list” and you get up at some point and walk around for 20 minutes) really isn’t difficult. Creativity really is required just so that you don’t get bored, and you HAVE to keep your pantry/fridge stocked at all times so you always have “list” food around to munch on. The only people I would outright say shouldn’t do the diet are vegans and pregnant women. (In both cases I just don’t know enough about the nutritional requirements of either to be certain you’d be getting everything you need.)
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Oh, I should also mention that my own success prompted my mom to try Dukan herself. She’s currently down more than fourteen pounds. (And quite thrilled to actually be able to—you know—actually EAT something.)
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Where we’ll go from here, I have no clue, but I know that I’ve got another half-year before I’m done my current Phase and I plan to stick with it. The only thing I can say to anyone looking for advice on Dukan is this: If you do it, it will work. That’s it.
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Quote of the Moment:
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My Cousin: "The only thing about gaining weight is-."<br />
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Ms.I: "The boobs."</div>
My Cousin: "I KNOW! Amazing, right?"<br />
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Ms.I: "They're glorious."</div>
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Soundtrack of the Moment: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qn9broe06jk">USS, “N/A OK" </a>
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TV/Movie Quote:<a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0898266/"> Big Bang Theory</a>
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<a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm1433588/">Sheldon</a>: You're not done with her, are you?
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<a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0301959/">Leonard</a>: Our babies will be smart and beautiful.
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<a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm1433588/">Sheldon</a>: Not to mention imaginary. </div>
Ms ♥ Isabellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13394099734210916441noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15223217.post-72117219552184579902011-03-28T17:21:00.008-04:002011-03-29T03:24:58.483-04:00WowSo...it's been over a year. <br /><br />There was a big part of me that was ready to just let this one go. Yet I didn't. Why? Donno. Something just said, wouldn't it be funny if...<br /><br />Which brings me to our next topic.<br /><br />Um...I'm engaged. Hehehe. I can just see your faces! I've talked for how long about how this just wasn't for me? About how I'd never get together with a guy who wanted this?<br /><br />Well, in my defense...<br /><br />MFH never wanted to get married either...at least, that's what he always told me. The fist moment I ever remember really talking with him, we both agreed that there was nothing to married and all that nonsense. I have a slight suspicion that he always sort of wanted the little wifey and the three kids, but he kept it under his hat for the first majority of our dating history. I still regularly accuse him of leading me on...<br /><br />So what's the story? It's long. And convoluted. I'll give you a separate example...<br /><br />THE RING<br /><br />So I was asked to be in my brother's (and now sister-in-law) wedding. I, of course, agreed. I'm not going to lie, it ended up being far, far crazier and more stressful than I expected...I found out the night before that the bride wanted me to do her makeup. THE NIGHT BEFORE!! I panicked about ruining her entire day. Having said that...Lindz (My sissy in all things legal) said this winter that I was, "everything you'd want in a perfect bridesmaid." What more could I ask for, honestly? <br /><br />MFH went to the wedding, as my guest. Things were both tense, and stressful, as MFH was trying to make BIG impressions onto the Canadian Publishing industry. Yet...on the day...despite my pathetic deterioration into tears that is well documented, the day itself went really, really well. My favorite uncle--at least my closest uncle--was well-set to take care of me. Unfortunately this ended up being required. A longtime friend of the family asked me to a local wine bar. I agreed, excited for the potential of the night.<br /><br />Oh the night...<br /><br />Let me be VERY clear here, I was drunk. There was lots of fun things going on...My brothers wedding poured drinks at about 1 and 1/2 over the typical. And, since I had an average of "oh, we have to have a shot," with at least seven groups...yeah, I was drunk. <br /><br />I remember asking my guy for a dance. As we were dancing he asked me to marry him. Now, dispute influence, I'd heard it before...so, of course, I said yes. (I found out later that MFH hadn't planned on asking me, it was spur of the moment.) I also found out later that after asking me, MFH talked to my Friend of the Family (FotF?) and his wife about the situation. She instantly asked about THE RING. <br /><br />Well, since MFH hadn't planed to ask me then...there was no RING then. The FotF, upset, immediately pulled the RING off her finger and handed it to him. Mind you, this whole ordeal is removed from me. I had no idea until later. All I knew, was MFH got down on one knee, asked me again and handed me her/my ring. <br /><br />Image:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FuXW7cpTjDE/TZE-UGhPccI/AAAAAAAAADI/IqGezfU5gBQ/s1600/IMG00052-20110328-1741.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FuXW7cpTjDE/TZE-UGhPccI/AAAAAAAAADI/IqGezfU5gBQ/s200/IMG00052-20110328-1741.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589317127611838914" /></a><br /><br />I was VERY happy to have this ring for a year. I got complemented on it constantly. I also got to show it to any aggressive male for that time period. <br /><br />I will interject here to say that I'm not a "diamond" girl. Not really okay with where they come from, nor am I okay with how they are expensive, um...intentionally. I kinda always wanted another stone...let me give you an exact wording form my spy novel: "The ruby engagement ring was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen. A huge, princess cut, solitary ruby sat in a platinum setting high above several smaller square diamonds. Holding the ring up in profile showed two side-sitting hearts cut completely through the metal under each diamond." <br /><br />Right...my "finale" ring isn't much different:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Q95dvEFGmaA/TZFU6lsMD1I/AAAAAAAAADQ/x_JseG654XI/s1600/IMG00041-20110310-1258.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Q95dvEFGmaA/TZFU6lsMD1I/AAAAAAAAADQ/x_JseG654XI/s200/IMG00041-20110310-1258.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589341978070093650" /></a><br /><br />The diamond belongs to my mother. Or, at least, it's HER diamond. Still, I'm so very happy to have it. It means so much to me. I have an Heirloom <span style="font-style:italic;">so</span> young. You know what I mean...<br /><br />At the end of the day...I just hope to be there for my guy...but, more than that, I have to say I'm here for me. <br /><br />He makes life easier...and if that's not a reason to get married, what is?<br /><br />More to come...<br /><br />- Ms.IMs ♥ Isabellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13394099734210916441noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15223217.post-19773730796692994752010-02-19T14:50:00.000-05:002010-02-19T14:51:11.786-05:00LOVE IT!<object width="445" height="364"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/TevktQeSYQ4&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0xcc2550&color2=0xe87a9f&border=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/TevktQeSYQ4&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0xcc2550&color2=0xe87a9f&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="445" height="364"></embed></object>Ms ♥ Isabellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13394099734210916441noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15223217.post-44633922678098780602009-10-02T18:48:00.004-04:002009-10-02T19:09:46.822-04:00Book Review: The Maze RunnerI'm going to start this one by stating that the fantastic marketing team of <a href="http://www.randomhouse.ca/">Random House</a> called <a href="http://www.chapters.indigo.ca/books/The-Maze-Runner-James-Dashner/9780385737944-item.html">this book</a> a combination of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lord_of_the_flies">Lord of the Flies</a> and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Hunger_Games">Hunger Games</a>.<br /><br />Heavy, no?<br /><br />Well, I'm going to both agree... and disagree with this assessment. Weirdly enough, I'm going to say that both books apply... but add a dash of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Diary_of_Anne_Frank">The Diary of Anne Frank</a>.<br /><br />I know, I know. Ms. I's gone off her rocker. What does a heartbreaking story of a prosicuted jewish girl have to do with Maze Runner?<br /><br />Give me a moment, and I shall proceed...<br /><br />The Maze Runner starts off with a boy in darkness. He has the sensation of moving... lifting. He remembers his name... but not how he got where he is... nor who gave him that name. When he stops moving, a slit above him grows into a hole filled with young, male faces. These are the Gladers--the boys who have rising up the same way this boy has; and have the same memory lapses they do.<br /><br />The Glade is a society of boys--in the vein of Lord of the Flies--and they have a daily puzzle to solve (very likely under the surveillance of some unknown group of elders)--in the vein of Hunger Games. Yet while the creepy vale of uncertainty coalesces around the entire story, an underlying moral that is repeated time and again is, we are good...people are good...in the end, no matter what.<br /><br />Sound formidable?<br /><br />The boys make the very best situation they can out of an awful, experimental distopia. More than that, they want to be free. To solve the ultimate puzzle of their existence.<br /><br />Despite their hardships, and author <a onclick="'s_objectID="" sc="James+Dashner&sf="Author_1" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/James_Dashner">James Dashner</a><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/James_Dashner"><span></span>'s </a>obvious intentions on our torture while waiting for the second book, the reader gets the impression of a group of kids who will visit hell to save each other.<br /><br />Even when the one and only girl arrives... And what to do when the "real world" might be worse than the experiment they're locked in?<br /><br />Read it people. You won't be disappointed.Ms ♥ Isabellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13394099734210916441noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15223217.post-32805221334808341352009-06-09T14:24:00.002-04:002009-06-09T14:36:00.791-04:00I’m Getting OldClearly, it’s been awhile.<br /><br />I don’t have much to say in my defense, beyond the fact that I’m ridiculously in love with MFH <span style="color:#666666;">(My Future Husband)</span>, I’m currently in the process of moving in with him, I just started back at <a href="http://www.nailor.com/">Nailor</a>, and I managed to spend last weekend in the hospital.<br /><br />Weirdly enough, I don’t want to talk about any of this. You see, during my hiatus, the thing that’s been weighing the heaviest upon my blogind <span style="color:#666666;">(aka blogger mind)</span> is kids these days.<br /><br />I know, I know…I’m turning into one of those cranky-pants elderly people who shout at the youngens to get the heck off their perfect lawn. But seriously, I have a few bones to pick. And—I’m sorry to say—I’m not getting off of my soapbox until I get this out. The good news is, once I’m done with this long-awaited post, I can move on to other, funnier topics.<br /><br />First and foremost, can I please impart some manners upon the youth of today? Wonderful. On we go…<br /><br />When you are out in public, in a place were people of all ages and races gather to purchase or obtain knowledge, for the sake of all that is holy, do not sit on/make out with/give a lap dance to your bf/gf/<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Casual_relationship">fwb</a>. Not only is this rather gross and disrespectful, it makes you look like losers. Honestly, you couldn’t find a better place to get felt up then the sports section of your local bookstore?! Don’t you have a bedroom? Does your home not have a basement or rec-room or something with a wall, door, and lock that will keep me from having to watch your awkward attempts at playing house? Hell, go sit at <span style="color:#666666;">(the back of)</span><strong><em> </em></strong>the theatre and enjoy the darkness. Find a park—Hey, better yet, park a car! Whatever, just don’t be icky in public. No matter how horney you think you are, you can wait for a better time and place. <em><strong>Trust me</strong></em> on this one.<br /><br />Now, in the above I mentioned using a movie theatre for a purpose contrary to its operating standards. Realize that I’m not a fan of this practice; however, I infinitely prefer this to <a href="http://www.starbucks.com/">Starbucks</a> chair dances. <span style="color:#666666;">(I do ask that you sit in the very back row. This is completely reasonable, after all I shouldn’t have to shift around your tongues to see the scene I spent eleven bucks to see. <em><strong>Savvy?</strong></em> Great, lets move on.)</span> What I cannot give any leeway to, are you who use movie theatres for meeting centers away from the prying eyes of your parents. This isn’t just me being grumpy…it’s for your own perfection. If I can hear you talking about hooking up with some other chick’s boyfriend, who’s to say someone who knows said chick isn’t there to hear you as well? Also, as cool as your new phone/gaming device is, during the movie is not the time to play with/use it. Texting is so great, right? You can talk and you’re not being loud at all! Except let me tell you how effing distracting it is for me when the bright LCD lights up your screen enough to see everyone within a four seat radius from you. Keep it in your pants, kids. Turn them off, or leave the theatre if you want to chat/play.<br /><br />More on the lets act more like adults and less like little children wanting to be adults…there is absolutely no reason for you to put gum on any surface whatsoever inside a building. I say this after pulling wads off of the inside of a shelf, the carpet, the side of the fireplace, and on our stepstool. We have multiple trash receptacles, people…USE them! This includes you who chose to leave your coffee/frap cups and food containers all over the store. <strong><em>GROW UP!</em></strong> I am not your mother, there is zero reason for me to pick up after you.<br /><br />And speaking of mothers…<em>Look</em>, I don’t have kids. I guess you could say that I have no right telling anyone how to parent. I would counter that sentiment; however, by stating that I was once a child, I am a <a href="http://www.redcross.org/">American Red Cross</a> certified babysitter, and I have a little brother who was a professional instigator as a tot. I know that letting children climb on a rickety table housing a train set is not okay. I know that ripping dress-up clothing for purchase off hangers/bindings/tags and pulling them on is not okay. I know that throwing stuffed animals around until they are stuck on duct work is not okay. Fist fighting, toy train slinging, and incessant screaming are all not okay. I know this, you know this, we all know this. So please explain to me why—<em>whenever I look at the parents of said children</em>—the parents look at me like I should be the one handling it. Just so we’re clear, I made around twenty bucks an hour when I babysat, and <a href="http://www.chapters.com/">Chapters</a> sure as f**k ain’t paying me that. Even if they did, they certainly aren’t paying me to look after <em><strong>your child</strong></em>. In the words of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stewie_Griffin">Immortal Stewie</a><em>:“For god's sake get off your ass and do some parenting!”<br /></em><br />Okay, I feel better now. Very cleansing, the vent. I recommend you all try it at some point.<br /><br />Hopefully there will be more fun stuff soon.<br /><br /><br /><strong><em>Quote of the Moment:</em></strong><br /><span style="color:#666666;">MFH’s Aunt:</span> Look, there is a find line between men luffa-ing and anal sex.<br /><span style="color:#666666;">Ms.I:</span> Oh... yep, that's the quote of the week.<br /><span style="color:#666666;">MFH’s Cousin:</span> MOM! Why is it always anal sex with you?!<br /><strong><em>Soundtrack of the Moment:</em></strong> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PhvY2mwYXXo">Maianas Trench, “Cross My Heart” </a><br /><strong><em>TV/Movie Quote:</em></strong> <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1049413/">Up</a>:<br />Carl Fredricksen: Do you want to play a game? It's called See Who Can Go the Longest Without Saying Anything.<br />Russell: Cool! My mom loves that game!Ms ♥ Isabellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13394099734210916441noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15223217.post-26013384761008706862009-03-26T00:07:00.004-04:002009-03-26T00:18:34.626-04:00Without Complaint<p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="">I’ll admit it, I’m a little guilty that I didn’t post Oscar picks for this year. I mean, the major reason was <span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">(for the first time in memory)</span> I hadn’t seen at least 80% of the total nominations. Three things I felt certain of and two of those things happened. <span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">(Yea, </span><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1010048/">Slum Dog</a><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">—hahaha…I totally just typed “Slum Dong” which I believe is an entirely different movie altogether—and</span> <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000701/">Kate</a><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">!)</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style=""><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="">I got my <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red_velvet_cake">red velvet [cup]cake</a> for my birthday. It was glorious. Well worth the trek downtown to get them. Between that, my friends/family/boyfriend, it was rather glorious all the way around. I missed MGFM, but he had to work until midnight, so…what can you do?</span></p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style=""><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="">Speaking of the boyfriend, I’m in full-infatuation mode. It’s very gooshy and lame and so I shall leave it at that without giving away the boring details.<br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style=""><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="">Brother and Lindz are officially engaged, and Lindz asked me to be a bridesmaid. I’m super-duper excited. It sucks that I’m not there, to help more, but I’m doing everything I can from my northern perch. They’re hoping to get it done quickly—before the end of fall this year—so I’m sure everything’s a bit too hectic for all parties concerned. They wanted a super small ceremony…but with ten uncles just on Brother’s side…well, 30 really isn’t a feasible number.<br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style=""><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="">A big part of me has sort of rediscovered myself lately. Much like a song can bring back memories of a different place or time, I’m realizing extreme emotions can do the same. Love, for instance.<br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style=""><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="">I’m finding myself remembering a lot of Austin, and my first few years of University. At first, I thought it was the weather. The spring here is a bit like winter in Austin.<o:p> </o:p>But it hit me quite suddenly that it had absolutely nothing to do with the weather. It has to do with my heart…with the contentment of knowing that someone is looking after mine with as much care as I am his. There’s a confidence that connection brings…a sort of…oh, dependability, I guess…that no matter how bad the day goes, wrapping up in his arms is guaranteed to lighten my disappointment.<br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style=""><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="">A good friendship is the same way, but romance adds another level to it that is almost immeasurable. It’s a tweak, a slight alteration of that sense of home that always comes over me when I’m in range of Lauren’s smile or Cin’s giggle. It’s the way of letting go of fear and self-consciousness, without losing the innate sense of self.</span></p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style=""><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style=""><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="">It’s hard to complain of anything, under the circumstances.<br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style=""><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="">;)</span></p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style=""><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><b><i><span style="">Quote of the Moment:</span></i></b><span style=""> “It’s not necessarily that I want a fuck buddy…I really just want someone to cuddle and dry hump.</span>”<span style=""><br /><b><i>Soundtrack of the Moment:</i></b> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PjN_q8feoa4">A.R. Rahman, “Jai Ho”</a></span> <span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><b><i><span style="">TV/Movie Quotes:</span></i></b><span style=""> <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0425413/">Run Fatboy Run</a>: </span><i style=""><o:p></o:p></i></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0602836/"><b><span style="">Gordon</span></b></a><span style="">: Go on then, run!<br /></span><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0670408/"><b><span style="">Dennis</span></b></a><span style="">: Isn't there some kind of like... special technique?<br /></span><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0602836/"><b><span style="">Gordon</span></b></a><span style="">: Well... yeah... you put one leg in front of the other over and over again really really fast.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Ms ♥ Isabellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13394099734210916441noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15223217.post-70359355820567132542009-02-03T00:00:00.003-05:002009-02-03T00:34:39.371-05:00Who Knew?I’m generally considered to be an observant person. It’s hard to catch me off guard. I’m not easily startled. I notice stuff.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Except.</span><br /><br />Every once in a while <span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">(a long, long while)</span>, I get blindsided. I think I’m paying attention…and then, all of a sudden, I get smacked upside the head with something that lays me out on my ass. Then I’m sitting there, looking back, going, <span style="font-style: italic;">“I’m sorry…what the HELL just happened?”</span><br /><br />So…the fact that I’ve been hanging around someone for months…and out of the blue want to hang with him whenever I can is, to say the very least, startling. It made me wonder what the hell I’ve had my focus on for the last few months…and then I’m remembering everything I’ve had my focus on, and I give myself an extremely rare break.<br /><br />I think I’m making this sound like a bad thing. It’s not. It’s a little unnerving, but it’s not bad. It’s actually rather nice.<br /><br />The expression, <span style="font-style: italic;">“sometimes good things happen to bad people,”</span> came up recently. I suppose it says a lot that I wasn’t sure if I was being called the good thing or the bad people in said expression. But it’s true that sometimes things you weren’t expecting…or even don’t think you deserve…pop up and make your world a little bit <span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">(or a lotta bit, as it were)</span> more enjoyable.<br /><br />Given it’s me we’re talking about here, I’m locked into my habitual—<span style="font-style: italic;">and really rather annoying</span>— tradition of waiting for the other shoe to drop. Surely once he gets to know me better, he’ll see that I’m notsomuch of a great deal? Blah, blah, blah…nothing you all haven’t heard before.<br /><br />Far weirder, is the running commentary going on around me. I mean, doesn’t anyone have anything better to do than be fascinated by my…er…love life? I get that I don’t really deal with that shit all that often. I’m not a big, mushy, hearts and flowers, Valentine’s and Weddings kinda chick. Still, does that make this tiny event in the world-wide scheme of things matter? <span style="font-style: italic;">Seriously?</span><br /><br />I got a conference call from <a href="http://www.nailor.com/">Nailor</a> the other day, regarding a <a href="http://www.facebook.com/">facebook</a> relationship status change. I didn’t even change it to “in a relationship,” I just plain took it off. This, of course, was done forgetting that facebook feels the need to trumpet everything. So, a note explaining that I changed my status from single appeared on the pages of all of my friends. <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Lame.</span> <span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">(Facebook, not my former co-workers…although that whole thing is hilarious as is.) </span><br /><br />I don’t talk boys really to anyone…with the singular exception of Lauren. I mean…it’s boys. What’s there to say? Yes I like him…yes he’s nice…obviously I think he’s cute or I wouldn’t want to make out with him…done? Fantastic. Lauren and I can get down to the nitty-gritty…but she knows me better than anyone, so I don’t really have to get into the nitty-gritty for her to totally get what’s going on.<span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"> <span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">(But I swear to </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">GOD</span><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"> Lauren, if you say that thing you said a million times to me, I’m going to have to…well, let’s face facts here, there’s nothing I can do to you that wouldn’t just make my life more difficult, so…I’ll just be pouty. You know what I’m talking about…)</span></span><br /><br />So…yeah, I have a boyfriend. It caught me completely off guard, it’s super new, and I’m enjoying myself. I’m playing it close to the chest, because it’s mine.<br /><br />Honestly, I don’t know what more a TNF could ask for…<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Quote of the Moment:</span> “I can’t compete with your hair today. It’s <span style="font-style: italic;">unstoppable</span>.”<br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Soundtrack of the Moment:</span><a href="http://ca.youtube.com/watch?v=ZV0jcXtESZc"> Anberlin, “Paperthin Hymn”</a><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">TV/Movie Quotes:</span> <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0118298/">Daria</a>:<br />Mr. O'Neill: You probably think about the dark side all the time.<br />Daria: The...dark side? Are we talking about "The Force"?Ms ♥ Isabellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13394099734210916441noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15223217.post-7939467675221584482009-01-25T20:43:00.005-05:002009-01-25T21:00:07.543-05:00The Good, the Bad, and Nothing in Between<p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Hesh.</span> Seriously, what else is there to say? <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Hesh.</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" >The past few weeks have been all over the freaken place. I had family/holiday time, heartbreaking/friendship time, and just plain random acts of <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">WTF?</span>. I don’t want to give off the impression that it was all bad, because that’s really not true at all. I had some really, really great days. I also had some of the hardest days of my life.<br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" >I did get the opportunity to hook up <span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">(via telephone)</span> with Val. It’s got to be almost a year since we talked, and it was so great to just ramble for a few hours—although the stuff going on in her life seems no picnic either. I also got a completely unexpected apology from an even more unexpected source. Honestly, it was like getting birthday cake in June. Like, thanks man…my birthday’s in February, but <span style="font-style: italic;">who turns down cake?!</span> Not I!</span></p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" >Something that I’ve said a million times to various parties, is all of the bad stuff would have killed me, if I was still unhappily working at Nailor. I truly believe that I would be ready to knock myself out with various pharmaceuticals for a couple of weeks if I wasn’t in such a good place in and of myself. So…yeah, thanks to school and Chapters and everyone for making me ready to deal with—if not quite handle—all of the bad.<br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" >Every day is better, although I feel like nothing will ever be the same again. And I’m starting to be okay with that. Moving on.</span></p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" >Anyone who’s read anything I’ve ever written, </span><span style=";font-size:100%;" >knows I have a bit of a thing for <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Common_Raven">ravens</a>. This came about during my summer in London…when I spent a week in a hotel right by <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tower_of_London">the tower</a> and used to go there a lot. I was shocked to find out that raven’s weren’t just the British version of a crow, but <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">GIGANTIC</span> black birds. Seriously, some of them looked like skinny black chickens. I became a little fixated on them, and the legends surrounding them. So…imagine my momentary freak-out when I spotted this:<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_N186TfJuS8s/SX0WVvICAkI/AAAAAAAAACk/sbpq3cpTkZo/s1600-h/Raven-Tat.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 210px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_N186TfJuS8s/SX0WVvICAkI/AAAAAAAAACk/sbpq3cpTkZo/s320/Raven-Tat.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295413299540787778" border="0" /></a></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" >I must constantly remind myself that I cannot cover my body in tattoos.<span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"> (Cannot being more of a realistic thing, rather than a logistics thing. Clearly I <span style="font-style: italic;">COULD</span>...it's really about whether or not I <span style="font-style: italic;">SHOULD</span>.)</span> The above picture totally reneges on all of that. Now, the only thing that stopped me from instantly running out and getting started on my new ink, is the fact that the ravens are clearly painted on. Now that, I feel like I could pull off. I’m thinking my birthday, and a backless black dress. If only I knew someone who was big into body painting. Well, let me rephrase…if I only knew someone who was a body painter who wouldn’t expect sex in exchange for services.<br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" >*sigh*</span></p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" >As far as my birthday goes, I’m still uncertain about details. I may be going to Montréal, I may just end up doing the bottle service thing downtown. Before Xmas, I was all about doing it up big. Now I just feel like being with people that matter to me, and worrying about the rest later. Maybe when people stop assuming I’m under 18, I’ll start worrying about my age...then again, my <a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=champagne%20birthday">champagne birthday</a> will only happen once.</span></p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" >Er...of course, it’s not all about me. :p</span></p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" >Except when it is...like yesterday, for instance. MGFM and I went to go see a movie together. I played a good little fruit fly and dressed up for the event. I also brought my <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zune">Zune</a>. MGFM has this hilarious habit of listening to my most recent playlists and falling in love with one song or another. He also enjoys finding songs that remind him of me. For forever, it was <a href="http://ca.youtube.com/watch?v=kTAGA5wCOyQ">Nickleback’s "Next Contestant"</a>. He cracked himself up with that one. Now it’s <a href="http://artists.letssingit.com/theory-of-a-deadman-lyrics-bad-girlfriend-zfblpsx#p">“Bad Girlfriend” by Theory of a Deadman</a>. Instead of “My girlfriend’s a dick magnet,” MGFM screams out the lyrics as “My BEST FRIEND’s a dick magnet!”<br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" >And he wonders why none of his relationships like us hanging out. ;)</span></p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" >Before I sign off, I’d just like to give thanks to the godsend <span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">(<span style="font-style: italic;">Godsends?</span>)</span> that are my friendships. Because of you guys, I managed to hang onto what little I have left of my sanity. For that I am eternally grateful. I just hope that I’m at least half as good a friend to you…</span></p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" >Wishing everyone all the best in life, love, and luck for 2009!</span></p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><b><i><span style="">Quote of the Moment:</span></i></b></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" > "</span><span style="font-size:100%;">He doesn’t like it when I go out with you, because he thinks that we’ll pick up boys together. You’re too cute, he’d rather me go out with one of my ugly friends…because…you know, ugly doesn’t attract people.”</span><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><br /><b><i>Soundtrack of the Moment:</i></b> <a href="http://ca.youtube.com/watch?v=8WeKrsnhc88">Theory of a Deadman, “Bad Girlfriend”</a><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><b><i><span style="">TV/Movie Quotes:</span></i></b></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" > <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1331305/">Dirty Driving: Thundercars of Indiana</a>: </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><i style="">[Announcer, over the PA system]</i> I just want to thank you all for patronizing us today.</span><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p>Ms ♥ Isabellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13394099734210916441noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15223217.post-67613054993896152602009-01-01T23:32:00.001-05:002009-01-01T23:32:59.777-05:00WTF?How did I not know about <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1014759/">this</a>?Ms ♥ Isabellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13394099734210916441noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15223217.post-31347731269510413752008-12-30T22:16:00.001-05:002008-12-30T22:17:32.549-05:00Stages of GreifOldie, but a goodie...especially now...<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/XCoaBN6iOu0&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/XCoaBN6iOu0&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Ms ♥ Isabellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13394099734210916441noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15223217.post-10470918313788451792008-12-17T23:38:00.004-05:002008-12-18T00:53:49.577-05:00In the Meantime...Right. So much to say. No time to say it.<br /><br />I don't know if anything will get better before Christmas...so don't expect any posts...that way, if there is one, it will be a Christmas miracle! Yeah!<br /><br />Until then...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_N186TfJuS8s/SUnUPRYhYaI/AAAAAAAAACc/1ZyAqwzmMZI/s1600-h/funny-pictures-cat-is-dressed-like-a-reindeer-and-might-kill-you.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 358px; height: 268px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_N186TfJuS8s/SUnUPRYhYaI/AAAAAAAAACc/1ZyAqwzmMZI/s320/funny-pictures-cat-is-dressed-like-a-reindeer-and-might-kill-you.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280985396897997218" border="0" /></a>Ms ♥ Isabellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13394099734210916441noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15223217.post-28084006620117660222008-12-12T00:54:00.002-05:002008-12-12T01:03:37.589-05:00It's Begining to Look A Lot Like...Christmas is nearly here, you guys! Who’s excited?! <span style="font-style: italic;">I AM!</span><br /><br />I talked to Mom yesterday, which was super fun. She’s such a funny lady. Honestly, I don’t know how I live without her. So many people up here either live with their parents or live rather near them…I’m totally and utterly jealous of them all.<br /><br />We talked about a bunch of stuff, but the funniest thing was her discussing <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1099212/">Twilight</a> with me…then<a href="http://www.jrward.com/index-books.html"> another vampire series</a> I got her started on. I expressed my empathy for the stars of the movie…and how crazy it’s been…and how it’s insane that these young girls are confusing the character of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edward_Cullen_%28Twilight%29">Edward Cullen</a> with the actor <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Pattinson">Robert Pattinson</a>. She reminded me that I had my own rather extreme fixation on one <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0001701/">Devon Sawa</a> <span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">(Although she hilariously called him “Kevin”)</span> back in the day, and I had to remind her that I:<br />1. Never asked/demanded/coerced her to drive to wherever said actor was acting/living/appearing.<br />2. Never shrieked at such a pitch that some poor standerby would lose his/her hearing.<br />3. Never actually thought he was <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0112642/">Casper</a> or <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0110364/">Junior</a>.<br />And, most importantly, 4: Never proposed marriage to the dude.<br />When <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paris_Hilton">Paris Hilton</a> came up…and the phenomenon of being a celebrity of, well, being a celebrity, I totally won the argument after that. :p<br /><br />She’ll be up in about a week...Brother and Linz will be in a couple days before. It’s so darn crazy to think about it, since they’ve been away for so long. It’s really, really wonderful. It’ll be the first time I <span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">(legally)</span> go out with the two “youngens.” I’m really hoping the <a href="http://www.libertygroup.com/c_lounge/c_lounge2.html">C Lounge</a> does it’s <a href="http://montreal.beforelastcall.com/intouch/56/ice_lounge_inside_c_lounge_toronto.html">ICE Lounge</a> again, because it’s such a blast. And, honestly, where else are they going to go that’s like that and <span style="font-style: italic;">NOT</span> an igloo? Plus…if I can talk my way in for free twice, I can do it again. <span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">(Oh, how confident I am whilst filled with vodka. Um…not that I am right now…but I will be, <span style="font-style: italic;">in theory</span>, while there. You know what? Forget I said anything.)</span><br /><br />Speaking of filled with vodka, I’m trying to get some people from work together for drinks tomorrow after work. Fun, right? Well, we’ll see. It may end up being me, alone, with a<span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">(n extra, extra, dry)</span> martini…but at this point I’m trying to be positive. I really like all the work crew—as you all know—and it would be cool to feel like a more permanent part of them…<br /><br />Of course, this is nothing compared to the Great Twin Meet-Up of 2008. <span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">(You know, I should be careful…I feel like that might actually be an existing event. Google? <span style="font-style: italic;">No?</span> Hmm, interesting.)</span> You remember the chick on my online community who pretty much has the same likes/dislikes/history as me? After telling my mother about this and explaining the situation, she let me know that she most definitely did not have a child when Twin was born. I feel like Twin and I are both rather aware of this, but it was still rather hilarious to hear. Well, we’re getting together Saturday, in person. I’ve promised her I’d bring my tiara <span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">(and a </span><a href="http://i95.photobucket.com/albums/l121/ms_isabella/0b0b_1.jpg%29">Twilight bookmark</a><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">)</span>, and really, what more can a girl ask for?<br /><br />More on that as it happens…<br /><br />In other news…I read a blog today that was along the lines of “What where we doing a year ago?” As such, I figured I’d check it out myself…So the <a href="http://msisabella.blogspot.com/2007/12/barely-commentary.html">December 2007 blog</a> is a couple days off…but it’s still pretty darn funny, right?<br /><br />Goodnight sweethearts. ;)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Quote of the Moment:</span> "[He] was supposed to do something for me today, and I hadn't heard from him. So I just texted him, and he was like, “Sorry, got to reading and I got sucked in. You understand. <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Twilight_characters#The_Volturi">Volturi</a>.”<br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Soundtrack of the Moment:</span> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mTVaVG3ab4k">Kings of Leon, “Soft”</a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">TV/Movie Quotes:</span> <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0386676/">The Office(USA)</a>: Would I rather be feared or loved? Um...easy: both. I want people to be afraid of how much they love me.Ms ♥ Isabellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13394099734210916441noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15223217.post-48036734770782624442008-12-09T00:09:00.005-05:002008-12-09T00:38:17.316-05:00PC: 3If you haven't already, read <a href="http://msisabella.blogspot.com/2008/10/pc-chapter-1.html">this</a>...and then <a href="http://msisabella.blogspot.com/2008/10/pc-chapter-2.html">this</a>.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_N186TfJuS8s/SPRFsp-jJqI/AAAAAAAAABo/kZIfM19QY0I/s1600-h/Cowboy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 282px; height: 299px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_N186TfJuS8s/SPRFsp-jJqI/AAAAAAAAABo/kZIfM19QY0I/s400/Cowboy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256903298532976290" border="0" /></a>Catherine wasn’t daft enough to assume that her father had no sort of scheme up his well-tailored sleeve, but—seeing as she could not find the where or the why of it—she let the matter rest as it may. “Yes Daddy.”<br /><br />“You were sure to pack your work clothes as well as a bit of your finery separate from all the rest, Cate?”<br /><br />“Yes Daddy.”<br /><br />“You shall listen with all good-faith and respect to Mr. Sawyer.”<br /><br />“Yes Daddy.”<br /><br />“The others, you have means to listen to, only should your own good judgment come to the first moment of failing you.”<br /><br />She laughed a little, “Yes Daddy.”<br /><br /><a href="http://msisabella.blogspot.com/2008/12/pc-3.html">Continue reading...</a><br /><br /><span class="fullpost">“Blue stays, Cate, to travel with your mother and myself.”<br /><br />“But Daddy!”<br /><br />“Now, Cate, you’ve spent a lot of your time on that colt, and I don’t want to see him taken by some silly accident.”<br /><br />Catherine made her disagreement known in her tone, “Yes Daddy.”<br /><br />“Yankee too.”<br /><br />“Daddy!” Her objection startled some of the waiting animals. “He won’t stay calm away from me for so long. And who am I to ride from here to San Francisco? Some flea-bitten nag not worth its hide in trade?”<br /><br />“Catherine Louisa Rochester Van Yorne.”<br /><br />She quieted immediately at the use of her full given name, then responded with an equally lackluster, “Yes Daddy.”<br /><br />Robert watched in detached amusement as the family said their goodbyes. Catherine seemed resigned to her fate, even stood waiting patiently for the cow-horse to be brought up for her to ride. Yet, as the grooms trotted the small cluster of thoroughbreds back towards the stable car, her dark mood lifted a bit at the edges. Robert had seen enough of men and animals in his life to recognize a look like that when he saw it. There was nothing at all agreeable in Miss Van Yorne’s expression.<br /><br />Catherine bided her time, waiting for the moment to present itself to her, as opposed to running for it like she wanted to. There was only one chance to get the thing right, and she wouldn’t jump the gun just because she was more angry then reasonable. Just as she suspected, one horse after another loaded into the car, but Yank shied away from the restarting engine. His groom lead him around and behind one horse after another, until there were no more left, and the train whistled its last warning before departure.<br /><br />Catherine could hear her father shouting orders to the groom from the car ahead, trying to give him the magic set of cues that would put the big chestnut up the ramp and safely tucked away in his stall. The gears began to turn, steam hissing free from its captivity. Now, she thought and let out her own whistle in two tones; one high and short, the other low and long. Yankee went up on his hind legs, freeing himself easily from his flustered groom, then darted away from the train with the speed he’d become famous for. Breaking likewise from the group, Catherine sprinted to a trajectory slightly in front of where Yankee headed.<br /><br />They came together like the whole thing had been choreographed. She reached back behind her for his thick mane, using his momentum and the leverage of her forearms on his shoulders to hall her up onto his bare back. Firmly seated, she reached forward as the long lead swung back, and caught that almost as easily. She let him chase the train for a bit, in that moment not caring a lick what her punishment might be whenever they finally made it into San Francisco. When he had his fill of freedom, she asked her oldest friend to turn back to where her astonished escorts waited.<br /><br />That was the big secret to riding Yankee; instead of telling him where to go, you asked nicely. Usually, he’d agree.<br /><br />Returning to the loose cluster of lawman and cowboys, Catherine dismounted and walked Yank to the only free, saddled horse left to the bunch. She switched the tack from the one horse onto Yank, tucking his lead and halter into her roll bag. That done, she mounted, and looked expectantly at the men on the ground before her. “Shall we, gentlemen?”<br /><br />The men scrambled up and on to task, looking for all the world like a bunch of little boys caught off from work by the head boss. Robert, on his blue-eyed, grey-roan mount, trotted by and gave her a short tilt of his fingers to his hat. She couldn’t be certain, but she thought she heard him chuckling as he lead the way.<br /><br />*<br /><br />Robert tried not to watch Catherine set herself up for sleep in the camp’s single tent. Or, mores to the point, he tried not to let anyone notice him watching her buckle down for the night. She moved carefully, no doubt feeling her body’s objections to a nearly seven hour ride, but she hadn’t uttered a single complaint. She laughed when the jokes were appropriate, and pretended not to hear when the boys got too colorful for the ears of a lady. She led them all in a few songs, even told a story or two to help with the passing of time.<br /><br />When they’d all made the decision to lay camp for the night, Catherine had carried at least her share of chores, and neither demanded nor took more than her ration of food. She’d quietly excused herself to take care of her personal business, and then returned to sit with the lot of them around the fire. Yankee, just as tired as the rest for his day’s efforts, stood quietly with the herd, happy to be fed, watered, untacked, and not trudging along more of the same rocky sand.<br /><br />After hiding another yawn, Catherine wished the men a good sleep and turned into her tent to get some of her own. She removed her hat and boots; the first serving to remind him of how much hair she had hidden up in it, and the second proving him correct that she felt more discomfort than she let on. Swatches of rust-red stained her white stockings at the heel of one foot and the toe of the other.<br /><br />Frowning, Robert went to where he’d staked out his sleeping spot and pulled a tin of lanolin and bit of rag out of his saddle pack. He carried his small offering to her slowly, wondering how, exactly, he could play the thing so that she obeyed without offense.<br /><br />Finding himself at the open fold of the tent before coming to any real conclusions, he attempted casual conversation. “Long day in the saddle, Miss Van Yorne.”<br /><br />She started, so intent on inspecting her bloody stockings, she hadn’t even noticed his approach. “Oh! Mr. Sawyer, you ‘bout scared me out of my skin!”<br /><br />“Apologies, ma’am.”<br /><br />“Cate,” she corrected absently. “Did you need something, Mr. Sawyer?”<br /><br />“Robert,” he countered likewise. “Your boots aren’t new, nor are your riding skills; but I gander that a lady like yourself has no reason to spend the entire day on horseback. Body and gear alike tend to forget themselves in the face of such a thing.” She said nothing to encourage him, but neither did she speak against his words. He continued, “I wasn’t much younger than you when I set out on my first drive west. I’d spent all sorts of time training horses for the solders in the Carolinas, so I didn’t figure it would be any different at tall to ride in a straight line for a whole day. I’d even bought new boots and chaps for the journey. The first day, I was far worse off than you are now. By the end of that first week, when we camped down, I couldn’t take either my boots or my chaps off me, seeing as they both had cut so deep into my skin. Santos, this Mexican hand, being the decent sort who—in his own words—had a thing or two to atone for from past indiscretions, gave me the greatest lesson I’ve ever gotten about life on the trail.” He handed her the tin and rag. “The oil helps the leather give into your shape faster; helps your skin from breaking under the assault. It also keeps you from getting as wet in the rains.”<br /><br />She took the items slowly, as if uncertain of what he might expect as payment. “Thank you, Robert.”<br /><br />While he wanted to whoop out at her first unrequested usage of his Christian name, he instead turned away from the sight of her and started back for the fire. “Give ‘em a good rub, inside and out; onceover on the sole of your foot. And don’t you be worried about returning that tin for a few days. When you can take off your boots without seeing color, you can think about getting it back to me.”<br /><br />*<br /><br />The next few days passed in much the same way as the ones before them. Catherine felt almost as though she could fall asleep in the saddle, as long as she stay on it, and Yankee wouldn’t be much affected regardless. She enjoyed some of the trip. The way the men slowly eased into the realization that she didn’t bite, and didn’t whine, and knew when to speak and when to leave well enough alone made her especially happy. As if she might finally be accepted as one of their own.<br /><br />Still, not everything went easily. All the men save Sawyer still all clambered over one another for the right to serve her coffee in the morning. And she still couldn’t seem to get used to seeing some of the lot shirtless before, after, and sometimes during, the ride.<br /><br />The one thing she was recognizing, slowly creeping in day by day, was her growing interest in Robert Sawyer’s—occasionally shirtless—person. Besides the salvation he bestowed upon her that first day—in the rather humble form of a grease slopped tin and dirty rag—he’d barely taken a moment to speak to her. Oh, he gave her orders…what kind of water was safe to bathe in and what wasn’t…how far to go from camp to have privacy but still be well within range of hearing should something go wrong. But as for conversation, Sawyer gave her nothing at all.<br /><br />Now they were finally coming upon a true town—Dodge City, Kansas—and were all looking forward to a night of real food, a real wash, and a real bed. Sawyer led them into town, checked the majority of their firearms with the Sheriff, put their horses up at the livery, and walked the lot up to the hotel. “Mark and Travis, you two come with me. The rest of you…” he trailed off, glancing swiftly at and away from her, “…be ready to ride by ten.”<br /><br />The general exuberance given off by the men at leave confused Catherine…until she saw the brightly—and scantily clothed ladies waving over the balcony of the building they all went to enter. Mind set only on a good bath, she went to enter the hotel lobby. Sawyer stepped into her path, and she knocked into him. Even though she’d seen his naked torso, the solidness of him still surprised her.<br /><br />He took her waist in his hands to steady her, then set her back away from the entrance. “Boys, watch Miss Van Yorne while I procure us some rooms.”<br /><br />She watched him leave with pure, extracted befuddlement.<br /><br />Robert took off his hat and rose himself up as he entered the hotel. He knew there was nothing to be done about the dust and grime that clung to his person, but attitude and presence could win you a lot in a place like Dodge City. Whatever couldn’t be won by that alone, was made up by the offer of gold or cash. With that in mind, he walked up to the front desk and asked for three rooms, all in a row, preferably starting from a corner.<br /><br />The weaselly little man behind the counter looked at him with dark, beady eyes. “You have to check your guns in with the sheriff before entering any establishment in Dodge City.”<br /><br />“Already done, Sir.”<br /><br />The man gained a marginal amount of politeness, “I see; you’ve been here before then, Mr..?”<br /><br />“Sawyer. I’m afraid the first time I was in Dodge, the closest thing you had to a hotel was made up of burlap and rotting wood. The last time, I was lucky enough to stay in the curtsey of the Eurps, so I’ve never had the honor of patronage to your hotel. However,” he pulled the bills he’d pre-counted from his shirt pocket, counting four out onto the counter, “I’m now in need of three rooms. A lady travels with us, a daughter of my employer. She’ll be needing the corner room, if available, and a hot tub as soon as it can be brought.”<br /><br />The beady little eyes took in the extra bills as Robert laid them down. “Oh, yes sir.”<br /><br />“If possible, I’d like the same brought in for myself…in the room adjacent to my lady’s.”<br /><br />“That is not a problem, sir. And when will your lady be arriving?”<br /><br />“Presently, via escort, of course. If you can have the tub ready for her, I’ll be certain to introduce her to the man responsible for her comfort.”<br /><br />“Yes, sir,” the man extended his hand, a lacy ruffle extending from under his jacket sleeve. “I’m Tomas, owner and manager of the Sapphire hotel.”<br /><br />Robert tried not to make a show of whipping his hand off on his chaps. “Robert Sawyer.”<br /><br />Tomas handed him the three keys, holding the last up special, to indicate its order of importance. “And your lady, sir?” Tomas raised his eyebrows inquiringly.<br /><br />“For reasons of personal safety, requests to remain anonymous at this point and time.” Robert didn’t wait for further inquires, but went out to gather the quiet trio awaiting him on the sidewalk. “Miss Van Yorne, keep your head down and don’t speak to anyone.” He handed her the key to her room. “Go into the corner room, a bath should be waiting for you. Strip, and set your clothing outside the door.” He turned to the two men, “Boys, make sure she gets up the stairs unbothered. Open and check the third room, lock it down, and make enough of a mess to look like someone’s living in it. I’ll bring in her clothes, which you’ll have to change into, Travis. Leave what you’re wearing in the room, I’ll make sure it gets back to you. Then you two are free to join the others. Understood?”<br /><br />All that decided, the trio entered the building just after Sawyer. He, himself, made a big show of questioning Tomas about the local wares for sale and recommendations on dinner. The distraction proved just enough to get Catherine up the stairs and into her room unnoticed. From there, the plan went exactly as he had dictated it.<br /><br />Rather, almost exactly.<br /></span>Ms ♥ Isabellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13394099734210916441noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15223217.post-82344651449454306472008-12-07T01:12:00.003-05:002008-12-07T01:23:50.640-05:00New Features are Fun!Right, so I added a playlist to the right-hand side there. <span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">(If you're reading this anywhere but</span> <a href="http://www.msisabella.blogspot.com/">Running Commentary</a><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">, my blog, then go to the following link to figure out what the heck I'm yammering about: http://www.msisabella.blogspot.com/)</span><br /><br />Basically the idea is, those songs are the ones I can't stop singing. In the shower, in the car, doing the dishes...you get the idea. They may change daily...they may be around for awhile. They are not necessarily even my most favorite music.<span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"> (Don't you HATE when you get a song into your head and you can't stop singing it?)</span> It's just what I can't stop singing. Well, the top 10 things I can't stop singing.<br /><br />I'm still going to be posting "Soundtrack of the Moment" songs...because those are different in a more OCD extreme way...but the Playlist is new, and I just wanted to do some pointing and smiling so everyone spotted it.<br /><br />So...we've all seen it now? We know why it's there? Fantastic.<br /><br />Now I can go to bed. :)Ms ♥ Isabellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13394099734210916441noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15223217.post-73370397249468739372008-12-05T23:14:00.006-05:002008-12-06T22:41:25.805-05:00Lists, Love, and LimitlessnessI’m a rather active member on several blogs/games/etc online. One of the biggest is my “position” with Chapters’ Community as a “news girl” and general forebringer of hotness and entertainment news. I’m fully comfortable with this issue, for many reasons ranging from my history with the arts to my history with obsessing over the arts. I always know who’s in what and who’s doing who <span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">(whom?)</span>. I’ve meet actors and singers and athletes. I had a really whirlwind year of hanging out with a professional groupie that I still look back upon with a bemused sort of smile, despite the unfortunate events that followed our breakup.<br /><br />But seriously, guys, I must be getting old. Why you ask? Because I keep saying, <span style="font-style: italic;">“I just don’t get these kids these days.”</span> I only know who the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jonas_Brothers">Jonas brothers</a> are because my Dad’s gf’s daughters are <span style="font-style: italic;">OBSESSED</span> with them. I feel like more and more, I keep seeing these young Disney poptartlets and I’m like, <span style="font-style: italic;">“Who is that, again?”</span><br /><br />More in that line of fun, I was watching <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0170016/">How the Grinch Stole Christmas</a> <span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">(the live action one with</span> <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000120/">Jim Carrey</a><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">)</span> and I suddenly realized why <a href="http://www.people.com/people/gallery/0,,20191974,00.html">that chick</a> on <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0397442/">Gossip Girl</a> looked so damn familiar to me. Because she was Cindy Lou Who! Love when shit like that happens in my world.<br /><br />Once again, I’m getting off track. Forget about me being concerned about getting behind the “cool kids.” Instead, let’s move on to the reason why I started this blog in the first place. On one of our community posts, my possible twin posted something regarding your top <a href="http://community.indigo.ca/posts/Eye-Candy/group-1637/523033.html">5 celebs and top 5 fictional characters (we wish were real)</a>. It’s the pseudo-list of “bys” that you get in a relationship…sort of like a get out of jail free card…as if, by putting them out in the open ahead of time, no one would be affronted by the charge. I enjoy “the list” in theory as much as I do in practice, but it’s impossible for me to hear this line of thinking without recalling the <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0108778/">Friends</a> episode where <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0583520/">Ross bumps Isabella Rossellini from his list…only to run into her later on the same day</a>.<br /><br />My list is posted there, but I figure I’ll do it here as well. <span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">(In no particular order)</span><br /><br />Talyor Kitsch:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.fridaynightlightsonline.com/wallpapers/Taylor-Kitsch/taylor_wall_3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 451px; height: 336px;" src="http://www.fridaynightlightsonline.com/wallpapers/Taylor-Kitsch/taylor_wall_3.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Jason Lewis: <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i95.photobucket.com/albums/l121/ms_isabella/jason-lewis.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 303px; height: 400px;" src="http://i95.photobucket.com/albums/l121/ms_isabella/jason-lewis.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Brad Pitt:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i95.photobucket.com/albums/l121/ms_isabella/04.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 440px; height: 370px;" src="http://i95.photobucket.com/albums/l121/ms_isabella/04.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Christian Bale:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i95.photobucket.com/albums/l121/ms_isabella/christian_bale_94.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 362px; height: 545px;" src="http://i95.photobucket.com/albums/l121/ms_isabella/christian_bale_94.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Megan Fox:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://riveronmirror.files.wordpress.com/2008/04/megan_fox_maxim_drugs.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 411px; height: 334px;" src="http://riveronmirror.files.wordpress.com/2008/04/megan_fox_maxim_drugs.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>(Yes, I realize I’m a woman of the cock—doesn’t mean I don’t give credit where it’s due. There’s always a chick I’d be willing to reconsider for…so, there you go.)<br /><br />Now…on to the possibly more interesting…we discussed how it’s easy to let an actor playing a character take over your opinion of said character. As in…<a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0648249/">Timothy Olyphant</a> is hot, even though he was the bad guy in <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0337978/">Live Free or Die Hard</a>…so you kinda couldn’t totally hate him. :p <span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">(I know that’s a lame example, but I can’t help that I can’t come up with a better one on short notice.)</span><br /><br />Me, personally, I have issues with “crushing” on a character who is life-alteringly in love with someone else. It’s sort of a what’s the point? But, since they’re fictional anyways, it was fun for me to give my list for that as well. Ironically—or maybe notsomuch considering all things—<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edward_Cullen_%28Twilight%29">Edward Cullen</a> appeared over and over again.<br /><br />My main fictional man is, of course, Westley.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.babble.com/CS/blogs/famecrawler/Princess-bride-cary-elwes-dread-pirate-roberts.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 433px; height: 235px;" src="http://www.babble.com/CS/blogs/famecrawler/Princess-bride-cary-elwes-dread-pirate-roberts.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Sigh…it’s not the actor—no offense intended to <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000144/">Cary Elwse</a>. It’s just Westley…just…how he is with Buttercup. The way he puts his pride last, no matter her slight against him. How he just loves her enough to…anything. “Life is pain” he promised her, but he also promised that “death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while.” If there’s a dread pirate Westley out there, I will likely reconsider all my preconceived notions on marriage and family and all the rest. Er…hold…rewind…if there is a Westley out there <span style="font-style: italic;">WHO WANTS ME</span>…speed forward tape. :}<br /><br />In the meantime, I’m just happy to deal with me. I’m really enjoying myself at work <span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">(even though cute starbucks boy has been MIA since I started working; boo)</span>, as you all well know. And, the other day, I found <a href="http://www.chapters.indigo.ca/books/Loves-Book-Of-Answers-Carol-Bolt/9781584792253-item.html">this book</a> while I’m helping put stuff away in the discount section. One of my work buddies was listening to me ramble off about how I have the original <a href="http://www.chapters.indigo.ca/books/Book-Of-Answers-Carol-Bolt/9780786865666-item.html">Book of Answers</a> and how it’s actually done me some good in the past…and he suggests that I give the love book a try. On a whim, giggly and with little more than then minutes left in my shift, I run my hands along the spine and say, “Will I end up with a celebrity?”<br /><br />The answer—which was later given further credence by my coworker—was spectacular. My coworker…although he wouldn’t tell me the questions he asked, assured me that the answers were spot on to the advice he’d been given in real life from his friends/fam/etc. So what was the answer to my ridiculous little question, you ask?<br /><br />“Start at the bottom and work your way up.”<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Huh.</span> You know, I just might do that. ;)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Quote of the Moment:</span> "I think she thought I was after her, so I told her I was a sister of the cock, but then she thought I said cloth, so the whole thing got completely insane from there.”<br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Soundtrack of the Moment:</span> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8_kFK6d5p6o">Boys Like Girls, “Thunder”</a><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">TV/Movie Quotes:</span> <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0170016/">How the Grinch Stole Christmas</a>:<br />Martha May Whovier: Did I have a crush on the Grinch? Of COURSE not.<br />Cindy Lou Who: Uh... I didn't ask you that.Ms ♥ Isabellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13394099734210916441noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15223217.post-44774603903440650252008-12-03T21:27:00.004-05:002008-12-03T21:36:57.906-05:00It's Happy, Bitch!<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >Work, work, work. My life has become working, reading, writing, and…happiness? Huh, who knew?<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">I’m sure it’s something that is really obvious to all of you out there. You guys see through my shit pretty easily. Still, it surprised me the other day…just standing around a work shelving books. And I was grinning like an idiot. Happy, just for the sake of it. Not because I’m trying so hard.<br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Just like everything, it all seems to go together. I’ve been doing my hair every day, changing my makeup and just generally taking care of me. If you’re a guy, none of that may sound like anything, but if you’re a girl, I think you’ll understand. There’s something about wanting to be cute and put myself out there that just doesn’t happen unless I’m really, truly happy.<br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">The last time I remember feeling this way was when I had my agent and was filming in Houston…and Austin. I really, truly started to just have fun for me. I miss that (not necessarily the filming, but the happy)…or I do now…now that I’m realizing there was something to miss in the first place.<br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Some of this is likely the whole quarter-life crisis thing…or, maybe it’s not, but it seems possible. Maybe…hmm. Regardless, I’m getting off track here. What was I talking about?</span></p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Right!<br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Another thing that might make sense for most people is my connection with <a href="http://www.britneyspears.com/">Britney Spears</a>. Ha. It’s not like we’re actually friends. I’ve never even met the girl. <span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">(Someone please tell me how I’ve run into </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paris_Hilton">Paris Hilton</a> <span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">twice and yet have never managed to be in the same room as Britney Spears? <span style="font-style: italic;">Seriously?</span>)</span> I did do a song and dance routine to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F0qg-VGOzYE">Crazy</a> back in high school, playing Britney. Britney was one of my two most used nicknames. I just…I feel a kinship with the girl, okay? <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">So it makes me really, super happy to <a href="http://www.mtv.com/ontv/dyn/britney_spears_for_the_record/series.jhtml">see her fit and smiling and talking about coming back out of the darkness</a>. She says this line, <span style="font-style: italic;">“I’m a smart girl…what the hell was I thinking?”</span> and I’m sitting there <span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">(that’s a blatant lie, I was dancing around my living room and seeing if I could still do a</span> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7nBc4AqBcvU">triple pirouette</a> <span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">without getting dizzy)</span> and I start smiling and nodding at her. I get you, Brit-babe. Been there, with you, hope the best for you.</span></p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Happiness is fun. And, weirdly it’s probably the only thing that I can say <span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">(with zero self-consciousness and total confidence)</span> looks good on me. Happiness looks good on me.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Rock on!</span></p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><b><i><span style="">Quote of the Moment:</span></i></b></span><span style="font-size:100%;"> "If I lived back then, I’d totally have both hands cut off. My tongue, probably too.”<br /><b><i>Soundtrack of the Moment:</i></b> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GVVBqyuk1zs">Britney Spears, “Circus”</a> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><b style="font-family:arial;"><i><span style="">TV/Movie Quotes:</span></i></b></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" > <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0333766">Garden State</a>: </span><span style="font-size:100%;">If you can't laugh at yourself, life's gonna seem a whole lot longer than you like.</span><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p>Ms ♥ Isabellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13394099734210916441noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15223217.post-4150752603618039092008-11-26T00:08:00.002-05:002008-12-05T23:42:21.061-05:00Frog Love<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://icanhascheezburger.files.wordpress.com/2008/01/funny-pictures-frog-prince-kiss.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 381px; height: 286px;" src="http://icanhascheezburger.files.wordpress.com/2008/01/funny-pictures-frog-prince-kiss.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://icanhascheezburger.files.wordpress.com/2008/01/funny-pictures-frog-prince-kiss.jpg"><br /></a>Ms ♥ Isabellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13394099734210916441noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15223217.post-16738775137668576552008-11-23T19:51:00.002-05:002008-11-23T20:12:57.490-05:00Speak into the TwilightI have this weird memory…a regret, I suppose. I was in my Senior Ecco/Gov class, and hung around with a bunch of kids who I wasn’t really friends with, but was very friendly with. A girl said something—something that caught me off-guard the way the use of the “N word” does by someone who should know better—and I muttered something along the lines of, “Wow, people really surprise you, sometimes.”<br /><br />This in and of itself isn’t a murdering offense, I suppose. It’s true, in a bare, mean sort of way. I didn’t mean to be insulting when I said it, it just sort of popped out of my mouth as I thought it. Yet those words haunt me a little.<br /><br />A girl standing next to me happened to overhear me. She’d mentioned something earlier…asking if she could talk to me alone later…if I’d mind giving her some advice. What I said scared her off. I never found out what she needed to say, only that my unintentional prejudice meant that she never told me. Every once in awhile I think about that, and I hope that she wasn’t looking for an outlet to confess something awful. High school can be mean enough without feeling like you can’t talk to anyone.<br /><br />What’s bringing all this up, you ask? I just finished a book, one I’d highly recommend, called <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Speak-Laurie-Halse-Anderson/dp/0142407321/ref=ed_oe_p">Speak</a>. Without giving too much away, this freshman girl starts high school badly. She called the cops at the big summer party, leading to arrests and all sorts of social bad Karma. Thing is, she can’t talk about why she did it. Truth be told, she doesn’t really talk about much of anything. The reader, though, gets the benefit of being in her head. And in her head, silence is nonexistent. Highly recommend.<br /><br />So, after all the wait, I finally saw the <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1099212/">Twilight movie</a>. Before I go on, I liked it. I liked how they did the sparkles, I liked how they did the casting..mostly <span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">(Rosalie will forever be</span> <a href="http://i95.photobucket.com/albums/l121/ms_isabella/olivia_wilde.jpg">Olivia Wilde</a><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"> in my mind.)</span>, I even liked most of what was added and/or changed. I’ve heard lots of nastiness about the above, but I’m ignoring it. I want to see it again. <span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">(I’d also like a<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">n il</span>legal DVD copy of my own. Immediately. Thanks.)</span> There was lots I didn’t like. But, to sum-up, I feel like it’s a great starting point for the series. Also, you don’t have to have read the book to enjoy the movie MGFM loved it, and he’s scared of books. <span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">(Exact quote: “It was just so…romantic.”)</span><br /><br />Lauren and I, incidentally, spent an increment longer than the actual movie discussing the movie. There was much giggling. And, really, my deepest regret is that I wasn’t there with her or that she wasn’t here with me. Again this year I won’t be able to see her for Christmas. It’s been a while, longer than I’d like. And it’s all the more annoying, because of all the time in the past I’ve been able to visit her.<br /><br />It’s like…okay, don’t laugh…but it’s like your first love or a long span of sex…um…what’s an antonym for “frustration”? Or even a night of really good sleep. It’s not something you appreciate until you don’t have it anymore. I’m not going to wax paranoiac about the financial state of affairs of myself and the rest of the world, just suffice it to say that I’m not planning on jumping on a plane every couple of weeks. Or…even…every couple of months. I’m missing the jet setting lifestyle, but most of all I’m missing the people who I got to see on said jet-sets.<br /><br />You see, I’ve spent such a long time in the past while being unhappy at work…unhappy with my home life…unhappy, unhappy…that I really didn’t have to look far to frown. Now a days, I find myself happy…happy…and happy…except for missing those I love. I miss so many, and that’s my only real unhappiness right now. Just like the love and the sex and the sleep, I didn’t realize how much I missed everyone until I was happy enough to miss them. Dang it.<br /><br />Still, must not be unappreciative of the greatest things I’ve been dealing with of late. Be thankful, everyday, for something. And I am. It’s not enough forever. But it’s enough for now.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Quote of the Moment:</span> "GO! KILL THE BABIES!!!”<br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Soundtrack of the Moment:</span> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SXKAzgBMWxc">Taylor Swift, “Love Story”</a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">TV/Movie Quotes:</span> <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1099212/">Twilight</a>:<br />Edward Cullen: Do you trust me?<br />Isabella Swan: In theory.Ms ♥ Isabellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13394099734210916441noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15223217.post-44878240825727608562008-11-13T20:58:00.001-05:002008-11-13T20:58:56.443-05:00If Only...<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/1e9Qiy0qg6c&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/1e9Qiy0qg6c&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Ms ♥ Isabellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13394099734210916441noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15223217.post-76405290992330407482008-11-03T01:16:00.002-05:002008-11-03T01:26:15.409-05:00Halloween StardustHalloween is here! Yea, Halloween. It’s so fun to play as another person…even if you can’t find one of the two required fangs to be a vampire…and end up just being a witch instead. Don’t ask, don’t tell, kinda thing. :p <span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">(Actually it’s more a ‘I have no clue how one fang disappeared in the course of a year…and maybe I don’t want to know,' thing.)</span><br /><br />I got about the nicest rejection letter <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">EVER</span> yesterday. To quote: <span style="font-style: italic;">“We have carefully read your story and while it has merit, it is not exactly what we are looking for at this time. Your writing style is commendable and we would encourage you to send other stories that you feel might be appropriate.”</span><br /><br />Nice, right? See, this is why I’m not disappointed. I’ve been told that if they write back at all, you’re doing something right, but this seemed above and beyond the basic form letter.<br /><br />Moving on.<br /><br />I’m officially working again. <a href="http://www.chapters.indigo.ca/">Chapters</a> has declared me one of their own. I wish I could express to everyone how much I love this job. Honestly, I feel like I’m at home, when I’m working. I recommend books, put things in order, and make sure everything looks pretty. My life rocks. It’s a little silly, really, how excited/happy I am to be doing another hourly/retail gig, but I can’t deny that I am, in fact, enjoying myself. Everyone is an English major or a grad student…there is even a real live author running around and making an impact. What more could a girl like me ask for?<br /><br />Seriously, I feel like I’ve gone to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mecca">Mecca</a>, and am now surrounded by all “my people.” Everyone seems to like me, and most everyone seems to have my sense of humor. I’m not even going to get into the cute boy who works at the attached <a href="http://www.starbucks.com/">Starbucks</a> who I happen to find super cute. <span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">(Clearly, I found him cute before I started working there, it’s just more of an opportunity now that I actually work <span style="font-style: italic;">NEAR</span> him. :P )</span><br /><br />I’ll update when/if more info becomes available.<br /><br />Recently read <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stardust_%28novel%29">Stardust</a>. I liked it lots, but—oddly enough—I actually liked the movie better. That has happened to me only twice, this being one of the two times. The other was <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0093779/">the Princess Bride</a>. In that instance, it may have just been that I knew the movie so well, I could recite it, and the book didn’t exactly match. For Stardust, I think the story was just better served in the movie. Plus, it’s hard to go wrong with <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000134/">De Niro</a>, <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000201/">Pfeiffer</a>, <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000132/">Danes</a>, <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000564/">O’Toole</a>, <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0147147/">Henry Cavill</a>, <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0315041/">Ricky Gervais</a>, and relatively new <span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">(but hot)</span> <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm1602660/">Ben Barnes</a>. Oh, and there’s Unicorns <span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">(In both versions, actually, but movie Unicorns rock my world! Parenthetical shout-out to</span> <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0089469/">Legend</a><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">! Yea!)</span>.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Shut up!</span> Unicorns are cool. You know you want one. You know you’ll name him <span style="font-style: italic;">“Creamed Corn.”</span> <span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">(Don’t ask.)</span> Or maybe <span style="font-style: italic;">“Candy Corn.”</span> Regardless, the Unicorn is where it’s at.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">*Sigh*</span> I’m rambling, aren’t I? Well, perhaps this is the natural place to end, then….<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Quote of the Moment(X3):</span> "Part of being a narcissist is being terribly insecure. If I wasn’t so insecure about myself I wouldn’t work as hard as I do. I am constantly seeking approval."<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">[New hire, looking around bookstore]</span>: “I don’t really…you know…read.”<br /><br />“As always <span style="font-style: italic;">[you’re]</span>, the rock of my insanity. Um...I'm not sure that came out the way I intended it to. So...yeah, forget that. The calm in my storm!”<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Soundtrack of the Moment:</span> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ftEX8UYzM74">PCD, “Whatchamacallit”</a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">TV/Movie Quote(X3):</span> <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0787985/">Stardust</a>:<br />Captain Shakespeare: And, Yvaine, I have some lovely dresses; take your pick.<br />Yvaine: [surprised] I'm fine.<br />Captain Shakespeare:<span style="font-style: italic;"> [quietly] </span>Honey... you're wearing a bathrobe.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">[after finding themselves stranded on a cloud]</span><br />Tristan: What the hell did you do?<br />Yvaine: What did I do? What did YOU do? Think of home? That was a GREAT plan! You thought of your home and I thought of mine and now we're halfway between the two!<br />Tristan: Well you stupid cow! What did you think of your home for?<br />Yvaine: You just said home! If you wanted me to think of your home you should have said!<br />Tristan: Some crazy lady was going to cut your heart out and you wanted more specific instructions?! Perhaps you'd want it in writing or a diagram maybe?<br /><br />Yvaine: <span style="font-style: italic;">[tied up, back to back, in the pirate ship]</span> Tell me about Victoria.<br />Tristan: Well, she... she... There's nothing else to tell you.<br />Yvaine: The little I know about love is that it's unconditional. It's not something you can buy.<br />Tristan: Hang on! This wasn't about me trying to buy her love. This was to prove to her how I felt.<br />Yvaine: Ah... And what's she doing to prove how she feels about you?<br />Tristan: Well... Look, Yvaine, you'll understand when you meet her, all right? If we don't get murdered by pirates first.<br />Yvaine: Mmm... Murdered by pirates, heart torn out and eaten, meet Victoria... I can't quite decide which sounds more fun...Ms ♥ Isabellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13394099734210916441noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15223217.post-80672228842044118452008-10-31T02:27:00.002-04:002008-10-31T02:27:48.429-04:00This is Love, defined...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/d/d7/Mad_0905.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 225px; height: 300px;" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/d/d7/Mad_0905.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>Ms ♥ Isabellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13394099734210916441noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15223217.post-13241787887202971502008-10-30T22:23:00.000-04:002008-10-30T22:24:17.891-04:00Oh, How I Understand...<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/6stsXoGQxQ4&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/6stsXoGQxQ4&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Ms ♥ Isabellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13394099734210916441noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15223217.post-66434452818540322962008-10-24T23:41:00.004-04:002008-10-24T23:56:32.553-04:00PC: Chapter 2<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_N186TfJuS8s/SPRFsp-jJqI/AAAAAAAAABo/kZIfM19QY0I/s1600-h/Cowboy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 282px; height: 299px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_N186TfJuS8s/SPRFsp-jJqI/AAAAAAAAABo/kZIfM19QY0I/s400/Cowboy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256903298532976290" border="0" /></a>Van Yorne looked over the half a dozen men Sawyer had called into New York with him. They were all young men, but not enough to be wet behind the ears. If he knew Sawyer like he thought he did, these six youths would have seen more in both gun action and life lessons than the majority of men twice their ages. They were hard, heavy men that knew how to listen and didn’t mind taking orders. Mixed in backgrounds, if Van Yorne read them right, but that didn’t bother him as much as it would have to any other man in his position; He’d seen what mixed blood could to improve a man.<br /><br />“This is the most trusted of my crew from back home. I vouch for any of these men as if they were me, myself.”<br /><br /><a href="http://msisabella.blogspot.com/2008/10/pc-chapter-1.html">Continue reading...</a><br /><br /><span class="fullpost">“I have four, to add to your party,” Van Yorne saw Sawyer’s hesitation, and understood the why of it as well. It didn’t, however, change his mind. “That isn’t something I can argue with you about, Sawyer. Those boys of yours are fine, no question; but, when it comes to my child, I have to put my hands onto this as much as possible.”<br /><br />“I can’t speak for your men.”<br /><br />“No, nor should you.”<br /><br />“If something should happen…”<br /><br />“I’d give you full rights, Rob. If one of them does anything you deem a killing offense, you have my blessing to see to it.”<br /><br />“I don’t kill, Van Yorne.” The missing word in that sentence knocked him off guard, but the look on Sawyer’s face stopped him cold. “Ever.”<br /><br />“I meant no offense, Rob. I—.”<br /><br />Sawyer waved this mess away. “If one of them steps out of turn, I’ll do what needs be done. They’ll leave broken or comeback bruised.”<br /><br />“Agreed. I’ve got you a bed in with us. Five of the men in the car before ours and five in the car behind. “I’m assuming you’d prefer to split your six down the middle?”<br /><br />“I would.”<br /><br />“Name ‘em, and we’ll do it as you’d like.”<br /><br />That settled, the men separated, one to his family, and the other to both his old and new crew.<br /><br />*<br /><br />Catherine stood out on the platform of Grand Central Depot, awaiting the arrival of the rest of her family and bodyguards with her mother. The two were surrounded on all sides by women in various colors and quality of fabric. Some of them were so lost in laudanum, their sickly pallor presented so clearly, they could barely fain any interest in the conversations going around them. Catherine ignored the women and enjoyed the time with her mother, talking quietly of simple, important things her brothers wouldn’t even realize existed. <br /><br />Said brothers arrived together, followed shortly thereafter by their father. Still, the Van Yorne women waited. The moment everything changed came over the platform like a day heavy with dampness, just before the thunder and night storm. Quick glance looked to be about a dozen men, all dressed down in colors of dirt and clay and burlap; weighed down with leather in the way of chaps and belts, boots and holsters. Silly girl fantasies of famous gunslingers and corral showdowns washed over her like a physical manifestation. The other women in the station seemed likewise distracted.<br /><br />The leader of this cowboy gang wore his sand tone hat and double-holstered gunbelt slung low. He walked like a man who knew how to lead; like a man who owned those around him as much as he owned himself, yet took better care of those others than he ever would himself. Even in their simple act of walking, the men seemed to look to their leader for example. As they neared closer, she could hear the jangle of their spurs along with the heavy fall of their boots. Then the lead man, with his sandy colored hat, looked up and squinted into the rising sunlight.<br /><br />“Goodness, Momma, that’s Mr. Sawyer.”<br /><br />The Lady Cassandra gave a cryptic smile usually only ever seen on the faces of the sphinx. “Yes dear, it appears that it is.” <br /><br />Resting just before the steps of the platform, Sawyer looked up at them and—just like one of the heroes from one of her dime store novels—tipped his hat down to them. “Mrs. Van Yorne, Miss Van Yorne.”<br /><br />“Mr. Sawyer,” they answered together. Cassandra kept on, on her own, “Lovely day, gentlemen. Thank you all for assisting us. I believe your accommodations have already been sorted out? Yes? Good. Shall we, then?”<br /> <br />Like they all held different parts in a dance, two groups broke off from Robert Sawyer and headed onto separate paths. Sawyer maintained with the lady Van Yornes. <br /><br />Catherine felt like hissing at every opium-laced woman who took the time to stare at the figure Robert Sawyer cut as he made his way with them along the platform to their car. Instead, she commented, “You seem much happier in your change of clothing, Mr. Sawyer.”<br /><br />“Excuse me,” Mrs. Van Yorne requested and removed herself to the car.<br /><br />Robert didn’t feel confident addressing Catherine, all done up again—this time in various colors of green—but he couldn’t let the comment rest, “You mean I’m better suited to the cloth of my class?” <br /><br />She laughed, bringing a white, doe skinned covered hand to her chin. “Not at all, Mr. Sawyer. I meant simply that you seemed so uncomfortable in the clothing you wore yesterday, it is nice to see you so contented in the ones you wear now.”<br /><br />He couldn’t see anything to say to that, so he didn’t select to say anything at all. <br /><br />Instead, he assisted Catherine onto the train car, and—following her in—assessed her gown without pondering the woman herself. The green of the dress proper was a sort of mid-green...a bit of forest green mixed in with enough yellow to lighten it without weakening the color completely. It covered her from the hem of her gown, gathered in degrees up, from skirt to bustle…up from undercorset to long-sleeved overlay. The only break of the color—apart from the elbow length gloves—spilled out from under her collar, in frothy, white lace that poured out like fresh cream. Her kitten-heeled boots matched her gloves.<br /><br />She turned on him once they’d fully boarded the train, “Again, I seem to overstep myself in your presence, Sawyer. Please, if nothing else, realize I meant no harm.”<br /><br />Robert removed his gun belt and slipped into his allotted bunk, boots on with all the rest, “Nothing taken, Miss Van Yorne.”<br /><br />“Cate,” She offered, without thinking much of the result of her allowance.<br /><br />*<br /><br />Days on the train turned Robert soft. He forgot a little about who he was and allowed himself a certain level of relaxation with the Van Yorne family. They passed the time together as if assorted parts of the same body. <br /><br />He found out how the eldest—and rarely mentioned—brother, John, had gone off with an Indian maid to the Dakotas and all but forgotten his family in the process. That William, the third in the line, practiced law in New York City; and Lawrence, the fourth, did the same back in England. Catherine, he came to find, was a bit coddled because of being the only girl, but not so much that she never had to endure an injustice at the hands of her brothers. <br /><br />Like the rest of them, she had a quick sense of humor and the sort of righteous indignation against any and all prejudices that lay almost singularly with a certain type of upper-class mentality. Unlike the rest of them, she had a certain sort of melancholy about her she hid behind her sincere interest in her family’s many occupations. She talked horses and investments with her father, laws and tall-tales with her brother Richard, and women and property with the only sibling she could count herself as senior to. Often she’d go off with her mother, the two women sitting in one corner or another, working on needlepoint or knitting and talking quietly. The only direct contact she had with Robert centered on awkward and limited conversations. Every day she appeared in a different colored dress, while he stayed more or less in the same ensemble he always kept to when he traveled. That alone forced Robert to keep a bit of distance from the woman.<br /><br />Well into their third week on the train, Robert sat cleaning his guns on his bunk. <br /><br />Mrs. Van Yorne read a volume in some language other than English in a soft chair off to their main sleeping area, but besides that, he was alone. Then Catherine approached in a navy calico printed with heavy, open red roses. The sleeves ended just below her elbows, her feet clad only in soft skinned leather slippers, and her neck cut out in a shallow square. It was the most of her skin he’d ever seen, and something about the simpleness of the outfit made him warm to her. “Miss Van Yorne?”<br /><br />“Cate,” she reminded him. “May I sit?” She didn’t wait for his answer, but took a seat on the bunk beside him. “I happened to notice you with your revolvers, and hoped I might observe your process. I don’t have to touch anything.”<br /><br />“Have you not done a gun cleaning with your brothers?”<br /><br />“They don’t like me to traipse that far into the world of men. Bad enough I jockey the horses and help in their breeding and training. My investing they allow for a bit more, money being everything, but none of the lot understands my interest in the mechanics of artillery.”<br /><br />Robert smiled at the idea that any man could restrict this woman in something she felt determined to do. “Does that mean I’m going to catch hell for not shooing you away?”<br /><br />She returned the grin, “I’ll swear that I blinded you with my feminine whiles.”<br /><br />He pulled out the second of his matched pair of revolvers, picked up a piece of rag, and offered it to her. “You do just as I do, asking any questions if you’ve got ‘em.”<br />Catherine nodded and did exactly as he asked. Occasionally she inquired after a part or working mechanism of the gun, but she mostly just used her god-child hands to attend to her allotted revolver as least as well as he cared to the other. “How often do these guns need cleaning, Mr. Sawyer?”<br /><br />“It’s much like with people. Some say everyday…some not more than a couple times a year. I usually see to ‘em every few weeks; less, if I’ve had reason to use ‘em.”<br />She handed him back his gun, looking at the residue of black grease upon her hands. “Thank you, Mr. Sawyer. Have a good night.” She took herself into the side car they used as a bathroom, and locked the door behind her.<br /><br />Mrs. Van Yorne didn’t look up from her novel, but spoke to him regardless, “She has a bit of a fascination with the West, Mr. Sawyer. For as long as I can remember, in lieu of fairytales and stories of princesses, Catie asked to hear about Wild Bill Hickok and Calamity Jane, Kit Carson, or Jessie James. I think she saw enough of ‘modern men’ at home…and during her year in England, to think that she might find herself happier with a man of the West.” <br /><br />Neither of them said anything more on the subject.<br /><br />*<br /><br />Catherine woke up in the corner of Yank’s stall, not entirely sure how she’d gotten there. The Stallion, himself, was laid out on the straw, sleeping the true deep sleep he couldn’t get while standing. Slowly, she stood up, remembering that she’d gone for the stable cars after laying in her bunk for hours without sleep. Now, not even sure to what hour she awoke, Catherine realized that she put herself far out of propriety…wandering out in nothing but her nightgown and silk robe.<br /><br />The noise alone wouldn’t have caused the feeling of immense danger that came upon her. The noise was nothing much more than a scrape of boots on wood. It was the unhinged laughter that doused her with fear. Keeping a watchful eye on Yank, she let out a scream loud enough to wake every horse in the box; leading them all to kick up and start their own ruckus. <br /><br />She thought she saw a shadow approach, but Yank was up, rearing and snorting a warning at the head of his stall, blocking her view. Catherine let him guard the door, hiding herself in the corner and letting out another scream. <br /><br />Seconds later, Robert Sawyer called out in the darkness, “Cate?”<br /><br />“In Yank’s stall. Someone’s out there.”<br /><br />“Saw him, but lost him. Some vagrant jumping trains, I suspect.” She heard him move towards Yankee’s stall, to which the horse expressed his objection. “Are you alright?”<br /><br />Catherine came back into herself, easing around Yankee and calming the big stallion. “Just out of sorts.” She got a good look at Robert, only dressed in his low-slung pants, revolver in his hand. The long stretch of his naked trunk—even in the darkness of the box car—showed how hard and lean Sawyer was. It wasn’t until he reholstered his gun and shifted his hands to his hips, that she remembered not to stare. She leaned against the wooden half-door. “I’m not dressed respectably, Mr. Sawyer.”<br /><br />He smiled, chuckling softly. “Nor am I, Miss Van Yorne. I promise not to take any liberties. Just want to see you back to your bunk.” <br /><br />“Thank you…”<br /><br />He took her hand and tucked it up under his naked arm, “Robert.”<br /><br />“…Robert,” she repeated, her fingertips brushing the surprisingly soft skin on top of heavy muscle.<br /><br />When the two returned to the Van Yorne’s main car, all were up and demanding of information. Robert laid out his part, and Catherine filled in the small space he didn’t know. Her father gave her a firm, dark look, to which she nodded slightly once. <br /><br />Mr. Van Yorne tried checking his emotions, but the paler left on his only daughter’s face had his heart running on an uneven beat. When he finally crawled into bed next to his beautiful wife, he whispered to her his new decision. “Tomorrow, we bring in the decoy, and Catherine goes on the trail with Robert.”<br /><br />Cassandra rolled over to face him. “That is quite a trek to San Francisco, Louis. Do you think she’s ready? That they’re ready?”<br /><br />“I think it’s time they find out.”<br /><br />She looked at her husband for a long while, thinking, but keeping her mind in silence. She wasn’t sure if he was awake when she chose to speak, but she had to say the words regardless. “I don’t doubt your convictions in this, but I hope you realize that if something goes wrong with it all, you’re the only one holding the blame.”<br /><br />Van Yorne heard her, but made no reply. She wasn’t saying anything he hadn’t already spent half a year losing sleep over thinking about. He prayed he wasn’t wrong.</span>Ms ♥ Isabellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13394099734210916441noreply@blogger.com46tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15223217.post-1000126997823287272008-10-23T21:44:00.003-04:002008-10-23T21:50:22.067-04:00Random WTF?Um...o-Kaaaay.<br /><br />I'm all about good music. I mean, I don't buy into the whole what's "cool" or "not cool," I just listen to what I like. Makes life super easy.<br /><br />I guess you could say that I'm totally up for the whole "freedom of expression" deal. Still, could someone please explain to me wtf is up with the people wearing animal masks??<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/RaZoWVKAgJs&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/RaZoWVKAgJs&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Ms ♥ Isabellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13394099734210916441noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15223217.post-54976179017396439202008-10-20T20:13:00.006-04:002008-10-20T20:54:43.943-04:00Pardon Me?Right, so lately I’ve kinda been all over the place. We all know this, I do believe I’ve made it perfectly clear. The funny thing about it, is how dang out of touch with myself all this has made me. Everything seems to be catching me off guard. Everything is kinda…remembered after the fact, I guess. Like that thing that happens when you don’t understand something someone has said, say, “Pardon?” <span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">(Or the less enjoyable, “Huh?”)</span>, and then realize what the person said. <p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">This first happened when I was searching for background noise while I was doing my homework. <span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">(Don’t let the authorities fool you, kiddies, not everyone should study in pure silence, away from all distractions. Maybe it has something to do with my home life in high school…or the futility of expecting quiet to study in the dorms. Wow, this is a rather long aside…even for me. Lets soldier merrily along, shall we?)</span> <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0115685/">The Birdcage</a> was on, so I turned it there. Pretty soon, I wasn’t doing so much of the work, as I was laughing my ass off at the movie. How is it that I never remember how much I love this movie, how funny it is, and then I see it on TV and can’t stop myself from giggling out loud? Someone <span style="font-style: italic;">please explain? </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">There’s another movie that I have a similar, but different issue with. I never think of listing it as one of my favorites. <span style=""> </span>I always kinda put to the back of my mind, but then I hear or see something about it and I gush relentlessly.<span style=""> </span>I am referring to, of course, <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0084296/">The Man From Snowy River</a>. The what from what-what, you ask? Well, this movie came out before I was born. However, in this movie horses and Australian accents abound <span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">(This could actually be the source of my attraction to Australian accents. It is 100% responsible for my attraction to </span><a href="http://ackermansonline.com/index_files/image26591.jpg">duns</a><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">/</span><a href="http://i95.photobucket.com/albums/l121/ms_isabella/image26591.jpg">smoky buckskins</a><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">.) and the story/acting/score ain’t bad either. It was followed up by</span><a style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);" href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0095993/"> a sequel</a><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">, which was a poorer movie, but had more exciting/nifty scenes. Quantity, over quality, as it were. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">By far my most favorite and awe-inspiring scene, is below. There is no way this stunt could be approved for a movie made today. For one, insurance would disallow the main actor to be used <span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">(as he was in this filming)</span>. For two, the <a href="http://www.americanhumane.org/site/PageServer?pagename=pa_film">AHA</a><a href="http://www.americanhumane.org/site/PageServer?pagename=pa_film"></a> who <a href="http://www.sag.org/">SAG</a> requires to watch out for animals during filming, as well as most other animal activists would cause a shitstorm over it. Personally, I can’t see a horse jumping blind the way this one does without wanting to, but I digress. Let’s watch the scene, shall we? </p> <p style="font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">[set-up: an extremely valuable racehorse has been released into the wild and is running with a herd of wild</span> <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brumby">brumbies</a><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brumby"></a><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">. A reword has been offered for capture, but when the wild horses jump down the shear side of a mountain, the low-land riders give up for another day. Except for one…]</span></p> <br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/YNStbzxuAQ4&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/YNStbzxuAQ4&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal">Supreme awesomeness, no?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">In other news of me completely being confused, I give you this:</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; color: rgb(255, 153, 255); font-style: italic;"><b><span style="">Ms.I</span></b><span style="">: It's just funny, b/c she has a similar feeling for the cold that you do.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; color: rgb(255, 153, 255); font-style: italic;"><b><span style="">Lauren</span></b><span style="">: I still have it -- it's worse. Like, I'm nauseous, but not like I’m going to get sick. And kind of have a headache. Blah -- I just had a ginger ale.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; color: rgb(255, 153, 255); font-style: italic;"><b><span style="">Ms.I</span></b><span style="">: I just realized what happened here.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; color: rgb(255, 153, 255); font-style: italic;"><span style="">I said, "She has the same thing for the cold that you do." And you thought I was saying she had a cold. I meant the weather. Which made your response hella crazy.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; color: rgb(255, 153, 255); font-style: italic;"><b><span style="">Lauren</span></b><span style="">: Hahah. Oops<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; color: rgb(255, 153, 255); font-style: italic;"><b><span style="">Ms.I</span></b><span style="">: I literally read it like, seven times, going...Lauren gets nauseous and has to drink ginger ale when it's cold outside?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; color: rgb(255, 153, 255); font-style: italic;"><b><span style="">Lauren</span></b><span style="">: haha, that too :-p<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; color: rgb(255, 153, 255); font-style: italic;"><b><span style="">Ms.I</span></b><span style="">: Right, so, now that we're clear on all that. :p That was awesome, btw.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; color: rgb(255, 153, 255); font-style: italic;"><b><span style="">Lauren</span></b><span style="">: yeah, confusion is the best<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><b style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255); font-style: italic;"><span style="">Ms.I</span></b><span style=""><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255); font-style: italic;">: Well, only when it's funny. Or moderately fourth-grader.</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255); font-style: italic;"> </span><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255); font-style: italic;">Like "sea-men"</span><span style="color: rgb(136, 136, 136);"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;">I honestly don’t know if that will be funny to anyone not me, but I found it hilarious. The thing is Lauren and I rarely have miscommunications. We are abnormally synced up. We often feel the need to warn people not familiar with us together about how our powers combine and make us nearly incomprehensible to a layman. With the singular “twirling penguin” exception, I can’t really think of a time when this happened. Now I’m like, great, more of this to look forward to in the future. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;">Damn school. :p</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;">Yeah, that about covers it for now. Loves ya!</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><b><i>Quote of the Moment:</i></b> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">Dad: I was thinking about getting you a prescription.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">Ms.I: Oh, really? A prescription?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">Dad: Yeah, why is that a problem?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">Ms.I: Subscription, Dad? Because otherwise you just offered to get me drugs. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">Dad: Sorry, subscription.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">Ms.I: For a second there I had the feeling you were going to force some percocet on me.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">Dad: Oh, shut up.</span><br /><b><i>Soundtrack of the Moment:</i></b> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SylhS_1mBF0">PCD, “Magic”</a> </p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><b><i><span style=";font-family:";font-size:11;" >TV/Movie Quote:</span></i></b><span style=";font-family:";font-size:11;" > <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0115685/">The Birdcage</a>:<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><b><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000245/">Armand</a></b>: What are you giving him drugs for? What the hell are Pirin tablets?<br /><b><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000279/">Agador</a></b>: It's aspirin with the "A" and the "S" scraped off.<br /><b><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000245/">Armand</a></b>: My God, what a brilliant idea!<br /><b><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000279/">Agador</a></b>: I know.</p>Ms ♥ Isabellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13394099734210916441noreply@blogger.com0