<?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-8168618634514069916</id><updated>2012-02-16T22:33:39.084-06:00</updated><category term='first'/><title type='text'>Soporific Soliloquy</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soporificsoliloquy.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8168618634514069916/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soporificsoliloquy.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Pooh-Bah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01429097393626308316</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RuGi9GfUB9A/SU8r8x2t5OI/AAAAAAAAAAM/enkfI0qw2kE/S220/n20500328_30745486_972.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>4</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8168618634514069916.post-1539823968396136470</id><published>2009-10-11T13:14:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-11T13:20:54.450-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A song I dug up from a while ago...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: arial;font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;"  &gt;back when I was emo. It has its appropriate moments even now, though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish I could quit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;"It Never Gets Easier"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Straylight Run&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Taking up my time again,&lt;br /&gt;The one thing I can't stand.&lt;br /&gt;The coffee and the conversation never ends when&lt;br /&gt;All I really need to find&lt;br /&gt;Is one short clever line&lt;br /&gt;To pinpoint my disgust it's always just too much or not enough,&lt;br /&gt;And I'm overwhelmed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I'll keep it simple for obvious reasons,&lt;br /&gt;And I'll say what I should and just hope you believe me,&lt;br /&gt;But it never gets easier.&lt;br /&gt;No, it never gets easier,&lt;br /&gt;No, no, no.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sing it to myself again.&lt;br /&gt;I can't hear a word you said.&lt;br /&gt;The syllables, the sounds, just aren't sentences, and&lt;br /&gt;All I really want to do,&lt;br /&gt;Is tear straight into you -&lt;br /&gt;Explode, unload a hail of insults, 'til you finally get it.&lt;br /&gt;I'm sick to death,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I'll keep it simple for obvious reasons,&lt;br /&gt;And I'll say what I should and just hope you believe me,&lt;br /&gt;But it never gets easier.&lt;br /&gt;No, it never gets easier,&lt;br /&gt;Oh no, no.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A strong distaste for confrontation&lt;br /&gt;Leaves no room for self expression.&lt;br /&gt;Such a strain to remain so docile.&lt;br /&gt;'Though don't you know it all takes its toll...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I'll keep it simple for obvious reasons,&lt;br /&gt;And I'll say what I should and just hope you believe me,&lt;br /&gt;But it never gets easier.&lt;br /&gt;No, it never gets easier,&lt;br /&gt;Oh, it never gets easier,&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, it never gets easier,&lt;br /&gt;Well, it never gets easier...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8168618634514069916-1539823968396136470?l=soporificsoliloquy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soporificsoliloquy.blogspot.com/feeds/1539823968396136470/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://soporificsoliloquy.blogspot.com/2009/10/song-i-dug-up-from-while-ago.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8168618634514069916/posts/default/1539823968396136470'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8168618634514069916/posts/default/1539823968396136470'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soporificsoliloquy.blogspot.com/2009/10/song-i-dug-up-from-while-ago.html' title='A song I dug up from a while ago...'/><author><name>Pooh-Bah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01429097393626308316</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RuGi9GfUB9A/SU8r8x2t5OI/AAAAAAAAAAM/enkfI0qw2kE/S220/n20500328_30745486_972.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8168618634514069916.post-1684508626065185115</id><published>2009-02-17T23:03:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-17T23:20:59.064-06:00</updated><title type='text'>This is why I can't have nice things!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;(side note: Where the heck did that phrase originate??? I've researched it but can find no conclusive answer.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"This" is in reference to my propensity to misplace things, or to lose them altogether. Today's item: a pair of half-jacket Oakley's. I wouldn't care so much, except for a few reasons:&lt;br /&gt;1) I probably wore them no more than 15 times.&lt;br /&gt;2) They were hellishly expensive.&lt;br /&gt;3) I had always wanted a pair of Oakley's. That is stupid and silly, but it was a childhood fantasy.&lt;br /&gt;4) I now feel the urge to buy another pair (of sunglasses, not &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;necessarily&lt;/span&gt; the same ones).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Other things that I have lost, and the times at which said loss occurred:&lt;br /&gt;- My favorite saree, junior year of undergrad.&lt;br /&gt;- My favorite peacoat, senior year of undergrad.&lt;br /&gt;- Two dogs at the same time (Well, by proxy, really. My dad was taking them to get shots, but he opened the back doors of the van when they started fighting. They both jumped out and ran off, never to be seen again.), last year&lt;br /&gt;- My shot at the state spelling bee (and ultimately national) championship, 8th grade.&lt;br /&gt;- My sanity, last semester.&lt;br /&gt;- All hope, about ten minutes ago.&lt;br /&gt;- Track of time, until just now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guess I'd better run. I mean, not literally. I need to run, but it's awfully late now, and I'd probably be kidnapped or at least mildly harassed/cat-called by some teenagers out for a late-night run to Sonic. Sigh. Children. I'm glad my friends and I are so much more mature, now. On that note, remind me to post the picture of Gogs scarfing down some "blazin'" BWW wings, much to the chagrin of anyone within slobber-/sauce-flinging range (i.e. ME). Because THAT is real maturity, folks. Chicken-chugging.&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/8168618634514069916-1684508626065185115?l=soporificsoliloquy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soporificsoliloquy.blogspot.com/feeds/1684508626065185115/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://soporificsoliloquy.blogspot.com/2009/02/this-is-why-i-cant-have-nice-things.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8168618634514069916/posts/default/1684508626065185115'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8168618634514069916/posts/default/1684508626065185115'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soporificsoliloquy.blogspot.com/2009/02/this-is-why-i-cant-have-nice-things.html' title='This is why I can&apos;t have nice things!'/><author><name>Pooh-Bah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01429097393626308316</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RuGi9GfUB9A/SU8r8x2t5OI/AAAAAAAAAAM/enkfI0qw2kE/S220/n20500328_30745486_972.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8168618634514069916.post-7777373984868731978</id><published>2009-02-06T01:39:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-06T02:04:17.858-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I will be a creepy old cat lady, for sure.</title><content type='html'>This entry shall entail the misadventures of my new cat. We'll just call him Boo, which is a name for him which I'm strongly leaning toward. He is scared of everything. This seems to be a trend in my pets, as my former-Pomeranian Gizmo was also perpetually terrified in my home. Here is an account of things that scared Boo today:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1) The litter box. (Seen &lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/images/B000J5XS2S/ref=dp_image_0?ie=UTF8&amp;amp;n=284507&amp;amp;s=kitchen"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;.) I have done something terrible. This litter box, praised for its litter grate (which, sort of, conveniently wipes the cat's feet for him/her) seemed a perfect and colorful addition to my arsenal of all-things-feline. However, with the lid swung wide open so that its use may be easy and welcomed by Boo, I attempted to place him in it. This immediately prompts the typical "I-HATE-you" response, which is a spreading of the limbs making it impossible to shove the cat inside. When doing this, he also managed to knock the litter grate out. It proceeded to clatter around, and he bolted for the nearest hiding place - under my futon. When all seemed clear, he came out... Only to get to his &lt;i&gt;favorite&lt;/i&gt; hiding place - under my bed. I swear that cat has spent 34 of his 36 hours here, underneath something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2) Ashley W. (Seen &lt;a href="http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=1208449&amp;amp;op=4&amp;amp;o=global&amp;amp;view=global&amp;amp;subj=58900788&amp;amp;id=598125064"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;.) Ashley came over to visit Boo, and in typical cat fashion, he "pretended" to hate her and struggled to get out of her loving arms. Cats are so persistent that they never fail, and he did ultimately escape her grasp. That leads me to the next fear...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3) The den. Once escaping from her grasp, running into Erin's room and under her bed, climbing up into the box springs, being teased by a trail of cat treats leading out into the open, failing to accept said cat treats, being dragged out by the nape of his neck (simultaneously trying to lick the cat treats up as he passed them - funniest thing I have EVER seen), and being brought back into the den, Boo hunkered down under the couch. He spent the rest of the evening there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4) Everything. I'm getting tired now, so I'll just end the trivialities and say that I have the worst luck when it comes to animals. They never seem to be a perfect fit. However, I do thoroughly enjoy my cat. I just hope he learns to enjoy me. :-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.freewebs.com/cishorizon/you%20make%20kitty%20scared.jpg" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8168618634514069916-7777373984868731978?l=soporificsoliloquy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soporificsoliloquy.blogspot.com/feeds/7777373984868731978/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://soporificsoliloquy.blogspot.com/2009/02/i-will-be-creepy-old-cat-lady-for-sure.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8168618634514069916/posts/default/7777373984868731978'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8168618634514069916/posts/default/7777373984868731978'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soporificsoliloquy.blogspot.com/2009/02/i-will-be-creepy-old-cat-lady-for-sure.html' title='I will be a creepy old cat lady, for sure.'/><author><name>Pooh-Bah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01429097393626308316</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RuGi9GfUB9A/SU8r8x2t5OI/AAAAAAAAAAM/enkfI0qw2kE/S220/n20500328_30745486_972.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8168618634514069916.post-3649048088352348143</id><published>2009-02-04T04:50:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-04T04:56:46.022-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='first'/><title type='text'>I'd better make this good...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Eek! My very first blog post. I'd like to start off by saying that I have something very important to share. It's a secret, one that I've never told anyone. I'm finally willing to come clean.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am an insomniaholic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In all seriousness, I've come to the conclusion that I am either: a) A vampire, b) Some other creature of the night, or c) Just a weirdo who gets some sick thrill out of staying up until 4:30 AM for no reason. 4:30, really? Is it really that late? Do I really have class at 10 in the morning?&lt;/span&gt; Is it really a class I am willing to sleep through for no good reason? (That's the only question I can easily answer - with a resounding YES, if you were wondering.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, back to the point at hand. There are many good things about my condition. Let me count them all. (Please. I really enjoy simple math, and it makes me feel good about myself.)&lt;br /&gt;1. I never complain about having forgotten my sunglasses.&lt;br /&gt;2. There are rarely lines at the restaurants which are open this late.&lt;br /&gt;3. I can compose this in peace, knowing that nothing/no one else is expecting my attention at five in the morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I must admit, though, that the perks are nearly overshadowed by the related downsides.&lt;br /&gt;1. I spent a crap-ton of money on those dang sunglasses.&lt;br /&gt;2. Those restaurants have made me fat.&lt;br /&gt;3. It took me over thirty minutes to come up with this sentence precisely BECAUSE it is five in the morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In light of that last note, and in the interest of finishing before class begins, I'll start wrapping this up now. I leave you with the lyrics to a song I've always loved, one that fits the theme of my new online "home away from home."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Mama Cass Elliot - "Dream a Little Dream of Me"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stars shining bright above you&lt;br /&gt;Night breezes seem to whisper, "I love you"&lt;br /&gt;Birds singing in the sycamore tree&lt;br /&gt;Dream a little dream of me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Say "Nighty-night," and kiss me&lt;br /&gt;Just hold me tight, and tell me you'll miss me&lt;br /&gt;While I'm alone, blue as can be,&lt;br /&gt;Dream a little dream of me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stars fading, but I linger on, dear&lt;br /&gt;Still craving your kiss&lt;br /&gt;I'm longing to linger til dawn, dear&lt;br /&gt;Just saying this...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sweet dreams til sunbeams find you&lt;br /&gt;Sweet dreams that leave all worries far behind you&lt;br /&gt;But in your dreams, whatever they be&lt;br /&gt;Dream a little dream of me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stars fading, but I linger on, dear&lt;br /&gt;Still craving your kiss&lt;br /&gt;I'm longing to linger til dawn, dear&lt;br /&gt;Just saying this...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sweet dreams til sunbeams find you&lt;br /&gt;Sweet dreams that leave all worries far behind you&lt;br /&gt;But in your dreams, whatever they be&lt;br /&gt;Dream a little dream of me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8168618634514069916-3649048088352348143?l=soporificsoliloquy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soporificsoliloquy.blogspot.com/feeds/3649048088352348143/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://soporificsoliloquy.blogspot.com/2009/02/id-better-make-this-good.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8168618634514069916/posts/default/3649048088352348143'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8168618634514069916/posts/default/3649048088352348143'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soporificsoliloquy.blogspot.com/2009/02/id-better-make-this-good.html' title='I&apos;d better make this good...'/><author><name>Pooh-Bah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01429097393626308316</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RuGi9GfUB9A/SU8r8x2t5OI/AAAAAAAAAAM/enkfI0qw2kE/S220/n20500328_30745486_972.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry></feed>
