<?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-6866842736486578694</id><updated>2012-02-16T00:21:48.987-08:00</updated><title type='text'>M 'n M's World</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mnms12.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6866842736486578694/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mnms12.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>mnms12</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08535261062115776947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nepk7y8IqcE/SPJuLp0myJI/AAAAAAAAAAM/X0VndbyiK7M/S220/100_0589.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>7</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866842736486578694.post-8976215818705584329</id><published>2009-04-16T15:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-16T15:25:36.381-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Thursday, April 16, 2009</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_nepk7y8IqcE/SeewGf97IFI/AAAAAAAAACI/Iy2fWqaktpg/s1600-h/Picture+14.png"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 259px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_nepk7y8IqcE/SeewGf97IFI/AAAAAAAAACI/Iy2fWqaktpg/s320/Picture+14.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325418710095831122" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I HATE DUDE C!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Okay, maybe not hate. I refuse to tell you who Dude C is, but all my friends know. We developed a code for all of the deacons in our ward. Dude C just happens to be one of my most FAVORITE (not that I like him, he's just my favorite) But he's just a betrayer. That's how I feel. I feel betrayed. Stabbed in the back. You know. Horrible. I feel cold. I literally sat on those cold, hard stairs, and tried not to cry as I listened to the boys play Ultimate. &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/6866842736486578694-8976215818705584329?l=mnms12.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mnms12.blogspot.com/feeds/8976215818705584329/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6866842736486578694&amp;postID=8976215818705584329' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6866842736486578694/posts/default/8976215818705584329'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6866842736486578694/posts/default/8976215818705584329'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mnms12.blogspot.com/2009/04/thursday-april-16-2009.html' title='Thursday, April 16, 2009'/><author><name>mnms12</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08535261062115776947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nepk7y8IqcE/SPJuLp0myJI/AAAAAAAAAAM/X0VndbyiK7M/S220/100_0589.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_nepk7y8IqcE/SeewGf97IFI/AAAAAAAAACI/Iy2fWqaktpg/s72-c/Picture+14.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866842736486578694.post-5216960075949454026</id><published>2009-03-01T10:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-01T10:34:07.942-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sunday March 1st, 2009--Alone and Angry</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nepk7y8IqcE/SarVGcr3_aI/AAAAAAAAAB4/F9jsqVakxzo/s1600-h/Picture+1.png"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 160px; height: 127px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nepk7y8IqcE/SarVGcr3_aI/AAAAAAAAAB4/F9jsqVakxzo/s320/Picture+1.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308289417565699490" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am alone. I am angry. What can I say more?&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I cost my best friend her phone privileges because of an idiotic, blond question I asked her about a friend. The question is too stupid and embarrassing to be repeat. So now my best friend and I cannot talk on the phone for more than a month. Which means I can only see and talk to her twice a week. That's not what I'm used to. Now on those Sunday afternoons, when I've got the nibbles, she won't call me. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Not only that, but there are these two jerks in my Sunday School class. They made my best friend cry, and one of them raised his middle finger twice at both me and my friend. Some deacon's quorum president HE is. What's more, I walked up to him the other day and said, "Excuse me, is there a reason why you flipped Julia and I off yesterday?" &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;he ignored me. I slid next to him and asked again. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He mumbled, "I don't even know you." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I said, "Yes you do! I'm Emily Davis, from church!" &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He rolled his eyes. "What church?" he asked dumbly. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That sent me into deep anger. I stormed away from the dim-wit, and let it ruin my whole day. Then, I was intentionally going to speak to his father. I called his home, and oh, of course, the flipper answered. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Hi, is Brother Raia there?" I did my best to hide my voice, but to no avail. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"No, who is this?" he asked. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Nobody," (I felt like an idiot for trying to hide my intentions). &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Who is this?" he asked again. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Nobody," I confirmed. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Is this Emily Davis?" he demanded. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My face turned bright red, and my heart was throwing itself against my chest. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Um, yeah." my confidence was gone. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"I'm sorry," he coated his voice in innocence. He was coating a brussels sprout with honey. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Are you sure?" my confidence swooped back, and I wasn't going to accept his stupid lies.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Yes," I could almost see him batting his eyes. "I was sooo mad that day. I failed my Social Studies test, and I don't think I can play lacrosse. Plus my friends were yelling at me." (?)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Um...okay...sorry," I was a bit confused.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"It's okay," he said simply.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Er...sorry 'bout your test, and your lacrosse, and your...friends...?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"It's okay," he said again.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"See ya," I pursed my lips, my face still red.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Okay."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And today he was right back to being Jerky McJerkface.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;STUPID STUPID STUPID STUPID STUPID.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, now I can't talk to anyone. And I have two jerks in my Sunday School class. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;At least it's mom's birthday.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And it's a good thing we're having roast chicken and german chocolate cake for dessert.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;At least there's SOMETHING happy right now.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Did I say right now?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Oops.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6866842736486578694-5216960075949454026?l=mnms12.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mnms12.blogspot.com/feeds/5216960075949454026/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6866842736486578694&amp;postID=5216960075949454026' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6866842736486578694/posts/default/5216960075949454026'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6866842736486578694/posts/default/5216960075949454026'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mnms12.blogspot.com/2009/03/sunday-march-1st-2009-alone-and-angry.html' title='Sunday March 1st, 2009--Alone and Angry'/><author><name>mnms12</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08535261062115776947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nepk7y8IqcE/SPJuLp0myJI/AAAAAAAAAAM/X0VndbyiK7M/S220/100_0589.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nepk7y8IqcE/SarVGcr3_aI/AAAAAAAAAB4/F9jsqVakxzo/s72-c/Picture+1.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866842736486578694.post-1377483288411652967</id><published>2008-11-30T13:06:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-30T13:38:43.777-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sunday November 30, 2008</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_nepk7y8IqcE/STMH2gWHgCI/AAAAAAAAABI/l7qu7TnUE1k/s1600-h/Picture+2.png"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 230px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_nepk7y8IqcE/STMH2gWHgCI/AAAAAAAAABI/l7qu7TnUE1k/s320/Picture+2.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274568221558013986" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0); "&gt;Today, I woke up to snow! Glorious snow, whirling around my window. It was covering the roofs of all of the houses, and frosting all the trees and cars like cupcakes! It was beautiful! I was the first one to see it, and called to my family about the glorious sight. The snow looked like powdered sugar, floating gracefully to the world. Of course, it didn't stick, but it was wonderful to wake up to. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);"&gt;Church was wonderful. Everything about it was wonderful. I won't take the time to type about it, because it would take a book to type everything. Instead, I will talk about a few of my problems with my friend, Julia. You see, Julia and I like the same person, Will. Of course, we like him for different reasons. Julia likes him because he is attractive and funny and all that. But I like him because he understands me. We have so many things in common. We both are short. We both don't play sports. We both are not the tannest people in America. We both have a great sense of humor. We just...I don't know...understand each other. I feel a connection. He's like my brother. I don't really look at how attractive he is...just how he treats others. He and I email each other. Before and after and during school, he often comes to my locker and says hi. And Julia, well she expressed to me on Tuesday that she didn't think it was fair. Because you see, Will and I started emailing because Julia wanted me to. She wanted me to tell him how great she was, so that he would like her. Now, at the time, I could say that I didn't really like him, and I was happy to do it, because I want my best friend to be happy. But, we started moving to other topics. Pretty soon, we began to send each other long, long, LONG emails, telling each other our likes and dislikes, what our favorite music is, who's in our family, and other stuff like that. Then, we began to tell each other EVERYTHING. And I mean EVERYTHING. Everything from how his brother got hurt (which I really don't really need to know in the first place) to how his house got robbed. And so Julia saw a few of our emails. And she seemed upset. And then on Tuesday she just dumped it on me. Everything. And it was heavy. She said it wasn't fair that I was hanging out with him more than her. She said she didn't like how suddenly I was "stealing" him away from her. She said she didn't like that I was "FLIRTING" with him, and that he was "FLIRTING" with me. I don't even know where she got this flirting thing, but you know, some people look at flirting differently. I don't know. But things got kind of tense. In fact, the tension was tangible. I kept saying I was thinking whenever she asks if I were mad at her. I wasn't mad at her. In fact, I don't know what I was. It was a mix between sad, confused, and angry. But I didn't want to tell her. I don't even know if I had the right to be mad. And you know where this all came from? I'll tell you. This came from the fact that Will was going to Texas. He was going. And he stopped at my locker before math class to say goodbye. He said he was leaving between the period. I said bye too. Did he say goodbye to Julia? No. And I could understand why she was upset. Because, of course, she liked him first. So she dumped everything on me. And then the tension. But it ended 6th period. In french everything was okay. And then I talked to dad. He said if he were me, he would stop hanging out with Will. Stop emailing him. Stop going to his locker. Just let Julia and Will be friends, and ostracize myself. I didn't want to do that. But what choice did I have? Lose Julia, keep Will? I cried when I took a shower. I cried when I went to bed. In the morning, I woke up, cursing the sun. I finished getting ready for school. And then I wrote an email to both. Here, I will copy and paste it:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);"&gt;This one is to Will:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="  ;font-family:arial;font-size:13px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"&gt;Hi. Julia and I had a fight yesterday. She said that she still likes you, and she said that it's not fair that I'm around too. She says it's not fair that you are usually wondering where I am, and that you're always talking to me. She says it's not fair that I'm always "flirting" with you, and that you like it. I don't know where she is getting this from. I told my dad, and he said that if he were me, he would just stop hanging out with you. He says not to email you or anything. So I guess if I care about Julia and my friendship, I have to do what he says. I'm sorry. It was fun hanging out with you, but I have to show Julia that she can trust me. I'm really, really sorry. Please don't take it personally. You are truly a wonderful person. Goodbye, maybe forever.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);  font-family:arial;font-size:13px;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0); "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;I'm such a drama queen, right? And now here is the email to Julia:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0); font-size:13px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style=" ;font-family:arial;font-size:13px;"&gt;my dad says i need to stop hanging out with will...he says that you sent me a warning and that if i ignore it, i can say goodbye to our friendship, so im gonna stop emailing him. im gonna stop going to his locker. im gonna pretend i didnt even met him. tell him goodbye for me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style=" ;font-family:arial;font-size:13px;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);"&gt;I'M SUCH A DRAMA QUEEN!!!!!!!!! Ugh, and so I didn't tell anyone. Then Julia got it. This is what she said:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style=" ;font-family:arial;font-size:small;"&gt;Oh Ur such a drama queen..... We had a little spat how cares???? And I was thinking last night that it wouldn't even be fun if you weren't there being weird with me....... And well I was jelous and I just well, I knew that will and I would never go anywhere but you and him, him and you, well your perfect for each other...:)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style=" ;font-family:arial;font-size:13px;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" color: rgb(255, 102, 0);font-size:medium;"&gt;Isn't that so sweet? She's not only giving me permission to hang out with him, but she's saying she shouldn't like him. But I told her that I can't decide who she likes. If she wants to like him, go for it. But I still feel bad. I kind of think Will likes me...and so does his friend... ;) but I feel bad about it. I mean, I told him over email that I felt like I was ugly, and he replied and said I was wrong. And ever since that email...that email that made me feel for him, that email that made me want to meet him, and him meet me (because he had only seen me once at the time, and I think he remembers what I looked like) I just...I never have told Julia. She wouldn't be happy. But I'm scared. What if he asks me out? I know I can't yet, but I know Julia would be heartbroken. I don't know what to do!!!!!!!!!! HELP ME!!!!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style=" ;font-family:arial;font-size:13px;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6866842736486578694-1377483288411652967?l=mnms12.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mnms12.blogspot.com/feeds/1377483288411652967/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6866842736486578694&amp;postID=1377483288411652967' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6866842736486578694/posts/default/1377483288411652967'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6866842736486578694/posts/default/1377483288411652967'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mnms12.blogspot.com/2008/11/sunday-november-30-2008.html' title='Sunday November 30, 2008'/><author><name>mnms12</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08535261062115776947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nepk7y8IqcE/SPJuLp0myJI/AAAAAAAAAAM/X0VndbyiK7M/S220/100_0589.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_nepk7y8IqcE/STMH2gWHgCI/AAAAAAAAABI/l7qu7TnUE1k/s72-c/Picture+2.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866842736486578694.post-7186043888183873006</id><published>2008-11-09T11:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T14:59:19.775-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sun. Nov 9, 2008</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_nepk7y8IqcE/SRdrOi3gsnI/AAAAAAAAAAo/wOmM8pR0Afo/s1600-h/Picture+1.png"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 298px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_nepk7y8IqcE/SRdrOi3gsnI/AAAAAAAAAAo/wOmM8pR0Afo/s320/Picture+1.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5266796186855060082" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today was great!! I love Sundays, because they are always fun! I started off the day with a refreshing sleep in after Friday night (major birthday party, trying to sleep through, didn't end till one o'clock in the MORNING), and had my favorite cereal, while being nudged softly in the elbow by my adorably impatient cat! After letting him lap up the rest of my milk, I brushed my teeth, feeling happy in my new Juicy shoes (!!!!!) and walked to the car. For the car ride, I read my EXCEPTIONALLY FANTASTIC book, Extras (Uglies series, FANTASTIC!!!!!!) and got out of the car. Sacrament meeting was great, and Sunday School was alright. During the Book of Mormon crossword puzzle--which was a bit BABYISH--, I took a slip of paper, curled it at both ends, and held it under my nose.&lt;div&gt;Andrew Peterson kept watching me playing with the piece of paper, a smile on his face, so seeing him, I said, "Mama mia!" like an Italian with a mustache. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He laughed hard and made a mustache too, and when he tried to say "Mama mia!" it kept falling, which made us laugh even more hard. Then he stole my mustache, and I pretended to be sad. It was funny!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then we played hangman with the class, and Oscar Triana ended up drawing me on the noose thing, which made me playfully indignant, and I erased it and drew Andrew, which made them laugh even more. Then it was time to go to class, and--though it's kind of weird that Andrew is in Primary and I'm in Young Women's, but ANYWAYS...In Young Women's, we had a lesson on the importance of our life. Christina Palma, my friend who I LOVE told a story about her father. Everyone knows that whenever someone gets cut off in traffic or something, they yell at the driver, though the driver can't hear them. So her father was driving, and he got cut off, and he was like, "You jerk! How could you? Blah blah blah..." and so her mom was like, "You shouldn't do that, you know." And so from now on, whenever Christina's father is cut off, he's like, "I love youuuuuuu!" to the driver, though the driver can't hear him. HAHA!! It was funny!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;After Young Women's, we went outside to Sister Michel's (hope I spelled that right), who was holding a huge basket of candy for the Young Women because of Secret Sisters.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I told her one new thing I knew about Alice Corrigan, who was my Secret Sister, of course, and I got a dark chocolate Mound...OH MY GOSH MY FAVORITE!! Coconut shavings, nestled in rich dark chocolate...THE BEST OF THE BEST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Sorry, I feel kind of immature using Caps Loc and waaaay too many exclamation points, but I just want to illustrate my point ;) &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Oops I can't figure out anything else, except perhaps we are going to play Pictionary tonight!! Perhaps, though I said, if that is proper grammar. My grammar ain't good, so you better bear with myself. ;) JUST KIDDING...My grammar ain't THAT bad...JUST KIDDING AGAIN!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Haha!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6866842736486578694-7186043888183873006?l=mnms12.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mnms12.blogspot.com/feeds/7186043888183873006/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6866842736486578694&amp;postID=7186043888183873006' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6866842736486578694/posts/default/7186043888183873006'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6866842736486578694/posts/default/7186043888183873006'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mnms12.blogspot.com/2008/11/sun-nov-9-2008.html' title='Sun. Nov 9, 2008'/><author><name>mnms12</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08535261062115776947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nepk7y8IqcE/SPJuLp0myJI/AAAAAAAAAAM/X0VndbyiK7M/S220/100_0589.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_nepk7y8IqcE/SRdrOi3gsnI/AAAAAAAAAAo/wOmM8pR0Afo/s72-c/Picture+1.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866842736486578694.post-1843722360061333396</id><published>2008-10-12T14:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T15:08:54.418-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sunday, October 12, 2008</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_nepk7y8IqcE/SRdtfauc6FI/AAAAAAAAAAw/dPZV9YNNlvY/s1600-h/Picture+1.png"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 290px; height: 275px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_nepk7y8IqcE/SRdtfauc6FI/AAAAAAAAAAw/dPZV9YNNlvY/s320/Picture+1.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5266798675750611026" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Today was very good. Two wonderful talks were given. One, by President Checketts, and the other by Bishop Herget. Their talks were both just wonderful. I really enjoyed Bishop's talk, because he gave a small story about a boy and a kite. He was flying the kite, until all the string was unraveled. The boy wanted the kite to go higher, so he decided to cut the string. When he cut the string, the kite lost all control. It whirled and twirled in the air, and then fell in a broken heap. The boy was upset about this. After sacrament meeting, we went to the Young Men and Young Women's combined Sunday school. Brother McMullin gave a great lesson on selflessness. At the beginning, he wrote to equations on the board:&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;1+1=0&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;1-1=2&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I was confused about his doing so, but we found out soon enough. He told us a story about how Jane and Rob went to school, and their teacher, Mr. Whatshisface was smiling. They were wondering why he was smiling so much, and then when everyone was in the room, he spoke.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;"I am going to give you all 3 gifts today," he said. "Throughout the week, you are to try and get more and more of these gifts."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Saying so, he gave each student 3 pieces of paper. The first piece of paper had "Smile" on it. The next piece of paper had "Sincere compliment" on it, and the third piece of paper had "Help" on it. He then reminded each of the students one more time, to gain more and more throughout the week. Rob was confused about this, and decided to try his best. He cracked some jokes, to make some people smile. He showed off so that his classmates would give him a compliment, and always demanded help for something. But they didn't give him any. He felt confused. All her had at the end of the week was a sick feeling in his stomach. Jane, on the other hand, didn't know what to do. In fact, she completely forgot about the pieces of paper. But, she always smiled at everybody. She always gave sincere compliments to everybody, and whenever someone needed or wanted help, she was always there. At the end of the week, she was happy, and so many people were smiling at her, giving her compliments, and helping her. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Brother McMullin explained that in this way, 1+1 &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;did &lt;/span&gt;=0. And that 1-1=2. The first equation is Rob's equation. He tried to get everything, but got nothing. Jane, on the other hand, subtracted herself, and focused on others. This lesson really opened my eyes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Following this rich lesson, we went to the primary room for the combined Young Women and Young Men...thing. A South African man with a tint of British accent named Brother Gor? (Not sure how to spell it) Gave a fantastic lesson about the Holy Ghost. He called Katie Murphy to the front, and gave her a paintball mask with duct tape on the eye holes. He told her to go over on one corner of the room, and he walked to the other. Guiding Katie along, he gave her directions, such as "Turn left a little", or "Come forward". But then, Brother Pais? (Not sure how to spell it) began to give her directions. She followed those directions instead. She ended up with Brother Pais? instead of Brother Gor? He said that sometimes, when Heavenly Father is guiding us with the Still Small Voice, other voices knock the other ones away. If you have ever seen any movies or TV shows where someone is auditioning, if they don't do a good job, a mean old wooden cane grabs them by the neck and pulls them off the stage. Well that's what the other voices do with the Holy Ghost. Just pull it away for the next voice, a voice that probably isn't the best. And in closing, Brother Gor? added on to Bishop Herget's story about the boy and the kite. He said that the string is the Holy Ghost. And the kite is us. We need the string to soar. He read a poem from the New Era...I think this month's? It was also about a boy and a kite who let go of the knobby thing attached to the kite. Letting go didn't make it go higher. The kite just fell. Brother Gor? said that the string or the knobby thing shouldn't hold you down. It lets you fly. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;So yes, today's Sabbath was just wonderful. The talks were perfect. What a wonderful day!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6866842736486578694-1843722360061333396?l=mnms12.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mnms12.blogspot.com/feeds/1843722360061333396/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6866842736486578694&amp;postID=1843722360061333396' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6866842736486578694/posts/default/1843722360061333396'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6866842736486578694/posts/default/1843722360061333396'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mnms12.blogspot.com/2008/10/sunday-october-12-2008.html' title='Sunday, October 12, 2008'/><author><name>mnms12</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08535261062115776947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nepk7y8IqcE/SPJuLp0myJI/AAAAAAAAAAM/X0VndbyiK7M/S220/100_0589.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_nepk7y8IqcE/SRdtfauc6FI/AAAAAAAAAAw/dPZV9YNNlvY/s72-c/Picture+1.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866842736486578694.post-4389163736227913121</id><published>2008-09-21T10:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T15:16:59.816-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sunday September 21, 2008</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_nepk7y8IqcE/SRdvZKRuO6I/AAAAAAAAAA4/CN9eY7mYxBI/s1600-h/Picture+1.png"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 55px; height: 53px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_nepk7y8IqcE/SRdvZKRuO6I/AAAAAAAAAA4/CN9eY7mYxBI/s320/Picture+1.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5266800767279184802" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today was good. I woke up tired, because last night I could not fall asleep. I closed my eyes, and thought pleasant thoughts, but not one wink of sleep was used. What was worse, I had to wake up earlier to be able to be ready by 8:15, because Dad had to be at the chapel by 8:30 to rehearse his musical number with Sister Stirling. Now, I resented the fact then, but I felt it was completely worth it when I heard Sister Stirling and Dad playing. It was gorgeous. The talks were pretty good. Wayne Vercosa, a boy in my class, gave a great talk &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;without paper&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;Isn't that amazing? He spoke straight from the heart, which warmed &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;my&lt;/span&gt; heart.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In Young Women's, the beehives were separated from the rest of the Young Women. We talked about marriage, because before, last Sunday, we talked about dating. Sister Parker asked us to write a list of traits that we thought would make us good wives. I was kind of stumped, but I wrote down a few traits. I can't bring them from memory, though. After that we came home, and ate. And now I sit here. But Dad says that when they leave, I cannot be on here. That makes me sad. It shows me that they can't trust me, and it's all my fault. If I hadn't been a lying doofus, then maybe they could trust me. But now all hope is lost. I don't think they will ever trust me again.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6866842736486578694-4389163736227913121?l=mnms12.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mnms12.blogspot.com/feeds/4389163736227913121/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6866842736486578694&amp;postID=4389163736227913121' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6866842736486578694/posts/default/4389163736227913121'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6866842736486578694/posts/default/4389163736227913121'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mnms12.blogspot.com/2008/09/sunday-september-21-2008.html' title='Sunday September 21, 2008'/><author><name>mnms12</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08535261062115776947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nepk7y8IqcE/SPJuLp0myJI/AAAAAAAAAAM/X0VndbyiK7M/S220/100_0589.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_nepk7y8IqcE/SRdvZKRuO6I/AAAAAAAAAA4/CN9eY7mYxBI/s72-c/Picture+1.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866842736486578694.post-8339887010004686465</id><published>2008-09-21T10:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T15:24:34.714-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Intro</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_nepk7y8IqcE/SRdxLGduJhI/AAAAAAAAABA/bLWv-E90U0o/s1600-h/Picture+1.png"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 249px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_nepk7y8IqcE/SRdxLGduJhI/AAAAAAAAABA/bLWv-E90U0o/s320/Picture+1.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5266802724760856082" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm sitting at my blank computer, the incursion point blinking at me. Blinkity blink. And I'm thinking to myself, who the heck am I? I know I'm somebody, but who? Well, reading this, you can tell me who I am. My fingers clacking on the keys will show you who I am. Because this isn't, oh my gosh, so-and-so is sooo hot (even if I will be talking about boys, I will be much more mature). This is all of my thoughts and my feelings, weaved together, stitch by stitch. And these stitches will show you who I am. All I do is hold the needle. Heavenly Father has given me my personality.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6866842736486578694-8339887010004686465?l=mnms12.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mnms12.blogspot.com/feeds/8339887010004686465/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6866842736486578694&amp;postID=8339887010004686465' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6866842736486578694/posts/default/8339887010004686465'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6866842736486578694/posts/default/8339887010004686465'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mnms12.blogspot.com/2008/09/intro.html' title='Intro'/><author><name>mnms12</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08535261062115776947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nepk7y8IqcE/SPJuLp0myJI/AAAAAAAAAAM/X0VndbyiK7M/S220/100_0589.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_nepk7y8IqcE/SRdxLGduJhI/AAAAAAAAABA/bLWv-E90U0o/s72-c/Picture+1.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
