tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-48076704933970805392024-03-19T03:15:36.577-06:00an inquiry of me"This time, like all times, is a very good one, if we but know what to do with it."
— Ralph Waldo Emersonmichellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10536502984178491632noreply@blogger.comBlogger88125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4807670493397080539.post-8544664321513878202011-07-11T21:14:00.001-06:002018-11-21T11:08:22.012-07:00this weekendum.. on July 15th, <a href="http://disney.go.com/pooh/movie/trailer">Winnie the Pooh</a> comes out and so does <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mObK5XD8udk">Harry Potter</a>..michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10536502984178491632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4807670493397080539.post-40389314972901605942011-07-10T21:01:00.000-06:002012-08-09T12:36:24.699-06:00Riverton Demolition Derby<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi49bOURyZNmeTe8h0kivtgXszG3TjDzX7JeoPJCn9FG4aXMoSVsafZsJpq3XG3HdFoB3SQnM1dPybMaHfDJuWIX0M20GWNdikKx6wpYQHrLsRs9QtS1CLH-uav_c0Ebf-TiMJ5zFzO36c/s1600/Riverton+Derby+036.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi49bOURyZNmeTe8h0kivtgXszG3TjDzX7JeoPJCn9FG4aXMoSVsafZsJpq3XG3HdFoB3SQnM1dPybMaHfDJuWIX0M20GWNdikKx6wpYQHrLsRs9QtS1CLH-uav_c0Ebf-TiMJ5zFzO36c/s200/Riverton+Derby+036.jpg" width="132" /></a> this guy wanted to pose for this pic, he asked me to tag him, but I think he was kidding cause I don't know him. </div>
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MINI DONUTS IN A BUCKET!! <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkJ-pDuazgnavDZcbTndVGeuhgiETUSyNrQj7Hr1PUtcHIaJOudEmpdzjOjIV3u2agzlTvptja564wtOaybFd1GhEV9kax2qdioQ-mxHs8ZzDmpQlntRY3Nd0NFMb0ULaxuY-RF79mqhg/s1600/Riverton+Derby+073.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkJ-pDuazgnavDZcbTndVGeuhgiETUSyNrQj7Hr1PUtcHIaJOudEmpdzjOjIV3u2agzlTvptja564wtOaybFd1GhEV9kax2qdioQ-mxHs8ZzDmpQlntRY3Nd0NFMb0ULaxuY-RF79mqhg/s200/Riverton+Derby+073.jpg" width="132" /></a>, I didn't have a one, cause blast my life.. FOOD ALLERGIES!! they smelled DELISH.</div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhesM3BlkaD1xL5ql-1GkBMsMbH-ibkoLjonD8jeRDCP2b9IabD_yDCZt_V_SHW9ZCjQQxYM-UC9nYXgmqSUZNh2FYqZPpDYkC1-2oLyJ2U1iuAA6pHPHOulKedDOTpBDs1M37Z0-VLqvg/s1600/Riverton+Derby+231.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhesM3BlkaD1xL5ql-1GkBMsMbH-ibkoLjonD8jeRDCP2b9IabD_yDCZt_V_SHW9ZCjQQxYM-UC9nYXgmqSUZNh2FYqZPpDYkC1-2oLyJ2U1iuAA6pHPHOulKedDOTpBDs1M37Z0-VLqvg/s320/Riverton+Derby+231.jpg" width="320" /></a>CRUNCH<br />
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SMOKE <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBD5ANNpbJPdpz5u3NN18-wyYe7OxvWSVnCUp_2RfKrM43NGWCz6TjIRnY4OZAkmB1j4gBUiTta9D181DJlYim2Qttfs2BhtDRme-8PqDafOjVbDVES5UnAobeDRpI3QCM8nuwWlKgU84/s1600/Riverton+Derby+234.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBD5ANNpbJPdpz5u3NN18-wyYe7OxvWSVnCUp_2RfKrM43NGWCz6TjIRnY4OZAkmB1j4gBUiTta9D181DJlYim2Qttfs2BhtDRme-8PqDafOjVbDVES5UnAobeDRpI3QCM8nuwWlKgU84/s320/Riverton+Derby+234.jpg" width="320" /></a>and</div>
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this little guy making my night<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirvc3iaFVFvPqQs_ZOrFJVzUQ8tGULgU4vWpRKLUIj2ftstwG2uLZ5R-hE6sR02DvIsQXxyO7Qcw4S0LRy59ipUAe3nWoKj5qwBqBXncCgWsiXTjF5KJfx12PeVqkZlOQM7XmAwPxCzds/s1600/Riverton+Derby+173.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirvc3iaFVFvPqQs_ZOrFJVzUQ8tGULgU4vWpRKLUIj2ftstwG2uLZ5R-hE6sR02DvIsQXxyO7Qcw4S0LRy59ipUAe3nWoKj5qwBqBXncCgWsiXTjF5KJfx12PeVqkZlOQM7XmAwPxCzds/s400/Riverton+Derby+173.jpg" width="400" /></a>, youngest mechanic on the circuit! </div>
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Making the rounds with Meliss and her Fam... Our Adventure packed summer has only begun! WHOOP WHOOP!! </div>
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RODEOS AND DEMOLITION DERBIES!! oh bless my heart! </div>michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10536502984178491632noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4807670493397080539.post-54285458598782040732011-07-07T15:43:00.000-06:002011-07-07T15:43:52.284-06:00Horses<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdvLBgJwToJ1_vELOxOdVChws1jy64iNGtPgSdAF-sO8I-oeIBRSEJ5S9F1H4M4hyphenhyphenVPFnMVV7MoyuZPY3y56EDKN6VfG33XsV-qDqVCP-Rzkejue5S5FI-vEju5TACaU6SKyDixT2vbVQ/s1600/DSC_2323.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdvLBgJwToJ1_vELOxOdVChws1jy64iNGtPgSdAF-sO8I-oeIBRSEJ5S9F1H4M4hyphenhyphenVPFnMVV7MoyuZPY3y56EDKN6VfG33XsV-qDqVCP-Rzkejue5S5FI-vEju5TACaU6SKyDixT2vbVQ/s320/DSC_2323.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">there is an island back home that I would past on my way to the beach in the summer, and on that island there were horses that lived; It would make my day to see them running all over. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This wasn't an island, it was the arena at Strawberry Days, but it brought back a memory that I thought I lost.</div>michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10536502984178491632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4807670493397080539.post-10445098498747378872011-07-07T15:41:00.000-06:002011-07-07T15:41:37.307-06:00She buoys me up...and let's me have strawberry and creme<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidqtwxCfFi5yMKmaZ6IBpFAFScZjAF5Mb17MsCbyOQvg4aAUD_GC1oUxYvQxw6AjHy4M_WFzc0MmdmF1kKq-fh5pEab1bJNli9bk28M1csfThGtfuRYqYarKRjy6heom5_iwdBhm0wa0Q/s1600/meandmeliss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidqtwxCfFi5yMKmaZ6IBpFAFScZjAF5Mb17MsCbyOQvg4aAUD_GC1oUxYvQxw6AjHy4M_WFzc0MmdmF1kKq-fh5pEab1bJNli9bk28M1csfThGtfuRYqYarKRjy6heom5_iwdBhm0wa0Q/s320/meandmeliss.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">We like Strawberries and Creme </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg20xfkrEoPGTI665GlFJjB-NvCrqzck-0Qa6DNzE71znMLT_ncx4yvBeBEtpi3QvI_f68QrqCne1JEO6c8pfmoAFQ_0bPposlUIB3iM6YFyrCtUS04AU6C_7xHbxGI_Sc4k46u2N35iTk/s1600/strawberry+days.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg20xfkrEoPGTI665GlFJjB-NvCrqzck-0Qa6DNzE71znMLT_ncx4yvBeBEtpi3QvI_f68QrqCne1JEO6c8pfmoAFQ_0bPposlUIB3iM6YFyrCtUS04AU6C_7xHbxGI_Sc4k46u2N35iTk/s320/strawberry+days.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Strawberry Days</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">On the Rodeo Circuit.....</div>michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10536502984178491632noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4807670493397080539.post-44625567723123554982011-07-06T15:03:00.000-06:002011-07-06T15:03:51.387-06:00I'll say it againI said it once before, and I'll say it again... there is no such thing as secrets..but on the bright side, realizing the value of 2nd chances, and not relieving the past ( again); but making the most the future..<br />
I've learned something about regret. Regret is a wasted emotion, because regret doesn't change a thing. Wait, maybe that's a lie...regret can cut so deep you never want that kind of hurt to come again, and that is all the good regret has to offer.michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10536502984178491632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4807670493397080539.post-51975165324076328072011-02-01T10:54:00.002-07:002011-02-01T10:54:53.504-07:00I want this look<!--BEGIN HYPE WIDGET--><script src="http://ajax.googleapis.com/ajax/libs/jquery/1.4.2/jquery.min.js" type="text/javascript">
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<div id="hype_container_226535"></div><!--END HYPE WIDGET-->michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10536502984178491632noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4807670493397080539.post-71813594077052218282010-12-09T13:33:00.002-07:002010-12-29T21:51:59.059-07:00It makes a sound, your heart does...<div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: 'Bradley Hand ITC'; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">When you’re quiet enough, lost in the day dreaming of missed opportunities, you hear things. When all is quiet and you have a moment to think with regret the things you wished you would’ve done, should’ve done, could’ve done... when you think of all that might have been and you think with longing for the things that you thought would happen, but instead that you are still waiting for…in that moment when all is quiet and you're thinking on the memories and dreams…when it’s that quiet, you can hear the sound your heart makes when it breaks. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10536502984178491632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4807670493397080539.post-50036533789922798092010-12-09T09:47:00.000-07:002010-12-09T09:47:03.745-07:00Amie Miriello Hey<iframe width="425" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/77YsoxGjsIs?fs=1" frameborder="0"></iframe>michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10536502984178491632noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4807670493397080539.post-50932911752430555342010-12-08T11:37:00.001-07:002011-07-06T16:00:01.843-06:00I let you touch my face<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Bradley Hand ITC'; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><b>And memories are coming back to me today, as I sit and write about you. There is so much I think about when I remember you; like how I've always hated it when my face was touched, but I remember your hands on my face, and how I didn’t pull away. I remember my hand in yours and how your fingers fit around mine. I remember your smile and the way your whole face lit up when you talked of flying and music and what it was like to have moments when the voices stopped and you could just be happy. We loved the quiet moments and missed them, the fewer they got.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Bradley Hand ITC'; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><b> I write about you twice a year. On your birthday and every year around this time, because it's Christmas time, and you loved mistletoe and kissing….and I sit as the memories come flooding back, and have to smile at what was. It’s only at these times when I think about all that was good that I am not sad about the time we missed out on, about all the memories that we didn’t have.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Bradley Hand ITC'; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><b>You wanted to fly, and you wanted to play music. I wanted to watch all your dreams come true. I wanted to be there when they came true for you. <o:p></o:p></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Bradley Hand ITC'; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><b>I don’t like my face being touched, but I never minded it when you held my face in your hands… I’m remembering so much today, as I sit and write about you… you are some of my best memories</b>…<o:p></o:p></span></div>michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10536502984178491632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4807670493397080539.post-78893058004698368872010-11-30T04:24:00.001-07:002010-11-30T11:34:31.164-07:00Jr High Excitement It is like when I was in middle school. Every Fall, every summer, the night before going to camp with my youth group, I couldn't sleep. I waited to the last minute to pack every time, and I stayed up all night and thought about what that weekend or what that would week would mean to me.. All the excitement boiling up in me would not let me sleep. I'd "over pack" and not even be the slightest bit tired in the morning when it time to take off, only when my youth leader turned on Enya, and we started out on our way cuddled up with our friends in my church's 15 passenger vans did I shut my eyes and relax and take a nap before I experienced the time that I've been waiting for.<br />
I'm going home for the first time in like 11 years. I'm going to visit my friends, see my birth dad and breath in the North Carolina air, and maybe play in the rain, but I'm going home, and I couldn't be more excited. It's the middle of the night, the butt crack of morning, and the sun is going to rise, and I haven't slept.. I'm packed and so ready.. and the excitement is boiling up inside. I'm anxious and over whelmed. <a href="http://www.thewildernessdowntown.com/#4315+Winedale+Ln,+Charlotte,+NC+28205,+USA">This is the house I grew up in</a> , I loved here, I loved it because of my friends... I loved it here..<br />
<br />
I've got Jr High School Excitement , and I'm going home...michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10536502984178491632noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4807670493397080539.post-9186187675821422842010-11-29T01:32:00.000-07:002010-11-29T01:32:14.439-07:00Over the Rhine - Bornwhen I watch tv late at night, I sometimes hear the saddest songs.. and sometimes I love sad songs<iframe width="425" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/l-UvJ4LBzVg?fs=1" frameborder="0"></iframe>michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10536502984178491632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4807670493397080539.post-10491657266909566922010-11-21T20:38:00.002-07:002010-11-21T20:38:12.979-07:00daydreaming<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bradley Hand ITC"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I just wanted to know what it would’ve been like to have you in my life forever…to not have to say good bye and to have you next to me, for always. I wanted to know what it would have been like if you were mine…<o:p></o:p></span></div>michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10536502984178491632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4807670493397080539.post-23404536553099505502010-11-21T17:11:00.000-07:002010-11-21T17:11:36.349-07:00Sitting on the front porchYears from now, when we're sitting on the front porch; we're going to be talking about the times that we remember most. You'll say my laugh is what you heard first, and like everyone else you'll say I was and I am sunshine. I'll tell you that you were the only one I let touch my face. We'll sit quietly not talking about all the time we wasted not saying all the things we were too afraid to say, we still won't say those things....michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10536502984178491632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4807670493397080539.post-32000569740294423132010-11-18T10:31:00.000-07:002010-11-18T10:31:29.414-07:00mozella can't stop<iframe width="425" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/fvZNFxWNEOg?fs=1" frameborder="0"></iframe>michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10536502984178491632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4807670493397080539.post-33166610308384163562010-11-11T09:36:00.002-07:002010-11-11T17:59:25.923-07:00<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting'; font-size: x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px; line-height: 21px;"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting'; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Sometimes I push away those I want to keep close, just to see if they’ll stay, because I want them to stay. Sometimes people just want to know that you are willing to fight for them, that far past everything else in the world, you want to be a part of them as much as they want to be a part of you. That they believe in you, and they are every bit worthy of you and what you have to offer, because to them, you have EVERYTHING to offer. Some people walk away, but walk away slowly because they want you to ask them not to go. Some people run so that you’ll chase them, and some people just keep you at arm’s length so they have you at a safe distance. A distance where fear is the wall and pain is the road block. We are all judgers and will judge each other based on what someone else has done to us… to protect ourselves from future pain, future hurt, repeat sorrow? Sometimes the walls we put up to keep pain out, keep out joy. The guards we have to defend our hearts from sorrow keep out the love that wants to come in. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10536502984178491632noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4807670493397080539.post-60752165002684966932010-11-08T22:00:00.000-07:002010-11-08T22:00:32.350-07:00What does Love CostBeing in Love is NOT free... it cost so much, more than you ever thought you had to give, and it doesn't give refunds, or exchanges, and each new purchase you make, causes you to spend a little more.michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10536502984178491632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4807670493397080539.post-60100554295264707802010-11-05T20:08:00.001-06:002010-11-05T21:50:46.851-06:00Hello...hello..over here<div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">You see right through me, not into me knowing me. You see right through me, straight through me,right past me. You see right through me,cause I'm invisible to everyone. I'm invisible to Everyone, including you.</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">You don't know me either</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> like them....</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">You don't know me either.</span></i></div>michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10536502984178491632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4807670493397080539.post-51730010975710313722010-11-04T16:12:00.000-06:002010-11-04T16:12:18.772-06:00Right One, Wrong Time<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px; line-height: 21px;"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: x-large;"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><i>Do you ever meet someone, I don't know, someone comes into your life and the moment they enter it, you wonder, where you were before, what was it that kept you from meeting earlier? Where were they, where were you when you should've started? Or seriously, this is the "right time”, this time was when it was all to happen, why not sooner? I feel like I missed out on so much, and it hurts so much. Like this card my parents gave me once for my birthday that said that there was a hole in their heart, a piece missing from their family they didn’t know was there until I filled it. I feel so cheated. Time is not a good friend. What would have it been like if time could have been nicer to us, if paths came crossed at the earlier points. Did I not look up in a class at school? Did you pass me at a party and forgot to take a second look? <o:p></o:p></i></span></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: x-large;"> <div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><i>“The Right one at the Wrong time” that’s who I am….</i><b><o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div></span>michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10536502984178491632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4807670493397080539.post-14919797201446732372010-11-03T08:40:00.002-06:002010-11-03T08:40:32.636-06:00<div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Bradley Hand ITC"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When you think of me; I'm everything you know you wanted, I'm everything you've always needed. I'm that girl & you know it.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10536502984178491632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4807670493397080539.post-22359599162946972942010-11-03T00:22:00.000-06:002010-11-03T00:22:16.454-06:00Matt Nathanson - Come On Get Higher<object style="background-image:url(http://i2.ytimg.com/vi/aHx4BlF6V2o/hqdefault.jpg)" width="480" height="295"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/aHx4BlF6V2o?fs=1&hl=en_US"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/aHx4BlF6V2o?fs=1&hl=en_US" width="480" height="295" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed></object>michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10536502984178491632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4807670493397080539.post-80311023164653989442010-11-03T00:03:00.000-06:002010-11-03T00:03:25.877-06:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 16px;"><i>Losing someone to death is the easiest goodbye, you only have to say it once, saying it everyday scars the heart with every intake of breath.</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 16px;"><i><br />
</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 16px;"><i>The heart wasn't made to take on that kind of hurt, the kind of hurt where scars are opened everyday with thoughts of what might have been revisited...</i></span>michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10536502984178491632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4807670493397080539.post-23582248611282850992010-11-01T11:03:00.002-06:002010-11-04T19:57:24.302-06:00you can miss something that was never your's. you can miss something you never had, but wanted. you can miss it so much you feel it in the heartache.<br />
it's a real pain, that causes real tears, and leaves you with an ache like a missing body part that should be there, but isn't. all that from something that wasn't even your's.michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10536502984178491632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4807670493397080539.post-91646589885143058672010-10-31T23:36:00.000-06:002010-10-31T23:36:43.747-06:00The Wonder Years - Kevin and Winnie Clip ReelWhat becomes of the broken hearted? Happiness is just an illusion....<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Po5-0MQBFb0?fs=1&hl=en_US"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Po5-0MQBFb0?fs=1&hl=en_US" width="425" height="344" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed></object>michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10536502984178491632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4807670493397080539.post-38979368312980826492010-10-25T15:17:00.004-06:002010-10-25T19:24:33.982-06:00Who you are vs. Everyone Else<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: #545147; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><b style="font-style: italic;">N</b><b>athaniel Hawthorne once wrote:</b><b style="font-style: italic;"> No man, for any considerable period can wear one face to himself and another to the multitude without finally getting bewildered as to which may be the true..</b></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #545147; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 16px;"><b><i><br />
</i></b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: #545147; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><b style="font-style: italic;"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: #aa77aa; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">“To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting”</span></span><span style="color: #aa77aa; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #545147; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 16px;"><b style="font-style: italic;"><span style="color: #aa77aa; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">In high school, on pep squad, there was this chant, " Let's Go.... Let's Fight... Let's Win...Let's Go, Let's Fight, Let's Win Tonight."</span></b></span></span></b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: #545147; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><b style="font-style: italic;"><span style="color: #aa77aa; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></b></span></span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: #545147; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><b style="font-style: italic;"><span style="color: #aa77aa; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">So much of our time is spent trying to fit in with what everyone wants of us, who they want us to be, what they want us to do. I use to think that only girls have the problem of losing themselves in order to fit, but I have come to find out that all of us at some time , try to fit in the puzzle that is someone else's game. We shave away the pieces of ourselves in order to fit in, and be noticed ( Square peg, round hole) losing our authentic selves in an effort to be pleasing.. I know first hand what that can do to someone, and how awful it is to look in the mirror and not recognize the person looking back at you. It's a long road back to who you really are, if you go long enough being someone you're not.</span></b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: #545147; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><b style="font-style: italic;"><span style="color: #aa77aa; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: #545147; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><b style="font-style: italic;"><span style="color: #aa77aa; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">This is in addition to the previous post from an hour or so ago... I'm doing a lot of pondering today... so this is what I can share. </span></b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: #545147; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><b style="font-style: italic;"><span style="color: #aa77aa; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: #545147; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><b style="font-style: italic;"><span style="color: #aa77aa; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">xoxo</span></b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #545147; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 16px;"><b><i><br />
</i></b></span></span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: #545147; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><b style="font-style: italic;">ps.</b></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #545147; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 16px;"><b style="font-style: italic;"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: #aa77aa; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">“Do not let your fire go out, spark by irreplaceable spark, in the hopeless swamps of the approximate, the not-quite, the not-yet, the not-at-all. Do not let the hero in your soul perish in lonely frustration for the life you deserved, but have never been able to reach. Check your road and the nature of your battle. The world you desired can be won. It exists, it is real, it is possible, it is yours.”</span></span></b></span></div>michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10536502984178491632noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4807670493397080539.post-29773216202586855362010-10-25T14:12:00.000-06:002010-10-25T14:12:13.362-06:00Choices We Make<div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">There are moments in our lives when we find ourselves at a crossroad, afraid, confused, without a roadmap. The choices we make in those moments can define the rest of our days. Of course when faced with the unknown, most of us prefer to turn around and go back.</span></i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">There comes a time when every life goes off course. In this desperate moment you must choose your direction. Will you fight to stay on the path while others tell you who you are? Or will you label yourself? Will you be honored by your choice? Or will you embrace your new path? Each morning you choose to move forward or to simply give up…..<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10536502984178491632noreply@blogger.com4