<?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-6782227011337612627</id><updated>2011-09-05T07:29:00.650-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Shut Your Mouth When You're Talking To Me!</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>TrinketBites</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07183583763672093939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/S2-vHZIh4XI/AAAAAAAAAAw/dTYzEgqyyBI/S220/smile.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>23</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782227011337612627.post-6451308197649770623</id><published>2010-12-08T20:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-08T21:01:47.226-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Girls, and their boobs.</title><content type='html'>Most people have rants inside of them. I decided that I should probably let mine loose... I mean it's only natural right? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All girls have obsessions, and for most girls, it's how they look. In all honesty, that's what everyone judges on, how you look when you pass them by. Who care's if you're a good person or not, if you're dressed like a slob? After all, we live in a very superficial society. If you say anything different, you're probably in denial. You know how much you hate it when you pass a person you know in a store and you just didn't really feel like dressing up? It's like that.&lt;br /&gt;Girl's hate other girls that pass them by with nicer make up, bigger boobs, or a smaller waist than them. It's only natural. Every girl wants to be a starlet, a Megan Fox, Angelina Jolie, Scarlett Johannson or Nicole Scherzinger. True beauty may come in may shapes and sizes, but there's always a common denominator... sex appeal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today's obsession is boobs. I understand that girls that have small rib cages can have big boobs, I mean, it's not that uncommon, but it certainly isn't normal. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[NOTE TO GUYS: if you're like most guys, you don't know what the hell the letters and numbers that are given to you mean, you just know "A" is small and "D" is big... The numbers, however, play a role too. 32 is the smallest rib cage, and usually goes with an "A" or a "B", the more normal sizes for rib cages are 34 and up...Oh right for good measure, the "ABC's" you're given are the CUP SIZE, what your hand can cup...you already knew this I'm sure.] To quote the great, late Frank Zappa here, "More than a mouthful, goes to waste".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So today we're talking about the freakish little rib caged girls with huge NATURAL boobs [and quiet possibly one liar, you can judge that one for yourself]. That mean's we're going to be skipping the "ABC's" and we're going straight to the "D's", the 32D's to be exact. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As many of you guys should know, Katy Perry has skyrocketed to the top of every boys teenage dream with her 32D's on the cover of Rolling Stone. No boy really cared too much about this girl when she bust onto the scene with "I kissed a girl",but it sure did put a picture in everyones minds of two girls making out, and what guy doesn't love that image? However we still didn't know anything about what was underneath her shirt, and thats the only reason we care about our starlets, it's all about assets, it's not like they're your girl next door who has a great personality. Our stars are just pictures and flashes on the TV, unless you want to be a bit more creepy and obsessive and start researching their every like and dislike and start stalking them; FREAK! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/TQBilI6T3dI/AAAAAAAAACk/fG3ODPGYPWI/s1600/katy-perry-rollingstone3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 221px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/TQBilI6T3dI/AAAAAAAAACk/fG3ODPGYPWI/s320/katy-perry-rollingstone3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548543131107188178" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/TQBiksPQ8pI/AAAAAAAAACc/_-bvNIyOuCM/s1600/KATY%2BPERRY%2BRolling%2BStone%2BMagazine.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 235px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/TQBiksPQ8pI/AAAAAAAAACc/_-bvNIyOuCM/s320/KATY%2BPERRY%2BRolling%2BStone%2BMagazine.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548543123410449042" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Congrats Katy, your D's have made your not so appealing songs the talk of the town! You have made it, no one cares what your songs say, just show off your goods and you'll be just fine. At least I'm happy this girl doesn't have any extra help from implants. Well, that's how it seems to me. Her frame supports her boobs, it doesn't look like her body is under any pressure to hold her boobs in place like girls who have implants, that look like their bodies want to give out under the pressure. Her breasts are very fitting for her, she's a normal girl and her body is in balance with everything she's got. When boob's look a tad big for a girls shoulders to support, or the torso in general, it's probably too good to be true, in that case honey, they are fake. For now, I will say bravo Katy, and see you and those other boobilicious girls on the Victoria Secret's runway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next up is everyones favorite Kardashian, Kim! That girl's got curves for days and a cute face to match. Now, I don't know about when you first heard about Kim Kardashian, but the first time I knew who she was, brought to me by Ray Jay. "World famous Kim Kardashian" you remember when everyone was scrambling to find out where you could get the video? Yeah, that's when I found out. I think I was late to catch on to the Kim train but, now I know. If you're kinda famous already, then your body shoots you to the top with a sextape... sucks that everyone can see it and judge you but good job for keeping your body on point! This is the lovely Kim Kardashian and her 32DD's that are bouncing around in some boys head as we speak...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/TQBiWBL1qTI/AAAAAAAAACU/oiksgflNOeg/s1600/kim-kardashian-showing-stuff-thumb-550x825-158443.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/TQBiWBL1qTI/AAAAAAAAACU/oiksgflNOeg/s320/kim-kardashian-showing-stuff-thumb-550x825-158443.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548542871335184690" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/TQBiWByo1KI/AAAAAAAAACM/RhZ1lNIbNB4/s1600/Kim-Kardashian_petite-celebrity_bellapetite.com_.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 258px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/TQBiWByo1KI/AAAAAAAAACM/RhZ1lNIbNB4/s320/Kim-Kardashian_petite-celebrity_bellapetite.com_.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548542871497921698" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm perfectly aware that her rack isn't the reason guys love her, but it doesn't hurt to have nice ones. After all, look what it did for Katy's career! Kim has been dancing around in guys dreams for... I don't even know how long, but with the help of that sex tape, she has been helping guys around the world help themselves for days. You have truly done a great service to your fellow man. I suppose this would be a congrats to Kim for having a nice pair to balance her nice ass, I guess there are girls out there who get all the luck!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think 32DD is the biggest you can go naturally, so Kim, you lucked out! You lucky LUCKY girl, and not to mention your butt, I'm so jealous! In any case, that brings me to my next girl who I didn't hear of until someone brought it to my attention. Denise Milani. Who? Exactly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is Miss Denise Milani, whom I have a sneaking suspicion has some fake bits on her. You can judge for yourself. She says her breasts are a NATURAL 32DDD... C'mon! That's ridiculous! A girls frame has to be able to hold those hugenormous mammory glands, and this girl is too scrawny in my opinion, to have those this big attached to her. Don't you think that she should have some meat on her bones? Possibly a side of thighs to go with her shake? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/TQBh0iJ5C0I/AAAAAAAAAB0/S27yGDZ8Gis/s1600/images.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 184px; height: 274px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/TQBh0iJ5C0I/AAAAAAAAAB0/S27yGDZ8Gis/s320/images.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548542296069835586" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/TQBh0obSTzI/AAAAAAAAABs/J5kPJbXno9w/s1600/denise-milani-picture-4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 246px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/TQBh0obSTzI/AAAAAAAAABs/J5kPJbXno9w/s320/denise-milani-picture-4.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548542297753407282" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/TQBh0IjmtRI/AAAAAAAAABk/iZxZ0wKRr-s/s1600/denise%252Bmilani%252B011210455672.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/TQBh0IjmtRI/AAAAAAAAABk/iZxZ0wKRr-s/s320/denise%252Bmilani%252B011210455672.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548542289198363922" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/TQBh0I_DiWI/AAAAAAAAABc/wUMhvNEpmkc/s1600/denise-milani-22.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 246px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/TQBh0I_DiWI/AAAAAAAAABc/wUMhvNEpmkc/s320/denise-milani-22.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548542289313499490" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apparently, this girl is a fixture thats usually seen on Askmen. Now most guys don't really care if a girl online has real boobs or not. Especially if she's just an online pinup. Who even needs to know their name? What, I'm being serious. The only reason you should know their name if you're a guy is to look up more pictures of your online pinup. Needless to say, there's not much to be said about this girl.. oops, woman. My bad. She's married. She's got huge boobs, a small waist, skinny shoulders, and no butt... you think her boobs are real? I think shes a bit top heavy like she's going to topple over or get smashed under the weight of her mammory glands. I suppose, in this case, it doesn't matter, but why would you say they're natural if they're not? there's no shame in fake boobs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All in all, I suppose you can say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder; or slightly freakish over abundance of bouncing flesh. Whatever you think is hott or sexy, or weird and freakish is a perfectly good rant for someone else.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6782227011337612627-6451308197649770623?l=trinketbites.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/feeds/6451308197649770623/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6782227011337612627&amp;postID=6451308197649770623' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/6451308197649770623'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/6451308197649770623'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/2010/12/girls-and-their-boobs.html' title='Girls, and their boobs.'/><author><name>TrinketBites</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07183583763672093939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/S2-vHZIh4XI/AAAAAAAAAAw/dTYzEgqyyBI/S220/smile.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/TQBilI6T3dI/AAAAAAAAACk/fG3ODPGYPWI/s72-c/katy-perry-rollingstone3.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782227011337612627.post-3955611711845478740</id><published>2010-12-06T19:31:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-06T20:32:53.512-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Flaws Are Fine.</title><content type='html'>Have you ever wanted to haul off and slug someone for their stupidity? Did you ever think that because you aren't the "norm" that there's something wrong with you? I have. I hate when people look at you weird for not being like them, and not wanting to be like them at all. When I was a kid I was a tomboy. I don't mean that in the cute trendy way that girls use it now. I had bruises on bruises and cuts and scrapes and I had toy cars and action figures. I wasn't like the other girls, in first grade when girls were forming their cliques I had boys as friends and didn't even notice that it wasn't normal. I didn't mind not having friends that were girls because when I tried to make friends out of them it was pointless and I was always left out. Why would I want to play with girls when they didn't know how to skateboard or play video games!? Not to mention they don't know a thing about comic books! POINTLESS! I had a few friends that were girls,I use the word friends lightly. They were fair weather friends and that's all. To this day that's still how I feel. I don't text girls all my friends are guys, they aren't catty and don't give a shit if I don't wear make up when I go out or if i look better than them in a dress. Girls don't understand how its possible that I have so many guy friends without being a whore... maybe this will help, i was the first girl born in my family and so i was raised sitting behind the umpire watching baseball and wiffleball, a milestone for me was the day my dad taught me to throw and catch a football and run a play. I was a tomboy, but i had manners and i was proper when i was supposed to be. If you think that a girl not having girl friends is impossible, you're wrong. I am easy going and silly and goofy, girls are up tight and say fucked up things about their friends. I don't mind if i never have girl friends if it means that i don't have to deal with the drama... because life is supposed to be about happiness and i'm happy without the drama and without the hate. My boys love me for who i am not who i have to pretend to be to be around them.I don't care about Coach or Chanel purses, it just holds your junk should it really cost that much? My boys have seen me at my best and at my worst, they have watched my horrible relationships come and go and never think any less of me for it. I wouldn't trade them for anything...They're my family, and are there for me whenever I need them. They listen to my problems and help me solve them and remember to relax and be happy with who I am. AND I am a girl without any girl friends, I am a nerd and enjoy a good comic book argument, and as much as I hate loosing I love video games and a good match.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6782227011337612627-3955611711845478740?l=trinketbites.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/feeds/3955611711845478740/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6782227011337612627&amp;postID=3955611711845478740' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/3955611711845478740'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/3955611711845478740'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/2010/12/flaws-are-fine.html' title='The Flaws Are Fine.'/><author><name>TrinketBites</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07183583763672093939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/S2-vHZIh4XI/AAAAAAAAAAw/dTYzEgqyyBI/S220/smile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782227011337612627.post-8292631728962240742</id><published>2010-07-08T14:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-08T15:29:58.619-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I Wish I Could Show You.</title><content type='html'>I wish I could show you just how beautiful your soul is. I wonder if you're even aware... All of the sweet things you do have "great up bringing" written all over it. It's cute really. Your parents did well I know they'd be proud if they knew just how  wonderful you really are. I know you'd never be the one to hurt the one you like/ love on purpose, I know you'd never go out of your way to do anything mean. Meeting someone genuine is so rare that I want to be guarded, but it's so hard when I know that everything you're doing is just purely out of the goodness that's you. I honestly can't even think of things I wish you were because of the simple fact that you're everything rolled up into one person... way to be an over achiever! ...You wear it well. Even though I don't say it much, thank you, for everything you do...for all the little things you remember even though they'd most likely mean nothing to someone else, it means everything to me. It's the little things that add up, right?I hope you know you drive me crazy! I love your freakish talent for finding a lyric for every mood,emotion,setting... it should be an art form, at least you make it look like one. I want you to know your touch is so soft and loving that it makes it seem like nothing bad in the world even exists, how'd you do that? It almost seems like its a trick... I suppose this would be the part when you can say that we're blind. For the moment I don't mind because being blind might just be one of the most beautiful things I've got, and being lost in you seems so safe that being blind is a luxury. It seems like everyday we hangout it's just as fun as the first time, I can't stop smiling. I love the butterflies you unleash on me so unknowingly it makes it that much better. So in the end I guess I just wanted to say thank you, for just being you, you nerd who can't remember a question I asked a minute ago but can pull out something little I mentioned I liked once months ago. Thanks for the smile I get whenever I look over and for always giving me back what I give you... I think your soul is beautiful, breath taking and amazing but most importantly I wish I could show you just how much you mean to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"If I could rewind both the hands of time, still I would never find a lovelier design than you, nothings lovelier than you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"They say what goes up must come down, but don't let me fall."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Cause I'm gliding up there oh so very high that if the, clouds were to drop me then id, fall out the sky. I don't really, know why I'm here i guess I'm just here for the ride I swear it feels like I'm dreaming vividly defined."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I'll give you a kiss for every time you make me smile, I'll give you a thousand if you stay a little while..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I want to witness love I've never seen it close, yeah,but I guess I gotta find it first, that why I'm really going off, fireworks!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object style="background-image:url(http://i1.ytimg.com/vi/hJZkBWBashA/hqdefault.jpg)"  width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/hJZkBWBashA&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/hJZkBWBashA&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1" width="425" height="344" allowScriptAccess="never" allowFullScreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tr!nk.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6782227011337612627-8292631728962240742?l=trinketbites.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/feeds/8292631728962240742/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6782227011337612627&amp;postID=8292631728962240742' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/8292631728962240742'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/8292631728962240742'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/2010/07/i-wish-i-could-show-you.html' title='I Wish I Could Show You.'/><author><name>TrinketBites</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07183583763672093939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/S2-vHZIh4XI/AAAAAAAAAAw/dTYzEgqyyBI/S220/smile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782227011337612627.post-4842857678569951343</id><published>2010-02-07T22:31:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-07T22:46:44.896-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Maybe It's Time</title><content type='html'>I know I don't write in here anymore, I don't really care to write here anymore... or in general. Things in my family have been building up. My moms crying. My cousin had too much whiskey, he smells of every alcohol... he's usually even tempered. My dog growled at him, big deal, he was protecting my mom who was sleeping. He will protect anyone who's sleeping, or laying down. So my cousin screamed at my mom to tell the dog to shut up... my dog doesn't listen. My cousin is upset because a human shouldn't be treated in such a way, so he made my mom cry. His response to that was "oh ya, make me look like the bad guy. That's a fucking dog! now it's the fucking end of the world! don't try and turn this around on me, shut him the fuck up or i will"... He's lived in the house long enough to know how my dog is and should have let it go, but the whiskey wouldn't let him. Mom grabbed the dog and went into my room, and my cousin went on with his rampage. Great. Yet another family member bites the dust. My family isn't how it used to be my Aunt and one of her daughters doesn't talk to us cause she thinks my mom swore at her daughter. My aunt didn't even have the balls to ask if this was true or not, she just believed her teenage daughter who used to cry wolf when she didn't get her way. I guess karma can come back to you. In writing this I'm sure eventually one of my family members will stumble on this and it'll get worse... but what's it matter if it's already broken? Maybe it's time to stop worrying about what everyone else thinks and just go on your on route. Things are stressful enough without your family fucking up on you. 2010 was supposed to be a good year...so far the only things good that came out of it are the dreams in my head.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6782227011337612627-4842857678569951343?l=trinketbites.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/feeds/4842857678569951343/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6782227011337612627&amp;postID=4842857678569951343' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/4842857678569951343'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/4842857678569951343'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/2010/02/maybe-its-time.html' title='Maybe It&apos;s Time'/><author><name>TrinketBites</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07183583763672093939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/S2-vHZIh4XI/AAAAAAAAAAw/dTYzEgqyyBI/S220/smile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782227011337612627.post-5987132078333078634</id><published>2009-05-26T01:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-26T01:09:27.583-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Finding Myself</title><content type='html'>Lately it seem like i'm on an endless search to find who i am. Hopefully I can snap myself outta this funk soon, i've never had this problem before. For a while it seems I lost who I was, and now I have to make up for lost time. I've been baking and making other things that entertain me about baking. I'm glad I started that again, makes me feel more like who i used to be. After all everyone changes but it's not always for the better, I'm trying to change back to who I was before, I was happier with myself then. I missed art and all the things that go along with it. It's such a beautiful thing to be involved in. Anyway that the moment I'm in the works of making new blogs, one for cupcakes and one for pigs... odd i know but hey; everyone's a little odd at times. I don't know what they are going to be called yet but they will be made and I will follow threw on my goals. No blogging is NOT my goal but getting my art out there somewhere is. So wish me luck on my journey to find myself and open up to the world... ~Trinket.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6782227011337612627-5987132078333078634?l=trinketbites.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/feeds/5987132078333078634/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6782227011337612627&amp;postID=5987132078333078634' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/5987132078333078634'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/5987132078333078634'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/2009/05/finding-myself.html' title='Finding Myself'/><author><name>TrinketBites</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07183583763672093939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/S2-vHZIh4XI/AAAAAAAAAAw/dTYzEgqyyBI/S220/smile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782227011337612627.post-4359346033559224991</id><published>2009-02-21T00:53:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-21T01:13:04.329-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Lately, just blowing shit outta proportion.</title><content type='html'>Lately I haven't been able to do anything right. Okay maybe saying I haven't been able to do anything right is pushing it... but when it comes to my boyfriend, I just can't do right by him. It's driving me crazy! I say sorry all the time for things I don't think I should be saying sorry for, but I know it will make him happy so I say it. Ugh. Lately though, nothing I have been doing has been right, nothing has been good enough, I don't know what to do. He'll tell me to be 'considerate' of his time. I have tried to be but I guess I haven't tried hard enough. Everyday I'm not with him or I'm going to see him he has to tell me how I wasn't on time and how that makes me inconsiderate.I could understand it the first couple of times but everyday I'm not with him!? It's like hes purposefully trying to push me away or trying to see how much I'll take before I completely loose it. I've gone out to see him on days I wasn't supposed to, I've pissed off my mom I don't even know how many times now by going out there. Yes, I live with my mom and I'm 20, whatever. Anyway I suck at being on time, I know this but why do you have to rub it in my face? Does it make you feel better? BECAUSE it makes me feel like shit. If my mom yells at me to not go out because its late or the weather is bad or whatever, please just don't get mad at me. I just can't take it, those things aren't within my power. How can i be considerate if its raining and my mom doesn't want me on the road? I can call you and text you, which i do, but what if something happened when I'm driving and its raining hella bad with my shitty windshield wipers? Would you feel bad? or would I be inconsiderate for getting into an accident? I want to know! How am I inconsiderate if I text/call you as soon as i find something out? Thats what you asked me to do, and I do it. I just don't know what to do anymore... I'm just tired of feeling like crap when I'm 'inconsiderate of your time'. I'VE BEEN TRYING! I'm not perfect, and I already feel guilty when I do something wrong, why do you have you make it worse? Ugh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6782227011337612627-4359346033559224991?l=trinketbites.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/feeds/4359346033559224991/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6782227011337612627&amp;postID=4359346033559224991' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/4359346033559224991'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/4359346033559224991'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/2009/02/lately-just-blowing-shit-outta.html' title='Lately, just blowing shit outta proportion.'/><author><name>TrinketBites</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07183583763672093939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/S2-vHZIh4XI/AAAAAAAAAAw/dTYzEgqyyBI/S220/smile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782227011337612627.post-5713839200028549597</id><published>2008-06-11T08:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-11T08:54:07.981-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Juno. Not the City In Alaska,Not the Movie, Not the Goddess, the Girl.</title><content type='html'>So by now I'm sure everyone has seen Juno, it's won a million awards and was written by an ex-stripper that doesn't use her real name. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to talk about what happends, because even without seeing the movie people know what happends. A Teen girl gets pregnant and decides to keep it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm going to talk about Juno growing up in the movie, no a birthday doesn't pass and you don't see her older more than 9mos. She ends up growing as a person besides the roundness, in the beginning she is just a kid that got pregnant. You see her grow up when she stops using the the childish-teen vocabulary and starts to think things out more. &lt;br /&gt;During the duration of the movie she develops a friend in someone much older, and married. She sees nothing wrong with it because she says "pssh I can have friends that are married!" not knowing at 16 that what she was really doing was flirting. Later she gets a harsh awakening when the man says hes going to leave his wife and move to an apartment in the city. The only reason she wanted to get to know him is so would be comforted with the fact that the baby is going to a good family. At that point you see something change in her, she asks if its her fault that he was going to leave his wife. The next scene is Juno leaving a note for the wife saying if the wife is still in then so is she...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nievity&lt;br /&gt;The same goes for real life, for some people something tramatic has to happen in order for them to tell the difference between flirting and not flirting. Others just grow out of it, and in some cases at the time of your life where you would have learned the difference between when to flirt and then not to flirt, sometimes something tramatic happends and it actuallyjust leaves you in that mind state for the rest of your life without you even being aware. &lt;br /&gt;However by the time you get out of high school you should have learned whatever lesson you would have needed to learn to understand whats right and whats wrong.  Four years is all it takes, and in some cases it takes longer... and sometimes it just never happends. All the drama that happends in high school is everyone learning in their own way mixed with hormones going fucking crazy. It's not even just flirting its everything, you have to learn judgement, thats why  by the times you're 18 years old you can get piercings and tattoos all you want, because your brain is supposed to be developed enough for you to say I do or don't want that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really wish some people could have actually learned that lesson and be able to tell the difference between right and wrong and what they are doing.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6782227011337612627-5713839200028549597?l=trinketbites.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/feeds/5713839200028549597/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6782227011337612627&amp;postID=5713839200028549597' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/5713839200028549597'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/5713839200028549597'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/2008/06/juno-not-city-in-alaskanot-movie-not.html' title='Juno. Not the City In Alaska,Not the Movie, Not the Goddess, the Girl.'/><author><name>TrinketBites</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07183583763672093939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/S2-vHZIh4XI/AAAAAAAAAAw/dTYzEgqyyBI/S220/smile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782227011337612627.post-871212885878208846</id><published>2008-03-30T23:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-31T00:01:13.813-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Tear Me Apart And Leave Me Alone.</title><content type='html'>So it's happening agian. that  wonderful rush and thrill that is finding another human that has a brain in their head. However sometimes you can be wrong you can actually be very wrong about a person and not really know it until a while later. Or maybe it's not  even that you  don't know  maybe its more like you don't want to  let yourself know  until  awhile  later. Using yourself as a sort of cushioning, everyone does it. I love the feeling of someone knew. I love meeting new people who doesn't?   I just hate the let down. It's kind of sad in the end really. I really wish that everyone would  just be as fun as they were in the begining as they are in the end... and in that case there would be no end, instead you'd have a lifetime friend. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SILENCE.&lt;br /&gt;Is amazing. It can say a mouth full without a sound. It can make a situation more akward, and make you want to die. OR it can brighten up a day and say everything you ever wanted without one peep. At the moment I'm  sitting in the silence that makes a minute last for 5days or longer. The shitty feeling, the weirdness.... its there alright, the only thing thats even filling the  void at the moment is the sound of a tv thats not really being watched and the keyboard that is only being typed on because i  don't know what to say. Talk about akward!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6782227011337612627-871212885878208846?l=trinketbites.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/feeds/871212885878208846/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6782227011337612627&amp;postID=871212885878208846' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/871212885878208846'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/871212885878208846'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/2008/03/tear-me-apart-and-leave-me-alone.html' title='Tear Me Apart And Leave Me Alone.'/><author><name>TrinketBites</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07183583763672093939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/S2-vHZIh4XI/AAAAAAAAAAw/dTYzEgqyyBI/S220/smile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782227011337612627.post-4488801440780339045</id><published>2008-03-09T20:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-09T21:09:51.069-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Loosing My Mind</title><content type='html'>It's been a long ass time since I last wrote.... and it seems to me that I only write when something is borthering me... which is once again the reason for this ranting....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought that when you grew up all the shit from childhood would just go away... I really wish I could just start from scratch. I basically hate all the people that are consistant in my life from childhood. The only reason that these few are so damn consistant is to make my life a living hell.... and at the moment it seems like that is going smashingly for them. I really wish I could just go to school far away and be gone from all this crap. I want to know NO ONE where I go and make new friends. I just want a do-over... I really wish real life were more like video games sometimes... restart... and everything is perfect again. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I was about 13 I got in a lot of arguements with the girls in my little 8th grade posse... What a load of shit! These girls come back after YEARS to make me want to fucking kill them. I really fucking hate girls for this reason. Girls are so reatrdedly pitty! I want them to keep their mouths shut, keep their tails in between their legs and stay out of my way! AND secrectly  I hope they die.... no seriously! I have so much venom, and its just for their pretty little selves. I want them to go back from where they came from.... this is my state....and I really don't want them in it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6782227011337612627-4488801440780339045?l=trinketbites.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/feeds/4488801440780339045/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6782227011337612627&amp;postID=4488801440780339045' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/4488801440780339045'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/4488801440780339045'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/2008/03/loosing-my-mind.html' title='Loosing My Mind'/><author><name>TrinketBites</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07183583763672093939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/S2-vHZIh4XI/AAAAAAAAAAw/dTYzEgqyyBI/S220/smile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782227011337612627.post-2861450587720525254</id><published>2007-12-08T17:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-08T18:05:42.094-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Time for December...</title><content type='html'>Good afternoon, because I'm sure it's afternoon somewhere...&lt;br /&gt;It's not December and if you haven't noticed I've acomplished crap since I last wrote. I haven't done a thing. I think I have put myself in a rut. I want to go back to school but I don't have the money and time.... what the fuck! I feel at odds with the world because I haven't got as many friends as I once thought I did. I suppose you realize who is and who isn't really a friend when no one is around. The only ones that sick with you are really there for a reason, the ones that come and go... well, they... they just need to get the fuck out of your life anyway. At the same time you can't help but think, why isn't my phone ringing? It's almost christmas break and no one has even checked on me... What gives? The friends I make now aren't really down to be friends which is a fucking pain in the ass! I JUST want friends I just want someone to play video games with and laugh with and share stupid jokes with.... But at the same time I don't want to be around complete dumbass' and I don't want to be around people who have their heads up their ass and love talking about themselves. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My job. MY JOB SUCKS! I hate everyone at my job. I could give you a run down on each person but that would take too long. Maybe on a later date I'll explain to you each individual, however that isn't today. Recently we got a new boss, on November 1st to be precise. AND he is a dick. He makes me fucking insane! I AM NOT supposed to do all the checking and credit cards and all accounting crap... I'm not paid enough for that shit... I get angry twits on the phone that like to argue with me. I DON'T GET PAID ENOUGH FOR MY SHITTY JOB! ....and I hate people who are kiss asses.... they should seriously get their heads unlodged from my boss' ass.... its fucking annoying. I by the way, am the only one who doesn't want to work there anymore. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My job has made me bitter. The lack of friends and human contact has made me bitter. and the christmas season has made me bitter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fuck this crap!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6782227011337612627-2861450587720525254?l=trinketbites.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/feeds/2861450587720525254/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6782227011337612627&amp;postID=2861450587720525254' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/2861450587720525254'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/2861450587720525254'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/2007/12/time-for-december.html' title='Time for December...'/><author><name>TrinketBites</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07183583763672093939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/S2-vHZIh4XI/AAAAAAAAAAw/dTYzEgqyyBI/S220/smile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782227011337612627.post-6995618196950739560</id><published>2007-10-04T14:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-04T14:20:50.752-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Apparently I'm Still Alive</title><content type='html'>I haven't written anything in a while. It's not because I don't want to its just because I haven't had the time really. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HOWEVER I have come up with a solution!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since it's fall, and I love fall...only because it's a good season to bake in...&lt;br /&gt;I WILL BAKE! and then I will post pictures on this lovely blogging thing I've started.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...What do you think?&lt;br /&gt;...well, I think it's a good idea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So here we go, today I will bake something and take a picture and post it the next day...It'll be ...food blogging...'ya know along with the other parts of my life. Everyones life has food in it, so this will be my reason to keep up with my writing and baking!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HOLLA!!! ^.^&lt;br /&gt;Obviously I'm excited,so you should be too! Now you will be able to hear from me on a some-what regular basis. Score! Mark one in the win collum for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Trink.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6782227011337612627-6995618196950739560?l=trinketbites.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/feeds/6995618196950739560/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6782227011337612627&amp;postID=6995618196950739560' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/6995618196950739560'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/6995618196950739560'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/2007/10/apparently-im-still-alive.html' title='Apparently I&apos;m Still Alive'/><author><name>TrinketBites</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07183583763672093939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/S2-vHZIh4XI/AAAAAAAAAAw/dTYzEgqyyBI/S220/smile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782227011337612627.post-5794570693707236996</id><published>2007-08-31T18:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-31T18:38:54.926-07:00</updated><title type='text'>lets pretend</title><content type='html'>i wish i was happier, i wish my smile wasn't false... and i wish that when i'm left on my own that i didnt feel so empty. lets pretend i'm happy, because i am not. not at all. not even a little.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6782227011337612627-5794570693707236996?l=trinketbites.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/feeds/5794570693707236996/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6782227011337612627&amp;postID=5794570693707236996' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/5794570693707236996'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/5794570693707236996'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/2007/08/lets-pretend.html' title='lets pretend'/><author><name>TrinketBites</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07183583763672093939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/S2-vHZIh4XI/AAAAAAAAAAw/dTYzEgqyyBI/S220/smile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782227011337612627.post-1767532619459788384</id><published>2007-07-19T13:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-19T13:25:23.715-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Just Me...</title><content type='html'>I'm one of those people that looks under a cap once you twist it off a bottle. I know it may not, and usually doesn't say anything, but I do it anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I like to walk on gravel, because the crunch makes me smile.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I like the way it feels to turn the pages of a thinly leafed book, and I like the way old ones look. How many different stories can they tell that aren't already written down?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6782227011337612627-1767532619459788384?l=trinketbites.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/feeds/1767532619459788384/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6782227011337612627&amp;postID=1767532619459788384' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/1767532619459788384'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/1767532619459788384'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/2007/07/just-me.html' title='Just Me...'/><author><name>TrinketBites</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07183583763672093939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/S2-vHZIh4XI/AAAAAAAAAAw/dTYzEgqyyBI/S220/smile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782227011337612627.post-5612071968144974207</id><published>2007-06-13T09:41:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-13T09:56:53.922-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Swan Song</title><content type='html'>So it's been about a month. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...And my friends are finally leaving me, and I don't mean on a summer vacation, I mean forever. No they aren't going to die. They are moving away and although it's good to get out of the area that we live in, I can't help but be selfish and wish that they stay. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Arizona, it just seems so far away. Although I'm in California and the plane ride can't be more than an hour at most, I can't help but get the feeling like I'm going to lose touch with them.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6782227011337612627-5612071968144974207?l=trinketbites.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/feeds/5612071968144974207/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6782227011337612627&amp;postID=5612071968144974207' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/5612071968144974207'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/5612071968144974207'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/2007/06/swan-song.html' title='The Swan Song'/><author><name>TrinketBites</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07183583763672093939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/S2-vHZIh4XI/AAAAAAAAAAw/dTYzEgqyyBI/S220/smile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782227011337612627.post-5576053708570610804</id><published>2007-06-04T09:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-04T09:55:03.258-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Don't Take The Tranquilizer!</title><content type='html'>So recently, actually all of 5mins ago, I realized that the doseage they gave me for my migranes is too big. I am at the moment severely drugged. I had a migrane this morning, which didn't make for a very good morning. I couldn't get out of bed I felt dizzy and pukeish and GOD DAMN I hate migranes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apparently the medication that they gave me is supposed to make me feel better. Not the case. I feel dizzy, like if I turn to fast my breskfast will come up. I am trying to occupy my time by typeing this so I won't have to actually focus on how shitty I really do feel. Every burp is scary, is this it? Am I going to puke? Do I need to run to the bathroom?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh and by the way if you haven't gathered already, I am at work. I very rarely start these journals while I am at home. Why? Because I have better things to do than sit at a computer and type, when I can be&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6782227011337612627-5576053708570610804?l=trinketbites.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/feeds/5576053708570610804/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6782227011337612627&amp;postID=5576053708570610804' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/5576053708570610804'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/5576053708570610804'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/2007/06/dont-take-tranquilizer.html' title='Don&apos;t Take The Tranquilizer!'/><author><name>TrinketBites</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07183583763672093939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/S2-vHZIh4XI/AAAAAAAAAAw/dTYzEgqyyBI/S220/smile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782227011337612627.post-8423548218562132071</id><published>2007-06-01T09:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-02T21:51:32.417-07:00</updated><title type='text'>On Another Wirl-wind Adventure!</title><content type='html'>Like I said before, you never have control over how and when your heart decides to fall. I mean you  might have a bit of an inkling that its going to happen. I tryed my hardest not to fall. I tried not to trip, no studder steps and no fumbling around. However that didn't exactally work  out the way I wanted it to. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know all this though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As it I was,I was quiet content. Nothing was going wrong with the expection of a few minor set backs. The guy I liked had a girlfriend. UGH! Yes I suppose that is ALWAYS a set back. And I had just gotten out of the worst relationship of my life and wasn't looking to find another one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How did it all start? Well, I was at WonderCon a dorky comic book event that I have been going to with my brother since I was about 9yrs old. I don't mind though, because I like comic  books a lot. It's kind of funny too, since I've been going I can recognize faces from years before. Sometimes they remember me and say the famous line "Do I know you  from  somewhere?". No, you  probably don't. I don't look like the normal comic book nerd, so if you saw me, I think you might just be able to figure out who I was. But then again comic books have changed so much that its hard to  tell  who's going to be where.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know I don't fit in with normal comic book girls because,I'm confident. Maybe thats a problem? I don't think it is though. It's almost like I'm the odd one out at a comic  book convention since all the  other girls have either low self esteem, or super duper high opions of themselves since they have a boyfriend that is their slave. Those poor guys. I am not a slave driver. I am not in love with myself and I don't have low self esteem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, back to the point, which is how we met.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While at WonderCon I happend to get a stalker. He was completely out of his mind! He was equipt with a guitar, coke bottle glasses, a snaggle tooth, and the power to creep up on people. I met my stalker while going to my car in the parking garage, he found me and read my shirt out loud. My brother could hear my voice talking to someone, as my  brother rounded the corner from paying the ticket to get out of the garage, he  found me talking to my newly accuired stalker.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day while I was at the convention again (it ran for 3days) I was sitting at the table with my brother minding my own buisness when, there he was. He said some stupid line to the effect of "hey good look'n" with that little tongue snap sound accompanied by both of his fingers being pointed at me like guns. Was I honestly supposed to swoon over that? He asked me if I was going to be around in 2hours because he was going to get his guitar and sing me a song he wrote for me. So I smiled and said "ok come back and I'll be here".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That was a lie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't think he would return, so in 2 hours when he actually came back around I was shocked. I ran! I told my brother snaggle tooth was coming pointed in my stalkers direction and high tailed it out of there. I ducked under our table and ran under the others until I got to the  end of the asle. Man, that was scary! I almost  got caught. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once I was at the end of the asle I did everything short of sprinting away. Ended up wandering around looking for someone I knew, finally I found my brothers childhood friend and asked him to get my phone from the table. Of course he asked why and I told him I fled the scene without my phone to make for a quicker get away, I told him I would stay  put if he would go get my phone and bring it back to me. So as any good brother-type-thing would do, he got my phone and brought it back to me, telling me that the creepy guy was still at our table. He told my brother to call me when the coast was clear so I could come back to the table.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I was left on my own. I walked around and entertained myself with comic books and toys. But when all of that got a bit boring, my curiosity got the best of me. I wanted to know if my stalker was still at the table. So, I did what any other inquiring mind would do. I peaked around the corner. However, since it was Saturday, which is always the busiest day I could see nothing but people. A huge mass of people that were in my way when I really needed to be seeing down the asle. And just as I was going up on my tip toes, like it would make a difference, someone tapped me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Do you like action movies?" "Yes? Why?" I was tapped by Ray. A stunt person who was trying to sell me his dvd. He noticed that I was trying to look down the asle. So he asked me "What are you doing?" so I told him the truth, "I'm hiding from my stalker. He's standing at my table and won't leave!" Which Ray said "Well, you've come to the right place." He put his arm around me and walked me towards the direction of his booth "We are stunt people, if he wants to mess with you, we can protect you." I laughed and then he introduced me to everyone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He started running down names very quickly, I could hardly keep up. So, instead of walking away, I decided to have conversations with everyone until my brother called me with the good news that my stalker had left. I was having a conversation with some boy who was trying way to hard to be super asian and another guy whos name was Shuan. While I was talking to them, there was an aqward pause, and then he walked into the middle of the circle. "Are you a Happa?" "Yes I am, how'd you know? Are you?". His name was Stephen. He said "Yeah I'm a Happa too, I can tell you are, it's in your eyes".  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If ever anyone had me at hello, he'd be it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6782227011337612627-8423548218562132071?l=trinketbites.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/feeds/8423548218562132071/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6782227011337612627&amp;postID=8423548218562132071' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/8423548218562132071'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/8423548218562132071'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/2007/06/on-another-wirl-wind-adventure.html' title='On Another Wirl-wind Adventure!'/><author><name>TrinketBites</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07183583763672093939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/S2-vHZIh4XI/AAAAAAAAAAw/dTYzEgqyyBI/S220/smile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782227011337612627.post-1882173517575538436</id><published>2007-05-29T09:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-29T09:57:32.694-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Here's lookin at you kid.</title><content type='html'>The days blended so quickly into one continuous day that I wasn't even sure if there ever was a night. I didn't think I could fall, not in a weekend, I hadn't planned on it at least. I figured at the least I would trip and stumble a bit. I tripped before we even got to see eachother for a long period of time, I don't know when I fell. I can tell you when I realized it though. It smacked me so hard I was half expecting to have a plam mark on my face. Once I realized that, then a title wave that felt like I was plunging into an open abyss came over me. My stomach was above my head and it was hard to breathe what is this?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6782227011337612627-1882173517575538436?l=trinketbites.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/feeds/1882173517575538436/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6782227011337612627&amp;postID=1882173517575538436' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/1882173517575538436'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/1882173517575538436'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/2007/05/heres-lookin-at-you-kid.html' title='Here&apos;s lookin at you kid.'/><author><name>TrinketBites</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07183583763672093939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/S2-vHZIh4XI/AAAAAAAAAAw/dTYzEgqyyBI/S220/smile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782227011337612627.post-7178790341149035777</id><published>2007-05-17T22:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-17T22:35:05.767-07:00</updated><title type='text'>yet to be finished</title><content type='html'>So it's been a bit since I wrote. I guess this is me checking in, with who? I'm not sure. I just wanted to give someone  an up date. Work is shitastic and it's getting to the point where I have no idea why I even go. Sure there's that whole money thing, but eh, it's almost not worth it to work there. My "grandmother" is off her damn rocker, she repeats herself like ever half second three times! Three times at least! Do you have any idea how annoying that is? Any idea??? It's  frickin awful. Especially when you make a mistake... thats repeated like a drunk person numerous times, sometimes loud sometimes mummbled sometimes under her breathe. Talk about a pet peeve, because that is DEFINATELY one of my newly aquired ones.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6782227011337612627-7178790341149035777?l=trinketbites.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/feeds/7178790341149035777/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6782227011337612627&amp;postID=7178790341149035777' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/7178790341149035777'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/7178790341149035777'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/2007/05/yet-to-be-finished.html' title='yet to be finished'/><author><name>TrinketBites</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07183583763672093939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/S2-vHZIh4XI/AAAAAAAAAAw/dTYzEgqyyBI/S220/smile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782227011337612627.post-5385083120107731525</id><published>2007-05-02T21:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-02T22:09:48.837-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pulling The Trigger All Wrong.</title><content type='html'>What does it look like when you fall? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What's the feeling?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How do you know?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I want to admit it or not, I am getting into something. What's that something? It's a, crushing, exciting and awful feeling. Why? Well, simply because I wasn't expecting to be falling. And I'm not even falling which is the bad part! I am, tripping? Yes, I'm tripping, since in order to fall, you have to trip or at least not be looking where you were going. I know where I was going... I was going to not like him. However that didn't work out correctly, apparently you have no say in what your heart wants.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How did this all happen? I'm so confused.&lt;br /&gt;Hello _________,&lt;br /&gt;                Why aren't you disguraging me from liking you? Why don't you say "I have a girlfriend"? I'd stay away, all I ask is for a sraight answer. It was so much simpler when I was in third grade, Note: " Do you like me? Cirlce one and give it back. Yes. No!" It doesn't work like that when you get older. It should though, it's straight to the point. I think I may happen to be in "like" with you, I'm sorry to say I have no say in it. I've been trying to push away this elation that you make me feel when I hear your voice. I try not to sound like I'm dancing on clouds, but you can hear my smile, you can feel my happiness over miles. &lt;br /&gt;               You say "come visit me", I'm sorry I don't think I can do that. Despite the fact you haven't seen or heard from your girlfriend it months it isn't fair to her, and it isn't fair to me. You can call me your friend all you want, but it doesn't make my heart feel for you any less. Just because you havent seen your girlfriend in months, it doesn't make her any less your girlfriend. And as much as I'd love to come and visit you and be by you, I'm torn. Do you understand?&lt;br /&gt;               You say you like me, and thats lovely. You say you haven't talked with your girlfriend, great. You say, you're not ready for the drama of the break up, so you'll stay together a day longer, a week longer, a month longer....&lt;br /&gt;              Maybe I'm not ready for the drama of a realtionship. Even though we seem like a solved puzzle when we're together... Even though neither of us can look at the other directly in the eyes for longer than 1 minute without looking away... Even though we have the same outlook on life... Maybe we were wrong?&lt;br /&gt;Stranger things have happend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I kind of wish you know all of this. Too bad you never will, I don't want to steal you from anyone. Maybe this wasnt the correct timing for "us" to happen... and perhaps there was never supposed to ever be an "us", just the idea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What's it look like when you fall? &lt;br /&gt;Can you keep everything in order? &lt;br /&gt;How heavily do things weigh on your heart? &lt;br /&gt;How much can you take? &lt;br /&gt;When's it stop hurting? &lt;br /&gt;How long will it take? &lt;br /&gt;How long are you willing to wait for someone?&lt;br /&gt;Where's this feeling come from?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Give me something, anything......give me your attention. I hope you know, you're pulling the trigger all wrong.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6782227011337612627-5385083120107731525?l=trinketbites.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/feeds/5385083120107731525/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6782227011337612627&amp;postID=5385083120107731525' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/5385083120107731525'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/5385083120107731525'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/2007/05/pulling-trigger-all-wrong.html' title='Pulling The Trigger All Wrong.'/><author><name>TrinketBites</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07183583763672093939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/S2-vHZIh4XI/AAAAAAAAAAw/dTYzEgqyyBI/S220/smile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782227011337612627.post-6800333114868088485</id><published>2007-04-30T15:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-30T15:23:01.420-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Friends, family....what's the difference?</title><content type='html'>Yesterday, was my party. I got to shut a tiki bar and have my friends run wild...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everyone was handed a Chinese yo-yo, and told it was a free for all.  The rules were, you're off limits if your drinking something at the moment...and if you smacked someone then it was ok for them to smack you back as many times as they wanted. =)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Posting and uploading pictures in moments...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6782227011337612627-6800333114868088485?l=trinketbites.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/feeds/6800333114868088485/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6782227011337612627&amp;postID=6800333114868088485' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/6800333114868088485'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/6800333114868088485'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/2007/04/friends-familywhats-difference.html' title='Friends, family....what&apos;s the difference?'/><author><name>TrinketBites</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07183583763672093939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/S2-vHZIh4XI/AAAAAAAAAAw/dTYzEgqyyBI/S220/smile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782227011337612627.post-6477976864525615090</id><published>2007-04-21T22:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-21T22:46:18.953-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Alternative Press Expo. day 1</title><content type='html'>Today was... A.P.E. I'm sure you have put together that it stands for  Alternative Press Expo. I was sitting as an exibitor with my brother. I was supposed to get my act together enough to have my art on the table. Too bad I run on Flipino time. Needless to say I have nothing to show for myself artwork wise... tooo lazy. It's ok I don't mind since I've been sick these past few weeks. Being sick turns my brain to mush, and I am then unable to think straight. As of this moment I'm flying from medicine, I'm too little for my own good sometimes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anywho... I'm sick and am A.D.D.ing out on you, so....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Long story short, A.P.E. is NO WHERE near as fun as WonderCon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S. my brithday passed I'm 19 now =)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6782227011337612627-6477976864525615090?l=trinketbites.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/feeds/6477976864525615090/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6782227011337612627&amp;postID=6477976864525615090' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/6477976864525615090'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/6477976864525615090'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/2007/04/alternative-press-expo-day-1.html' title='Alternative Press Expo. day 1'/><author><name>TrinketBites</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07183583763672093939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/S2-vHZIh4XI/AAAAAAAAAAw/dTYzEgqyyBI/S220/smile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782227011337612627.post-990464807640695534</id><published>2007-04-06T09:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-06T10:08:11.435-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Another Day At Work</title><content type='html'>It is 9:34am and I'm supposed to be hard at work. BUT I am not, why? Because nothing ever happends on Fridays. I work in the office of a moulding company, I answer phones and take orders. At first the job wasn't so bad, I would wake up and get to work at least 7mins before I was supposed to making sure I was prompt and on time. As time went on, I realized that I absolutely hate taking orders. I don't mind the customers, I actually like most of them. However my "grandparents" are a totally different story. They aren't my grandparents, actually only one is biologically related to me, Jim. I don't like calling him "grandpa" because he doesn't deserve the title of it. He was absent for my whole life, and when a girl at his work quit unannounced, all of a sudden I was a hot comodidity. He is just using me because I took the year off to decide what I wanted to do with my life. Apparently he thinks that I want to  work for him. He's mistaken. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was actually tricked into working for my Jim by my father. Damn. Early one Monday morning when my brain hadn't clicked on yet, he said "Hey get ready to go" so I blinked unevenly and rolled out of bed to get  ready. Geeze, the  more  I  look back on it the more I shouldn't have been home that  morning. Once I got ready I sat in his  truck, and said "Where are we going?" ...you know what he said? He said "We're going to Jim's" "Who's Jim?" "Your grandfather" DAMN DAMN DAMN DAMN DAMN!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6782227011337612627-990464807640695534?l=trinketbites.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/feeds/990464807640695534/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6782227011337612627&amp;postID=990464807640695534' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/990464807640695534'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/990464807640695534'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/2007/04/another-day-at-work.html' title='Another Day At Work'/><author><name>TrinketBites</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07183583763672093939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/S2-vHZIh4XI/AAAAAAAAAAw/dTYzEgqyyBI/S220/smile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782227011337612627.post-1119642202446234206</id><published>2007-04-05T19:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-05T20:14:21.817-07:00</updated><title type='text'>All Quite On The West Coast</title><content type='html'>It's a 6 days until my birthday, I'll be 19 on the 11th. It doesn't seem like I'm 18, let alone 19. I'm starting this blog because, no one knows of it "Myspace" is so swamped with people that I don't want knowing my business that I'm resulting to blogging else where. Blogging; it sounds so... bleh. I just really need to get a lot out, writting was always an outlet. So hopefully blogging here works. &lt;br /&gt;     My name isn't important right now, you'll probably end up learning that down the line. I'm a girl, a tiny girl. &lt;br /&gt;I'm so bored with where I am right now not litterally but in life. It seems like I'm going no where. All my friends went off to college, but I-I oppted to stay here. "Here" meaning the bay area, which bay area? You'll probably figure that out too. I guess the reason I didn't go to college right away was because I wanted to figure out what I really wanted to do in life. What I figured out was that I dream like a 5 year old, I guess that's not a bad thing but it's not to realistic either. The world I have in my head is full of infinet possiblities, unlike most people my age. I still watch cartoons, sit with my feet up on the chair and entertain myself with the small things in life. I guess I'm just a little bit confused at the moment I don't really know what I'm supposed to be doing, I know that without school I read as if my life depended on it and I retain things a lot better.&lt;br /&gt;   I learned that all the kids I called "friend" aren't really that at all. I guess I can't really keep friends too well. I can make them left and right, but keeping them is different. I never answer my phone, I don't usually go online to IM people and if I do go on AIM, it usually goes something like this:&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;"Hello missy!"&lt;br /&gt; (30 secs later...)&lt;br /&gt;"wat cha doin?"&lt;br /&gt;(5 mins later...)&lt;br /&gt;"Dude are you there???"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then, I sign off. I'm not one for talking much on the computer. I mean sure I have my days, but mainly, mainly I just watch people IM me and get sidetracted by some brilliant idea that seems to evade me by the time I sign off. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As for now....&lt;br /&gt;I'm done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm almost positive I'll be back blogging in an hour or more...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bye for now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Trinket.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6782227011337612627-1119642202446234206?l=trinketbites.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/feeds/1119642202446234206/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6782227011337612627&amp;postID=1119642202446234206' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/1119642202446234206'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6782227011337612627/posts/default/1119642202446234206'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trinketbites.blogspot.com/2007/04/all-quite-on-west-coast.html' title='All Quite On The West Coast'/><author><name>TrinketBites</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07183583763672093939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3cw4Hk26Tog/S2-vHZIh4XI/AAAAAAAAAAw/dTYzEgqyyBI/S220/smile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
