<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6432922258392073642</id><updated>2011-04-21T15:24:36.424-07:00</updated><title type='text'>This is My Life.  In A Blog.  How Exciting.</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://superrkid.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6432922258392073642/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://superrkid.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Super Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03743158619962671667</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>6</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6432922258392073642.post-8440980628912804971</id><published>2009-01-26T16:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-26T16:30:05.195-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Bahh</title><content type='html'>Why does everything have to revolve around gifts??  &lt;br /&gt;Christmas, birthday, and the ever haunting &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;vday&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, my boyfriend and i have been going out for 3 months.&lt;br /&gt;For &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Christmas&lt;/span&gt; i bought very expensive tickets to his favorite sports team.&lt;br /&gt;and now tomorrow is his &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;bday&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;and then &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;vday&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;im&lt;/span&gt; fucking sick of buying gifts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;im&lt;/span&gt; out of ideas.&lt;br /&gt;and why does  everything have to revolve around gifts? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;cus&lt;/span&gt; when we break up, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;all that money&lt;/span&gt; will be for NOTHING. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Plus, we are the IT couple at my school.  Everyone is in our business, even teachers. &lt;br /&gt;Like today in my Honors History class my teacher was like ''Claire is slaking off, because she has a boyfriend and i see them together  all the time" &lt;br /&gt;this happened because i was finishing up my homework before class started, but she said the comment above in front of my entire class. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and so for the end of the day, i was asked what exactly i was 'doing' with my bf.  I was asked if hes fingered me.  If i was a backseat girl.  All these during class, with everyone watching.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am a VIRGIN.  I do not plan to have sex for  a long time.  And &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;im&lt;/span&gt; just getting sick of everything. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ugh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6432922258392073642-8440980628912804971?l=superrkid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://superrkid.blogspot.com/feeds/8440980628912804971/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://superrkid.blogspot.com/2009/01/bahh.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6432922258392073642/posts/default/8440980628912804971'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6432922258392073642/posts/default/8440980628912804971'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://superrkid.blogspot.com/2009/01/bahh.html' title='Bahh'/><author><name>Super Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03743158619962671667</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6432922258392073642.post-2756427128118407561</id><published>2009-01-13T15:06:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-13T15:15:43.552-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Memories...</title><content type='html'>Sometimes I think its amazing how a single song can make us think of anyone or anything.   For example today during my off-hour at school i was listening to my ipod doing my homework and the song Viva le Vida came on my Coldplay.   Instantly I was taken back to the place where I had remembered listening to the song last; on the beaches of Hawaii.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This was a pleasent distraction from the dusty bookshelves and creaky seats where i had found myself a moment ago, and I can honestly say that i felt that I &lt;strong&gt;was &lt;/strong&gt;back in Hawaii, with the white beaches and the sound of waves crashing as the sun slowely sank into the pink and purple sea.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All of this got me thinking about how songs have a way of pulling us back into a memory or thinking about someone.   Even 5 years later, whenever I hear the song Clocks (again, by Coldplay)  I think of this boy Zach... (a kid i had a crush on in 6th grade that used to always play that song on the piano during band class.) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's awsome how a single chord or beat can drag us back into the past or think of someone we havent seen in a really long time.  =]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On another note, my dress for my Winter Dance FINALLY shipped.   It should arrive early next week, (but i really hope it arrives earlier).   Pray, that it fits, because as always, the trouble with ordering stuff online is that it may not fit right, or look anything like it does in the picture.   Eeeek!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6432922258392073642-2756427128118407561?l=superrkid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://superrkid.blogspot.com/feeds/2756427128118407561/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://superrkid.blogspot.com/2009/01/memories.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6432922258392073642/posts/default/2756427128118407561'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6432922258392073642/posts/default/2756427128118407561'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://superrkid.blogspot.com/2009/01/memories.html' title='Memories...'/><author><name>Super Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03743158619962671667</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6432922258392073642.post-1375111314637784860</id><published>2009-01-11T09:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-11T09:19:38.457-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My Rant About Sports</title><content type='html'>I have never liked sports.  Maybe deep down its because i lack the courage to try out  for one, but I really think its just because they seem pointless to me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sport players are payed millions, for what?   Running around catching  a ball?  We pay entertainers &lt;strong&gt;way&lt;/strong&gt; to much in our society.   I also dont like what sports do to people.   My dad, gets furious when his team loses.  It puts him in a bad mood for the rest of the day...  why should I applaud something that makes  people angry when they have no control over?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We cheer and get excited when fights break out, and I admit, last night when i was at a LAX game with my bf and fights broke out i got up and cheered to.   But only because i was trying to be a good sport and make sure my bf had a good time.   I would never, never, ever think of cheering on fighting normally.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So then why, am i supposed to like sports?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6432922258392073642-1375111314637784860?l=superrkid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://superrkid.blogspot.com/feeds/1375111314637784860/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://superrkid.blogspot.com/2009/01/my-rant-about-sports.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6432922258392073642/posts/default/1375111314637784860'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6432922258392073642/posts/default/1375111314637784860'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://superrkid.blogspot.com/2009/01/my-rant-about-sports.html' title='My Rant About Sports'/><author><name>Super Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03743158619962671667</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6432922258392073642.post-2215423934761921955</id><published>2009-01-10T09:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-10T09:45:26.456-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Err...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I guess we should all give a big round of applause to puberity... ive changed so much in these past few years. I was always the weird kid. I played make-beleive all through elementry school. In middle school, i cared nothing for fashion, my hair, how i looked or anything. I remeber disliking those 'popular' girls.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Who wants to be popular, anyways? I would think.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;And the truth is, i dont want to be popular, never have, never will. And i realize now that those girls where only popular then because they realized how to grow up faster then the rest of us. They gave up on being a kid to have gorgous hair, skinny bodies, and cute clothes. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Poor things.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I havent really grown up that much, now that i think about it. I value clothes more then i used to. But I have my own style... im not a superficial copycat. I wear neon blue boots that make me feel like a Power Ranger, and soft flowy dresses. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, there is the winter dance at my high school on the 31st. My school is very casual, but i found the most stunning dress. I love it, and even if i stand out like sore thumb im gonna wear it anyways! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.unique-vintage.com/images/8476ivorybubbledress.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6432922258392073642-2215423934761921955?l=superrkid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://superrkid.blogspot.com/feeds/2215423934761921955/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://superrkid.blogspot.com/2009/01/err.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6432922258392073642/posts/default/2215423934761921955'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6432922258392073642/posts/default/2215423934761921955'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://superrkid.blogspot.com/2009/01/err.html' title='Err...'/><author><name>Super Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03743158619962671667</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6432922258392073642.post-7772429215877049527</id><published>2009-01-07T15:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-07T15:33:05.840-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Headaches and Hangnails.. Oh My</title><content type='html'>Someone is slowing inserting nails into the side of my head. &lt;br /&gt;Thats all i can really say, the pain is so horrible. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alex tried to kiss me at the end of the day today.   Its not that i dont want to kiss him, i just dont want to do it with everyone watching us.  But then again, when we are alone i dont really kiss him either.  I &lt;strong&gt;want &lt;/strong&gt;to i just  dont really know &lt;strong&gt;how.&lt;/strong&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i just got a hangnail, and now my finger is dripping blood over my keyboard.&lt;br /&gt;morbid.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6432922258392073642-7772429215877049527?l=superrkid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://superrkid.blogspot.com/feeds/7772429215877049527/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://superrkid.blogspot.com/2009/01/headaches-and-hangnails-oh-my.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6432922258392073642/posts/default/7772429215877049527'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6432922258392073642/posts/default/7772429215877049527'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://superrkid.blogspot.com/2009/01/headaches-and-hangnails-oh-my.html' title='Headaches and Hangnails.. Oh My'/><author><name>Super Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03743158619962671667</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6432922258392073642.post-3289355951374960062</id><published>2009-01-06T16:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-06T16:06:14.856-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hating the Weather..</title><content type='html'>Today,  I turned the heater up, layed on my bedroom floor in my swimsuit and pretended I was someplace &lt;em&gt;warm.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6432922258392073642-3289355951374960062?l=superrkid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://superrkid.blogspot.com/feeds/3289355951374960062/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://superrkid.blogspot.com/2009/01/hating-weather.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6432922258392073642/posts/default/3289355951374960062'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6432922258392073642/posts/default/3289355951374960062'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://superrkid.blogspot.com/2009/01/hating-weather.html' title='Hating the Weather..'/><author><name>Super Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03743158619962671667</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
