<?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-7910414087382280713</id><updated>2011-09-22T14:53:11.248-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Life With Sassysharay</title><subtitle type='html'>I'm just your average college student.  I work to pay for my education, I live 800 miles away from my family.  I have been through more that the average 20 year old woman. I am sassy, and my name is Sha-Ray.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Sha-Ray</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02294807316979339979</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bMFyAfE6vzY/SxaRJlIUw2I/AAAAAAAAABk/PyCs4b5_SqQ/S220/sharay.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>25</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910414087382280713.post-139025667095506370</id><published>2011-05-15T19:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-15T19:35:24.676-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Summer, 2010. The Beginning</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;So, summer has began.  I am staying at my boyfriend's house in Pennsylvania for the summer.  I got here last Tuesday afternoon and I haven't really slowed down since.  On that Tuesday, I went to Andy's brother Scott's baseball game.  Scott is a senior in high school and he is the catcher on their baseball team.  I don't know much about baseball, but I think he is really good.  Haha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have also applied to a lot of places.  I have applied at:&lt;br /&gt;Red Lobster&lt;br /&gt;Applebees&lt;br /&gt;TGI Friday's&lt;br /&gt;Red Robin&lt;br /&gt;Max &amp;amp; Erma's&lt;br /&gt;and another Applebees.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So far, I have an interview at TGI Friday's and both Applebees and Max &amp;amp; Erma's said that they would call me this week.  I am hoping to work nights at Friday's and possibly work the lunch shift at Max &amp;amp; Erma's.  Or just work Friday's. Haha. I will just be happy to have a job.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The only reason that I am even posting is because I am so excited that I have access to the internet.  I spent almost 3 hours today trying to set up the wireless internet here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wish me luck at my job interview on Tuesday!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;img src="http://i923.photobucket.com/albums/ad75/ggthewifey/sassysig.png" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7910414087382280713-139025667095506370?l=sassysharay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/feeds/139025667095506370/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2011/05/summer-2010-beginning.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/139025667095506370'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/139025667095506370'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2011/05/summer-2010-beginning.html' title='Summer, 2010. The Beginning'/><author><name>Sha-Ray</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02294807316979339979</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bMFyAfE6vzY/SxaRJlIUw2I/AAAAAAAAABk/PyCs4b5_SqQ/S220/sharay.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910414087382280713.post-4716404938469154099</id><published>2011-05-03T14:42:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-03T14:42:50.601-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Own Hell?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"&gt;&lt;p style="margin: 0pt; background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% rgb(127, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Barack Obama&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Circle I Limbo&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt; background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% rgb(143, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Goths&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Circle II Whirling in a Dark &amp;amp; Stormy Wind&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt; background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% rgb(159, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Scientologists&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Circle III Mud, Rain, Cold, Hail &amp;amp; Snow&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt; background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% rgb(175, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Hipsters&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Circle IV Rolling Weights&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt; background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% rgb(191, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Nancy Pelosi&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Circle V Stuck in Mud, Mangled&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="border-style: solid none; border-color: black; background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"&gt;River Styx&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt; background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% rgb(207, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;b&gt;PETA Members&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Circle VI Buried for Eternity&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="border-style: solid none; border-color: black; background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"&gt;River Phlegyas&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt; background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% rgb(223, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;b&gt;General asshats&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Circle VII Burning Sands&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt; background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% rgb(239, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Democrats&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Circle IIX Immersed in Excrement&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt; background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Osama bin Laden&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Circle IX Frozen in Ice&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.gaydeceiver.com/misc/hell/" style="color: red;"&gt;Design your own hell&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://i923.photobucket.com/albums/ad75/ggthewifey/sassysig.png" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7910414087382280713-4716404938469154099?l=sassysharay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/feeds/4716404938469154099/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2011/05/my-own-hell.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/4716404938469154099'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/4716404938469154099'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2011/05/my-own-hell.html' title='My Own Hell?'/><author><name>Sha-Ray</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02294807316979339979</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bMFyAfE6vzY/SxaRJlIUw2I/AAAAAAAAABk/PyCs4b5_SqQ/S220/sharay.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910414087382280713.post-129631739365424114</id><published>2011-03-23T14:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-03-23T14:32:31.060-07:00</updated><title type='text'>P90x Day 2 and other things too!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: right"&gt;Well, I have survived day two, barely. My legs were like jello when I woke up this morning.  Walking down the stairs to leave the building and then up the stairs to my first class was brutal. It's a good hurt, though. I am so ready to stick to this workout plan.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: right"&gt;I don't really want to talk too much about it today, though. I mean, I worked out my shoulders and arms. haha. No excitement there. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: right"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: right"&gt;I registered for classes today. I am taking some hard classes next semester as well as some fun ones.  I am taking genetics, physics, a science methods class, astronomy and fly fishing. Yup. Fly fishing.  I am pretty excited about it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: right"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: right"&gt;Also, as I never ever ever update this, I got sort of a promotion at my job here on campus.  I went from being a resident assistant (RA) to a lead resident assistant (LRA). I have more responsibilities and get paid more.  I also get to live in an apartment, which I am pretty happy about.  I am going to be on a floor with is all science, technology, engineering and math majors (STEM).  They will (should) all be upper classmen, so hopefully some of the issues I have had to deal with this year won't arise next year.  I'm just pretty excited about the entire situation in general.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: right"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: right"&gt;I am also currently trying to figure out my summer plans.  I don't even know where I am staying yet, let alone where I am working.  I hope to have that all figured out within the next couple of weeks.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: right"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: right"&gt;I am having a really hard time concentrating right now when all I really want to do is sleep.  Haha. That's p90 for you.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: right"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: right"&gt; &lt;img src="http://i923.photobucket.com/albums/ad75/ggthewifey/sassysig.png" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7910414087382280713-129631739365424114?l=sassysharay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/feeds/129631739365424114/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2011/03/p90x-day-2-and-other-things-too.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/129631739365424114'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/129631739365424114'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2011/03/p90x-day-2-and-other-things-too.html' title='P90x Day 2 and other things too!'/><author><name>Sha-Ray</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02294807316979339979</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bMFyAfE6vzY/SxaRJlIUw2I/AAAAAAAAABk/PyCs4b5_SqQ/S220/sharay.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910414087382280713.post-3800595911121092348</id><published>2011-03-22T19:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-03-22T19:28:55.142-07:00</updated><title type='text'>P90x, Day 1</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;Yeah. I tried it two summers ago, and today, I started it up again. P90x. If you have never done it, you don't know what you're missing. It's intense. Really intense. I'm always panting and sweating in less than 5 minutes. I don't know what happened last summer, but I worked out one day (yes one. I did laps in a pool) but I lost more weight (and fat) than I did the summer before when I did a mix of P90x and weight training.&lt;br /&gt;Well, I went an entire semester and the only thing that I lifted at all was my grades. Haha. It was also probably the most stressful semester of my life. Long story short...I put on all of the weight I lost over the summer. I'm not happy about it because, well, I looked better without it. &lt;br /&gt;I have made a vow to eat better and stick to this workout plan.  I am giving myself one "off day" a week, and the other 6 days, I am going to push it hard with P90x.  I am going to try to post on here as well to keep my motivation up.  I will not be posting progress pics, though. I am a little too self conscious for that.&lt;br /&gt;I am also going to eat better. I make smoothies (or eat a peanut butter sandwich) for breakfast. I plan to stick with that.&lt;br /&gt;So, what's on deck for tomorrow? Shoulders and arms and ab ripper x. I am thinking that I will get up early to do shoulders and arms and then do ab ripper x in the afternoon.&lt;br /&gt;Wish me luck!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   &lt;img src="http://i923.photobucket.com/albums/ad75/ggthewifey/sassysig.png" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7910414087382280713-3800595911121092348?l=sassysharay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/feeds/3800595911121092348/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2011/03/p90x-day-1.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/3800595911121092348'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/3800595911121092348'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2011/03/p90x-day-1.html' title='P90x, Day 1'/><author><name>Sha-Ray</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02294807316979339979</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bMFyAfE6vzY/SxaRJlIUw2I/AAAAAAAAABk/PyCs4b5_SqQ/S220/sharay.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910414087382280713.post-6527706221276766040</id><published>2010-12-25T22:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-25T22:17:40.287-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Holidays</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;I'm pretty beat. I have been going nonstop since break began.  It's sad to say, but I almost can't wait to be back at B-W. *Almost.*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am staying at Andy's house for the holidays.  Everything is going okay.  It really could be better, but, right now, I will settle for okay. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have also been working.  At the closest Lone Star.  Which happens to be almost 40 minutes away and even slower than the Lone Star in North Olmsted.  Oh well, it gets me out of the house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I actually have been working a lot.  Thursday, I worked an 8 hour shift (which, if you have never worked at an actual restaurant, is a long, long, long shift) without a break.  I have another one of those shifts tomorrow and even a longer one on Monday.  So much for only 3 shifts a week. (I got 6 this week.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I seem to have had a really short temper lately.  Maybe it's cabin fever.  Or maybe it's how much I am working.  Anyway, I am working on it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My holiday was great.  I really like spending time with Andy's family.  It makes it not-so-bad that mine lives so far away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's really late. And I am tired. Exhausted, really.  It has been a long day.  Which, by the way, included me setting up the wireless network for Andy's family.  Which is why I am able to be on my laptop at 1:16am making this available to you fine people.  Merry Christmas. I hope yours was as heartwarming as mine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;img src="http://i923.photobucket.com/albums/ad75/ggthewifey/sassysig.png" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7910414087382280713-6527706221276766040?l=sassysharay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/feeds/6527706221276766040/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2010/12/holidays.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/6527706221276766040'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/6527706221276766040'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2010/12/holidays.html' title='The Holidays'/><author><name>Sha-Ray</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02294807316979339979</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bMFyAfE6vzY/SxaRJlIUw2I/AAAAAAAAABk/PyCs4b5_SqQ/S220/sharay.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910414087382280713.post-5669277454607387217</id><published>2010-07-17T11:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-17T11:44:22.481-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Crazy Times</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I have had such a crazy, crazy day.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Andy told me before we got together that he had a crazy ex girlfriend.  I never thought that things would get this out of hand.  A couple days ago, a friend of his ex friended me on facebook and I added her, not knowing who she was.  When I realized who she was (and also, that I have never met her) I deleted her and blocked her.  I don't need that kind of drama in my life.  She sent Andy a message on facebook:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "&gt;Thanks for deleting me off of facebook and your girlfriend or whoever the hell she is for blocking me.That's good because maybe you shouldn't hide hide things or people from your girlfriend. Oh and **** is my bestest friend and she tells me EVERYTHING. She's way to good for you she just doesn't realize it yet. I always thought you were a pretty kool guy until now. Thanks and have a great day!!! :) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"    style="font-family:'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;font-size:100%;color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"&gt;**** &lt;/span&gt;Is this girl's best friend.  I don't want to put names on here because this is my personal therapeutic blog and not a place to talk trash on other people.  I know and trust my boyfriend and I know that he is not cheating on me.  Which brings me to the next message, an email that i received this morning:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; "&gt;&lt;div&gt;Amanda,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I know this will be hard for you to believe well it really shouldn't be but your  so called boyfriend&lt;br /&gt;Andrew &lt;span&gt;Betts&lt;/span&gt; is cheating on you with other girls while you are not around such as during the summer, holidays, and pretty much any time he's home and away from you. Sorry, don't mean to sound blunt but I just thought you should know the truth becuase I've been told once a cheater always a cheater.  He tells everyone at home that you have told him it's alright for him to see other women and even have sexual encounters when you guys are apart becasue you are doing the same. I guess the way he explains it is you guys have an open relationship? I know you'll probably ignore this but this is only to benefit you and help you, because I don't think any women should be treated this way. Feel free to email me back if you have any questions! IMy mom has even witnessed him at the meadows racetrack with a girl with blonde hair and  they were extremely friendly with each other while betting on the horses. My mother actually had an encounter with them and he had his arms around her and kissed her.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Again&lt;em&gt; I am very sorry for you to have to find out this way.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;I have very good reason to believe that they are from the same person.  It really makes me angry that someone wants to cause so much drama in my life.  My relationship is probably one of the most stable things in my life right now.  It really hurts that someone is trying to sabotage it.  I really love my boyfriend and I trust him.  Completely. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;I believe that this whole ordeal has actually made me stronger.  Despite my anger, I am really glad that it happened because it made me realize how much he means to me.  I love him very much.  We were talking about it afterwards and how strong it is going to make us. This is how the conversation went:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Andy: This is one of those things that either can break you or make you stronger.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Andy: I vote for the making us stronger.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Me: I agree, sweetie.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Andy: Let's get married.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Me. Um, Andy?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Andy: Ya?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Me: That's a little drastic, don't ya think?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Andy: Haha. Okay. We will wait.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;I have no reason not to trust Andy.  He even previously gave me his facebook password.  Not that I have used it for anything, but if he was hiding stuff from me, then he wouldn't be so willing to share his passwords.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Anyway. I don't want to dwell on this situation anymore.  The girls have caused enough unneeded drama.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;img src="http://i923.photobucket.com/albums/ad75/ggthewifey/sassysig.png" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7910414087382280713-5669277454607387217?l=sassysharay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/feeds/5669277454607387217/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2010/07/crazy-times.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/5669277454607387217'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/5669277454607387217'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2010/07/crazy-times.html' title='Crazy Times'/><author><name>Sha-Ray</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02294807316979339979</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bMFyAfE6vzY/SxaRJlIUw2I/AAAAAAAAABk/PyCs4b5_SqQ/S220/sharay.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910414087382280713.post-253690618442089649</id><published>2010-06-15T21:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-15T21:31:41.179-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Life and Why He's Awesome :]</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;I have been promising to blog about Andy for a very long while now.  Well, I am tired of making empty promises. The time has come.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 13px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 13px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Andy is an amazing person and a wonderful boyfriend. I know I complain about him a lot, but I wouldn't have him any other way.  I love him more than anything.  Which is pretty surprising considering how, when we met, I didn't even like him.  I actually thought he was an arrogant asshole.  But I am going to tell the story.  And believe me, it's a funny story to tell.  This is taken from my Myspace blog from last year.  It just kind of tells how we met:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 13px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, serif; line-height: 13px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;My roommate and I wanted to go outside and shoot basketball.  I'm not very good at it, but it's something that relieves stress and something that I love to do.  We also had another friend, who we met while wandering around campus orientation weekend, who was going to shoot around with us.  So there we were, vividly engrossed in our game of horse when I notice this older-looking guy walking toward the basketball courts.  He had a basketball, and appeared to be an upperclassmen, so my first thought was "Great, I hope he doesn't think we are going to give up the court for him just because we are freshmen."  Well, he ended up joining our game of horse and proceeded to completely own everyone else playing.  Lucky me, the one who has never played basketball before gets to go after the basketball player. =/  Anyway, the entire time he played all he did was make fun of the way I played, the movies I had and hadn't seen, and pretty much anything else that came up in conversation.  All the while, I am thinking, "wow, how can this guy be such an asshole?"  A little later, the other guy we were with had to leave, and it was just me, Andy and my roommate.  We were just standing around talking about high school, movies, music, pretty much anything, and Andy was still sliding in insulting remarks about me wherever he could fit them.  Finally, I was able to find a movie that I had seen that he never had, Nothing to Lose.  My roommate happened to have that movie in our room, so, I don't know if you would call it spite, or fate, or whatever, I invited Andy up to watch the movie.  (Let it be known, that at this point in time, I wasn't even interested enough to remember his name.  I seriously had to keep glancing at his ID to remember it...pathetic, I know.)  Anyway, we watched the movie and then parted ways afterward, with the plans to meet up at the same time the next day, for basketball.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 13px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" ;font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 13px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Well, the next day, after classes and whatnot, it was collectively decided by my roommate and I that we should do our laundry.  Because of the lack of available machines, our laundry time ran over into "basketball time," and we ended up not being able to meet Andy for basketball, and my roommate and I were going to a Greek cookout (free food), so I invited Andy along. To make a long story short(er), I ended up helping him with his laundry and afterwards we got coffee and went down to the lake to talk.  Somehow, we ended up talking about absolutely everything and pretty much anything and stayed out until 3am.  (I later realized that the only one who was negatively affected by this was me.  He didn't have class until 2. Lucky bastard.)  Things after that are a bit fuzzy, but thats how it all started.  Oh, and obviously the asshole first impression was some sort of ploy that I still don't understand.  Apparently, all guys stand by the whole "Nice guys finish last" thing. oh well. It worked out for the best because I am now much happer than I have ever been with any other person&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="  line-height: 13px; font-family:Verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 13px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 13px;"&gt;Every bit of that still stands true today.  I mean, yeah, we fight, like any normal couple.  But I can't stay mad at him.  All he has to do is smile at me and all of my anger is gone.  (He doesn't know that...yet...)  It's hard to be away from him, even for a summer. But I know it's going to be okay. :]  I wish I could do him more justice than this post; he really is amazing.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 13px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 13px;"&gt;Thanks for reading!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="  line-height: 13px; font-family:Verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:11px;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="  line-height: normal; font-family:Georgia, serif;font-size:16px;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i923.photobucket.com/albums/ad75/ggthewifey/sassysig.png" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" ;font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="  line-height: 13px; font-family:Verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:11px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="  line-height: normal; font-family:Georgia, serif;font-size:16px;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" ;font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="  line-height: 13px; font-family:Verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:11px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="  line-height: normal; font-family:Georgia, serif;font-size:16px;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7910414087382280713-253690618442089649?l=sassysharay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/feeds/253690618442089649/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2010/06/my-life-and-why-hes-awesome.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/253690618442089649'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/253690618442089649'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2010/06/my-life-and-why-hes-awesome.html' title='My Life and Why He&apos;s Awesome :]'/><author><name>Sha-Ray</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02294807316979339979</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bMFyAfE6vzY/SxaRJlIUw2I/AAAAAAAAABk/PyCs4b5_SqQ/S220/sharay.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910414087382280713.post-8993227840043059120</id><published>2010-06-12T21:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-12T21:49:15.584-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Cheeseburger in Paradise!!</title><content type='html'>So. I have gotten a job.  Cheeseburger in Paradise.  Jimmy Buffett themed restaurant.  Cheesy and quirky, yes.  But it will pay the bills. I really don't feel like posting a very long blog.  Mostly for the reason that no one really reads it but maybe 3 people.  Honestly, why should I make a big commitment to blogging when no one really reads my blog but me and a few close friends? Anyway. I am going to make it a habit to read other people's blogs and try to gather a bit of a following.  That way I have more of a reason to blog.  Due to The Wifey, most of the blogs I read are mommy blogs. Haha. I do love to read about the adventures of parenthood though.  It is fun.  Anyway. I'm really tired.  Longer blog post to come.&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i923.photobucket.com/albums/ad75/ggthewifey/sassysig.png" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7910414087382280713-8993227840043059120?l=sassysharay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/feeds/8993227840043059120/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2010/06/cheeseburger-in-paradise.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/8993227840043059120'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/8993227840043059120'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2010/06/cheeseburger-in-paradise.html' title='Cheeseburger in Paradise!!'/><author><name>Sha-Ray</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02294807316979339979</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bMFyAfE6vzY/SxaRJlIUw2I/AAAAAAAAABk/PyCs4b5_SqQ/S220/sharay.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910414087382280713.post-6905321301289576231</id><published>2010-06-02T20:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-02T20:21:20.287-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Day 1 of job hunting...and an update on the Gulf...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;The oil this time...it is affecting us here already.  Destin is about an hour east of Pensacola...I went out job searching today and was pretty disappointed.  Everyone is being hit hard by this oil spill.  The first place I hit was actually a restaurant that was in the process of opening up.  So they are looking at hiring a complete staff and having the restaurant open for business by June 14 (Happy Birthday, Eric!!).  That guy was pretty optimistic and upbeat about everything.  The second place I hit was a mexican restaurant that, judging by the empty tables as I walked in at noon, heavily depends on tourist business.  I asked the manager if he was hiring, and he was fairly frank with me.  "If this oil doesn't come this weekend, yes.  But I am sorry to say that it is probably going to come and I am probably not going to hire you"  You could just tell by the look on his face that he cared about more than just his business.  He cared about the town.  Not only is Destin, Florida a tourist attraction; it is a fishing town.  Has been forever.  And it's obviously not just Destin that is being affected.  Things that you wouldn't think of, like my grandfather's property that he has been trying to sell for years.  It is located right outside of Pensacola in a quaint little town by the name of Gulf Breeze.  You may have heard of it; it has been on TV in the past because of its "extraterrestrial activity".  Anyway, my grandfather owns a lot (on which his house used to sit. There is a post for another day)  This lot, without any property on it, is well worth a million dollars.  I am not exaggerating.  Before the hurricane that took my grandfather's house, the lot alone was appraised at just under a million dollars.  Yeah, the real estate market in general has pretty much gone to hell in a hand basket with the economy, I know.  But this lot is going to be worth even less now.  Who in their right mind is going to purchase a water front lot with an oil spill and hurricane season approaching?  I have seriously advised him to go and speak to a BP representative (which, recently, have came to Destin to hear the claims of the fishermen and businessmen and landowners.)  Since the oil is a reason he might not be able to sell his lot, then he might be entitled to make a claim.  The only thing wasted by him trying would be time.  And if he were able to make a claim, then it would be well worth it.   Anyway.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;I also put in an application at a small mom-and-pop place that serves food and has a bar.  And Longhorn Steakhouse (they offer paid vacation to servers!).  I have also decided to keep my Shrimp Shack job.  I want to work there like 3 days a week and work as a for real server the rest of the week.  So, instead of having a second job, I would have a complimentary job.  But it all depends on the oil...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;Until next time,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt; &lt;img src="http://i923.photobucket.com/albums/ad75/ggthewifey/sassysig.png" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7910414087382280713-6905321301289576231?l=sassysharay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/feeds/6905321301289576231/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2010/06/day-1-of-job-huntingand-update-on-gulf.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/6905321301289576231'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/6905321301289576231'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2010/06/day-1-of-job-huntingand-update-on-gulf.html' title='Day 1 of job hunting...and an update on the Gulf...'/><author><name>Sha-Ray</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02294807316979339979</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bMFyAfE6vzY/SxaRJlIUw2I/AAAAAAAAABk/PyCs4b5_SqQ/S220/sharay.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910414087382280713.post-4033475464131332939</id><published>2010-06-01T19:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-01T19:35:12.641-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Gulf has more problems than oil...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: right"&gt; I have to say: a lot has gone on since I last updated.  I would like to start off by saying in advance: sorry for any spelling mistakes.  I am using a &lt;em&gt;wireless&lt;/em&gt; keyboard that enjoys omitting several letters/spaces from my words.  What happened to the beloved MacBook Pro? Oh. It won't connect to the ethernet. &lt;em&gt;Whatttt?&lt;/em&gt; I know. Don't get me started.  I have full plans to Google the problem as soon as I am done doing this and internet job searching.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: right"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: right"&gt;Yes. You read that right. Job searching.  &lt;em&gt;What about the nice job serving that paid 9 dollars an hr plus tips?&lt;/em&gt;  Well, I'm glad you asked. It is NOT what I expected at all.  I am paid 9 dollars an hour to nearly die of heat exhaustion and run food out to lazy rich people that don't tip. It is not a job where each "server" is tipped based on their own service; it is one of those "Hey look at us we have a jar labled "tips" please throw the 30 cents change that we just handed you in this here jar."  Now,  I know. I am making NINE DOLLARS AN HOUR.  However, I could do much, much better serving.  So that is what I am doing now, looking for a serving position.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: right"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: right"&gt;Oh, by the way, for those of you that don't know, I am in Florida (Destin...for those who are no geographically inclined, it's on the Gulf...hence blog title.)   for the summer, trying to make a few bucks before I have to return to dreary old Cleveland.  More to come. I am already tired of this keyboard.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: right"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: right"&gt;Ciao,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: right"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: right"&gt; &lt;img src="http://i923.photobucket.com/albums/ad75/ggthewifey/sassysig.png" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7910414087382280713-4033475464131332939?l=sassysharay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/feeds/4033475464131332939/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2010/06/gulf-has-more-problems-than-oil.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/4033475464131332939'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/4033475464131332939'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2010/06/gulf-has-more-problems-than-oil.html' title='The Gulf has more problems than oil...'/><author><name>Sha-Ray</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02294807316979339979</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bMFyAfE6vzY/SxaRJlIUw2I/AAAAAAAAABk/PyCs4b5_SqQ/S220/sharay.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910414087382280713.post-1433817440935037351</id><published>2010-05-24T19:04:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-24T19:13:44.017-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sophomore Slump or Comeback of the Year?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Yes. I know that &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://stanleycakes.blogspot.com/"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Stanleycakes&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt; may have titled her post in this fashion first, but I had dibs! I don't even think I have ever heard her listen to Fallout Boy. Oh well. On to the post.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;I wish I could do this more. But I really don't have the time.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;My sophomore year of college is over. It's so hard to believe. So...let's take some time to reflect upon what has happened this year: the ups, the downs, I wouldn't trade it for anything.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;I remember moving in like it was yesterday.  Nothing too exciting happened.  My mom helped me move in and stayed in the shittiest hotel in Cleveland.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;I think the first significant thing that happened after I moved in was that I got a job.  I went up to the Lonestar in North Olmsted and applied and got the job.  Server.  If you read my blog you already know that.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;I also changed my major from Biology to Chemistry.  I am going to be a high school chemistry teacher.  Eventually.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;I think that the most emotional thing that happened is something that I never even worry about now.  In the fall of 2009, my father and the woman he is with, Teresa, had a fight and she kicked him out.  He was homeless for a few days.  I mentioned it to Kathy, his ex-wife and she told her kids.  Her daughter, Amber, posted a comment on Teresa's myspace totally ripping her a new one for kicking my father out.  Well, by the time that Teresa got the comment, she and my father were back together and things were fine (as fine as they are for those two. I will blog about their dysfunctional relationship later).  Needless to say, she was extremely angry and my father was angry that I had told someone else what had happened.  He called me up yelling and said:  "I love you Sha-Ray, but I am not going to let you ruin my happiness."  I don't remember what he said, but he threatened to disown me.  Then, it was a big deal.  Now, it's not.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;That same day, Andy was in an accident on his way home.  He was fine, but it was really scary.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Thanksgiving break was amazi&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;ng. Read my post on it &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;if you want to know about it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;My chemistry prof found out he had cancer and is now well on his way to beating it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Christmas break was spent at my mom's house in Alabama.  Nothing to exciting happened there.  I had a good Christmas.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Spring break: Florida with Stanleycakes.  (check out her blog, link above)  That was really fun.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Easter and Andy's house.  Fun event.  Had Polish food that was terrible for you.  Nothing too exciting happened there.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;I spent a lot of time with Amanda (Stanleycakes).  We got really close and I am glad.  I don't know what I would do without her.  She went through a LOT of ups and downs over the year.  But that is her story to tell, not mine.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Andy.  He is amazing.  I love him more than anything.  I don't want to sound all cliche and say that we got closer over the year, because we obviously did.  I feel like we have been together a lot longer than a year and a half.  I am planning to write a blog about the two of us later.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;And that's pretty much all that happened.  It was not a very eventful year.  I feel like I got closer to some, and that I drifted away from others.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;It was a good year, as far as I am concerned. :)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i923.photobucket.com/albums/ad75/ggthewifey/sassysig.png" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7910414087382280713-1433817440935037351?l=sassysharay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/feeds/1433817440935037351/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2010/05/sophomore-slump-or-comeback-of-year.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/1433817440935037351'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/1433817440935037351'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2010/05/sophomore-slump-or-comeback-of-year.html' title='Sophomore Slump or Comeback of the Year?'/><author><name>Sha-Ray</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02294807316979339979</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bMFyAfE6vzY/SxaRJlIUw2I/AAAAAAAAABk/PyCs4b5_SqQ/S220/sharay.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910414087382280713.post-642822855816280664</id><published>2010-05-23T20:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-23T20:29:47.693-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#666666;"&gt;Before I start this blog I would like to give a big thank-you to&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#666666;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', serif; line-height: normal; white-space: pre-wrap; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#666666;"&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.thewifeyblogs.com/"&gt;The Wifey&lt;/a&gt;for re-designing my blog layout. I love it. It is gorgeous.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; white-space: pre-wrap; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#666666;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#666666;"&gt;My last two weeks have been Hell.  Well, maybe not Hell.  But it was no tiptoe through the tulips.  Friday, May 7th, I moved out of my dorm and said goodbye to my boyfriend for the summer. Or so I thought. I spent all of my time in Geneva making up for lost time with some old friends.  I finally get back to Kathy's place at about 8ish.  I get a message from Andy a little later saying that his father was really sick.  Not more than 15 minutes later, he told me that his father had died and he asked me to come to Pennsylvania to be there for him.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#666666;"&gt;Hardest trip of my life.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#666666;"&gt;I spend the last two weeks with Andy and his family, helping them get through their hard time and helping out wherever I could.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#666666;"&gt;Andy's father was a wonderful man and he touched countless peoples' lives.  He will be forever missed.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#666666;"&gt;I had a lot of people telling me what a great person I was for going and being with the family in their time of need.  I did not even realize that it was an act of kindness; I was needed there, there was never any question of whether or not I would be there.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#666666;"&gt;I know this is kind of choppy; I made the trip from Pennsylvania to Alabama today and I am really tired.  I just wanted to post a quick update as to what I have been up to and why I have been absent for two weeks and why the promised "Sophomore Slump or Comeback of the Year" blog hasn't been posted yet.  It is a work in progress.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#666666;"&gt;Also-I am not comfortable blogging about Andy's father in detail yet.  I have a lot of good stories to tell; I want to do Dr. Betts justice when I blog about him.  He was a great man and he deserves the best recognition possible, not a winged post done on 6 hours of sleep and 11 hours of nonstop driving.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#666666;"&gt;More is yet to come, stick around and see&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:'times new roman', serif;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:14px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:'times new roman', serif;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:14px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px; font-size:14px;"&gt;&lt;span class="blue"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'times new roman';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="  line-height: normal; font-family:Georgia, serif;font-size:16px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px; font-size:14px;"&gt;&lt;span class="red"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'times new roman';"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"    style="font-family:'times new roman', serif;font-size:130%;color:#FF0000;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:14px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);   line-height: normal; font-family:Georgia, serif;font-size:16px;"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i923.photobucket.com/albums/ad75/ggthewifey/sassysig.png" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7910414087382280713-642822855816280664?l=sassysharay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/feeds/642822855816280664/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2010/05/before-i-start-this-blog-i-would-like.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/642822855816280664'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/642822855816280664'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2010/05/before-i-start-this-blog-i-would-like.html' title=''/><author><name>Sha-Ray</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02294807316979339979</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bMFyAfE6vzY/SxaRJlIUw2I/AAAAAAAAABk/PyCs4b5_SqQ/S220/sharay.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910414087382280713.post-977545709861687010</id><published>2010-05-06T19:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-07T11:02:38.668-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A flashback: Freshman year</title><content type='html'>It is very inconceivable for me that I am almost done with my first year of college.  Where did the time go? Somehow, all within the last year, I have graduated high school and almost completed my first year of college. And, oh what things have happened in between!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess the first "turning point" if you could call it that would be when I actually left home and went to college.  College is not what I expected it to be at all. It seems really, very easy compared to what you see on TV. I mean easy by the actual transition from living at home. The classes are much more difficult than high school classes. For the first time in my entire life, I have to study.  Luckily, my first semester was super easy, and I have only struggled a bit my second.  My hardest classes appear to be Biology and LAS, I cant seem to bring up those C's. lol. Its not for lack of trying, though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's not the actual school work part of school that has affected me most, though. It's the people I have met.  Although I do not have any college friendships that I could compare to those from high school, I have met some pretty amazing people here.  I know that if I ever have any problem, I have people I can go to, and I hope that people feel comfortable coming to me with their problems.  It also helps to know the people in your classes when it is somehow 2 days before an exam and you have no idea where to start studying.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;An even bigger addition to my life would be my boyfriend, Andy, whom I met the very first week of classes here at B-W. It's a very funny story actually, and looking back now, I cannot believe that we actually got together. That sounds bad. Maybe I should explain the circumstances of our introduction.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My roommate and I wanted to go outside and shoot basketball.  I'm not very good at it, but it's something that relieves stress and something that I love to do.  We also had another friend, who we met while wandering around campus orientation weekend, who was going to shoot around with us.  So there we were, vividly engrossed in our game of horse when I notice this older-looking guy walking toward the basketball courts.  He had a basketball, and appeared to be an upperclassmen, so my first thought was "Great, I hope he doesn't think we are going to give up the court for him just because we are freshmen."  Well, he ended up joining our game of horse and proceeded to completely own everyone else playing.  Lucky me, the one who has never played basketball before gets to go after the basketball player. =/  Anyway, the entire time he played all he did was make fun of the way I played, the movies I had and hadn't seen, and pretty much anything else that came up in conversation.  All the while, I am thinking, "wow, how can this guy be such an asshole?"  A little later, the other guy we were with had to leave, and it was just me, Andy and my roommate.  We were just standing around talking about high school, movies, music, pretty much anything, and Andy was still sliding in insulting remarks about me wherever he could fit them.  Finally, I was able to find a movie that I had seen that he never had, Nothing to Lose.  My roommate happened to have that movie in our room, so, I don't know if you would call it spite, or fate, or whatever, I invited Andy up to watch the movie.  (Let it be known, that at this point in time, I wasn't even interested enough to remember his name.  I seriously had to keep glancing at his ID to remember it...pathetic, I know.)  Anyway, we watched the movie and then parted ways afterward, with the plans to meet up at the same time the next day, for basketball.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, the next day, after classes and whatnot, it was collectively decided by my roommate and I that we should do our laundry.  Because of the lack of available machines, our laundry time ran over into "basketball time," and we ended up not being able to meet Andy for basketball, and my roommate and I were going to a Greek cookout (free food), so I invited Andy along. To make a long story short(er), I ended up helping him with his laundry and afterwards we got coffee and went down to the lake to talk.  Somehow, we ended up talking about absolutely everything and pretty much anything and stayed out until 3am.  (I later realized that the only one who was negatively affected by this was me.  He didn't have class until 2. Lucky bastard.)  Things after that are a bit fuzzy, but thats how it all started.  Oh, and obviously the asshole first impression was some sort of ploy that I still don't understand.  Apparently, all guys stand by the whole "Nice guys finish last" thing. oh well. It worked out for the best because I am now much happer than I have ever been with any other person.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other really big thing that happened this year was my father and my step mother splitting up.  It was inevietable, I see this now. but nevertheless, it was extremely surprising.  Especially since I found out in the Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport in Texas.  How strange it was to hear my stepmother yell the words "Fine, just go back to your whore in Cleveland." Wow. Shocker right there.  Maybe I should explain...&lt;br /&gt;So there I was, sitting, waiting for our plane to get there.  I was excitedly talking on the phone with my one of my best friends, telling her how excited I was to be getting to go to Puerto Rico, for the sun, the sand, the views, it all seemed like it was too good to be true.  Well, just like in a book, as soon as those thoughts went through my mind, my step mother stormed over and said "Let's go, we're going back to Cleveland."  I was like, "haha, very funny," but then I saw how much they were arguing.  (I am still on the phone)  Then there was that pivotal moment where "Fine, just go back to your whore in Cleveland."  I hung up my phone and instantly called my boyfriend, obviously freaking out.  I filled him in on everything, crying.  I ended up staying the night in the Dallas/Fort Worth terminal, it was one of the longest nights of my life.  The next morning, I got back on the plane and came back to Cleveland.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, things are pretty tense between my dad and my step-mother.  Therefore, it makes things tense for me.  I feel like I am out of place, constantly.  I am going back down to Alabama this summer and staying with my mother.  I am going to continue to go to school in Cleveland.  I don't know what the future holds for me, but I know that I do not regret things from my past.  My past experiences make me who I am today, and I get stronger with every one that doesn't bring me down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i923.photobucket.com/albums/ad75/ggthewifey/sassysig.png" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7910414087382280713-977545709861687010?l=sassysharay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/feeds/977545709861687010/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2010/05/flashback-freshman-year.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/977545709861687010'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/977545709861687010'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2010/05/flashback-freshman-year.html' title='A flashback: Freshman year'/><author><name>Sha-Ray</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02294807316979339979</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bMFyAfE6vzY/SxaRJlIUw2I/AAAAAAAAABk/PyCs4b5_SqQ/S220/sharay.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910414087382280713.post-422550455645577747</id><published>2010-03-28T16:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-28T16:57:40.112-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"All you ever do is work and do calculus"</title><content type='html'>Yes. That's me. Work and calculus.  I didn't really think it was a problem until Andy said that to me one day. It's true.  All I do is work and do calculus.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Work.&lt;br /&gt;I just want to take a quick minute and blog about what happened at work on Saturday night.  For anyone who doesn't know, I work as a server at a steakhouse.  I usually love my job.  I love working with people and I love the people I work with.  I also realize that not every night is going to be that wonderful night where you leave work with an additional Benjamin in your wallet; and don't get me wrong, it's not all about the money.  I have a receipt that a customer returned to me, and all it said on it was "Thanks for great service."  For the record, the couple left me a 20% tip, so they weren't the type who were "verbal tippers."  I really, really appreciated the note.  I still have it in my book and look at it whenever I feel down at work.  Saturday, however, I needed more than those words of encouragement.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Storytime.&lt;br /&gt;Well, I guess my Saturday work night started out when I went to leave.  I got in my car, started it up, turned up Lady Gaga and put my windows down. (Nice days in Berea, Ohio are hard to pass up.)  I back up three feet and my car dies.&lt;br /&gt;Not that it's a really big deal; I always leave a bit early, and my car has done this before. I got it to start up (after quite a few fruitless tries) and parked it back into its spot.  Andy took me to work that night. (Thanks, sweetie)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I got to work on time by some grace of God.  My first table was two guys.  Not only were they nice guys, but by some well placed flirting, I made $12 dollars off of that table. *cha-ching*.  By another grace of God, my next table was 4 guys.  They also drank.  And loved me.  They even asked my boss to give me a raise.  After she refused this, they said she should at least give me paid vacation.  (Part-time employers do not get benefits).  She told them to tip me well. They did. $16 dollars well. *cha-&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;ching&lt;/span&gt;*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My next table was an older couple.  A cute older couple, mind you.  The guy kind of looked like Mr. Wilson from Dennis the Menace.  His wife was one of those cute old ladies.  I walked over to their table, introduced myself, got their drink orders and offered appetizers.  The guy kind of looked at me and said, "We just sat down, sweetheart" (Or some other endearing term). So I just went back and got their drinks/bread and asked if they were ready to order.  They were not so I went back to my business dealing with my other tables.  I won't bore you with what went on there, nothing noteworthy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went back and got their orders and delivered their salad/chili.  Ten or so mins later, my manager, Matt, was chopping up a new salad for the lady at my table.  Apparently our romaine was cut too largely for her to eat.  Understandable.  He took the salad to her and all was well.  Their food came up shortly afterwards; I wasn't there to deliver it because I was running someone else's food.  I think Matt ended up taking it to the table and they wanted it brought back until they were able to eat it.  I took it to them later and, again, it seemed like all was well.  When they looked as if they were about done, I walked up and asked if they wanted dessert.  They wanted the key lime pie, and the gentleman asked for a box.  I went back to the back to get their slice of key lime pie out of the cooler and took it to their table.  I removed the lady's plate and asked the man if I could do the same with his.  He said no, he would like his box. I apologized and asked if I could get him a glass of water while I was in the back getting his box. He said:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No. I would like for you to clean our table off.  Just forget it, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;get your manager&lt;/span&gt;."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is the first time this has ever happened to me.  In my opinion, the guy was overreacting.  Yes, I forgot his box.  And yes, he did get free dessert and coffee out of his outburst.  But his terrible attitude did little for my self-confidence and self-esteem for the rest of the night.  Too bad he was my 3rd table on a Saturday night.  I went through a lot more.  And to make matters worse, his wife grabbed my arm as they were leaving and as a reply to my "Have a great evening", said in my ear:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Just get the junk off of the table next time."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think she might have been trying to make me feel better.  But she just made me feel worse.  My manager had already talked to me about it.  He had already said that the old man was an asshole.  And he already told me what happened.  And not to worry about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, dear old lady, there will not be a next time.  I will not wait on you again.  If I see you and your Mr.-Wilson-look-alike husband I will ask not to be your server. &lt;br /&gt;Because, if I was, I feel that I would have something to live up to, and I do not.  I am a great server.  I do my job well, and I have tips and previous customers to prove it.  I don't have anything to prove to you and your husband.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Calculus.&lt;br /&gt;Yes. I have to do it now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7910414087382280713-422550455645577747?l=sassysharay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/feeds/422550455645577747/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2010/03/all-you-ever-do-is-work-and-do-calculus.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/422550455645577747'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/422550455645577747'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2010/03/all-you-ever-do-is-work-and-do-calculus.html' title='&quot;All you ever do is work and do calculus&quot;'/><author><name>Sha-Ray</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02294807316979339979</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bMFyAfE6vzY/SxaRJlIUw2I/AAAAAAAAABk/PyCs4b5_SqQ/S220/sharay.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910414087382280713.post-9034459413658918137</id><published>2010-03-17T07:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-17T07:44:59.097-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Not-so-happy St. Patrick's Day</title><content type='html'>Not that I celebrate St. Patricks Day or anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, my step-mother is supposed to give me her tax info so that I can use it for my FAFSA (or FASFA. I can never remember.) And she has YET to email me the info. If she doesn't email me the info, not only can I not go to B-W next year, I will not be able to attend any sort of school due to financial reasons.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And to top that off-&lt;br /&gt;The boyfriend and I are arguing.&lt;br /&gt;Gah.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7910414087382280713-9034459413658918137?l=sassysharay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/feeds/9034459413658918137/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2010/03/not-so-happy-st-patricks-day.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/9034459413658918137'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/9034459413658918137'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2010/03/not-so-happy-st-patricks-day.html' title='Not-so-happy St. Patrick&apos;s Day'/><author><name>Sha-Ray</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02294807316979339979</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bMFyAfE6vzY/SxaRJlIUw2I/AAAAAAAAABk/PyCs4b5_SqQ/S220/sharay.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910414087382280713.post-7019201087202349295</id><published>2010-03-16T21:23:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-16T21:25:56.155-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Blogging</title><content type='html'>I'm terrible at it. I obviously do not blog regularly. I want to, but I do not have time. I don't really want to talk about my past anymore. So that's not the direction in which the blog is going to go. I feel that I should blog about spring break and about my job and about my family. maybe tomorrow night after work I will do just that.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7910414087382280713-7019201087202349295?l=sassysharay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/feeds/7019201087202349295/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2010/03/blogging.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/7019201087202349295'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/7019201087202349295'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2010/03/blogging.html' title='Blogging'/><author><name>Sha-Ray</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02294807316979339979</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bMFyAfE6vzY/SxaRJlIUw2I/AAAAAAAAABk/PyCs4b5_SqQ/S220/sharay.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910414087382280713.post-3221961559122794371</id><published>2009-12-23T21:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-23T21:39:16.055-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Ahem...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;*fumes*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;I am &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;NOT &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;happy right now. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&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/7910414087382280713-3221961559122794371?l=sassysharay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/feeds/3221961559122794371/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2009/12/ahem.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/3221961559122794371'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/3221961559122794371'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2009/12/ahem.html' title='Ahem...'/><author><name>Sha-Ray</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02294807316979339979</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bMFyAfE6vzY/SxaRJlIUw2I/AAAAAAAAABk/PyCs4b5_SqQ/S220/sharay.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910414087382280713.post-8613303280567035161</id><published>2009-12-20T22:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-20T22:52:31.702-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My life. And why it's different.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;I have been toying with the idea of changing up my blog.  A lot.  I needed a clever name and a snazzy layout, neither of which has happened.  But I think I am cool with that.  Tonight, I changed it:  Life, With Sass.  Lame, yes.  However...I think I have an idea to make it work.  See, my step mother has always called me "Sassy."  My name is Sha-Ray.  Sassysharay obviously sounds good, since it what I use for everything.  But I also have a story to tell.  A story about what I have been through.  My life, to date, which makes me the person that I am today.  The only reason that I feel like I can do this is because my family really doesn't know about this blog.  I used to have it connected to Facebook so that my posts showed up there as notes, but I recently took it down, because all of my family has Facebook.  If I want it posted there, I will post it there. But I promised a story, so here it is:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;My early childhood was normal, for the most part.  I mean, as normal as can be, right?  And who am I to define what 'normal' is anyway? Each person/situation is different, therefore there really is no 'normal'. Anyway, that's a different story.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;My parents fought a lot when I was a child.  They weren't meant for each other, and probably the only thing good that came out of that marriage was my sister and I.  They got divorced in 2001, I believe.  My dad met someone else.  Not that it matters, but to respect confidentiality we will call her "Jane."  My dad worked with "Jane" and became good friends with her.  They were both married when they met, and they even started hanging out with each other and their spouses.  Well, to make a long, boring, not pertinent story short, my dad ended up marrying "Jane."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;This is pretty much where my life changed.  Drastically.  I mean, it was slow, so I didn't see it.  But I pretty much went from being a child to an adult.  "Jane" had three kids, and my dad had my sister and I.  We all lived together, my father got custody of us, however I don't remember why.  For the first 6 months or so, we were an okay family.  Yeah, Dad and "Jane" fought.  A lot.  But I was used to it.  Remember?  My parents had been fighting all of my life.  Why would it seem strange?  Anyway, "Jane" tried to be friends with my sister and I from the start.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Backtrack a bit:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Summer of 2001, my sister and I were staying with my grandmother in Florida, as we did every summer.  My dad came down with "Jane" to pick us up to take us back to Alabama.  My sister and I did not know "Jane" at this point, we did not even know that our father was coming down there to pick us up, if I remember correctly.  We hung out with them for a while, went to the beach, went to a friends house and swam in their pool.  "Jane" bought my sister and I swimsuits, we couldn't figure out what was up, and again, if I remember correctly, I didn't really expect anything.  When we got back to Alabama, mother and dad sat us down and told us that they were divorcing.  I remember going back into my room and crocheting a scarf.  I don't know why.  I was not upset.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Back to the story.  We were living in Florida, but dad and "Jane" couldn't find jobs so we moved back to Alabama.  They both started working, so I was paid to babysit.  The term 'babysit' actually turned into 'slave who does whatever she is told' but that is what this story is leading up to, isn't it?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;To make a long story short(er), I babysat.  All the time.  I never really did anything.  I think I can count the times I spent the night with someone from the time I was in 5th grade until I graduated high school on my fingers.  I can count the times I went out to the mall and hung out with friends on my fingers.  I can count the number of things I was -allowed- to do at school on one hand.  I cooked, I did laundry, I cleaned.  For a family of 7.  No. It doesn't sound all that bad.  But I started all of this when I was 10 years old.  I was never allowed to have an actual childhood.  I went to the mall with my sister just the other day, and there were groups of kids hanging out in the mall, and, try as I might, I could not figure out the point of it.  What is the point of getting up a group of people, dressing up like you are going clubbing, and just sitting at the food court of the mall.  And I assume the reason I cannot understand this is because when I think of all the times when I was out alone with friends in the mall...oh...that's right....I can't think of any.  Yeah, this one time I went to the mall with Robin and her mom.  (Friend)  But all I really remember from it was my "Jane" calling and making me come home early because she needed someone to watch her children.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;I was a mother.  I was a mother of four children when I was ten years old.  Well, I am exaggerating a wee bit.  I didn't start fully taking care of her children until after we moved to Ohio, which was in 2004/2005.  And then, I think I got about 6 months to a year because we lived with "Jane's" mother.  But, after we moved into our own house, "Jane" started working 3rd shift and my dad went back over the road. (He was a truck driver)  It was my sole responsibility to do the laundry for every inhabitant of the house, provide the children with food, clean up after them, make sure they bathed, brushed their teeth, did their chores/homework, and went to school.  I also had to shop for groceries, and make sure the yard work got done.  And when money was tight, I had to figure out a way to make things work.  I remember one night, we had barely any food in the house, and I had to conjure up something for the kids for dinner.  I ended up making butter noodles.  Butter and freakin angel hair pasta.  I think I added garlic or something to make it edible.  I have served mac and cheese and hot dogs/ramen noodles/walmart rice-a-roni and fried bologna more times that I can even possibly count.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Now, all of this wouldn't have been that bad, but...my father and "Jane" aren't the world's greatest parents by a long shot.  I didn't get much thanks or recognition.  And if I slipped up and forgot to do something, like start the dishwasher or do a load of laundry, I was grounded for two weeks. No music, no phone, no friends.  Now, yes. I realize that I had responsibilities that I had to address, but I was treated different than my siblings.  No, they weren't treated great either, but they had much more leeway than I did.  They could go without doing their chores for a week and nothing happen, but heaven forbid I go one day.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;I was also put down a lot by my father.  Don't get me wrong, he was alright most of the time, but I could never make him truly happy.  He was always calling me stupid.  Always degrading me.  Always calling me lazy.  Always calling me a bitch.  Ungrateful.  Spiteful.  You name it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;So...let me go on to say:  I was a model student.  All A's.  Valedictorian.  I did everything I could to please my father and "Jane."  And, yeah, every once in a while they said they were proud of me.  But they still called me stupid. Lazy. Bitch. Ungrateful. Spiteful. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;I realize that I am kind of jumping around here.  But, the story is a hard one to tell, considering that I didn't see it happening.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;One thing that still bothers me today.  "Jane" and my father really weren't big on us kids showing emotions.  We weren't allowed to cry.  We got in trouble for crying.  Me?  When I get angry, I cry.  When I am getting yelled at, I cry.  When I am upset, I cry.  When I get stressed, I cry.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;font-size:130%;" &gt;AND I DO NOT DO IT FOR PITY.  I DO NOT DO IT FOR "BROWNIE POINTS". I DO NOT DO IT TO GET MY WAY.  I DO NOT DO IT TO MAKE PEOPLE FEEL BAD&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;.  I don't know how many times I have been accused of the previous statements.  But, because of this, it is really hard for me to show my emotions now.  I do still cry easily, but I try not to.  Because I have been conditioned to think that crying isn't allowed.  I also don't really speak my mind as much as I should.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;And, because of the many years where I was a live-in maid that pretty much did EVERYTHING I was told, I have a really hard time saying "no" to people.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Anyway, I was promised a lot by my father and "Jane".  A lot that was never, ever delivered.  I gave my childhood away because they didn't want to hire a real babysitter.  I never really got the time to just be a kid, to just enjoy the little things in life.  Like, I wanted to be in band in high school.  To much of a commitment.  I wanted to stay the night at my friends' houses.  Too bad.  I had to baby sit.  All the time.  I never really ever spent the night at friends houses in high school unless there was a party or something.  And that happened once. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway...I think this is going to be a continuing story.  Or one in which I post random bits and pieces until I feel content.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is the first time I have done anything like this. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sassy&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/7910414087382280713-8613303280567035161?l=sassysharay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/feeds/8613303280567035161/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-life-and-why-its-different.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/8613303280567035161'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/8613303280567035161'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-life-and-why-its-different.html' title='My life. And why it&apos;s different.'/><author><name>Sha-Ray</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02294807316979339979</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bMFyAfE6vzY/SxaRJlIUw2I/AAAAAAAAABk/PyCs4b5_SqQ/S220/sharay.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910414087382280713.post-5190415869627721581</id><published>2009-12-20T21:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-20T21:55:35.976-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Love/Hate</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;I'm terribly bored.  But I am not quite ready for bed yet. So I am going to make a love/hate list.  These were big when I had Xanga, and I ran across my old Xanga page recently. I would post the link, but I can't ever remember how to get back to it.  I just stumble across it every once in a while. Let's see how this goes.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;font-size:180%;" &gt;I love:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;1.)  Andy&lt;br /&gt;2.)  My family&lt;br /&gt;3.)  Good friends&lt;br /&gt;4.)  Things that smell good&lt;br /&gt;5.)  Christmas&lt;br /&gt;6.)  Nicholas Sparks books&lt;br /&gt;7.)  Good movies&lt;br /&gt;8.)  Happy endings&lt;br /&gt;9.)  That feeling you get when you are working out&lt;br /&gt;10.)Good cookies (which, after eating, you feel like you &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;need&lt;/span&gt; to work out. haha.)&lt;br /&gt;11.)Movie trivia.  I used to play it alot when I was little&lt;br /&gt;12.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Chapstick (sorry. currently have chapped lips. winter, ftw)&lt;br /&gt;13.)Babies.&lt;br /&gt;14.)Painting my nails just to make myself feel better&lt;br /&gt;15.)Turning my music up and singing as loud as I can. When I am alone, of course. lol&lt;br /&gt;16.)Little things that make me smile. Example? When Andy does something totally random, cute,   spur of the moment, romantic.  Sadly, it doesn't happen all that much.&lt;br /&gt;17.)Sleeping...which I am about to do...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, this list is obviously incomplete. &lt;br /&gt;And I almost just deleted it all and went to bed. But I guess I can just post the love part and leave the hate for tomorrow.  I will do it right after i jog.  Because I'm sure I will have a lot to complain about then.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, Until tomorrow...&lt;br /&gt;Sassy&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/7910414087382280713-5190415869627721581?l=sassysharay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/feeds/5190415869627721581/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2009/12/lovehate.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/5190415869627721581'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/5190415869627721581'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2009/12/lovehate.html' title='Love/Hate'/><author><name>Sha-Ray</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02294807316979339979</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bMFyAfE6vzY/SxaRJlIUw2I/AAAAAAAAABk/PyCs4b5_SqQ/S220/sharay.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910414087382280713.post-4664892308991554852</id><published>2009-12-19T11:39:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-19T12:02:17.663-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Money and Jewelry...the way to a girl's heart...or mine, at least</title><content type='html'>Yeah, that means I got my gift from my grandparents. :D It couldn't have come at a better time. Yeah. I need money. Doesn't everybody, though? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;An update from last night: I got in to the Nicholas Sparks book.  I thought it was amazing until I finished it this morning.  Seriously, does he have to make &lt;i&gt;every&lt;/i&gt; book extremely sad?  I seriously cried for quite a while when I finished it.  Talk about being emotionally distraught.  &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyway.  In other news, I am a bit irritated.  I wonder when my mother is going to realize that I am not a child anymore.  There is a Christmas cookie party tonight, from 4-6 or something, and after 6 there is an "after-party" of sorts.   Adults only, of course.  So guess who gets to drive their own car so that she and her sister can leave at 6?  Yeah.  Me.  Not that I wanted to go to the "adult" party, I don't drink, nor, admittedly, am I old enough.  However, I am not a child, and an invite would have been appreciated.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But, I don't want to sound like I am sulking, I am not.  And my sister and I will probably just drop off at the mall and just hang out.  It sounds fun.  But I think that it is the principle of the whole ordeal that irritates me.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ah. Maybe I am just overreacting. I tend to do that a lot. Oh, well.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I still have yet to make my other batch of cookies.  Mother opted out of making cookies for this social, because, conveniently, I had already made some.  Just as long as she doesn't take the credit for my cookies, I don't care.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I sound petty, I know. I'm going to stop now.  Because I know I am being ridiculous. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Our first Christmas gathering is tomorrow.  I don't even really remember all of the people that are going to be there.  I haven't spent Christmas here in quite a while.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Aish.  Oh well. Waiting for the mother to get home, then leaving for the cookie thing. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7910414087382280713-4664892308991554852?l=sassysharay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/feeds/4664892308991554852/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2009/12/money-and-jewelrythe-way-to-girls.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/4664892308991554852'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/4664892308991554852'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2009/12/money-and-jewelrythe-way-to-girls.html' title='Money and Jewelry...the way to a girl&apos;s heart...or mine, at least'/><author><name>Sha-Ray</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02294807316979339979</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bMFyAfE6vzY/SxaRJlIUw2I/AAAAAAAAABk/PyCs4b5_SqQ/S220/sharay.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910414087382280713.post-6891569809796856968</id><published>2009-12-18T21:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-18T22:18:55.784-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Holiday Blues?</title><content type='html'>I don't know what it is, but I am really not feeling like myself lately.  I mean, I cant even get into a &lt;i&gt;Nicholas Sparks&lt;/i&gt; book!!! They are my favorite!! *sigh* I don't know.  Maybe it has something to do with me not really having anything to do lately.  The Lonestar in Alabama didn't want me to come and work over break, and I pretty much just sit around here and bake cookies.  Thanks to &lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="  ;font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="red"  style=" ;color:red;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://thewifeyblogs.blogspot.com/"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://thewifeyblogs.blogspot.com/"&gt;TheWifey&lt;span class="red"  style=" ;color:red;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;.  I have never had better peanut butter cookies in my life.  You can check out her blog for the recipe. I took out the nuts and dipped half of mine in baker's chocolate for my own twist. YUM! &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have been following the story of a friend's friend who was pregnant.  It was a strange situation to begin with, but it had all of the potential to be the cutest story ever.  Sadly, today, I learned that she lost her baby.  I don't know why I am so upset over that, I don't even know the girl.  But, here I am, all hung up over it.  I guess I just hate when bad things happen to good people.  And I am keeping the girl in my prayers and I hope that she is okay. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I guess that another reason that I could be upset is that I miss my man. LOL.  I know, I spend all of my time with him, so I should enjoy a break. (So says &lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="  ;font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="red"  style=" ;color:red;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://life-with-amanda.blogspot.com/"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://life-with-amanda.blogspot.com/"&gt;Amanda&lt;span class="red"  style=" ;color:red;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt; )  I don't. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But I do enjoy the time that I am spending with my family and friends down here in sweet home Alabama.  I just wish that he were here with me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I think I may be starting to feel a bit better. I'm going to curl up with my book and try to wear myself out so that I can get some sleep.  Gotta get ready for more cookie-making tomorrow!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7910414087382280713-6891569809796856968?l=sassysharay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/feeds/6891569809796856968/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2009/12/holiday-blues.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/6891569809796856968'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/6891569809796856968'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2009/12/holiday-blues.html' title='Holiday Blues?'/><author><name>Sha-Ray</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02294807316979339979</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bMFyAfE6vzY/SxaRJlIUw2I/AAAAAAAAABk/PyCs4b5_SqQ/S220/sharay.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910414087382280713.post-4941937125053529158</id><published>2009-12-10T18:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-10T18:19:57.620-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh the weather outside...</title><content type='html'>Well, I am back in Geneva.  Until tomorrow morning, at least.  The weather &lt;i&gt;is&lt;/i&gt; frightful. *shudder*  I really, really hope it is better by tomorrow morning. I DO NOT want to drive in this mess.  Apparently I-90 is supposed to be the worst of it anyway.  I'm watching the Browns/Steelers game...apparently the wind chill is -12 there. Brr. It's probably worse here, which is why I am cuddled in a blanket with no intention of going out again tonight....&lt;div&gt;Well, lies.  I supposed I -do- have to go back out...I didn't bring in any underwear. lol. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So. I'm not going to lie. There isnt really a reason that I am still here. I could be doing everything that I am right now from my dorm room in Berea.  So...why didn't I just leave for Berea after dinner with my cousin? Garrr. Weather, probably. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Oh. Updates? Browns have a 6-0 lead over the Steelers. :/.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Bet someone in T-County is a &lt;i&gt;very &lt;/i&gt;happy camper. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Aaaand. I am &lt;i&gt;already&lt;/i&gt; frustrated with this. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;:/&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7910414087382280713-4941937125053529158?l=sassysharay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/feeds/4941937125053529158/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2009/12/oh-weather-outside.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/4941937125053529158'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/4941937125053529158'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2009/12/oh-weather-outside.html' title='Oh the weather outside...'/><author><name>Sha-Ray</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02294807316979339979</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bMFyAfE6vzY/SxaRJlIUw2I/AAAAAAAAABk/PyCs4b5_SqQ/S220/sharay.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910414087382280713.post-2889076871799187395</id><published>2009-12-02T08:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-02T08:33:38.766-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Thanksgiving</title><content type='html'>Yeah, I know. I should really, really, really &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;really&lt;/span&gt; blog more. But I don't have time!!  I am actually blogging from my Chemistry class right now.  (Yep. Bad student. Guilty.)&lt;br /&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;     Anyway, I'm just going to cut to the chase.  Thanksgiving. Was. Great!!  My break started on Monday night, since I don't have classes on Tuesday.  So, Monday night, I went cosmic bowling with my boyfriend and a couple from work.  The bowling alley had a "free for people who work at [insert name here] night.  (We were later joined by the kitchen guys at work.) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Tuesday&lt;/span&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Andy and I had plans to go back to his parents' house in Washington for the holiday, but we couldn't leave til Tuesday night because he had classes on Tuesday.  So, I finished up my Christmas shopping for his family and did some laundry and we left around 6-ish at night.  We ended up staying at the Red Roof Inn somewhere near Youngstown.  It was really nice. (The night, not the hotel. ;]) I will leave that at that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wednesday&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;We got up early and drove the rest of the way to his parent's house.  Not ten minutes after we got there, Andy announces that he is leaving to go to Waynesburg with his father.  Before he left, he, his mother, and I all went to Shorty's to grab a quick lunch. &lt;br /&gt;HE LEFT ME ALONE WITH HIS MOTHER!!&lt;br /&gt;But it wasn't so bad.  She had me wrap a few gifts then left me to write my paper (which I actually didn't do until Friday).&lt;br /&gt;When everyone finally got back, we went to his grandfather's house and made pies.  Correction.  Andy's mother, aunt, and grandfather fought about makind pies while I watched.  I wasn't getting into that. No way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Thursday&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got up Thursday&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;morning and made breakfast for Andy's family.  Overall success...but we had to wait to eat so the food was cold.  Then the never-ending task of cooking Thanksgiving dinner for EVERYONE.  I believe it was really a bonding experience for his mother and I.  I mean, I don't want to sound all cliche, but I feel that I am much more comfortable with Andy's family after this visit.  Maybe it is because I have been there so many times...I don't know...but I like it. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Friday&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Black Friday.  Got up early and shopped with Andy, his mother, and his aunt.  Overall? Success.&lt;br /&gt;Also wrote my paper.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Saturday&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jerked out of bed by Andy for an early breakfast with his brothers and his mother.  Flat tire on car. :( Mall with Andy's brothers and his mother.  Got a new purse :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Went to lunch, then to his grandfather's house.  Then back to his house and out to dinner and to see New Moon. (Good movie. Still not worth all of the hype).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Sunday&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Drove back.&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Again, all in all, great holiday. :)&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/7910414087382280713-2889076871799187395?l=sassysharay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/feeds/2889076871799187395/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2009/12/thanksgiving.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/2889076871799187395'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/2889076871799187395'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2009/12/thanksgiving.html' title='Thanksgiving'/><author><name>Sha-Ray</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02294807316979339979</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bMFyAfE6vzY/SxaRJlIUw2I/AAAAAAAAABk/PyCs4b5_SqQ/S220/sharay.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910414087382280713.post-2684700902190157304</id><published>2009-11-01T09:54:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-01T10:07:29.624-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My Faith in Humanity</title><content type='html'>So. I haven't blogged in a couple of days. Well, there are some pretty good reasons for that.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Wednesday. The day I last blogged. I went to work. I got the most terrible migraine that I have had yet. It was so bad that I had to actually call my boyfriend to come to work and drive me back to campus, because I couldn't drive. It was pretty awful.  Well, on to the more exciting happenings.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I got up the next morning, feeling pretty damn amazing (i slept for...like...9 hours) and went to lab.  After lab I was supposed to meet with my academic advisor in order to finalize my schedule for this coming up semester.  Well, while I was waiting to meet from her, I get a call from a restricted number on my cellular device.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;..."Is this Amanda?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Yes?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"This is so-and-so from the Berea Police Department.  We found a purse and an apron with some stuff from Lone Star in it?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Yes...That is my stuff. I must have kicked it out of my car last...."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"No, ma'am. I think someone went through your car. We found these items on Beech St. (about a half a block away from where my car was parked).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This is where my heart literally skipped a beat.  I found my advisor and told her what had happened and she said she would take care of my academic issues.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I went to go meet with the officer.  Turns out, my car had been left unlocked (my wonderful boyfriend left it unlocked the night before. He was so worried about me because I was crying from the pain of my migraine)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Whoever entered my car took a bunch of stuff: my cd case, my winter coat, my 35mm camera, my phone charger, my work apron, an empty purse, my Garmin...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;However, once on Beech, they decided that everything except the phone charger and the Garmin wasn't worth keeping and just ditched it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(I am very insulted that my CD collection isn't worth stealing)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Even though I was upset that someone invaded my privacy, I was more than thankful that more damage wasn't done.  Everything that the thief took is replaceable. And that is what matters.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And I am more than thankful that my boyfriend took care of me Wednesday night.  I honestly dont know what I would have done without him. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyway, Thursday night, after all of this, someone was robbed at gunpoint very near where this happened with my car.  I chose this college because of its small town, community atmosphere.  I didn't think I would have to deal with crime so much.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My faith in humanity has been significantly lowered.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7910414087382280713-2684700902190157304?l=sassysharay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/feeds/2684700902190157304/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2009/11/my-faith-in-humanity.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/2684700902190157304'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/2684700902190157304'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2009/11/my-faith-in-humanity.html' title='My Faith in Humanity'/><author><name>Sha-Ray</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02294807316979339979</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bMFyAfE6vzY/SxaRJlIUw2I/AAAAAAAAABk/PyCs4b5_SqQ/S220/sharay.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910414087382280713.post-6581019068478234440</id><published>2009-10-28T12:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-28T12:44:37.112-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The First Post</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;   I am your normal, every-day college student.  Except, just like everyone else, I am different.  I am creating this blog as sort of an escape.  A place for me to rant.  I place where I can truly be myself and not have to worry about the consequences.  I highly doubt that I will tell my friends/family/etc that I am starting a blog.  I actually got this idea from a friend of a friend, however, she caved and tweeted about her until-then anonymous blog.&lt;br /&gt;    Here's the thing:  I have Myspace, Facebook, and Twitter as well.  Having gotten Myspace first, I began to use Facebook to post things that I wouldn't normally say on Myspace.  Then everyone got Facebook.  So, naturally, I turned to Twitter.  Well, now everyone Tweets as well.&lt;br /&gt;   This isn't a tool to whine about my "horrible" life.  I am also not looking for sympathy or agreement or a "pat on the back" for being right.  I just want to get everything out.  Everything that is stressing me out, everything that I am worried about, everything that I am pondering.  I want it out there.  Out there for other people to read and consider.&lt;br /&gt;     This isn't much for a first post, but I actually have to leave for work in 45 minutes, so I suppose I should get ready.&lt;br /&gt;&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/7910414087382280713-6581019068478234440?l=sassysharay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/feeds/6581019068478234440/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2009/10/first-post.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/6581019068478234440'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7910414087382280713/posts/default/6581019068478234440'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sassysharay.blogspot.com/2009/10/first-post.html' title='The First Post'/><author><name>Sha-Ray</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02294807316979339979</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bMFyAfE6vzY/SxaRJlIUw2I/AAAAAAAAABk/PyCs4b5_SqQ/S220/sharay.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
