<?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-8656931511968366943</id><updated>2012-01-12T21:47:51.397-08:00</updated><title type='text'>kat eyes</title><subtitle type='html'>Through these eyes I see the world.  Oh how it makes me smile.  I hope it can bring you the same sort of chuckle.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>52</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-8650504390230574931</id><published>2012-01-09T21:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2012-01-09T21:34:39.086-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Goodnight rambles</title><content type='html'>I left my journal at home so for the next couple weeks I will be substituting this blog in place of my confidential piece of paper that usually rests by my bed.&lt;div&gt;Coming back to school has felt different this time.  As excited as I was and continue to be about seeing my friends, adjusting has been difficult.  I almost feel like I'm waiting for something that keeps getting closer.  Maybe it's the anticipation of classes, meetings, or work...not a clue.  BUT, then I get stressed that I'm wasting my time not living in the moment.  I'm officially a crazy person!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;On a positive note, I am really excited about God's plans this semester.  In everything I do and am a part of I prayer to remember that it is His.  My life isn't something He is included in, He &lt;i&gt;owns&lt;/i&gt; it.  Nothing is mine.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-8650504390230574931?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/8650504390230574931/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2012/01/goodnight-rambles.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/8650504390230574931'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/8650504390230574931'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2012/01/goodnight-rambles.html' title='Goodnight rambles'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-7833015860527729065</id><published>2011-12-20T23:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-12-20T23:08:28.804-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Truth Behind my Fairytale</title><content type='html'>&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;o:documentproperties&gt;   &lt;o:template&gt;Normal.dotm&lt;/o:Template&gt;   &lt;o:revision&gt;0&lt;/o:Revision&gt;   &lt;o:totaltime&gt;0&lt;/o:TotalTime&gt;   &lt;o:pages&gt;1&lt;/o:Pages&gt;   &lt;o:words&gt;36&lt;/o:Words&gt;   &lt;o:characters&gt;207&lt;/o:Characters&gt;   &lt;o:company&gt;TSU&lt;/o:Company&gt;   &lt;o:lines&gt;1&lt;/o:Lines&gt;   &lt;o:paragraphs&gt;1&lt;/o:Paragraphs&gt;   &lt;o:characterswithspaces&gt;254&lt;/o:CharactersWithSpaces&gt;   &lt;o:version&gt;12.0&lt;/o:Version&gt;  &lt;/o:DocumentProperties&gt;  &lt;o:officedocumentsettings&gt;   &lt;o:allowpng/&gt;  &lt;/o:OfficeDocumentSettings&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:worddocument&gt;   &lt;w:zoom&gt;0&lt;/w:Zoom&gt;   &lt;w:trackmoves&gt;false&lt;/w:TrackMoves&gt;   &lt;w:trackformatting/&gt;   &lt;w:punctuationkerning/&gt;   &lt;w:drawinggridhorizontalspacing&gt;18 pt&lt;/w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing&gt;   &lt;w:drawinggridverticalspacing&gt;18 pt&lt;/w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing&gt;   &lt;w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery&gt;0&lt;/w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery&gt;   &lt;w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery&gt;0&lt;/w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery&gt;   &lt;w:validateagainstschemas/&gt;   &lt;w:saveifxmlinvalid&gt;false&lt;/w:SaveIfXMLInvalid&gt;   &lt;w:ignoremixedcontent&gt;false&lt;/w:IgnoreMixedContent&gt;   &lt;w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext&gt;false&lt;/w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText&gt;   &lt;w:compatibility&gt;    &lt;w:breakwrappedtables/&gt;    &lt;w:dontgrowautofit/&gt;    &lt;w:dontautofitconstrainedtables/&gt;    &lt;w:dontvertalignintxbx/&gt;   &lt;/w:Compatibility&gt;  &lt;/w:WordDocument&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="276"&gt;  &lt;/w:LatentStyles&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;  &lt;!--[if gte mso 10]&gt; &lt;style&gt;  /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable  {mso-style-name:"Table Normal";  mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;  mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;  mso-style-noshow:yes;  mso-style-parent:"";  mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;  mso-para-margin:0in;  mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;  mso-pagination:widow-orphan;  font-size:12.0pt;  font-family:"Times New Roman";  mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;  mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;  mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";  mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;  mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;  mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} &lt;/style&gt; &lt;![endif]--&gt;    &lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;After seeing The Holiday yet again I sat in my silent house tonight and realized why I desperately believe in fairytales...these obnoxiously cheesy, yet purely crisp and honest words crossed my mind:&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;It’s there,  in the very moment I let myself be that girl in the movies, the only dialogue a slight English accented whisper, that I can literally feel my heart in my chest.  It’s in the pieces of make believe that I feel most at home within myself.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-7833015860527729065?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/7833015860527729065/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/12/truth-behind-my-fairytale.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/7833015860527729065'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/7833015860527729065'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/12/truth-behind-my-fairytale.html' title='Truth Behind my Fairytale'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-666227035420615570</id><published>2011-11-25T13:59:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2011-11-25T15:21:25.843-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Christmas Time is Here</title><content type='html'>As soon as we grabbed a cart for some night before Thanksgiving groceries, I thought of my previous post predicting the Freeman household festive day.  It wasn't until we got to the back of the store that it made me laugh.  I can't believe it took me a month away from home and a short year since our last Thanksgiving to remember that nothing is ever as expected, and that in itself should be expected.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;1. Threat of no turkey on Thanksgiving&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Mom quickly found the frozen turkey section, but we wanted fresh turkey.  Not to worry though, there is always plenty of fresh turkey upon request.  I began weaving quickly between browsing, chatting, space prohibiting bodies as I tried to keep sight of the dark-haired woman in a wool sweater on a mission for turkey.  When I caught up my mother was hollering hello to a young man behind the meat counter.  I got there just in time to see him shake his head in response to her question.  No more fresh turkeys.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2. Back-up breakfast&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Moving on toward breakfast items, we threw orange rolls in the cart, which are often our holiday treat.  Mmm I couldn't wait to wake up and watch the parade while sipping coffee and enjoying a warm roll.  Of course I woke up rather to the sounds of Mom's "oh dear..Bruce come look at this".  I came downstairs to a scene imagined.  I was offered coffee and breakfast was in the oven.  But, as we deeply inhaled, the smell of goodness was missing.  The expiration date: 2010.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3. 12 delectable rolls..of all shapes and sizes&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My time in the kitchen had arrived as I helped my dear mother make rolls.  Yet to put on her apron we wore flour instead(and as I later discovered, some dough in my hair).  Reaching over each other we used the dough as our clay for craftsmanship. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4. finely chopped celery and onions for the stuffing.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was then put in charge of chopping celery.  Of course I immediately chopped my finger instead, which is when I called in back-up.  Dad stood to my left holding my pinky wrapped in towels repeating how crucial it is to apply pressure.  His phone rang and he left my side, leaving me with one hand in the air and the other fearlessly chopping, while tears ran down my face caused by staring into the depths of an onion.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;5. "I'm thankful for Kathryn because...umm..."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Since our table seated so few this year, we initiated a new tradition.  While dads may carve the turkey, moms are in charge of all the Thanksgiving goodness.  So my mother stepped up once more and went around the table and said why she was thankful for all of us.  She started with me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In the end, Mom found us turkey, offered cranberry bread for breakfast, remembered the rolls in the oven in the knick of time, took the knife away from me, and kindly fought to find words to describe me.  My day began in jeans, transitioned to elastic/stretch, and ended with oversized flannel pants.  This indicates that the Freemans pulled off another deliciously traditional Thanksgiving, in a typical untraditional manner.  &lt;/div&gt;&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/8656931511968366943-666227035420615570?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/666227035420615570/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/11/christmas-time-is-here.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/666227035420615570'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/666227035420615570'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/11/christmas-time-is-here.html' title='Christmas Time is Here'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-1737729564929417440</id><published>2011-11-23T09:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-11-23T09:41:20.988-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Christmas Time is (almost) Here</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;It's starting to get chilly and all of the cafes and bakeries are playing &lt;span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "&gt;Michael Bublé's&lt;/span&gt; holiday specials.  Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and in my household that officially kicks off the Christmas spirit.  The music will resonate through the living room cupboard, Willie Mac will roam the outdoors for thrown out turkey scraps and Teena will follow the perimeter of the counters for the same sort of fallen extras.  Mom will undoubtedly slip into Grandma's elegant flower apron while Dad sits on the kitchen floor reading the paper.  I'm sure Gramma will still be putting the finishing touches on her pumpkin pies.  This year I have been invited into the kitchen.  I too will wear &lt;/span&gt;an apron and smell for the perfection of the sweet potatoes and stuffing.  Happy Thanksgiving.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-1737729564929417440?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/1737729564929417440/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/11/christmas-time-is-almost-here.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/1737729564929417440'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/1737729564929417440'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/11/christmas-time-is-almost-here.html' title='Christmas Time is (almost) Here'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-3540303889374875927</id><published>2011-11-13T16:28:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2011-11-14T22:59:12.291-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A Place to Dream</title><content type='html'>It feels so great to light my candles, get swallowed by the soft glow of lamps, and curl up at my desk.  I see blurred outlines in my peripheral, but the clear image in front of me promises to patiently remain a pure white page with one blinking cursor until I decide to fill it with the black letters that are swimming around my mind.  For a long time I've wondered why it is that so often when I open my journal or place my fingers on the keyboard I automatically purge feelings about relationships, or truthfully, Chris.  For awhile I resented that he filled so many of my recorded memories, but I realized that this sliver of time is when i allow myself to ignore the real world and be true.  The real me is a girl that dreams past the stars and the truth is I don't desire reality, because there's always the greatness of what is beyond our realms of comprehension.  For awhile Chris was part of my dream.  Our future was something that was so close to my finger tips that it made me stand really tall so I could try and reach it.  Now, keeping him away forever is a thought that brings the same type of hope.  I guess I don't need to apologize for all of this time spent on that single subject.  It isn't that I'm caught up in one short breath of time at all, it's that I'm giving myself these few moments to reach for so many more.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-3540303889374875927?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/3540303889374875927/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/11/place-to-dream.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/3540303889374875927'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/3540303889374875927'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/11/place-to-dream.html' title='A Place to Dream'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-743869022553402620</id><published>2011-09-19T13:58:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-19T14:07:47.964-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Our Friend(ly) Ghost</title><content type='html'>It remains a surprise to me that the 3 of us didn't wake up in 1 twin bed this morning.  After a series of events last night, Rachel established the inevitable conclusion that "the Ark" (our house) has a ghost.  We discovered in the same night that Alexis is VERY afraid of any ghostly thoughts.  They left me alone so I screamed, which made them scream, which made Alexis run into the desk, which made the grape juice spill, which caused me to run through something wet, which made me scream again because we thought the ghost did it, which ended up with all 3 of us in Alexis' bed.  She called a boy, who didn't understand, which was followed by some more screaming as a plastic bag made ghost-like sounds from the fan swooshing by.  Once again, homework was put low on the priority list, as my roomies and I moved in a pack for the remainder of the evening.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-743869022553402620?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/743869022553402620/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/09/our-friendly-ghost.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/743869022553402620'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/743869022553402620'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/09/our-friendly-ghost.html' title='Our Friend(ly) Ghost'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-7337285363795243164</id><published>2011-09-09T11:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-10T07:11:12.511-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm BACK</title><content type='html'>Alright here we go.  I have spent the last year loving, laughing, crying, worrying, dreaming, texting, calling, and giving into a relationship that left me here.  Surprisingly, this is a great place to be.  I'll spare you the self-pity moments for now and say that now I cry less than when I was with him.  I have had one constant hope since I was dumped via phone call that I have yet to share.  My sister told me in the summer that I was gone.  The independent, happy, carefree little sister she knew was somewhere lost in a new world of stresses.  I stood on my front porch with the phone held to my ear and could only agree.  I did nothing about this because I still found myself completely wrapped up in his world.  He pushed me out of his world and I didn't want to leave, but I quickly found the exit and realized I was on the other side of the door.  I hoped and hoped 3 people in particular could see this.  First, my mom.  She deserves to have a happy daughter and she alone was enough reason for me to smile and mean it.  The second person was my sister.  I craved for her to see a better side of her little sister to come back.  Hearing those words would reassure me in my weak moments that I'm better now.  She brought this subject up last night and that allowed me to see him today and honestly tell him I'm loving life.  Of course I must include Rachel.  I can be a real friend to her now.  I don't have to ask her to understand why I'm leaving every time I walk out the door and I don't have to fill her time with pointless boy stories.  I get to make girly memories without a hint of Chris for the first time since I've been at Truman.  I'm starting over and God has answered years of prayer.  He has ripped another guy out of my life and didn't make me be the one to make the decision to say goodbye.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-7337285363795243164?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/7337285363795243164/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/09/im-back.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/7337285363795243164'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/7337285363795243164'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/09/im-back.html' title='I&apos;m BACK'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-4406341980954744234</id><published>2011-06-21T12:37:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2012-01-12T21:45:02.027-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Title, etc.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Throughout the past couple weeks, I have daily declared a new blog title. My sister and I constantly discuss our "next story" for blogging purposes. There was the time I walked along a highway to give an assumably homeless man food, the $1.25 movie night with a missing child found by his dancing light-up shoes that created his trail throughout the theatre, or the game of cornhole that left my hamstring sore for days. My adventures have lead to downtown Raleigh where I may have become part of a bridal party in the background of photographs and into the heart of downtown Fuquay-Verena where I watched my sister correct inconsiderate lady. I chased a deer once and recited Eminem with a 30 year old man. Then there was last night, the night my big sister showed me how to break the law. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;We started out extremely innocent. An afternoon at the pool with some friends was at the top of our agenda. A few incidents later and the pool was closed for the afternoon. We gave up on our tan and accepted a day of walking downtown, but one thing couldn't be changed. We needed grilled chicken. The grills were locked in with the pool. Not only were signs bolted into the fence informing us of the closed pool, there was literally a chain to prevent entrance. I laughed in the face of the chain. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;January 12, 2012&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I just found this blog that I never finished.  The story ended with a couple broken signs, priceless photos, and grilled chicken.  Stumbling across a little piece of North Carolina was exactly what I needed tonight.  I miss that sunshine.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-4406341980954744234?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/4406341980954744234/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/06/title-etc.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/4406341980954744234'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/4406341980954744234'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/06/title-etc.html' title='Title, etc.'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-2271746788138266777</id><published>2011-05-31T12:26:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-31T13:18:35.275-07:00</updated><title type='text'>100+</title><content type='html'>Oh my goodness.  My dear friends I do apologize.  I have completely failed over the past few months to let the endless realm of cyber space see the most secret corners of my life.  Whether you be 1 reader or 10, inquiring to know me more or out of sheer boredom, I have so much to tell you!  Last time we chatted I wasn't the happiest of souls.  Since then I have moved into a few different places, started a new relationship with the same guy and continued to drink fattening drinks from the one and only Starbucks...all over the country. &lt;div&gt;Quick Christopher update.  To put it simply, he makes me happy.  We are just shy of 2,000 miles apart for the summer so there hasn't been any dancing in Walgreens or holding hands lately, but I'm holding onto the belief that this can make us stronger.  He has tried so hard to communicate with my dreamlike and removed-from-reality soul and I am counting down the days to July 7th when I will pick him up at the airport for a long (but too short) weekend!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Buuuut, I don't want to count to0 quickly, because if I keep my eyes on that road, I'll forget to look around and see what's passing by me now.  I registered for my sophomore year as a college student, finished by freshman year, moved back home, road a train by myself for the first time, moved into my duplex for next year, then packed up the car and started my most recent adventure...1,000 mile road trip with dad.   &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The first story he told was of our floating car.  My dad has a strange obsession with the mechanics close to our house.  He takes our cars there at the faintest of worry.  My bags were packed at the front door and I had already given Gramma goodbye hugs when I got the phone call.  Dad was crossing the bridge and on his was to the shop because of a "steering problem" that was too in depth to discuss.  I translated this into meaning he didn't understand what the gentleman told him on the phone so I simply frowned and waited by my bags without asking questions.  I made fun of his worries later and that's when we started "floating".  "Sometimes when you turn corners," he explained, "there is somewhat of a floating sensation".  "Oh no!" I exclaimed.  "Are we going to grow wings??"  He didn't appreciate my sarcasm.  My dad, my hero.  Thanks to him I can rest assured that my engine will stay safely on the highway and I don't have to worry about floating.  Other cars might want to watch out for that though.  Newest technology folks, flying cars.  At this point I offered to drive, half for our safety, half so I could turn up the music and feel the wind in hair.  He surprisingly said I could when I wanted, but I decided a nap would first be necessary.  This time I was the one being mocked.  Apparently sleeping 10 minutes into an adventure is unacceptable behavior.  For the next 2 days I begged to drive, to which I received negative responses.  The only times he agreed, he saw my head on my pillow and knew I wouldn't take the responsibility of hurling our Avalon down the interstate in my sleepy state.  We had at least a dozen potty breaks, to which I requested 1, explored downtown Louisville (where dad questioned a local in a curious and somewhat oblivious tone about the University of Louisville being located in Louisville), stopped for a sign that read "scenic view", and compared yahoo maps, mapquest directions, and the garmin... none of which were comparable.   It was a long, but worthwhile trip as now I get the pleasure of drinking coffee and blogging in a new state.  It's a hot one in North Carolina, feels like 100+ and I won't complain for a second.  I've been exploring all day and tomorrow will arrive at my second day at MDCC where I am interning for the summer.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have so many things to look forward to, but I must be careful not to hit fast forward.  I have goals this summer, which I look forward to discussing with you next time.  I am living with my best friend and her husband and taking every opportunity to be grateful for where I am in this very moment.  Well, actually, at this very moment this chair is getting a little uncomfortable. Perhaps it's a sign I should bid you farewell.  I would like to leave you with one more thought.  My word this summer is "understand(ing)".  It is filling my prayers, curiosity, and post-it notes.  If I can grasp that word and make it a part of my character, if I can truly understand, I would be a much more pleasant person to many pleasant and not-so-pleasant people.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Goodbye friends, the pleasure has been mine.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-2271746788138266777?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/2271746788138266777/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/05/100.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/2271746788138266777'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/2271746788138266777'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/05/100.html' title='100+'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-950927017738305635</id><published>2011-03-29T19:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-03-29T19:29:46.951-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dear You</title><content type='html'>Tonight I went to hear a speaker and wanted to turn around and walk out as soon as I sat down.  The first sentence I heard was "I'm sure some of you have experienced heartache".  "Too soon!"  I wanted to yell.  The speaker said I need to be completely vulnerable and to take a few Tylenol.  I've checked half of it off the list, here's the other half.&lt;div&gt;Dear You,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I want more of my heart back and less of the ache.  But, if the ache is what you want me to go through to get to the other side, I will.  All of the sources say I should play hard to get, but I can't chance you watching me walk away again.  I can't give you that ultimatum of stopping me or losing me.  I know all the stories and magazines say I should "be glamorous" and "move on with my life".  I tried, but today I couldn't even fake a smile for my boss.  So I'm living my life, but I'm asking you to come along.  This isn't a cool girl act, but this is honesty.  I want you, please want me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&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/8656931511968366943-950927017738305635?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/950927017738305635/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/03/dear-you.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/950927017738305635'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/950927017738305635'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/03/dear-you.html' title='Dear You'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-4855022606151006563</id><published>2011-03-20T10:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-03-20T10:39:08.265-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Come Thou Fount</title><content type='html'>A couple years ago I noticed that during every soccer game I'd find myself subconsciously singing these lyrics in my head.  This has carried into other aspects of my life.  Without thought, when stress enters, so do these words.  In this I will always find comfort.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial; font-size: small; "&gt;Come thou fount of every blessing&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial; font-size: small; "&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Tune my heart to sing Thy grace&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Streams of mercy never ceasing&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Call for songs of loudest praise.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Teach me some melodious sonnet&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Sung by flaming tongues above.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Praise the mount&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;I'm fixed upon it&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Mount of Thy redeeming love.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Here I raise my Ebenezer,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Here by Thy great help I've come.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;And i hope by Thy good pleasure&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Safely to arrive at home.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Jesus sought me when a stranger,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Wandering from the fold of God.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;He to rescue me from danger&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Interposed His precious blood (precious blood).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Oh that day when freed from sinning&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;I shall see Thy lovely face.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Clothe it then in blood washed linen&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;How I'll sing thy sovereign grace.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Come my Lord no longer tarry&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Take my ransom soul away.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Send Thine angels now to carry&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Me to realms of endless days.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Oh to grace how great a debtor&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Daily i'm constraint to be!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Let Thy goodness like a fetter,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Bind my wandering heart to thee.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Prone to wander Lord i feel it&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Prone to leave the God I love.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Here's my heart&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Oh take and seal it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Seal it for thy courts above.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Here's my heart&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Oh take and seal it&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Seal it for thy courts above.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial; font-size: small; "&gt;&lt;br /&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/8656931511968366943-4855022606151006563?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/4855022606151006563/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/03/come-thou-fount.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/4855022606151006563'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/4855022606151006563'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/03/come-thou-fount.html' title='Come Thou Fount'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-3078808429928212128</id><published>2011-02-25T22:44:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-25T22:56:13.029-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Leap of Faith</title><content type='html'>A leap of faith..&lt;div&gt;First you'll lose your breath when you see how far the drop is.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There will be tears, I promise you that.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Don't worry though, the wind will dry those tears and erase every fear.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Your arms will flail, you'll kick your legs.  But try to stay still and watch everything speeding by.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;You'll see life.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;You wanted to stay at the top, looking for the bottom.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But, you took the leap and saw everything in the middle.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Suddenly, you stopped looking for the end.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&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/8656931511968366943-3078808429928212128?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/3078808429928212128/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/02/leap-of-faith.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/3078808429928212128'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/3078808429928212128'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/02/leap-of-faith.html' title='Leap of Faith'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-7810246241389590823</id><published>2011-02-24T10:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-24T11:02:28.808-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Yet another list</title><content type='html'>We all make lists.  I'm not the color coordinated, post-it note, perfectly organized type, but I'm just like you because we all make lists.  We list homework, goals, grocery necessities, daily tasks, etc.  In fact, lists have been a reoccurring theme in my blog.  What I don't see, or talk about often is how to stay happy at all times.  I'm prepared for a boring day with a kite in my back seat, I have a book bag full of books just in case I have a spare moment.  But, sometimes your best friend is busy working, your boyfriend will need "me time" and a date with video games, homework won't sound fun, and winter will prevent the flying of a kite. What then?&lt;div&gt;1.  Sing 2 songs: 1. a song that has notes you can reach and makes your feel good and sassy &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt;   &lt;/span&gt;     2. turn this song all the way up so you can scream it, love it, and not hear &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt;   &lt;/span&gt;how awful you sound.  Stay away from screamo though..that's scary&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2. Let yourself cry, then look in a mirror and laugh at your slowly contorting face.  Ugly cry = supa hott&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3. Create a surprise for the person you miss, which is the reason you're sad, but it will be reversed if you make something pretty and happy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4. "...love life and joyously live each day to it's ultimate good." - I see you Alpha sisters!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;5.  sit pretzel style in leggings while drinking tea..you'll feel artsy&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;6. Read likealittle.com and tell yourself you are every single girl mentioned.  Everyone loves you!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;7.  Read Isaiah 40:28-31.  Then read it in another language, just for kicks and giggles.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;8.  Pretend you like "me time" (which I actually despise and don't believe in) and start a journal.  It's so fun to look back at the dates of special occasions!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;9.  highlight absolutely everything in your planner.  If you're like my sister, you can have a little "key" at the top of the page specifying what each color represents.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;10.  Tell yourself you rock, and believe it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Next time you find yourself reaching for the kleenex to wipe your tears are everything that goes wrong or nothing that goes right, think of this list and pick one thing.  I want to hear you giggle again. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;11. Blog about being happy...CHECK&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Kat&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/8656931511968366943-7810246241389590823?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/7810246241389590823/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/02/yet-another-list.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/7810246241389590823'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/7810246241389590823'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/02/yet-another-list.html' title='Yet another list'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-7128328539778926476</id><published>2011-02-16T11:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-16T11:52:39.965-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Run Away</title><content type='html'>Today is one of those days I'd just like to escape.  There is nothing bad about it really, but the sky is gloomy and the building of pressure isn't something I want to deal with at the moment.  In a way I'm feeling quite successful.  It's 1:40 P.M. and I've already been to work, 3 classes, a meeting with my Chem. prof. and did some Chem. reading while eating lunch.  Not to mention, I've officially gone a week without crying over pointless/unknown causes.  So, it's true, "life is good".  I am content.  Buuut, today I was in a student union building filled with people and I had my phone by my side.  Yet, I sat alone and my texts weren't met with replies.  So often I look at look at Chris and tell him we should run away, just leave campus.  Of course I'm only kidding, but today that thought doesn't seem so awful.  I could be invisible by choice.&lt;div&gt;But, I do have one happy thought....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There's always tomorrow, or heck, 5 minutes from now.  Knowing me, I could be happy as a clam by that point.  Actually, scratch that.  I WILL BE happy as a clam.  Well that's rather exciting, don't ya think?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Better already,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Kat&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-7128328539778926476?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/7128328539778926476/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/02/run-away.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/7128328539778926476'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/7128328539778926476'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/02/run-away.html' title='Run Away'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-5852062645847812801</id><published>2011-02-07T14:53:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-07T14:59:56.492-08:00</updated><title type='text'>'92 Cherokee on the road again</title><content type='html'>I'm so excited for Fuel tonight!  I've always loved my home church, but for many years I never really connected with youth group.  I wasn't the girl that showed up early and stayed late.  But, God has blessed me these past few months with a group of girls to not only go to church on Sundays with, but Monday night Fuel and Tuesday Bible study as well.  My car officially has too few seats to fit everyone and I absolutely love it!  Having the chance to worship with the people I do life with everyday is an amazing experience and I can't wait to start filling up the trunk with the overflow of gals:)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-5852062645847812801?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/5852062645847812801/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/02/92-cherokee-on-road-again.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/5852062645847812801'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/5852062645847812801'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/02/92-cherokee-on-road-again.html' title='&apos;92 Cherokee on the road again'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-7003793143840803111</id><published>2011-02-04T14:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-04T14:45:13.941-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Disclaimer</title><content type='html'>I feel as if I should apologize for the purging of the flowery, feel good, mushy stuff lately.  I have been loving the chance to live in my dream world, but let's admit it...it's been excessive.  So, a few more sides of reality that is ever present in my life.  &lt;div&gt;1. I have political opinions (it's true, I watch the news).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2. I spend hours a day studying and, sometimes, I complain.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3. While my perfect man and I have yet to have our first fight, we have had confrontations.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I realize life is imperfect; maybe that explains why I make my posts so cheesy.  Sometimes it's fun to try and reverse the irreversible.  I fight stress by pretending it doesn't exist.  Sorry if it has made you gag a time or two.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Kat&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/8656931511968366943-7003793143840803111?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/7003793143840803111/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/02/disclaimer.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/7003793143840803111'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/7003793143840803111'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/02/disclaimer.html' title='Disclaimer'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-1207900459284460884</id><published>2011-02-03T18:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-03T19:15:11.760-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Stepping on toes</title><content type='html'>I'm the kind of gal that dreams of dancing, but ends up stomping. The first time I slow danced with a guy I'm pretty sure I took a ride on his toes.  It's cute when little girls stand on their daddy's feet buuuut then there's me.  It was so unfair because it was that awkward stage where all girls are taller than ALL boys.  So i just looked down on him while pretending my hair was blowing in the wind, when really it was falling out of the bobby pins from my abrupt stumbles.  But, that didn't stop me from dancing to the melodies in my head, dreaming of pretty princesses and fairytales, even at age 18.   I got the chance to step on toes again a few days ago when I went to Walgreens for stamps and ended up being twirled through the aisle as my boy took my hand and stopped life long enough to spin with me amongst the Hallmarks. &lt;div&gt; Never stop dancing, because one day the song in your head may be the song coming through the speakers and someone might hear it and grab your hand.  Don't be afraid to step on toes, because one day that boy might grow tall enough to grab your heart. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;kat&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-1207900459284460884?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/1207900459284460884/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/02/stepping-on-toes.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/1207900459284460884'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/1207900459284460884'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/02/stepping-on-toes.html' title='Stepping on toes'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-2995204582654930023</id><published>2011-02-02T21:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-02T22:01:23.232-08:00</updated><title type='text'>fix-its</title><content type='html'>&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 18.0px; font: 13.0px 'Trebuchet MS'; color: #333233"&gt;Recipe for a happier soul:&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 18.0px; font: 13.0px 'Trebuchet MS'; color: #333233"&gt;unlimited cups of hot tea&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 18.0px; font: 13.0px 'Trebuchet MS'; color: #333233"&gt;fuzzy blanket(s) &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 18.0px; font: 13.0px 'Trebuchet MS'; color: #333233"&gt;shaved legs&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 18.0px; font: 13.0px 'Trebuchet MS'; color: #333233"&gt;painted nails&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 18.0px; font: 13.0px 'Trebuchet MS'; color: #333233"&gt;cookie dough&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 18.0px; font: 13.0px 'Trebuchet MS'; color: #333233"&gt;mom&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 18.0px; font: 13.0px 'Trebuchet MS'; color: #333233"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 18.0px; font: 13.0px 'Trebuchet MS'; color: #333233"&gt;Recipe for a happier body that needs to rock a bikini by march:&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 18.0px; font: 13.0px 'Trebuchet MS'; color: #333233"&gt;NO COOKIE DOUGH&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 18.0px; font: 13.0px 'Trebuchet MS'; color: #333233"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 18.0px; font: 13.0px 'Trebuchet MS'; color: #333233"&gt;...my soul is very happy right now&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 18.0px; font: 13.0px 'Trebuchet MS'; color: #333233"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 18.0px; font: 13.0px 'Trebuchet MS'; color: #333233"&gt;sadly satisfied,&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 18.0px; font: 13.0px 'Trebuchet MS'; color: #333233"&gt;Kat&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 18.0px; font: 13.0px 'Trebuchet MS'; color: #333233"&gt;&lt;span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 18.0px; font: 13.0px 'Trebuchet MS'; color: #333233"&gt;&lt;span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 18.0px; font: 13.0px 'Trebuchet MS'; color: #333233"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-2995204582654930023?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/2995204582654930023/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/02/fix-its.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/2995204582654930023'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/2995204582654930023'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/02/fix-its.html' title='fix-its'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-8050897210436591685</id><published>2011-01-28T11:30:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-28T11:42:31.244-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Undefined</title><content type='html'>I learned something about myself today...I can't be defined.  I tried to redesign my blog to the best of my technologically challenged ability.  Much to my dismay, I could not find a "kathryn" background.  But then I came across linen.  Immediately I fell in love!  Just as fast as my excitement rose, it sank; I saw myself as a young vibrant dreamer, settling with linen.  I blame it on my mother's love for pottery barn, my sister's infatuation with being chic, and my father's keen eye for fabrics.  Am i simply a beige slate that has no pattern, no excitement?  No, no..i'm half that.  I found the beauty in simplicity.  To spice it up I added the "homemade apple" font.  One, because I really like food and my gramma's apple pies, and two, because it screams Anne of Green Gables.  It's whimsical and at times difficult to read which is perfect because I'm truly tickled by the whimsy of life so much so that I scribble all of feelings in ways that aren't always comprehendible/legible.  So, you see, I may have been searching for utterly urban or  shamelessly chic, but in the middle I found a bunch of tan and pages of loop-d-loop letters.  A little bit of everything and completely undefinable:)&lt;div&gt;Find a little you in a little of everything,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Kat&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-8050897210436591685?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/8050897210436591685/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/01/undefined.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/8050897210436591685'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/8050897210436591685'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/01/undefined.html' title='Undefined'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-5069445913977589833</id><published>2011-01-26T15:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-28T10:21:53.588-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;"&lt;b&gt;Confidence&lt;/b&gt; is the goal, not the cotton candy of self esteem.  &lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Confidence&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt; grows like well-formed muscles on a long distance runner.  &lt;b&gt;Confidence&lt;/b&gt; is not bequeathed to you.  It is earned through time."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;-David Barrett&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-5069445913977589833?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/5069445913977589833/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/01/confidence-is-goal-not-cotton-candy-of.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/5069445913977589833'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/5069445913977589833'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/01/confidence-is-goal-not-cotton-candy-of.html' title=''/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-6631968109669711687</id><published>2011-01-24T19:07:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-25T11:02:21.803-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Chem for Dummies PLEASE</title><content type='html'>Everything in my life just kinda happens.  I pretend to make decisions and when people ask "what made you choose..." I go with it and answer accordingly.  But, I have a secret, I don't get a chance to choose anything.  I am currently in Chem. 100 because I tried to take Ag.  The dreaded day arrived, registration day.  I already felt behind because everyone seemed to have all of their schedules/overrides taken care of.  It was noon and I'd yet to even have a tentative schedule.  But, I stood up tall from my desk at work, grabbed my notebook (after having dps unlock the office due to my locking my possessions within) and walked to the professor's office, where I would smoothly plead my case for getting an override in Ag.  I did just that, but he started shaking his head.  "I teach Chem."  This is where most people blush, lower their heads and walk out to find the correct office.  But, in my asthmatic, flustered way, I raised my head, smiled, sweated, and said "okay that works too!"  So now I sit in the center of the 4th row in a building that smells like a hospital.  I do love the story that got me to this place and I am quite determined to make it a joyful ride.  But then again, I suppose that's not for me to decide.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-6631968109669711687?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/6631968109669711687/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/01/chem-for-dummies-please.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/6631968109669711687'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/6631968109669711687'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/01/chem-for-dummies-please.html' title='Chem for Dummies PLEASE'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-1645690035377501581</id><published>2011-01-14T13:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-14T15:16:45.241-08:00</updated><title type='text'>In a Land Not So Far Away</title><content type='html'>&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Once upon a time in a land not so far away, a guy met a gal.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Tall (and muscley) he stood before her, using his delicate blue eyes to entrance her.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;She was an independent soul and stayed away from the handsome figure…except for their long walks at night. &lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;The pursuit began and suddenly her little corner of the world in what she planned on calling home for the next 4 years started overflowing with flowers and notes, which lead to hints, that lead to more surprises.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;   &lt;/span&gt;Eventually, they stayed up for hours every night telling stories and using homework as a responsible excuse to be up so late.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;They became the best of friends.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;She loved the friendship she had… she thought of them as kindred spirits.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;But one day he walked into her room, her space, in no way apologetic for the barging and exclaimed that he would not give up.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;He told her she was his.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;She sat quietly and listened, but little did he know, she was dancing inside.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Their documented story began on October 30, 2010.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Naturally, in her graceful manner, she begged him not to choose this night to ask her the simple question that would make her his and only his for an indefinite amount of time.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;But he promised adventure and she trusted his timing was best.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;So she said yes and again felt reassured in his arms.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;However, it’s the story before that night that hasn’t been shared.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It could easily be mistaken with Sleeping Beauty, Cinderella, or any other Disney creation.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;A boy pursued a girl.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The girl fell for the boy.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;And on December 5 their story began again when he whispered 3 little words into her ear.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Of course, she gasped and exclaimed, “DON’T”, foolishly mistaken once more, for his timing he’d already proven perfect. So they live on happily…&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-1645690035377501581?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/1645690035377501581/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/01/in-land-not-so-far-away.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/1645690035377501581'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/1645690035377501581'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/01/in-land-not-so-far-away.html' title='In a Land Not So Far Away'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-663181567337033092</id><published>2011-01-03T08:44:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-03T09:10:54.757-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Welp</title><content type='html'>I used to long for the day boredom would embrace me.  I yearned to sit on a couch and stare at a ceiling or perhaps mindlessly twirl my hair while watching an over-watched rerun of Friends.  I had plans to become a master cellist during these breaks from life; i'd learn the art of cooking, read a book, become an artist and essentially mark my fingerprint in the world.  Then, Christmas break 2010 happened.  I tried to defy my clock by sleeping in like any normal young adult such as myself. I can't help that I like the sound of birds and the feeling of sun on my face of an early morn! Why can't I too desire a dark dungeon and hours of uninterrupted sleep?  At least that would cut into my hours of eating mindless sweets filled with chocolate, peanut butter, sugars galore, disgusting yummies of sort. What's even worse is..I'm also becoming one of them, the shoppers.  Just yesterday I relentlessly laughed at my sister for obsessing over jcrew sales and today I find myself waiting for the oh-so-important semi-anual you know what sale starting Jan. 4, TOMORROW!  But while I wait, I'm left once more on the couch, fighting off the newest addition to our kitchen, coffee cake.  Today is a new day and while I may not be impressing the boy's family with my newest chef-like creations (like chris did with my family), I will conquer my own evils.  Today i shall read a book and today I shall eat less.  A new me is on the way.  Boring or not, here I come.&lt;div&gt;Embrace boredom,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Kat&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-663181567337033092?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/663181567337033092/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/01/welp.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/663181567337033092'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/663181567337033092'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2011/01/welp.html' title='Welp'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-657306579395158770</id><published>2010-12-03T20:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-03T20:19:37.916-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I Believe in Santa Claus</title><content type='html'>I believe...&lt;div&gt;...in taking chances&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;...in knowing the definition of "risk" before "practicality"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;...it's better to look like a fool instead of allowing another to&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;...money can be miraculous and evil&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;...in the power of prayer&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;...smiles are contagious&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;...in fairytales (partially because I'm currently living one)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;...in every person&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;...in following those you love through Walmart, across the country, or around the world&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;...in being inspired&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I believe in Santa Claus&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Merry (early) Christmas!  Watch Miracle on 34th St. and decide what you believe in.  Allow yourself to dream.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Kat&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-657306579395158770?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/657306579395158770/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/12/i-believe-in-santa-claus.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/657306579395158770'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/657306579395158770'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/12/i-believe-in-santa-claus.html' title='I Believe in Santa Claus'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-4530639583015120717</id><published>2010-11-22T12:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-11-22T12:37:27.589-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Freeman Fiasco</title><content type='html'>2:14 P.M. here.  On a typical day I'd be bobbing my head while fighting sleep in class, but today I'm curled up in a leather chair at my second home, Starbucks.  I've run away, temporarily, from the comedies of my home.  I've been through such a whirlwind of chaos at school that it doesn't take much wind to blow me over anymore.  Yesterday afternoon I crossed the bridge and watched Quincy get closer and closer.  I drove through my neighborhood and saw the remnants of orange and brown leaves dance around my car through gusts of warm air.  I pulled into my driveway catching the peripheral view of my cat sitting in the neighbors driveway being his usual stubborn self and refusing to accept an indoor pet life. Everything was so predictable and wonderful.  What was even greater though was the change I walked into.  I was greeted by Gramma's dog and hesitantly petted her, fearing her tinkle that always follows.  Gramma was in her new "apartment" and the evening was spent with her referring to home as the same dwelling as I had for years.  I don't know why it felt like such a huge change and why this "wind" took my breath away when I first walked in.  I thought life would change forever over a little family bonding.  I mean honestly, this holds great potential for the future of even this blog.  I look forward to documenting the introduction of our cat and Gramma's dog, this year's Christmas card with everyone including Gramma in footy pajamas, hearing bedtimes stories floating up from the basement and seeing the confusion in my dad's face until we realize they're being told to Tina (the dog), and experiencing the first bat/mouse with a new tenant in the house.  Life is a collection of stories, and my collection is about to increase in a significant way.  In this holiday season, cheers to change!&lt;div&gt;Create your own story,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Kat&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-4530639583015120717?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/4530639583015120717/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/11/freeman-fiasco.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/4530639583015120717'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/4530639583015120717'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/11/freeman-fiasco.html' title='Freeman Fiasco'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-1460232437987098324</id><published>2010-11-04T17:43:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-11-04T17:56:06.090-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Missing Home</title><content type='html'>So many things about college are great, but sometimes I just want to be home.  I've found I'm really bad about taking my trash out and keeping my shoes in the right place.  I've broken hangers and picture frames while trying to clean and loaned out my swiffer for bug attacks before even using it to remove dust.  I miss my mom's hugs when I come home after a long day at school and I miss seeing an "A" on the top right hand corner of papers.  I love picking my classes, eating with Alphas, experiencing big/little week, and starting to feel like a big kid.  But then I remember home where the walls are white and there is sunshine everywhere.  I would love to wake up to the annoyingly persistent call of my dad's voice instead of hoping I won't turn my alarm off in my sleep...again.  Really, what I miss is getting to lay on my couch and ramble on about all of my complaints to my mom instead of rambling to a computer screen.  On the bright side, I get to see my sisters soon:)&lt;div&gt;Feel at home tonight,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Kat&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-1460232437987098324?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/1460232437987098324/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/11/missing-home.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/1460232437987098324'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/1460232437987098324'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/11/missing-home.html' title='Missing Home'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-8609153349202603618</id><published>2010-10-07T23:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-07T23:28:28.725-07:00</updated><title type='text'>TruLights</title><content type='html'>I really shouldn't be posting this right now.  It's after 1 A.M. and I've yet to get in bed before 2 in the past couple weeks.  It's so worth it though...life has been fun.  However, I have discovered a few things about myself, one being that I hate stress.  I'm much more of a walk slowly, procrastinate often, laugh lots type of gal.  I've also discovered that unlike my sister, when stressed, I eat more instead of less and the small ray of sunshine caused by weighing a few less pounds is not my source of light.  I've been learning a lot about other things too.  Everyday is a new adventure with the Alphas.  It's so crazy to me that people can get so close in such a short amount of time.  Makes me wonder how much time I've wasted in the past, when I could have spent it caring enough to truly know someone.  I was explaining how amazing the level of trust and acceptance with my girls is to my mom and she said something that has followed me ever since.  She just nodded and said, "how the church should be".  I never though I'd turn to a sorority to show me how to love my family in Christ, but it has been an unexpected thrill.  There are a few more fun facts that I've caught onto.  The squirrels really are crazy, but the students are even crazier about them.  Leggings are "a staple" (thank you emma) at Truman.  The school aspect of school isn't all that fun.  With only 24 hours in a day, there is always extra time to be found.  Dancing in the back row is the way to go.  And lastly, don't find peace in your happiness, find happiness in your peace.  I like to call these little tidbits "TruLights" because nothing beats walking along the brick paths at night with only the lights lining the grass to guide me from building to building.  And of course the "Tru" comes from TRUman.&lt;div&gt;Sweet dreams my friends,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Kat&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-8609153349202603618?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/8609153349202603618/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/10/trulights.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/8609153349202603618'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/8609153349202603618'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/10/trulights.html' title='TruLights'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-8950946448675059606</id><published>2010-09-11T08:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-13T00:05:06.803-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Answered Prayers</title><content type='html'>The past few weeks have been crazy.  Between all of my classes, attempts at "getting involved", the hope of a guy and the disappointment of another, and the late night chats on the porch swing, I have been constantly on the go.  But, daily I've tried to remind myself to make all things answered prayers.  I know God answers all, but I also know that personally, I forget to tell God a lot, forget to let him show me his will through the daily details of my life.  But when I do ask God for the simple things like having someone to go to lunch with or helping me not freak out (in general), I know everything that follows is a list of answered prayers.  There's always a peace about knowing I'm in God's palm instead of trying to fit into my own.  My roommate, friends up and down the hall, and even across campus in Grim have all been, although I just met them a few weeks ago, the topic of my prayers for months...now all answered in such a great way.  That disappoint caused by just one guy, answered prayer. Getting involved, it's the middle of rush week, but that too will soon be answered prayer.  I don't always get what I ask for, but that's the roller-coaster of life (and sometimes my emotions)...and that's o.k.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-8950946448675059606?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/8950946448675059606/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/09/answered-prayers.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/8950946448675059606'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/8950946448675059606'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/09/answered-prayers.html' title='Answered Prayers'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-3430951819163612651</id><published>2010-08-31T16:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-01T18:17:04.232-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"I'm a big kid now!"</title><content type='html'>Okay get in your comfy position.  Cross your legs, put on a sweatshirt, some fuzzy socks, throw your hair up in a bun.  Now, imagine this with me.  Ya know those kids that were "potty trained" just a little too soon?  Those princess/power ranger panties were rewarded, but after one night you wish you stuck with the winnie the pooh pull-up.  Now apply that situation to my first real week of college. Let's start with Monday.  After hours of preparation all weekend, I completed one class' assignments.  I dabbled in the other two, but spanish, my first class of the day...complete.  Then I showed up to class.  I completed the wrong assignment.  Fail.  After calling and having a good little chuckle with my dear sister, I walked with my head held high to history, then world religions. There are these two girls, they know everything.  If it happened, which makes it history, they know it.  Yet they're in my class, stealing allll my thunder.  All I wanted to do was comment on the effects of Mesopotamian culture or perhaps the beginning of agriculture, which I conveniently highlighted pink when taking prior notes in an effort to quickly recognize and know all answers.  But no, I was the silent one because every time I opened my mouth, a voice that did not sound like my own rambled off paragraphs much longer than answers I'd prepared. Someone else just had to be the teacher's pet.  Not to worry, world religions still seemed promising, because this time I had the right folder (I may have been unprepared for the first day of class.  may have happened).  This time as I proudly opened the folder (sitting within the "T" of knowledge might I add.  Front and center.), half a cookie appeared.  Not conveniently in one piece; nope, all crumpled.  A few big chunks, some straggling crumbs rolling down the slant of the desk and onto my lap/floor/keyboard.  Remember I'm in The "T" of knowledge, there's no hiding the remnants of my lunch.  I wouldn't have even had a cookie for lunch if I had remembered to print a few study guides off the night before and had time to eat lunch before class!  I scream freshman.  No, you can't hear it, I never actually speak it, but when I walk out of the bathroom with water all down my shirt/pants because I've yet to figure out the water pressure, when I e-mail professors because I can't find an assignment and tell them i'm in the 2:30 class instead of the 1:30 class i'm actually in, and when I carry my very large lime green laundry bag (so cute!) across campus to do my first load of laundry with my one best friend out of the 6,000 students here, I scream freshman.  I'm like a toddler.  The days at this university are my princess panties.  I kinda miss winnie the pooh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-3430951819163612651?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/3430951819163612651/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/08/im-big-kid-now.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/3430951819163612651'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/3430951819163612651'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/08/im-big-kid-now.html' title='&quot;I&apos;m a big kid now!&quot;'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-125898376911131847</id><published>2010-08-22T08:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-23T09:52:19.592-07:00</updated><title type='text'>College Day 1</title><content type='html'>Between the hugs, the laughs, the numerous power strips/extension chords, fans set on high, and many attempts at lint rolling the carpet, it was hard to focus on the reality of yesterday.  It was a fun day that ended with my dad coming back into my room for the 3rd time for a hug and my sister jumping up and down waving quite dramatically as all 6 of my movers walked down the hallway.  Well, I guess that's not exactly where the day ended, but where life's predictable routine did.  I dried my tears as the rest of my hall stared at me (we had to gather for a meeting), took a deep breath (so not to trigger the asthmatic symptoms :) ) and accepted my new reality.  College.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-125898376911131847?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/125898376911131847/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/08/college-day-1.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/125898376911131847'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/125898376911131847'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/08/college-day-1.html' title='College Day 1'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-6550437601159673885</id><published>2010-08-03T14:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-06T13:26:56.725-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Tragus or Tat</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/TFxv9XXZL5I/AAAAAAAAAEo/18FkIO5nOrY/s1600/piercing.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/TFxv9XXZL5I/AAAAAAAAAEo/18FkIO5nOrY/s320/piercing.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502395944774741906" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did it. I had my tragus pierced. Sounds totally creepy and inappropriate right?  Let me back up; all of my life I've become numb to saying no.  It was such a second nature response everyday and every night. no, i will not drink that, no i will not smoke that, ew, no i will not do that.  But of course I became 18 and here I was, piercing free, tattoo free, and boring.  Senior trip came along and my girls decided to pierce their bellybuttons.  For so many reasons, that was not a good choice for a girl like me.  Fast forward, I stood there watching and screaming as karli gripped the arms of the chair and stevee winced in immense pain.  But then came the peer pressure, not only from my best friends and sister, but also the employees of the store.  I got a small discount and thought ah why not pierce the cartilage thingy sticking out of my right ear (who does that??). For some reason I did not process that a man would be using his strength to stick a needle through the thickest part of my ear.  There he stood, tall, muscly, tatted up, gaged ears, smiling.  As the cracking exploded like the fireworks finale on the 4th of july inside my once hole free ear, I started to realized what I just committed to. The cute girl with a tree tattooed up her back and everything visible (and prolly more) pierced promised the pain wasn't bad. She lied. The employees came from the front of the store because apparently we all screamed, I don't recall.  The blood, which I also didn't consider being part of the equation, dripped.  I have vowed to never have children because of the pain I went through that day. Now I only wear one earbud in my left ear while the other hangs down over my shoulder.  And no, it's not b/c I'm trying to be a wangsta.  I let a man stick a needle through me ear. I saw the large needle with a cork on the end when I accidentally looked in a mirror, and am painfully reminded of the sharp earring it was replaced with daily. &lt;div&gt;Oh and it would be totally cool if you kept this on the DL...Bruce hasn't found the sparkling diamond yet.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-6550437601159673885?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/6550437601159673885/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/08/i-did-it.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/6550437601159673885'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/6550437601159673885'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/08/i-did-it.html' title='Tragus or Tat'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/TFxv9XXZL5I/AAAAAAAAAEo/18FkIO5nOrY/s72-c/piercing.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-1324574346713157349</id><published>2010-07-27T08:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-27T09:17:03.831-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Senior Trip</title><content type='html'>&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;&lt;span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"&gt;I’m driving home from St. Louis after taking care of business in the RDU airport with Karoline like it was our j.o.b., after spending an amazing week in North Carolina.  I would love to be able to paint a picture for you about everything we did, everyone we saw, and every word that was said.  Everything became an adventure; finding a non-existent parking spot at the beach (karli suggested we find a bank nearby to park at...we couldn’t find any banks), negotiating henna tattoos down to 3 for the price of one (if we threw in stevee’s #), witnessing stevee get 2 other #s (which resulted in fb stalking hundreds of guys trying to track one down), watching our personal lifeguard almost drown daily before using rescue techniques on herself, watching tv in a hotel room with all 3 girls by my side under one big blanket, and “love(ing) the way you lie” with our newest music video.  At one point karli tried to call a remote control, we captured stevee’s priceless facial expressions while going through pain from something i can’t currently disclose to you, liz ran around impersonating a pigeon w/o realizing the camera lens facing her way was in fact recording, and I embarrassed myself time and time again while trying to mentally document our memories so I’d be able to record them to last forever. And then there was Jake. He is the Harry Potter, Twilight mocker, Inception fan, all around best man, and we all had a blast being in his presence. This trip which was our hello to North Carolina, became our goodbye to each other.  Too quickly time with my brother-in-law, niece pup, and sister is reaching the point of holiday occasions.  I’m going to college, trying to grow up, and while liz will be back to move me in, I reluctantly said bye to the other two.  As far as my girls go, this was our last outing.  We’re not quite at goodbye, but our late nights turning into early mornings and eating snacks for every meal including snack times b/c calories can’t touch us...those days are gone.  It was a good way to go out.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;&lt;span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"&gt;But don’t worry girls, if we managed to fb chat it up while in the same apartment, i’m sure we can handle sharing some late night snacks and early morning talks with just a few states between us. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-1324574346713157349?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/1324574346713157349/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/07/senior-trip.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/1324574346713157349'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/1324574346713157349'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/07/senior-trip.html' title='Senior Trip'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-2829390374629662543</id><published>2010-07-13T13:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-13T18:41:22.188-07:00</updated><title type='text'>sinful sugar</title><content type='html'>Today the sky is particularly happy and sunny, but I've been a bit blue.  Girls, a little feel good 101: make up is our best friend.  I applied my clinique "super fit" foundation, mary kay bronzing stick, and mineral eye shadow (honey spice to keep a naturally glowing theme).  Even then, no giddy girl came shining through the rose blush. No worries, I would embark on my daily study of Paul and not only complete the last few verses from the previous day's Bible study, but do today's as well.  I mean come on, God, the answer to questions that have yet to be been asked. I looked at my reading guide and today I was to read about the struggles of sin, not exactly uplifting.  Like a good girl I wrote my prayer and read my scripture, but still felt the need to wiggle and jiggle (not in front of a mirror. jiggling in front of mirrors must be prevented at all times).  Solution?  A drive.  First came the fries. my body said "whaaat? what is this? partayyyy!".  I also upgraded, medium fry! woot to the woot. This will sadly contribute to the unwanted mirror jiggling.  None the less, happy was coming.  I was listening to a song that said, "I can see the light before the end of the tunnel" and it came to me...fountain soda.  Sugar, all i needed.  I grabbed my mountain dew and smiled all the way home.  My justification for finding more happiness in my soda than in the teachings of Paul in Romans 7?  God definitely put that song on the radio which lead me to buy such goodness that sends fake feel good signals to my mind and soul.  Thank you Creator of the universe.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-2829390374629662543?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/2829390374629662543/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/07/sinful-sugar.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/2829390374629662543'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/2829390374629662543'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/07/sinful-sugar.html' title='sinful sugar'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-2233054334064168970</id><published>2010-07-06T13:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-13T12:53:08.542-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My stalker dad</title><content type='html'>So yesterday I reminded my dad that I'm leaving for college next month.  I explained how I'd be spreading my wings and flying somewhere without a map for return.  Of course, this was an exaggeration, but at the time I think I wanted him to get something for me and honestly college is my strategy for keeping him tied around my finger.  I know, so wrong.  But, it all back fired in my face.  He won't stop following me!  I go to Old Navy, he follows.  I go to the post office, he follows.  I go to the kitchen, he's right behind my every step.  I know this should all be endearing, but then there are expectations.  I'm his only little girl, and in return I think he expects to be the only individual I care to see, ever.  Sure, he's the only man in my life, but when the sun goes down, so does daddy-daughter time.  But even as I walk to my car waving good-bye, he follows.  He opens the door and is standing right beside me, checking for strangers in the back of my car, listening for the clicking of locked doors, and walking my reversing car down the driveway.  Never remind your father that you're leaving, but if you do, show him a map promising your return.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-2233054334064168970?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/2233054334064168970/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/07/my-stalker-dad.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/2233054334064168970'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/2233054334064168970'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/07/my-stalker-dad.html' title='My stalker dad'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-1782057945788854586</id><published>2010-07-01T09:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-06T10:25:27.414-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Want to be my friend?</title><content type='html'>I'm in dire need of a friend.  Well, maybe a man.  Yup, that would solve all of my problems.  Someone to buy me chocolates that I have no use for except to save for an inevitable later date when i will use them to drown my sorrows.  Yes, I need a man.  Friends, those are great, but they get boyfriends.  And then suddenly times like the 4th of July become nothing but an excuse for laying on a blanket amidst a dark night.  Where am I in all of this? Eating the chocolates from last year.  I should prolly put a small disclaimer on all of this.  You don't need to call my parents out of concern.  I'm actually writing this with a smile.  A bitter smile? haha perhaps.  None the less, a smile.  Strangely, I'm perfectly content being single and having my mom as a friend.  I'm actually pretty pumped about all of this.  I get to do something my friends don't.  I get to watch fireworks; forget the blanket, my eyes will be on the sky.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-1782057945788854586?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/1782057945788854586/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/07/want-to-be-my-friend.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/1782057945788854586'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/1782057945788854586'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/07/want-to-be-my-friend.html' title='Want to be my friend?'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-5927827712203502006</id><published>2010-06-15T20:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-15T21:07:35.581-07:00</updated><title type='text'>First stop</title><content type='html'>&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;We just sat down at a bakery beside our terminal.  Mom and Dad just left to do who knows what.  I love the feeling of freedom, even if it didn’t even last the duration of two sentences.  He’s back.  We’re about to embark on a Freeman adventure.  We have bruce who completely practical.  We have Lu who just came back from the bathroom giggling “watch the faucet, it splatters”.  Have you ever seen those shows with the long lines, or maybe you’ve been to an amusement park like this; there are cones and lines prearranged that loop-d-loop forever.  Well this loop-d-loop wasn’t half full and ppl. were skippng to the front.  But not my mother.  She’s the one that loop-d-looped from the start, alllllll the way to the front, while the gentlemanly businessmen waited and smiled for her to pass, before skipping to the front.  Quick reminder of Bruce, he’s the one that didn’t laugh due to his high levels of focus on trying to figure out if we were in the right place.  And then we have me.  I’m just “that girl” who is pretending to be on the internet, but is just typing on a regular page that I’ll later post on my blog b/c i can’t figure out how to get on the internet.  Now, we aren’t hicks.  To prove that Mom is carrying a stylish beach hat...because it looks “vacationy”.  First stop...complete.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-5927827712203502006?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/5927827712203502006/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/06/first-stop.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/5927827712203502006'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/5927827712203502006'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/06/first-stop.html' title='First stop'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-2650714638694194253</id><published>2010-06-12T20:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-12T20:21:19.185-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Whole New World</title><content type='html'>&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;&lt;span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"&gt;It’s official.  I’m one of them.  I got my mac yesterday, which means I now also have an iPod touch, seeing that a free iPod is part of the current promotion.  Technology and I have never been bff (that’s a title only very few can hold).  My mom set up the laptop and a friend put music on my iPod.  I’ll tell you a secret...I’m a little ashamed at my inabilities, but let’s just keep that between us.  None the less, here I sit, in my long hippie skirt, Coldplay turned on loud, and typing away on this shiny object with a glowing apple.  I’m home alone right now and totally feel like holding a conversation.  Nothing too deep, perhaps just exchange a few jokes or discuss the highly disappointing weather that has prevented me from laying out and getting perfectly bronzed shoulders and cheeks. I’d chat with my local companions, but my fingers are tired of texting because I haven’t had the perfectly shaped long fingernails needed to type the correct letter on my palm ever since the keypad decided to fall off. It appears that a new phone has been put on hold once again, seeing that within the last week alone, I have become dear friends with our FedEx guy who now knows me as “### somethingsomething street”.  Please understand that my address substitutions have nothing to do with my lack of trust in you, but rather my cautious behavior towards the unknown world of internet users.  Ahh how I wish I could be discovered by the unknown (only the safe non-creepy unknown) and become known. BACK TO MAC!  Maybe now I won’t feel so left behind when I go to college and am surrounded by Mac labs for the 4 years of my Communications major.  Just maybe I’ll now be able to sit down and write an article for the magazine!     &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;&lt;span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"&gt;Thanks for letting me ramble.  Learn something new today, let the unknown become known.  You should probably listen to Yellow by Coldplay while you search for that something/someone special.  Safe travels!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-2650714638694194253?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/2650714638694194253/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/06/whole-new-world.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/2650714638694194253'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/2650714638694194253'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/06/whole-new-world.html' title='A Whole New World'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-8208871007879065240</id><published>2010-06-12T20:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-14T08:18:21.188-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Becoming Anne</title><content type='html'>&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;&lt;span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"&gt;So I’m sitting at the river.  I know, totally not safe for a young girl...hopefully Mom isn’t reading (if you are I have my keys by my side ready for attack if anyone approaches).  Tonight I can breathe.  I’m totally in “Anne of Green Gables” mode, feeling the breeze come off the river and listening to faint sounds of crickets in the bushes.  I couldn’t even make it through that sentence without laughing at myself, audibly.  This little town isn’t so bad.  Sure, we got excited when Best Buy came to town and yes, parking lots are still  hot spots for hanging out.  But it’s quaint.  And it holds within it kindred spirits. Anne would approve.:)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-8208871007879065240?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/8208871007879065240/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/06/becoming-anne.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/8208871007879065240'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/8208871007879065240'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/06/becoming-anne.html' title='Becoming Anne'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-1045079010423960758</id><published>2010-05-19T23:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-19T23:34:53.260-07:00</updated><title type='text'>how bright is your light?</title><content type='html'>Tonight I attended my new Bible study for the first time.  I have been helping lead a Bible study for Jr. High girls, but decided that I wanted to further my accountability personally.  This is what brought me to a group of individuals that congregated in a circle in the middle of a building.  It was after hours and all lights were out except for our area.  Among us sat a wide range of personalities, interests, and backgrounds, but we all had one similarity.  We love Jesus.  Our goal is simply to live like Jesus.  I don't think I said anything tonight, but I listened.  I've been discovering the beauty of hearing with silent lips.  I have nothing more important to say than the words of those around me.  Their doctrine was pure.  Tonight I wanted to learn.  I heard a quote from a guy that I have had a class with everyday for the past few years and talked to only a handful of times.  He quoted a classmate in saying, "don't shine your light so bright that it blinds".  As a church we often have an unwilling heart to relate to those around us. We force ourselves into a world that doesn't desire our change. Our goal should be to literally illuminate something unmistakable and irreplaceable...something people want.  Give them a chance to see this light before blinding them.  Shine because it's natural...Jesus did.  Love because it's natural...Jesus did.  Put yourself in a place to be able to relate...Jesus did.  &lt;i&gt;Listen &lt;/i&gt;and understand...Jesus did.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-1045079010423960758?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/1045079010423960758/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/05/how-bright-is-your-light.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/1045079010423960758'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/1045079010423960758'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/05/how-bright-is-your-light.html' title='how bright is your light?'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-5334524015866743796</id><published>2010-05-05T20:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-05T20:30:26.695-07:00</updated><title type='text'>a binder, poster, dust pan, and duck tape</title><content type='html'>It all began at 12:19 A.M.  Hearing the swoosh of wings against the still air, my eyes immediately opened and shot towards the ceiling.  The shadow of a figure dashed before me and my immediate reaction resembled action i'd practiced many times in middle school during tornado drills.  Without thought I ducked and covered as "DADDDYYY" echoed through rooms. Over a year in the new house and we have encountered our first...bat.  Of course Dad sprang into action which gave me enough courage to get up and dart to my mother's side. Somehow my room became the prime location for trapping the unwanted mammal.  I think Father secretly hoped Willie Mac (the family tabby) would take care of business since he happened to be shut in the room as well.  But our loving cat seemed just as dismayed as my moaning mother.  Allow me to back up; Dad's game plan was to kill the bat, Mom's game plan for life is to give every single living creature the right to life.  This is where the whimpering began from Momma Lu; she didn't want the disgusting black thing to get hurt. So as I took her side we began yelling/crying out to Dad not to hurt it. &lt;div&gt;12:45&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Dad instructed us to be quiet so we didn't wake the neighbors; apparently windows were open.  Oops. We'll just sayyyy he couragously and &lt;i&gt;silently&lt;/i&gt; entered my room and with heroic strides captured the bat.  Somewhere in between all of this Bond-like action Mom fetched him a binder, poster, and duck tape (the dust pan was brought in at the beginning of the mission).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1:00&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was put on door duty.  Swift as a bat (pun intended), Dad carried the taped up contraption down the stairs and out the door...and down the block.  There was no telling where he was going to stop. Leaning our heads further and further out the front door, I practically fell onto the porch trying to watch my Dad take an early morning stroll with Wilbur (once his life was spared I felt it safe to name him).  As the two parted ways Mom simply smiled and said..."Now watch him run".  And run he did, becoming one with the motions of poor Wilbur the night first flew into our home.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1:30&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The giggling slowed, I became less scared of my room, and to sleep I did return.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;the end&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;sweet dreams my friends,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Kat&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/8656931511968366943-5334524015866743796?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/5334524015866743796/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/05/binder-poster-dust-pan-and-duck-tape.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/5334524015866743796'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/5334524015866743796'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/05/binder-poster-dust-pan-and-duck-tape.html' title='a binder, poster, dust pan, and duck tape'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-8839947775048850523</id><published>2010-04-17T19:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-17T19:53:04.564-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Daddy Up-Do</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S8pxQTZthWI/AAAAAAAAAEI/6KnpZNUutw4/s1600/dad%27s+braid.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S8pxQTZthWI/AAAAAAAAAEI/6KnpZNUutw4/s320/dad%27s+braid.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461302023040107874" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;As you can see to your left, my father tried to do my hair tonight. Due to 50% boredom and 50% curiosity I sat down by Dad on the couch and begged him to put down his coffee and braid my hair.  After a couple tries and a question or two, here is the outcome.  Tonight I stayed home with the parental units. We made a delicious dinner, drank coffee, discussed how unfortunate it is that the Islams are taking over the world, and are soon to bring to night to an end by watching the local news. My question to you, is this normal? An 18-year-old girl sitting at home all night in sweats with no make-up...by choice? To my defense, I didn't finish all of my (black) coffee, I dazed out a little during the Islamic discussion and had to ask some questions to catch me up at the end, and I'm watching the news out of guilt to be the "perfect daughter".  Advice to readers...when all else fails, make it a spa night; ask for a daddy up-do.&lt;div&gt;I hope your weekend has been worry-free (make-up free) and full of smiles. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Until tomorrow, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Kat&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-8839947775048850523?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/8839947775048850523/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/04/daddy-up-do.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/8839947775048850523'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/8839947775048850523'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/04/daddy-up-do.html' title='Daddy Up-Do'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S8pxQTZthWI/AAAAAAAAAEI/6KnpZNUutw4/s72-c/dad%27s+braid.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-8378359779508028915</id><published>2010-03-29T12:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-29T13:17:50.278-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sister</title><content type='html'>On this beautiful sunny day I refuse to be sad! My big sister is moving in 4 short days and believe me I could write pages of mushy stuff explaining how my world will come to an utterly pathetic end on Friday.  HOWEVER, again, I refuse.  Instead I will reflect on what my crazily fun 26-year-old sis has taught me over the years.&lt;div&gt;1. an organized list = an organized life (hence the reason I'm using this format)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2. never get a dog larger than you...unless you have an excessive amount of love, patience, and       strength.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3. there are no dumb questions.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4. everything needs a little volume..including hair AND body.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;5. plan ahead, but smile at the unexpected.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;6. take chances, be adventurous.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;7. almost always add caramel macchiato creamer.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;8. "never hover in heels"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;9. set goals... then reach them&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;10. love to the moon and back&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She will be missed, but life is about removing the filters, exceeding expectations, and stepping out on a limb, hoping it doesn't break... knowing that if it does you have someone to catch you before you fall. Good luck sister!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Love, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Kat&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-8378359779508028915?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/8378359779508028915/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/03/sister.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/8378359779508028915'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/8378359779508028915'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/03/sister.html' title='Sister'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-6778554918460845852</id><published>2010-03-24T21:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-24T21:17:56.377-07:00</updated><title type='text'>tearful treasures</title><content type='html'>Perhaps I shouldn't have worn mascara today.  The highlights of my day seemed to be equally shared with laughter and a quivering lower lip.  First, I picked out my prom dress.  Now, this has been quite an exciting and difficult event!  However, I may have teared up a little when I picked the dress that my best friend said "doesn't do anything for me" (when referring to my appearance).  After looking at the clock I realized I didn't have time to wash my two black eyes, created by smeared make up, because I was late for practice.  After loyally listening to my somewhat cheesy God music, hoping for a bit of inspiration, and spending 30 minutes driving around town trying to find keys and my soccer uniform, I made it to practice.  I endured the trainers queries about my "tired" appearance, but then I was on the soccer field.  I will admit I almost encountered a moment of weakness when a girl younger than I bluntly explained everything I was doing wrong, in the middle of our scrimmage.  But, I remembered I had played more minutes than her and could therefore smile...then kick the ball at her...really hard.  To end my night, well, my sister picked up where I left off.  She broke down about her quickly approaching move, to which my dad exclaimed from across the room, "someone hug her". It has been a roller coaster of a day, but the tears are gone and now the treasures remain.  &lt;div&gt;1. I have found a prom dress &lt;i&gt;I &lt;/i&gt;like (I think) and get to attend my senior prom with all of my best friends.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2. My first soccer game is less than 2 days away. Scrimmages are over and a winning season is about to take off.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3.  I have an endless amount of sunny, warm, adventurous vacations with no fee living quarters. ahh the countless beach/mountain hours I anxiously await.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My life, full of treasures! But first I must go protect my dear sister from the bogey (spelling?) man so she can safely make her way to North Carolina in the next week. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Safe journeys to you and your loved ones in the days to come:)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;thanks for reading friend,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Kat&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-6778554918460845852?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/6778554918460845852/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/03/tearful-treasures.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/6778554918460845852'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/6778554918460845852'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/03/tearful-treasures.html' title='tearful treasures'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-3416716660300025294</id><published>2010-02-28T18:37:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-28T18:38:38.541-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Guess What?!</title><content type='html'>I get to go to college with one of my closest friends. does life get much better? don't think so!&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/8656931511968366943-3416716660300025294?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/3416716660300025294/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/02/guess-what.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/3416716660300025294'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/3416716660300025294'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/02/guess-what.html' title='Guess What?!'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-5466817794924391481</id><published>2010-02-25T19:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-25T19:44:23.699-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Satisfied with Settling in</title><content type='html'>Tonight I had a plan. In as many words as it took I was going to describe in great detail my excitement about going to college next year. Not just any college, but Truman! But, I can't write about that tonight.  As much as I'm ready to get out of this town and find new adventures, this week I've rediscovered the importance of family.  It sounds cliché, but I'm in this small town, with my small family, and for now there is nowhere else I'd rather be.  My grandpa died Tuesday night.  It was unexpected...I thought he was the healthy one in my family.  I've never watched anyone die before.  When the medicine stopped being administered we were told that it would only be seconds before he passed...but my grandpa fought for 45 minutes.  Watching his gaze fixed on every family member, I knew what kept him fighting.  After flat lining multiple times, he came back with a deep breath if even a hand was laid on him.  He held on for his family. He waited for everyone to come and say goodbye.  &lt;div&gt;Maybe tomorrow I can write about my adventures to come with college in my near future.  For now I'm going to cheese it up and love every moment of being surrounded by my family because I'm not ready to say goodbye.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-5466817794924391481?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/5466817794924391481/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/02/satisfied-with-settling-in.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/5466817794924391481'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/5466817794924391481'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/02/satisfied-with-settling-in.html' title='Satisfied with Settling in'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-439572353785681122</id><published>2010-02-20T13:39:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-20T13:46:55.077-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Celebrating Mediocrity!</title><content type='html'>Today I heard a wonderful quote..."celebrate mediocrity".  While our young generation is encouraged to "shoot for the stars", I think it's the mediocre moments in life that show potential and deserve complete celebration.  For example, at this very moment I have by my side a bass guitar.  For about the past 2 hours I have been trying to learn how exactly to rock this bass like the kids on School of Rock. The goal was to be an instant star, but i'm not even, well, good.  Instead I've found a quick and easy way to get calloused fingers and a sore wrist.  BUT I have become something completely new..and mediocre...and in that I am completely satisfied. Shall we celebrate?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-439572353785681122?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/439572353785681122/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/02/celebrating-mediocrity.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/439572353785681122'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/439572353785681122'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/02/celebrating-mediocrity.html' title='Celebrating Mediocrity!'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-483195433741867870</id><published>2010-02-18T11:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-18T13:15:14.675-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I want to go to college</title><content type='html'>My half days at school continue to seem longer and looonger everyday.  I'm usually picking Zoe (my sister's dog) hair off my shirt/jacket 1st hr...2nd hr I doodle...3rd hr I stare at a Spanish speaking teacher and classroom (often i can't even remember the ENGLISH words to "can I get a drink" aka "I need to escape")...4th hr I sit and discover Pryor's new gadgets in the chaos of her corner/desk/shelves...5th hr I simply want to weep. I play cello. love it. but orchestra..the songs can only be described as brutal.  One of the pieces is called "Summer" and that only depresses me because I start to dream of summer then look out the windows and see brown slush mush stuff in the parking lot..the remnants of once white flakes falling from the sky.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;ALSO, my parents forgot I was in the house this morning and failed to wake me up for school. Just forgot, like poof, I was erased from their memory. I awoke to "Bruce what about Kathryn?" "oh, she's in there (referring to my room)" "Yeah, I know..we didn't get her up!"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My sister is leaving, my parents mentally think I'm gone...so why am I still here?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;OH AND have I mentioned i'm going to TRUMAN? Oh man am I excited. I'm pretty sure college is gonna be the shiznit&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-483195433741867870?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/483195433741867870/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/02/i-want-to-go-to-college.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/483195433741867870'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/483195433741867870'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/02/i-want-to-go-to-college.html' title='I want to go to college'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-5098762352900037670</id><published>2010-02-04T14:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-04T14:33:38.308-08:00</updated><title type='text'>bucket list</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;what I shall do with my life...&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;1. play cello on the streets of Chicago&lt;div&gt;2. get a henna tattoo and scare my dear father&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3. ride down a flight of stairs on a mattress (as seen on princess diaries)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4. write a book...or 2&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;5. get those books published&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;6. become&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#33CCFF;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;organized&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;7. fall in love...then marry my prince charming &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;8. move somewhere without a plan&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;9. foster at least one teen&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;10. turn the henna into a real tat&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;11. go to Ireland&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;12. take a road trip with an &lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#33CC00;"&gt;RV filled with friends&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;13. ride a motorcycle&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;14. go to a ball&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;15. travel somewhere far, where Jesus has never been mentioned, and &lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#6666CC;"&gt;tell&lt;/span&gt; of who He is&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;16. dance ridiculously &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;17. &lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;never stop&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt; adding to this list&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;ahh how I love to dream&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-5098762352900037670?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/5098762352900037670/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/02/bucket-list.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/5098762352900037670'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/5098762352900037670'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/02/bucket-list.html' title='bucket list'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-6834790876734204941</id><published>2010-02-03T12:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-04T19:06:08.636-08:00</updated><title type='text'>becoming a barbarian</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;; mso-fareast-Times New Roman&amp;quot;;mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language: EN-US;mso-bidi-language:AR-SAfont-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:12.0pt;"&gt;Around the time I started reading &lt;u&gt;The Barbarian Way&lt;/u&gt;, my life started changing.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;First, I found out that my sister might be moving, which began a big change for my whole family. But, the other change began to happen within me.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Because of my decision to go to a secular school next year, I have found a new passion to discover, love, and minister God.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;A few weeks later I began &lt;u&gt;The Barbarian Way&lt;/u&gt;. Throughout the book I feel a message of frustration with the church was relayed due to watered down practices and a “civilized faith”.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Immediately I fell in love with the subject because I have dealt with the same frustrations.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I have a passion to go into the world, yet have seen the church sit back and watch or ineffectively judge peoples’ hearts.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;However, I had tried to put all of that aside a couple weeks before reading this book because I felt called to rediscover and respect the value of the church.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;While a strong message was given to Christians in how to step out of the church and become a barbarian, I heard a different message.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I was taught how to become a Christian within the church.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The first thing for me to &lt;i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"&gt;always&lt;/i&gt; remember is, “His purpose was to save us not from pain and suffering, but from meaninglessness” (page 31).&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;And because of that I’ve had to repent because I strongly connected to the words on page 109 that read, “we choose political and secular vehicles to try to advance our cultural values, strangely attempting to make unbelieving people act like civilized believers.”&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;So many times I’ve been the person I despise the most.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;God has called me to be a member of the church so I can reach out.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;If I’m not within the body of Christ, I have no place to reach out of.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;My heart has been re-cultivated.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I still have a passion for the lost and I feel God has called me to be an active member in evangelizing to a secular crowd.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;u&gt;The Barbarian Way&lt;/u&gt; has without a doubt called me out of my comfort zone, but instead of being called into the world, I have been called into the church.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I want to be a barbaric Christian connected with the barbarians around me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;; mso-fareast-Times New Roman&amp;quot;;mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language: EN-US;mso-bidi-language:AR-SAfont-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:12.0pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;; mso-fareast-Times New Roman&amp;quot;;mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language: EN-US;mso-bidi-language:AR-SAfont-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:12.0pt;"&gt;..just a few thoughts I had. As a challenge to your faith, heart, and mind, I recommend Erwin McManus' &lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" ;font-family:Georgia, serif;"&gt;&lt;u&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;; mso-fareast-Times New Roman&amp;quot;;mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language: EN-US;mso-bidi-language:AR-SAfont-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:12.0pt;"&gt;The Barbarian Way&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;;mso-fareast-Times New Roman&amp;quot;;mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-US; mso-bidi-language:AR-SAfont-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:12.0pt;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;;mso-fareast-Times New Roman&amp;quot;;mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-US; mso-bidi-language:AR-SAfont-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:12.0pt;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-6834790876734204941?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/6834790876734204941/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/02/becoming-barbarian.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/6834790876734204941'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/6834790876734204941'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/02/becoming-barbarian.html' title='becoming a barbarian'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-3256780998066341950</id><published>2010-02-01T11:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-01T11:52:35.668-08:00</updated><title type='text'>a leader being lead</title><content type='html'>For the past few months I have been helping lead a small group of 7th and 8th grade girls.  From day 1 I have loved every moment.  Getting to know the girls and seeing their hearts has been a true blessing.  Yesterday one of those girls got baptized.  She comes from a strong Christian family and has been an obvious leader since I met her.  But, when she stepped into the baptistry and I watched the other girls surround her in support, it hit me that all of these young girls have such an impact on each other and the world around them.  It immediately became and continues to be my prayer that God reveal his plan to the lives of each and every girl in my group.  If I could just get myself out of the way for the hour i'm them every week, God could work in such great ways in all of their lives.  Sometimes I worry that I'm not teaching them enough, or spending enough hours preparing for each lesson.  But, I was reminded that it's not my words they need to hear, it's God's.  I have learned so much from Jr. High girls. I may be the leader, but so often I'm the one being lead in their example.  I've found it's not about the age of the individual, it's about her heart lead by Christ.  Through that we become brothers and sisters, equally saved by the greatness of God.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-3256780998066341950?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/3256780998066341950/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/02/leader-being-lead.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/3256780998066341950'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/3256780998066341950'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/02/leader-being-lead.html' title='a leader being lead'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-4582189039581364158</id><published>2010-01-26T14:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-26T21:28:57.490-08:00</updated><title type='text'>welcome home mother dear</title><content type='html'>When I saw my mom today I immediately showed her this page because she was the one that encouraged me to set up a blog in the first place.  I expected excitement, but instead received words of concern.  First there was the expected safety concern, which I quickly explained away when I told her no one knows I exist.  But then she kept going...said this site could come across as arrogant if people saw it as a page created by me, all about me.  That is what brought me to you today.  To my world of 2 followers, I warn you, my words are not ones of wisdom that I hope to impose on the world.  Even though I could one day potentially talk to many readers, my stepping forward into blogging was an effort of taking one step backward out of the world.  This is my escape.  For years my room has been filled with pieces of paper where I wrote ideas, stories, prayers, etc.  Words have never come out of my mouth as easily as they come out of my fingers.  I think if no one ever visited this page I'd be o.k. with that because if nothing else I want to show myself more of who I am.  So thank you 2 readers for caring enough to read, but know that I don't expect you to find importance in this.  Apart from a chaotic world that daily sucks me into it, it's refreshing to be able to sit down, turn on my music and remember once again who I am.&lt;div&gt;Take a moment for yourself today...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;p.s. On a much lighter, note my song recommendation for the day..My Savior's Love Enduresby JJ Heller.  Ohohoh and Where I land by JJ Heller as well. That's a good one. Her myspace link follows with more amazing, uplifting, inspiring music&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.myspace.com/jjhellermusic"&gt;http://www.myspace.com/jjhellermusic&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&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/8656931511968366943-4582189039581364158?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/4582189039581364158/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/01/welcome-home-mother-dear.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/4582189039581364158'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/4582189039581364158'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/01/welcome-home-mother-dear.html' title='welcome home mother dear'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8656931511968366943.post-662149656325729855</id><published>2010-01-24T21:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-25T11:31:56.649-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm a blogger?</title><content type='html'>Exhaustion.  After what seems like hours trying to set up a blog for my sister, I'm sitting here attempting yet another "blogspot".  I don't exactly have a lot to say and more often than not I will not be as philosophical as most of you.  I'm not a hardcore web surfer; I stick to the basics...facebook.  When I'm feeling crazy I might look up some Adidas soccer apparel or perhaps a prom dress that I hope to wear in a few short months.  Yet, your world fascinates me.  So here I am.  I'm just an ordinary gal, hoping to relate to an ordinary (or even not-so-ordinary) friend like you.&lt;div&gt;toodles!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8656931511968366943-662149656325729855?l=katsfewwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/feeds/662149656325729855/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/01/im-blogger.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/662149656325729855'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8656931511968366943/posts/default/662149656325729855'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katsfewwords.blogspot.com/2010/01/im-blogger.html' title='I&apos;m a blogger?'/><author><name>Kat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15963164759366927562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMmj7PVG5GY/S10p_K9rRKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H3fPan4DEAo/S220/kat.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
