<?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-4455111885897496409</id><updated>2011-10-23T20:09:31.474-04:00</updated><category term='William Hernandez'/><category term='Joe'/><category term='Michelle'/><category term='Kasey'/><category term='Jenny'/><category term='Christina'/><category term='Joanne'/><category term='Steve'/><category term='Rachel'/><category term='Ray'/><category term='Lianna'/><category term='Leah'/><category term='Abby'/><category term='Diana'/><category term='radio show'/><category term='Suzy'/><category term='Travis'/><category term='Lars'/><category term='Doug'/><category term='Jessica'/><category term='Monica'/><category term='Anthony'/><category term='Dawn'/><category term='Tiffany'/><category term='Ashleigh'/><category term='Craig'/><category term='Scott Weigner'/><category term='Justin'/><category term='Teri'/><category term='Meghan'/><category term='Kati'/><category term='Will'/><category term='Jessie'/><category term='Rider Strong'/><category term='Bryce'/><category term='Jaime'/><category term='Rob'/><category term='Rachel D'/><category term='Chris'/><category term='Mike'/><category term='Kevin'/><category term='Mark'/><category term='Doug M'/><category term='Ryan'/><category term='Kara'/><category term='Amy'/><category term='Greg'/><category term='Kristin'/><category term='Allison'/><category term='Richard'/><title type='text'>teh cheese stands alone</title><subtitle type='html'>Embarrassing or entertaining?  Both.  These are my childhood diary entries.  Join me for the drama!  The most recent entries posted are from middle school... and they go all the way back to kindergarten.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>212</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-5020040664148650421</id><published>2011-10-21T18:58:00.018-04:00</published><updated>2011-10-23T20:09:31.661-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Doug'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kara'/><title type='text'>Your Mom</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-s8vpggj5d7U/TqH5HKuqoFI/AAAAAAAABbE/PnK8AtecSS4/s1600/1997-03-04%2Bpt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 246px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-s8vpggj5d7U/TqH5HKuqoFI/AAAAAAAABbE/PnK8AtecSS4/s400/1997-03-04%2Bpt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666083707743281234" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Vx7zJiB-dc4/TqH5G34Oj-I/AAAAAAAABa4/pjsLFnRutnk/s1600/1997-03-04%2Bpt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 264px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Vx7zJiB-dc4/TqH5G34Oj-I/AAAAAAAABa4/pjsLFnRutnk/s400/1997-03-04%2Bpt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666083702683111394" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4gJ8P9ED1xs/TqH5GyzBjfI/AAAAAAAABaw/KHu8eW30oVM/s1600/1997-03-04%2Bpt3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 264px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4gJ8P9ED1xs/TqH5GyzBjfI/AAAAAAAABaw/KHu8eW30oVM/s400/1997-03-04%2Bpt3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666083701319110130" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I'm seriously having a problem understanding the adolescent mind.  You'd think after reading all these diary entries, I'd be better able to appreciate the emotions and predict the actions.  Nope.  Apparently when it comes to girls in early adolescence, there is no understanding... there is no predicting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wasn't I JUST in love with Richard?  Just a week earlier I was saying how cute and sweet he was.  Clearly ripping him to pieces as I did in the past couple diary entries was some sort of weird defense mechanism.  Not sure what I was defending myself against... but I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;know&lt;/span&gt; I didn't really feel that way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Other things to address:&lt;br /&gt;1. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;"Un-Rogaine"&lt;/span&gt;... Richard's thick hair became the object of my aggression.  Why???&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;"Crimeny!"&lt;/span&gt;... Where the heck did this word come from?  Or rather, where did it go?  I haven't heard it in ages.  TO THE GOOGLE!  First off, I guess it's more commonly spelled "criminy".  Weird.  I don't like the way that looks.  Secondly, YES!  I love when researching old diary entries leads me to uncover other relics of the time!  Turns out "criminy" was often said by Helga on the Nickelodeon cartoon &lt;a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://heyarnold.wikia.com/wiki/Criminy" target="_blank"&gt;Hey Arnold&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;!&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Hey Arnold&lt;/span&gt; first aired in October of 1996, so that is without a doubt where I picked it up.  Mystery solved.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;"Your Mom"&lt;/span&gt;... What a great all-purpose insult this was for awhile there.  I still hear it jokingly from time to time but man was it rampant in middle school.  Yo Momma jokes were HILARIOUS back then.  Most of the ones we used to laugh at are super-lame &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;("Your momma's so fat when she sits around the house, she sits AROUND the house")&lt;/span&gt;, but if you haven't heard Yo Momma jokes in a long time, I encourage you to google it because there are a ton of smart and funny ones I had never heard.  Yes, lots are still lame... but I was happy to come across these...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://pleated-jeans.com/2011/01/31/7-super-nerdy-yo-mama-jokes/" target="_blank"&gt;Harry Potter:&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Your mama's so fat, the Sorting Hat sorted her into the House of Pancakes."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://www.reddit.com/r/funny/comments/b9ssz/nerdy_yo_mamma_jokes_ill_start/" target="_blank"&gt;Nerdy:&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Select * FROM Table.YoMamma&lt;br /&gt;&lt;code&gt;........................................&lt;br /&gt;........................................&lt;br /&gt;........................................&lt;br /&gt;Server Timed Out&lt;/code&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Literature (from Act I Scene 1 of &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Timon of Athens):&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Painter: "Y'are a dog."&lt;br /&gt;Apemantus: "Thy mother's of my generation. What's she, if I be a dog?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I bet you didn't know Shakespeare "invented" the &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maternal_insult" target="_blank"&gt;Yo Momma joke&lt;/a&gt;!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;---&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“3-4-97. Dear Diary, I did dump Richard! I’m so happy! I feel so free. I feel like a new person! I love it! Ahh! Richard still likes me, a lot. He wrote me a note saying that we can still be friends &amp;amp; he’s not mad at me. At the bottom of the note, it said- I love you. I feel so bad. But I don’t care, I’m NOT asking him back out- EVER! Ugh! He is so ugly. Like I’ve said before- he needs un-Rogaine. I wonder who I’ll like next. Hmm. Jaime &amp;amp; Kara say that Rob &amp;amp; I should go out. You think? Nah. It would never happen. In SWEP, the strangest thing happened. I was talking to Doug. Suddenly he stepped forward so we were almost touching. He was looking down at me &amp;amp; I was looking up at him. My God! It looked like he was about to kiss me! Crimeny! You don’t know how close we were! I’ve never stood by him that close face to face. Anyhow, we stood there for awhile just looking at each other &amp;amp; then I said, “I could beat you up!” He said, “Ya sure, your Mom.” And then we both walked off in different directions. Do you think I’ll like Doug again? I don’t know. Mom thinks he’s cute. I didn’t ask her- she told me. I think Doug &amp;amp; I would be better of as just friends. But hey, you never know! -Krista”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-5020040664148650421?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/5020040664148650421/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=5020040664148650421&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/5020040664148650421'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/5020040664148650421'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2011/10/your-mom.html' title='Your Mom'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-s8vpggj5d7U/TqH5HKuqoFI/AAAAAAAABbE/PnK8AtecSS4/s72-c/1997-03-04%2Bpt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-9124847174365765895</id><published>2011-10-14T17:21:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2011-10-17T13:11:27.770-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Rob'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Lianna'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kara'/><title type='text'>I want my freedom &amp; stuff</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3g_iD-CRckU/TpioDf4L2WI/AAAAAAAABaE/4yN4m--kfLo/s1600/1997-03-03%2Bpt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 368px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3g_iD-CRckU/TpioDf4L2WI/AAAAAAAABaE/4yN4m--kfLo/s400/1997-03-03%2Bpt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5663461309468629346" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AYuWHMS79QQ/TpioDBUITVI/AAAAAAAABZ4/9hoEZ03S_MA/s1600/1997-03-03%2Bpt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 368px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AYuWHMS79QQ/TpioDBUITVI/AAAAAAAABZ4/9hoEZ03S_MA/s400/1997-03-03%2Bpt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5663461301264338258" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;"I want my freedom"... from what?? We never saw each other outside of school, we never talked on the phone, we didn't even sit together at lunch.  We exchanged notes in the hallway and that's about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And my alternative was Rob, a boy who I would definitely make a really cute couple with, but who may not go out with me. Hell, he may not even LIKE me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm really anxious to see how this is going to work out... haha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;---&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;"3-3-97. Dear Diary, I might dump Richard tomorrow. I'm not sure. At lunch &amp;amp; after I was really serious about it. I told like everyone I saw! Now I'm not quite sure if I should. I still like him but I don't want to go out with him anymore. I want my freedom &amp;amp; stuff. Should I OR shouldn't I? HELP. I think I've told too many people to not dump him. Ugh! HELP! Kara, Lianna, &amp;amp; Jaime all think that Rob &amp;amp; I would make a really good couple. Jaime said so even though she likes him! Agh! What to do, what to do? I'm starting to agree with them. Would he ever go out with me though? Krista"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-9124847174365765895?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/9124847174365765895/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=9124847174365765895&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/9124847174365765895'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/9124847174365765895'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2011/10/i-want-my-freedom-stuff.html' title='I want my freedom &amp; stuff'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3g_iD-CRckU/TpioDf4L2WI/AAAAAAAABaE/4yN4m--kfLo/s72-c/1997-03-03%2Bpt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-8109184597968421869</id><published>2011-10-11T21:13:00.020-04:00</published><updated>2011-10-11T22:01:45.728-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><title type='text'>B.O.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I'm back!!  I'm so sorry I abandoned you there for FIVE months but-- whoops-- life got busy again.  This time, I bought a house.  And houses can be total time-sucks.  Very rewarding... but veritable vortexes of time and money.  Wheee!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyhow, enough of my boring adult life... back to juicy middle school drama!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1qwm1KHGsm8/TpTqOBCu01I/AAAAAAAABZY/6n2vldp-5bw/s1600/1997-02-27%2Bpt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 279px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1qwm1KHGsm8/TpTqOBCu01I/AAAAAAAABZY/6n2vldp-5bw/s400/1997-02-27%2Bpt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5662408158030517074" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Md65C5P2ZAI/TpTqN1f6ogI/AAAAAAAABZI/WQDKEb5J7SI/s1600/1997-02-27%2Bpt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 279px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Md65C5P2ZAI/TpTqN1f6ogI/AAAAAAAABZI/WQDKEb5J7SI/s400/1997-02-27%2Bpt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5662408154931700226" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Oh the joys of puberty.  I still remember my first "Teen Spirit". &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Poor Richard. It needed to be his mom's responsibility to tell him to use deodorant... not his girlfriend's!  Nooo, his girlfriend's responsibility was to make fun of him behind is back and write funny pop songs on the matter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh yes, this was during the phase of my adolescence where I wrote songs.  I didn't actually compose music... I just wrote down lyrics and kept the melodies inside my head.  If all the songs I wrote in middle school were released on the radio today, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"B.O."&lt;/span&gt; would definitely be the one to top the charts as a #1 hit single.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I scoured my old cassette tapes hoping to find a recorded version of this song but came up empty-handed.  For now, you'll just have to imagine the awesomeness until someone begs or bribes me enough to record it fresh.  Sometimes I still sing it around the house to this day... AND... even my HUSBAND has been found humming it after it's gotten stuck in his head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before you read the infectious lyrics, I should point out that there are some parts written in black, others in blue, and some kind of in both colors.  That's because the song is intended to be sung by two people so the colors represent the two parts.  AND the parts that are sung together are sung &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;in harmony&lt;/span&gt;.  This is very sophisticated music. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is my masterpiece!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NA_lKKMYPvQ/TpTyXol6pnI/AAAAAAAABZs/mboWK1gwP2A/s1600/BO1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 309px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NA_lKKMYPvQ/TpTyXol6pnI/AAAAAAAABZs/mboWK1gwP2A/s400/BO1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5662417119358920306" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2R0VjcGPteI/TpTyXbvSqSI/AAAAAAAABZg/y0A58nfQ1I0/s1600/BO2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 309px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2R0VjcGPteI/TpTyXbvSqSI/AAAAAAAABZg/y0A58nfQ1I0/s400/BO2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5662417115908581666" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Speechless?  I thought so.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;---&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“2-27-97. Dear Diary, Richard is still kinda annoying. I’m not mad about the I LOVE U’s all over anything anymore but I am mad about his stench! Geez! He smells like a whole football team after playing a 5 hour long game! He smells so darn bad. Can’t he use deoderant? IT’S CALLED B.O. DEAR! UGH! -Krista AKA The Girlfriend of one heck of a smell boy! &amp;amp; that isn’t a good thing!"&lt;br /&gt;"Two quiet lovers / Sitting together / Arms around each other / Loving one another. / The boy smells flowers &amp;amp; perfume- what a dream. / The girl smells B.O.! / (CHORUS) Boy you've got stench, stench, stench / Boy you smell really bad / Boy you've got stench, stench, stench / Have you been sittin on a bench / Boy you reek, reek, reek / Boy you smell really bad / Boy you reek, reek, reek / Boy all through the week. / The boy looks deep into her eyes / The girl remembers all her lies / Cuz he's got B.O.! / (CHORUS) / The boy leans over to be kissed / The girl thinks of what she missed / Cuz he's got B.O.! / (CHORUS) / The girl stands up &amp;amp; runs away / The boy hopes maybe another day / (Spoken) Too bad there won't be / Cuz he's got B.O.! / (CHORUS) / Look at those underarms / smelly underarms / look at those underarms / smelly underarms / look at those underarms / smelly underarms / Yea!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-8109184597968421869?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/8109184597968421869/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=8109184597968421869&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/8109184597968421869'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/8109184597968421869'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2011/10/bo.html' title='B.O.'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1qwm1KHGsm8/TpTqOBCu01I/AAAAAAAABZY/6n2vldp-5bw/s72-c/1997-02-27%2Bpt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-2706424336916113348</id><published>2011-05-08T19:25:00.007-04:00</published><updated>2011-05-08T20:10:39.175-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Mike'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Diana'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Christina'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jessie'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kara'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Leah'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kristin'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Lianna'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Michelle'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Meghan'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Amy'/><title type='text'>Lunch Table Drama</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-opPtfJgXm44/Tccms18mjpI/AAAAAAAABYM/hn8TqntU8Ww/s1600/1997-02-26%2Bpt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 253px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-opPtfJgXm44/Tccms18mjpI/AAAAAAAABYM/hn8TqntU8Ww/s400/1997-02-26%2Bpt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604490813123235474" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kc1Br6YeII4/Tccmssma5dI/AAAAAAAABYE/CyWHVUSP1vs/s1600/1997-02-26%2Bpt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 253px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kc1Br6YeII4/Tccmssma5dI/AAAAAAAABYE/CyWHVUSP1vs/s400/1997-02-26%2Bpt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604490810614277586" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UVbwUChyhw0/TccmsUso_TI/AAAAAAAABX8/0cFeQhrcOPs/s1600/1997-02-26%2Bpt3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 253px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UVbwUChyhw0/TccmsUso_TI/AAAAAAAABX8/0cFeQhrcOPs/s400/1997-02-26%2Bpt3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604490804197915954" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jM9Z8hM-YP8/Tccmr2h4nRI/AAAAAAAABX0/5EN3kfMqpVA/s1600/1997-02-26%2Bpt4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 253px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jM9Z8hM-YP8/Tccmr2h4nRI/AAAAAAAABX0/5EN3kfMqpVA/s400/1997-02-26%2Bpt4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604490796099738898" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;This diary entry is a prime example of middle school drama.  Something as simple as cafeteria seating arrangements could end friendships.  Well, temporarily at least.  Even though I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;said&lt;/span&gt; Jaime was taking Lianna's place as best friend, in reality, Lianna and I are still friends today and my friendship with Jaime fell out in high school.  So now, Lianna and I have been best friends for 22 years... almost three times the *long* 8 year friendship I mentioned at the time in the entry.  Wow that makes me feel old.  But I also feel so lucky to still have best friends that I've had since elementary school.  We went through all the drama together and our friendships are so much stronger for it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not sure how I jumped to the conclusion that people didn't like me because I had a boyfriend.  Well, I guess I do kind of remember what that felt like.  I felt kind of isolated because I had less in common with my friends.  It was like, when I didn't have a boyfriend, I felt like I was the only one in the school without a boyfriend... and then once I got a boyfriend, I realized that actually, none of my friends had boyfriends.  Which meant, no one to talk to about boyfriend stuff... and if anyone were to actually bring it up, they'd be annoying and all "ooooh how's your BOYFRIEND??? hehehehe" about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course that electronic dictionary that Richard used for romantic purposes is the same one that got me the infamous &lt;a href="http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/09/saturday-detention.html"&gt;Saturday detention&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;---&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;“2-26-97. Hi Diary, It’s 7:03am. I have to leave soon. Personally I don’t like sitting with Kara, Jessie, Mike, etc. at lunch. Because they’re creeps. Mom wants me to sit with Christina &amp;amp; them. Tell you the rest when I get home. Gotta go. Sorry! -Sabi I’m back. Okay. Lianna started sitting with them about every other day a week ago. Monday, they had enough room at their table so me, Jaime, &amp;amp; Lianna could all sit there. Tuesday (Lianna’s day to sit with us) she sat with them. She said, ‘Ya, maybe you guys (me &amp;amp; Jaime) can sit with us tomorrow.’ First of all, when did she become one of ‘them’? Second of all, why is she so conceited? Geez, I hope she doesn’t read this! If she is reading this, then Lianna, I’m sorry for saying all this mean stuff but it’s the way I feel. Sorry! I think that is really rude of her. I mean, being my BEST friend for 8 years &amp;amp; then just dropping me like a hot potato. I want to be good friends with Christina, Meghan, Kristin, Leah, Michelle, Diana, &amp;amp; Amy but I don’t think they like me. Maybe it’s because I have a boyfriend. Well, hello? Having a boyfriend isn’t going to change my personality! Geez! I feel like it’s Lianna’s fault for ignoring me so suddenly &amp;amp; being so rude. But then I also think that they’re in the wrong. They’re stealing my friend, my BEST friend. Well, to bad, see if I care! From now on, I declare, Jaime is my BEST friend. Go ahead Lianna, leave me with the creeps. Don’t care about me. All she cares about is herself. SHE IS SO CONCEITED! O-kay. Today in Language Arts, Mrs. Decker has this electronic dictionary thing. Well, you can make it say stuff. Anyhow, Richard was using it. He said, “listen to this” and put the speaker part up to my ear. He made it say, ‘I love you!’ How sweet! Awhh! I read 2 notes that he put in my file server. They say like I LOVE YOU all over them. I think he’s getting annoying again. I almost want to dump him! I want to be a free woman! HELP! -Krista”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-2706424336916113348?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/2706424336916113348/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=2706424336916113348&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/2706424336916113348'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/2706424336916113348'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2011/05/lunch-table-drama.html' title='Lunch Table Drama'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-opPtfJgXm44/Tccms18mjpI/AAAAAAAABYM/hn8TqntU8Ww/s72-c/1997-02-26%2Bpt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-2316974723366391895</id><published>2011-04-26T22:22:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2011-04-26T22:34:03.703-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><title type='text'>Knote (get it, like 'knife'?)</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-L0RyZO-Fq7Q/Tbd-HmPLDhI/AAAAAAAABXs/Su1mhMgJNnc/s1600/1997-02-24%2Bpt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 371px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-L0RyZO-Fq7Q/Tbd-HmPLDhI/AAAAAAAABXs/Su1mhMgJNnc/s400/1997-02-24%2Bpt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600083330646871570" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6bz0skAB-3Q/Tbd-HDUXi2I/AAAAAAAABXk/t6gKDRevY6w/s1600/1997-02-24%2Bpt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 371px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6bz0skAB-3Q/Tbd-HDUXi2I/AAAAAAAABXk/t6gKDRevY6w/s400/1997-02-24%2Bpt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600083321273420642" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Yayyy after a month of putting up with my boyfriend, I was finally 100% content convinced we were meant to be.  Can't wait to see how long this bliss lasts!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;---&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;“2-24-97. Dear Diary, Howdy Shmowdy! I got a knote (get it, like ‘knife’) from Richy today. Contents: -Everytime he heard a slow song on the radio he’d remember us dancing. -That was the closest he’s ever danced to anyone. -He wrote: ‘I cant’ think of much more to say except how much I like you. I’m really, really glad that we’re going out.’ -He wrote I love you! Aww! He’s so sweet! I think this relationship is going to be great! It’s already been a month &amp;amp; 4 days! Remember how like when we were first going out, I found him annoying? Well, I am very super happy &amp;amp; glad that I didn’t dump him! I LOVE HIM A LOT! -Krista”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-2316974723366391895?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/2316974723366391895/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=2316974723366391895&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/2316974723366391895'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/2316974723366391895'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2011/04/knote-get-it-like-knife.html' title='Knote (get it, like &apos;knife&apos;?)'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-L0RyZO-Fq7Q/Tbd-HmPLDhI/AAAAAAAABXs/Su1mhMgJNnc/s72-c/1997-02-24%2Bpt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-4291396443602214839</id><published>2011-04-20T19:52:00.007-04:00</published><updated>2011-04-20T20:52:56.046-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Chris'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kevin'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Lianna'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Joanne'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Christina'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Doug'/><title type='text'>Hot &amp; Sweaty Heaven</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hCiGTlcpc4c/Ta9yGtFUtaI/AAAAAAAABXc/oCYLb7RDP2E/s1600/1997-02-21%2Bpt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 252px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hCiGTlcpc4c/Ta9yGtFUtaI/AAAAAAAABXc/oCYLb7RDP2E/s400/1997-02-21%2Bpt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597818321351521698" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2RhmlvnG0fE/Ta9yGD_KLwI/AAAAAAAABXU/I2GmVE6u_EY/s1600/1997-02-21%2Bpt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 252px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2RhmlvnG0fE/Ta9yGD_KLwI/AAAAAAAABXU/I2GmVE6u_EY/s400/1997-02-21%2Bpt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597818310319812354" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZfSJaKByptc/Ta9yF3xsoLI/AAAAAAAABXM/q1gm-BGtCP8/s1600/1997-02-21%2Bpt3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 252px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZfSJaKByptc/Ta9yF3xsoLI/AAAAAAAABXM/q1gm-BGtCP8/s400/1997-02-21%2Bpt3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597818307042123954" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IIOUNSyTj5k/Ta9yFvX8DsI/AAAAAAAABXE/fYyPQNgz_v8/s1600/1997-02-21%2Bpt4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 252px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IIOUNSyTj5k/Ta9yFvX8DsI/AAAAAAAABXE/fYyPQNgz_v8/s400/1997-02-21%2Bpt4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597818304786599618" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;The dance was so magical... Richard and I were so close, he bought me a plastic rose, everything was perfect, and also Kevin was #1 on my list of compatible matches.  Where did Kevin come from?  Random.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the messages that my friends wrote, the first was Lianna and the second was Jaime.  The whole grandpa thing must have been an inside joke... I don't understand it now.  I can't remember who code names Zeus and Marv were. I thought Marv was Doug but that wouldn't make sense because Jaime danced with him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not sure that "Still in Love" by New Edition is the best song to associate with Joanne's crush on Richard.  The lyrics would imply that Richard loved her too and his friends were jealous of them.  Minor detail.  As we've read before, I've picked weird songs to relate to my middle school relationships too.  In our defense, we didn't have the Internet back then to check the lyrics.  And we were moody dramatic 13-year-olds who liked finding sad sappy love songs to listen to and cry ourselves to sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For your enjoyment:     &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;iframe title="YouTube video player" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/RT1MAzyUkJE" allowfullscreen="" width="450" frameborder="0" height="390"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“2-21-97. Dear Diary, Hi! It’s after the dance! Lianna’s sleeping over too! COOL! At the dance I danced with Richard to every slow song. We were really close! My head was resting on his shoulder! Then he bought me a rose! It is so awesome! It lights up! It’s not real, it’s plastic. On my data match #1 compatible person is Kevin! The nose picker! Lianna danced with Cutter! Jaime danced with Doug! Christina danced with Chris! When I was dancing with Richard he kept holding me really close. Ahh! I was in heaven! I very hot &amp;amp; sweaty heaven! Well, here’s a word from Jaime &amp;amp; Lianna. Hi! Who do I love? I don’t know! - Me. To: My Grandpa. I love Zeus. I hate Marv. This is cool. My butt hurts. Not. From: Your granddaughter Randy. Joanne told me that every night she listens to ‘I’m Still in Love With You’ &amp;amp; thinks about Richard. I feel bad. Oh well! He’s all mine! See ya! Sab”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-4291396443602214839?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/4291396443602214839/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=4291396443602214839&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/4291396443602214839'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/4291396443602214839'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2011/04/hot-sweaty-heaven.html' title='Hot &amp; Sweaty Heaven'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hCiGTlcpc4c/Ta9yGtFUtaI/AAAAAAAABXc/oCYLb7RDP2E/s72-c/1997-02-21%2Bpt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-1339504554016145364</id><published>2011-04-17T20:06:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2011-04-17T20:12:45.212-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Lianna'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Joanne'/><title type='text'>I hope I don't have to hang out with my boyfriend</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-o5e7hwyCvrY/TauAlovAByI/AAAAAAAABW8/8iVLnPiU0Eo/s1600/1997-02-20%2Bpt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 306px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-o5e7hwyCvrY/TauAlovAByI/AAAAAAAABW8/8iVLnPiU0Eo/s400/1997-02-20%2Bpt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596708346016040738" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QwHVRg6Y6q4/TauAlRyqLFI/AAAAAAAABW0/_HRSq2I42k0/s1600/1997-02-20%2Bpt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 306px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QwHVRg6Y6q4/TauAlRyqLFI/AAAAAAAABW0/_HRSq2I42k0/s400/1997-02-20%2Bpt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596708339857370194" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Of course I didn't want to hang out with my boyfriend at the dance.  I just wanted him to be there for the slow dances so I didn't look LAME like all the single girls.  But the rest of the time, I just wanted to stand around, gossip, and giggle with my girl friends.  DUH.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;“2-20-97. Dear Diary, Today Richard gave me a note. Highlights: He can go to the dance! But he just needs to get a ride. That’s about all. I hope I don’t have to hang out with him the whole time. Because I’d rather hang out with Jaime &amp;amp; Lianna. After the dance Jaime’s sleeping over! I hope Lianna isn’t mad. Joanne really likes Richard! I was reading a note she wrote to her neighbor. It said, ‘I really like Richard! But he really loves Krista &amp;amp; she really loves him. I’ll get my chance. He doesn’t like me but oh well, I’LL MAKE HIM!’ Weird! Gotta go! Sabrina.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-1339504554016145364?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/1339504554016145364/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=1339504554016145364&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/1339504554016145364'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/1339504554016145364'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2011/04/i-hope-i-dont-have-to-hang-out-with-my.html' title='I hope I don&apos;t have to hang out with my boyfriend'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-o5e7hwyCvrY/TauAlovAByI/AAAAAAAABW8/8iVLnPiU0Eo/s72-c/1997-02-20%2Bpt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-8329363475987389804</id><published>2011-04-14T20:53:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2011-04-14T21:28:12.297-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Monica'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Mark'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Doug'/><title type='text'>I'm going to LOVE being a teenager</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dFNZL6de24s/TaeXLVJwARI/AAAAAAAABWs/fbHA6lR1ANQ/s1600/1997-02-14%2Bpt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 263px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dFNZL6de24s/TaeXLVJwARI/AAAAAAAABWs/fbHA6lR1ANQ/s400/1997-02-14%2Bpt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595607282943525138" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0r1nVNi-ka8/TaeXLMafTFI/AAAAAAAABWk/Mmw426eTubI/s1600/1997-02-14%2Bpt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 263px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0r1nVNi-ka8/TaeXLMafTFI/AAAAAAAABWk/Mmw426eTubI/s400/1997-02-14%2Bpt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595607280597814354" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-P7dUBQfE-KI/TaeXK_SpC_I/AAAAAAAABWc/VLOJB6dbs7Y/s1600/1997-02-14%2Bpt3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 263px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-P7dUBQfE-KI/TaeXK_SpC_I/AAAAAAAABWc/VLOJB6dbs7Y/s400/1997-02-14%2Bpt3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595607277075237874" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;So many great things in this entry!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First of all, I was happy and relieved to learn the "real" reason Craig broke up with me.  Unfortunately, I think I interpreted it a *little* wrong.  Apparently he didn't necessarily break up with me because he didn't like me... that much IS true.  However, I thought he broke up with me because he could never see me outside of school.  Sounds innocent enough.  After all, he did say, "I couldn't see her out of school ever and that's why I dumped her."  So literally, yes, it does sound that way.  However, I didn't take what Mark asked into consideration.  "How far did you get with Krista?"  Craig's answer?  "Nowhere [...], that's why I dumped her."  Oops.  So in fact, he actually dumped me because we could never make out or do whatever else unsupervised 13-year-olds do.  Not so reassuring now, huh?  Poor little naive me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And while I didn't read far enough into Craig's answer to Mark's question, I read WAY too far into Richard's "lights are out" comment.  Seriously unnecessary.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The most exciting thing of my LIFETIME was walking between two boys.  Need I remind you, I didn't even have to DO anything to get the attention! And how cocky I was about it!  When I read the first, "I was so cool!", I was sure I missed a letter and meant to write, "IT was so cool!"  But then two sentences later, I wrote, "I was so awesome!"  What are the chances I wrote it wrong twice?  Oh sigh.  I really have nothing else to say on the matter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All this amazing excitement led me to conclude I was GOING TO LOVE BEING A TEENAGER!  So full of hope.  So wrong.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;“2-14-97. Dear Diary, I just remembered this: one day in Math (not too long ago) Mark was talking to Craig. Mark said, ‘Craig how far did you get with Krista?’ He said, ‘Nowhere. I couldn’t see her out of school ever &amp;amp; that’s why I dumped her.’ I felt a whole lot better about things! I thought he dumped me because he didn’t like me anymore! He’s a butt, though! On the note Richard wrote me on Tuesday the last note he’s written so far. It says, ‘lights are out!’ I had no clue to what he meant by that &amp;amp; still don’t. Jaime thinks that his mom came in &amp;amp; said, ‘Richard, hunny, it’s time for bed!’ &amp;amp; turned out the lights. But Monica thought that maybe he meant that the relationship is over! I sure hope that’s not what he meant because I love him! A lot! I don’t think that’s what he meant because he wrote also: P.S. WBS, I luv ya! And a heart. Plus, I’m pretty sure he still loves me! I HOPE HE CAN GO TO THE DANCE! On the way out of school yesterday Doug walked up &amp;amp; said something to Richard (I forget what). But then instead of walking next to Richard, he walked next to me! So I was walking in between 2 boys, one I like now &amp;amp; one I used to like! You should have seen it! I was so cool! I mean, attention from 2 boys when I didn’t even do anything! I was so awesome! I think I’m going to love being a teenager! -Krista AKA Sabrina.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-8329363475987389804?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/8329363475987389804/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=8329363475987389804&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/8329363475987389804'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/8329363475987389804'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2011/04/im-going-to-love-being-teenager.html' title='I&apos;m going to LOVE being a teenager'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dFNZL6de24s/TaeXLVJwARI/AAAAAAAABWs/fbHA6lR1ANQ/s72-c/1997-02-14%2Bpt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-7983009545162598479</id><published>2011-04-13T20:02:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2011-04-13T20:13:03.728-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Monica'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Teri'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Doug'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Rachel'/><title type='text'>Outline</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7osebduoLDI/TaY55Xm7jSI/AAAAAAAABWU/scia_kbA0IY/s1600/1997-02-12%2Bpt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 252px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7osebduoLDI/TaY55Xm7jSI/AAAAAAAABWU/scia_kbA0IY/s400/1997-02-12%2Bpt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595223244807048482" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gHMlxgh7wnc/TaY55PDLpWI/AAAAAAAABWM/EjavIM62fz4/s1600/1997-02-12%2Bpt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 252px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gHMlxgh7wnc/TaY55PDLpWI/AAAAAAAABWM/EjavIM62fz4/s400/1997-02-12%2Bpt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595223242509624674" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0G_hrI_rHiM/TaY544VrFaI/AAAAAAAABWE/PI8rbH51GbM/s1600/1997-02-12%2Bpt3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 252px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0G_hrI_rHiM/TaY544VrFaI/AAAAAAAABWE/PI8rbH51GbM/s400/1997-02-12%2Bpt3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595223236413167010" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Yes, I wrote outlines in my diary.  Not very good ones either.  In my defense, I was probably just learning.  My mom used to punish me by making me outline chapters of my textbooks.  I guess that's what you get when your mom has a Masters in English.  There are worse ways a parent could punish their child.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The swearing in this entry is a little intense.  I'm not sure what my problem was with Monica.  I remember us being good friends and don't remember ever feeling so negatively toward her.  Geez.  I wish we had more details on that.  It was probably a good story!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;“2-12-97. Dear Diary, Richard didn’t give me a note today. He said he had too much stuff to do. Today at lunch I saw Doug hand in 3 candy grams. Because he was near me, I walked over to him &amp;amp; asked him who they were to. The 1st name he said was me &amp;amp; then he started naming off every other girl in the cafeteria. Then back in the company are, Doug came up to me &amp;amp; said, ‘Do you really want to know who I sent them to?’ I said ya. Here’s how it went: Doug: Okay, I sent one to Rachel. Me: Why? Doug: Because I want to go back out with her. Me: Don’t even try because she will never go back out with you! Doug: Um, good cause I was lying. And I sent one to you that says ‘Fuck you, you’re a bitch.” And I sent one to Teri that said the same. Me: Oh, ya, whatever. Well, 1) if he really wrote Fuck you you’re a bitch, they wouldn’t send it cuz they look at all of them. So: a) He wrote me one &amp;amp; I won’t get it. b) He wrote me one, but was lying about what he wrote in it. c) Or, he didn’t write one at all. 2) He might possibly be lying that he wrote me one, but I doubt it. I think he really wrote one to me. Why? Because I know he likes Rachel. And I know he’d write one to Teri cuz they’re friends. I hope he wrote me one! Why? I’m not quite sure, I just hope he does. I wrote him one, but I wrote it as a joke. I wrote it like ‘I love you’ &amp;amp; stuff from a secret admirer. I HOPE HE REALLY DID WRITE ONE! Now, what do I get Richard? He’s giving me my gift on Tues, therefore I have awhile to get him something. BUT WHAT? Monica’s a bitch. She’s so damn fat &amp;amp; annoying. Ugh! She is so bossy! I really hate her guts! -Krista”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-7983009545162598479?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/7983009545162598479/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=7983009545162598479&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/7983009545162598479'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/7983009545162598479'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2011/04/outline.html' title='Outline'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7osebduoLDI/TaY55Xm7jSI/AAAAAAAABWU/scia_kbA0IY/s72-c/1997-02-12%2Bpt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-8090807540226002642</id><published>2011-04-06T21:15:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2011-04-06T22:14:39.487-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Joanne'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kasey'/><title type='text'>Gold Chain</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5sMNd5w885M/TZ0Qj6LN7yI/AAAAAAAABV8/EwQZZT_HaKY/s1600/1997-02-11%2Bpt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5sMNd5w885M/TZ0Qj6LN7yI/AAAAAAAABV8/EwQZZT_HaKY/s400/1997-02-11%2Bpt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592644521361796898" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hID6WdP2s_A/TZ0QjrO9PAI/AAAAAAAABV0/cDBWKbVBGW4/s1600/1997-02-11%2Bpt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hID6WdP2s_A/TZ0QjrO9PAI/AAAAAAAABV0/cDBWKbVBGW4/s400/1997-02-11%2Bpt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592644517350947842" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Remember when we used to call guys "fine"?  Haha.  No one does that anymore, right?  It sounds so funny to me now.  Just as funny as "get your swerve on" sounds.  The 90's were weird.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My only sources of income at that age were birthdays and babysitting, so I didn't spend a lot of money.  But I'm really disappointed in myself for thinking that a GOLD CHAIN would be an affordable alternative to a t-shirt or a hat.  Aw.  And how serious I was!  I definitely wasn't making a joke in the entry.  I really thought that a gold chain would be a decent option.  And maybe I could have found a &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;cheap&lt;/span&gt; chain... but probably not cheaper than a t-shirt or hat!  Oh... unless I went to Claire's.  Ahhh I bet that's it.  I gotta remember to think like a middle-schooler.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Spoiler alert (because I'm not sure I mention it in the upcoming entries): I didn't get Richard anything.  It's all good because he didn't get me anything either.  And all that time I spent worrying!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;“2-11-97. Deary Diary, Today was an okay day. Richard gave me a note but it wasn’t very interesting so I’m not going to write its highlights. At the reflections ceremony today I showed Kasey who Richard was. She kept saying he was cute, hot, &amp;amp; fine! But, she likes every man on Earth anyway! Joanne told me Richard’s getting me earrings! GREAT! WHAT AM I GOING TO GET HIM! Tomorrow is the last day I can buy it! WHAT DO I DO??? Not a shirt! Too much $. Not a hat! Too much $. A gold chain? I DON’T KNOW! WHAT THE HELL DO I DO???!! HELP! -Krista”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-8090807540226002642?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/8090807540226002642/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=8090807540226002642&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/8090807540226002642'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/8090807540226002642'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2011/04/gold-chain.html' title='Gold Chain'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5sMNd5w885M/TZ0Qj6LN7yI/AAAAAAAABV8/EwQZZT_HaKY/s72-c/1997-02-11%2Bpt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-3774425349309311833</id><published>2011-04-02T21:22:00.007-04:00</published><updated>2011-04-02T21:34:25.020-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Joanne'/><title type='text'>The Charmer</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L5I_b24cptg/TZfMIT2-GQI/AAAAAAAABVs/FnGkkT_FNo4/s1600/1997-02-10%2Bpt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L5I_b24cptg/TZfMIT2-GQI/AAAAAAAABVs/FnGkkT_FNo4/s400/1997-02-10%2Bpt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591161905545615618" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1Dzd2bPr1G8/TZfMFkwo7QI/AAAAAAAABVk/sApfgZAXb0o/s1600/1997-02-10%2Bpt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 264px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1Dzd2bPr1G8/TZfMFkwo7QI/AAAAAAAABVk/sApfgZAXb0o/s400/1997-02-10%2Bpt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591161858542857474" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;blockquote style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;"You're beautiful, you have a great personality, you're funny, and then there's that one thing about you (which I have no clue as to what it is) that makes me like you more &amp;amp; more every day."&lt;span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Wow, what a charmer!  How could someone &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;not&lt;/span&gt; like a guy who gives those compliments (especially when you're an adolescent with low self-esteem)?  That is seriously romantic stuff.  At thirteen, where did Richard even learn to talk that way?  Women would be lucky at any age to have a significant other say those kinds of things to them.  I'm just glad I appreciated him at this moment instead of thinking he was annoying like I had in other entries!  What a good guy.   &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;"  &gt;“2-10-97. Dear Diary, Today Richard gave me 2 notes! The first one was just because he was thinking of me. On it he wrote URSoCute! 2nd notes highlights: ONE WHOLE PARAGRAPH EXACTLY IS: Joanne told me that she asked you at the Otters game why you liked me.  She also told me that your response was, ‘He’s really really really cute &amp;amp; sweet.’ So I thought that it would just be fair to tell you why I like you. I like you because you’re beautiful, you have a great personality, you’re funny, and then there’s that one thing about you (which I have no clue as to what it is) that makes me like you more &amp;amp; more every day. Today I didn’t find Richard annoying one bit. I found him sweet! I knew our relationship was going to get better! On the way out of school, Mike gave Richard a note. Richard was reading it &amp;amp; he let me read it too. I was leaning on him so I could see the note too! We were so close! I really love him! Mrs. Decker &amp;amp; Mr. Jones know we’re going out. They’re butts! Mrs. Decker said we make a ‘very nice couple’! NOW WHAT DO I GET HIM FOR V-DAY??? HELP! -Krista P.S. Craig got his seat changed again! Bummer!”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-3774425349309311833?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/3774425349309311833/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=3774425349309311833&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/3774425349309311833'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/3774425349309311833'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2011/04/charmer.html' title='The Charmer'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L5I_b24cptg/TZfMIT2-GQI/AAAAAAAABVs/FnGkkT_FNo4/s72-c/1997-02-10%2Bpt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-54522777086366748</id><published>2011-03-18T19:27:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2011-03-18T19:40:50.209-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Doug'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Anthony'/><title type='text'>dickbroken</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Wk5zLq-NO1A/TYPq8TH2lYI/AAAAAAAABVc/-6ho1ynHlk0/s1600/1997-02-09%2Bpt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Wk5zLq-NO1A/TYPq8TH2lYI/AAAAAAAABVc/-6ho1ynHlk0/s400/1997-02-09%2Bpt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585566284515808642" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cJsiNu1IvaU/TYPq8KmMDgI/AAAAAAAABVU/f7fQSomjl60/s1600/1997-02-09%2Bpt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cJsiNu1IvaU/TYPq8KmMDgI/AAAAAAAABVU/f7fQSomjl60/s400/1997-02-09%2Bpt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585566282227125762" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Yn763wtLiUI/TYPq735an1I/AAAAAAAABVM/_3JP_Cg-geE/s1600/1997-02-09%2Bpt3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Yn763wtLiUI/TYPq735an1I/AAAAAAAABVM/_3JP_Cg-geE/s400/1997-02-09%2Bpt3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585566277207498578" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Yes, Richard would be heartbroken and 'dickbroken'.  Jaime and I had an interesting sense of humor back then.  I'm not sure we even &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;meant&lt;/span&gt; anything by 'dickbroken', I think we just liked the way it sounded.  Certainly Richard wasn't getting any further than possibly holding hands at that time... so I can't imagine we were thinking he'd actually be let down in the dick department.  So weird.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;“2-9-97. Dear Diary, Today the phone rang. My Dad &amp;amp; I picked up the phone at the same time. I heard the person on the other end ask for me. I said hi &amp;amp; the person at the other end said, ‘Hi Krista! Oh, this is Anthony!’ It really was him, seriously. All he told me was that he thought that I should get Richard the Nike hat. That’s all he wanted to tell me! That’s all! Then he ran outside &amp;amp; got Richard. He put Richard on the phone. We talked for awhile. I just can’t believe Anthony called me! I’m not going to get Richard the hat because it costs too much. Now I have absolutely no idea what to get him! HELP ME! I have so many dilemmas! I really like Anthony but if I dumped Richard to go out with Anthony then Richard would hate me &amp;amp; Anthony &amp;amp; Richard might get in a fight. Jaime says I should stick with Richard. She doesn’t want me to go out with Anthony because he’s only in 5th grade &amp;amp; Richard would be heartbroken &amp;amp; dickbroken (don’t ask). I really don’t know what to do. I have a lot more fun &amp;amp; a better time when I’m around Anthony than when I’m around Richard. Seriously, I think my relationship with Richard is going absolutely nowhere. So then I got this idea that in the summer when Richard &amp;amp; I are long over I can go out with Anthony. No one will care what grade he’s in cuz it won’t matter! The more I think about it, I think Anthony &amp;amp; I would make better friends like me &amp;amp; Doug. I DON’T KNOW! HELP ME! -ME”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-54522777086366748?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/54522777086366748/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=54522777086366748&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/54522777086366748'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/54522777086366748'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2011/03/dickbroken.html' title='dickbroken'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Wk5zLq-NO1A/TYPq8TH2lYI/AAAAAAAABVc/-6ho1ynHlk0/s72-c/1997-02-09%2Bpt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-910635516493612579</id><published>2011-03-15T22:19:00.013-04:00</published><updated>2011-03-16T09:42:11.440-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Lianna'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Joanne'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Rachel'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Anthony'/><title type='text'>TL;DR</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;My husband, brother-in-law, and I had a big debate a month or so ago about the term "TL;DR" ("Too Long; Didn't Read").  Bro-in-law &amp;amp; I maintain that it's used to reply to someone's email, form post, whatev that is too wordy... to let them know you're replying without having read the whole content and possibly to also give them a hint to write more succinctly in the future.  Husband, however, still asserts that it's used to summarize one's OWN writing as a preface.  So I guess you write a really long email and then after realizing it's way too long and no one is going to want to read it, you go back up to the top, write "TL;DR", and then summarize what you wrote in a few bullet points.  Not sure why you wouldn't just delete the rest of your email at that point, after realizing that it's garbage... but anyhow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, realizing that this diary entry is 6 pages long, here's a husband-style TL;DR for you with all the most-important, most-entertaining parts...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;TL;DR&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;"Jaime &amp;amp; Rachel say that when I’m around Richard that I act like I want him to go away."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;"I never thought [Anthony] would even want bodily contact with me (don’t take that the wrong way!)!" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;In a Pro/Con list for whether to date Anthony: "CON- I don’t know if he likes me."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;"I’d hate dumping Richard for his younger, shorter best friend!" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;"When I’m around Richard, he is so annoying &amp;amp; I hate him."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;"If I’m reading a note from him at school, I just want to kill someone it’s so sickening." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;"Then, if I read the same note at home, I think he’s the sweetest creature on Earth!" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Using the Magic 8 Ball for advice...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;"&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;KRD:&lt;/span&gt; Should I keep going out with Richard?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;M8B:&lt;/span&gt; My Sources Say No.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;KRD:&lt;/span&gt; Is it because of how I don’t like him when I’m around him?" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;"HOW DUMB I NEED REAL HELP FROM A HUMAN BEING NOT A PLASTIC BALL OF SHIT FILLED WITH PISS!"  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;"Who do I really like? I need a sykyatrist!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;And if you really care to read the whole thing... here you go...!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-L4XeTCuhLEk/TYAekzVNXlI/AAAAAAAABU0/GVOgzMWr1Ok/s1600/1997-02-08%2Bpt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 264px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-L4XeTCuhLEk/TYAekzVNXlI/AAAAAAAABU0/GVOgzMWr1Ok/s400/1997-02-08%2Bpt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584497155542703698" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y0spKPUr1o8/TYAekQpY5jI/AAAAAAAABUs/Xiu-lo7m9pw/s1600/1997-02-08%2Bpt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 264px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y0spKPUr1o8/TYAekQpY5jI/AAAAAAAABUs/Xiu-lo7m9pw/s400/1997-02-08%2Bpt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584497146232104498" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Cfywjd-nHH4/TYAej_3nyTI/AAAAAAAABUk/jB5TITbxbTI/s1600/1997-02-08%2Bpt3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 264px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Cfywjd-nHH4/TYAej_3nyTI/AAAAAAAABUk/jB5TITbxbTI/s400/1997-02-08%2Bpt3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584497141728397618" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JVhx2nxN2R0/TYAejhaNQ8I/AAAAAAAABUc/Lctv5RZ0YuU/s1600/1997-02-08%2Bpt4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 264px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JVhx2nxN2R0/TYAejhaNQ8I/AAAAAAAABUc/Lctv5RZ0YuU/s400/1997-02-08%2Bpt4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584497133551961026" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NoncufJdnPE/TYAfMIFq9UI/AAAAAAAABVE/HtkO4IM4iD8/s1600/1997-02-08%2Bpt5.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 264px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NoncufJdnPE/TYAfMIFq9UI/AAAAAAAABVE/HtkO4IM4iD8/s400/1997-02-08%2Bpt5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584497831129576770" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BoJZ2QJp4nc/TYAfL8rrsvI/AAAAAAAABU8/Yf9bilwbsiM/s1600/1997-02-08%2Bpt6.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 264px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BoJZ2QJp4nc/TYAfL8rrsvI/AAAAAAAABU8/Yf9bilwbsiM/s400/1997-02-08%2Bpt6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584497828067783410" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“2-8-97.  Dear Diary, Richard gave me a note yesterday. Here are the highlites: He said that if I want to hold his hand, that he’s okay with that. He’s probably thinking that he’s dying to hold my hand!  Jaime &amp;amp; Rachel say that when I’m around Richard that I act like I want him to go away. They say I ignore him &amp;amp; act really mean towards him.  Jaime says that she doesn’t think he notices. I sure hope he doesn’t notice!  Today (actually tonight) we’re going to another hockey game (Otters). I hope there’s a lot of fights! I love it when they break out &amp;amp; start fighting! Gotta go! Krista! I LOVE RICHARD! SAME DAY AS LAST: Hi! It’s me again. I just got home from an Otters hockey game. The whole time I hung out with Lianna. Some of the time (about half) I hung out with Lianna, Joanne, &amp;amp; Anthony. Anthony told me that Richard’s getting me a rose, a necklace, &amp;amp; earrings for Valentine’s day!  He told me I should get him a Nike hat.  I will if I have enough money.  I think Anthony does like me!  Anthony is really nice.  Lianna agrees that he’s kinda cute. Towards the end of the game I was at the drinking fountain. I was last in line, behind Seth. Anthony  came out of nowhere (I didn’t even know he was there!) and pushed me a little from behind! I never thought he would do that. I never thought he would even want bodily contact with me (don’t take that the wrong way!)! I don’t know who I like more: Richard or Anthony. I’ll make a Pro/Con list. Here: RICHARD-- PRO- my age, cute, tall, he loves me, goes to my school; CON- shy around me. ANTHONY-- PRO- cute, not shy around me; CON- too young, short, I don’t know if he likes me, Joanne might get mad at me, doesn’t go to my school. That’s all I can think of.  Because Richard has 3 more Pros and 4 less Cons, I guess I should stick with him, huh? I sure hope that’s the right thing to do. I really need some assistance, bad. I’d hate dumping Richard for his younger, shorter best friend! Richard would hate me forever! I really hate it! When I’m around Richard, he is so annoying &amp;amp; I hate him. If I’m reading a note from him at school, I just want to kill someone it’s so sickening. Then, if I read the same note at home, I think he’s the sweetest creature on Earth! Somehow, that doesn’t seem right at all. At school walking out, if Jaime asks me if I want to hold hands with Richard I think ‘Definitely Not!’ But then when I think about it at home afterwards, I totally regret my decision. That seems very wrong. Here, let’s use some help from Mr. Magic 8 Ball dude. KRD: Should I keep going out with Richard? M8B: My Sources Say No. KRD: Is it because of how I don’t like him when I’m around him? M8B: My Sources Say No. KRD: Is that all you can say? M8B: Very Doubtful. KRD: Would I be better off with Anthony? M8B: Most Likely. KRD: Are you telling the truth about all of this? M8B: My Sources Say No. HOW DUMB I NEED REAL HELP FROM A HUMAN BEING NOT A PLASTIC BALL OF SHIT FILLED WITH PISS!  HELP ME!  Someone… Anyone…!  Agghh! -Krista P.S. Do I love Richard really? Do I love Anthony really? Who do I really like? I need a sykyatrist! HELP!”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-910635516493612579?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/910635516493612579/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=910635516493612579&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/910635516493612579'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/910635516493612579'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2011/03/tldr.html' title='TL;DR'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-L4XeTCuhLEk/TYAekzVNXlI/AAAAAAAABU0/GVOgzMWr1Ok/s72-c/1997-02-08%2Bpt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-7051125670300220605</id><published>2011-03-13T21:03:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2011-03-13T21:26:30.080-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kasey'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Teri'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Doug'/><title type='text'>AC DC</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Zo-X1plLEqc/TX1pgDGA0vI/AAAAAAAABUU/ekGsN5iRdsA/s1600/1997-02-06%2Bpt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 263px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Zo-X1plLEqc/TX1pgDGA0vI/AAAAAAAABUU/ekGsN5iRdsA/s400/1997-02-06%2Bpt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583735112316539634" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dZQnf09xy0M/TX1pf-4_7eI/AAAAAAAABUM/ggcKLCcMop4/s1600/1997-02-06%2Bpt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 263px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dZQnf09xy0M/TX1pf-4_7eI/AAAAAAAABUM/ggcKLCcMop4/s400/1997-02-06%2Bpt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583735111188213218" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2OakpD2uXHE/TX1pfT3BSqI/AAAAAAAABUE/32tTbTL3V3E/s1600/1997-02-06%2Bpt3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 263px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2OakpD2uXHE/TX1pfT3BSqI/AAAAAAAABUE/32tTbTL3V3E/s400/1997-02-06%2Bpt3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583735099637189282" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Did I really &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;think&lt;/span&gt; I was being a good girlfriend?  I would buy Richard a &lt;a href="http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2010/01/candygrams.html"&gt;Candi-Gram&lt;/a&gt; "if I remembered."  I imagined a time in the future when Richard and I were "done with our relationship".  I don't think anyone was expecting to marry their middle school boyfriend, but it's funny to see it addressed so plainly.  What was the point?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I like how I just casually mentioned I had safety goggles from Erie Plating as if I went there every day.  Actually, if I remember correctly, I was somehow chosen to "shadow" someone at Erie Plating with a 3 or 4 other students.  I feel like whoever we shadowed was a pretty intelligent chemist or something... but I was not interested.  Here's what I do remember...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Free safety goggles&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;  Dipping a quarter in some kind of liquid to plate it... that was pretty cool&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Learning that AC-DC can mean "bisexual."  A piece of equipment had a voltage label for AC &amp;amp; DC and one of the boys on the tour told me the slang.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;Unfortunately, it seems "AC-DC" is the only thing I learned that day.  At least I learned something?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“2-6-97.  Dear Diary, Richard didn’t give me a note today.  I don’t really know why, but I don’t really care.  He put a Happy Ad on announcements for me.  The whole school saw it!  It said, ‘To: Krista.  I’m thinking of you!  Love, Richard.’  He told me that he’s putting another one on for me tomorrow!  I think that’s really sweet!  He also is giving me a Candi-gram!  I’m gonna buy him one tomorrow if I remember.  Before I went into Social Studies, Doug stopped me &amp;amp; gave me a broken pencil.  He said, ‘Here’s a little present!’  Then Teri said, ‘Yeah Krista, it’s his Valentines Day present to you!’  What was that supposed to mean?  I’m not quite sure.  Then, I was walking out of school with Richard &amp;amp; Doug was walking next to me but with his friends.  He didn’t know I was there until I pushed him.  Then he looked at me &amp;amp; said, ‘Oh, hi!’  Then I put on my safety goggles I got from Erie Plating today.  Then Doug said, ‘Oh, cool!  Where’d you get those?’  I told him &amp;amp; then he asked me if he could wear them.  I said, ‘Sure!’ &amp;amp; gave them to him.  Then he put them on &amp;amp; started running around the lobby with them on.  I practically had to strangle him to get them back!  I think we’re just friends.  But when Richard &amp;amp; I are done with our relationship &amp;amp; if Doug wants to go out with me, I’d probably say yes.  But for now, we’re just friends.  Gotta go!  Krista  I love Richard.  P.S. KC said that Richard’s getting me a rose for Valentine’s Day.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-7051125670300220605?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/7051125670300220605/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=7051125670300220605&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/7051125670300220605'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/7051125670300220605'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2011/03/ac-dc.html' title='AC DC'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Zo-X1plLEqc/TX1pgDGA0vI/AAAAAAAABUU/ekGsN5iRdsA/s72-c/1997-02-06%2Bpt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-4598089656220955286</id><published>2011-03-01T21:23:00.014-05:00</published><updated>2011-03-01T22:32:18.662-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Mark'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><title type='text'>Fashion Offenses</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rloxlgIt13U/TW2qfGegU6I/AAAAAAAABT8/mwR8HZys2ys/s1600/1997-02-05%2Bpt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 264px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rloxlgIt13U/TW2qfGegU6I/AAAAAAAABT8/mwR8HZys2ys/s400/1997-02-05%2Bpt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579302964673139618" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PKLHfzuhQP8/TW2qey2_DXI/AAAAAAAABT0/7UdiOSTy0_Y/s1600/1997-02-05%2Bpt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 264px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PKLHfzuhQP8/TW2qey2_DXI/AAAAAAAABT0/7UdiOSTy0_Y/s400/1997-02-05%2Bpt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579302959407107442" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0WUFS4n7iCk/TW2qeo2allI/AAAAAAAABTs/VrPFT2NS5X8/s1600/1997-02-05%2Bpt3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 264px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0WUFS4n7iCk/TW2qeo2allI/AAAAAAAABTs/VrPFT2NS5X8/s400/1997-02-05%2Bpt3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579302956720363090" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I was a terrible person.  I can't believe we ganged up on Craig for only having five shirts and one pair of shoes.  That's really sad!  I still feel bad about it.  Well, look on the bright side... at least he had one shirt for every day?  I shouldn't have been one to talk though, I was guilty of plenty of fashion offenses in middle school too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are some I can think of right now (1 for every shirt Craig owned)...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;In 6th grade, I only had one pair of jeans which were too short on me because I was going through a growth spurt.  It was the first time I had ever heard anyone ask, "You waitin' for a flood??"&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;In 7th grade, I reeked of gasoline for a few months because I stepped in a puddle at the gas station wearing my only pair of brown shoes.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Inside-out sweatshirts.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Scrunchies on my wrist all day, coordinated with my outfit, but never intended to be worn in my hair because I wasn't good at putting my hair in a ponytail.  Also, scrunchies period.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Brassy orange hair from learning the hard way that using Sun-In on dark brown hair does not make it beautiful beach blonde.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;There's plenty more... but that's enough for now.  Goodnight!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;---&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“2-5-97.  Dear Diary, Today I was walking into school alone &amp;amp; Craig walked up beside me!  He started a conversation!  WOW!  Then in homeroom Jaime started teasing Craig about how he wears the same shirts every day (Jaime &amp;amp; I started doing that awhile ago.  He only has 2 brown, a Metallica, a gray one, &amp;amp; a denim one).  So then I started teasing him too &amp;amp; then Mark got into it.  Mark started saying that he wears the same shoes every day.  Then Craig looked like he could cry!  I felt so bad!  I think we hurt his feelings!  I’ll never tease him about that again!  Then in Science I got a question on a work sheet a long time ago &amp;amp; he was stuck on it.  I told him the answer &amp;amp; he admitted I was right.  Then I said, ‘Craig, say I’m smart.  Make me feel good!”  Then he said, ‘Krista, you’re the smartest person I know.  You are so smart!  I am so stupid!’  I never thought I’d get that out of him!  Today Richard gave me a note!  I can’t write the highlights in here because I need to do my homework!  Krista  Hi!  It’s the same day as last, just later.  I felt I needed to add something.  Okay, I’m not sure what I should do about Richard.  When I’m not around him, I’m crazy about him!  I just love him!  But when I’m next to him talking or something I usually find him really annoying &amp;amp; I hate it!  I don’t think I’m gonna dump him because I know I still like him a lot- when I’m not around him!  What do I do?  HELP ME!  I love Richard!  For now…”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-4598089656220955286?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/4598089656220955286/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=4598089656220955286&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/4598089656220955286'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/4598089656220955286'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2011/03/fashion-offenses.html' title='Fashion Offenses'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rloxlgIt13U/TW2qfGegU6I/AAAAAAAABT8/mwR8HZys2ys/s72-c/1997-02-05%2Bpt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-5079865556978021897</id><published>2011-02-26T21:44:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2011-02-26T22:31:00.227-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Monica'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Doug'/><title type='text'>#1 on the Good Looking System</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-p0fv0t3qTIQ/TWm6yhjwy9I/AAAAAAAABTU/fx30dGgjT-o/s1600/1997-02-04%2Bpt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-p0fv0t3qTIQ/TWm6yhjwy9I/AAAAAAAABTU/fx30dGgjT-o/s400/1997-02-04%2Bpt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578194990639664082" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KabY73PYVE0/TWm6yjlKNmI/AAAAAAAABTM/21bf-x06v4s/s1600/1997-02-04%2Bpt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KabY73PYVE0/TWm6yjlKNmI/AAAAAAAABTM/21bf-x06v4s/s400/1997-02-04%2Bpt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578194991182394978" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tn1fQmi4ZA0/TWm6yYx5JaI/AAAAAAAABTE/JPuO-fU9ZtU/s1600/1997-02-04%2Bpt3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tn1fQmi4ZA0/TWm6yYx5JaI/AAAAAAAABTE/JPuO-fU9ZtU/s400/1997-02-04%2Bpt3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578194988283012514" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Back then, I thought Richard was annoying because he gave me too much attention and said he loved me too much.  Sounds weird and backwards because shouldn't someone &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;want&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt; love and attention in a relationship?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Obviously the answer is yes... but that love usually grows over a period of months and years.  In this case, Richard and I had only been dating for two weeks... and the "I love you"s started almost immediately.  Even though I never said it and I'm not sure I even actually realized it, I think the real problem was that we just didn't have anything in common.  Or rather, that we didn't even &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;know&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt; if we had anything in common because we never took the time to find out!  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;One day we were classmates, the next day we were going out and saying "I love you."  We didn't know any better.  We just thought that's what people in relationships do.  Any time we talked or wrote notes to each other... it was nothing of substance.  "What's your cat's name?"  "What's your favorite radio station?"  Let's be honest, we didn't even spend that much time together.  I don't think we talked on the phone much and when we saw each other in school, it was during class, so we didn't really hang out.  We quickly passed notes in the hallway and that was about the extent of our communication.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;I think what I was realizing, but didn't know I was realizing, was that there was no way we could actually love each other and the whole thing just felt like an act.  I was too immature to confront it... so instead I just complained about it and called him annoying.  Let's see how much longer this lasts...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;---&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“2-4-97.  Dear Diary, Joanne told me that her brother is always talking about me.  She says he’s obsessing over me.  Before SWEP, Doug &amp;amp; I were standing outside the door.  We were reading my note from Richard.  Because we were both looking at it, we were standing shoulder to shoulder.  Then after SWEP we were walking together to our next class.  Again shoulder to shoulder!  (Sorry Richard)  We’re just friends.  But like I’ve said before, I can very well see me &amp;amp; Doug going out in a few years.  In Science I asked Craig if I could wear his hat (it was a Cat in the Hat type hat, it was Hat Day).  He did that kind of moan that he did when I asked him out at one of the dances.  I begged.  And he let me!  He let me wear it all through Math too!  We’re friends.  Back to the subject of Richard.  Here’s the notes highlights: (Monica has this book &amp;amp; in it, it has a part titled ‘Stereotypes for Common Names.’  My name wasn’t in it.  But Richard’s was.  His name is stereotyped as ‘very good looking.’  I told him that.)  A whole paragraph from his note was: About that stereotyped names thing.  I think your name should be in that section of the book.  And stereotyped as ‘Very beautiful &amp;amp; #1 on any Good Looking System that anyone made up.’  Because you are beautiful and very good looking.  He also wrote Love you very MUCH!!  Excuse me but he’s getting a little to into it.  He’s really pissing me off!  Why does he have to say he loves me every day?  I don’t understand!  I wish he could just write normal notes!  HELP ME! -Krista I think I love Richard”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-5079865556978021897?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/5079865556978021897/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=5079865556978021897&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/5079865556978021897'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/5079865556978021897'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2011/02/1-on-good-looking-system.html' title='#1 on the Good Looking System'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-p0fv0t3qTIQ/TWm6yhjwy9I/AAAAAAAABTU/fx30dGgjT-o/s72-c/1997-02-04%2Bpt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-6497108063415396859</id><published>2011-02-25T21:15:00.037-05:00</published><updated>2011-02-25T22:34:56.100-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Mike'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kasey'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kara'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Anthony'/><title type='text'>Butt Munch</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JsmDzZlesyM/TWhimQmwvLI/AAAAAAAABS8/3IuCC3c_b2E/s1600/1997-02-03%2Bpt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JsmDzZlesyM/TWhimQmwvLI/AAAAAAAABS8/3IuCC3c_b2E/s400/1997-02-03%2Bpt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577816547930455218" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DO4AWrfXXn8/TWhimN1RE-I/AAAAAAAABS0/Tv92bffclpg/s1600/1997-02-03%2Bpt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DO4AWrfXXn8/TWhimN1RE-I/AAAAAAAABS0/Tv92bffclpg/s400/1997-02-03%2Bpt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577816547185988578" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-g7gUV1n-_No/TWhimFycUHI/AAAAAAAABSs/i7hInmRRnFI/s1600/1997-02-03%2Bpt3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-g7gUV1n-_No/TWhimFycUHI/AAAAAAAABSs/i7hInmRRnFI/s400/1997-02-03%2Bpt3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577816545026658418" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are a couple ways one may interpret this situation:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. The Mature and Rational Way - Giving Kara the Benefit of the Doubt&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kara used to date Mike.  Even though Kara doesn't like Mike anymore, she is driven to tears after finding out that a good friend (Jaime) betrayed her and asked out her ex-boyfriend.  Jaime should have known he was off-limits.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;2. The Immature Middle School Way - What Really Happened&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kara used to date Mike.  But Kara doesn't like Mike anymore, or so she says.  Jaime and Mike are going out.  But Jaime also likes Mark and Richard, so what's the point?  Everyone likes everyone but somehow no one ever gets what they want.  Everyone cries.  Welcome to Middle School.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, before I go, I'd like to explore the etymology of "butt munch".  Google, don't let me down now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately, I didn't come back with much.  I'm sure most of us can already trace our first memory of "butt munch" back to Beavis and Butthead.  Aaaand that's about as far as I got.  But I did find &lt;a href="http://sonic.net/%7Egoblin/9beavis.html"&gt;this interesting interview&lt;/a&gt; with Mike Judge (the Creator of B&amp;amp;B) in which Judge discusses MTV's censorship of the show:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;blockquote style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"&gt;"For example butt-munch -- which they say a lot: originally in junior high people used to call each other ass-munch. So we put ass-munch in a script but the MTV standards department said no. We changed it to butt-munch and said that for about a year. Then I forgot they said no to ass-munch and I put it in there. By then they were so used to butt-munch that they didn't even notice ass-munch."&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Probably the most comprehensive definition I found is courtesy of &lt;a href="http://www.chacha.com/question/what-is-a-butt-munch"&gt;ChaCha&lt;/a&gt;:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote style="font-style: italic;"&gt;A butt munch (noun) is defined as 1. An annoying person that you would like to shut up. 2. A bothersome sibling. 3. A friend who is being a jackass. It is also a stupid or idiotic person, or a person that munches on a butt. &lt;/blockquote&gt;A person.  That munches.  On a butt.  Somehow in the past 14 years I never spent enough time thinking about "butt munch" to realize the literal, obvious meaning of the phrase.  I love you, Internet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;---&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“2-3-97.  Dear Diary, Today Richard gave me a note (like usual).  Highlights: He wrote: I’ve been thinking of you a lot!  At the end of his dream we were going back out.  He wrote on the note: I love you!  Luv ya!  And XXX OOO.   His friend Pete wrote on it: Richard loves Krista.  That is really weird because the note I wrote him I wrote these things: I’m just thinking about you, I’ve been doing that a lot lately.  I told him that Joanne told me about his dream.  I wrote, ‘Luv ya’ on it.  Those things are practically the same!  Joanne told told me that Anthony likes me!  She told me that Anthony is always saying, ‘I have to call Krista!  I have to call Kasey!  I have to talk to Krista!  I have to talk to Kasey!’  Joanne told me he’s obsessing over us!  If I wasn’t going out with Richard, I’d probably want to go out with Anthony.  Jaime might dump Mike.  Because Kara’s mad at her.  Kara wasn’t mad at Jaime for going out with Mike until she found out that she asked him out.  Kara even said she doesn’t like Mike.  But apparently she does.  Kara said she was crying in chorus.  Like we give a damn!  We don’t care about her butt munching hell of a life!  She is such a bitch!  She is such a freaking liar!  I really hate her!  I don’t know what Jaime should do.  Actually I think she should ignore stupid Kara &amp;amp; go on with her life.  She should tell Kara that no matter how long Kara cries &amp;amp; no matter how long she complains she won’t dump Mike.  She should just blow Kara off.  Who cares about her?  Jaime told me that she kinda likes Mark again.  She said that she kinda likes Richard too!  -Krista”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-6497108063415396859?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/6497108063415396859/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=6497108063415396859&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/6497108063415396859'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/6497108063415396859'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2011/02/butt-munch.html' title='Butt Munch'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JsmDzZlesyM/TWhimQmwvLI/AAAAAAAABS8/3IuCC3c_b2E/s72-c/1997-02-03%2Bpt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-1358631445376654455</id><published>2011-02-23T20:16:00.012-05:00</published><updated>2011-02-23T21:14:58.841-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Chris'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Monica'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kasey'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Doug'/><title type='text'>More Keith Sweat</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-D5lnS3AbEL0/TWWzA7Yr_fI/AAAAAAAABSk/KH7fHA8sS80/s1600/1997-02-02%2Bpt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 259px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-D5lnS3AbEL0/TWWzA7Yr_fI/AAAAAAAABSk/KH7fHA8sS80/s400/1997-02-02%2Bpt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577060542090837490" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uWeBUF-No8U/TWWzA30-qsI/AAAAAAAABSc/GuIYgQMZ9cc/s1600/1997-02-02%2Bpt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 259px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uWeBUF-No8U/TWWzA30-qsI/AAAAAAAABSc/GuIYgQMZ9cc/s400/1997-02-02%2Bpt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577060541135760066" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tpyYierjivA/TWWzAger_CI/AAAAAAAABSU/-tIHlhMIBs4/s1600/1997-02-02%2Bpt3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 259px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tpyYierjivA/TWWzAger_CI/AAAAAAAABSU/-tIHlhMIBs4/s400/1997-02-02%2Bpt3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577060534868245538" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I already addressed the scandalousness of &lt;a href="http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/12/toni-braxton-r-kelly-define-me.html"&gt;"Nobody"&lt;/a&gt;.  But in case you've forgotten and because the chorus the girl sings is slightly different than the chorus Keith sings that I posted before... here are some of the lyrics I sang (assuming I actually knew the lyrics):&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;And who can love you like me  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Who can sex you like me  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Who can lay your body down  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Nobody, baby&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;And who can treat you like me  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Who can give you what you need  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;And who can do you all night long  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Nobody, baby&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I think the weirdest part of all this is that Chris and I were singing this sexy song in his mother's car WHILE HIS MOTHER WAS DRIVING.  I made it clear in the diary entry that it was &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;not&lt;/span&gt; funny at the time... we weren't joking around like "haha it's so funny we're singing this totally inappropriate song"... we were serious.  I obviously didn't have a problem with it then but ew ew EW it is creeping me out now just thinking about it.  I'm so embarassed. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wait wait... possibly weirder is that we were two hormone-filled teenagers casually singing a song about sex on the way home from&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;RELIGIOUS ED.&lt;/span&gt;   &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;“2-2-97.  Dear Diary, Nothing much happened today, really.  I forgot to tell you, Richard dropped out of the play!  He said something else he was doing was conflicting with practices.  Anthony told me that Richard has an electric guitar!  Cool!  Today I carpooled with Chris J to &amp;amp; from CCD.  On the way there, like usual we were both singing to the songs.  But on the way home ‘Nobody’ by Keith Sweat came on.  It was so funny because he sang all of the male parts of the song &amp;amp; I sang the female!  It was so funny (but it wasn’t funny then).  Then when I was getting out of the car to go inside my house afterwards, Chris said, ‘See ya!’!  That’s funny because that’s what Richard usually says to me.  And see ya is short for see ya later!  When we were walking to the car, we were pretty close together.  People who saw us probably thought 1 of 2 things.  They either thought, ‘They’re brother &amp;amp; sister’ or they thought, ‘They’re going out!’  Kasey told me that I should go out with him.  I would but I don’t think he’d go out with me!  He’s kinda cute.  Mom &amp;amp; Kasey &amp;amp; Monica all say that Doug &amp;amp; I would make a good couple.  Monica keeps saying, ‘I think you &amp;amp; Doug would make the best &amp;amp; cutest couple!’  I’m sorry to say that buy I agree.  I mean put our pictures side by side and it just looks ‘right.’  I don’t like him, at all.  But, somewhere down the line, in a few years, I can very well see us going out.  But for now, I’m not looking forward to it!  -Krista  I LOVE RICHARD!”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-1358631445376654455?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/1358631445376654455/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=1358631445376654455&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/1358631445376654455'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/1358631445376654455'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2011/02/more-keith-sweat.html' title='More Keith Sweat'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-D5lnS3AbEL0/TWWzA7Yr_fI/AAAAAAAABSk/KH7fHA8sS80/s72-c/1997-02-02%2Bpt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-3188312825411550536</id><published>2011-02-22T18:46:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2011-02-22T19:52:39.803-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Mike'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Anthony'/><title type='text'>8 months later...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Holy crap... how has it been EIGHT months since the last time I posted?!?  I am so sorry for falling off the face of the earth!  Hope you weren't worried about me.  :P  Things just got really crazy last year planning a wedding, getting married (spoiler alert: not to a middle school crush), honeymooning, and enjoying life as a Mrs!  But I'm finally back!  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oHQP4kWzy38/TWRM-zBB6vI/AAAAAAAABSM/1QBaUOPJPqw/s1600/1997-01-31%2Bpt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 265px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oHQP4kWzy38/TWRM-zBB6vI/AAAAAAAABSM/1QBaUOPJPqw/s400/1997-01-31%2Bpt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576666880321645298" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QdFj23WQkKE/TWRM-4f9SrI/AAAAAAAABSE/ODZyqdp_dWU/s1600/1997-01-31%2Bpt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 265px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QdFj23WQkKE/TWRM-4f9SrI/AAAAAAAABSE/ODZyqdp_dWU/s400/1997-01-31%2Bpt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576666881793542834" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1oTjMUgDHtQ/TWRM-rVRFFI/AAAAAAAABR8/CvJelIuAoyo/s1600/1997-01-31%2Bpt3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 265px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1oTjMUgDHtQ/TWRM-rVRFFI/AAAAAAAABR8/CvJelIuAoyo/s400/1997-01-31%2Bpt3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576666878259041362" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;HA.  The &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;highlight &lt;/span&gt;of the first note from Richard was that he had a dream I dumped him.  Even though I enjoyed being told he loved me, his dream almost came true that day.  We already know he was walking a &lt;a href="http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2010/03/i-want-to-vacuum.html"&gt;fine line&lt;/a&gt; between being cute affectionate and crazy-annoying over-affectionate.  But it wasn't fair to him because he didn't know that.  How do you tell someone, "I know you're my boyfriend, but can you stop saying 'hi' to me in the hall and writing me notes with hearts all over it?  It's annoying"?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went with my family to the Pinewood Derby at Grandview Elementary to watch my brother compete (?).  You know, whatever you call it when you have a car in the race.  Clearly I don't remember... I was talking to Anthony and making phone calls on the pay phone in the hallway most of the time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's right, kids, PAY phone.  No cell.  No texting.  No Facebook.  Real quarters in a real pay phone.  And Richard was on his house phone.  It may have even had a cord.  And it's possible his mom answered and we had to awkwardly ask to speak to him.  Today's youngins will never appreciate what we went though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, one more thing.  I don't understand why I suddenly hated Mike.  Earlier that school year, I had a crush on him and even when I look back on it now, I don't remember ever being on bad terms with him.  Mike and I were always pretty good friends all throughout school.  Hm.  Maybe I was just jealous?  Who knows.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;---&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;“1-31-97.  Dear Diary, Today Richard gave me a note (Duh!).  Highlights: he had a dream that I dumped him!  He’s putting a happy ad on announcements for me!  He’s going to put it on Monday.  I guessed that it was going to say, ‘Will you be my Valentine?’  Jaime told me I was right.  At the bottom he wrote, ‘I love you!’  In another note he gave me today here are the highlights: All that is important really is that it said I love you.  When I got home from school I called Jaime.  I was so totally sick of Richard that it wasn’t funny.  I was very close to dumping him.  But now I don’t think I want to.  I went to the Boyscouts Pinewood Derby thing.  There was Anthony.  I spent most of my time flirting with Anthony &amp;amp; his friend Cameron.  Anthony is really nice.  I kinda like him, but not very much.  He’s kinda cute too.  He has a nice smile.  He acts like he likes me, I don’t know.  I asked Anthony what Richard says about me.  He wouldn’t tell me but he says its very good.  Anthony called Richard from Grandview &amp;amp; talked to him for awhile.  Then he gave the phone to me.  So Richard &amp;amp; I talked about  nothing much for awhile.  Anthony &amp;amp; I are good friends now, I think.  I hope he thinks of me as a friend.  -Krista  P.S. Jaime’s going out with Mike!  That’s sick!  I hate Mike!”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-3188312825411550536?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/3188312825411550536/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=3188312825411550536&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/3188312825411550536'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/3188312825411550536'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2011/02/8-months-later.html' title='8 months later...'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oHQP4kWzy38/TWRM-zBB6vI/AAAAAAAABSM/1QBaUOPJPqw/s72-c/1997-01-31%2Bpt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-2919347876586335002</id><published>2010-06-27T21:12:00.007-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-27T21:59:53.951-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Mike'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><title type='text'>Beanie Babies</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/TCf3XG_jLkI/AAAAAAAABRc/UyeSl66cxRk/s1600/1997-01-30+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 252px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/TCf3XG_jLkI/AAAAAAAABRc/UyeSl66cxRk/s400/1997-01-30+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487626647360450114" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/TCf3W-A2owI/AAAAAAAABRU/I9HNZG3jHz0/s1600/1997-01-30+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 252px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/TCf3W-A2owI/AAAAAAAABRU/I9HNZG3jHz0/s400/1997-01-30+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487626644950000386" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/TCf3WkRZWOI/AAAAAAAABRM/b916mecHMAg/s1600/1997-01-30+pt3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 252px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/TCf3WkRZWOI/AAAAAAAABRM/b916mecHMAg/s400/1997-01-30+pt3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487626638040062178" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Yes, I'm sure that's exactly what an 13-year-old boy would want as a gift: a Beanie Baby.  Sike.  It's not even an argument to say that at that time they were collector's items and some doubled value in a matter of months.  It's still just a cute little furry animal stuffed with plastic pellets.  Why the heck would he want a Beanie Baby?  Trick question.  The answer is: he wouldn't want a Beanie Baby.  No teenage boy wants a stuffed animal.  No teenage boy wants to explain his new pink bear friend to all his Mom.  And he especially doesn't want to explain it to his buddies.  A Beanie Baby is probably the &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;worst&lt;/span&gt; gift idea for an adolescent boy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Girls are so stupid. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;---&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;“1-30-97.  Dear Diary, This morning Richard gave me a note.  Highlights: On the outside it looked like this: URAQT!  On the inside, on the top margin it had this!  And at the bottom it said: URAQT!  A whole paragraph read: I don’t know what else to say.  All I can think of is how much I like you.  He has 2 cats!  As a P.P.S. he wrote: Be Mine and he also wrote XXXXOOOO.  Jaime asked him in Latin what he was getting me for Valentines Day.  She knows but won’t tell me.  I only know it’s jewelry.  He gave me another note.  Highlights: He thinks my middle name is cool!  These 2 letters are the first letters that he wrote ‘Dear Krista’ in!  See ya!  Me  P.S. I think I’m gonna get him a Beanie Baby for Valentine’s Day.”  P.P.S. Jaime asked Mike out &amp;amp; he said probably!”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-2919347876586335002?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/2919347876586335002/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=2919347876586335002&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/2919347876586335002'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/2919347876586335002'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2010/06/beanie-babies.html' title='Beanie Babies'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/TCf3XG_jLkI/AAAAAAAABRc/UyeSl66cxRk/s72-c/1997-01-30+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-257091957199979655</id><published>2010-06-20T19:07:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-20T19:24:48.390-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><title type='text'>My best friend likes my boyfriend</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/TB6fdZ6Xv0I/AAAAAAAABRE/RBSIclvvNV0/s1600/1997-01-29+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/TB6fdZ6Xv0I/AAAAAAAABRE/RBSIclvvNV0/s400/1997-01-29+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484996723704577858" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/TB6fdDmXgSI/AAAAAAAABQ8/s5UsdHOCf6I/s1600/1997-01-29+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/TB6fdDmXgSI/AAAAAAAABQ8/s5UsdHOCf6I/s400/1997-01-29+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484996717715095842" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/TB6fb5jPbUI/AAAAAAAABQ0/QJf2Q1GCzLE/s1600/1997-01-29+pt3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/TB6fb5jPbUI/AAAAAAAABQ0/QJf2Q1GCzLE/s400/1997-01-29+pt3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484996697837759810" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;It's interesting that it was perfectly acceptable for my best friend to tell me she had a crush on my boyfriend.  Interesting, but not surprising considering the average length and fickleness of relationships at that age.  But it's something that you don't hear too often as teenagers or adults.  If a girl told you they liked your boyfriend in high school, you'd probably start a nasty rumor that she had syphilis.  But in middle school, it was no big deal.  "You have a crush on my boyfriend?  Cool.  So do I."  Weird.      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;---&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“1-29-97.  Dear Diary, Today in homeroom I read a note that Richard put in my file on the computer.  IT said, “You brighten my day!  I LOVE YOU!”  It said some other stuff, but I forget.  He gave me another note today.  Highlights: His password on the computer is 117546.  His locker number is 296 &amp;amp; his combo is 28-2-24.  His middle name is Geoffrey.  This note had a heart in each corner &amp;amp; a heart at the bottom with XXX &amp;amp; OOO (hugs &amp;amp; kisses) in it.  At the top he wrote: URAQT (&amp;amp; he underlined QT).  In LA Jaime told me she wrote “Richard loves Krista” on his paper.  She said he said, “I know, that’s true, but we have to erase it now!”  Today on the phone Jaime told me that she kinda likes Richard!  She thinks I’d get mad at her for that!  Ya right!  I don’t care if she likes who I like (as long as I get him!  JUST KIDDING!).  See ya! Krista”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-257091957199979655?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/257091957199979655/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=257091957199979655&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/257091957199979655'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/257091957199979655'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2010/06/my-best-friend-likes-my-boyfriend.html' title='My best friend likes my boyfriend'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/TB6fdZ6Xv0I/AAAAAAAABRE/RBSIclvvNV0/s72-c/1997-01-29+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-8746687543081736029</id><published>2010-06-14T21:58:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-14T22:21:50.384-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Mike'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Doug'/><title type='text'>Beautiful</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/TBbelOnrXwI/AAAAAAAABQs/XAkVxqKARZQ/s1600/1997-01-28+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 269px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/TBbelOnrXwI/AAAAAAAABQs/XAkVxqKARZQ/s400/1997-01-28+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482814327531200258" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/TBbek-hzfII/AAAAAAAABQk/RgnZ7RABGEA/s1600/1997-01-28+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 269px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/TBbek-hzfII/AAAAAAAABQk/RgnZ7RABGEA/s400/1997-01-28+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482814323211598978" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/TBbeksTpuXI/AAAAAAAABQc/AuSkd_sexBk/s1600/1997-01-28+pt3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 269px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/TBbeksTpuXI/AAAAAAAABQc/AuSkd_sexBk/s400/1997-01-28+pt3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482814318320400754" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;This is one of the diary entries that make me glad I kept a diary as a kid.  It captures the first time someone said I was beautiful... the first time, in an age of adolescent awkwardness, that I actually &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;felt &lt;/span&gt;beautiful. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course, it was hard to believe that anyone dressed in my mid-90's wardrobe of purposely inside-out sweatshirts and overalls (only one strap attached) would be beautiful.  So of course I was surprised and somewhat skeptical, but it was a start. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Middle school marked the beginning of popularity wars and the subsequent introduction of insecurities... so this small comment made by Richard meant a lot to me.  It's possible that maybe I really was just dating him "for the words he wrote"... but perhaps he was dating me for the same reason.  I see nothing wrong with two pre-teens building up each other's confidence... that's exactly what they need at that time in their life... well, that is, until the inevitable breakup... Hm.  On second thought, maybe kids should find other ways to gain confidence.   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;---&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;“1-28-97.  Dear Diary.  Today I gave Richard a note that had my school picture in it.  In my note I asked if he thought I looked stupid.  Anyhow, this morning Richard gave me a note.  Highlights: He wrote that there’s really no point to the letter.  He was just thinking of me.  And he’ll still be (he wrote that).  This note had a big heart at the bottom &amp;amp; it ended with Love Richard!  Then he gave me another note before 6th period.  Highlights:  A whole paragraph, in his words: “Of course you don’t look stupid in your picture.  You look beautiful.”  He said I was beautiful!  No one other than family has called me beautiful.  And I never really thought I was!  Richard wrote me a note in my file server on the computer.  I didn’t see it yet.  But Jaime told me it says “I love you” in it!  Here are our old seats for Language Arts.  Now it’s: I SIT BY RICHARD!  Know what?  I’m starting to think I only like Richard for the words he writes.  But then, maybe I’m wrong.  Ya!  I’m wrong, totally wrong.  Doug called to tell me to call Jaime &amp;amp; tell her he doesn’t want to go out with her anymore.  So I did.  Jaime was really sad at first.  But she isn’t anymore cause she doesn’t like him anymore.  She likes Mike.  The  bad thing is… I wrote a note in his file server that said: Jaime &amp;amp; Doug sitting in a tree… etc.!  Anyhow, Doug called me back for no reason just to talk.  He calls me ‘Bob’.  Why?  I don’t quite know.  Mom thinks he likes me!  He’s okay.  Mom thinks he’s cute.  I don’t even want to think about liking him!  After liking him for 3 consecutive years – I’m done! – Krista”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-8746687543081736029?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/8746687543081736029/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=8746687543081736029&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/8746687543081736029'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/8746687543081736029'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2010/06/beautiful.html' title='Beautiful'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/TBbelOnrXwI/AAAAAAAABQs/XAkVxqKARZQ/s72-c/1997-01-28+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-2778128839425687754</id><published>2010-05-30T19:13:00.010-04:00</published><updated>2011-02-04T14:39:55.564-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><title type='text'>Love Letters</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/TALxL3zdedI/AAAAAAAABQU/s92ipQahGNo/s1600/1997-01-24+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 262px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/TALxL3zdedI/AAAAAAAABQU/s92ipQahGNo/s400/1997-01-24+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477205283096590802" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/TALxLpn5WxI/AAAAAAAABQM/Mcjnk99Zis0/s1600/1997-01-24+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 262px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/TALxLpn5WxI/AAAAAAAABQM/Mcjnk99Zis0/s400/1997-01-24+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477205279289989906" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Hmmm spinning a rod, eh?  For some reason I don't think Richard and his siblings had cable TV or Nintendo... either that or maybe this was just a weird boy thing to do that I can't relate to.  All I know is that I don't think my sister and I ever used to "spin rods".  I'm not sure I even know what that means.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do kids who forget their lunch money really have to go lunch-less for the day?  That's so sad!  You'd think &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;someone&lt;/span&gt; would have lent him money.  But if not, I bet Richard learned his lesson and never forgot his lunch money again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oooh the teacher caught Richard reading a love letter!  He's lucky he didn't get it taken away.  This was the same teacher that caught my friend Jaime and I writing notes to each other.  Jaime and I weren't in the same science class, but had the same teacher and realized that we sat in the same seat.  So we decided to be super-sneaky and leave each other notes taped under the table.  When I was in class, I'd write her a note, tape it to the underside of the table and a few periods later, she'd find my note, write me back and repeat.  We thought we were pretty clever until one day, my tape didn't hold and the note fell to the ground.  Mr. Lohse found it, had a talk with us, and we never did it again.  But we &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;did&lt;/span&gt; start using code names in our notes.  Duh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;---&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“1-24-97.  Dear Diary, Here are the highlights from the note that Richard gave me today!  His birthday is June 11, 1983.  Last night his brother was spinning a rod &amp;amp; it lost control &amp;amp; hit him in the eye.  Here’s a whole paragraph, word for word:  I forgot my lunch money today.  So I’m not going to be eating lunch (duh!).  I hope today gets better than it’s been so far.  But with you around will brighten my day!  This note had a heart in every corner &amp;amp; a little thing that looked a lot like this: XXX OOO.  It had hugs &amp;amp; kisses inside!  Awww!  How sweet!  Richard came up to me at my locker and told me this: He was reading the note from me in Science class when Mr. Lohse walked in the room.  Mr. L asked Richard what he was doing.  Someone in the class yelled out, “He’s reading love letters!”  Then he had to put it away.  O-kay?!  -Krista”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-2778128839425687754?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/2778128839425687754/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=2778128839425687754&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/2778128839425687754'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/2778128839425687754'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2010/05/love-letters.html' title='Love Letters'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/TALxL3zdedI/AAAAAAAABQU/s92ipQahGNo/s72-c/1997-01-24+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-4374788903859915134</id><published>2010-05-25T21:07:00.024-04:00</published><updated>2010-05-25T22:46:50.310-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Rachel D'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Christina'/><title type='text'>Getting Someone to Dump You</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S_x0k7TF1hI/AAAAAAAABP8/HuUO5TqHxIc/s1600/1997-01-23+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 259px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S_x0k7TF1hI/AAAAAAAABP8/HuUO5TqHxIc/s400/1997-01-23+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475379424717559314" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S_x0kmuJx5I/AAAAAAAABP0/N6zTCIQA_Jg/s1600/1997-01-23+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 275px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S_x0kmuJx5I/AAAAAAAABP0/N6zTCIQA_Jg/s400/1997-01-23+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475379419193919378" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S_x0kPMWadI/AAAAAAAABPs/fmAcY0h5MNk/s1600/1997-01-23+pt3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 268px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S_x0kPMWadI/AAAAAAAABPs/fmAcY0h5MNk/s400/1997-01-23+pt3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475379412878125522" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Quick historical fact-check on Eva Peron's death... she died of cervical cancer... which is not exactly something you can fix with "those shock things" (AKA an external defibrillator).  I wonder if Richard's team lost points for that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel like Rachel D's ploy to get Brandon to dump her is not unique to middle school.  I think there are people at every age who don't deal well with confrontation and see that as an easy out.  However, I think there are two differences.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Rachel had already dumped Brandon three times in a time period, I'm guessing, of less than five months MAX (since the beginning of that school year).  Adults, on the other hand, would have already given up on a relationship with that kind of track record... or with that kind of on-again, off-again status, adults wouldn't even consider it an exclusive relationship-- thus, no need for an official break up at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. I'm just guessing that most adults wouldn't fictitiously criminalize themselves to get a significant other to break up with them.  They would actually criminalize themselves.  What's the point in spreading &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;false &lt;/span&gt;rumors that you've been cheating?  If people are going to think you're a cheater anyhow, you should probably just cheat and at least get some pleasure out of it.  Hey, if that's what it takes to get your boyfriend or girlfriend to fall into your "trap" and dump you, you might as well kill two birds with one stone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, just to clear things up, I do not condone or support cheating by any means.  I think cheaters are selfish cowards who want what they can't have and are afraid of honest communication with their partner.  Pretty much goes hand-in-hand with the type of people who devise plans to get their significant other to break up with them.  And now we've come full circle.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;---&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“1-23-97.  Dear Diary, Here’s something that I forgot to tell you yesterday.  Richard had play practice after school.  But he came all the way back to my locker just to say goodbye!  I got another note from Richard today.  Highlights: His favorite radio station is Jet, same as me.  This note had a heart at the bottom also.  When I look at where he wrote ‘Love’ at the ending of the note (Love Richard) that reaches deep down inside my heart.  He really meant it when he wrote ‘love’.  It’s just touching to know that someone loves you that much.  Richard did his presentation in Social Studies today.  Their country was Argentina.  Richard’s timeline was all on Evita and Juan Peron.  Him &amp;amp; his group acted out when Evita Peron died.  Ryan was a doctor using using those shock things on Evita.  And Richard was Juan, Evita’s husband.  Well, they had Christina be Evita!  When Ryan announced that Evita (Christina) was dead, Richard pretended that he was crying &amp;amp; he said, “Oh no!  Not Evita!  My poor dear Evita!”  That really bothered me.  I’m kinda mad!  I guess I shouldn’t be worried because he still signs his notes with Love &amp;amp; a big heart.  Rachel D told me that she doesn’t want to go out with Brandon anymore.  But she wants him to dump her because she already dumped him like 3 times.  She told me not to tell anyone, not even Amy.  She wanted me to tell Brandon that I saw her flirting with a bunch of boys.  So I did &amp;amp; I think he’s mad.  She told me &amp;amp; not Amy!  I was talking to Rachel about what Brandon said when I told him &amp;amp; Sandy was around.  When Rachel left, Sandy said, “I know what she’s trying to do.”  I asked her what &amp;amp; she said, “Trying to get him to dump her.”  I asked her how she knew &amp;amp; she said that she &amp;amp; Rachel are like best friends &amp;amp; Rachel tells her everything.  Does that mean that I’m like Rachel’s best friend too?  Well, if she told me &amp;amp; didn’t want anyone else to know… ?  I hope so cuz Rachel’s really nice &amp;amp; she would make a cool friend (she already does).  –Krista”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-4374788903859915134?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/4374788903859915134/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=4374788903859915134&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/4374788903859915134'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/4374788903859915134'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2010/05/getting-someone-to-dump-you.html' title='Getting Someone to Dump You'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S_x0k7TF1hI/AAAAAAAABP8/HuUO5TqHxIc/s72-c/1997-01-23+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-59732052065126921</id><published>2010-05-24T21:13:00.017-04:00</published><updated>2011-02-26T22:33:09.356-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><title type='text'>90-110</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cwAr7z4Aajc/TWnFvSVwVJI/AAAAAAAABTk/-SwrADXywBM/s1600/1997-01-22%2Bpt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 248px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cwAr7z4Aajc/TWnFvSVwVJI/AAAAAAAABTk/-SwrADXywBM/s400/1997-01-22%2Bpt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578207029642679442" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PnIcWdqaQV0/TWnFvWAVc3I/AAAAAAAABTc/FcyxDpHxVII/s1600/1997-01-22%2Bpt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 248px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PnIcWdqaQV0/TWnFvWAVc3I/AAAAAAAABTc/FcyxDpHxVII/s400/1997-01-22%2Bpt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578207030626579314" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;So you would think that being liked 90-110 on a scale of 1 to 100 is pretty darn good... but I'd like to question... &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;what does that really mean?&lt;/span&gt;  How can you say that you like someone a &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;range&lt;/span&gt;?  Does that mean on a bad day, he liked me a 90 and on a good day, he liked me 110?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or does it mean that there were some things about me that he only liked at a 90 level and other things he liked at 110 level?  If so, I would guess those things were my braces and my sense of humor, respectively.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps it means that he hadn't really decided how much he liked me... he just knew it was a lot.  But in that case, why would he ask to quantify something he couldn't even quantify himself?  Seriously, what's the point in setting a scale if you can't even pinpoint a single number?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I wonder how I responded to him.   &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;---&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“1-22-97.  Dear Diary, Richard gave me a note this morning.  Highlights: He gave me his picture.  He doesn’t know if he can go to the movies Friday but, &amp;amp; I quote, “he sure hopes he can go.”  He’s the Bishop in the play.  Listen, here’s a whole paragraph that he wrote WORD for WORD, this is exactly what he wrote!  This might sound stupid but if it doesn’t, then that’s okay.  From a scale of 1-100, what number would represent how much you like me?  Mine would have to be 90 and up to 110.  That’s how much I like you.  He said that Lance said, “If Richard had braces, Richard and Krista would make sparks!”  As a P.P.S., he wrote, I’ll be thinkin of ya!  This note also had a heart on it.  Everytime I read the scale part of the note, I just melt!  Even though he doesn’t have much dating experience- he sure knows what I want to hear!  Well, I’ve gotta go!  See, there I go!  Krista.  I LOVE RICHARD!”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-59732052065126921?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/59732052065126921/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=59732052065126921&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/59732052065126921'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/59732052065126921'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2010/05/90-110.html' title='90-110'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cwAr7z4Aajc/TWnFvSVwVJI/AAAAAAAABTk/-SwrADXywBM/s72-c/1997-01-22%2Bpt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-2008312241114739488</id><published>2010-05-17T20:04:00.035-04:00</published><updated>2010-05-17T22:49:59.010-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kasey'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Anthony'/><title type='text'>The Acronyms of Middle School</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Allow me to introduce you to Diary #5... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S_Hak4nLRBI/AAAAAAAABPU/2Z5ZN2B2IFM/s1600/1997-01-21+cover.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 272px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S_Hak4nLRBI/AAAAAAAABPU/2Z5ZN2B2IFM/s400/1997-01-21+cover.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472395349438710802" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Yes, Diary #5 is covered with a luxurious velvet/velour material.  Sexy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's the inside of the cover...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S_Hakmb6wYI/AAAAAAAABPM/hT_Q8HXagrk/s1600/1997-01-21+cover+inside.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 272px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S_Hakmb6wYI/AAAAAAAABPM/hT_Q8HXagrk/s400/1997-01-21+cover+inside.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472395344559653250" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Old school label-maker!  Hell yeah!  What dates the diary more... the velvet cover or the old labels?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Onto the first entry...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S_HakVMnG9I/AAAAAAAABPE/DoiTFsFIkvU/s1600/1997-01-21+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 274px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S_HakVMnG9I/AAAAAAAABPE/DoiTFsFIkvU/s400/1997-01-21+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472395339932048338" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S_HakCVzz3I/AAAAAAAABO8/LJjOIs0sQaw/s1600/1997-01-21+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 272px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S_HakCVzz3I/AAAAAAAABO8/LJjOIs0sQaw/s400/1997-01-21+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472395334870355826" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S_Haj6X8JjI/AAAAAAAABO0/XRTrchBuOWM/s1600/1997-01-21+pt3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 272px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S_Haj6X8JjI/AAAAAAAABO0/XRTrchBuOWM/s400/1997-01-21+pt3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472395332731807282" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Three notes in one day-- that's INTENSE.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;INVU4URAQT... I remember being so confused by this.  Yeah, I understood what it meant... but why would Richard, a boy, envy me for being cute?  Wouldn't that mean that he wanted to be cute like me?  Odd.  I take that back, I am still confused by this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Casual acronyms like this one really took off starting in middle school.  Okay, disclaimer: I recognize INVU4URAQT isn't an acronym... but you know what I mean... strings of letters that represent words in some way or another.  Haha.  Anyhow, this was &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;years&lt;/span&gt; before we started using OMG, WTF, and TTYL.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Instead, these were the years of...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;C/M - Call Me&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;W/B - Write Back&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;WBS - Write Back Soon&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;WBASAP - Write Back As Soon As Possible&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;TTFN - Ta Ta For Now&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;LYLAS - Love You Like A Sister&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;YBFFAA - Your Best Friend Forever And Always&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;WAZ ↑ ↓ @? - What's up, down, all around?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Yes, I found those by looking through my two-inch binder filled with middle school notes. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two other things I found were &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;S&lt;/span&gt;orry &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;S&lt;/span&gt;o &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;S&lt;/span&gt;loppy (written with one big &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;S&lt;/span&gt; and all three words written beside it) and &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;B&lt;/span&gt;oys &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;B&lt;/span&gt;efore &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;B&lt;/span&gt;ooks &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;B&lt;/span&gt;ecause &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;B&lt;/span&gt;ooks &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;B&lt;/span&gt;ecome&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; B&lt;/span&gt;oring (written similarly).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you remember any more to add to the old school acronym list?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;---&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“1-21-97.  Dear Diary, Hello!  I think that’s what I’ll call you.  Plain-diary.  But that’s okay.  NOTE TO THE READER: Please read my 4 diaries before this.  Cuz if you don’t you won’t know what’s going on.  So… Today (this morning) Richard gave me a note.  Here are some of the highlights:  He made me a bracelet (string)!  He said that he thought the dance was awesome!  He wants my school picture!  He wrote INVU4URAQT!  Get it?  “I envy you for you are a cutie”  Then on the front of the note he wrote – QT (cutie)!  Then I wrote him back &amp;amp; he wrote me back.  On this note some of the highlights are:  Well, he said he was writing in SWEP &amp;amp; he didn’t want Mrs. Sam to catch him.  This note ended with: Love, Richard!  Then he wrote me another note.  Highlights: He said that his parents don’t let him have girlfriends, but he does anyhow.  This one ended with Love, Richard too.  Every one of these notes had a heart drawn somewhere on it!  WOW!  He doesn’t know how much this bracelet means to me!  He is so sweet!  I hope this relationship lasts!  I showed Kasey the bracelet from Richard.  She said she knew about it because Anthony told her.  Richard called me after school today.  He asked what time the movie that Monica &amp;amp; I are trying to get a group of people to go to on Friday is going to be.  Whenever he calls me he says, “This is Rich.”  He calls himself Rich!  I’m sorry but that’s kinda funny.  Well, gotta go!  Krista  I LOVE RICHARD!”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-2008312241114739488?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/2008312241114739488/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=2008312241114739488&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/2008312241114739488'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/2008312241114739488'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2010/05/acronyms-of-middle-school.html' title='The Acronyms of Middle School'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S_Hak4nLRBI/AAAAAAAABPU/2Z5ZN2B2IFM/s72-c/1997-01-21+cover.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-3789665610038206357</id><published>2010-05-13T21:51:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2010-05-13T21:56:18.236-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Diary #4 Closing</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S-ysxGZzqfI/AAAAAAAABOs/O7Np7xVmqms/s1600/1997-01-20+pt3closing.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 262px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S-ysxGZzqfI/AAAAAAAABOs/O7Np7xVmqms/s400/1997-01-20+pt3closing.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470937606880733682" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S-yswwxbsTI/AAAAAAAABOk/Qf46k1N1V9g/s1600/1997-01-20+pt4closing.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 262px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S-yswwxbsTI/AAAAAAAABOk/Qf46k1N1V9g/s400/1997-01-20+pt4closing.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470937601074245938" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;So dramatic!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;At a first glance a diary is just a book containing blank pages.  But after you fill it up and use it for a long time, it means much more than that."&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;So profound!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;“ALSO 1-20-97.  Closing.  Well, well, well!  It’s been so long!  Since September 9, 1996.  Wow!  It has been a long time!  But now I must move on to other diaries, to other pages of love &amp;amp; hate.  Throughout this diary you will find me: LIKING 7 BOYS &amp;amp; GOING OUT WITH 2 BOYS.  Yraid, you’ve been very important to me.  Through your pages lie a lot of exciting, happy, and sometimes sad entries.  You are my 4th diary out of who knows how many.  Luckily, you had a happy ending.  And so I must depart &amp;amp; move on to many more diaries.  At a first glance a diary is just a book containing blank pages.  But after you fill it up and use it for a long time, it means much more than that.  I truly will miss you, Yriad.  –Krista THIS DIARY WAS USED FROM SEPT 9 ’96 – JAN 20 ’97.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-3789665610038206357?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/3789665610038206357/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=3789665610038206357&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/3789665610038206357'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/3789665610038206357'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2010/05/diary-4-closing.html' title='Diary #4 Closing'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S-ysxGZzqfI/AAAAAAAABOs/O7Np7xVmqms/s72-c/1997-01-20+pt3closing.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-4289252689814727459</id><published>2010-05-09T16:28:00.007-04:00</published><updated>2010-05-09T21:53:14.066-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kasey'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Anthony'/><title type='text'>Landlines &gt; cell phones... when it comes to spying</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S-cbATIPzuI/AAAAAAAABOc/XYfGKjubTq8/s1600/1997-01-20+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 270px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S-cbATIPzuI/AAAAAAAABOc/XYfGKjubTq8/s400/1997-01-20+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5469369964413570786" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S-cbAKi6nNI/AAAAAAAABOU/VBkpp4KmGAk/s1600/1997-01-20+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 270px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S-cbAKi6nNI/AAAAAAAABOU/VBkpp4KmGAk/s400/1997-01-20+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5469369962109508818" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I can't remember if we've been over this already.  Anthony was Richard's next-door neighbor who was also friends with my sister Kasey because they were in the same grade.  Actually, I think they might have dated at some point, but I'm not sure.  To make this love triangle (more like love pentagon) even more complicated, Anthony's sister Joanne was in my and Richard's grade and from what I remember, she always had a HUGE crush on him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyhow, teenagers today don't know what they're missing.  They're so busy thinking they're all cool with their own cell phones that they probably don't even realize that the advent of the cell phone has seriously reduced their options when it comes to spying on their siblings.  If no one is using the communal family house phone, how can you possibly listen in to your sister's conversations?  Through her bedroom door?  Lame.  And obvious.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back in the 90's, it was so easy to pick up another line, cover the mouthpiece and/or hold your breath, and listen in to other people's private conversations.  Was it fair, moral, or &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;right&lt;/span&gt; to do?  Of course not.  But reality TV was limited at the time and nobody kept blogs, so it was the best entertainment you could get in the "watching-other-people's-lives" genre.  Don't get the impression that I was the only one doing the spying in my household.  Incorrect.  My sister did her fair share as well!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was always frustrating when you got busted though... when they heard you pick up the other line and knew you were there, listening.  Kasey would say something like, "Who's on the phone?  Krista!  Get off the phone!  I heard you pick up!!"  Sometimes I'd try to just stay quiet and ride it out until she was convinced I wasn't really on the line.  Other times, I'd give up and attempt to hang up as slowly and carefully as I had tried to get on... so as to not admit fault.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But then I discovered THE TRICK.  If you unplugged the cord from the phone first, picked up the receiver from the base (it couldn't be a cordless phone), and THEN plugged the cord back in... voila!  It was much quieter and less noticeable than trying to slowly pick up the clunky receiver.  And there, my friend, is THE TRICK... I just wish I knew someone who could benefit from it today... but alas, with cell phones there is no TRICK.  There is no spying, period.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank goodness we have reality TV and blogs.   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;---&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“1-20-97.  Dear Yraid, Anthony called Kasey today.  I picked up the phone to listen into their conversation.  Anthony said, “Put Krista on!”  Kasey said, “Why?”  Anthony kept saying, “Put Krista on!” &amp;amp; Kasey kept saying, “Why?”  So finally I said, “I’m on.”  Well, then, Richard came on the phone!  Here’s how the conversation went.  RS: Hi.  KD: Hi.  RS: They forced me to do this.  This is Rich, of course.  KD: I know.  RS: Did you go to the movies Saturday night?  KD: No, no one went because no one could go.  RS: Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.  KD: Yeah.  Bye.  Then Anthony came back on the phone.  AB: Will you go out with Richard?  KD: Yeah.  AB: SHE SAID YES!  SHE SAID YES!  SHE SAID YES!  I’ve gotta go!  Bye!  KD: Bye!  I’m going out with Richard again!  YES!  Well, I would have rather told him to his face, but this will suffice!  Well, I have to go dream about Richard!  -Krista  I LOVE RICHARD!”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-4289252689814727459?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/4289252689814727459/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=4289252689814727459&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/4289252689814727459'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/4289252689814727459'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2010/05/landlines-cell-phones-when-it-comes-to.html' title='Landlines &gt; cell phones... when it comes to spying'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S-cbATIPzuI/AAAAAAAABOc/XYfGKjubTq8/s72-c/1997-01-20+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-8199689257405915137</id><published>2010-05-03T19:22:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2010-05-05T10:06:54.662-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Doug'/><title type='text'>Award-Winning</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S99bo-DkbzI/AAAAAAAABOM/z-OhDT9TOeQ/s1600/1997-01-18+pt2.1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 268px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S99bo-DkbzI/AAAAAAAABOM/z-OhDT9TOeQ/s400/1997-01-18+pt2.1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467189232061935410" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S99boL-9-JI/AAAAAAAABOE/aZkRxYu1Wgs/s1600/1997-01-18+pt2.2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 290px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S99boL-9-JI/AAAAAAAABOE/aZkRxYu1Wgs/s400/1997-01-18+pt2.2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467189218620864658" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S99bn4AhcQI/AAAAAAAABN8/mqEZ5CzM6wY/s1600/1997-01-18+pt2.3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 290px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S99bn4AhcQI/AAAAAAAABN8/mqEZ5CzM6wY/s400/1997-01-18+pt2.3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467189213258674434" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;"I think this next relationship with Richard is just the start of more award-winning boyfriends in my future."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I love it.  As much as I LOVED Richard and even went so far as to allude to him being my 'husband', middle school relationships were so disposable that I knew no matter how much I was crushing on Richard at that moment, it would have been unrealistic to expect him to be the person I'd be with for the rest of my life.  Maybe just for the rest of that week, month, or school year-- until a newer, better crush came along.  After all, Richard did only make me feel dreamy "most of the time."  Certainly there'd be a boy out there that made me feel "dreamy" 100% of the time.  But "award-winning"?... hahaha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This stuff with Doug is just ridiculous.  It annoys me that that I seriously thought that sharing a pop meant more than just &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;sharing a pop&lt;/span&gt;.  Sad thing is, I knew girls in &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;college&lt;/span&gt; who still thought that way.  So annoying.  "Andy asked to borrow my Sociology book tonight because he didn't buy it... he was totally flirting with me!!"  "I was in the pasta line in the cafeteria and Paul reached around me to get the asiago and said 'Excuse me'!... do you think he likes me!?"  Ugh.  Zero tolerance for that crap.  Unfortunately, in middle school, I WAS that crap.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I had a terrible sense of humor when it came to "dick" jokes... if you can even call it that.  Just immature all around, really.  I want to slap my middle-school self and say "grow up!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;---&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“ALSO 1-18-97.  Hello again Yraid,  Thinking of Friday night gives me the chills.  It was so perfect!  When Richard asked me out, most of my friends were around me.  They kept saying in my ear, “Say yes!”  Maybe I should’ve.  Oh well.  I have to wait until Tuesday.  Oh!!  I can still feel his hands on my waist.  I wish I could relive last night!  I’d do everything the same.  I just want Richard again.  I LOVE RICHARD!  I keep having so many flashbacks of the dance.   It was just too wonderful.  I loved it!  I’m most likely going to say yes to Richard.  I know for a fact that he likes me.  I wasn’t quite sure Craig liked me at all.  I think this next relationship with Richard is just the start of more award-winning boyfriends in my future.  I feel so dreamy!  That’s how Richard makes me feel, most of the time.  At the dance, Jaime &amp;amp; I were sitting drinking pop at a table.  Doug &amp;amp; Danny sat down.  I had already drank out of my pop can &amp;amp; Doug asked me if he could have a sip.  I let him.  After he drank a little he gave the can to me &amp;amp; I took a sip.  That’s how good of friends we are.  We’re like brother &amp;amp; sister totally.  So, that would make me Jaime’s sister-in-law in a round-about way.  Cool!  Now we’re one big happy family.  With a soon-to-be new person.  My ‘husband’ Dick, that’s sick, I meant to say Richard.  We’ll I’ve gotta go dream about Richard!  -Krista  I LOVE RICHARD!”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-8199689257405915137?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/8199689257405915137/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=8199689257405915137&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/8199689257405915137'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/8199689257405915137'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2010/05/award-winning.html' title='Award-Winning'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S99bo-DkbzI/AAAAAAAABOM/z-OhDT9TOeQ/s72-c/1997-01-18+pt2.1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-6933749766898593235</id><published>2010-04-27T21:18:00.027-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-27T22:21:01.721-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Steve'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Lianna'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Doug'/><title type='text'>One Sweet Day</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S9eNfaLpUFI/AAAAAAAABN0/W4_bLW8DMkw/s1600/1997-01-18+pt1.1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 276px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S9eNfaLpUFI/AAAAAAAABN0/W4_bLW8DMkw/s400/1997-01-18+pt1.1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464992243581014098" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S9eNexZtLGI/AAAAAAAABNs/x3ZA4F2VhSc/s1600/1997-01-18+pt1.2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 276px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S9eNexZtLGI/AAAAAAAABNs/x3ZA4F2VhSc/s400/1997-01-18+pt1.2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464992232634133602" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S9eNevUK_EI/AAAAAAAABNk/zSpua-Z679M/s1600/1997-01-18+pt1.3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 276px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S9eNevUK_EI/AAAAAAAABNk/zSpua-Z679M/s400/1997-01-18+pt1.3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464992232074050626" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Heart-dotted i's!  That's how you knew I was REALLY in love.  And ohmygosh, can you believe that Richard and I stared at each other for a full 30 seconds?  At the time, that was the most romantic event in my life... now it just sounds kind of awkward and creepy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;THE Lianna is actually in town this week and staying with me.  I asked her if she remembered the dance in this entry (because I don't).  After thinking for a minute or so, her response was, "Um, it was in the gym."  All our dances were in the gym.  We agreed there were just too many dances in middle school to keep them straight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then we found "One Sweet Day" on YouTube and sang the whole song together.  We still remembered all the lyrics, knew every single undulation of Mariah Carey's voice, and nailed the key change-- all of which is pretty surprising considering we probably haven't heard that song in 10 years.  How could we remember the song so well and yet have no memory of the dance?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As we were singing the song, I realized for the first time EVER that "One Sweet Day"... a song that has such romantic associations in my memory... is about SOMEONE WHO DIED.  How the hell did I miss that before?  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"And I know you're shining down on me from Heaven / Like so many friends we've lost along the way / And I know eventually we'll be together / One sweet day."&lt;/span&gt;  Not so romantic anymore.  Yikes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I asked Lianna, "Whoa, is this song about someone who DIED?"  She responded, "Yeah!  I think it was about some rapper or something."  I said, "No, that was 'I'll Be Missing You'."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Turns out we were both right, kinda.  "One Sweet Day" was written for a music producer, a guitarist, and a road manager who passed away and "I'll Be Missing You" was written for Notorious B.I.G.  Apparently there were a lot of R&amp;amp;B tribute songs in the 1990's.  Unfortunately for the writers of those songs, I instead associate them with tween hormones and awkward middle school slow dances. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;“1-18-97.  Dear Yraid, All I can think about is Richard!  He is so cute &amp;amp; sweet!  He’s not afraid to ask girls out.  Plus, he really likes me!  Oh &amp;amp; I really like him too!  I think I’ll say yes.  Hopefully, we’ll go out &amp;amp; last.  Last night Doug &amp;amp; Jaime were really close then they danced.  Her head was on his shoulder!  Jaime said they kissed!  Doug really likes her.  She should be happy I told her not to dump him!  They’re a really good couple but not as good as me &amp;amp; Richard!  When Richard &amp;amp; I were dancing he was really shaking.  At one point I felt him pull me closer!  But, hey, that’s fine with me!  We danced 4 times!  Once during the last song, we both looked at each other &amp;amp; smiled.  We were looking at each other for like 30 seconds!  How romantic!  Also at the dance he asked me why I dumped him.  I said I didn’t know.  I really don’t.  I think I’m gonna say yes!  I feel bad for Lianna.  I need to get Steve to like her but how.  Steve already hates me.  Oh!  I need to some good in this world!  Help me.  Help her.  Lianna &amp;amp; I just figured out that the last song was “One Sweet Day.”  Ooh!  I have that tape!  I can play it for flashbacks.  See ya!  Krista  I love Richard!  Lianna loves Steve!” &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-6933749766898593235?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/6933749766898593235/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=6933749766898593235&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/6933749766898593235'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/6933749766898593235'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2010/04/one-sweet-day.html' title='One Sweet Day'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S9eNfaLpUFI/AAAAAAAABN0/W4_bLW8DMkw/s72-c/1997-01-18+pt1.1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-6757890931270719226</id><published>2010-04-14T21:19:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-14T22:44:48.923-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><title type='text'>Boyz II Men</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S8Zp2M1qs2I/AAAAAAAABNc/cTFScRdu7lQ/s1600/1997-01-17+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 284px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S8Zp2M1qs2I/AAAAAAAABNc/cTFScRdu7lQ/s400/1997-01-17+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460167978113479522" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S8Zp1zUCzmI/AAAAAAAABNU/qpNwhvB7M6c/s1600/1997-01-17+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 284px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S8Zp1zUCzmI/AAAAAAAABNU/qpNwhvB7M6c/s400/1997-01-17+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460167971261566562" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S8Zp1hu-rtI/AAAAAAAABNM/stixIeaDehI/s1600/1997-01-17+pt3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 284px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S8Zp1hu-rtI/AAAAAAAABNM/stixIeaDehI/s400/1997-01-17+pt3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460167966542704338" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Hahahahha.  Hahhaha.  Hahahhahaha.  Please tell me I'm not the only one who is cracking up thinking about seventh graders slow dancing to "I'll Make Love to You".  I had never even kissed a boy... hell, I had never even held hands with a boy... and yet I was slow dancing to lyrics like: "&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Throw your clothes on the floor / I'm gonna take my clothes off too&lt;/span&gt;".  Ahh... we were too naive to recognize the awkwardness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Speaking of that song, at some point in 4th or 5th grade, I thought it would be a really good idea to walk around the house with my light pink boombox propped on my shoulder playing the radio at full blast and singing along.  I don't know where I picked that up from, but I thought I was the shit.  As I jammed my way into the kitchen where my mom was cooking dinner, the chorus of "I'll Make Love to You" was playing and I was singing along at the top of my lungs.  My mom turned around from the stove, her face half-skeptical/half-horrified and asked, "Do you even know what that means?"  Of course, I said, "pshh-yeah!"  But truthfully, I don't think I had a clue. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hopefully I knew what it meant by seventh grade... but my nonchalance when mentioning the song makes me think otherwise.  However, it's possible that I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;did&lt;/span&gt; know the meaning but also thought I was so mature that it wasn't weird for us to be dancing to it.  Or maybe it was just another slow song to me, just another opportunity to dance with my crush. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;---&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“1-17-97.  Dear Yraid, Today Melissa walked past as Jaime said to me, “I have something to tell you.”  Here’s how the rest went: MS: Jaime, you’re not gonna tell her what I think, right?  JC: No.  KD: What isn’t she going to tell me?  MS: Nothing.  (walks away)  I run up to her and demand that she tells me.  She told me that Richard is going to the dance but he didn’t want me to know, he wanted it to be a surprise!  I’ll write back after the dance!  Hi, I’m back from the dance.  Jaime asked Richard if he’d dance with me.  He said yes.  So we did to “I’ll Make Love To You”.  Then awhile later, Jaime asked him again.  He said, “Sure, why not?!”  A little while later Richard came up to me and said, “Okay, I need to get something straight.  I heard rumors that you want to go back out with me.  But I’ve also heard that you don’t.  What’s true?”  I told him that I wasn’t sure yet.  I’d have to think about it more.  Then another while later a slow song came on and Richard walked up to me and said, “Wanna dance?”  I said sure.  So we did again.  Then the last song of the night came on and Richard came up to me and this time I said, “Wanna dance?”  He said okay.  So we did.  We kept getting closer &amp;amp; closer.  We were REALLY close!  Plus, he asked me out!  I said maybe.  I’ll tell him on Tues.  What should I say?  I really like him.  But my feelings might change!  What do I do? –Krista”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-6757890931270719226?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/6757890931270719226/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=6757890931270719226&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/6757890931270719226'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/6757890931270719226'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2010/04/boyz-ii-men.html' title='Boyz II Men'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S8Zp2M1qs2I/AAAAAAAABNc/cTFScRdu7lQ/s72-c/1997-01-17+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-8573545032419967585</id><published>2010-04-10T13:30:00.008-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-10T16:10:40.037-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><title type='text'>Finally, Acceptable Flirting</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S8C15xjSnsI/AAAAAAAABNE/Ot9emZZIpww/s1600/1997-01-16+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S8C15xjSnsI/AAAAAAAABNE/Ot9emZZIpww/s400/1997-01-16+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458562752531570370" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S8C15saOBEI/AAAAAAAABM8/XDRumyrLlnY/s1600/1997-01-16+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S8C15saOBEI/AAAAAAAABM8/XDRumyrLlnY/s400/1997-01-16+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458562751151342658" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Yes, much better.  I consider passing a marker to your crush in front of a bunch of classmates to be an acceptable means of flirtation.  Calling names, making faces, pushing, hitting, and bra-snapping are NOT.  Those things were temporarily satisfying because it gave you an excuse to talk to or touch your crush... but at the end of the day, you sat in bed frowning and thinking, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"I called him a loser and pushed him into a wall- I can't understand why he doesn't like me!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;I still remember the euphoric feeling of passing that marker to Richard.  It was so much more thrilling than the other forms of supposed flirting.  It used to be cool to pretend like you actually &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;didn't&lt;/span&gt; like your crush to his face (while all your friends were telling him the truth).  But for once, I was openly admitting it myself.  I was making it clear to&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Richard, my classmates, and even Mr. Jones that I liked Richard and I wasn't afraid to show it.  I felt free and giddy and excited.  Flirting finally felt right.  And it all started with a marker.    &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;---&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;“1-16-97.  Dear Yraid, Today in homeroom Melissa came in &amp;amp; told Jaime that Richard probably can’t go because of a family get-together.  But she said he said that he’d beg his dad to let him go.  Then in Social Studies Mr. Jones asked the class who was going to the dance.  Me &amp;amp; some other people raised their hands.  Richard said, “I don’t know, I might go.  I have to ask my dad.”  Then also in Social Studies, we had to do a paper of map with connecting points.  Every person that went up to the overhead &amp;amp; drew a line had to pick the next person.  Well, Rachel picked me &amp;amp; I drew my line.  Then I had to pick someone else &amp;amp; I gave the marker to Richard!  Oooh!  I think I was really blushing!  Hee-hee!  Plus, Richard got a main part in the school play!  I’m so happy for him.  I didn’t try out cuz I didn’t.  Bye!”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-8573545032419967585?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/8573545032419967585/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=8573545032419967585&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/8573545032419967585'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/8573545032419967585'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2010/04/finally-acceptable-flirting.html' title='Finally, Acceptable Flirting'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S8C15xjSnsI/AAAAAAAABNE/Ot9emZZIpww/s72-c/1997-01-16+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-4898772602449110050</id><published>2010-03-31T20:38:00.008-04:00</published><updated>2010-03-31T21:38:48.973-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Doug M'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Doug'/><title type='text'>Conflustered</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S7PrKXSUJ4I/AAAAAAAABM0/hcLJRyomjHM/s1600/1997-01-13+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 283px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S7PrKXSUJ4I/AAAAAAAABM0/hcLJRyomjHM/s400/1997-01-13+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454962136957855618" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S7PrJ10OX1I/AAAAAAAABMs/CmwWSukbkeI/s1600/1997-01-13+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 271px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S7PrJ10OX1I/AAAAAAAABMs/CmwWSukbkeI/s400/1997-01-13+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454962127973277522" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S7PrJmYLc_I/AAAAAAAABMk/rx4M5rYKRmg/s1600/1997-01-13+pt3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S7PrJmYLc_I/AAAAAAAABMk/rx4M5rYKRmg/s400/1997-01-13+pt3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454962123829113842" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Hm.  The phone call from Doug M remains a mystery.  I wish I could clue you in on what happened with that, but to be completely honest, I don't remember.  No freaking clue.  Either I knew at some point and forgot or if it's been a mystery for the past 13 years.  It's kind of bothering me.  I could probably send Doug M a message on Facebook... but #1- how creepy is that?  and #2- chances are, he won't remember either.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I am totally on Team Richard, how bout you guys?  It makes me so proud of middle-school-me when middle-school-me throws the peer pressure to be popular aside and admits and expresses love for the somewhat dorky kid.  Obviously I still wasn't 100% convinced that my obvious attraction to Richard should completely outweigh the desire to be popular... as evidenced by the fact that I said I'd like Doug M instead if Doug M liked me... but I was getting close.  I'd say... 91%.  Maybe.    &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;---&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“1-13-97.  Dear Yraid, Nothing happened with Doug M today.  I asked 8 people what they thought after I told them what happened.  5 said he likes me.  2 said he wants to go out with me.  And 1 said he was doing it for a friend.  I’m so conflustered!  Jaime asked Doug (S.) if Doug (M.) likes me.  Doug stood there thinking for awhile &amp;amp; then he said no.  Now, if Doug (M.) really didn’t like me, Doug (S.) would have said no real fast.  So why was he thinking.  Was he wondering whether he should tell Jaime the truth.  Or… what?  I asked a lot of people if Doug (M.) called them.  They all said no.  I kinda like Doug (M).  I guess it really depends on if he likes me or not.  I like Richard more.  Richard is so cute.  How can I like him?  Normally, I’d think he’s a fool.  But I really like him.  It’s that weird force.  Jaime said that Melissa asked Richard if he was going to the dance.  He said that he doesn’t know.  He usually doesn’t go to dances.  I NEED HIM TO GO!  I really want to dance with him!  I love him!  He’s so cute!  I love when he pushes his hair back!  Oh is that cute!  Oh, is he cute!  I like him better when he’s serious though.  I hate when he’s weird!  Oh, he is so cute!  God, please make Richard go to the dance!  I’ll be so happy if he goes!  - Sabrina I love Ricardo!  I LOVE RICHARD!”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-4898772602449110050?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/4898772602449110050/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=4898772602449110050&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/4898772602449110050'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/4898772602449110050'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2010/03/conflustered.html' title='Conflustered'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S7PrKXSUJ4I/AAAAAAAABM0/hcLJRyomjHM/s72-c/1997-01-13+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-2825375398749689029</id><published>2010-03-28T20:06:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2010-03-28T20:35:07.940-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Doug M'/><title type='text'>A Real Puzzler</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S6_v0r7g2AI/AAAAAAAABMc/zIjAi8614M8/s1600/1997-01-12+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 278px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S6_v0r7g2AI/AAAAAAAABMc/zIjAi8614M8/s400/1997-01-12+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453841362193537026" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S6_v0TgTL8I/AAAAAAAABMU/L_mxPN6xOMU/s1600/1997-01-12+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 274px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S6_v0TgTL8I/AAAAAAAABMU/L_mxPN6xOMU/s400/1997-01-12+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453841355636944834" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;It's kind of confusing in the entry, so let me clarify that this phone call was from Doug M who is different than the Doug I frequently crushed on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just when I thought I couldn't possibly get any more shallow and judgmental, I come right out and admit that I'd rather go out with Doug M than Richard because "it would make me look better."  Nevermind the fact that I don't think I ever mentioned being attracted to Doug M before.  But hey, once he showed interest in knowing whether I was going to JAM THE GYM, I suddenly liked him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, what the heck is JAM THE GYM?  I thought it meant the upcoming dance, but I looked it up and January 12, 1997 was a Sunday.  The school dance would have never been on a Monday.  Maybe it was some sort of pep rally?  Or an important basketball game after school?  Weird.    &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;---&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“1-12-97.  Dear Yriad, I got a new diary today.  It’s cool!  A little after 9:00pm I got a phone call from Doug M.  Here’s how the conversation went: ME: Hello?  DOUG M: Hi, is Krista home?  ME: Ya, this is she.  DOUG M: (nervous laughter) Um, this is Doug.  ME: Hi.  DOUG M: (more nervous laughter) Are you going to Jam the Gym tomorrow?  ME: Ya.  Why?  DOUG M: (pause) Oh, I was just calling everyone I know to make sure they were going.  ME: Oh, okay.  DOUG M: Bye!  ME: Bye!  This is a real puzzler.  In the background I heard someone laughing.  It sounded like Aaron but I’m not sure.  #1: Where did Doug get my number?  #2: Was he really calling everyone?  #3: Why would he call me?  I don’t know him all that well.  #4: Was this for his information or for someone else’s?  If he likes me, I’d go out with him.  He’s more popular than Richard, you know, it would make me look better.  I kinda like him.  Oh!  This leaves me with so many questions!  It’s frustrating!  Like what if he does like me?  If he was calling me so someone else would know if I was going- who was that someone else?  Who was laughing in the background?  Could it be one of Doug’s friends?  What mother would let her son be at a friend’s house at 9:00pm?  I need some answers here!  -Krista”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-2825375398749689029?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/2825375398749689029/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=2825375398749689029&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/2825375398749689029'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/2825375398749689029'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2010/03/real-puzzler.html' title='A Real Puzzler'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S6_v0r7g2AI/AAAAAAAABMc/zIjAi8614M8/s72-c/1997-01-12+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-6101743529271325041</id><published>2010-03-27T21:32:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2010-03-27T22:21:39.311-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ryan'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Doug'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Rachel'/><title type='text'>Jaime said that Melissa said that Richard said...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S66x40HVcbI/AAAAAAAABMM/BESd66rYSWc/s1600/1997-01-11+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 269px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S66x40HVcbI/AAAAAAAABMM/BESd66rYSWc/s400/1997-01-11+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453491788412449202" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S66x4odWriI/AAAAAAAABME/Kgry_73iBkc/s1600/1997-01-11+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 277px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S66x4odWriI/AAAAAAAABME/Kgry_73iBkc/s400/1997-01-11+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453491785283579426" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;I have never heard someone talk so much shit on the person they love.  I was so conflicted.  I liked Richard.  I wanted to like Richard.  I wanted to dance and date and hold hands with Richard.  But like it or not, middle school life was governed by popularity... and that's what held me back.  You can tell that I wanted to date Richard and wanted to tell anyone who questioned it, "Screw popularity!"  I wanted to show them the funny and smart and cute Richard I wrote about in my diary-- when I wasn't being influenced by peer pressure to rank his popularity level (apparently zero).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel like we've been over this before, but I bet if you had asked anyone else in the school, they would have ranked mine and Richard's popularity the same.  I think I realized that but knew that dating Richard wasn't going to help my rank at all.  And that's why I was frustrated by my obvious attraction to him. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I'm rooting that attraction wins!  Screw popularity!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;---&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;“1-11-97.  Dear Yraid, Hi!  I talked to Jaime today.  She’s not worried about Doug liking Rachel.  She knows Rachel will never go back out with him.  Actually, I’m not so sure about that.  Rachel has mixed feelings about Doug.  I think.  Jaime told me that Melissa asked Richard if he was going to the dance many times.  Jaime said that Melissa said that Richard said that he usually doesn’t go to dances.  But she said that he said something like, he’d only go if he was going to get to dance with me.  I don’t think Jaime’s lying.  I hope he goes!  I really really like him.  But he’s such a geek, dork, moron.  Even though I know he’s a dork &amp;amp; he has dorky friends, some really weird force is making me like him.  It’s really strange.  I really love him &amp;amp; then I think of his popularity rank (zero).  But still through it all, that force is making me like him.  Ryan still likes me (I think).  Jaime made a good point, all the guys who like me are dorks!  Doug was making fun of me (he’s a loser).  He was saying how I could only get 2 boyfriends, Craig &amp;amp; Richard.  Then he made a good point: Craig’s gone out with just about everybody &amp;amp; Richard’s gone out with just about nobody.  WHAT DO I DO? –Krista”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-6101743529271325041?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/6101743529271325041/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=6101743529271325041&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/6101743529271325041'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/6101743529271325041'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2010/03/jaime-said-that-melissa-said-that.html' title='Jaime said that Melissa said that Richard said...'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S66x40HVcbI/AAAAAAAABMM/BESd66rYSWc/s72-c/1997-01-11+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-6265597158718296610</id><published>2010-03-25T19:52:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2010-03-25T20:53:39.894-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Doug'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Rachel'/><title type='text'>Boys Are Dogs</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S6v3gpw5gsI/AAAAAAAABL8/FJXwI40tdoM/s1600/1997-01-10+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 280px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S6v3gpw5gsI/AAAAAAAABL8/FJXwI40tdoM/s400/1997-01-10+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452723914200941250" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S6v3gZqzYII/AAAAAAAABL0/47vD6B262Hw/s1600/1997-01-10+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S6v3gZqzYII/AAAAAAAABL0/47vD6B262Hw/s400/1997-01-10+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452723909880406146" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Man I really beat myself up over the state of Doug and Jaime's relationship.  It seemed like everyone in 7th grade liked someone other than their current boyfriend or girlfriend after a few days of dating.  As we've found out in previous entries, people would break up with girlfriend A in order to immediately start dating girlfriend B the next day... and this would repeat.  So it should have come as no surprise that Doug liked someone else.  That someone else happened to be Doug's ex-girlfriend from 6th grade, Rachel.  So I suppose it's important to note that the middle school rule of revolving door dating wasn't driven necessarily by a desire for &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;variety &lt;/span&gt;("collect 'em all" girlfriends), but more so by, um, indecision?  A chance to just F with girls' minds?  I honestly have no clue. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But it's not that I just don't understand middle school boys.  Hell, I don't really understand middle school girls either.   And I certainly don't understand why I felt Doug's infidelity (if you can even call it that) warranted a giant "IT'S ALL MY FAULT!" taking up the space of 10 notebook lines. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wonder if I was being over-dramatic to try to cover up the fact that maybe I was actually kind of happy that Doug and Jaime were possibly going to break up because I secretly still liked Doug and was jealous that he was dating my best friend.  Also, maybe I was extra torn up about it because Doug STILL didn't like me.  And perhaps I was upset too because I felt like even if Doug and I did date one day, he could do the same thing to me too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I honestly have no clue and don't remember the situation very well myself.  Hm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S. See that little pink dude in the bottom right-hand corner of the page?  You'll see him on every other page from here until the end of the diary.  I drew him as one of those things that when you flip though the pages, he animates!  Clever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;“1-10-97.  Dear Yraid, I am so pissed at Doug.  I called him today for a conversation.  Well, he was playing “I’ll Make Love To You” in the background.  He was also making a rocket &amp;amp; gluing his fingers to a plastic bag.  He said he kinda likes Rachel!  Of all people!  Plus he’s going out with Jaime.  I started crying when I got off the phone.  I’m crying now.  I guess it’s because I’ve known &amp;amp; trusted Doug for such a long time &amp;amp; now he’s betrayed one of my 2 best friends.  I called Jaime.  We were both crying.  I feel so bad for her.  I just wanted to hug her.  This is going to be the worst weekend for both of us!  WHY?  Boys are dogs.  I hate Doug!  I’ve trusted him.  I trusted him with a very good friend.  He’s broken her heart.  I am very disappointed in him.  It’s all my fault.  If I wouldn’t have hooked them up then this would never had happened!  IT’S ALL MY FAULT!  I’m so sorry Jaime.  You should hate me now.   Please don’t hate me!  I’m so sorry.  I seem to do everything wrong.  I’m so sorry.  It’s all my fault.  –Krista”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-6265597158718296610?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/6265597158718296610/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=6265597158718296610&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/6265597158718296610'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/6265597158718296610'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2010/03/boys-are-dogs.html' title='Boys Are Dogs'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S6v3gpw5gsI/AAAAAAAABL8/FJXwI40tdoM/s72-c/1997-01-10+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-3182659723967584412</id><published>2010-03-22T20:14:00.008-04:00</published><updated>2010-03-26T15:59:44.210-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ray'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Mike'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Mark'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Travis'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Lianna'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Doug'/><title type='text'>I Want to Vacuum</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Hi friends! Oh my gosh I am so sorry it's been almost a whole MONTH since I last posted! I was on vacation in St. Maarten with my Mom, sister, and sister-in-law during the second week of March and I spent the week before that preparing and packing and the week after that recovering (although I still haven't finished unpacking). Hm.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;Well anyhow, at least I'm coming back with a good entry!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S6gIQuNn-XI/AAAAAAAABLs/75HUhjg4qeM/s1600-h/1997-01-09+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 275px; display: block; height: 400px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451616432308091250" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S6gIQuNn-XI/AAAAAAAABLs/75HUhjg4qeM/s400/1997-01-09+pt1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S6gIQM0oiqI/AAAAAAAABLk/kKVmfjvq_Ec/s1600-h/1997-01-09+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 288px; display: block; height: 400px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451616423344900770" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S6gIQM0oiqI/AAAAAAAABLk/kKVmfjvq_Ec/s400/1997-01-09+pt2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S6gIPwDv2EI/AAAAAAAABLc/KfKzk_jlsno/s400/1997-01-09+pt3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 288px; display: block;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451616415623665730" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S6gIPwDv2EI/AAAAAAAABLc/KfKzk_jlsno/s400/1997-01-09+pt3.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;In this entry, I reveal that one of the reasons I broke up with Richard is because he used to say "hi" to me too often in the hallways at school. And my desired behavior for him would have been what exactly? If he ignored me, would I have been okay with that? Clearly I wasn't quite sure what I expected of a boyfriend. I wanted a boyfriend who liked me, but didn't like me TOO much.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;Oh man... "Elephant Shoe" and "I Want to Vacuum" really take me back to the good ol' days. Do you guys remember those things? Do you remember any others or were those the only ones? "Olive Juice" had the same effect as "Elephant Shoe"... but that's all I've got.&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:78%;"  &gt;---&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;“1-9-97.  Dear Yraid, Hi!  Today was good, I guess.  Why do I even like Richard??  He’s not popular (he sits with Michael at lunch) &amp;amp; he’s really dumb.  How can I like him?  Jaime thinks I should go out with him no matter how popular he is.  Jaime thinks that Doug &amp;amp; Mark like me.  She doesn’t think Doug likes her!  She also pointed out that all the geeks like me!  Uggh!  Is she right?  She also thinks that Mike likes me.  She things that everyone likes me.  I walked with Doug to lunch today.  Again Jaime &amp;amp; Lianna walked in front of us.  Now that’s what I call friends, huh?  Doug &amp;amp; I are like brother &amp;amp; sister.  We tease, we annoy, we argue, but we’re still connected &amp;amp; deep down (way down) there’s somewhere a feeling of love and trust.  Also at lunch Travis called me from his table.  He said something about my hair (I had it in a whole bunch of braids before lunch).  His whole table (including Jim, Ray, &amp;amp; Steve) were smiling at me.  Ray has never smiled at me since 5th grade.  It was nice to see an old familiar face again.  Ray’s somewhat cute, but not quite.  I mean, I’d really like him if I knew him better.  In the halls Richard always smiles at me!  Cheese Luweez!  That’s what my problem was when we were going out.  During school I saw too much of him, he’d always say hi!  Ugh.  Jaime asked Richard if he’s going to the dance.  He doesn’t know yet.  Hopefully he is!  Jaime &amp;amp; Lianna are sleeping over on the night of the dance.  I’m gonna call Doug tomorrow.  Have you ever noticed that when I talk about Doug it’s usually poetic?  Strange.  Sabrina.  RKS.  I need a new diary soon!!  Mouth “Elephant Shoe” it looks like you’re saying I love you.  Mouth “I want to vacuum” it looks like you’re saying I want to F_C_ you.  Fill in the blanks.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-3182659723967584412?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/3182659723967584412/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=3182659723967584412&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/3182659723967584412'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/3182659723967584412'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2010/03/i-want-to-vacuum.html' title='I Want to Vacuum'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S6gIQuNn-XI/AAAAAAAABLs/75HUhjg4qeM/s72-c/1997-01-09+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-2201004228283973102</id><published>2010-02-25T21:32:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-25T22:31:58.725-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Mark'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ryan'/><title type='text'>Strategy</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S4cy7GllUVI/AAAAAAAABLU/fHBMXDW2ycw/s1600-h/1997-01-02+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 280px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S4cy7GllUVI/AAAAAAAABLU/fHBMXDW2ycw/s400/1997-01-02+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442374665662452050" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S4cy68y5baI/AAAAAAAABLM/HiJz92p_Sms/s1600-h/1997-01-02+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 276px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S4cy68y5baI/AAAAAAAABLM/HiJz92p_Sms/s400/1997-01-02+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442374663033941410" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Middle school relationships were so volatile that my strategy to secure a boyfriend for the dance was to wait until the day before or the day of the dance to ask someone out... that way they wouldn't have a chance to dump me before the night of romance.  And I guess I wouldn't have a chance to lose interest either.  So even though I liked Richard again and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;knew &lt;/span&gt;that he'd go back out with me (because someone prank called him-- how awful-- that poor kid-- as if he hadn't been through enough with the whole "Roses Are Red" breakup poem), I decided it'd be better to wait over two weeks before asking him back out.  A &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;lot &lt;/span&gt;could happen in two weeks!  Richard could get another girlfriend.  I could end up finding a new crush.  Mark and Jenni could break up.  Sounds like a risky strategy...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;“1-2-94.  Dear Yriad, Oh jeez.  Kay.  Well, ya see!  Um!  I like Richard again!  Moe told me that at Joanne’s party, Janice Hall called Richard &amp;amp; said she was me.  She asked Richard if he’d go back out with me.  He said yes!  Well, finally he found out it was a joke.  But now I know that he’d say yes if I really did ask him back out again!  I like him- &amp;amp; Mark.  In SWEP I was looking for my folder &amp;amp; Mark came up &amp;amp; started talking to me.  He was also looking through the folders.  We were the only ones up there &amp;amp; we were talking!  Then I found my folder.  I said, “Oh I found mine but I couldn’t find yours.”  He said, “Oh, I wasn’t looking for mine.  It’s at my seat.”  Wow!  I’m positive that Richard still likes me.  Jaime thinks Mark likes me.  I don’t know.  I think Ryan still likes me.  Because I want to be going out with someone at the dance on the 17th, here’s my plan.  Wait until the day before or the day of the dance to ask Richard out.  If Mark &amp;amp; Jenni break up before that, I might possibly ask Mark out beforehand.  That way I’m guaranteed to have a boyfriend for the dance- unless Richard gets a girlfriend. –Krista”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-2201004228283973102?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/2201004228283973102/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=2201004228283973102&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/2201004228283973102'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/2201004228283973102'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2010/02/strategy.html' title='Strategy'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S4cy7GllUVI/AAAAAAAABLU/fHBMXDW2ycw/s72-c/1997-01-02+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-4224792482741612397</id><published>2010-02-23T18:54:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-23T19:02:44.683-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Mark'/><title type='text'>Mark</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S4RqyJ04SaI/AAAAAAAABLE/cFBMGDrh6fc/s1600-h/1997-01-01.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 298px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S4RqyJ04SaI/AAAAAAAABLE/cFBMGDrh6fc/s400/1997-01-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441591659634117026" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;What?!  Where the heck did MARK come from?  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;---&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;"1-1-97.  Dear Yraid, Happy New Year!  I've been having numerous (&amp;amp; I mean numerous) dreams about Mark.  He's really cute.  Jaime thinks he'll go out with me.  I'm not so sure. -Krista  I LUV MARK!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-4224792482741612397?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/4224792482741612397/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=4224792482741612397&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/4224792482741612397'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/4224792482741612397'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2010/02/mark.html' title='Mark'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S4RqyJ04SaI/AAAAAAAABLE/cFBMGDrh6fc/s72-c/1997-01-01.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-1081952178253720862</id><published>2010-02-22T20:45:00.007-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-22T21:43:08.615-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Lianna'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Teri'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Doug'/><title type='text'>Overly Sensitive</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S4MzbhKapQI/AAAAAAAABK8/OCwqcUH2ciU/s1600-h/1996-12-27+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 269px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S4MzbhKapQI/AAAAAAAABK8/OCwqcUH2ciU/s400/1996-12-27+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441249322645234946" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S4MzbCSTKqI/AAAAAAAABK0/eY0FxnygvGk/s1600-h/1996-12-27+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 271px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S4MzbCSTKqI/AAAAAAAABK0/eY0FxnygvGk/s400/1996-12-27+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441249314356800162" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S4Mza2LffUI/AAAAAAAABKs/2UEWvRVWNow/s1600-h/1996-12-27+pt3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 268px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S4Mza2LffUI/AAAAAAAABKs/2UEWvRVWNow/s400/1996-12-27+pt3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441249311107022146" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Oooh suspicious!  Doug (the "dog") might be cheating on Jaime?  Or rather, might like another girl?  Really, was this &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;that&lt;/span&gt; big of a deal back in a time where most relationships only lasted a couple weeks and most people knew the next person they'd date before they broke up with their current sig other? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let's get down to what this was really about.  I'd say about 20% of me really cared about Doug's interests for my best friend Jaime's sake.  I'm willing to bet that, whether I would have admitted it or not at the time, 80% of my concern was really based in how Doug's actions affected me.  It's not fair to Jaime that Doug sent Teri a Candy Gram and wanted to buy her a Christmas present.  But it wasn't fair to ME that Doug claimed that both Teri and I were his friends... and I didn't get any gifts or special treatment like Teri did!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was probably just being overly sensitive...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;---&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“12-27-96.  Dear Yraid, Hello.  Whenever I listen to “I’m Everything I Am Because You Loved Me” I cry.  I don’t really think of one spisiphic person, I just think of how I don’t have anyone.  It’s just an empty hole.  A deep, sad, lonely hole.  I wish I could fill it.  I really want someone to love, someone to be there for me.  Jaime says not to worry.  I guess she’s right.  There are lots of fish in the sea.  I don’t cry when I hear “Unbreak My Heart” because that’s not really sad for me.   My heart isn’t really broken by anyone- currently.  Actually, the song should go “I’m Everything I Am Because Someone Loved Me”.  Lianna likes Steve.  She’s asking him out.  I think he’ll say yes.  Great!  Then I’ll be surrounded by couples &amp;amp; I’ll have even more of a reason to be depressed!  Oh well!  I should move on my life!  Geez!  Doug is being a poopy fart head.  He’s not being very loyal to Jaime.  I think there’s something fishy going on between him &amp;amp; Teri.  They sent each other Candy Grams.  Doug’s to Teri said, “You SUK” and Teri’s to Doug said “Merry Christmas!  Kiss Jaime soon!”  Nothing weird there.  But at school he hangs out with Teri an awful lot.  Then Jaime said that she was talking to Doug on the phone &amp;amp; he said, “I need to get Teri a Christmas present still.”  How rude!  He told Jaime that!  His own girlfriend!  How insensitive!  Doesn’t he know that girls have feelings?  Ones that can be easily hurt?  DUMB!  He’ll probably claim they’re just friends.  Oh?  Well he says that we’re friends but I didn’t get a Candy Gram from him, I didn’t get a present.  Plus, if he is just getting her a present as a friend, then why isn’t he getting his ‘guy’ friends presents?  He’s rude, insensitive, &amp;amp; well stupid.  Did I say a dog?  Well, I meant to.  – Krista the lonely  P.S. I took a test in a magazine.  It resulted that I am Overly Sensitive.  I can’t help it!  It’s not my fault!  My feelings are just easily hurt!  Jeez!”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-1081952178253720862?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/1081952178253720862/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=1081952178253720862&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/1081952178253720862'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/1081952178253720862'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2010/02/overly-sensitive.html' title='Overly Sensitive'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S4MzbhKapQI/AAAAAAAABK8/OCwqcUH2ciU/s72-c/1996-12-27+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-6735155969761926208</id><published>2010-02-14T15:24:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-14T16:52:59.557-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><title type='text'>Prince Charming</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Before you read this, I should remind you that Michael is my little brother.  He would have been 7 years old at the time.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S3hcM9a3WiI/AAAAAAAABKg/Gi8ye7Y9Tsc/s1600-h/1996-12-26+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 274px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S3hcM9a3WiI/AAAAAAAABKg/Gi8ye7Y9Tsc/s400/1996-12-26+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438197927765301794" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S3hcMTicslI/AAAAAAAABKY/yHFOL0DfhyA/s1600-h/1996-12-26+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 276px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S3hcMTicslI/AAAAAAAABKY/yHFOL0DfhyA/s400/1996-12-26+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438197916522820178" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S3hcMCUudzI/AAAAAAAABKQ/u16u4iwc3vU/s1600-h/1996-12-26+pt3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 272px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S3hcMCUudzI/AAAAAAAABKQ/u16u4iwc3vU/s400/1996-12-26+pt3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438197911901861682" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;First imagine how cute it is that my little 7-year-old brother bought me earrings for Christmas.  They weren't anything fancy, just red rhinestone studs he probably bought for a couple dollars at the elementary school's "Holiday Bazaar"... but still, very cute and thoughtful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I remember my family was driving around looking at Christmas lights one night and I was twirling around the earring my brother bought me in my ear... and that's when I realized... no boy had ever bought me jewelry (or really, a present at all) except for my brother.  I'm sure at that age, lots of other girls were in the same boat as me, but I had a few friends who got presents from boyfriends and I felt left out.  It was kind of a weird connection to make, but it really bothered me that day and I felt very lonely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm surprised at how accurately I remembered the way I felt about the Toni Braxton (and similar) CDs when I told the story in &lt;a href="http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/12/toni-braxton-r-kelly-define-me.html"&gt;this post&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wonder if I'll find a Price Charming in time for the next school dance!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;---&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“12-26-96.  Dear Yraid, ‘Twas the night after Christmas… IT IS!  I have strep throat!  Fun, fun, fun!  I felt so sick &amp;amp; I wuz contagious on Christmas Eve that I couldn’t join in the family exchanges.  I had to stay home.  But I still go the gifts.  I got cool stuff.  Then Christmas came.  Strangely, it didn’t see much like Christmas at all!  I got some really nice stuff.  Our whole family got Nintendo 64!  Cool!  It’s awesome!  Jaime &amp;amp; I have been talking on the phone a lot over vacation.  We always greet each other by saying, “Hello Daaahling!”  It’s funny.  She’s going to Pittsburgh until like the 30th soon.  Boo-hoo!  Poor me!  I wrote her a few notes over vacation Y she wrote me one.  Michael got me earrings for Christmas.  Sadly, my first piece of jewelry from a boy.  That’s when I noticed how lonely I am without Richard, without Craig, without… anyone!  I don’t like Richard &amp;amp; Craig anymore, it’s just I wish I had someone there who really loved me other than my family.  Because I don’t like anyone, I’m preparing to be lonely for a long time.  I’m waiting for someone real special to come along- hopefully soon.  I know my Price Charming is out there somewhere!  Hopefully the Prince will come soon cuz there’s a dance coming up &amp;amp; I don’t wanna be lonely then!  For Christmas, I got Toni Braxton &amp;amp; Celine Dion CDs.  They both have sad songs on them like, “I’m Everything I Am Because You Loved Me” &amp;amp; “Unbreak my Heart”.  I know I have no reason to cry during those songs, but sometimes I do anyhow.  I can’t help it.  They’re full of memories like Craig.  And then I think of how lonely I am now.  Gee, I wish I had someone!  -Krista  P.S. I’ll write back soon!  I heart no one cuz no one hearts me.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-6735155969761926208?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/6735155969761926208/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=6735155969761926208&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/6735155969761926208'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/6735155969761926208'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2010/02/prince-charming.html' title='Prince Charming'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S3hcM9a3WiI/AAAAAAAABKg/Gi8ye7Y9Tsc/s72-c/1996-12-26+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-8945100356906884164</id><published>2010-02-11T22:08:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-11T23:01:09.586-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Rachel'/><title type='text'>So much for that</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Happy early Valentine's Day everyone!  Hope you enjoy this uber-romantic poem...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S3TGZmZfWyI/AAAAAAAABKI/UUtEg87v07o/s1600-h/1996-12-20+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 271px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S3TGZmZfWyI/AAAAAAAABKI/UUtEg87v07o/s400/1996-12-20+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437188793249520418" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S3TGZHG1TuI/AAAAAAAABKA/labnvWPY85Y/s1600-h/1996-12-20+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 271px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S3TGZHG1TuI/AAAAAAAABKA/labnvWPY85Y/s400/1996-12-20+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437188784849768162" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Yep, turns out the relationship with Richard didn't even last a week.  I dumped him quite unexpectedly considering in the previous entry I had said that I LOVED him.  This was also the meanest thing I have ever done to a guy and I still feel bad about it to this day.  Ahhh middle school peer pressure... there's nothing else like it.   &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have no idea where Rachel got that poem.  I googled it and found it mentioned on a few sites... but it doesn't seem to be from a movie or book or anything.  Odd.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let's break down this timeline...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;12/12 - Decided I like Richard&lt;br /&gt;12/13 - Started dating Richard&lt;br /&gt;12/14 - Fell in love with Richard&lt;br /&gt;12/16 - Still loved Richard but admitted I wasn't "comfortable" around him&lt;br /&gt;12/19 - Broke up with Richard&lt;br /&gt;12/20 - Decided I still loved Richard&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;Makes perfect sense!  Haha... right.  Makes sense according to typical middle school logic. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's also interesting that it was partly (mostly?) a dream that caused me to fall back in love with Richard again... and that in that dream "he was totally different".  Hmm.  Exactly what part of that dream did I really want to come true... for Richard and I to date again?  For Richard to be "totally different"?  Or for both?  Hmm...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;---&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;“12-20-96. Dear Yraid, So I did dump Richard.  I was really harsh.  I feel really bad about it.  I think he hates me.  Rachel told me to dump him by writing this poem in a note: Roses are red, Violets are blue, Garbage is dumped, And so are you.  I feel so bad.  I like him again, can you tell?  I’d like to go back out with him!  I’ll see if I still like him at the end of vacation.  If I do go back out with him, I’m afraid I’ll lose interest again!  I had this really great dream last night.  Here’s how it went:  I was in Language Arts.  I was having trouble with my computer so I asked Mrs. Decker.  She said she was too busy.  So Richard volunteered to help me.  But instead, he came up behind my chair &amp;amp; hugged me!  It was such a good dream!  After that in my dream, we started going back out!  It was so cool.  He was so sweet!  I loved it &amp;amp; I loved him.  He was totally different in my dream!  If only that could come true.  God, make it come true!  -Krista”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-8945100356906884164?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/8945100356906884164/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=8945100356906884164&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/8945100356906884164'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/8945100356906884164'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2010/02/so-much-for-that.html' title='So much for that'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S3TGZmZfWyI/AAAAAAAABKI/UUtEg87v07o/s72-c/1996-12-20+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-4039196194516416432</id><published>2010-02-08T20:48:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-08T21:18:58.102-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Doug'/><title type='text'>Finally a school day!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S3C_IKWLoeI/AAAAAAAABJ4/WmEvMkzfQfY/s1600-h/1996-12-16+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 272px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S3C_IKWLoeI/AAAAAAAABJ4/WmEvMkzfQfY/s400/1996-12-16+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436054897173438946" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S3C_HxpbNoI/AAAAAAAABJw/pzdfi_A1zaU/s1600-h/1996-12-16+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 272px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S3C_HxpbNoI/AAAAAAAABJw/pzdfi_A1zaU/s400/1996-12-16+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436054890543265410" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Figures.  I got a boyfriend who was cute and funny and instead of being happy, I found reasons &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;not&lt;/span&gt; to like him.  So I was probably his first girlfriend... so what?  That cracks me up.  I acted like my two week relationship with Craig was legitimate dating experience.  I had experience, Richard did not. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Popularity was huge in middle school even though I don't think any of us could have actually defined "popular" or explained how people became popular.  Looking back on it, I guess a lot of them played sports and/or had older siblings.  Older siblings could teach them about clothes and makeup and flirting and dating and kissing... things I knew nothing about.  Also, I guess the popular kids had no other defining traits except the two I already mentioned.  They weren't especially into music or theater or video games or school in general.  And since they couldn't be classified into any other group, I guess that left them as "popular".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So even though I certainly wasn't popular, I still judged Richard's popularity.  Which is weird because I don't remember judging Craig's... and he wasn't terribly popular either.  But I'm glad that even though Richard wasn't popular, I still dated him and saw him for all his good qualities and hoped that everyone would see him the way I did too.  For all I know, he was thinking the same thing about me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;---&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“12-16-96. Dear Yraid, Finally a school day! Every time Richard &amp;amp; I saw each other, we said hi &amp;amp; smiled. At the end of the day, he asked me if I wanted him to sit w/ me at lunch tomorrow. I said sure. I thought of dumping him. I’m not as comfortable around him as I wuz around Craig. I’m pretty sure I’m his 1st girlfriend. But that could be good cuz he’ll remember me forever. A lot of people are making fun of me. That’s why I don’t want many people to know. I’m kinda embarrassed. Hopefully it’ll turn out good &amp;amp; everyone will start to respect him more. He’s not very popular. But he’s cute &amp;amp; funny so I don’t see why not. Well I’ve gotta go! -Krista P.S. Jaime said Doug told Richard to call me tonite &amp;amp; Doug gave him my #. Richard never called me! Craig &amp;amp; I are really good friends now! I heart Richard! I guess. I almost need a new diary!”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-4039196194516416432?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/4039196194516416432/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=4039196194516416432&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/4039196194516416432'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/4039196194516416432'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2010/02/finally-school-day.html' title='Finally a school day!'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S3C_IKWLoeI/AAAAAAAABJ4/WmEvMkzfQfY/s72-c/1996-12-16+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-2735867313414811483</id><published>2010-02-01T21:26:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-01T21:55:39.279-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Doug'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Meghan'/><title type='text'>Here's how it all happened...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Here's the story of how Richard became my second boyfriend... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S2eNiiU_qTI/AAAAAAAABJQ/xGg7ZnjLWNI/s1600-h/1996-12-14+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 264px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S2eNiiU_qTI/AAAAAAAABJQ/xGg7ZnjLWNI/s400/1996-12-14+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433467099915725106" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S2eNiaw5_-I/AAAAAAAABJI/j9cooUH_dnk/s1600-h/1996-12-14+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 264px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S2eNiaw5_-I/AAAAAAAABJI/j9cooUH_dnk/s400/1996-12-14+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433467097885310946" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I was such a hypocrite.  I was worried that my boyfriend was only going out with me because he was desperate.  And yet, in previous diary entries, I said multiple times about multiple boys, "I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;guess&lt;/span&gt; I'll go out with him if he wants to go out with me."  I was pretty much the queen of desperate even though there's no way I would have admitted it at the time.  Actually, I probably didn't believe that I was desperate since I did have some standards-- there was a good 10-15% of boys at the school who I wouldn't date.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was so sad that I wouldn't see Richard until Monday, but get this, we lived in the same neighborhood.  His house was only about a half mile away from mine.  Although, in my former self's defense, no one wants to walk half a mile in Erie during December when there's guaranteed to be at least a foot of snow on the ground!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;“12-14-96. Dear Yraid, Here’s how it all happened- I told Jaime that she could ask him if he’d go out with me if she wanted to.  So she did on the bus &amp;amp; he said ‘probably’.  Then Doug asked him on the bus &amp;amp; he said ‘yes’.  Doug told Jaime &amp;amp; Meghan &amp;amp; they called me to tell me when they got home from school.  At first I didn’t believe them, but then I was convinced!  I was so happy.  Then when I went over to Jaime’s around 5:30 I called him.  All we did is say hi &amp;amp; then complete silence.  So I said that I had to go &amp;amp; we hung up.  I got so depressed because he didn’t talk to me.  Then from where Jaime &amp;amp; I were babysitting Jaime called Richard.  She told him how I thought he didn’t like me.  Jaime said that he said that he does like me &amp;amp; he’s sorry, he just didn’t know what to say.  So then I was kinda happy.  But then I started to think that maybe he’s just desperate &amp;amp; he’d go out with anyone.  Then I was sad.  My life is so confused right now.  Maybe he’s just phone shy.  I hope he likes me.  I’m not calling him again unless he tells me to.  I hope Monday will be good.  Too bad I can’t see him till then.  But think, at least I’m over Craig.  I heart RICHARD!  -Krista”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-2735867313414811483?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/2735867313414811483/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=2735867313414811483&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/2735867313414811483'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/2735867313414811483'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2010/02/heres-how-it-all-happened.html' title='Here&apos;s how it all happened...'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S2eNiiU_qTI/AAAAAAAABJQ/xGg7ZnjLWNI/s72-c/1996-12-14+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-6095317315789599275</id><published>2010-01-28T20:33:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-28T20:52:37.603-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><title type='text'>Boyfriend #2!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S2I7OFIHD-I/AAAAAAAABJA/SuA4Vc3Ef3Q/s1600-h/1996-12-13+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 262px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S2I7OFIHD-I/AAAAAAAABJA/SuA4Vc3Ef3Q/s400/1996-12-13+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431969213642641378" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S2I7NwLL25I/AAAAAAAABI4/7gktwLEMYfQ/s1600-h/1996-12-13+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 262px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S2I7NwLL25I/AAAAAAAABI4/7gktwLEMYfQ/s400/1996-12-13+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431969208018394002" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S2I7NaVyBII/AAAAAAAABIw/OL9o2YB0qhg/s1600-h/1996-12-13+pt3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 262px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S2I7NaVyBII/AAAAAAAABIw/OL9o2YB0qhg/s400/1996-12-13+pt3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431969202157257858" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S2I7NNRn2JI/AAAAAAAABIo/C72rxGOO6-g/s1600-h/1996-12-13+pt4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 262px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S2I7NNRn2JI/AAAAAAAABIo/C72rxGOO6-g/s400/1996-12-13+pt4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431969198650153106" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S2I7M71mYkI/AAAAAAAABIg/5JCKfRiMSmI/s1600-h/1996-12-13+pt5.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 262px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S2I7M71mYkI/AAAAAAAABIg/5JCKfRiMSmI/s400/1996-12-13+pt5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431969193969214018" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Well that was quick.  Just the day before I had said, "I like him but I'm not sure if I would want to go out with him though."  And then, BAM!  We're going out.  And apparently I was so happy about it that I needed to take up five pages with my excitement.  Lucky for you the next entry explains how it all went down.  But I'll keep you in suspense until then...  ;)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;"12-13-96.  Dear Yraid, I'M GOING OUT WITH RICHARD!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-6095317315789599275?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/6095317315789599275/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=6095317315789599275&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/6095317315789599275'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/6095317315789599275'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2010/01/boyfriend-2.html' title='Boyfriend #2!'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S2I7OFIHD-I/AAAAAAAABJA/SuA4Vc3Ef3Q/s72-c/1996-12-13+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-6509957964469611990</id><published>2010-01-25T21:54:00.007-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-28T21:08:27.011-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Teri'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Doug'/><title type='text'>Candygrams</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S15ZjBhmQRI/AAAAAAAABIY/Z6tGdZey5V8/s1600-h/1996-12-12+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S15ZjBhmQRI/AAAAAAAABIY/Z6tGdZey5V8/s400/1996-12-12+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430876658895044882" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S15Zi_sncOI/AAAAAAAABIQ/Yfkkqd37p84/s1600-h/1996-12-12+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S15Zi_sncOI/AAAAAAAABIQ/Yfkkqd37p84/s400/1996-12-12+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430876658404389090" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;In case you didn't have them at your middle school, Candygrams were notes, presumably with candy (although I don't remember what kind), that you'd send to your classmates at school through the Student Council or something.  You could buy them at lunch and they'd be delivered to the recipients in their homeroom later that week.  Of course, the popular and pretty girls always had desks full of candygrams from all their secret admirers.  But I'd be lucky to even get one.  And when I did, it was usually from a BFF who I had made an agreement with that we'd send each other Candygrams so wouldn't look like total losers.  I think they were like 50 cents each and I assume the proceeds went to charity, but again, that's another detail I don't recall.  Around Valentine's Day, they did a similar sale but with carnations, the most romantic flower in the world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;"12-12-96.  Dear Yraid, So I do like Richard.  But it is a weird feeling.  I like him but I'm not sure if I would want to go out with him though.  I mean he’s really cute.  But he can be really strange- but so am I.  I don’t like it when he wears his glasses though.  I kinda want to go out with him.  Oh well!  I don’t think Jaime’s going to dump Doug now.  She sent him a Candy Gram that said “I Heart You!” in it.  Doug sent her one that said “Love ya!”  He does hang around with Teri a little too much.  I wish I had someone who loved me as much as Doug loves Jaime.  As much as Craig USED TO like me.  I wish someone would just love &amp;amp; respect me like Craig… or… Richard.  Maybe Richard, maybe.  Well, I’ll see ya.  Krista.  P.S. I think Richard is helping me get over Craig.  I mean not Richard, literally.  It’s because I’m starting to like Richard, therefore, I’m getting over Craig!  I only cry a little when I hear a sad song now!  GO ME!  I LIKE RICHARD!  I ALMOST STILL LOVE CRAIG!”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-6509957964469611990?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/6509957964469611990/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=6509957964469611990&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/6509957964469611990'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/6509957964469611990'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2010/01/candygrams.html' title='Candygrams'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S15ZjBhmQRI/AAAAAAAABIY/Z6tGdZey5V8/s72-c/1996-12-12+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-4056832022356247493</id><published>2010-01-20T21:32:00.009-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-28T21:17:10.326-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Spin the Bottle</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S1e85fO2blI/AAAAAAAABII/hsvclGCRM1w/s1600-h/1996-12-07+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 264px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S1e85fO2blI/AAAAAAAABII/hsvclGCRM1w/s400/1996-12-07+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429015571640774226" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S1e85OxPwiI/AAAAAAAABIA/32lTFVJvNkk/s1600-h/1996-12-07+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S1e85OxPwiI/AAAAAAAABIA/32lTFVJvNkk/s400/1996-12-07+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429015567221637666" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S1e84_rZrTI/AAAAAAAABH4/GGWbX6liJmE/s1600-h/1996-12-07+pt3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 277px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S1e84_rZrTI/AAAAAAAABH4/GGWbX6liJmE/s400/1996-12-07+pt3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429015563170590002" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Damn Spin the Bottle.  All I ever wanted in life was to play Spin the Bottle.  Pop culture taught me that Spin the Bottle is an essential part of being a teenager and I couldn't wait to check it off my list.  Plus, it was pretty obvious that no guy was going to kiss me willingly at this point in my life, so I was pretty sure I was going to need a game for it to happen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But no, I am now 26 years old and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;still&lt;/span&gt; haven't checked "Spin the Bottle" off my teenage to-do list.  All two of my opportunities were ruined.  The one described in the entry above was the first failed attempt, due to Doug being the only boy in attendance.  The second chance I had to play Spin the Bottle was later on in 7th grade or maybe in 8th grade at Jackie's birthday party.  Maybe it'll be mentioned in a later diary entry, but oh well, I'm going to talk about it now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At Jackie's party, there was a good mix of boys and girls and someone suggested Spin the Bottle.  The only problem was... we had no bottles.  So Jackie ran upstairs and came back down to the basement with a can of Lysol... and Spin the Lysol was born.  I was so pumped to finally play the game (and finally kiss a boy) but then, my two best friends Lianna and Jaime proclaimed that they were both going to sit out.  What?!?!  I tried to convince them to play but instead they chastised me for wanting to play and eventually convinced me to abstain.  So I sat there, hating life, as I watched everyone around the circle trade kisses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jackie's mom even came down at one point and just kind of rolled her eyes and giggled at the game.  I remember thinking, "Seriously??  A MOM is okay with this game and my friends aren't?  For once, it's my FRIENDS keeping me from doing something fun and NOT a mom?  If that's not totally backwards, I don't know what is."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I'm still kind of salty about that Spin the Lysol event.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyone want to play Spin the Bottle?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;“12-7-96.  Dear Yraid, Hi!  I’m back from Monica’s party.  We didn’t play Spin the Bottle cuz only 1 guy showed up.  Who?  Doug!  It was so much fun!  Doug is such a flirt!  He flirted with everyone at the whole party, mostly me though.  Here’s what Doug &amp;amp; I did together:  (these aren’t in order) 1) Played Chess; 2) Played Mille Bornes; 3) Everyone put plastic bags on their feet and skated around.  Doug &amp;amp; I purposely skated towards each other to run into each other.  We ended up falling on top of each other!; 4) He tried to lock me in the basement; 5) Spied on Jackie, Monica, Kelly, &amp;amp; Erin cuz they were leaving us out; 6) We were alone in the living room laying on the couch.  They were two different couches!  Geez.  I’d never lay on the same couch as him; 7) Him, Jackie, &amp;amp; I got into a huge marker fight; 8) He wanted me to french braid his hair.  So I did using my scrunchie!; 9) We were alone in the basement.  He kept pushing me backwards onto the couch so I ended up like this.  Then he’d push my legs over.  He did this like 4 times.  He flirts so bad.  But we’re just friends.  I don’t think he likes me.  If he does, I wouldn’t go out with him- unless he asked me out.  Plus, he loves Jaime.  That’s right Jaime, he does.  I’m not kidding.  He already has her Christmas present.  I’d tell you what it is but I can’t cuz Jaime is most likely hearing or reading this.  He said he never liked Moe when they went out.  I believe him.  Well gotta get my beauty rest.  Krista.  Everyone was saying Doug &amp;amp; I should go out.  I’ll pass.  Jaime he’s all yours!  P.S. I’m almost over Craig.  P.P.S. No, I don’t like Doug.  P.P.P.S. This was the best party I ever went to.  P.P.P.P.S. There are a lot more little things Doug &amp;amp; I did together but they’re not worth talking about and if I did, it would take up the rest of this diary!”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-4056832022356247493?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/4056832022356247493/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=4056832022356247493&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/4056832022356247493'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/4056832022356247493'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2010/01/spin-bottle.html' title='Spin the Bottle'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S1e85fO2blI/AAAAAAAABII/hsvclGCRM1w/s72-c/1996-12-07+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-5491737196695164276</id><published>2010-01-17T20:42:00.006-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-28T21:21:45.411-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Dawn'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Doug M'/><title type='text'>I guess if he says yes, I'll go out with him</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S1O8pRWT5yI/AAAAAAAABHw/SDnOFue5TtQ/s1600-h/1996-12-05+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 283px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S1O8pRWT5yI/AAAAAAAABHw/SDnOFue5TtQ/s400/1996-12-05+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427889393129219874" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S1O8pMgVsqI/AAAAAAAABHo/-It9D96XErY/s1600-h/1996-12-05+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 283px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S1O8pMgVsqI/AAAAAAAABHo/-It9D96XErY/s400/1996-12-05+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427889391829103266" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I know rarely (if ever) fill you in on what the people in my entries are doing today... I suppose it's because I don't want to spoil any surprises... but this one I just can't keep to myself.  I mentioned in the entry above that Dawn (the same Dawn who used to do &lt;a href="http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/04/radio-show-clip-7.html"&gt;radio shows&lt;/a&gt; with me) dumped Doug M.  Well holy shit, would you believe that now, over thirteen years later, they're &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;married&lt;/span&gt;?!?  How often does that happen?  It's not like they've been together for thirteen years, they had both seen other people in the meantime, but really, how cute is that?  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Middle school&lt;/span&gt; sweethearts ended up back together.  Awww.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hope that doesn't make you any less interested in the intriguing new storyline of Jaime trying to convince me to go out with Doug M... and sort-of half-succeeding... maybe?  I mean, I *guess* I'd go out with him, if he'd go out with me.  But I only like him when I'm thinking about him.  lol...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;“12-5-96. Dear Yraid, Today is my B-Day!  Today in Math, the student teacher wanted the class to sing Happy Birthday to me, Sarah, &amp;amp; Narayan (today is all our bday).  No one really wanted to sing but Craig stood up &amp;amp; Said, “I’ll lead!”  And he did!  He sung so loud it made me feel really special even though he didn’t’ do it only for me.  Also during the middle of our test in Math, we both were thinking &amp;amp; looking out into space.  Only we were looking at each other!  We stayed like that for like a minute &amp;amp; then at the same time we figured out the problem we were stuck on.  Dawn dumped Doug M.  Now Jaime wants me to go out with him.  I don’t know!  I kinda want to go out with him but I’m not sure.  I guess if he says yes I will.  When I’m thinking about him, I like him more.  But when I’m thinking about Craig, I like Craig more.  Maybe I’ll tell Jaime maybe I’ll go out with him.  See ya!  Tell ya what happened with Doug M tomorrow.  –Krista”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-5491737196695164276?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/5491737196695164276/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=5491737196695164276&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/5491737196695164276'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/5491737196695164276'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2010/01/i-guess-if-he-says-yes-ill-go-out-with.html' title='I guess if he says yes, I&apos;ll go out with him'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S1O8pRWT5yI/AAAAAAAABHw/SDnOFue5TtQ/s72-c/1996-12-05+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-3641071513829939953</id><published>2010-01-12T20:35:00.008-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-28T21:30:54.865-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Doug'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Rachel'/><title type='text'>Who the hell is Jack?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S00jqdmWE5I/AAAAAAAABHg/EpGq0Q7GaO0/s1600-h/1996-12-03+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 275px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S00jqdmWE5I/AAAAAAAABHg/EpGq0Q7GaO0/s400/1996-12-03+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426032338458252178" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S00jqD-8SxI/AAAAAAAABHY/lWC4gqBXUnw/s1600-h/1996-12-03+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 287px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S00jqD-8SxI/AAAAAAAABHY/lWC4gqBXUnw/s400/1996-12-03+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426032331582098194" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S00jpsIWzVI/AAAAAAAABHQ/Xio4gl51wqY/s1600-h/1996-12-03+pt3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 287px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S00jpsIWzVI/AAAAAAAABHQ/Xio4gl51wqY/s400/1996-12-03+pt3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426032325179133266" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;It's funny how scared I was that I was going to get detention over writing the word "hell".  If Mrs. Sam did read the notebook, I'm sure she didn't even blink when seeing the word.  Maybe it'd be alarming if I wrote the F-word in every other sentence, but "hell"?  Big deal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was so mad at Mrs. Sam at the time for taking the notebook, but you know what?  If I were a teacher I would &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;love &lt;/span&gt;to read kids' notes.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Man, a whole notebook would be like the holy grail.  I'm sure the notes weren't even interesting... probably stuff like, "Do you think Craig still likes me?"  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;"I heard that Dave and Emily are going out."  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;"I'm wearing new socks today."  "Did you watch TGIF last week?" etc.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;  So middle school notes are probably pretty lame but I'd still want to read my hypothetical students' notes if I could confiscate them!  I enjoy prying into other people's business.  That's why most of the books I read today are memoirs and most of the TV I watch is reality (a matter of fact, as I type this, I have "Intervention" on in the background).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I laughed at Craig's F-turned-A but instead I probably should have been re-evaluating... did I really want to date a boy who got Fs?  I don't think I had anything in common with Craig.  How long would it take me to realize that?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;“12-3-96. Dear Yraid, Rachel &amp;amp; I started writing to each other in a notebook.  I would write a note in there to her, give her the whole notebook, &amp;amp; she’d write back.  Well, she was writing me back in SWEP.  Mrs. Sam took it away from her.  At the end of class, Rachel asked for it back.  This is how Rachel told me the conversation went:  Mrs. Sam: What is this?  Rachel: Krista &amp;amp; I write notes to each other in it.  Mrs.Sam: I’ll be keeping this for awhile.  I’ll talk to you two later.  The worst part is she read the entire thing.  And in one part I wrote, “Who the hell is Jack?”  I can’t get in trouble for that.  One little word &amp;amp; I wasn’t the one caught writing in it.  If I get in trouble, I’ll be really mad.  I shouldn’t get in trouble.  Craig treated me as a friend today.  I want more, I want him back.  He showed me his Science test &amp;amp; said, “Look Krista, I got an A!”  What he really did is this: took his F &amp;amp; changed it, like so: A.  He definitely likes me as a friend.  Great!  No, really, it sucks!  Today, Doug walked past me &amp;amp; said, “Look it’s Bob.  No actually, it’s Bob’s ex-girlfriend!”  See Jaime &amp;amp; I used to call Craig “Bob”.  That really dug deep into my heart when Doug said that.  I guess I never realized I was a girlfriend.  That makes me more sad.  Doug gave me his school picture.  We’re friends &amp;amp; I like that.  Hopefully it’ll stay that way.  I don’t even want to go out with him really ever because I’m afraid it would hurt our friendship.   -Krista.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-3641071513829939953?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/3641071513829939953/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=3641071513829939953&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/3641071513829939953'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/3641071513829939953'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2010/01/who-hell-is-jack.html' title='Who the hell is Jack?'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S00jqdmWE5I/AAAAAAAABHg/EpGq0Q7GaO0/s72-c/1996-12-03+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-8338969528858606441</id><published>2010-01-09T10:25:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-28T21:35:26.110-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><title type='text'>It's more fun NOT going out with who you like</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S0if-mT5aKI/AAAAAAAABHA/0q9wchlN5eE/s1600-h/1996-12-01+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 275px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S0if-mT5aKI/AAAAAAAABHA/0q9wchlN5eE/s400/1996-12-01+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424761648952469666" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S0if-y5Lv4I/AAAAAAAABHI/gdi_8flTnsQ/s1600-h/1996-12-01+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 281px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S0if-y5Lv4I/AAAAAAAABHI/gdi_8flTnsQ/s400/1996-12-01+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424761652330086274" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Did you understand what I meant or do you still feel &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;ashamed&lt;/span&gt;?  haha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I had just got done saying that it's more fun NOT going out with the person you like and then I made a wish on my birthday candles that Craig would go back out with me.  To answer my own question from the entry... Yes, it is surprising because it makes no sense.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let's hope the next entry is happier... this is getting depressing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;“12-1-96 Dear Yraid, Hello!  Today was my family birthday party.  I got a lot of nice stuff.  I love everything I got.  I’m liking Craig more &amp;amp; more every day now.  There’s one thing that confuses me: It’s funny.  I can’t really put it into words.  Well it’s like when you’re going out with who you like it’s like you’ve got it.  But then when you’re not going out with who you like it’s a whole different feeling.  You probably don’t’ understand but in a sense, it’s more fun not going out with who you like.  Are you lost?  Cause if you are, don’t feel ashamed.  What I just said was very hard for me to put into words and when I did, it didn’t come out right.  When I hear someone say the name ‘Craig’, I suddenly become more alert.  You might not believe this- but it’s true:  When I made a wish before I blew out my candles tonite, I wished that Craig would go back out with me.  Is that surprising or what?  Am I obsessing?  I don’t’ think so.  But geez, I love everything about him- his eyes, his smile, his laugh, his voice, even the way he smells!  My gosh!  I really do like him.  I miss him and want him back.  Well, I must go cry myself to sleep like I do every night.   Batman.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-8338969528858606441?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/8338969528858606441/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=8338969528858606441&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/8338969528858606441'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/8338969528858606441'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2010/01/its-more-fun-not-going-out-with-who-you.html' title='It&apos;s more fun NOT going out with who you like'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S0if-mT5aKI/AAAAAAAABHA/0q9wchlN5eE/s72-c/1996-12-01+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-459042285126451541</id><published>2010-01-04T21:26:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-28T21:38:57.730-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><title type='text'>Life, Damn Life</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Oooh somebody discovered the thesaurus and dictionary...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S0Kjez5J9sI/AAAAAAAABG4/l3J7h6SQBNU/s1600-h/1996-11-30.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 284px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S0Kjez5J9sI/AAAAAAAABG4/l3J7h6SQBNU/s400/1996-11-30.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423076651028838082" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;The quoted song in this entry is "Without You" by Mariah Carey.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;You can re-live it &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sCR1Omma66c"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I used LOVE Mariah Carey.  I remember pacing back and forth along the wooden floor of my grandma's spare bedroom, jamming to Mariah's "Music Box" tape on my Walkman and singing along.  I must have sounded like an idiot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;“11-30-96 Dear Yraid, Mournful-feeling or expressing sadness.  Dejected-low spirited.  Depressed-affected with emotional depression.  That’s all how I feel now, without Craig.  WHAT DID I DO?  I DON’T DESERVE THIS!  IS HOULDN’T BE GOING THROUGH THIS PAIN!  BUT THAT’S LIFE, DAMN LIFE.  “I can’t live- if living is without you.  I can’t live- I can’t give anymore.”  Well, I have to go to sleep.  No, actually go cry- like I do every night before I go to bed.  CAN’T THE SORROW END?  -Batman”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-459042285126451541?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/459042285126451541/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=459042285126451541&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/459042285126451541'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/459042285126451541'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2010/01/life-damn-life.html' title='Life, Damn Life'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/S0Kjez5J9sI/AAAAAAAABG4/l3J7h6SQBNU/s72-c/1996-11-30.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-9083104879594852623</id><published>2009-12-30T18:37:00.012-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-28T21:47:52.121-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Lianna'/><title type='text'>Toni Braxton &amp; R Kelly Define Me</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Happy Holidays everyone!  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Szvks9x23NI/AAAAAAAABGw/84rY51ZIn5Q/s1600-h/1996-11-29+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Szvks9x23NI/AAAAAAAABGw/84rY51ZIn5Q/s400/1996-11-29+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421178037619580114" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SzvksuTw56I/AAAAAAAABGo/z1iMZPpm7ms/s1600-h/1996-11-29+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 270px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SzvksuTw56I/AAAAAAAABGo/z1iMZPpm7ms/s400/1996-11-29+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421178033466828706" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SzvksUFx7cI/AAAAAAAABGg/Qg-ElPVdVLM/s1600-h/1996-11-29+pt3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 270px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SzvksUFx7cI/AAAAAAAABGg/Qg-ElPVdVLM/s400/1996-11-29+pt3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421178026428853698" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I instantly recognized the first song as "Unbreak My Heart" by Toni Braxton.  For Christmas that year (1996), I asked for Toni Braxton's and Keith Sweat's CDs because I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;loved&lt;/span&gt; the songs "Unbreak My Heart" and "Nobody".  I loved them because they reminded me of Craig and Doug and Mike and all the other boys that didn't like me... or pretended they liked me just to shut me up and then dumped me after a two week limit.  After I got those CDs for Christmas, I'd put the songs on repeat and bawl my eyes out thinking about how lonely and heartbroken and loveless I was.  I soon grew to hate Toni Braxton and Keith Sweat.  Why did I want those stupid CDs just to torture and depress myself?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few years later, I tried to get rid of the CDs by selling them to a CD/Game Exchange store and the jerks wouldn't take them.  Ugh.  I think I may still have them somewhere back home.  Who wants them??  Any takers?  Word of warning: they will not help you recover from a recent breakup, they will only make you feel worse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HOLD UP-- Apparently I never really listened to the lyrics of "Nobody" by Keith Sweat.  Certainly Santa didn't preview this CD before giving it to a 13-year-old...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And who can love you like me&lt;br /&gt;Who can sex you like me&lt;br /&gt;Who can treat you like me now, baby&lt;br /&gt;Nobody, baby&lt;br /&gt;And who can do it like me&lt;br /&gt;And who can give you what you need&lt;br /&gt;Who can do you all night long&lt;br /&gt;Nobody, baby &lt;/blockquote&gt;What in the WORLD?  Who knew?  To little 7th grade me, the message of this song was simply "I'm the best person for you and we belong together."  The sexual stuff was wayyy over my head.  Weird.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyhow, I didn't recognize the lyrics of the second song.  Turns out it's "I Can't Sleep Baby (If I)" by R Kelly.  I listened to it and honestly, I don't remember it.  Maybe if I would have asked for the R Kelly CD instead of the Keith Sweat CD, it would be a different story.  As a side note, who would have thought that the sensitive and respectful-looking man in the "I Can't Sleep Baby" video would go on to create such musical gems as the "Trapped in the Closet" series and "Sex in the Kitchen"... oh not to mention that whole child porn thing...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are some links in case you want to go back in time and re-live those classic 90s songs...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eO4T6D_MjjI"&gt;Toni Braxton&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FMar1ifzdmk"&gt;Keith Sweat&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DmDyBUSAIt8"&gt;R Kelly&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;“11-29-96 Dear Yraid, Hello.  Thanksgiving was great.  Really good food.  We ate at Nana’s.  Today I went to see “Jingle All the Way” with Lianna, Seth, Abri, &amp;amp; Mike.  That was a good movie.  Arnold Schwarzenegger was great in that movie.  Mom I sick.  She has a migraine &amp;amp; she’s throwing up.  They (Mom &amp;amp; Dad) went to the hospital this morning.  The doctor gave her some shots &amp;amp; she’s been sleeping all day.  She says she’s feeling better- I hope that’s true.  Even though Craig &amp;amp; I broke up (&amp;amp; we only went out for 2 weeks) I still really like him.  So maybe I’m a little bit mad at him for dumping me, but I don’t hate him.  I only want him back. I really love him.  He means everything to me.  I still have his picture in the heart frame by my bed.  I’ve cried every night since.  Just to think about how he cared &amp;amp; acted like he loved me the very day before- before he dumped me.  Remember how he gave me that  Hershey Kiss, that Hershey KISS.  I wish I wouldn’t have lost it.  “Unbreak my heart, say you love me again.  Undo this hurt you caused when you walked out the door, walked out of my life.  Uncry these tears.  I’ve cried so many nights.  Unbreak my heart.”  Why did that perfect life have to end?  And he thinks I don’t care.  I don’t have feelings for him anymore.  Well, I do.  I do.  Who could get over him?  “I can’t sleep, baby.  I can’t think, baby.  I can’t live baby without you in my life.  Don’t wanna go on baby.  This is my soul baby.  Don’t wanna do anything without you.”  Those songs are so true.  I can barely listen to the radio anymore because most of the songs I can somehow relate to me &amp;amp; Craig &amp;amp; then I start to cry.  I start to cry like I’m crying now.  I wish I could turn back time – Batman.  Don’t ask.  If you want to know, ask one of my friends.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-9083104879594852623?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/9083104879594852623/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=9083104879594852623&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/9083104879594852623'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/9083104879594852623'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/12/toni-braxton-r-kelly-define-me.html' title='Toni Braxton &amp; R Kelly Define Me'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Szvks9x23NI/AAAAAAAABGw/84rY51ZIn5Q/s72-c/1996-11-29+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-5715085961391215647</id><published>2009-12-15T22:03:00.019-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-28T21:51:12.306-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Mike'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Richard'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Rider Strong'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kara'/><title type='text'>I'll Leave Craig Something in My Will</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SyhOAZOftAI/AAAAAAAABGY/1tZ8UF_e_9I/s1600-h/1996-11-27.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 272px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SyhOAZOftAI/AAAAAAAABGY/1tZ8UF_e_9I/s400/1996-11-27.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415664320591672322" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Before I start, there's probably two things you're wondering about.  First of all, I used to write the names of all the guys I liked in the back of my diary... so that's what I meant when I said I didn't like Richard "enough to write his name in the back".  Secondly, I guess I went through a phase when I called myself "Batman".  Yes, I had moved on from &lt;a href="http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/04/pittsburgh-pirates-game.html"&gt;Supergirl &lt;/a&gt;to Batman.  I don't understand or remember why.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, now that &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;that's&lt;/span&gt; out of the way...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll leave Craig something in my will???  Where did that come from?  What does that even mean?  I like him, I want him back... so I'll leave him something in my will.  That will SURELY win him over... once I'm dead.  WTF?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then Mike and Kara started dating and I gave up on Mike just like that.  I guess I must not have liked him that much after all.  Well, clearly, considering my only basis for liking him was that he was &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;nice &lt;/span&gt;to me at the dance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I first met Richard in 4th grade when my math teacher introduced him to the class.  As the new kid, he was a big deal because he had just moved from Australia which meant two things:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;Since Australia's seasons are opposite ours, he was on summer break from school back in Australia but when he moved here, had to start up classes right away, cutting his vacation short.  Bummer. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;He had a cool accent.  Which was super rare in our town.  That is, unless you count the kid in 7th grade that my friend Jaime said had a cute accent, but I didn't have the heart to tell her that really, he just had a speech impediment and couldn't say his r's.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;Anyhow, when Richard was introduced to us in 4th grade, show-and-tell-style, my friend Stephanie whispered to me, "Ohmygosh, his accent is &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;soooo &lt;/span&gt;sexy."  I was like, "Um, yeah.  It sure is!"  Yeah right, I was 10 years old, I didn't know what the hell "sexy" was.  Nothing was "sexy" to me.  I couldn't have described "sexy" at that age if you would have asked me to.  But I just played along because I figured if she used that word, she must have known what she was talking about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Three years later, even though Richard's Australian accent was long gone, I was starting to see the attraction.  I still wouldn't have used the word "sexy", but instead "slightly cute and funny".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;“11-27-96 Dear Yraid, The day after I wrote this entry I couldn’t ask Mike out.  Why?  Because he asked Kara out.  They’ve been going out since then.  I don’t like Mike anymore.  I still love Craig.  I want him back.  I need him back.  I’ll leave him something in my will.  Okay?  Anyhow, I want to ask him out again but I don’t want to beg.  We’ve been pretty good friends since the breakup.  I HEART CRAIG!  I kinda like Richard.  He’s slightly cute &amp;amp; he’s funny.  I don’t like him enough to write his name in the back.  He might be too weird for me though.  I noticed today that his first and last initials are the same as Riders!  Maybe we’re destined for each other!  -Batman”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-5715085961391215647?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/5715085961391215647/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=5715085961391215647&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/5715085961391215647'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/5715085961391215647'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/12/ill-leave-craig-something-in-my-will.html' title='I&apos;ll Leave Craig Something in My Will'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SyhOAZOftAI/AAAAAAAABGY/1tZ8UF_e_9I/s72-c/1996-11-27.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-4227141476662533725</id><published>2009-12-13T22:05:00.007-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-28T17:07:44.607-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Mike'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ashleigh'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jessie'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Rachel'/><title type='text'>Pure Heaven</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SyWtYUpy_RI/AAAAAAAABGQ/K6VUxK621S0/s1600-h/1996-11-24+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 275px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SyWtYUpy_RI/AAAAAAAABGQ/K6VUxK621S0/s400/1996-11-24+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414924760355372306" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SyWtYH1OHAI/AAAAAAAABGI/yP_ns9QFFWQ/s1600-h/1996-11-24+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 275px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SyWtYH1OHAI/AAAAAAAABGI/yP_ns9QFFWQ/s400/1996-11-24+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414924756913626114" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Okay, if you had trouble following that, the "D's" were our family friends who lived next door to the "F's" (Mike's family).  Jessie's family lived behind the "D's" so all three of their families were pretty good friends.  Make sense?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not sure if the topic of CCD came up in my diary entries before, but in case it didn't... CCD = Catechism... the classes we little Catholic kids had to go to every Sunday to learn about our faith.  Some folks called it Sunday School.  My friends here in Ohio called it PSR.  I have no idea what all those acronyms stand for and I have no idea whether there's a difference between the teachings.  I'm guessing they're all the same.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love how Jessie flat-out told me that Mike agreed "hell no" to going out with me and my reaction was... "I might ask him out tomorrow."  Gotta love my resilience.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;“11-24-96 Dear Yraid, Today I went over to the D’s for Kory’s B-Day party.  Their whole family was over &amp;amp; we were going to have a big dinner.  They ran out of room in their refrigerator so they had to keep some of their food in the F’s fridge.  Ashleigh &amp;amp; I went over there to put milk in their fridge.  Mike was home alone.  And Jessie &amp;amp; her friend were over.  We stayed &amp;amp; talked with Mike, Jessie, &amp;amp; that girl for about a half hour.  It was heaven, pure heaven.  Mike ripped on Rachel some of the time.  Then we had to leave.  At CCD, Jessie told me Mike told her that I asked him out.  She said that she said then, “Hell no!”  Jessie said hell no to us going out.  She said Mike said, “I know” or something.  Did he really mean it or was he just saying that?  I might ask him out tomorrow.  –Krista  I LIKE MIKE.  DOES HE LIKE ME?”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-4227141476662533725?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/4227141476662533725/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=4227141476662533725&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/4227141476662533725'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/4227141476662533725'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/12/pure-heaven.html' title='Pure Heaven'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SyWtYUpy_RI/AAAAAAAABGQ/K6VUxK621S0/s72-c/1996-11-24+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-4571589865301081604</id><published>2009-12-03T20:34:00.009-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-28T22:01:02.599-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ray'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Mike'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ryan'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jessie'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Doug'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kara'/><title type='text'>My Life is Like a Puzzle</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Sxhu14IOxkI/AAAAAAAABF8/yQWSxTBGEio/s1600-h/1996-11-23+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 258px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Sxhu14IOxkI/AAAAAAAABF8/yQWSxTBGEio/s400/1996-11-23+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411196824164681282" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Sxhu1UdkohI/AAAAAAAABF0/NKTSWUIlukA/s1600-h/1996-11-23+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 282px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Sxhu1UdkohI/AAAAAAAABF0/NKTSWUIlukA/s400/1996-11-23+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411196814590517778" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Sxhu1HD2t1I/AAAAAAAABFs/L2HzNoHT59I/s1600-h/1996-11-23+pt3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Sxhu1HD2t1I/AAAAAAAABFs/L2HzNoHT59I/s400/1996-11-23+pt3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411196810992990034" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Last time, my life was "&lt;a href="http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/11/my-life-is-so-confused.html"&gt;so confused&lt;/a&gt;" and now it's "so deformed."  Haha what interesting words to describe LIFE.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So let's get this straight:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Even though Mike is really immature and dating him could hurt my 'rep', now I like him... mostly because he offered to dance with me when I cried over Craig.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;But Kara likes Mike too... and he danced with her to stop her from crying too.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;AND Mike is currently going out with Rachel but is breaking up with her soon.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Where the hell was Rachel during all of this???&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Poor Ryan.  He liked me so much and I was so mean to him.  I was far meaner to him than Doug or any of my other crushes were to me.  It probably took him half the dance just to get the courage to ask me and then when he did, I always turned him down.  One time when he nervously asked me to dance, I ran away, arms flailing, claiming I was a lesbian.  Back then, homosexuality was a new and mostly foreign concept to me... &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"No! I'm a lesbian!"&lt;/span&gt; was about as reasonable of an excuse as &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"No! I'm a Jehovah's Witness!" &lt;/span&gt;or &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"No! I have Restless Leg Syndrome!"&lt;/span&gt; (meaning I could somehow tie my minimal knowledge on any of these things to a reason why I couldn't dance with a guy).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wonder if I ever wrote him that note.  I wonder if he ever knew how bad I felt afterward or how guilty I still feel to this day.  I'm glad I'm not as big of a bitch anymore.  At least I don't think I am?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course, I can't end this entry without calling attention to my "really depressful weekend" comment.  Haha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;“11-23-96 Dear Yraid, My birthday party wuz fun but I’ll tell you about that later.  DANCE.  Worst dance in history!  I cried over Craig when ‘I Swear’ came on.  Then Mike asked me what was wrong.  I said nothing but then he wanted to dance with me (so I’d feel better) before I could say yes, the song was over.  Then Kara was crying.  Kara likes Mike &amp;amp; Mike danced with her so she wouldn’t cry.  Mike was hanging around me for the rest of the dance.  He was showing off for me!  Does he like me?  Well, at that moment, I realized I like Mike.  He’s dumping Rachel.  I want to go out with Mike!  I really like him!  Most people think he’s really immature &amp;amp; sometimes he can be.  But I found at the dance the other side of Mike.  The sweet, considerate side.  He’s totally different when he’s not around Jessie.  See, if I go out with him, a lot of people will think I’m stupid.  Kara will be mad at me &amp;amp; Rachel might be mad at me.  I really like him but will it hurt my rep?  I know he’s not bad, but most people think he’s a jerk.  I’d be much better off with Craig, Ray (if I liked him), or even Doug (if I liked him).  I still like Craig a little though.  My life is so deformed.  It’s a puzzle, just the pieces are scattered.  Most of them shaped like a broken heart, my broken heart.  I need some reason, sense, I need to be led down the right path.  God can you help me?  I’m just really confused &amp;amp; I believe this is going to be a really depressful weekend.  Something that also ruined the dance was Ryan asked me to dance.  I refused.  I must have made him feel like shit.  I’m crying!  I never meant for this to happen!  I promise that I will dance with him at the next dance.  I have to write him an apology letter.  I’m going to.  –Krista  I HEART MIKE &amp;amp; CRAIG!”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-4571589865301081604?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/4571589865301081604/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=4571589865301081604&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/4571589865301081604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/4571589865301081604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-life-is-like-puzzle.html' title='My Life is Like a Puzzle'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Sxhu14IOxkI/AAAAAAAABF8/yQWSxTBGEio/s72-c/1996-11-23+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-7218657771169624283</id><published>2009-11-30T21:11:00.012-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-01T22:13:50.187-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><title type='text'>Regret Sets In</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SxR8pyGhPhI/AAAAAAAABFk/UW88WhbODUQ/s1600/1996-11-21+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 268px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SxR8pyGhPhI/AAAAAAAABFk/UW88WhbODUQ/s400/1996-11-21+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410086109644406290" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SxR8pq1bkxI/AAAAAAAABFc/96UXrVbDcVE/s1600/1996-11-21+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 268px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SxR8pq1bkxI/AAAAAAAABFc/96UXrVbDcVE/s400/1996-11-21+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410086107693683474" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Ah such a common break-up theme.  I suppose I can't speak for everyone, but I know in my life regardless of whether I am the dumper or dumpee, after the break-up, I feel sad for a little while but then a defense mechanism of sorts kicks in and I think of all the good justifications for the split...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was too young for me, he cheated on me, he had embarassing body odor, he lacked ambition, he routinely ignored me on the phone while trying to simultaneously play video games, I hated his family, he was stuck-up and boring, he wasn't religious, he was a different religion, he pressured me, he had stupid hair, he had an inferiority complex, he was too short, he was a liar, he was a pathological liar, or in the case of Craig: &lt;a href="http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/11/impossible-happened.html"&gt;opposites just don't attract&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then after a day or so of being comfortable with the break-up, regret sets back in.  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;No.  No.  Nononono.  Wait.  I thought I was okay, but I'm not.  I'm really not okay.  I miss him.  I miss his voice and his kiss and dammit I miss his stupid hair.  I'll never be able to tease him about cutting (or not cutting) his hair again.  Wahhh!&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I was wrong.  I want him baaaaaaack.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately, that's just the natural progression of a break-up.  A few days or weeks of the back-and-forth emotions and it all works itself out.  Oh and it certainly doesn't hurt for there to be a new guy on the horizon.  ;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;FYI: those were all legit break-up justifications from various relationships throughout my life (not all the same guy obviously... thank god).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;“11-21-96. Dear Yraid, I wish Craig would go back out with me again.  I really like him and I want him back.  He is getting cuter &amp;amp; cuter every day.  Ahh I love him!  I wish we were still together.  Today when I brought my trash back at lunch, Craig was behind me by the garbage cans.  Then he started a conversation with me about how he flicked Jordan on the head &amp;amp; he passed out.  Do you think he was trying to impress me?  Doubt it, he likes me as a friend only (I think).  Amazingly, this is the first time we brought our trays up together!  He always brought his tray up before me when we were going out!  Wow!  Strange.  Well, to sum up this entry: I WISH CRAIG AND I WERE MORE THAN JUST FRIENDS!  -Krista   I Heart Craig!”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-7218657771169624283?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/7218657771169624283/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=7218657771169624283&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/7218657771169624283'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/7218657771169624283'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/11/regret-sets-in.html' title='Regret Sets In'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SxR8pyGhPhI/AAAAAAAABFk/UW88WhbODUQ/s72-c/1996-11-21+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-1925679174060376038</id><published>2009-11-23T20:37:00.008-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-01T22:18:50.342-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Rider Strong'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jessica'/><title type='text'>The Impossible Happened</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Sws47jfKR5I/AAAAAAAABFU/GoLu-uvEgBc/s1600/1996-11-14+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 264px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Sws47jfKR5I/AAAAAAAABFU/GoLu-uvEgBc/s400/1996-11-14+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407478373377787794" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Sws47WDJnmI/AAAAAAAABFM/sbVCvZUQDSQ/s1600/1996-11-14+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 272px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Sws47WDJnmI/AAAAAAAABFM/sbVCvZUQDSQ/s400/1996-11-14+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407478369770643042" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Ten points if you saw that one coming.  Just kidding- because I think we could all tell that Craig wasn't my soul mate.  So actually, negative ten points if you &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;didn't &lt;/span&gt;see that one coming.  But thank you for being such an optimist.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How crappy is that?  My only goal was to date Craig longer than Jessica... for 2 weeks 1 day.  Instead Craig dumped me after exactly two weeks.  Yup, I'd say he planned it.  Seems like Craig had a two week limit.  I'm sure his technique was to date a girl just long enough to shut her (and their annoying friends) up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Would people really criticize me if I said, "I LOVE RIDER" while dating Craig for a couple days?  Would Craig really be threatened by the (remote) possibility of me running off with a TGIF sitcom star?  In my adult life, I have never been shy about swooning over celebrity crushes (Josh Hartnett, Jude Law, Gavin DeGraw, etc.) in front of boyfriends.  And ya know what, I don't think anyone ever had a problem with it.  If they did, it would have just revealed some intense insecurities that I wouldn't have wanted to deal with anyhow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hopefully my next middle school relationship will last longer and be more interesting!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;“11-14-96. Dear Yraid, Craig dumped me!  When we were walking back from lunch he said to me, “Can we just be friends?”  That’s all I remember, the rest was a blur.  The last thing I remember him saying was, “you’re not going to go off somewhere crying now are you?”  I told him probably not, which was a lie cause my eyes got all watery &amp;amp; I couldn’t concentrate in Social Studies.  When I got home, I ran up to my room &amp;amp; burst into tears.  How could he do this, how could he lie?  It was like he planned it.  Today was our 2 week anniversary.  Why did he have to dump me on such a happy day?  We went out for exactly 2 weeks, 1 hour, and 21 minutes.  Whoa!  Weird, look 2121!  That is now my official favorite number 2121.  Backwards it is 1212 so my favorite time now is 12:12.  Call me weird, but I still like Craig.  I’m also kind of (not really) happy he dumped me.  Why?  Because I noticed that we are way different &amp;amp; in this case – opposites don’t attract!  Well, see ya!  Boyfriendless, Krista  P.S. Boyfriendless is a good feeling.  I feel free now!  I can say I HEART RIDER! And no one will care.  P.P.S. I’m having a birthday party on the 22nd.  2121!”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-1925679174060376038?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/1925679174060376038/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=1925679174060376038&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/1925679174060376038'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/1925679174060376038'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/11/impossible-happened.html' title='The Impossible Happened'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Sws47jfKR5I/AAAAAAAABFU/GoLu-uvEgBc/s72-c/1996-11-14+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-7972610431494689487</id><published>2009-11-17T20:33:00.009-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-01T22:22:49.462-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Meghan'/><title type='text'>My Life is So Confused!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SwNPLuKFT_I/AAAAAAAABFE/XYy4HgI_1Mg/s1600/1996-11-13+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 257px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SwNPLuKFT_I/AAAAAAAABFE/XYy4HgI_1Mg/s400/1996-11-13+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405251040562204658" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SwNPHNN9UoI/AAAAAAAABE8/0yQnsWuy8c4/s1600/1996-11-13+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 257px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SwNPHNN9UoI/AAAAAAAABE8/0yQnsWuy8c4/s320/1996-11-13+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405250963000611458" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Aw, Craig seemed so sweet giving me a Hershey's *kiss* charm.  But then the truth had to come out... he didn't even know why he was going out with me.  Oh crap.  That's not a good sign.  Nooooo this first love was supposed to last foreverrrrrrrrrrrr!  Or at least longer than Jessica's record with Craig of two weeks!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;“11-13-96 Dear Yraid, Today Craig found a Hersey Kiss chain on the floor (you know, for a necklace).  It was broken, there was no loop to put a chain through.  Craig gave it to me.  Later in Science, he said, “Too bad that charm is broken.  If it wasn’t, you could wear it as a necklace.”  Whoa!  Cool, he really wanted me to wear it.  When I got home from school, I wanted to look at the charm but it wasn’t in my pocket!  I LOST IT!  AHHH!  -Krista  P.S. Meghan said she said to Craig, “I don’t see how Krista can go out with you.”  Meghan told me he said, “A lot of people ask me how I can go out with her and I don’t really have an answer for that question either!”  Is Meghan lying?  She wouldn’t lie.  Does Craig truly like me or is he just playing games?  God help me my life is so confused!”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-7972610431494689487?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/7972610431494689487/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=7972610431494689487&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/7972610431494689487'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/7972610431494689487'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/11/my-life-is-so-confused.html' title='My Life is So Confused!'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SwNPLuKFT_I/AAAAAAAABFE/XYy4HgI_1Mg/s72-c/1996-11-13+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-197312566657472514</id><published>2009-11-06T21:19:00.010-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-01T22:26:02.571-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jessica'/><title type='text'>Will we make it to Friday?!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SvTZSIXtA1I/AAAAAAAABEk/i3s0JOe7_no/s1600-h/1996-11-11+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 268px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SvTZSIXtA1I/AAAAAAAABEk/i3s0JOe7_no/s400/1996-11-11+pt1.jpg" alt="11-11-96 Dear Yraid, On Sat. Jaime and I babysat for a 3 yr old (Hunter) and about an 8 month old (Morgan).  It was an interesting (ask Jaime) experience- but I got 5$ out of it!  Then I slept over at Jaime's- very fun!  Today I called Craig after school.  We were both doing our homework.  It was funny becaues we kept swearing because we didn't understand it or got something wrong.  We got our seats changed in Sci and Math.  Now in Sci I still sit by Craig.  But in Math:" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401180758631842642" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SvTZYdfd03I/AAAAAAAABEs/-BhRNue09fY/s1600-h/1996-11-11+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 268px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SvTZYdfd03I/AAAAAAAABEs/-BhRNue09fY/s400/1996-11-11+pt2.jpg" alt="That's too far apart!  Well, I need to go out with Craig longer then Jessica.  I'm determined!  She went out with him for 2 weeks.  So I have to last until Friday.  Which would make it 2 weeks and a day.  Well Bye!  KRISTA" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401180867380761458" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;When I think of how immature I was at age twelve and how &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;young&lt;/span&gt; little twelve-year-olds seem to me today, it &lt;span&gt;blows. my. mind.&lt;/span&gt; that people trusted me at that age with their INFANTS.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then I remember how uncomfortable I was the most recent time I held a baby a few months ago, and realize... nope, those parents were right-- I was wayyyy more qualified for childcare at twelve than I am at twenty-five.  Not only was I "safe-sitter certified" back in 1996, I was all-pro at feeding babies, burping babies, cooing at babies, changing babies diapers, carrying babies around for hours, etc.  Now, I don't even know where to start.  I can't relate to babies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What happened?  I think college happened.  Four straight years of zero contact with anyone under the age of eighteen.  All my nurturing qualities were thrown out the window.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OH god.  Know what's scarier yet?  Morgan, that baby we watched, is now older than we were when we babysat her.  Crap!  And Hunter is probably driving now!  I. feel. so. old.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And P.S. I hope $5 wasn't half of what we earned!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So back to the entry-- What do you think?  Will Craig and I last 2 weeks 1 day?  Will we date longer than he and Jessica?  Is it true love?  CAN YOU STAND THE SUSPENSE?!?!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;“11-11-96  Dear Yraid, On Sat Jaime &amp;amp; I babysat for a 3 yr old (Hunter) &amp;amp; about an 8 month old (Morgan).  It was an interesting (ask Jaime) experience – but I got $5 out of it!  Then I slept over at Jaime’s- very fun!  Today, I called Craig after school.  We were both doing our homework.  It was funny because we kept swearing because we didn’t understand it or we got something wrong.  We got our seats changed in Sci &amp;amp; Math.  Now in Sci I still sit by Craig.  But in Math, that’s too far apart!  Well, I need to go out with Craig longer than Jessica.  I’m determined!  She went out with him for 2 weeks.  So I have to last until Friday which would make it 2 weeks &amp;amp; a day!  Well Bye!  KRISTA”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-197312566657472514?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/197312566657472514/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=197312566657472514&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/197312566657472514'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/197312566657472514'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/11/will-we-make-it-to-friday.html' title='Will we make it to Friday?!'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SvTZSIXtA1I/AAAAAAAABEk/i3s0JOe7_no/s72-c/1996-11-11+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-7402971970856490258</id><published>2009-11-04T20:53:00.017-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-01T22:35:40.174-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Handbook on How to Live Life</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;First of all, thank you to everyone who emailed, texted, and/or left comments reminding me that I hadn't posted in almost a month.  You'll be happy to know I am not dead (however, I did burn the shit out of my finger tonight... please learn from my mistakes-- before you lift an electric stove burner with your bare finger to retrieve a wayward grain of rice, make sure it's not the burner you JUST turned off seconds ago... damn).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyhow, my primary excuse for being a shitty blogger recently is that I was on vacation in San Diego all last week and I spent most of October planning the trip.  But now that &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;that &lt;/span&gt;distraction is over... we can get back to: the 7th day of my relationship with Craig...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SvIwYChopvI/AAAAAAAABEU/qXvbZQDLfVg/s1600-h/1996-11-07+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 264px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SvIwYChopvI/AAAAAAAABEU/qXvbZQDLfVg/s400/1996-11-07+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400432092723586802" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SvIwXyr8g6I/AAAAAAAABEM/JEyMVHzV6Nw/s1600-h/1996-11-07+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 270px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SvIwXyr8g6I/AAAAAAAABEM/JEyMVHzV6Nw/s400/1996-11-07+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400432088471864226" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SvIwXle63-I/AAAAAAAABEE/vw2xxjk48aM/s1600-h/1996-11-07+pt3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SvIwXle63-I/AAAAAAAABEE/vw2xxjk48aM/s400/1996-11-07+pt3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400432084927569890" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SvIwXciZADI/AAAAAAAABD8/R8ZiZ5wcOU8/s1600-h/1996-11-07+pt4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 270px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SvIwXciZADI/AAAAAAAABD8/R8ZiZ5wcOU8/s400/1996-11-07+pt4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400432082526208050" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;"What's more important to me: my life &amp;amp; future OR Craig?  Craig!"  Oh dear.  My decision wasn't between not failing out of school OR dating Craig&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;... or not becoming a teenage mother OR dating Craig...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt; or not smoking crack OR dating Craig.  I got two C's... and still had a B average!  With two C's on math tests, how would I ever get into college?!?  It's kind of cute that I thought my decision between grades and Craig was like life or death, when in the grand scheme of things, who really CARES?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lying to my Mom (err withholding the facts) and choosing Craig over studying has not come back to haunt me.  There has never been a day since where I was like, "Now, damn.  If only I had hung up with Craig in 1996 and solved that polynomial equation, I would have gotten that raise I wanted."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's a list* of 10 important events from 1996 that I could have cared more about instead of worrying about Craig versus Homework...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;The U.S. launches Operation Desert Strike against Iraq.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Serious fighting breaks out between Russian soldiers and rebel fighters in Chechnya.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;The Centennial Olympic Park bombing at the 1996 Summer Olympics kills 1 and injures 111.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Bill Clinton wins his second term in the U.S. presidential election.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;The O. J. Simpson civil trial begins in Santa Monica, California.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Dolly the sheep, the first successfully cloned mammal, is born.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Chess computer "Deep Blue" defeats world chess champion Garry Kasparov.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;2Pac is killed.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;A gorilla saves a three-year-old boy who fell into its 20-foot-deep gorilla enclosure. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Sri Lanka wins the Cricket World Cup against the tournament favorite Australia.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;* Thank you &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1996"&gt;wikipedia&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;“November 7, 1996 Dear Yraid, Usually, Craig calls me cause I ask him to.  Today, he called m &amp;amp; I didn’t even mention anything about the phone at school today!  I got really bummed today at lunch cause Craig sat w/ his friends &amp;amp; Jessica &amp;amp; Kara (2 people who have gone out with him) said that meant he didn’t like me.  Imagine that!  I believed them!  Then Lisa &amp;amp; Jessie started telling me how I act differently around Craig.  They told me I act like I’m really cool &amp;amp; sophisticated.  Yeah right!  When I’m around Craig, I usually acted weirder than I do around my normal friends.  I HATE LISA!  SHE’S A BITCH!  BITCH!  I had Mat for Content Lit today (Content Lit is after lunch).  Mrs. Chandler passed our tests, graded.  I got 2 C’s!  That is really bad for me!  I knew that if I show Mom she’ll ground me &amp;amp; apparently so did Craig.  He told me, “Don’t show them to your Mom cause then you won’t be able to go to the movies &amp;amp; that won’t be good.”  I want to show Mom, but I want to go to the movies!  What’s more important to me: my life &amp;amp; future or Craig?  Craig!  Is that the right answer?  I don’t’ know!  I wish there was a handbook on how to live life!  I think I’ll pretend I got the test next Monday so then I can go to the movies &amp;amp; Mom can still ground me – just 4 days later.  I also got a C in Social Studies.  I’m definitely not showing that to Mom because it doesn’t matter because for 1st quarter I have a 98.5 in Social Studies.  Here are my 1st quarters: LA:A  SCI:A 98.8%  MATH:probably B  SS:A 98.5%.  Craig gave me his school picture today, I gave him mine.  I put his in a little heart picture frame by my bed.  When I was on the phone w/ Craig, I’m pretty sure he was looking at my picture!  Why?  Because he said, “You know, you’re wearing all black in your school picture?”  About 2 minutes later he said, “You know if you hold a picture a certain way it reflects light?”  I’m very sure he likes me, I just hope I could raise my Math grade!  -Krista  I LOVE CRAIG!  DUH!”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-7402971970856490258?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/7402971970856490258/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=7402971970856490258&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/7402971970856490258'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/7402971970856490258'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/11/handbook-on-how-to-live-life.html' title='Handbook on How to Live Life'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SvIwYChopvI/AAAAAAAABEU/qXvbZQDLfVg/s72-c/1996-11-07+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-8348707373327113554</id><published>2009-10-09T21:24:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2010-02-11T12:48:55.987-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Lianna'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Doug M'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Doug'/><title type='text'>Every-Other-Day Lunch Table</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Ss_iWOhnYjI/AAAAAAAABD0/Lpsu9DqaxHA/s1600-h/1996-11-06.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 284px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Ss_iWOhnYjI/AAAAAAAABD0/Lpsu9DqaxHA/s400/1996-11-06.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390776150469861938" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;"November 6, 1996 Dear Yraid, Craig was back in school today.  At lunch I sat at our every-other-day-table.  At our every-other-day-table, I sit with Craig, Jaime, Doug, &amp;amp; Doug M.  Here’s how we sit: sometimes Lianna sits with us.  She sits in between me &amp;amp; Jaime.  Doug M was scaring Craig so Craig kept moving closer &amp;amp; closer to me.  At the end of lunch, we were sitting really close together.  Doug broke my lunchbox today.  Craig called me today.  We talked for about 25min.  I could talk forever with him!  But Mom doesn’t let me stay on very long.  –Krista”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-8348707373327113554?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/8348707373327113554/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=8348707373327113554&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/8348707373327113554'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/8348707373327113554'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/10/every-other-day-lunch-table.html' title='Every-Other-Day Lunch Table'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Ss_iWOhnYjI/AAAAAAAABD0/Lpsu9DqaxHA/s72-c/1996-11-06.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-1136366801015053133</id><published>2009-10-08T21:22:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2010-02-11T12:51:19.982-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><title type='text'>I think my boyfriend likes me</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Craig was out "sick" for our first two school days as a couple.  Suspicious.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Ss6QUrQdlEI/AAAAAAAABDs/yL-CBpQyzYs/s1600-h/1996-11-05.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 264px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Ss6QUrQdlEI/AAAAAAAABDs/yL-CBpQyzYs/s400/1996-11-05.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390404488892617794" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;DUH KRISTA!  Don't be too surprised that your boyfriend &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;may&lt;/span&gt; like you.  You don't have any reason to doubt that... that is, unless you had to BEG him for weeks to go out with you... and he skips the first two days of school in your relationship.  Hm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;“November 5, 1996 Dear Yraid, Craig still wasn’t in school today.  I called him after school!  He said he’ll be back in tomorrow.  He’s giving me his picture &amp;amp; I guess I’ll give him mine (mine stinks, that’s why I said I guess).  I think he likes me (WELL DUH KRISTA!).  Okay, that was weird.  I’ll see you!  Krista  P.S. We talked on the phone for like 45min!  P.P.S. Today is exactly 1 month until my B-Day.  I heart Craig!  XXXOOO”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-1136366801015053133?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/1136366801015053133/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=1136366801015053133&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/1136366801015053133'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/1136366801015053133'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/10/i-think-my-boyfriend-likes-me.html' title='I think my boyfriend likes me'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Ss6QUrQdlEI/AAAAAAAABDs/yL-CBpQyzYs/s72-c/1996-11-05.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-3775678597608803447</id><published>2009-10-05T21:28:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2010-02-11T12:54:28.303-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ryan'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Lianna'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Doug'/><title type='text'>I LOVE having a boyfriend!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SsqdXK2jeqI/AAAAAAAABDk/9zSdnM13Ano/s1600-h/1996-11-01+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 263px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SsqdXK2jeqI/AAAAAAAABDk/9zSdnM13Ano/s400/1996-11-01+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389292925477943970" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SsqdWouRz3I/AAAAAAAABDc/jTnOzAJ9J_s/s1600-h/1996-11-01+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 263px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SsqdWouRz3I/AAAAAAAABDc/jTnOzAJ9J_s/s400/1996-11-01+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389292916316426098" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Craig had such a way with words.  "If you were dead, that would not be good" is pretty much the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.  Every girl lives to hear a guy say that to her one day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't think I ever mentioned Ryan before this entry.  That's because I didn't like him back, so he was of little concern to me.  Instead I pursued a handful of other guys who &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;didn't&lt;/span&gt; like me.  So backwards.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;“November 1, 1996 Dear Yraid, I LOVE having a boyfriend!  It makes me feel special, appreciated and loved.  Craig called me.  I got his address &amp;amp; phone #.  He has both of mine too.  For awhile it was me, Craig &amp;amp; Doug talking 3-way.  Cool!  Me &amp;amp; 2 guys!  Awesome.  Me, Craig, Jaime, &amp;amp; Doug might go see Romeo &amp;amp; Juliet at Tinseltown tomorrow!  Cool!  Ahhhh!  When I was on the phone with Craig, we were talking about me dying or something.  Craig said, “If you were dead, that would not be good, not good at all.”  He repeated that about 3 times.  He really does like me!  He knows just the way a girl wants to be treated and exactly what they want to hear.  Today me, Craig, Jaime, Doug, &amp;amp; Lianna sat at a lunch table together.  Cool!  I’ve gotta go!  Krista  P.S. I know for sure that Ryan likes me because he admitted it twice!  I heart Craig!”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-3775678597608803447?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/3775678597608803447/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=3775678597608803447&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/3775678597608803447'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/3775678597608803447'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/10/i-love-having-boyfriend.html' title='I LOVE having a boyfriend!'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SsqdXK2jeqI/AAAAAAAABDk/9zSdnM13Ano/s72-c/1996-11-01+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-7345077546560956654</id><published>2009-10-02T21:51:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2010-02-11T12:57:33.435-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Will'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><title type='text'>First Boyfriend EVER!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Ssaudr8YrSI/AAAAAAAABDU/A7foJ7zLI-s/s1600-h/1996-10-31+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Ssaudr8YrSI/AAAAAAAABDU/A7foJ7zLI-s/s320/1996-10-31+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388185829230816546" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SsauUzBJwyI/AAAAAAAABDE/Xz86YDSOhjY/s1600-h/1996-10-31+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 292px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SsauUzBJwyI/AAAAAAAABDE/Xz86YDSOhjY/s400/1996-10-31+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388185676511036194" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Sorry to ruin the surprise in the title (especially when I had gone through all that effort in the entry to build in suspense with the long string of periods), but this was obviously one of the most monumental days of my youth and I couldn't help announcing it prematurely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I was trick-or-treating with my friends that night, all I could think about was that &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;I &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;had a &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;boyfriend&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;.  I was so giddy.  I don't even think it was a feeling like, "I like this guy SO much, I'm so happy he's my boyfriend now!"... it was more like, "Holy crap!  I can say I have a boyfriend now!"  A boy, any boy, finally gave in!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;“October 31, 1996 Dear Yraid, BOO!  Happy Halloween!  Today in Science, we were talking about Moe’s hair.  Here’s how the conversation went: CRAIG: Your hair is ugly, Pippi Longstocking.  MOE: Then why’s Krista allowed to wear her hair like that?  ME: Because I look good in it.  CRAIG: Ya.  Whoa!  Craig likes my hair.  But today at 11:55 something unbelievable happened… Craig said YES!  We’re going out!  Boyfriend-girlfriend!  Get the picture??? My first boyfriend!  He couldn’t sit with me at lunch today because he had to make plans with Will about Trick-or-Treating tonite.  He waited for me after school today.  We walked out together.  I gave him my phone # &amp;amp; he called me!  We talked for about 20 minutes &amp;amp; then I had to go.  Well, I’ll be seeing you!  Krista  I heart Craig!”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-7345077546560956654?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/7345077546560956654/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=7345077546560956654&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/7345077546560956654'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/7345077546560956654'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/10/first-boyfriend-ever.html' title='First Boyfriend EVER!'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Ssaudr8YrSI/AAAAAAAABDU/A7foJ7zLI-s/s72-c/1996-10-31+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-2511442409181322806</id><published>2009-09-29T20:50:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2010-02-11T13:00:28.480-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><title type='text'>Maybe-Probably</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SsKrm3CJybI/AAAAAAAABC8/C-xNKKp3Ykw/s1600-h/1996-10-29+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 257px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SsKrm3CJybI/AAAAAAAABC8/C-xNKKp3Ykw/s400/1996-10-29+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387056788384893362" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SsKrivgJDxI/AAAAAAAABC0/b012QZyncwo/s1600-h/1996-10-29+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 257px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SsKrivgJDxI/AAAAAAAABC0/b012QZyncwo/s320/1996-10-29+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387056717643714322" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;All the incessant pestering and begging from myself and my friends was finally paying off!  Good thing the "screaming NO" did not deter me.  Sounds like Craig would make an &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;excellent &lt;/span&gt;boyfriend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;“October 29, 1996 Dear Yraid, Oh my GOD!  Okay, whenever anyone asked Craig if he’d go out with me, he would always scream no in their face.  Today in Science Content Lit, Moe asked him if he would go out with me.  He said maybe.  Wow!  He said maybe!  But then I thought, maybe he’s just trying to be nice &amp;amp; didn’t want to hurt my feelings.  I remembered that when Moe kept saying “you guys would make a perfect couple” in Science, he didn’t get mad or anything.  But I still thought he was just trying to be nice.  Well, then at the end of the day at our lockers I said to Craig, “Think about it, okay?”  He said, “Okay.”  I finished packing my bookbag.  Craig then walked over to where I was and said to me, “Okay, I upgraded the maybe to a maybe-probably.”  Whoa!  That is unbelievable.  Gee, I hope tomorrow he says yes!  Ooh!  I can’t wait!  Krista”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-2511442409181322806?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/2511442409181322806/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=2511442409181322806&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/2511442409181322806'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/2511442409181322806'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/09/maybe-probably.html' title='Maybe-Probably'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SsKrm3CJybI/AAAAAAAABC8/C-xNKKp3Ykw/s72-c/1996-10-29+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-671025809584961369</id><published>2009-09-23T22:30:00.014-04:00</published><updated>2010-02-11T13:02:35.508-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Meghan'/><title type='text'>Saturday Detention</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Okay, so I promised I’d tell the dramatic (and really embarrassing) story of my Saturday detention.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here we go!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In 7th grade English class, the teacher had one of those fancy electronic dictionary things where you could type in a word and it'd show the definition.  As an added bonus, it would even say the word &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;out loud&lt;/span&gt; so that you could hear the pronunciation-- which, in it’s stupid robotic voice, was probably only correct like 80% of the time.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyhow, one day, I was using the electronic dictionary and Mrs. Decker left the room.  Not long after she left, I found a function on the dictionary that could pronounce whole sentences-- any string of words you typed in.  And what does (almost) any 13-year-old do when given this power?  Right.  She starts typing inappropriate words and phrases.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I was having the dictionary say things and kids from the class started gathering around me to hear.  People were cracking up and I felt like the funniest comedian on Earth.  I don’t remember the majority of what I typed… but one phrase sticks in my mind to this day because of how ridiculous it was.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/02/i-suck-at-sports.html"&gt;Sometime in elementary school&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;, I learned the phrase "you suck" and then later in middle school, I found out that the phrase had some sort of sexual connotation, but I wasn't sure what.  I typed into the dictionary “Maria sucks”… and then took it one step further and finished the sentence obscenely as “Maria sucks Pat.”  Totally inappropriate.  But I barely knew what I was saying at the time.  Regardless, it got quite a reaction from my classmates when I hit *play*.  I thought I was the shit.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I continued my talking-dictionary stand-up routine until all of a sudden, Mrs. Decker came back in the classroom.  She saw all the students standing around my desk and knew something was up.  She snatched the device from me, took it to the front of the room, and hit the button which played the last thing previously typed.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As Mrs. Decker held the dictionary in her hands… it said in it‘s dumb electronic voice…&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;DECKER    IS    GAY.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ohhhhhh crap.  Oh crap oh crap oh crap.  Nonononono.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She walked me down to the principal’s office so fast I could barely process what was happening.  Once we got there, the principal phoned my mom immediately (oh crap times 5 billion) and called some of the other students from our English class down to her office to hear their side of the story because I think at this point I was still denying it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;One of the classmates interrogated was my best friend Meghan.  She stood against the wall in the office, scared shitless, as the principal grilled her.  Meghan, bless her heart, didn’t want to incriminate me and tried to dodge the questions, but I could tell she felt so conflicted… she didn‘t want to get me in trouble, but she didn’t want to lie.  She thought I would get mad at her for telling the truth.  Meghan started tearing up.  How could I see my best friend struggle like that?  I let her off the hook and said, “Meghan, you can tell the truth.”  She said, “Krista did it” and started crying.  I’m not even sure &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;I&lt;/span&gt; was crying.  Poor Meghan.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And that was how I got a Saturday detention.  And was required to write apology letters to everyone I offended.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don’t remember how long my mom grounded me for but she definitely did not let me off easy.  Instead of letting me do homework or crossword puzzles or read a book in Saturday detention, she made me memorize maps of Europe and Asia.  Maybe even South America and Africa… I forget.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I typically wasn’t a bully or a bad kid… so I really felt like a failure for screwing up so royally and disappointing my family, teachers, and friends.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In detention, I took a break from memorizing maps and wrote this poem “to” my mom…&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SrrZy4cpfuI/AAAAAAAABCs/T5LdskQRfCQ/s1600-h/1996+-+I%27m+Not,+I+Can%27t.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 322px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SrrZy4cpfuI/AAAAAAAABCs/T5LdskQRfCQ/s400/1996+-+I%27m+Not,+I+Can%27t.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384855772644081378" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;I’m not, I can’t&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;I’m not everything you wish I was&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;I’m not the perfect person&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;You might think memorizing is what it takes&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;But I have learned my lesson&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;I can’t do everything you wish I could,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;I get up just again to fall&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;You really do have faith in me&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;But I’m not smart at all&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;I can’t be who you wish I was,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;I’m really sorry, don’t you see?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;I wish I was who you want&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;But you are stuck with me&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-671025809584961369?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/671025809584961369/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=671025809584961369&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/671025809584961369'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/671025809584961369'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/09/saturday-detention.html' title='Saturday Detention'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SrrZy4cpfuI/AAAAAAAABCs/T5LdskQRfCQ/s72-c/1996+-+I%27m+Not,+I+Can%27t.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-7746175552167268204</id><published>2009-09-22T22:06:00.008-04:00</published><updated>2010-02-11T13:09:11.474-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Lianna'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Doug'/><title type='text'>SuperGirl is NOT Square</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Sorry guys... I promise, &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;next time&lt;/span&gt; I'll write about the Saturday detention.  I wrote some of it down tonight, but I want to make sure I didn't forget any details!  Next time, PROMISE.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Luckily for you though, this is a darn good diary entry...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SrmC3FFMadI/AAAAAAAABCg/w9M00Yl3cV8/s1600-h/1996-10-28+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 260px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SrmC3FFMadI/AAAAAAAABCg/w9M00Yl3cV8/s400/1996-10-28+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384478712266516946" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SrmC2Q2cBzI/AAAAAAAABCU/gnPQ1r2u__c/s1600-h/1996-10-28+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 272px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SrmC2Q2cBzI/AAAAAAAABCU/gnPQ1r2u__c/s400/1996-10-28+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384478698245982002" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SrmC10iod2I/AAAAAAAABCI/9E089VGvYt8/s1600-h/1996-10-28+pt3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 261px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SrmC10iod2I/AAAAAAAABCI/9E089VGvYt8/s400/1996-10-28+pt3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384478690646718306" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SrmC1QmjzxI/AAAAAAAABCA/idEtCtKV0PQ/s1600-h/1996-10-28+pt4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 272px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SrmC1QmjzxI/AAAAAAAABCA/idEtCtKV0PQ/s400/1996-10-28+pt4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384478680999513874" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;You're already familiar with how I gave myself the nickname &lt;a href="http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/04/pittsburgh-pirates-game.html"&gt;SuperGirl&lt;/a&gt; in 6th grade.  Of course, Doug turned that into StupidGirl and called me that instead.  Jerk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, Doug somehow managed to date all my friends and not me... even though I was the one who liked him for &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;yearsssss&lt;/span&gt;.  First, he dated my good friend Rachel in 6th grade... and then he dated my good friend Jaime in 7th grade.  Whatev.  I wouldn't want a date a guy who called me StupidGirl anyhow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“I’M NOT SQUARE!  I’D DO ANYTHING TO GO OUT WITH CRAIG!”  Hahaha.  What?!?!  That's all I can say.  What?!?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like I said... Saturday detention &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;next time&lt;/span&gt;... promise!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;“10-28-96 Dear Yraid, Today I wrote a note to Doug asking him if he’d go out with Jaime &amp;amp; if he’ll get Craig to go out with me.  Here’s what he wrote back in his exact words.  Dear Stupid Girl, I guess I’ll go out with Jaime.  I kinda like her.  I will try to get Craig to go out with you.  Maybe we could double-date but last time, it didn’t work out that great.  Does Jaime like me?  Oh well.  See ya later, stupid girl!  -Doug AKA “CC” AKA Count Demorte.  That’s exactly what he wrote.  I didn’t’ want to put the note in here because I didn’t.  He wants Craig to go out with me!  He wants to double-date with me!  Is it just me or does it sound like we’re friends?  So now Jaime &amp;amp; Doug are going out!  Doug wanted Jaime to call him but Jaime told me she didn’t know what to say, so I called him 3-way!  Doug &amp;amp; I talked most of the time.  We talked about our past together.  Jaime didn’t even really talk at all.  Jaime told me she asked Craig 6th period if he’d go out with me.  She said he said he’s still deciding.  Doug said he asked Craig 7th period &amp;amp; Craig said that he thinks I’m square.  I’M NOT SQUARE.  I’D DO ANYTHING TO GO OUT WITH CRAIG!  I told Doug to tell Craig to go out with me.  Doug said he would &amp;amp; he’d beat him up if he had to!  Wow!  Doug really wants us to go out!  The 2nd time I danced with Craig, he said “hold on” &amp;amp; she started tangoing with me across the gym.  What is that supposed to mean???  It was really weird!  Oh &amp;amp; then, on the hayride, Craig accidentally squeezed my knee.  I said, “Craig, I find that very flattering, but not right now.”  Then as we walked back into school, he kept bending down &amp;amp; squeezing my knees!  My gosh!  Craig said, “Oh poo-poo” again today.  You know, just to see me laugh.  Gotta go!  Krista I am certainly not square””&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-7746175552167268204?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/7746175552167268204/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=7746175552167268204&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/7746175552167268204'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/7746175552167268204'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/09/sorry-guys.html' title='SuperGirl is NOT Square'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SrmC3FFMadI/AAAAAAAABCg/w9M00Yl3cV8/s72-c/1996-10-28+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-5830677264421422820</id><published>2009-09-19T00:00:00.007-04:00</published><updated>2010-02-11T13:20:14.231-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Monica'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Doug'/><title type='text'>Axe Murder Hollow</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SrRXkJxq2aI/AAAAAAAABB4/o6A_cCWIulw/s1600-h/1996-10-25+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 265px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SrRXkJxq2aI/AAAAAAAABB4/o6A_cCWIulw/s400/1996-10-25+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383023733225740706" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SrRXjm3wDDI/AAAAAAAABBw/FiJyTFiMN9g/s1600-h/1996-10-25+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 265px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SrRXjm3wDDI/AAAAAAAABBw/FiJyTFiMN9g/s400/1996-10-25+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383023723856006194" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SrRXjc0x7dI/AAAAAAAABBo/u5Lcm_9mS8s/s1600-h/1996-10-25+pt3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 265px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SrRXjc0x7dI/AAAAAAAABBo/u5Lcm_9mS8s/s400/1996-10-25+pt3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383023721159192018" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Can you believe that?  I danced with Craig not once but &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;twice &lt;/span&gt;at the Halloween Dance.  That was significant progress in my pursuit.  Sure, he still turned me down when I BEGGED him to go out with me, but hey, at that point in my life, two slow dances in one night was the most “action” I had ever gotten from a guy.  So, I was happy with that.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Enough about Craig, I know the only thing you really want to know about is the Saturday detention.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OH, but wait.  Before I get into that, I need to mention one more thing about the Halloween Dance.  You know that hayride I so casually mentioned?  Well, it caused quite a stir at the time.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The middle school I attended was near a wooded area locally known as Axe Murder Hollow.  The school-organized hayride took us down the dirt road through the Hollow.  As if that itself wasn’t scary enough to a bunch of sheltered pre-teens, while we drove down that road in darkness, a teacher read the legend to us aloud… which has something to do with gypsies and someone murdering their family with an axe.  Definitely a PG-13 story, at least.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, but wait-- that’s not all.  It gets better.  Just when we were sufficiently creeped out by the story, a classmate noticed women walking out of the woods dressed as gypsies.  And then a man came running down the road with an axe.  And another man jumped on the back of the hayride wielding a running CHAINSAW.  Some kids were laughing but other kids were freaking out.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who were these people who came out of the woods?  Ohhhh just some teachers from my school.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What the hell were they thinking???  Needless to say, there were enough parent complaints that the haunted hayride did not make a return appearance at the next year’s Halloween Dance.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Oh shoot.  Looks like this entry is already long enough.  I guess the Saturday detention story will have to wait until next time!  ;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;“10-25-96 Dear Yraid, Today in school, here’s what happened: Monica let me use this top-coat nail polish that smells like vanilla.  I told Craig to smell my nails, he did.  But then he took my hand back &amp;amp; smelled my nails with a deep wiff.  Strange!  I got a Saturday detention.  I don’t feel like talking about it.  Today at the dance, here’s what happened: 1) Hung out with friends; 2) Got in line for the hayride.  Craig was giving out Kit-Kat bars.  He only had 2 &amp;amp; he gave them to Doug &amp;amp; ME!; 3) On the hayride, Doug took off my shoe &amp;amp; put hay in it!  Doug put hay in my hair.  Doug &amp;amp; I talked.  Craig &amp;amp; I talked.  Craig rubbed my leg (not on purpose though).  I asked Craig if he’d dance with me.  He took a second to think &amp;amp; then he said, “Fine, as long as your stupid friends stop bugging me!”  (Jaime &amp;amp; other people had asked him before); 4) So, I danced with Craig to “I Swear”.  It was so fun.  Ahhhh!; 5) Hung with friends; 6) Asked Craig if he’d dance with me again.  He thought about it and finally said YES!; 7) Danced with Craig (I forget what song).  Ahhhh!; 8) As we danced, I asked him out.  He thought &amp;amp; thought for the rest of the song &amp;amp; hung his head.  He said, “I don’t really want to go out with anyone right now.”  I begged him &amp;amp; begged him but finally I just exceeded what he said.  9) Talked with Doug some more.  He said he’d talk to Craig about going out with me.  Well, that was the dance!  Fun beginning, tragic ending.  Boo-hoo-hoo!  Well, I’ve gotta go!  Krista  Craig hates me (I think).  P.S. I touched Craig’s hair again.  P.P.S. He temporarily dyed it green.  P.P.P.S. The 2nd time we danced, we were really close!  Ahhhh!  I heart Craig!”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-5830677264421422820?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/5830677264421422820/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=5830677264421422820&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/5830677264421422820'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/5830677264421422820'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/09/axe-murder-hollow.html' title='Axe Murder Hollow'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SrRXkJxq2aI/AAAAAAAABB4/o6A_cCWIulw/s72-c/1996-10-25+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-8956797067986965780</id><published>2009-09-17T21:36:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-17T22:29:32.230-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='radio show'/><title type='text'>Radio Show Clip #24</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Okay okay sorry... I know it's been like 5 days since the last time I posted.  I don't want you guys to think I'm back in the hospital again or anything crazy!  I'm fine, just busy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also know that I previously only posted radio show clips on Mondays... but the next diary entry is going to be &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;major&lt;/span&gt; and I want to give it more time than I have now.  Hint: it's about me getting in BIG trouble at school.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So without any further ado, here's the long-awaited (haha riiiiight) final part of the trip to the museum.  Remember, when we left off, I had just rescued my co-host Eddie and the museum curator Christina from a hole in the ground.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;embed style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" src="http://annsilverthorn.com/Krista%27s%20mp3s/29%20-%20museum%20part%204.mp3" autostart="false" loop="false" controls="console" width="144" height="62"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I physically pulled Eddie and Christina out of a deep hole using a rope and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Eddie&lt;/span&gt; was the one who was tired and had to go home?  What a wuss.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Clearly the best part of this clip was the mid-90's music montage at the end!  Gotta love that.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-8956797067986965780?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/8956797067986965780/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=8956797067986965780&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/8956797067986965780'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/8956797067986965780'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/09/radio-show-clip-24.html' title='Radio Show Clip #24'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-2771352571945497067</id><published>2009-09-12T13:20:00.008-04:00</published><updated>2010-02-12T12:37:13.757-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><title type='text'>Anorexic?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SqvZC762klI/AAAAAAAABBg/86LLfmynSXg/s1600-h/1996-10-23+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 259px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SqvZC762klI/AAAAAAAABBg/86LLfmynSXg/s400/1996-10-23+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380632824291693138" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SqvZCVnFkSI/AAAAAAAABBY/7yRw1LtuqEs/s1600-h/1996-10-23+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 286px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SqvZCVnFkSI/AAAAAAAABBY/7yRw1LtuqEs/s400/1996-10-23+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380632814008242466" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SqvY7Z2DuSI/AAAAAAAABBQ/iql2P_IgDVc/s1600-h/1996-10-23+pt3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 286px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SqvY7Z2DuSI/AAAAAAAABBQ/iql2P_IgDVc/s320/1996-10-23+pt3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380632694885693730" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;1.  Awesome &lt;a href="http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/04/trapper-keepers.html"&gt;Trapper Keeper&lt;/a&gt; reference #2!  They were such a big part of our youth.  Are kids still using them today?  Are there any teachers out there that can answer that?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Ugh.  Me?  Anorexic?  Unfortunately I have always struggled with being naturally super skinny.  And yes, I say 'unfortunately' and 'struggled' because it's embarrassing... especially in middle school when all the girls were getting curves and stuff and I still had (oh and still do have) the stick-thin unsexy body of a 10-year-old boy.  Not particularly attractive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This diary entry makes me kind of sad because it was probably one of the first times someone had accused me of being anorexic and at this point I was able to just shrug it off and call Craig "weird" for saying that.  But once people bring something like that up again and again, you start to think there's something wrong with you and it's not as easy to ignore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;People thought it was funny to call me anorexic, but after awhile, saying "OMG you're SO skinny" to me felt no different than if you were to tell an overweight person, "OMG you're SOOOOO FAT!".  You would never comment on a chubby person's weight like that, so what made it okay for people to openly criticize my body?  It's just as hard (if not harder) for me to gain weight as it is for someone to lose weight.  In middle school, I used to eat two PB&amp;amp;J sandwiches for lunch&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt; along with whatever other snacks I ate... which is a lot of food for a little girl, but it didn't make a difference.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess there's no real conclusion for this rant, so I'll stop now.  Sorry for being such a Debbie Downer!  :P&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Ewww more making faces as flirting!  Gross!  Can.  Not.  Relate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. OMG I touched his hair!  Can you believe it?  Scandal!  Isn't that like, what, first base with a guy?  ha...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;“October 23, 1996. Dear Yraid, Hello!  I have some things to tell you that I forgot about.  1) Awhile ago we rented a movie from Blockbuster.  They were giving out free stuff &amp;amp; I got a plastic pencil case to put in a Trapper (with zipper &amp;amp; 3 holes).  Well somehow it got in my Math book &amp;amp; when I noticed it was there, I asked Craig if he wanted it.  He said yes &amp;amp; took it.  Now he has it in his Trapper holding all of his pencils!  He actually uses it.  Just think, every time he goes to get a pencil or just opens his Trapper, he sees the pencil case and probably thinks of me!  2) Just about every day in Math, Craig holds a pencil in front of his face, looks at it while it’s pointed at me, &amp;amp; says, “Whoa!  Where did you go?”  Most girls would take this as a complement (I kinda do) but Craig thinks I’m anorexic- at least that’s what he said.  He’s so weird.  3) That weird face he does is so funny.  Well, like the “Poo-poo” issue, he does that face about every day in front of me, I think , just to see me laugh.  What he does is sticks his fingers in his mouth, pulls down the skin around the bottom of his eyes, looks up, &amp;amp; sticks out his tongue about every second.  It’s so funny!  I wish you could see it.  4) I touched Craig’s hair today.  It feels funny!  Ahhh!  See ya!  -Krista”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-2771352571945497067?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/2771352571945497067/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=2771352571945497067&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/2771352571945497067'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/2771352571945497067'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/09/1.html' title='Anorexic?'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SqvZC762klI/AAAAAAAABBg/86LLfmynSXg/s72-c/1996-10-23+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-5573346550839678098</id><published>2009-09-10T19:46:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2010-02-12T12:40:16.474-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Rider Strong'/><title type='text'>By Special Request...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;So, the other day I received an email request from my friend Shea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She recently came across an old literary journal from college that I had contributed to and noticed the biographical statement that I had written for myself:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;"Krista is a senior computer science major from Erie, PA.  The first poem she wrote was an ode to Shawn Hunter from Boy Meets World in fifth grade.  Also, her favorite food is cheese."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Shea requested that I post that very first poem here, on my blog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lucky for Shea (and for the rest of you), I still have the original copy of that poem.  Enjoy...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SqmQ1SAr9WI/AAAAAAAABA8/-OJcD2wQRtA/s1600-h/1994-+Ode+to+Rider+Strong.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 292px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SqmQ1SAr9WI/AAAAAAAABA8/-OJcD2wQRtA/s400/1994-+Ode+to+Rider+Strong.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379990474912953698" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;My biggest problem with this poem is... aside from being a word that rhymes with "Rider", what the hell is a "guider"?  And how is it different from a "guide"?  And how did Rider Strong personally guide... err... &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;guider&lt;/span&gt; me?  Did he send me secret messages in my sleep?  Did I watch episodes of Boy Meets World looking for signs... maybe in the way he ran his hand through his hair?  At night, did I kneel next to my bed and pray to Rider Strong?  I don't get it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do also love that it was qualified with "all-time".  As if there was a Hall of Fame for "guiders".  Awesome.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As a final note: I'm pretty sure I snail mailed this poem to Rider Strong as fan mail back in the day.  I wonder what he thought of this masterpiece.  He never did write back.  :(&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;Rider Strong&lt;br /&gt;by: Krista&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love you Rider,&lt;br /&gt;My all time guider.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m the one you never knew,&lt;br /&gt;Rider I’ll always love you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You’re the only one I love,&lt;br /&gt;You’re the one I’m writing of.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You are so cute&lt;br /&gt;There’s nothing more,&lt;br /&gt;I’m loving you in ’94&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-5573346550839678098?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/5573346550839678098/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=5573346550839678098&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/5573346550839678098'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/5573346550839678098'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/09/by-special-request.html' title='By Special Request...'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SqmQ1SAr9WI/AAAAAAAABA8/-OJcD2wQRtA/s72-c/1994-+Ode+to+Rider+Strong.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-410112327620970924</id><published>2009-09-09T13:48:00.009-04:00</published><updated>2010-02-12T12:46:03.598-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Lianna'/><title type='text'>One of the Best Tuesdays in History</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Yes, I know.  I haven't written in a week.  But this time I have the &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;mother&lt;/span&gt; of all excuses: I was in the hospital.  Don't worry, I'm fine... still recovering, but fine.  To make a long story short, I had a large (read: grapefruit-sized) ovarian cyst that ruptured.  I had to have emergency surgery Friday night to remove all the blood from my abdomen and to stop any further internal bleeding.  I was in the hospital for three nights and am now resting at home.  Phew.  What an exciting Labor Day weekend, right?  :P&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Onto the entry!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SqfqzO2QqKI/AAAAAAAABAk/5Dz8BWeOQfY/s1600-h/1996-10-22+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SqfqzO2QqKI/AAAAAAAABAk/5Dz8BWeOQfY/s400/1996-10-22+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379526445797255330" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Sqfqy4ix0WI/AAAAAAAABAc/KqxKETb69FE/s1600-h/1996-10-22+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 259px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Sqfqy4ix0WI/AAAAAAAABAc/KqxKETb69FE/s400/1996-10-22+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379526439809962338" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SqfrGx84xWI/AAAAAAAABA0/rmbBv0gtib4/s1600-h/1996-10-22+pt3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SqfrGx84xWI/AAAAAAAABA0/rmbBv0gtib4/s320/1996-10-22+pt3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379526781637805410" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;One of the best Mondays in history followed by one of the best Tuesdays in history?!  What are the chances?!  How simple life was in seventh grade.  Just perceiving that a boy was acting like he liked you was enough to give your day the incredible status of one of the BEST DAYS in HISTORY.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What's the deal with me wanting to touch Craig's hair?  Was this a normal desire for pre-teen girls?  And get this- Craig didn't even have hair that "&lt;a href="http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/02/i-might-end-up-marrying-rider-strong.html"&gt;goes like this&lt;/a&gt;"... he had a buzz cut!  Odd.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;“October 22, 1996.  Dear Yraid, Today is one of the best Tuesday’s in history.  Today, Craig really acted like he likes me.  In math we talked like usual.  Nothing strange there.  But in Math Content Lit is where it all changes… There was a really stern sub.  She was really easy to annoy.  The 1st thing she said when we all got in the classroom was, “You make it hard on me, I’ll make it even harder on you.”  She was a real bitch.  Anyhow, because Mrs. Chandler (the real Math teacher) didn’t leave a lesson plan, she gave us a study hall.  Mark &amp;amp; Jaime (they sit next to each other, not by choice) were making fun of her, whispering &amp;amp; drawing pictures.  They wanted me to sit with them.  I told them that I probably wasn’t allowed.  The real reason I said that is because I wanted to stay with Craig.  But then Mark asked the mean teacher lady if I could sit with them.  Surprisingly, she said yes!  So because I was forced, I did.  Craig noticed I was over there and mouthed to me, “Sit here.”  I mouthed, “I’m sitting here.”  He mouthed, “Sit here.”  Then I again mouthed, ‘I’m sitting here.”  Then he mouthed, “You’re not allowed!”  I mouthed, “The teacher said I could.”  Then he went back to his work with a frown.  I really think he wanted me to sit with him!  The teacher lady let us have a 10 min free time at the end of class. Craig came over to Mark, Jaime, &amp;amp; my table.  We started talking.  It was really funny, oh and fun.  Lianna was there for part of the time.  These 2 days have convinced me that Craig will most likely dance with me on the 25th.  I really hope he does!  God, please let Craig dance with me!  Craig once in math said, “Oh, poo-poo!”  I started laughing!  Now he says it all the time, I think just to see me laugh.  Well that’s all!  -Krista  I heart Craig!  I want to touch Craig’s hair!” &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-410112327620970924?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/410112327620970924/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=410112327620970924&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/410112327620970924'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/410112327620970924'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/09/one-of-best-tuesdays-in-history.html' title='One of the Best Tuesdays in History'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SqfqzO2QqKI/AAAAAAAABAk/5Dz8BWeOQfY/s72-c/1996-10-22+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-5095556837257787091</id><published>2009-09-02T20:02:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2010-02-12T13:03:57.578-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><title type='text'>One of the Best Mondays in History</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Sp8HmfcvjNI/AAAAAAAABAM/vIsLDAbd5bw/s1600-h/1996-10-21.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 325px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Sp8HmfcvjNI/AAAAAAAABAM/vIsLDAbd5bw/s400/1996-10-21.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377024837962140882" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;It's been so long that it's hard to remember the time when making weird faces was considered flirting.  Similar to my thoughts on bra snapping in the last post, if an adult man today were to consistently make faces at a woman, the &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;last&lt;/span&gt; thing she'd think would be, "hehe oooooh I think he likes me!!"  More like, "What's the deal with THAT guy?!"  Even if she was attracted to him originally, pretty sure the face-making would be an immediate turn-off.  Not a turn-on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's an interesting thing that even though I am the same person, I can barely relate to or understand my younger self.  Hm.  Now that's deep.  :P&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;“October 21, 1996.  Dear Yraid, Today is one of the best Mondays in history.  Today, Craig really acted like he likes me.  Although he still makes fun of me.  I forget most of the things he said to me today, but when I remember, I’ll tell you.  In Science Content Lit, he was my partner.  I don’t know how it actually happened, we just started working together!  He does this really weird face that is so funny!  You have to see it!  Catch ya later!  -Krista”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-5095556837257787091?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/5095556837257787091/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=5095556837257787091&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/5095556837257787091'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/5095556837257787091'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/09/one-of-best-mondays-in-history.html' title='One of the Best Mondays in History'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Sp8HmfcvjNI/AAAAAAAABAM/vIsLDAbd5bw/s72-c/1996-10-21.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-7186604683489074049</id><published>2009-08-31T21:40:00.009-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-31T22:46:55.838-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Bra Snapping</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Technically it's Monday... and typically Monday means radio show clip day.  But two radio show clips in a row would be no fun and I have many reasons for being a horrible blogger.  You see... last week was not only crazy at work, but crazy at home too.  On Wednesday, my friends Michelle, AJ, and I succeeded at making a mess of my kitchen while failing to cook Duck a l'Orange.  On Thursday, my friend Jess from college was in town.  And on Friday, I left for a fun and relaxing weekend in Put-in-Bay with Michelle, AJ, and our significant others.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Work this week is sure to be even more hectic, but someone I know you're familiar with from this blog is staying with me this week: Lianna, my best friend since &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;kindergarten&lt;/span&gt;.  :)  Yay!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So enough boring shit and excuses.  Onto the entry...  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Spx730nIPzI/AAAAAAAABAE/_Ichexew9lY/s1600-h/1996-10-18+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 265px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Spx730nIPzI/AAAAAAAABAE/_Ichexew9lY/s400/1996-10-18+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376308254119313202" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Spx73VoYj7I/AAAAAAAAA_8/Wf0zoYjidbU/s1600-h/1996-10-18+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 268px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Spx73VoYj7I/AAAAAAAAA_8/Wf0zoYjidbU/s400/1996-10-18+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376308245803077554" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Spx73HOHnaI/AAAAAAAAA_0/vzZNIy_MMYA/s1600-h/1996-10-18+pt3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 275px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Spx73HOHnaI/AAAAAAAAA_0/vzZNIy_MMYA/s400/1996-10-18+pt3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376308241934818722" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Bra snapping.  What in the world?  How long was this a cool thing to do... a couple months?  Surely it didn't continue into high school.  And definitely not into adulthood.  Can you imagine sitting at your desk at the office today while a coworker tip-toes up behind you and snaps your bra before running away, giggling?  I wonder why they didn't address that scenario in the sexual harassment video HR made us watch last month.  And it's not like it'd only be weird in the workplace.  Say you were hanging out at the bar nowadays and instead of accidentally-on-purpose brushing up against you or buying you a drink... a random guy just walks up, sticks a finger under your bra strap, and snaps it.  Nice to meet you too...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I suppose back in the day, girl-on-girl bra snapping was just another way to get attention from boys.  A way to show them, "Hey look at us, we wear bras now."  Sounds like it worked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LOL check out &lt;a href="http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20071203184855AA0G8SZ"&gt;this Yahoo question&lt;/a&gt; I found:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;"Does getting your bra strap snap hurt more than getin kicked in the balls?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;My girl friend said it dose and what part is the part that gets snaped the parts on the shoulders or on the back?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Hahahahaha that is cracking me up.  Yup, that's about how naive we were at the time too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-7186604683489074049?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/7186604683489074049/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=7186604683489074049&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/7186604683489074049'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/7186604683489074049'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/08/bra-snapping.html' title='Bra Snapping'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Spx730nIPzI/AAAAAAAABAE/_Ichexew9lY/s72-c/1996-10-18+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-7581223960364527600</id><published>2009-08-24T22:34:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-24T22:49:12.446-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='radio show'/><title type='text'>Radio Show Clip #23</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Here's the third installment (out of four) of the trip to the museum...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;embed style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" src="http://annsilverthorn.com/Krista%27s%20mp3s/28%20-%20museum%20part%203.mp3" autostart="false" loop="false" controls="console" width="144" height="62"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Yes, my co-host Eddie and the curator fell through the floor boards of the museum.  And I had to rescue them.  With a rope.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Where the hell was this museum that it was built over a hole too deep to climb out of?  And furthermore, could I really physically rescue someone with just a rope... or is that just something I picked up from cartoons?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally, I love how the curator described my co-host as "majorly muscular".  In all the words in my current vocabulary, I would never think of that combination of words to describe a guy today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ohhh to have the imagination of a child again!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-7581223960364527600?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/7581223960364527600/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=7581223960364527600&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/7581223960364527600'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/7581223960364527600'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/08/radio-show-clip-23.html' title='Radio Show Clip #23'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-7354743666955918949</id><published>2009-08-17T20:38:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-17T20:56:57.829-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kevin'/><title type='text'>I *really* like Kevin!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;I know that Mondays are usually Radio Show Clip days, but my wonderful mother's website is down at the moment and since she hosts my clips, I can't give you a new clip today.  Sorry.  Just let the suspense build for the next installment of the museum trip!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the meantime, my crush on Kevin grows...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Son4IvLTYOI/AAAAAAAAA_s/e2BgMfx84Ic/s1600-h/1996-10-16.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 312px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Son4IvLTYOI/AAAAAAAAA_s/e2BgMfx84Ic/s400/1996-10-16.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371096859602542818" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Ugh, I was SO annoying.  Pretty much the worst thing that could have happened to any boy at my middle school in the late 90's was to end up being the unfortunate object of my affection. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-7354743666955918949?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/7354743666955918949/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=7354743666955918949&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/7354743666955918949'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/7354743666955918949'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/08/i-really-like-kevin.html' title='I *really* like Kevin!'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Son4IvLTYOI/AAAAAAAAA_s/e2BgMfx84Ic/s72-c/1996-10-16.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-6696861652587351068</id><published>2009-08-11T21:30:00.008-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-11T22:38:28.591-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kevin'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Teri'/><title type='text'>New Boy: Kevin!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SoIbVgvQkII/AAAAAAAAA_k/4Iwl6MrT8kc/s1600-h/1996-10-15+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 247px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SoIbVgvQkII/AAAAAAAAA_k/4Iwl6MrT8kc/s400/1996-10-15+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368883762158407810" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SoIbVRs0xqI/AAAAAAAAA_c/vd1pjkyTdUQ/s1600-h/1996-10-15+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 247px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SoIbVRs0xqI/AAAAAAAAA_c/vd1pjkyTdUQ/s400/1996-10-15+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368883758121666210" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;In most diary entries from 7th grade, there's usually at least one thing that makes me cringe.  And I don't mean content... I mean grammar, punctuation, spelling, etc.  This entry takes the cake.  Two cringes in one sentence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cringe #1: "Him and I were at our lockers" &lt;br /&gt;Cringe #2: "said to no one impirticular" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Nonononono!  &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;He&lt;/span&gt;, not him.  Eek.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;I guess it's kind of cute that I thought "in particular" was one word spelled "impirticular", but I feel like by 7th grade you should know that phrase.  Nowadays, I'm a grammar/punctuation/spelling snob, so maybe I'm being too hard on my 7th grade self.  Actually, I just did a Google search for "impirticular" and Google says: "Did you mean: &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;imparticular&lt;/span&gt;".  And get this... even though there are only 10 search results for "impirticular", there are &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;19,000&lt;/span&gt; results for "imparticular".  I can't believe there are that many idiots out there (most of which are probably adults too!). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh crap.  Guess what I just realized?  Pretty soon after I post this, this blog entry is going to be the 11th search result for "impirticular" and the 19,000-somethingth result for "imparticular".  Nooooooo!  I want to be part of the solution- not part of the problem!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S. Okay, now that you know I'm a grammar/punctuation/spelling snob, don't go and get all critical of my blog posts on me.  I know there have been multiple times that I've ended a sentence with a preposition or written a split infinitive or used incorrect subject-verb agreement or had too many passive sentences or overused ellipses.  Every time I do one of these things, please understand, I do cringe and consider changing it.  Sometimes I do change it, but other times I just think "F it".  I never intended for this blog to be an example of my best writing.  So don't judge.  Trust me, if you're bothered by something I've written incorrectly, it's probably bothering me just as much if not more.  So I apologize.  But, whatever... F it.  :P&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-6696861652587351068?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/6696861652587351068/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=6696861652587351068&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/6696861652587351068'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/6696861652587351068'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/08/new-boy-kevin.html' title='New Boy: Kevin!'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SoIbVgvQkII/AAAAAAAAA_k/4Iwl6MrT8kc/s72-c/1996-10-15+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-2494334556657705395</id><published>2009-08-10T20:46:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-10T20:52:58.655-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='radio show'/><title type='text'>Radio Show Clip #22</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Here's part two of the trip to the museum...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;embed style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" src="http://annsilverthorn.com/Krista%27s%20mp3s/27%20-%20museum%20part%202.mp3" autostart="false" loop="false" controls="console" width="144" height="62"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I don't mean to give anything away, but that may or may not have been *forshadowing* at the end of the clip.  Dun dun dun!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-2494334556657705395?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/2494334556657705395/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=2494334556657705395&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/2494334556657705395'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/2494334556657705395'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/08/radio-show-clip-22.html' title='Radio Show Clip #22'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-2669503202814822593</id><published>2009-08-07T21:50:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-08T21:49:40.602-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Teri'/><title type='text'>Teri Dumped Craig!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SnzZ71vzrJI/AAAAAAAAA_U/l7wdknOjp04/s1600-h/1996-10-14.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 301px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SnzZ71vzrJI/AAAAAAAAA_U/l7wdknOjp04/s400/1996-10-14.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367404477981895826" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Not much to comment about on this entry... just wanted to post it to let you know that Craig's 19-day romance with Teri was over and he was officially back on the market!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-2669503202814822593?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/2669503202814822593/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=2669503202814822593&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/2669503202814822593'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/2669503202814822593'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/08/teri-dumped-craig.html' title='Teri Dumped Craig!'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SnzZ71vzrJI/AAAAAAAAA_U/l7wdknOjp04/s72-c/1996-10-14.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-8447627663038025249</id><published>2009-08-06T20:54:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-06T21:31:38.024-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Justin'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Doug'/><title type='text'>Misled and Confused</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Snt7jirQPpI/AAAAAAAAA_M/P21ipLhBXho/s1600-h/1996-10-10+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 260px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Snt7jirQPpI/AAAAAAAAA_M/P21ipLhBXho/s400/1996-10-10+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367019231475941010" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Snt7jUjeB9I/AAAAAAAAA_E/vdj-3tqgeN8/s1600-h/1996-10-10+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 260px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Snt7jUjeB9I/AAAAAAAAA_E/vdj-3tqgeN8/s400/1996-10-10+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367019227685193682" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Oh no.  Had it really come to the point where I was... dare I say... desperate?  I was considering asking Justin out even though I didn't like him, but because I was pretty sure he'd say yes.  But hey, at least I was aware of and acknowledged the fact that there was something wrong with that logic!  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-8447627663038025249?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/8447627663038025249/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=8447627663038025249&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/8447627663038025249'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/8447627663038025249'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/08/misled-and-confused.html' title='Misled and Confused'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Snt7jirQPpI/AAAAAAAAA_M/P21ipLhBXho/s72-c/1996-10-10+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-9214219401122326628</id><published>2009-08-05T21:29:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-06T12:54:23.685-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Mike'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Bryce'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Lianna'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Allison'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jessie'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Doug'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Rachel'/><title type='text'>Lots of Nonsense &amp; Swearing</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;WARNING: Be prepared for &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;excessive &lt;/span&gt;swearing in the following entry...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SnoyIepSaYI/AAAAAAAAA-8/LnmzSBKDAL8/s1600-h/1996-10-07+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 259px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SnoyIepSaYI/AAAAAAAAA-8/LnmzSBKDAL8/s400/1996-10-07+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366657027211946370" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SnoyIHdhGlI/AAAAAAAAA-0/eQxdJQIhkJ4/s1600-h/1996-10-07+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 279px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SnoyIHdhGlI/AAAAAAAAA-0/eQxdJQIhkJ4/s400/1996-10-07+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366657020988562002" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SnoyH2J8ouI/AAAAAAAAA-s/Gf6TfCNU6SA/s1600-h/1996-10-07+pt3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 259px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SnoyH2J8ouI/AAAAAAAAA-s/Gf6TfCNU6SA/s400/1996-10-07+pt3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366657016343077602" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SnoyHl7A37I/AAAAAAAAA-k/sblxC27A83M/s1600-h/1996-10-07+pt4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SnoyHl7A37I/AAAAAAAAA-k/sblxC27A83M/s400/1996-10-07+pt4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366657011985473458" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Ah, more evidence of how young and naive I was.  Not only did I not know how to spell the word 'horny', I also had no clue what it meant.  Did you catch when I described Bryce's laugh as "hard, horney, and fake"?  I definitely didn't know what the hell I was saying.  I really wonder what I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;thought&lt;/span&gt; 'horny' meant at the time.  I mean, I can't even use context clues from that sentence to try to figure out what I may have thought it meant.  Ugh.  I'm sure I was probably using that word wrong all over the place.  Awkward.  It's not exactly a word you'd want to randomly slip into casual conversation without knowing the definition.  Oh crap.  What if I unknowingly used it in school assignments?  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"Today in English class, we read 'The Call of the Wild'.  Also, I was really horney."&lt;/span&gt;  Well, I guess if that would have happened, my teacher would have confronted me or sent a note home or something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Moving onto...  Bryce.  She caused a lot of anger in my group of friends for some reason.  Remember my friend Lianna who &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;never &lt;/span&gt;swore and &lt;a href="http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/07/more-on-craig.html"&gt;got mad at anyone who did&lt;/a&gt;?  Well, the first time Lianna ever swore was because of something Bryce did.  I can't remember the exact offense, but it caused Lianna to be so overcome with emotion that she muttered the word "bitch" before she even realized what she was saying.  To this day, I think Lianna is still convinced that if it wasn't for Bryce, she would have never sworn &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;ever&lt;/span&gt;.  Unfortunately, I really don't remember the specifics of the apparent drama Bryce caused in my clique... but as we've learned, it was middle school and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;everyone&lt;/span&gt; caused drama.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Which brings me to my next point: Allison.  Why the heck was I so worked up over a stupid bus seat?!?!  Was filling half a page with 30 "BITCH!"s really necessary?  Sounds like I needed a chill pill.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-9214219401122326628?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/9214219401122326628/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=9214219401122326628&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/9214219401122326628'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/9214219401122326628'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/08/lots-of-nonsense-swearing.html' title='Lots of Nonsense &amp; Swearing'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SnoyIepSaYI/AAAAAAAAA-8/LnmzSBKDAL8/s72-c/1996-10-07+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-271642051987407349</id><published>2009-08-04T21:38:00.012-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-05T12:15:12.617-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Teri'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Doug'/><title type='text'>My Coke Nail</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SnjixPADdhI/AAAAAAAAA-c/o0MVFn-LKqg/s1600-h/1996-10-02+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 277px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SnjixPADdhI/AAAAAAAAA-c/o0MVFn-LKqg/s400/1996-10-02+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366288291480172050" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SnjiwnaPoaI/AAAAAAAAA-U/fzQ8Fz-uMak/s1600-h/1996-10-02+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 304px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SnjiwnaPoaI/AAAAAAAAA-U/fzQ8Fz-uMak/s400/1996-10-02+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366288280852603298" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Pee-poop?   Seriously?  Definitely highlights how young I really was at the time.  I probably thought I was becoming pretty mature, but clearly, I was a long ways off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OH MAN!  I said I'd kiss Craig?!  That's a huge step.  Earlier, I commented that if Craig and I dated, I would break up with him if he tried to put the moves on me.  But at this point, I was inviting it... somewhat reluctantly... but still!  Bring it on!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So my pinky nail and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;only &lt;/span&gt;my pinky nail was super long in seventh grade.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;It was so long, I used to paint it in a rainbow of stripes.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;It was totally innocent and pure coincidence that it was my pinky nail that hadn't broken yet and grew so long.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Many years later, someone told me that some people grow their pinky nails long to use for snorting coke.  A matter of fact, it's even commonly listed as a warning sign that your kid is on drugs.  This webpage "&lt;a href="http://www.helium.com/items/152502-how-to-tell-if-your-teen-is-using-drugs"&gt;How to tell if your teen is using drugs&lt;/a&gt;" says:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"Another way to tell, is to look at their fingernails. A long pinky nail is a sure sign of it, most coke addicts have a long pinky nail to take quick snorts of cocaine." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;Who knew?  Not me, obviously.  I wonder if my parents or teachers were ever suspicious.  Part of me is surprised that no one never questioned my long pinky nail.  But most of me isn't.  I was a good kid, usually.  And I was too innocent and naive to be involved with drugs.  Even if someone thought I might be doing drugs, they'd probably reconsider once they heard my vocabulary.  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"Oh, did I just hear her just use the word "pee-poop"?  Yeah, guaranteed she doesn't even know what cocaine is."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-271642051987407349?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/271642051987407349/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=271642051987407349&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/271642051987407349'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/271642051987407349'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/08/my-coke-nail.html' title='My Coke Nail'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SnjixPADdhI/AAAAAAAAA-c/o0MVFn-LKqg/s72-c/1996-10-02+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-6127272995624388278</id><published>2009-08-03T21:43:00.016-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-03T22:51:37.471-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ray'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Joe'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Doug'/><title type='text'>Two BIG Embarassing Things</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Oh man, you are in for a TREAT.  I am doing &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;two &lt;/span&gt;unheard of things today:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#1 - I'm posting twice in one day&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;and&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#2 - I'm taking some bigger than usual risks by posting some more embarrassing than usual content.  Eek.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I couldn't help myself!  I was back home at my parents' house this past weekend and I uncovered some relics that I'm compelled to share.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First of all, remember Doug's &lt;span style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/04/rachel-dumps-doug.html"&gt;score sheet list&lt;/a&gt; I mentioned before?  In a diary entry from sixth grade, I mentioned that Doug had created a &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;new&lt;/span&gt; version but saved it to a 3.5 inch floppy disk that I didn't know how to work.  WELL... the &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;original &lt;/span&gt;list was created in fifth grade and for some reason, he let me keep it.  And HOLY SHIT I FOUND IT.  It is absolutely ridiculous and somewhat unacceptable that I still have this in my possession.  I mean, I totally feel like one of those crazy pack rat recluses you see on TV whose house is totally filled with clutter and who have to sleep curled up under the kitchen table or something because their bedroom and every other possible square inch of living space is covered in things like stuffed animals and wrapping paper and grade school sports trophies that they've accumulated and grown attached to over the years.  But it's not like that.  Promise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, enough rambling excuses.  Here's the super-vintage list from circa 1995...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SneTdwrk2RI/AAAAAAAAA9M/Sy-fGUQxpko/s1600-h/1995+Ratings.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 344px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SneTdwrk2RI/AAAAAAAAA9M/Sy-fGUQxpko/s400/1995+Ratings.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365919620528396562" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;If I remember correctly, "D" was Doug, "J" was Joe, and "R" was Ray.  That's me with the pathetic 2.7 rating from my big crush Doug.  Sad.  But you gotta believe I was ecstatic about the 7.5 rating from Joe... even though I was still 5th on his list.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have no idea why Kara got X's.  She might have been new that year, so maybe they didn't feel that they knew her well enough to rate her.  Certainly an X is different than the 0.0's that Emily and Jessica got.  Ouch!  So I guess my 2.7 from Doug could have been worse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, now for big embarrassment #2.  My friend Shea doubted the awfulness of my pre-orthodontia teeth that I mentioned in &lt;a href="http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/07/introducing-new-crush-craig.html"&gt;this entry&lt;/a&gt;.  Well, I return with proof.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First, check out this stylin' pic from 1992 (end of 2nd grade).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SneUEWIx4_I/AAAAAAAAA-E/uK9Pc48FpLY/s1600-h/1992+Pre-Braces.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SneUEWIx4_I/AAAAAAAAA-E/uK9Pc48FpLY/s320/1992+Pre-Braces.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365920283418026994" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Be nice.  We're here to look at my former teeth.  Not to admire my yellow plastic earrings.  Or to look at that weird perm.  Or to question those suspender things.  Or to discuss whether or not age 8 is too young to begin waxing one's eyebrows.  Check out that mean grill!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If insides of mouths creep you out, you should just close your browser right now and scroll down no further.  Because, here is an intimate picture of the mess my bottom teeth used to be in prior to braces...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SneUEfdkxqI/AAAAAAAAA-M/LtAqg_X8LqE/s1600-h/1992+Pre-Braces+bottom.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 194px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SneUEfdkxqI/AAAAAAAAA-M/LtAqg_X8LqE/s320/1992+Pre-Braces+bottom.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365920285921167010" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!  See, Shea?  I wasn't exaggerating!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, that's been enough embarrassment for the day.  Goodnight!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-6127272995624388278?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/6127272995624388278/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=6127272995624388278&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/6127272995624388278'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/6127272995624388278'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/08/two-big-embarassing-things.html' title='Two BIG Embarassing Things'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SneTdwrk2RI/AAAAAAAAA9M/Sy-fGUQxpko/s72-c/1995+Ratings.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-4574601095523818434</id><published>2009-08-03T20:24:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-03T20:41:45.369-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='radio show'/><title type='text'>Radio Show Clip #21</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Here's my co-host Eddie and I broadcasting *LIVE* from the museum...!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;embed style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" src="http://annsilverthorn.com/Krista%27s%20mp3s/26%20-%20museum%20part%201.mp3" autostart="false" loop="false" controls="console" width="144" height="62"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I enjoy the touching story the museum manager tells of how the museum was passed down through three generations... before her final comment reveals her true motivation.  Nice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-4574601095523818434?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/4574601095523818434/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=4574601095523818434&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/4574601095523818434'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/4574601095523818434'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/08/radio-show-clip-21.html' title='Radio Show Clip #21'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-1274927614561493510</id><published>2009-08-01T23:10:00.007-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-02T00:07:21.524-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Teri'/><title type='text'>Craig = Fail</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SnUDuewlf-I/AAAAAAAAA9E/J9BrqEa3S_I/s1600-h/1996-09-24+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 271px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SnUDuewlf-I/AAAAAAAAA9E/J9BrqEa3S_I/s400/1996-09-24+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365198628147527650" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SnUDuG7CWyI/AAAAAAAAA88/PX28FLgfcZY/s1600-h/1996-09-24+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 265px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SnUDuG7CWyI/AAAAAAAAA88/PX28FLgfcZY/s400/1996-09-24+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365198621748910882" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;My goodness was I relentless!  Craig refused to dance with me until all my annoying friends begged him to... he flat-out said no when I personally asked him to be my boyfriend... and after all that rejection, I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;still&lt;/span&gt; "loved" him and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;still&lt;/span&gt; wished he'd go out with me?  Obviously there are lots of situations in life when tenacity is a great quality to have, but pursuing a middle school crush is not one of them.  I mean, really, even if you ended up getting the guy at some point, how could you feel good about it?  If he actually liked you, he wouldn't have needed to be threatened/strangled/verbally assaulted/constantly annoyed over a period of weeks before finally giving in (giving up?).  What the hell kind of relationship is that?  If a guy doesn't respond favorably to your advances from the start, just move on until you find someone who does.  haha.  No sense wasting your time.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Easy for me to say now... but middle school was slightly more confusing because there were other factors that I think affected boys' decisions... peer pressure, popularity, whether a girl had boobs yet, etc.  I'm actually not at all sure about that last one, but I wouldn't be entirely surprised.  Thirteen is an awkward age all around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess we'll see what happens from here...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-1274927614561493510?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/1274927614561493510/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=1274927614561493510&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/1274927614561493510'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/1274927614561493510'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/08/craig-fail.html' title='Craig = Fail'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SnUDuewlf-I/AAAAAAAAA9E/J9BrqEa3S_I/s72-c/1996-09-24+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-8418193082200583943</id><published>2009-07-30T20:55:00.015-04:00</published><updated>2009-07-30T22:30:44.282-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Lianna'/><title type='text'>When God fails, try the Ouiga board</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SnJBMIaMXdI/AAAAAAAAA80/y6nA77cA7A4/s1600-h/1996-09-21+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 259px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SnJBMIaMXdI/AAAAAAAAA80/y6nA77cA7A4/s400/1996-09-21+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364421782823263698" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SnJBL8Ay5oI/AAAAAAAAA8s/veqExI7nR18/s1600-h/1996-09-21+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 259px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SnJBL8Ay5oI/AAAAAAAAA8s/veqExI7nR18/s400/1996-09-21+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364421779495511682" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SnJBLpDkB-I/AAAAAAAAA8k/yI4ujT7vjPk/s1600-h/1996-09-21+pt3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 262px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SnJBLpDkB-I/AAAAAAAAA8k/yI4ujT7vjPk/s400/1996-09-21+pt3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364421774406846434" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SnJBLa1C78I/AAAAAAAAA8c/z6PQEE6iI8c/s1600-h/1996-09-21+pt4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 262px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SnJBLa1C78I/AAAAAAAAA8c/z6PQEE6iI8c/s400/1996-09-21+pt4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364421770587860930" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Remember cassette tapes?  Those were SO 1996.  Actually, by 1996, most people probably had CDs, but I was behind the times.  I know I've complained about cassette tapes &lt;a href="http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/03/last-entry-from-diary-1.html"&gt;before&lt;/a&gt;, so I won't ramble on too much now... but it's still weird to me how archaic seem today.  My cassette tapes will be to my children what my parents' 8-track tapes are to me.&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;The time-consuming concepts of rewinding, fast-forwarding, and flipping a tape over are totally foreign to kids in the 21st century.  And yet, possibly a cumulative hour of my childhood was spent performing those tasks.  Sigh.  Nostalgia.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What is this "sign from God" business?  Where did I learn that?  What a load of crap.  If it wasn't 2 chipmunks that was the sign, I would have noticed something else odd... or I would have waited a few hours &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;until&lt;/span&gt; I noticed something odd and then would have taken that to be the sign.  Apparently, I didn't put much faith in God or take my religion 100% seriously at the time if my next step was to try the not-so-Catholic Ouija board. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mom would have &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;never&lt;/span&gt; let me get a Ouija board under her watch... so I went behind her back and told my friend to get it for me for my birthday.  When I opened it at my party, I quickly ripped the plastic off the box so that my mom couldn't make me return it.  Sneaky.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately, neither God nor Ouiga came through for me convincingly on the Craig issue.  Where's the magic 8 ball when you need it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-8418193082200583943?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/8418193082200583943/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=8418193082200583943&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/8418193082200583943'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/8418193082200583943'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/07/when-god-fails-try-ouiga-board.html' title='When God fails, try the Ouiga board'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SnJBMIaMXdI/AAAAAAAAA80/y6nA77cA7A4/s72-c/1996-09-21+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-3645427162266270790</id><published>2009-07-28T21:47:00.009-04:00</published><updated>2009-07-28T22:24:53.224-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Mike'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Lianna'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jessica'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jessie'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Doug'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kara'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Rachel'/><title type='text'>Dancing with Craig</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;So I hate to half-ass this entry, but I'm just gonna be honest-- "NYC Prep" is on right now and I'm trying to watch that, write this, and get to bed no later than 10:30.  And unfortunately, I'm too stubborn to budge on any of those.  Have you watched this show "NYC Prep"?  It's more teenage drama than my diary entries.  I &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;love&lt;/span&gt; it and am totally addicted to it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh yeah, back to this entry...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Sm-qXKXPVHI/AAAAAAAAA8M/Ly82BJlJXYU/s1600-h/1996-09-20+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 262px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Sm-qXKXPVHI/AAAAAAAAA8M/Ly82BJlJXYU/s400/1996-09-20+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363692996117091442" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Sm-qXOSz3qI/AAAAAAAAA8E/u-L3keAl1-Y/s1600-h/1996-09-20+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 265px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Sm-qXOSz3qI/AAAAAAAAA8E/u-L3keAl1-Y/s400/1996-09-20+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363692997172256418" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Sm-s_X44F-I/AAAAAAAAA8U/a9VJ-kXcUsM/s1600-h/1996-09-20+pt3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 264px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Sm-s_X44F-I/AAAAAAAAA8U/a9VJ-kXcUsM/s400/1996-09-20+pt3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363695885965858786" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;That's probably the longest play-by-play possible just to communicate that Craig and I slow-danced.  But I guess the fact that 5,000 people had to ask him to dance with me was a valid detail because it showed his original hesitation.  And I guess the fact that he didn't want to dance to "Head Over Feet" is a valid detail because it shows that he actually wanted to dance to a slow song... not just half-ass it and get it over with &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;(like I'm doing to this entry)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;.  On the other hand, the "meeting under the basketball hoop" and "shortest girl" details were pretty irrelevant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you know me, you know I love cheese.  I have &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;always&lt;/span&gt; loved cheese.  My nana tells stories about me as a little girl begging "cheese please!".  In elementary school, my dad used to cut shapes out of cheese and arrange them into a picture on a plate for me as a bedtime snack.  In high school, all of my friends brought various cheeses into school on my birthday.  For my Senior Prom in high school, I ate an 8oz block of cheddar cheese every night for a week before the dance to try to &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;gain&lt;/span&gt; weight to help fill out my strapless dress (it didn't work).  Before leaving for college, my dad gave me a really nice wooden cheese board/slicer.  In college, my friends saved me an entire cheese tray that was leftover from one of the campus events.  Just last night for dinner, I made a grilled cheese sandwich... with four types of cheese. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And apparently in middle school, my crush Craig and I discussed cheese cutters while slow dancing.  I am not surprised.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-3645427162266270790?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/3645427162266270790/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=3645427162266270790&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/3645427162266270790'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/3645427162266270790'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/07/dancing-with-craig.html' title='Dancing with Craig'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Sm-qXKXPVHI/AAAAAAAAA8M/Ly82BJlJXYU/s72-c/1996-09-20+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-5119132354518073337</id><published>2009-07-27T20:38:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-07-27T20:57:18.950-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Rider Strong'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='radio show'/><title type='text'>Radio Show Clip #20</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;My husband... can you guess who??&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;embed style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" src="http://annsilverthorn.com/Krista%27s%20mp3s/25%20-%20Husband%20with%20Museum%20Teaser.mp3" autostart="false" loop="false" controls="console" width="144" height="62"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Seriously, get ready for the trip to the museum.  It's so intense I had to break it into four separate clips!  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-5119132354518073337?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/5119132354518073337/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=5119132354518073337&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/5119132354518073337'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/5119132354518073337'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/07/radio-show-clip-20.html' title='Radio Show Clip #20'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-1224544425743513052</id><published>2009-07-26T20:26:00.009-04:00</published><updated>2009-07-27T11:15:36.555-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Doug'/><title type='text'>Craig Moves Way Too Fast</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Smz1GVCP-YI/AAAAAAAAA70/bhfnbI6xYuo/s1600-h/1996-09-18.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 280px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Smz1GVCP-YI/AAAAAAAAA70/bhfnbI6xYuo/s400/1996-09-18.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362930745366018434" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Damn, I wish I had some details on how fast Craig reportedly moved.  It was seventh grade.  Was it just kissing?  Was it making out?  Was it... more???  I have a feeling it was just kissing or maybe making out.  And if that is the case, what the hell was I so freaked out about?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wanted a boyfriend so badly but I hadn't put much thought into what would happen &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;after &lt;/span&gt;I actually got a boyfriend.  To me, a boyfriend would be someone to write notes to during school, dance with at school dances, and perhaps even hold hands with.  But kissing?  Apparently I wasn't ready for that.  I wonder how long I thought would have been an appropriate length of time to date a boy &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;before&lt;/span&gt; kissing would be okay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am just so appalled and confused by the suggestion that I would have actually &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;DUMPED&lt;/span&gt; a boy if he tried to make out with me.  Fast-forward to college when I basically had an open invitation for guys to get fresh with me with very few prerequisites.  Seventh-grade-me would not have thought very highly of college-me.  Just as conversely today, I don't for a second understand my seventh grade rationale.  The naivete of it is kinda cute though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't decide... is it a good thing or a sad thing that all the shit Doug put me through (and in his defense, nothing was even all that traumatic) led me to find a "Maybe, probably not" response from Craig to be *hopeful*?  Aw.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-1224544425743513052?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/1224544425743513052/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=1224544425743513052&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/1224544425743513052'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/1224544425743513052'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/07/craig-moves-way-too-fast.html' title='Craig Moves Way Too Fast'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/Smz1GVCP-YI/AAAAAAAAA70/bhfnbI6xYuo/s72-c/1996-09-18.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-3008296235437916838</id><published>2009-07-25T18:08:00.008-04:00</published><updated>2009-07-25T19:00:08.785-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Joe'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Rider Strong'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Doug'/><title type='text'>Puberty</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SmuC80rYunI/AAAAAAAAA7k/AnIMrXlC1Ys/s1600-h/1996-09-16+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 270px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SmuC80rYunI/AAAAAAAAA7k/AnIMrXlC1Ys/s400/1996-09-16+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362523762759088754" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SmuC8kwKn-I/AAAAAAAAA7c/Zw3zqTz6yIQ/s1600-h/1996-09-16+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SmuC8kwKn-I/AAAAAAAAA7c/Zw3zqTz6yIQ/s400/1996-09-16+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362523758484168674" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SmuC8ZucmqI/AAAAAAAAA7U/7_ZkP6OQbmI/s1600-h/1996-09-16+pt3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 270px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SmuC8ZucmqI/AAAAAAAAA7U/7_ZkP6OQbmI/s400/1996-09-16+pt3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362523755524168354" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SmuCwX9sxJI/AAAAAAAAA7M/A9JS6Lmy_mo/s1600-h/1996-09-16+pt4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 270px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SmuCwX9sxJI/AAAAAAAAA7M/A9JS6Lmy_mo/s320/1996-09-16+pt4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362523548892841106" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Hell yeah my middle school had skylights.  It was built just a year or two before I started sixth grade there.  Everything was still new.  New computers, new lab equipment, new shop class machines, dry-erase white boards instead of chalk boards.  I think there were trees built into the ground in the hallways... unless I'm making that up (it's hard to remember back 13 years).  There was even an iguana habitat with a waterfall near the principal's office.  And I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;swear&lt;/span&gt;, I know I'm not making that one up.  Our lunches were just as terrible as every other school's, but regardless, we were definitely the spoiled middle school in the district.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, did anyone see that coming?  Me liking Doug again?  After promising for the 600th time that I would never like him again?  Ugh.  My love life was like a broken record.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's funny how turned off I was by facial hair thirteen years ago.  Nowadays, I think I prefer a little scruff on a man.  Hairless guys are creepy.  Doubly creepy if they also have attached earlobes.  Just an observation.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4455111885897496409-3008296235437916838?l=tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/feeds/3008296235437916838/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4455111885897496409&amp;postID=3008296235437916838&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/3008296235437916838'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4455111885897496409/posts/default/3008296235437916838'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tehcheesestandsalone.blogspot.com/2009/07/puberty.html' title='Puberty'/><author><name>krista</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17451046982118390592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFuwuXmoTH0/TpTpKPeOLNI/AAAAAAAABYY/WVnnjiggt_g/s220/profile.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SmuC80rYunI/AAAAAAAAA7k/AnIMrXlC1Ys/s72-c/1996-09-16+pt1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4455111885897496409.post-2413648728366863391</id><published>2009-07-22T22:06:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2009-07-22T22:47:36.996-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Mike'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Craig'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Tiffany'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Doug'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kara'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Rachel'/><title type='text'>Popularity</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SmfF2CcU1OI/AAAAAAAAA7E/ihCmbC1-hrM/s1600-h/1996-09-13+pt1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 263px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SmfF2CcU1OI/AAAAAAAAA7E/ihCmbC1-hrM/s320/1996-09-13+pt1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361471413567149282" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SmfFwnyleoI/AAAAAAAAA68/br5b5H2Al_E/s1600-h/1996-09-13+pt2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 263px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pQDSEihW4kY/SmfFwnyleoI/AAAAAAAAA68/br5b5H2Al_E/s400/1996-09-13+pt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361471320513411714" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;If I had a nickel for every time I promised I would never like Doug again... Honestly, it's kind of ridiculous.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyhow, I feel so bad for my poor misguided preteen self.  I basically said that I would have rather been stupid and attractive than smart and ugly.  Aw.  Sad.  That's middle school for you.  Middle school was the first time popularity became an issue.  All I wanted was to be pretty, funny, popular, and to have boys like me.  The last thing I wanted to be was&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;a nerd. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apparently in high school I said "F all that" and gave up on the whole popularity thing.  However, I don't remember whether my participation in &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Drama Club, National Honor Society, and Key Club in high school was responsible for sabotaging my popularity pursuit or whether I gave up on popularity &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;first &lt;/span&gt;and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;then&lt;/span&gt; joined those activities.  I think it was probably the latter because &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;I don't really remember anyone caring about popularity in high school.  Probably mainly because I went to a big high school and everyone kind 
