<?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-1293901700562906987</id><updated>2012-01-08T12:56:00.253-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Freshly Squeezed</title><subtitle type='html'>Life is like a box of terrible analogies.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>376</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-6709170120501601944</id><published>2012-01-08T12:53:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2012-01-08T12:56:00.269-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>So I found this list that I made when I was sixteen... Let's see if I accomplished anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To-do List While I'm 17:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Get my permit and license before my dad gives Isaak the BMW. ✓ (Got my permit and the BMW)&lt;br /&gt;- Buy red converse.&lt;br /&gt;- Make a new band (which is under way - apparently I'm lead vocals and rhythm guitar). &lt;br /&gt;- Hang out with all of my old friends and my new friends. ✓&lt;br /&gt;- Figure out the confusion with Austin. ✓ (We got back together, then broke up. But he wants me back again...-__-)&lt;br /&gt;- Finally, finally meet up with Jackie and Lindsey. They live the closest, anyway.&lt;br /&gt;- Get straight As (or Bs at least) and a score higher than a 1910 on the SAT. ✓ (for half of that, anyway. I got a 2020.)&lt;br /&gt;- Work a ton of shows/act in a ton of shows. ✓&lt;br /&gt;- Film new Amasian Productions episodes with Jeff and Darien.&lt;br /&gt;- Stop being so angry. ✓&lt;br /&gt;- Buy a new hoodie. ✓ (It was a child's extra large)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-6709170120501601944?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/6709170120501601944/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=6709170120501601944&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/6709170120501601944'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/6709170120501601944'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2012/01/so-i-found-this-list-that-i-made-when-i.html' title=''/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-3240694189299434619</id><published>2012-01-08T12:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2012-01-08T12:51:55.100-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The advantages of writing a blog (or a diary).</title><content type='html'>When I started this blog, I had no intentions of it being read by anyone other than Jackie (who I haven't talked to in a year and who I miss...a lot). However, the vast build-up of readers is what caused me to continue posting on it. I don't mean that in a snooty way, because I'm pretty sure that none of you really find my life to be all that interesting. I mean, if I posted about daily life like I did in the past, you'd all find it to be very blah.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My day typically looks like this:&lt;br /&gt;7-7:45 AM ~ Wake up, shower, get dressed, brush teeth, eat, pack backpack.&lt;br /&gt;7:50-7:55 AM ~ Walk to school.&lt;br /&gt;8 AM-2:50 PM ~ Do the school thing.&lt;br /&gt;3-6 PM ~ Have rehearsal.&lt;br /&gt;6-7 PM ~ Eat.&lt;br /&gt;7:15-9 PM ~ Facebook, tumblr, vegging out.&lt;br /&gt;9-11 PM ~ Homework.&lt;br /&gt;11:05 PM ~ Sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Except, of course, my schedule may vary time wise. But it shows how boring I am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the contrary, the big things I've posted about have made my life seem that much more interesting. Writing down the fragments of my life has assisted my memory and given me ideas to think about as far as writing personal statements for college applications went. &lt;b&gt;&lt;- [hint hint: advantage]&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The disadvantages? I get to remember the worst moments of my life. But, seeing as they happened four years ago, they're now hilarious memories of my embarrassing past.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm eighteen years old. The maturity of that age hasn't hit me (not that it ever will), but if you look through my blog, maybe you'll be able to tell that I've grown up little by little.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-3240694189299434619?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/3240694189299434619/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=3240694189299434619&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/3240694189299434619'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/3240694189299434619'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2012/01/advantages-of-writing-blog-or-diary.html' title='The advantages of writing a blog (or a diary).'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-8342306807481492196</id><published>2012-01-06T21:11:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2012-01-06T21:15:20.123-08:00</updated><title type='text'>How adults celebrate their birthdays...apparently.</title><content type='html'>I'm turning 18 tomorrow, and it's my last birthday that I'll be celebrating at home, as most colleges will be starting up their second quarter on my birthday next year. How will I be celebrating?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, for starters, I'm hosting a fair with all proceeds going towards both the Debbie Chisholm Memorial Foundation and the Pediatric Cancer Research Foundation. Then, I'll be doing nothing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why, you may ask?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because my "best friend" Skankabitch is ditching me - on my eighteenth fucking birthday - for someone else's party. We've been best friends for &lt;i&gt;six years&lt;/i&gt;. She's known this guy for, what, ten months now? It honestly does not add up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I mean, whatever. According to my mom, birthdays are now just filled with hopeless disappointments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the plus side, I've been accepted into Northeastern University for Computer Science and Game Design, and I had an interview for Brown University on Thursday (which, if you've been following my blog since its humble beginnings, you'd know is my dream school) which went amazingly well.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-8342306807481492196?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/8342306807481492196/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=8342306807481492196&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/8342306807481492196'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/8342306807481492196'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2012/01/how-adults-celebrate-their.html' title='How adults celebrate their birthdays...apparently.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-2371618772518994714</id><published>2011-10-09T09:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-10-09T09:27:50.865-07:00</updated><title type='text'>i'm such a cliched little senior.</title><content type='html'>Be prepared for the longest post in the fucking world to make up for the lack of posts this year. I'm sorry about that, guys. I mean, if there's anyone still reading this...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once upon a time I was with a boy named Austin. We were together for four months, broke up for four months, then got back together for three months. After the second relationship, my friends helped me realize that I needed to move on past him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This summer, my friend Bailey came to visit from Washington. He was staying with my friend Jesse (because they were family friends). I finally accepted Jesse's invite to hang out that summer so that I could see Bailey, as I hadn't seen him in a year. Also in that crowd were some people who I'm now good friends with: Danny, Tabari, and this guy Ryan. What started out as a day to hang out with good ole Bailey turned into a flirtfest with Ryan. That day-long flirtfest turned into a week-long text fest into our first kiss together the following weekend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, I know what you're thinking.&lt;i&gt; "This guy seems like a rebound from Austin."&lt;/i&gt; That's complete bullshit, because I really liked Ryan. I really &lt;i&gt;like&lt;/i&gt; Ryan. Actually, I love him. And he actually loves me. Not the "Love you" bullshit Austin fed me - he didn't mean it, but he knew I wanted him to say it. If you're honestly wondering how I know it's real, keep reading.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, though Ryan was roughly my age, he was already going into his freshman year of college. That didn't really hit me this summer, because I was thinking that by then we'd grow tired of each other and move on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That didn't exactly happen. At all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He's been in college for almost a month now, and we've kept in touch by texting, calling, and talking on facebook chat. It's been rough and sometimes it hurts that he can't really be here, but I've grown used to it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before you keep reading, please keep in mind that I'm seventeen, going on eighteen in three months, and that I should be able to make my own choices.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I visited him yesterday at his school. We were going to kiss, cuddle, and play ping pong in the rec center near his dorm hall thing (look at my awesome college-speak!). Instead, the kisses turned to making out turned to -&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, I know I said before that I wasn't planning on - ahem - &lt;i&gt;doing it&lt;/i&gt; in high school, but it kinda just...happened. We had never discussed it before. I guess it was the heat of the moment paired with the fact that we hadn't seen each other in weeks and there was - to put it sweetly - a huge amount of sexual frustration building up in both of us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We used protection. Doesn't mean I'm not still paranoid. I'll always be paranoid as fuck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't really want to go into detail, cause that's just weird, so I'll just say this: it does hurt at first. So, uhm, anyone planning to take that route in life, just suck up the pain I guess. Yeah.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Blargh. It still hasn't hit me that I...well...swiped my v-card. The only that has hit me is that I did it with a college guy, as cliched as that is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please just...don't judge me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-2371618772518994714?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/2371618772518994714/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=2371618772518994714&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/2371618772518994714'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/2371618772518994714'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2011/10/im-such-cliched-little-senior.html' title='i&apos;m such a cliched little senior.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-5403971961047925843</id><published>2011-08-23T02:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-08-23T02:39:12.311-07:00</updated><title type='text'>is my blog hard to find?</title><content type='html'>If you found it, here it is Ryan. Ta-freaking-da.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If not, SUCKS. HA. This is a waste of a post.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need to update...Jackie, where'd you go? :(&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-5403971961047925843?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/5403971961047925843/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=5403971961047925843&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/5403971961047925843'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/5403971961047925843'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2011/08/is-my-blog-hard-to-find.html' title='is my blog hard to find?'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-2078489296150493811</id><published>2011-07-07T18:40:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-07-07T18:43:52.973-07:00</updated><title type='text'>oh dear god.</title><content type='html'>Fucking skankabitch. She followed me on tumblr so I can't rant there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;"I don't get what that triangle thing in Harry Potter is but it looks cool so I'm gonna get a tattoo of it when I turn 18."&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's the fucking symbol of the Deathly Hallows. You told me you'd read the book. And stop acting like you're obsessed with Harry Potter when you didn't even know that Dobby died until you saw the movie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;[After reading the list of deaths in Deathly Hallows] "Why did everyone die on my birthday?"&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cause the Battle of Hogwarts took place in May and ended May 2nd. Read. The. Books.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her reason for &lt;i&gt;not&lt;/i&gt; reading them? "I don't like reading. It's pointless." SO IS YOUR FACE.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-2078489296150493811?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/2078489296150493811/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=2078489296150493811&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/2078489296150493811'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/2078489296150493811'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2011/07/oh-dear-god.html' title='oh dear god.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-2242371124273143613</id><published>2011-07-07T14:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-07-07T14:38:44.741-07:00</updated><title type='text'>oi vey, beach day</title><content type='html'>I went to the beach yesterday, and due to my inability to properly apply sunscreen to myself, I got the weirdest burns ever. There's one on my left elbow, one all over my chest and neck (hooray for forgetfulness), some one my shoulders, a spot on the back of my left leg, and a blotch on my back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thankfully they'll turn to tan sooner or later.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-2242371124273143613?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/2242371124273143613/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=2242371124273143613&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/2242371124273143613'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/2242371124273143613'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2011/07/oi-vey-beach-day.html' title='oi vey, beach day'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-1624611541535203551</id><published>2011-06-30T19:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-30T19:51:42.464-07:00</updated><title type='text'>this is basically my life this summer.</title><content type='html'>Wake up at 8.&lt;br /&gt;Pray to god at least one of my friends is on Skype. &lt;i&gt;or&lt;/i&gt; Talk to my friend Chris on Skype.&lt;br /&gt;Eat breakfast. &lt;i&gt;or&lt;/i&gt; Eat breakfast with Chris.&lt;br /&gt;Sit in my room until 4. &lt;i&gt;or&lt;/i&gt; Hang out with Chris til 4.&lt;br /&gt;Read/play The Sims 3.&lt;br /&gt;Eat.&lt;br /&gt;Sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm just so exciting.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-1624611541535203551?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/1624611541535203551/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=1624611541535203551&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/1624611541535203551'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/1624611541535203551'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2011/06/this-is-basically-my-life-this-summer.html' title='this is basically my life this summer.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-3266765978465108867</id><published>2011-04-25T23:15:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-25T23:15:39.444-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Austin.</title><content type='html'>Stop trying to understand it. It's an inside joke between Jackie and I.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shoo. :P&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-3266765978465108867?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/3266765978465108867/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=3266765978465108867&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/3266765978465108867'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/3266765978465108867'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2011/04/austin.html' title='Austin.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-412159306429654485</id><published>2011-04-03T11:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-03T11:31:19.689-07:00</updated><title type='text'>ahem.</title><content type='html'>If you didn't jump to this conclusion before, Austin and I kinda got back together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't remember if he reads this or not, but he's started to apologize and take the blame for his actions more. And I'm being more observant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And Jackie, for the record, he wears glasses. I'm not certain we'll be on and off a million times over, and he wasn't a soccer player or anything, but he's got the glasses and he's kinda a perv sometimes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you catch my drift, I mean.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-412159306429654485?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/412159306429654485/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=412159306429654485&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/412159306429654485'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/412159306429654485'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2011/04/ahem.html' title='ahem.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-3054271548242329888</id><published>2011-04-03T11:25:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-03T11:25:55.454-07:00</updated><title type='text'>so i just read some of my posts from freshman year.</title><content type='html'>Dear god, I even &lt;i&gt;sounded&lt;/i&gt; hyper.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Punch my old self in the face, please.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-3054271548242329888?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/3054271548242329888/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=3054271548242329888&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/3054271548242329888'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/3054271548242329888'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2011/04/so-i-just-read-some-of-my-posts-from.html' title='so i just read some of my posts from freshman year.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-2534051492625024690</id><published>2011-04-02T22:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-02T22:41:09.086-07:00</updated><title type='text'>disrespectful whores.</title><content type='html'>It's funny, isn't it, how life goes on when you think it's the end of the world. And part of you knows it's not, but you want things to slow down just a smidgen so you can appreciate them before they're gone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's also funny (well, not really &lt;i&gt;funny&lt;/i&gt;) how rude people can be, and how insensitive their ideas can be. Right after Mardy died, this girl in my math class told me to "just get a new dog" and get over it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How about no? Mardy was the coolest dog ever. Replacing him would be horrible and completely impossible. Why don't you get a new life?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then, when my friend Anthony's grandfather died, two girls crashed the funeral just to take pictures with his sister and stalk Anthony, my best friend Andrew, and Andrew's brother Connor. While the three boys were paying their respects to Anthony's grandfather, the three girls were laughing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You just don't do that at a funeral.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Better yet, you don't talk about how "fun" the funeral was over facebook. Honestly now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-2534051492625024690?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/2534051492625024690/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=2534051492625024690&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/2534051492625024690'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/2534051492625024690'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2011/04/disrespectful-whores.html' title='disrespectful whores.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-6982504755950862426</id><published>2011-03-06T08:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-03-06T09:07:04.779-08:00</updated><title type='text'>no more dead dogs.</title><content type='html'>Yesterday, my puppy - my &lt;i&gt;baby&lt;/i&gt; - Mardy lost his life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was playing outside while they were having baseball games across the street. And I guess he was really excited by all of the passing people, so he started towards someone just as a car came speeding by. He was hit directly on the side of his head, so he didn't suffer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was walking home from my friend Nicole's house and I saw him lying there. He was surrounded by a crowd of people - some neighbors who I knew. He was lying on his side, and there was a trail of blood. I immediately fell to my knees, crying, and stroking his side.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And my mom and Beni keep blaming themselves, because they wish they'd run after him faster. They wished they could have stopped him before his untimely death. But we can't blame ourselves for what happened. We just need to move forward.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's just so hard to process his being gone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was really young, just about to turn 3. He was still trying to eat everything, and pooing inside, and trying to figure out where the barking noises from dogs on TV were coming from.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the thing is, I live next to a stop sign, so the guy who hit him had to not only be speeding a lot, but also not paying attention to the road. And he sat there and apologized, but you can't apologize for killing someone's dog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That won't reverse anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The neighbors helped us scoop him up and put him in our car. I sat in the back with him, stroking him and telling him he'd be okay while tears rolled down my cheeks. My mom was on the phone with every vet in the surrounding area, but only the Petsmart Hospital was open.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mom would ask me for updates on him. At first, it was easy. He'd look up whenever someone called his name. He would take water. After a while, he began twitching, and he stopped accepting the water.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At around 5:52 PM, I felt my dog stop breathing. I refused to accept his death, though, as we arrived at the hospital two minutes later.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The doctors ushered him inside slowly - my mom complained about their speed and told them to hurry - and a nurse led us a room, saying a doctor would be sent in to talk to us. A few minutes later, a doctor walked in to tell us he was gone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was in hysterics for hours, but my tears eventually slowed when Austin showed up. I woke up three times last night, wanting to hold my puppy. I can't cry anymore, but I still just want my puppy back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;RIP Mardy Pierre&lt;br /&gt;May 14, 2008 - March 5, 2011&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will always love you, and I'll never forget you. ♥&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-6982504755950862426?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/6982504755950862426/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=6982504755950862426&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/6982504755950862426'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/6982504755950862426'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2011/03/no-more-dead-dogs.html' title='no more dead dogs.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-3150517068108238975</id><published>2011-02-20T00:11:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-20T00:25:45.067-08:00</updated><title type='text'>ski week.</title><content type='html'>I haven't posted very much so as to spare everyone from me whining over the not-having-a-boyfriend thing, something that I should be used to after years of it. But because I'm past that now, and can actually say that I'm over him (I still care about him, but that's a given), I've decided to rejoin the living and post on here once more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's the start of ski week. Or, if you're a faculty member in my school district, it's furlough week. Otherwise known as the week that they do not get paid. So, to make up for our lack of a week's worth of education, my teachers piled on test after test during the past week. It was horrifying, and it began with a Precalc Honors test on Monday. Remember the days when teachers could only give tests on Fridays or something? I miss those days. Things were so much simpler then.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why was I in a rush to grow up? I mean, I still am. I can't wait til college, even if I do have another year of high school after this one is up. But with college comes the promise of freedom and rebirth (so to speak), and I just want to get out of this hell hole and dive into Brown University's computer science department.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not entirely sure why I'm faffing around like this at 12:17 AM on a Sunday. After all, I could be writing an essay on Malcom X's approach for civil rights versus Martin Luther King's. I could also be doing SAT prep, or driver's ed, or my Certificate of Merit practice test. Cause, you know, those things are &lt;i&gt;just so fun&lt;/i&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need to stop lending people my favorite books. I really, really, &lt;i&gt;really&lt;/i&gt; wish I could be reading &lt;u&gt;Serafina67 *urgently requires life*&lt;/u&gt; right now, but noooo, I had to lend it to my friend &lt;b&gt;last summer&lt;/b&gt;. Yes, she's incapable of reading a book after seven months.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;I'm not bitter, but I've seen better days.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight I found out why guys automatically shuffle me into the Just Friends folder. I'm kind and I keep secrets and I find boyish things enjoyable, and maybe those are pseudo-typical traits but they work out for me. Only I wish I didn't have those traits. My friends who are flirty and girly get the guys so much easier.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Except the guy I like right now is so...different. He never seems interested in anyone, and he doesn't seem keen on any form of intimacy. But my best friend has noticed that he gets rather shy around me, which could point to some type of crush on me. Hopefully. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I'm not gonna sit back and hope he just likes me. I've tried different tactics: asking him to formal (he said yes but was evidently unable to go, due to the fact that it was his mom's birthday and they were having a family dinner; apparently he was really upset that he had to tell me this, and would have rather not gone to the dinner), asking him to hang out (he had a tournament the same day; he tried to make up for it by saying that he, himself, does not plan the tournaments), and flirting with him and talking to him at the given chances.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not letting him get away &gt;:)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-3150517068108238975?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/3150517068108238975/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=3150517068108238975&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/3150517068108238975'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/3150517068108238975'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2011/02/ski-week.html' title='ski week.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-7264431159505822554</id><published>2011-02-02T15:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-02T15:57:03.054-08:00</updated><title type='text'>updates.</title><content type='html'>1) I'm back in braces to prepare for surgery.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2) I went to Winter Formal and it was actually really fun, despite the fact that my date - who I ASKED, rather than the other way around - was unable to go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3) PANIC! AT THE DISCO HAS A NEW SINGLE OUT AND IT'S BEAUTIFUL AND I HAD THE LEAKED VERSION AND I KNOW ALL THE LYRICS AND I WANT TO CRY AND I CAN'T WAIT TIL MARCH 29TH.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-7264431159505822554?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/7264431159505822554/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=7264431159505822554&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/7264431159505822554'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/7264431159505822554'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2011/02/updates.html' title='updates.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-4370672577124291917</id><published>2011-01-06T16:21:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-06T16:24:56.121-08:00</updated><title type='text'>my birthday is tomorrow.</title><content type='html'>This is my last post that I'll be sixteen. Oh hot damn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;To-do List While I'm 17:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Get my permit and license before my dad gives Isaak the BMW.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Buy red converse.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Make a new band (which is under way - apparently I'm lead vocals and rhythm guitar).&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Hang out with all of my old friends and my new friends.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Figure out the confusion with Austin.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Finally, &lt;i&gt;finally&lt;/i&gt; meet up with Jackie and Lindsey. They live the closest, anyway.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Get straight As (or Bs at least) and a score higher than a 1910 on the SAT.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Work a ton of shows/act in a ton of shows.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Film new Amasian Productions episodes with Jeff and Darien.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Stop being so angry.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Buy a new hoodie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-4370672577124291917?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/4370672577124291917/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=4370672577124291917&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/4370672577124291917'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/4370672577124291917'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2011/01/my-birthday-is-tomorrow.html' title='my birthday is tomorrow.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-7925389370370508346</id><published>2011-01-01T09:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-01T10:05:06.367-08:00</updated><title type='text'>two thousand-eleven.</title><content type='html'>So, I suppose I'm just starting off the new year in a crappy fashion. First thing I did was play Taboo while drinking apple cider and eating chocolate cake. I had a huge headache, and my mom and I went home early. I only lasted til about 1 AM (had to factor in the drive home and showering and stuff, you know).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first thing I notice about 2011? I'm on my period, I have a headache, and I have to do a shit ton of homework by Monday. Who gives a fuck if my birthday is on Friday? This year does not seem all that great.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And once again I started a year single. However, in true Tessa fashion, I'm single and confused about my ex who is just as confused about me. I have some serious issues, don't I? Like, seriously. I just am so great at picking these guys, right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And it doesn't help that my best guy friend is calling him a douche bag, when in reality my best guy friend has been a douche bag in return. They're both good people. Just because one guy dumped me doesn't mean he's a douche bag. Just because the other guy is trying to protect me from more pain by insulting other guys for me doesn't mean he's a douche bag...sorta.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Side note: It was kinda good that we broke up, seeing as we weren't able to talk to each other and it was slightly going astray due to lack of time together. And then after about two months of not really being able to talk, we were able to talk again and make each other laugh and smile again. And apparently he misses all that and me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel like my blog is steadily getting less interesting seeing as I barely post anything, but whatever. It's my blog. I can post whatever the fuck I want, boring or interesting.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-7925389370370508346?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/7925389370370508346/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=7925389370370508346&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/7925389370370508346'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/7925389370370508346'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2011/01/two-thousand-eleven.html' title='two thousand-eleven.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-6449826576824460887</id><published>2010-12-15T16:18:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-15T16:21:17.500-08:00</updated><title type='text'>TEACHERS NEED TO REALIZE THAT I DGAF.</title><content type='html'>We have one and a half days left until winter break. So everyone single one of my teachers gives me a test on the last two days (tomorrow's my last B day, then Friday is all classes). And it's like I'M ALREADY IN WINTER BREAK MODE. I want to ski, not make a poster on the morals learned in Huck and Jim's journey down the river in &lt;i&gt;Huckleberry Finn&lt;/i&gt;. And I don't want to give a presidential speech in Spanish or take a precalc honors test.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I DON'T EVEN WANNA BAKE CUPCAKES FOR THE CHRISTMAS PARTY.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't wait til next year, when I get to dgaf the entire year so long as my grades stay amazing and I get good AP, SAT, and ACT scores. And once I get into Brown.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shit. I'm getting old.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-6449826576824460887?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/6449826576824460887/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=6449826576824460887&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/6449826576824460887'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/6449826576824460887'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/12/teachers-need-to-realize-that-i-dgaf.html' title='TEACHERS NEED TO REALIZE THAT I DGAF.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-6917320224293530789</id><published>2010-12-14T15:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-14T15:53:49.292-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I miss being part of a couple.</title><content type='html'>Okay, so sometimes it was annoying that my friends would automatically assume Austin would go wherever I went (especially because he usually wasn't able to anyway), but it was nice being recognized with someone else. I'm not phrasing this right. And I think I'm writing this because despite my thinking I was over him, I have not stopped thinking about him all day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cause, I mean, you don't just go out with someone for four and a half months, tell them you love them, and then just drop them like a hot potato and move on right away. Except he pretty much did, that doucher.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now, looking back, I see all the things that we should've done together, rather than watching movies, discussing school, and making out. Future boyfriend (ehhh, far off future, it seems), please take note of these things:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Dance in the middle of the street.&lt;br /&gt;- Actually have a freaking picnic. Goddammit.&lt;br /&gt;- Watch movies from inside a blanket fort.&lt;br /&gt;- &lt;b&gt;Kiss in the rain.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Go to some sort of fair-like thing.&lt;br /&gt;- Work at a charity thing together :) I don't know why, I just feel relaxed when I work at charity events.&lt;br /&gt;- Jam sesh. Please? I've never really dated a musician. Just this once, maybe?&lt;br /&gt;- DON'T CREEP ON MY FUCKING BLOG. I KNOW YOU WANT TO KNOW HOW I THINK, BUT MAYBE ASK ME INSTEAD OF LOOKING UP THE URL AND MOCKING ME FOR SAYING THAT YOUR LIPS ARE SOFT.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-6917320224293530789?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/6917320224293530789/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=6917320224293530789&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/6917320224293530789'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/6917320224293530789'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/12/i-miss-being-part-of-couple.html' title='I miss being part of a couple.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-4594474895922203460</id><published>2010-11-26T18:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-11-26T18:31:37.282-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I can't believe I'm sick again.</title><content type='html'>I got sick near the end of summer, and after 4 weeks of it not going away, the doctors tested me for whooping cough. I didn't have it, just some nasty allergies. They gave me medicine and said I'd be fine. It took me a couple more weeks (okay, more like another month) until the medicine really kicked in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was fine for about a week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I'm back to sniffling, sneezing, coughing, and being all-around nasally. It's not really the ideal way to start the school year, but oh well. At least I'll get over it faster (maybe).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hopefully it's gone soon, because next Saturday, not only do I have the SAT, but right after I've got some singing thing to go to. My mom signed me up, not me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I should probably study or something...or finish driver's ed...or do my homework. Oh well.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-4594474895922203460?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/4594474895922203460/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=4594474895922203460&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/4594474895922203460'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/4594474895922203460'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/11/i-cant-believe-im-sick-again.html' title='I can&apos;t believe I&apos;m sick again.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-1192760535878901355</id><published>2010-11-09T23:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-11-09T23:12:57.162-08:00</updated><title type='text'>you know what i miss?</title><content type='html'>I miss the carefree days of summer, where I didn't have homework or really anything to do. Where if I wanted to, I could spend the whole day with my then-boyfriend. Where my only homework was to read a book and answer questions on it, and that could be put off til the last day. I didn't care. I was happy. I got enough sleep. I looked somewhat pretty on most days. Summer school was complete bullshit, and it just gave me some credits to throw in. And on the days when I did get stressed from theater and my family, I could walk over to my friends' houses or call my boyfriend and have him take me somewhere. It was a great part of my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now it's November. I've got SAT and shows every weekend, along with the shitloads of homework I still need to do. I barely see my friends because they're busy with everything they have to deal with too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I don't have that boyfriend anymore. And I miss him. A lot. And I guess I'm supposed to move on and shit, but I just can't. It's only been like a week. I'm not ready to be "just friends" and kiss a new boy. I just want him back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everything's just...falling apart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and my nonweighted GPA is a 3.5, and my highest practice test score has been an 1850. I'm just fucked.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-1192760535878901355?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/1192760535878901355/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=1192760535878901355&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/1192760535878901355'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/1192760535878901355'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/11/you-know-what-i-miss.html' title='you know what i miss?'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-3520942399678405619</id><published>2010-11-01T20:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-11-01T20:33:01.944-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Thank you for the pain.</title><content type='html'>It's just what I needed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-3520942399678405619?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/3520942399678405619/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=3520942399678405619&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/3520942399678405619'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/3520942399678405619'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/11/thank-you-for-pain.html' title='Thank you for the pain.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-2604244704700519783</id><published>2010-10-31T10:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-31T10:24:26.340-07:00</updated><title type='text'>happy halloween, lovies :)</title><content type='html'>Was the last person you texted under 18?&lt;br /&gt;Shyeup. Nicole.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Pretending to "never get the text" from someone who annoys you. Is that you?&lt;br /&gt;Nah. I text back anyway and complain.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;I laugh at my own funny text before I send it, do you?&lt;br /&gt;I snicker a bit, yeah.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Do you see someone your best friend hates and say, "There's your best friend!"&lt;br /&gt;All the freaking time.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Last awkward moment?&lt;br /&gt;Uhm. Ahem. I've had a million just in waking up.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;The person you had strongest feelings for died, are you upset?&lt;br /&gt;I'd probably cry a shitload and then go completely emo, yeah?&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;I take it you like someone? If so, who do you like?&lt;br /&gt;Look down at posts. Highlight word "boyfriend" or "Austin."&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;What windows are open on your computer right now?&lt;br /&gt;Facebook, Tumblr, this actual post, my actual blog, Skype.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do any of your friends dislike each other?&lt;br /&gt;They all kind of hate each other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you think anyone has feelings for you?&lt;br /&gt;I mean, I'd hope so. That'd be fucked up if he was pretending.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Were you single on your last birthday?&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, I was. Suck my nonexistent dick.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;You're single, right?&lt;br /&gt;No, I'm not. So shut your face, survey-douche.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Has anyone laid on your bed besides you?&lt;br /&gt;Loads of people. To name them all would be crazy.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Do you prefer being called your actual name or a nick name?&lt;br /&gt;Depends on the nickname.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Do you miss anyone?&lt;br /&gt;I miss a ton of people. Not my brother though. Muahaha.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Do you get distracted easily?&lt;br /&gt;No I don't real omg there's a sandwich next to me.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Where is your number one on your friends list?&lt;br /&gt;That's a myspace thing, right? I think that's Lyn. If so, she's at home.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Did you have a good childhood?&lt;br /&gt;It was alright.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;What bothers you more, when people lie or when people complain?&lt;br /&gt;Lie.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Connection between you and the last person who text messaged you?&lt;br /&gt;She's technically my best friend. See old posts.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Is there someone you want to fix things with?&lt;br /&gt;Kind of. Not really.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;What did you do yesterday?&lt;br /&gt;Woke up. Did SAT homework. Went to SAT. Ate snack. Went to Austin's house. Went home. Did more SAT homework. Ignored essay that I have due Tuesday. Ate sandwich. Facebook chatted with Lindsey until midnight. Passed out.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;I bet your going to kiss someone tomorrow, right?&lt;br /&gt;Tomorrow's a Monday. That's a definite no. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you ever think about stuff and start crying?&lt;br /&gt;Death.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Who knows your biggest secrets?&lt;br /&gt;Whoever reads my blog, I guess.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Are you wasting your time on someone?&lt;br /&gt;Nope. :)&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Are you a morning person or a night person?&lt;br /&gt;Night, definitely. Morning people can die.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Are all guys players and cheaters?&lt;br /&gt;A lot of them are.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;What color shirt were you wearing when you had your last kiss?&lt;br /&gt;Black. Beastly.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Last time you were hit on?&lt;br /&gt;Ahem. Does that work if he's already your boyfriend? If so, yesterday, I guess?&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Do you wish someone would turn up at your front door right now?&lt;br /&gt;No. I look like shit wrapped in bacon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What's most important in a relationship: honesty or trust?&lt;br /&gt;Well, if there's honesty, there's trust. So...&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;How do you feel about your life right now?&lt;br /&gt;It's pretty good.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Hows 2010 been for you?&lt;br /&gt;It's been a good year :)&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Does the last person you held hands with mean something to you?&lt;br /&gt;He means a lot to me.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Do you wish anyone in particular was still in your life?&lt;br /&gt;Yes and no.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Who was the last person you were on the phone with?&lt;br /&gt;I don't call people, per say.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;When was the last time you gave/received a hug?&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Who were you with the last time you went to the mall?&lt;br /&gt;Mall. Uhm. Fuck, that was long ago. Annika?&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Do you think somebody likes the same person you do?&lt;br /&gt;If they do, I'm liable to punch them in the boob, right?&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Ever liked someone older than you?&lt;br /&gt;Ahaha yes. It was only for a weeks, cause we were lumped together :P&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you believe there are certain circumstances where cheating is okay?&lt;br /&gt;No.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Have you ever slept on a couch with someone else?&lt;br /&gt;Skylr. Haha.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Which did you discover first, myspace or facebook?&lt;br /&gt;Myspace. Duh. It was made earlier than Facebook. I got them both when they were first made public :P&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Have you ever been in trouble for something you honestly didn't do?&lt;br /&gt;All the time. It's called having two brothers who gang up on you. I got in trouble for stealing the remote from my older brother. He was the one who threw it at my face and caused my lip to bleed.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Do you believe everyone deserves a second chance?&lt;br /&gt;Maybe, possibly.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Who was the last person you physically hit?&lt;br /&gt;I'd think it's a brother.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Where were you last night at 11pm?&lt;br /&gt;IMing Lindsey, lol.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;You receive $50 without any reason: what do you spend it on?&lt;br /&gt;Concert tickets. Clothes. Candy.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Have you ever turned to drinking or smoking to solve a problem?&lt;br /&gt;Never. Straight edge.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Honestly, if you could go back one month and change something would you?&lt;br /&gt;Go back to September...nah, it's okay.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Do you ever write in pencil anymore?&lt;br /&gt;In math and physics, yes.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;If you HAD to get a piercing (NOT EARS) what would you get?&lt;br /&gt;Well, lip rings are hot on guys, but I'm not a guy, so I guess a nose stud.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;How's your heart?&lt;br /&gt;It's doing well, thanks for asking.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;This past October, what was your love life like?&lt;br /&gt;Like, last year? Well, let me break it down for you. My ex was texting me and switching off from calling me names to saying he loved me. I liked two guys at once. Both were unattainable for the most part.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are you anything like you were at this point last year?&lt;br /&gt;Probably about the same.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;So, what did you do today?&lt;br /&gt;I woke up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-2604244704700519783?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/2604244704700519783/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=2604244704700519783&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/2604244704700519783'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/2604244704700519783'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/10/happy-halloween-lovies.html' title='happy halloween, lovies :)'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-7562900602439813049</id><published>2010-10-31T09:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-31T09:56:23.321-07:00</updated><title type='text'>sorry i've been avoiding you like a sour cherry.</title><content type='html'>I'm sorry, blog. You don't get to hear about my life much anymore. It's rather depressing, I must say. And my mom always says to write down everything that happens in my life so that I remember. And, I mean, my childhood years were irrelevant. I was a little nerd in the honors math classes who thought she was going to Harvard. And, I mean, I changed my "dream career" about a million times. I wanted to be a doctor/lawyer/ journalist at one point.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are actually people who have that career, though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I'm thinking the main reason I can't write much on here anymore is because the people I actually know - not my internet friends or the lovely readers who choose to enter this strange land - are starting to read my blog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't want them to read my blog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't want them to know what I've been saying. Because if they know what I say, they judge. They realize. They try to enter my shadowed world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I like being the invisible girl on the sidelines. The one with the fake smile and the converse that have been written all over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I like having nobody know.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-7562900602439813049?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/7562900602439813049/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=7562900602439813049&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/7562900602439813049'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/7562900602439813049'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/10/sorry-ive-been-avoiding-you-like-sour.html' title='sorry i&apos;ve been avoiding you like a sour cherry.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-8902767644732490806</id><published>2010-10-24T18:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-24T18:12:07.800-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Reasons why I will have absolutely no life this year.</title><content type='html'>1. It's junior year. AKA hell year. Like, if my grades aren't perfect, colleges won't even look at me. And I need to get into Brown University. If I don't, I may cry.&lt;br /&gt;2. My homework takes 4 hours to finish every night. And that includes weekend homework.&lt;br /&gt;3. &lt;s&gt;I spend way too much time on Facebook&lt;/s&gt; I'm easily distracted.&lt;br /&gt;4. I have SAT classes on Saturdays and Sundays. With those classes comes even more homework. And even if the math is basic, it still irks me that I have to do that.&lt;br /&gt;5. My voice teacher is moving me up 2 levels for C of M, so I have to do twice as much theory homework. Meaning more homework during the week.&lt;br /&gt;6. I'm in like a million clubs for school this year, because colleges like extracurricular activities. And one of those clubs requires me to plan a charity event or fundraiser.&lt;br /&gt;7. I'm crewing a show. Meaning for a couple weeks, I'll be up til 4 AM doing homework, then waking up at 7. Delicious. But, you know, theater's fun. And colleges like hobbies.&lt;br /&gt;8. My mom is requiring me to get a job. Meaning less time for homework each night.&lt;br /&gt;9. Driver's ed is just really annoying to do, but I gotta get that done and get my permit then drive a shitload each weekend and get my license. Finally.&lt;br /&gt;10. I'm having surgery in like February. Guess who gets to have their mouth wired shut? Guess who will refuse to leave the house for the duration of the mouth-wiring-shut-shittiness?&lt;br /&gt;11. I'm taking the SAT on December 4th, then again in March and in June. And the ACT at some other point in time.&lt;br /&gt;12. My band kinda wants to get back together. Meaning, goodbye Fridays!&lt;br /&gt;13. I'm supposed to meet with a college prep counselor chick. I'm only a junior, mom and dad.&lt;br /&gt;14. AP and honors classes. Not as much as I'll take next year, but still, it's tough.&lt;br /&gt;15. I need to find some form of exercise, seeing as I'm not required to take PE anymore. Which is a score, but still.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As Coldplay says, nobody said it was easy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-8902767644732490806?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/8902767644732490806/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=8902767644732490806&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/8902767644732490806'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/8902767644732490806'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/10/reasons-why-i-will-have-absolutely-no.html' title='Reasons why I will have absolutely no life this year.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-2032113520162409391</id><published>2010-10-01T18:56:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-01T18:58:57.767-07:00</updated><title type='text'>people</title><content type='html'>I can't stand them. I really can't. There's only a few people I'd like to hold a conversation with in my group of friends. Other than that, it's the idiots and jerks and asses and posers and wannabes and I just can't stand it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think Jackie should probably live near me, and we should have secret tunnels to connect our homes. And I'd probably live in that tunnel and just be isolated and only let Jackie hear me because I like her opinion and she has a brain and she doesn't seem to be obsessed with being a hipster and she doesn't judge me or anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That was a run-on sentence. AP English student fail.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-2032113520162409391?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/2032113520162409391/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=2032113520162409391&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/2032113520162409391'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/2032113520162409391'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/10/people.html' title='people'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-7125544531015325675</id><published>2010-10-01T18:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-01T18:51:52.961-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It's a weird feeling...</title><content type='html'>having friends who have already swiped the v-card. I don't plan on doing that within my high school career. I'm afraid of it, the consequences, and the pain it brings. Mark my words, I will not do it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-7125544531015325675?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/7125544531015325675/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=7125544531015325675&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/7125544531015325675'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/7125544531015325675'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/10/its-weird-feeling.html' title='It&apos;s a weird feeling...'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-2715146715016883752</id><published>2010-09-29T20:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-29T20:50:23.307-07:00</updated><title type='text'>i don't like being sixteen.</title><content type='html'>Everyone expects stuff from me. Okay, I get it. I'm a failure because I haven't gotten my permit yet. I'm never going to be the greatest actress because my brother got the lead in his first school play and I just do stage crew right now. I still haven't started PSAT classes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, come on. I'm taking all honors or AP classes. I have to tutor my younger brother. I have to make my own breakfast, lunch, and dinner. All of my friends who've got their licenses and SATs coming have mommies who make them brown bag lunches. My mom hands me a $20 bill Monday morning, and I've got to make it last the entire week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My daily routine:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;Wake self up.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Get dressed/brush teeth/brush hair/wash face/put on makeup.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Turn off alarm.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Pack backpack.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Eat banana while looking for money or packing a bagel.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Prepare dog food.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Bring dog out and feed him.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Wake mom up so she's not late for tennis.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Walk to school.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;School from 7 to 3.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Walk home from school.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Eat snack and watch like 30 minutes of TV.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Feed the dog and walk him.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Do homework.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Order/cook dinner for me and Beni (or wait for mom to bring food home).&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Facebook. Skype. Tumblr. Formspring. Blogger. Pandora. All of the above.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;More homework.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Even more homework.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Talk to boyfriend over Skype when he finally gets home.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Shower.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Sleep.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm tired.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-2715146715016883752?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/2715146715016883752/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=2715146715016883752&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/2715146715016883752'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/2715146715016883752'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/09/i-dont-like-being-sixteen.html' title='i don&apos;t like being sixteen.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-2222000344283262815</id><published>2010-09-12T18:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-12T18:43:00.837-07:00</updated><title type='text'>surprise.</title><content type='html'>Austin came over today with a ton of snacks. He told me he had to go back to his car to get some more, so I followed him. He opened the door and reached inside his car. When he turned back around to face me, he had a present in one hand  and a bouquet of flowers in the other. Not because of an anniversary, but just because he wanted to get me something. He was going to bring something last time, but he was running late.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The flowers are beautiful and sitting in a vase (also brought by Austin) on my nightstand. Inside the present was a thing of glow in the dark stars, moons, and planets. I've wanted those for a really, really long time now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I gave him my black I &lt;3 Boobies bracelet (I also have a pink and white one, but I preferred the black one. Look how thoughtful I am!) and I'm going to bake him cookies and brownies for next Sunday (our three month anniversary). He likes them soft -__- I prefer my treats crunchy, kthx. But whatever. They're not for me. They're for him. &lt;b&gt;← proof of me being unselfish.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went back over and read through all the idiotic but ego boost-worthy threads on GCY, especially the relationship-centric ones. I don't know. It seemed so nice, the things we wrote, especially when the guys were unbelievably thoughtful. But, I mean, it's just so wrong. I hate it when a guy has no ideas for himself or opinion. How could we have made them "perfect boys" if they weren't the slightest bit real? That's the most perfect thing about my boyfriend. He's real.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also: Holy crud. I was a hyper-ass freak who was "in love" with her "boyfriend". Then we kept doing "boyfriend swaps" and in the end, everyone was either a complete prude or a complete slut. And I do mean &lt;i&gt;complete&lt;/i&gt;. But I guess the drama was kinda, sorta, &lt;i&gt;slightly&lt;/i&gt; entertaining.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lies. It was extremely entertaining. But it would be torture irl.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-2222000344283262815?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/2222000344283262815/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=2222000344283262815&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/2222000344283262815'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/2222000344283262815'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/09/surprise.html' title='surprise.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-5526841999337029981</id><published>2010-08-08T15:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-08T15:26:14.900-07:00</updated><title type='text'>a small town boy meets a big city girl.</title><content type='html'>I feel like I need to document my adventures in &lt;s&gt;Wonderland&lt;/s&gt; Carlsbad, but I had no adventures. I sat by the pool reading &lt;u&gt;The Scarlet Letter&lt;/u&gt; (boring book - I have to read it for AP English homework) and drinking raspberry smoothies. I texted my boyfriend a lot. I hung out with my friends Lindsay and Mat (yes, the same ones I hung out with on the cruise - we do a lot together). We saw Dinner For Schmucks - hilarious movie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;And that summer, she thought it was nothing. But she was leaving good lovin'.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I write a ton on my tumblr nowadays. Well, it's like a sentence a post about my anxiety or randomness or feelings. Nothing like what I write on here. This is like my life's story, and that's just the daily blah report.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friend Kiely says you're only supposed to feel the *spark* during the little things. Like when we were sitting in the park and he grabbed my chin and kissed me. And like when he held my hand under the table during lunch. And when he hugged me and kissed my hair and wouldn't let go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm caught between my "I don't believe in love" usualness and the fact that the small things my boyfriend does gives me butterflies.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-5526841999337029981?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/5526841999337029981/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=5526841999337029981&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/5526841999337029981'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/5526841999337029981'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/08/small-town-boy-meets-big-city-girl.html' title='a small town boy meets a big city girl.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-7162762213732048470</id><published>2010-07-25T10:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-25T10:21:05.530-07:00</updated><title type='text'>mehmehmeh.</title><content type='html'>I feel like I do way too much theater. Like, right after I finished &lt;i&gt;Grease&lt;/i&gt;, I immediately jumped into &lt;i&gt;Alice in Wonderland Jr.&lt;/i&gt; I'm doing costumes for the show (and sets and props, actually). And all I ever talk about is freaking theater. Like, talking to my friend Nicole at summer school usually means discussing the times we have costume quick changes or talking about what show's we're gonna do in the fall. Cause I have to choose if I wanna do only a musical, or if I also wanna do a play.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I made a tumblr cause for some reason I felt like conforming. Cl&lt;a href="http://slightlylessthan.tumblr.com/"&gt;i&lt;/a&gt;cky&lt;a href="http://slightlylessthan.tumblr.com/"&gt;!&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sorta mad at my boyfriend for a pointless reason. Hooray! And I'm not gonna be un-mad right away. And I don't think he knows I'm mad. Muahahaha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had a dream that I could fly. With wings, I mean. It felt incredible. I wish it were real, because I was so freaking happy the entire time. Also, I was a really fast flier.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-7162762213732048470?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/7162762213732048470/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=7162762213732048470&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/7162762213732048470'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/7162762213732048470'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/07/mehmehmeh.html' title='mehmehmeh.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-5880839713879891724</id><published>2010-07-15T19:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-15T23:19:56.727-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Day 685.</title><content type='html'>I've had my blog for 685 days now. That's slightly frightening, I suppose. Almost two years. But everything's pretty much the same. Some stuff is pretty different, though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Similarities&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;I still pretty much hate my mom.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I still am obsessed with super heroes.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I still play guitar.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I still sing a lot.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I still count my OBFFs as some of my closest friends (although I mostly talk to Jackie. We talk only ever so often though, which is depressing).&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I still can't drive. Legally, I mean.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;b&gt;Differences&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;I actually have a boyfriend. A non-hateable one so far.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I listen to different music. Sorta. Ish. I guess.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I'm not really friends with some of the same people. And if I am, I barely see them. Depressing, right?&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I wear skirts.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I don't blog religiously, or just surveys. I don't know, I just &lt;i&gt;blog&lt;/i&gt;.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish the world would stay the same sometimes, but I like some changes. I wish I'd finally get taller though, cause my height really bugs me. And as much as I can't wait for college and leaving home and being a real adult, I like being a kid too much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Someone save me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-5880839713879891724?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/5880839713879891724/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=5880839713879891724&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/5880839713879891724'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/5880839713879891724'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/07/day-685.html' title='Day 685.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-5499142089510285416</id><published>2010-07-08T19:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-08T19:20:00.048-07:00</updated><title type='text'>bummer school.</title><content type='html'>My mom forced me to do summer school because she didn't want me sitting at home all day like last year. She got my boyfriend to agree to it too, since he's taking summer school and I would not refuse that. Even if we only get 15 minutes together during the break. The entire school day is 5 hours long in one freaking classroom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had a good day today. I'm wearing my boyfriend's jacket. It smells like him(: It's like...a mixture of boy, shfancy cologne, and some sorta cinnamon. It's happy(: And apparently I smell like good hair product lol. I guess that's a good thing, too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I find this amazing, btw.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="560" height="340"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/2pvjgBn4m4k&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/2pvjgBn4m4k&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-5499142089510285416?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/5499142089510285416/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=5499142089510285416&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/5499142089510285416'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/5499142089510285416'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/07/bummer-school.html' title='bummer school.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-7017933192742473294</id><published>2010-07-06T00:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-06T00:58:49.843-07:00</updated><title type='text'>s-u-c-c-e-s-s, that's the way you spell success.</title><content type='html'>We didn't fail at kissing (finally). Success! Also, once you get the kissing down, making out is pretty simple. Hahaha(:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My blog's gone through different phases within the past two years. It started off as lengthy posts about starting high school and leaving summer behind. Then it turned into a plethora of lists and surveys. After that, Sam came along and it turned into a love-hate post relationship. Then after he disappeared, it turned into depression posts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sophomore year started, and it turned into a bunch of comedic posts with the help of my good friend Nate. Teen angst took over, along with posts about theater and all the fun of being in shows. The posting frenzy slowed down after a while, and the amount of surveys originally posted dwindled down to barely anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Summer started, and with that came a boyfriend. The posts turned into bite-sized descriptions of the things I've come to appreciate, such as hand-squeezes from my best friends, juicy watermelon slices on hot days, and kisses from my boyfriend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Blogging's an art. I'm no artist, but I've learned that art changes throughout the years. My blogging changes too, but bits of it are the same. I'll always be the author, and my life will always be &lt;b&gt;freshly squeezed&lt;/b&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-7017933192742473294?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/7017933192742473294/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=7017933192742473294&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/7017933192742473294'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/7017933192742473294'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/07/s-u-c-c-e-s-s-thats-way-you-spell.html' title='s-u-c-c-e-s-s, that&apos;s the way you spell success.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-1060278344747206985</id><published>2010-07-04T11:30:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-04T11:33:43.659-07:00</updated><title type='text'>don't hate on the straight edge.</title><content type='html'>My friends from theater always invite me to their parties: they go clubbing, they drink alcohol, they do drugs, whatever. Of course, I always decline. When they hang with me, they usually refrain from such activities and instead get high off of life, which I find to be a better thing to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, you didn't know? I'm a &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Straight_edge"&gt;straight edge&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't like drugs or alcohol or anything. I'll probably be the designated driver when I go to those type of parties in the future. The majority of my friends are straight edges, too, so our parties generally consist of video games, pizza, root beer, and hanging out. We don't get in trouble with each other because of something done while drunk. We also have parents who trust us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and we're more likely to be chosen by colleges or hired by companies because we don't have drunk pictures of ourselves all over Facebook.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So really, do yourself a favor. Put down the beer and grab a Sprite instead. It'll do you good, I promise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have a happy fourth of July, guys (:&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-1060278344747206985?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/1060278344747206985/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=1060278344747206985&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/1060278344747206985'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/1060278344747206985'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/07/dont-hate-on-straight-edge.html' title='don&apos;t hate on the straight edge.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-2166992792764219796</id><published>2010-07-01T13:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-01T14:17:23.449-07:00</updated><title type='text'>root beer sounds really good right now.</title><content type='html'>I am currently...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Listening to "Here In Your Arms" by Hellogoodbye on repeat. My friend made up a dance to this song back in the good ole days of summer before freshman year (holy shit, two years ago). I really like this song, despite how weird the sound is.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Talking about video games with my boyfriend. Oddly enough, I play more video games than he does. Screw stereotypes.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Still in my pajamas. Mostly because I have a show tonight, so I don't wanna change until I really have to, such as when I put on my leotard and tights.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel like doing a survey, because I'm super bored. Tralala!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WHAT/WHEN WAS YOUR:&lt;br /&gt;1. Last beverage- I'm gonna guess milk. Last night. With mah cookies :)&lt;br /&gt;2. Last phone call- My mom. Checking up on us.&lt;br /&gt;3. Last text message- Austin.&lt;br /&gt;4. Last song you listened to- "Here In Your Arms" by Hellogoodbye&lt;br /&gt;5. Last time you cried- I can't even remember. I haven't really cried lately.&lt;br /&gt;6. Dated someone twice- Nope.&lt;br /&gt;7. Been cheated on- Not that I know of.&lt;br /&gt;8. Kissed someone &amp; regretted it- Not really, haha.&lt;br /&gt;9. Lost someone special- Of course.&lt;br /&gt;10. Been depressed- Yes.&lt;br /&gt;11. Had to throw up- Der. People do get sick.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LIST THREE FAVORITE COLORS:&lt;br /&gt;12. Green.&lt;br /&gt;13. Purple.&lt;br /&gt;14. Blue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;THIS YEAR HAVE YOU: (2010)&lt;br /&gt;15. Made a new friend- Of course!&lt;br /&gt;16. Fallen out of love- Never been in love.&lt;br /&gt;17. Laughed until you cried- Oh my god, yes.&lt;br /&gt;18. Met someone who changed you- Yessiree. Best friends in Footloose! :D&lt;br /&gt;19. Found out who your true friends were- Mhmmmm.&lt;br /&gt;20. Found out someone was talking about you- Yeah.&lt;br /&gt;21. Had a crush- Mhmmm(:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GENERAL:&lt;br /&gt;22. How many people on your fb friends list do you know in real life- The majority.&lt;br /&gt;23. How many kids do you want to have- At least two.&lt;br /&gt;24. Do you have any pets- One dog. Six fish. One cleaner shrimp.&lt;br /&gt;25. Do you want to change your name- It's alright.&lt;br /&gt;26. What did you do for your last birthday- Ate pizza and cake and played rock band with my close friends.&lt;br /&gt;27. What time did you wake up today- 11:11, cause Kiely texted me.&lt;br /&gt;28. What were you doing at midnight last night- IMing people.&lt;br /&gt;29. Name something you CANNOT wait for- No idea. I want to hit the snooze button on life a few times.&lt;br /&gt;30. Last time you saw your mother- Few days ago.&lt;br /&gt;31. What is one thing you wish you could change about your life- I wish I were a little bit taller...&lt;br /&gt;32. What are you listening to right now- Some sort of alarm.&lt;br /&gt;33. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom- Thomas?&lt;br /&gt;34. What's getting on your nerves right now- Life.&lt;br /&gt;35. Most visited webpage- Facebook.&lt;br /&gt;37. Nicknames- Tessie, Tess, Tes-tes, Batgirl&lt;br /&gt;38. Your favorite food- Depends on my mood. I'll eat anything.&lt;br /&gt;39. Zodiac sign- Capricorn.&lt;br /&gt;40. Male or female?- Female.&lt;br /&gt;41. Elementary?- I went to three of them.&lt;br /&gt;42. Middle School- [Insert middle school here.]&lt;br /&gt;43. High School- [Insert high school here.]&lt;br /&gt;44. Hair color- Blackish brown.&lt;br /&gt;45. Long or short- Medium? It goes to my boobs lmao.&lt;br /&gt;46. Height- 5'2"&lt;br /&gt;47. Do you have a crush on someone?- Yes :D&lt;br /&gt;48. What do you like about yourself?- I find my personality quite enjoyable, I suppose.&lt;br /&gt;49: Where do you live?- The grand ole US of A.&lt;br /&gt;50. Tattoos- No thank you.&lt;br /&gt;51. In love right now? Don't believe in love(: But I believe in liking someone a lot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FIRSTS :&lt;br /&gt;52. First crush- Erm. Adam? From preschool.&lt;br /&gt;53. First piercing- Ears. Three years old.&lt;br /&gt;54. First best friend- Bryar in preschool.&lt;br /&gt;55. First sport you joined- Dance is a sport. Ballet. Blech.&lt;br /&gt;56. First vacation- We went camping I think.&lt;br /&gt;57. First Kiss- Technically when I married Tony when I was 3.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;RIGHT NOW:&lt;br /&gt;59. Eating- Nothing.&lt;br /&gt;60. Drinking- Nothing. I really want a root beer, though.&lt;br /&gt;61. I'm about to- Check my laundry.&lt;br /&gt;62. Listening to- "Kiss Me" by New Found Glory&lt;br /&gt;63. Looking for- Nothing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;YOUR FUTURE :&lt;br /&gt;64. Want kids?- Sure(: Not now.&lt;br /&gt;65. Get Married?- Yeah, I'd like that. Again, not now.&lt;br /&gt;66. Career?- I'd like to make video games, please.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WHICH IS BETTER :&lt;br /&gt;67. Lips or eyes- Eyes(:&lt;br /&gt;68. Hugs or kisses- I like them both(: But I prefer getting kissed.&lt;br /&gt;69. Shorter or taller- Taller. Definitely.&lt;br /&gt;70. Older or Younger- Older. Haha.&lt;br /&gt;71. Romantic or spontaneous- Spontaneously romantic. Lol.&lt;br /&gt;72. Nice stomach or nice arms- Both? But I like the arms :)&lt;br /&gt;73. Sensitive or loud- LOUD.&lt;br /&gt;74. Hook-up or relationship- Relationship.&lt;br /&gt;75. Trouble maker or hesitant- Troublemaker. Lol. More fun :D&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HAVE YOU EVER :&lt;br /&gt;76. Kissed a stranger- Nope.&lt;br /&gt;77. Drank wine- Bad Jewish wine.&lt;br /&gt;78. Lost glasses/contacts- Nope.&lt;br /&gt;79. Sex on first date- Nope.&lt;br /&gt;80. Broken someone's heart- I don't think so.&lt;br /&gt;81. Had your own heart broken- Yes.&lt;br /&gt;82. Been arrested- Nope.&lt;br /&gt;83. Turned someone down- Yes...heh. Sorry :p&lt;br /&gt;84. Cried when someone died- Of course.&lt;br /&gt;85. Fallen for a friend- Mhmmm. Haha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;DO YOU BELIEVE IN:&lt;br /&gt;86. Yourself- Meh.&lt;br /&gt;87. Miracles- Meh.&lt;br /&gt;88. Love at first sight- Meh.&lt;br /&gt;89. Heaven- Meh.&lt;br /&gt;90. Santa Claus- Heck yeah.&lt;br /&gt;91. Kiss on the first date- Yes(:&lt;br /&gt;92. Angels- Meh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ANSWER TRUTHFULLY:&lt;br /&gt;93. Had more than one bf/gf- At one time? No. Totaling all the ones I've ever had? Yes.&lt;br /&gt;95. Did you sing today?- Nope, but I will soon.&lt;br /&gt;96. Ever cheated on somebody?- Nope.&lt;br /&gt;97. If you could go back in time, how far would you go, and why?- I'd go back to my childhood and play on the swings.&lt;br /&gt;98. If you could pick a day from last year and relive it, what would it be?- No idea.&lt;br /&gt;99. Are you afraid of falling in love with somebody?- Kinda.&lt;br /&gt;100. Posting this as 100 truths?- No way, man.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-2166992792764219796?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/2166992792764219796/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=2166992792764219796&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/2166992792764219796'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/2166992792764219796'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/07/root-beer-sounds-really-good-right-now.html' title='root beer sounds really good right now.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-7320182492711732871</id><published>2010-06-30T23:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-30T23:51:50.359-07:00</updated><title type='text'>):</title><content type='html'>Hey, Nate? Where are you? You disappeared. I don't know your cell phone number, cause Annika gave it to me but you don't seem to respond to that at all, so maybe you got a different number. You know those moods I get where I stop eating or finding the ability to do anything? When I'm just...&lt;b&gt;depressed&lt;/b&gt;?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel like shit right now. I want to be happy, or normal, or whatever it is that the rest of the world has no trouble being.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You're the only one who I talk about this stuff with.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Come back, Nate.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-7320182492711732871?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/7320182492711732871/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=7320182492711732871&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/7320182492711732871'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/7320182492711732871'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/06/blog-post.html' title='):'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-3972060845253413911</id><published>2010-06-30T20:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-30T20:11:12.084-07:00</updated><title type='text'>they took all my gum.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/TCwGqR9GD8I/AAAAAAAAAJE/KJO2NYc0RMI/s1600/tumblr_l42ld7ha9b1qzmz4co1_500.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 178px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/TCwGqR9GD8I/AAAAAAAAAJE/KJO2NYc0RMI/s320/tumblr_l42ld7ha9b1qzmz4co1_500.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488769369301716930" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Except, you know, I don't do chick flicks. But I guess those would be okay on certain occasions. The only one I really like is A Walk To Remember. Depressing movie. Really good, though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and there's that small problem that I don't believe in love. No matter how many times Kiely tells me it's real, or I get butterflies when you hold my hand or kiss me, or I smile when I listen to "Skyway Avenue." It's not real. I have never seen this love everyone speaks. And apparently you don't either, so I guess that works.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish I had more gum. Everyone took it ):&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-3972060845253413911?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/3972060845253413911/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=3972060845253413911&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/3972060845253413911'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/3972060845253413911'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/06/they-took-all-my-gum.html' title='they took all my gum.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/TCwGqR9GD8I/AAAAAAAAAJE/KJO2NYc0RMI/s72-c/tumblr_l42ld7ha9b1qzmz4co1_500.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-9011987148809933428</id><published>2010-06-29T23:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-29T23:17:00.358-07:00</updated><title type='text'>asdsakjdkas.</title><content type='html'>Hey, dad. I love you, but you're a major cock block. Even if we are just sitting together on the couch. It's too awkward to cuddle when you're around, so thanks for sitting in the kitchen and watching us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love,&lt;br /&gt;Tessa&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-9011987148809933428?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/9011987148809933428/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=9011987148809933428&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/9011987148809933428'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/9011987148809933428'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/06/asdsakjdkas.html' title='asdsakjdkas.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-932557305283040249</id><published>2010-06-28T13:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-28T13:03:55.816-07:00</updated><title type='text'>we keep ourselves a mystery, but we provide the clues.</title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Day 30 - Your favorite song at this time last year&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My favorite song at this time last year was "Wake Up" by The Arcade Fire. I was obsessed with that song. Like, completely obsessed. My statuses on Facebook were always lyrics from that song, and I listened to it all the time. Which reminds me, I never watched Where The Wild Things Are. I really wanted to, though. Especially since "Wake Up" was used in the trailer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I finished the 30-day music meme. So...now what?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-932557305283040249?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/932557305283040249/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=932557305283040249&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/932557305283040249'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/932557305283040249'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/06/we-keep-ourselves-mystery-but-we.html' title='we keep ourselves a mystery, but we provide the clues.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-3953394950412587030</id><published>2010-06-27T10:06:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-27T10:14:09.191-07:00</updated><title type='text'>oh noes.</title><content type='html'>The boy who plays opposite me in Grease lost his voice. We're on-cast today. We sing a freaking duet in the first act. No no no no no this cannot be happening! D: I &lt;i&gt;told&lt;/i&gt; him not to get sick and to eat/drink lemon and honey just in case. I TOLD HIM.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Day 27 - A song that you wish you could play&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish I could play "Dead!" by My Chemical Romance. It has totally awesome solos (even though I'm technically rhythm guitar) and it's just freaking epic. That, or "School of Rock" from School of Rock. I love that movie and that song. I memorized the entire movie, too :D&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Day 28 - A song that makes you feel guilty&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not sure what to put for this, but I guess I'd say something like "Eyes on Fire" by Blue Foundation, mostly because I got it off the Twilight soundtrack, and I always talk about how much I hate Twilight...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Day 29 - A song from your childhood&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GAH. My favorite topic ever. I'd say "You've Got A Friend In Me" by Randy Newman. That song brings back old memories. I mean, Toy Story is still one of my favorite movies (along with 2 &amp; 3, making it the most amazing trilogy evar). I love that song(:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PS: I write evar, rather than ever, to use emphasis. Not because I don't know how to spell ever correctly :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-3953394950412587030?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/3953394950412587030/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=3953394950412587030&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/3953394950412587030'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/3953394950412587030'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/06/oh-noes.html' title='oh noes.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-7789978360543300818</id><published>2010-06-24T10:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-24T11:13:38.947-07:00</updated><title type='text'>summer twenty-ten to-do list.</title><content type='html'>This year, my list won't have goals I wish to set. It'll have things I seriously gotta do, and since it's summer, I should be able to do them. If you have any suggestions, comment away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1) Keep my room clean. It's already a mess. Maybe start with throwing away all my old binders and crap, cause those are all useless now. And maybe organizing a bit more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2) Get a job at either GameStop or Toys R Us (they're building one in the mall closest to my house, and there's a "Now Hiring" sign up front). Jobs = money = good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3) Sit in a random coffee shop and sing/play guitar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4) Master the art of being a street musician. I've done it once before, and it was pretty good, but people just cheered or honked rather than gave me some monays.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5) Convince mom to let Austin drive me places. Even if it's just the beach. And if I can't convince her, we can just walk around (and get exercise xD).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6) Go to the beach. I haven't gone since June 10th, when school let out. Fun day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7) Buy new perfume! My nice-smelling Amber Romance Victoria's Secret got demolished when the stupid people at school cut our locks and threw everything out of our PE lockers when we were supposed to have them for another day. Stick with Victoria's Secret or get something from Bath &amp; Body Works?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8) Have at Toy Story day (watch the first two movies), then watch the 3rd (again) with Austin later on. SUCH A GOOD MOVIE. GAHHHHHH.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9) Survive all of the shows for Grease. Opening night is tomorrow - GAH.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10) Stop being such a fail. Figure out the confusingness of a kiss. Write a good song that is neither comedic nor satirical. Learn how to put eyeliner on your upper lid. Learn how to paint your nails. And for the love of god, get new guitar strings.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-7789978360543300818?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/7789978360543300818/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=7789978360543300818&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/7789978360543300818'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/7789978360543300818'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/06/summer-twenty-ten-to-do-list.html' title='summer twenty-ten to-do list.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-300275663068894113</id><published>2010-06-24T10:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-24T10:52:31.740-07:00</updated><title type='text'>and the crowd goes wild.</title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Day 25 - A song that makes you laugh&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The Night Santa Went Crazy" by Weird Al cracks me up. And I seem to know all the lyrics, too. Creepy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Day 26 - A song that you can play on an instrument&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hero of War" by Rise Against is one of my favorite songs to play on acoustic guitar. It's really pretty and relaxing, and the lyrics are awesome. Plus, it's not even that difficult of a song, which makes me relax even more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I just realized I never made a Summer To-Do List (like I usually do). So I'll probably post it in the next one when I figure out what I'm going to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By the way, did anyone see Toy Story 3? If not, I recommend you do. I cried ): It was such a great movie, I swear. Even my 18 year old brother cried. You will cry. I know you will.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and today's my last day of tech rehearsal before we open Grease tomorrow. I'm not that nervous, am I? Only kidding. I feel like I'm gonna die, so I'm gonna go and distract myself now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-300275663068894113?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/300275663068894113/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=300275663068894113&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/300275663068894113'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/300275663068894113'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/06/and-crowd-goes-wild.html' title='and the crowd goes wild.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-7717306579947378149</id><published>2010-06-22T23:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-22T23:35:12.085-07:00</updated><title type='text'>just smile and wave.</title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Day 24 - A song that you want to play at your funeral&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The End." by My Chemical Romance would be pretty good to play. Cause, I mean, it's relatively slow, and it signifies the end (and the beginning).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I kinda got mad at him today cause he was arguing with my friend (his ex-girlfriend) and I was kinda thrown into it. But it's all over, and now I'm super hungry. Anyone have cookies?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-7717306579947378149?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/7717306579947378149/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=7717306579947378149&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/7717306579947378149'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/7717306579947378149'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/06/just-smile-and-wave.html' title='just smile and wave.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-744701370122220088</id><published>2010-06-21T11:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-21T11:22:22.793-07:00</updated><title type='text'>i've heard the worst.</title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Day 21 - A song that you listen to when you’re happy&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Skyway Avenue" by We The Kings. It just makes me happier cause it reminds me of a certain dork(: Listen &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d9rLOlYJY-s"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Day 22 - A song that you listen to when you’re sad&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You Belong With Me" by Taylor Swift. It pumps you up. Listen &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VuNIsY6JdUw"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Day 23 - A song that you want to play at your wedding&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"When She Loved Me" by Sarah McLachlan. It's such a pretty song! I sang it for voice lessons back in 5th grade, and my dad and I danced to it for the father-daughter dance at my Bat Mitzvah. Listen &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A3qBbLyRixg"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-744701370122220088?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/744701370122220088/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=744701370122220088&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/744701370122220088'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/744701370122220088'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/06/ive-heard-worst.html' title='i&apos;ve heard the worst.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-7335161468579907971</id><published>2010-06-20T01:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-20T01:33:18.968-07:00</updated><title type='text'>cause i would die for you on skyway avenue.</title><content type='html'>So...kissing is kinda complex. Just gonna throw it out there. I kinda had my arms around his neck and we leaned in and he knew what to do and I was completely like, "Shit, what do I do?" And he laughed at my stupidity and I thought I'd totally just know what to do. And his lips were super soft.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah(:&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-7335161468579907971?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/7335161468579907971/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=7335161468579907971&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/7335161468579907971'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/7335161468579907971'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/06/cause-i-would-die-for-you-on-skyway.html' title='cause i would die for you on skyway avenue.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-167376227570567101</id><published>2010-06-18T08:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-18T08:46:20.184-07:00</updated><title type='text'>never eat funnel cake for breakfast.</title><content type='html'>Went on a date with Nightwing (that'll be his codename, cause he calls me Batgirl, although he wants to be Batman, but Batman was taken previously) yesterday. It was kinda supah dupah fun and awesome and he was a dumbass at times, but he was also extremely adorable. Except then my mom made us feel awkward. Thaaaaanks, mom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Day 18 - A song that you wish you heard on the radio&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really wish they'd play something like "Absolutely (Story of a Girl)" by Nine Days on the radio. I suppose they used to, when it was new and popular. But it's still a great song, so they should still play it. Listen &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZIANBamMgas"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Day 19 - A song from your favorite album&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Desolation Row" by My Chemical Romance on the Watchmen Soundtrack is amazing. The entire CD is amazing. The movie is amazing. The graphic novel is amazing. It's just...pure love in superhero form. Listen &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FOuSxal8pf4&amp;feature=related"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Day 20 - A song that you listen to when you’re angry&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That would definitely have to be "Dead!" by My Chemical Romance. I just blast it on my iPod and sit there angrily. Listen &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8HfbmVHP4sY"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-167376227570567101?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/167376227570567101/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=167376227570567101&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/167376227570567101'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/167376227570567101'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/06/never-eat-funnel-cake-for-breakfast.html' title='never eat funnel cake for breakfast.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-4310953028234439126</id><published>2010-06-15T22:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-15T22:36:42.266-07:00</updated><title type='text'>oh root beer, how i love you so.</title><content type='html'>I could use some root beer. But I have none, so I'm drinking Sprite instead. Yay, bubbly liquid that tastes quite sugary! I need some caffeine, but not another monster. The only one I ever drank tasted like melted Kids Crest (yes, the toothpaste), and that's not exactly appetizing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Day 17 - A song that you hear often on the radio&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"(If You're Wondering If I Want You To) I Want You To" by Weezer. Great song. How many times is it played on the radio everyday? I dunno. About a bazillion, I'm guessing. I mean, I used to like it a lot, but it's just overplayed now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Day 2 — Your Crush&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Ninja Boy,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You like me. I like you. Yet you fail to keep a conversation with me unless we're discussing going out together or something, and when we do discuss plans we have together, you're not willing to call it a date. Even when you're the one who asked me, and you're the guy so you should know. And now I'm questioning it, and it's really bugging me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and I know guys don't like it when girls talk about their exes all the time, but that doesn't mean you should talk about her all the time either. Or mention that yes, you did take her to the same place you're taking me on Thursday. Even if she and I are really good friends, it's still awkward. And maybe I kinda do want the cutesy speak that you'd say to her (even if it wasn't really you-ish). Maybe I want to know that you &lt;i&gt;do&lt;/i&gt; see me as more than a friend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See you on Thursday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sincerely,&lt;br /&gt;Kaboom! Girl&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-4310953028234439126?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/4310953028234439126/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=4310953028234439126&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/4310953028234439126'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/4310953028234439126'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/06/oh-root-beer-how-i-love-you-so.html' title='oh root beer, how i love you so.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-8915229197129164892</id><published>2010-06-14T13:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-14T13:37:31.385-07:00</updated><title type='text'>we all wanna be famous.</title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Day 16 - A song that you used to love but now hate&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I Like To Move It" by Crazy Frog. Great song when I was in elementary school. Annoying song now. And now I'm gonna attempt that 30 Day Letter-writing meme :D Haha. Don't hate me. I need something to do; it's summer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Day 1 - Your Best Friend&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, this'll be hard. I have three absolute best friends. So do I write each one a letter? I guess so :|&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Jenni,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy almost birthday! It'll be your birthday in two days for me, and in one day for you (since you live in Australia). I hope you have an awesome sixteenth birthday, even if it is cold and rainy where you are apparently. I promise to send you an awesome present, so look out for that. If it's late, I'm sorry ):&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How have you been? You're still in school, right? How's that going for you? From the letter your mom sent, you're still diving, so I wish you the best of luck in your competitions :) I hope you come to visit again, because I really miss you. I mean it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love,&lt;br /&gt;Tessa&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Ashley,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dude, I haven't seen you in so long. Not since you came over to my house and we ate those weird cookies and you met my dog (even if you're allergic). I'm visiting your school this week - did Bethany tell you? When you're out of school, we're going to hang out all the time. I mean, unless you have other stuff ): But you know what I mean!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember years ago, when you, me, and Bethany stayed in that beach house? And we were walking around the beach area all day, drinking root beer and eating pizza? And then when Bethany left, we slept there. And you were in love with Taylor Lautner, and the bathroom had a sloped ceiling, and the people who lived behind us had a light that kept going on? That was one of the greatest days ever. We have to do that again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bethany says you've changed a lot. And I miss you and rarely see you, so I don't know how you've changed, really. Just don't change too much, okay?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love,&lt;br /&gt;Tessa&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Bethany,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I miss you. Holy bejeesus. I still have that picture of the four of us - you, me, Ashley, and Jenni - in our princess dresses from back in first grade. And I have the new version, with the four of us sitting in your room back at your old house. Remember the days that we'd spend playing in your play house, then running up the slide on your little playground set thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We spent every summer at the beach, even after I moved away. We also spent Thanksgiving at Disneyland, and you were always the tallest. Ashley and I attempted to grow another inch so we could ride on the big rides with you, but in the end, you just stuck with us. And then you and me became roller coaster buddies, but we were both too scared to sit on the outside seat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel like sometimes you and Ashley forget I'm here, but then you make up for it by being yourself and reminding me of the fun time back in elementary school. I miss you. I'll see you on Wednesday :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love,&lt;br /&gt;Tessa&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-8915229197129164892?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/8915229197129164892/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=8915229197129164892&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/8915229197129164892'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/8915229197129164892'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/06/we-all-wanna-be-famous.html' title='we all wanna be famous.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-5461712649003348988</id><published>2010-06-13T12:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-13T12:36:12.224-07:00</updated><title type='text'>i came here to make you dance tonight.</title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Day 14 - A song that no one would expect you to love&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'd have to go with "Beelzeboss" by Tenacious D. Cause even though a ton of it is randomness and screaming and dropping of the F bomb, it's an epic song. Listen &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wJTYp1tvd3Q"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Day 15 - A song that describes you&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"One Of The Boys" by Katy Perry. The lyrics are really true. "I chose guitar over ballet, and I take these suckers down cause they just get in my way." Listen &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wi1fmFNW9jE&amp;feature=fvst"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I like memes. I wanna do the 30-Day letter writing one. Except you guys will hate me. But maybe not, cause those'll have a ton of detail and writing :D&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-5461712649003348988?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/5461712649003348988/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=5461712649003348988&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/5461712649003348988'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/5461712649003348988'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/06/i-came-here-to-make-you-dance-tonight.html' title='i came here to make you dance tonight.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-3648318317696938390</id><published>2010-06-13T09:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-13T10:05:14.419-07:00</updated><title type='text'>oi vey, another survey.</title><content type='html'>So, I'm going to my friend's birthday party/goodbye party (he's leaving for Norway for 2 months) and he wants me to make him a sandwich. I think not. Subway sells gift cards, right? Or I can get him a loaf of bread or something. Ha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let's start off on a high note, who last made you smile?&lt;br /&gt;Technically, my dad. "What does a Jewish girl make for dinner? Reservations."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What's the last thing someone accused you of?&lt;br /&gt;Making out in a car with a guy. We were &lt;i&gt;drawing&lt;/i&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What are you listening to?&lt;br /&gt;The keyboard noises. Plus "Video Killed The Radio Star" by The Buggles. Which I &lt;b&gt;love&lt;/b&gt;. Oh-uhh-oh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are you lying to yourself about something?&lt;br /&gt;Nope (:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who did you last say "I love you" to?&lt;br /&gt;No idea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You find out your ex is having a kid with someone you don't like?&lt;br /&gt;I wouldn't really care. Sucks for them xD&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are your lips chapped?&lt;br /&gt;Ish.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What time did you wake up today?&lt;br /&gt;8:30 AM.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you have any siblings?&lt;br /&gt;Two brothers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you wear your hair up or down more often?&lt;br /&gt;Down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How many different colors has your hair been?&lt;br /&gt;Just one. The natural color.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, the person you like, their name starts with a M, right?&lt;br /&gt;Nope. Loser :D&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who was the first person you talked to today?&lt;br /&gt;My dad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are you heartless?&lt;br /&gt;Hopefully not. I guess I could be..?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ever shared a bed with anyone on your top friends?&lt;br /&gt;No top friends on Facebook or blogger, kid. That's for Myspace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you plan on sleeping in tomorrow?&lt;br /&gt;Definitely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you kissed someone with braces?&lt;br /&gt;No.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night you felt?&lt;br /&gt;Slightly confused but happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who sits beside you in science class?&lt;br /&gt;Christine did until school ENDED! WOOOT.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Were you single on your last birthday?&lt;br /&gt;Yessiree.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When was the last time you saw your mother?&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday. Hahaha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When was the last time you told someone you love them?&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday, probably.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When was the last time someone told you they love you?&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday, probably. But not like the in-love type of love lol.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you had a cigarette today?&lt;br /&gt;Ew, no.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What's something you cannot wait for?&lt;br /&gt;Uh. Wednesday...:)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you think its cute when someone kisses your forehead?&lt;br /&gt;I guess? Depends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If your sister came home and told you she had sex with 15 boys, you'd say?&lt;br /&gt;So how many boxes of condoms did you have to use? That's kinda nasty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are all guys players and cheaters?&lt;br /&gt;No. Most are, though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How close are you to a Wal-Mart?&lt;br /&gt;No idea. I haven't been to a Wal-Mart in so long.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is your hair up or down right now?&lt;br /&gt;Down. I just woke up haha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next time you will kiss someone on the lips?&lt;br /&gt;No idea...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Would you be surprised if your parents had another baby together?&lt;br /&gt;Uh, yeah. Isn't my mom, like, menopausal?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you still talk to your friends from elementary school?&lt;br /&gt;Yeah (: Although I went to 3 elementary schools, so yeah haha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Does it matter if your boyfriend/ girlfriend smokes or chews?&lt;br /&gt;Yeah. It's disgusting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you were in the hospital on life support, would the last person you kissed visit you?&lt;br /&gt;Don't think so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When was the last time you wore jeans?&lt;br /&gt;While ago. When school was still in session.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever liked someone older then you?&lt;br /&gt;Uhm, yes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What was the last thing you wore that was black?&lt;br /&gt;Leather jacket :D&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are you easy to make mad?&lt;br /&gt;Quite.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What were you doing at 4am?&lt;br /&gt;Sleeping. Like a normal person.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I bet you miss somebody right now?&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, a lot of people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What color are your eyes?&lt;br /&gt;Boring-ass brown.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Would you rather be called hunny or baby?&lt;br /&gt;Baby. Hunny makes me sound like a little kid or an old woman.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you're getting ready for something, do you listen to music?&lt;br /&gt;I always listen to music, no matter what.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are you one of those people who are always cold?&lt;br /&gt;Nope. Ha(:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you believe in love?&lt;br /&gt;Nope. But everyone's trying to get me to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are you angry right now?&lt;br /&gt;Nope.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you like your parents?&lt;br /&gt;Depends on the day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Recently kissed anyone with the name starting with a A?&lt;br /&gt;HAHAHA(: No. Not...yet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If the year consisted of only one season, which would you choose?&lt;br /&gt;Winter. Skiing, here we come!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When someone says "we need to talk," what runs through your mind?&lt;br /&gt;"Are we breaking up?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Reason for your last tear shed?&lt;br /&gt;No idea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The last time you felt honestly broken?&lt;br /&gt;A while ago. I'm better, now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you like texting?&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, but I like real calls better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you think you will be married by the time you are 55?&lt;br /&gt;Hopefully. Haha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What should you be doing rite now?&lt;br /&gt;Getting ready.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyone you'd bang right now?&lt;br /&gt;No. Maybe a few celebrities, but not really cause that'd be weird.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Does anyone of the opposite sex have the same name as you?&lt;br /&gt;What guy would be named Tessa?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You watch 'The Simpsons' right?&lt;br /&gt;All the time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is there a girl that you would do anything for?&lt;br /&gt;My bestest friends :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Name something you dislike about the day you're having?&lt;br /&gt;I have to make a guy a sandwich.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever been cheated on?&lt;br /&gt;No idea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are you dating the last person you talked to?&lt;br /&gt;Nope.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Would you consider painting your bedroom purple?&lt;br /&gt;What a coincidence! My room &lt;i&gt;is&lt;/i&gt; purple.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Where is the shirt you are wearing from?&lt;br /&gt;Tilly's.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are there any posters in your room?&lt;br /&gt;A ton.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are you currently wanting any piercings or tattoos?&lt;br /&gt;No thank you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What is stressing you out most right now?&lt;br /&gt;Shiiiiit 3 more rehearsals and we're barely together D:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are you a talkative person?&lt;br /&gt;Yes. Unless I'm surrounded by adults I don't know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What kind of neighborhood do you live in?&lt;br /&gt;The stuck-up, rich kid neighborhood. Suburbia.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What was the last thing that made you crack up hardest?&lt;br /&gt;Darien singing on Rock Band after he inhaled helium xD&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What was the last thing you tripped over?&lt;br /&gt;A lot of stuff. Heh...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you think mailmen deliver their own mail?&lt;br /&gt;Nope. They have assigned streets and things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Will you be one of those old people with 11 cats?&lt;br /&gt;You mean my grandma? No. I'm not a cat fan.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever purchased Girl Scout cookies?&lt;br /&gt;Yesh. Haha :D Thin mints and samoas are godly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever been called beautiful?&lt;br /&gt;By my parents.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Take your pick, cupcakes or muffins?&lt;br /&gt;Cupcakes :D&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you like waffles?&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, I like waffles!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you wish someone would call you?&lt;br /&gt;Maybe. But no, it's okay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever heard a young child swear?&lt;br /&gt;Yes. It's not pretty ):&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did you go anywhere today?&lt;br /&gt;Dude. It's 10 AM.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anything upset you lately?&lt;br /&gt;Maybe ish.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How is your hair?&lt;br /&gt;Skdjaskdjas. Must shower.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What does your last text say?&lt;br /&gt;Well im going to sleep, nite.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who's house did you last walk to?&lt;br /&gt;Nicole's.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last time you had someone sleep over? And who?&lt;br /&gt;No idea. I slept over at Hayden's a day ago, though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What's bothering you right now?&lt;br /&gt;The show I'm in isn't doing so hot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you have any plans for the day after tomorrow?&lt;br /&gt;Tuesday? Rehearsal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What were you doing two nights ago?&lt;br /&gt;Friday night? Sleeping over at Hayden's, watching scary movies, haha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What were you doing at midnight last night?&lt;br /&gt;Sleeping.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are you happy with the way things are going in your life?&lt;br /&gt;Actually, yeah.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can you easily tell if someone's fake?&lt;br /&gt;Mostly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is there someone you don't ever want to be out your life?&lt;br /&gt;A lot of people. But things happen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is it hard for you to get over someone?&lt;br /&gt;Yeah. And I get all whiny, but I turn back to myself after someone slaps me. Haha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did you kiss or hug anyone in the last 48 hours?&lt;br /&gt;Hugs :D&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Does someone like you right now?&lt;br /&gt;Yes :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-3648318317696938390?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/3648318317696938390/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=3648318317696938390&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/3648318317696938390'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/3648318317696938390'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/06/oi-vey-another-survey.html' title='oi vey, another survey.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-1410945599099868692</id><published>2010-06-11T18:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-11T19:02:51.638-07:00</updated><title type='text'>and it starts sometime around midnight.</title><content type='html'>Oh, hai thar. Stuff is happening in my life, but I don't wanna jinx it by saying what or who or anything(:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Day 12 - A song from a band you hate&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Sparks" by Coldplay. I'm not a big fan of Coldplay, but their Parachutes album is really pretty. Listen &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qUlEw4xAG-0"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Day 13 - A song that is a guilty pleasure&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It Happens Everytime" by Dream Street. Holy crap. Did anyone else listen to that song like all the time back in the days of childhood? I know I did. I sang it, too :) Listen &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eDNw6X-6pps"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-1410945599099868692?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/1410945599099868692/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=1410945599099868692&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/1410945599099868692'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/1410945599099868692'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/06/and-it-starts-sometime-around-midnight.html' title='and it starts sometime around midnight.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-4857117217247173339</id><published>2010-06-10T19:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-10T20:01:43.124-07:00</updated><title type='text'>what time is it? ((summertime.))</title><content type='html'>Today was the last day of school. I got an A on my English final - an impromptu speech on genre (that was my topic, at least) - and a C on my World History final. I'm not good at history, but by golly, I'm going to make history. RECAP OF THE LAST DAY (minus school).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friend's ex-boyfriend drove me to the beach. We were friends before they ever dated, so it wasn't weird or anything. I almost drowned (not really) in the water cause I'm so short. Then we kept jumping over stuff. Then me and my friend (the friend's ex-boyfriend) went to his car to get his iPod, and we ended up chilling in there cause he's a wimp and can't stand the cold, and his car was ridiculously warm. We sat in there, talking and drinking bottled water, then came back down after a while.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everyone thought we'd been sitting there, making out -___- My friend even commented on how cute the two of us were together, and how she wanted us to go out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later, I went to my brother's graduation. It took forever to get through all 450 of them. My friends were all there to support their siblings, so we kept texting each other about how bored we were. You know the graduation march song? It lasted 20 minutes. Twenty. Freaking. Minutes. I wanted to cry, I was so bored.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now my feet hurt, I'm in a dress, and I'm about to head to my friend's party. Peace!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-4857117217247173339?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/4857117217247173339/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=4857117217247173339&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/4857117217247173339'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/4857117217247173339'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/06/what-time-is-it-summertime.html' title='what time is it? ((summertime.))'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-7336227067249146059</id><published>2010-06-09T20:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-09T20:08:30.769-07:00</updated><title type='text'>you don't wanna be left behind.</title><content type='html'>I don't like this weird thing called "growing up." Nobody does. Well, nobody but those kids who drink beer all day and have sex with they're boyfriends when they're only 16. They're closer to 12 than 21, 12 being the end of childhood and 21 being the start of true adult life (drinking age). 18 is still a child-like age. How do I know? My older brother is 18, and he still gets excited about new Spongebob episodes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He graduates tomorrow. From high school, I mean. My mom's already freaking out. Part of me is really excited, cause when he leaves, my younger brother and I are turning my older brother's room into a video game lounge. I also get his closet and his car. Sweet deal, right? But with my brother gone, I'm gonna get picked on. Teased. Even if we weren't really friends, he was this protective barrier from the mean people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He made friends with the weirdest people, the ones who look like bullies. Two were in my chem class. But they never insulted me cause they knew that I was his little sister. He always protected me. Back in elementary school, this guy choked me in the lunch line, claiming he was hugging me. My older brother stepped in and told on the guy (cause that was the tough thing to do if you were about 8, I guess).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After my surgery when I was 6, my little brother was afraid to look at me. I didn't go out of my house for weeks, and I refused to look at myself in the mirror. My brother played with me and protected me from the rude people who looked at me and asked if I was disabled or something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Isaak leaves in September. Who's gonna protect me then?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-7336227067249146059?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/7336227067249146059/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=7336227067249146059&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/7336227067249146059'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/7336227067249146059'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/06/you-dont-wanna-be-left-behind.html' title='you don&apos;t wanna be left behind.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-293801921200424803</id><published>2010-06-08T19:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-09T19:59:28.586-07:00</updated><title type='text'>slurring speech.</title><content type='html'>I just got my keyboard back. Woot :D&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Day 08 - A song that you know all the words to&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Beauty School Dropout" from Grease. I'm talking about the one by Billy Porter. So epic.&lt;br /&gt;Listen &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pPSCgDWfyeo"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Day 09 - A song that you can dance to&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Forever" by Chris Brown. Forever on the dance floor...We even made a dance to it last year, in PE Dance. By we I mean me and my friends :D&lt;br /&gt;Listen &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5sMKX22BHeE"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Day 10 - A song that makes you fall asleep&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Almost Paradise" from Footloose. Yeah, I know a lot of show tunes. But I would always either sing this song backstage (erm, but a parody) or fall asleep on my friend. Haha(:&lt;br /&gt;Listen &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WicT5fPeBlM"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Day 11 - A song from your favorite band&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Nails For Breakfast, Tacks For Snacks" by Panic! At The Disco. Enough said.&lt;br /&gt;Listen &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f--RuMX_dUU"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-293801921200424803?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/293801921200424803/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=293801921200424803&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/293801921200424803'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/293801921200424803'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/06/slurring-speech.html' title='slurring speech.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-7431640281153078968</id><published>2010-06-05T23:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-05T23:16:35.651-07:00</updated><title type='text'>hello, i have no keyboard.</title><content type='html'>I'm grounded. My parentals took away my keyboard. Onscreen keyboards &lt;b&gt;suck&lt;/b&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Day 06 - A song that reminds of you of somewhere&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The song "Leave Me Alone" by The Veronicas reminds me of my friend's house cause I first listened to them there. Listen &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lSLm_Xzqj5k"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Day 07 - A song that reminds you of a certain event&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Get Back to Hogwarts" from A Very Potter Musical reminds me of Halloween. Listen &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wmwM_AKeMCk"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please note that the majority of this post was copy/pasted or typed by clicking on the onscreen keyboard. Meaning it literally took effort to type.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-7431640281153078968?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/7431640281153078968/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=7431640281153078968&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/7431640281153078968'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/7431640281153078968'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/06/hello-i-have-no-keyboard.html' title='hello, i have no keyboard.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-5268819630995242097</id><published>2010-06-03T15:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-03T16:02:40.362-07:00</updated><title type='text'>this world is gonna pull through.</title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Day 05 - A song that reminds you of someone&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel like I've written a whole blog post about this. I'm gonna go with "Pool Party" by the Aquabats. Who does it remind me of? My closest PE Dance friends: Lyn, Zoë, Monica, Skylr, and Nicole. Cause it's cool, in my pool yeah, yeah, yeah (yeahhh).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pool party, my house, 8 o'clock!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Listen &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QftcWXObrOc"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-5268819630995242097?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/5268819630995242097/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=5268819630995242097&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/5268819630995242097'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/5268819630995242097'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/06/this-world-is-gonna-pull-through.html' title='this world is gonna pull through.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-2199021083227441294</id><published>2010-06-02T19:22:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-02T19:23:35.603-07:00</updated><title type='text'>and so we march on.</title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Day 04 - A song that makes you sad&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's a lot of songs that make me sad. "Reprise" from Spirited Away makes me sad, and it's just music. Beautiful music. "Dance With My Father" by Luther Vandross gets me every time, though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Listen &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JLuP-4ZEhOE"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-2199021083227441294?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/2199021083227441294/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=2199021083227441294&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/2199021083227441294'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/2199021083227441294'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/06/and-so-we-march-on.html' title='and so we march on.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-9111712211994372377</id><published>2010-06-01T15:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-01T15:21:57.755-07:00</updated><title type='text'>why am i never awake?</title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Day 03 - A song that makes you happy&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'd definitely have to go with "Aaron's Party" by Aaron Carter. Old school "hip hop" by a little white boy (Justin Bieber = wannabe Aaron Carter) about having a house party when you're like ten? Definite win. Especially since it's from my childhood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Listen &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y0p3jn7ODuc"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and I know all the words. Yeah, I'm cool.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-9111712211994372377?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/9111712211994372377/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=9111712211994372377&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/9111712211994372377'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/9111712211994372377'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/06/why-am-i-never-awake.html' title='why am i never awake?'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-1571078672980254355</id><published>2010-05-31T18:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-31T21:17:02.606-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Day 02 - Your least favorite song</title><content type='html'>Listen To Your Heart by some chick who wrote/sang a stupid song.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hello, my name is Tessa. My two "best friends" in the whole world no longer talk to me, my two "best friends" where I live ditched me and no longer include me, and my mom just called me fat. Oh, and I'm apparently a "fake" loser, an attention whore, and a drama queen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fuck you, world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;EDIT: My mom just spent 20 minutes trying to make me eat dinner. Then, after I refused, she called me stupid and said I'd probably just sit in my room and eat 5 bags of pretzels by myself or something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;EDITx2: My mom bribed me into eating. I was very hungry.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-1571078672980254355?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/1571078672980254355/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=1571078672980254355&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/1571078672980254355'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/1571078672980254355'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/05/day-02-your-least-favorite-song.html' title='Day 02 - Your least favorite song'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-3706652521833686910</id><published>2010-05-30T15:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-30T15:47:51.951-07:00</updated><title type='text'>hullo.</title><content type='html'>I wish I were British. Because then I would be awesome by default. Plus, I'd get a snazzy accent, rather than a shitty American accent where everything sounds stupid. Also, people would just stereotype me by saying I drink tea all the time, not by saying I'm required to be fat as an American citizen. And that I apparently can't tell accents apart, which I actually can, kthx.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am bored. I feel like making some sort of video. School ends soon. Hooray! Summer school, though. Plus &lt;i&gt;Grease&lt;/i&gt;. Urghhh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comment with a question you're dying to ask me, such as, "Which Youtube guy would you go out with in a heartbeat?" To which the answer is Charlie McDonnell AKA charlieissocoollike. Sorry to fangirl you too, Charlie. Anyway, ask a question. Or dare me to do something. I feel like doing something, anyway...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-3706652521833686910?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/3706652521833686910/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=3706652521833686910&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/3706652521833686910'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/3706652521833686910'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/05/hullo.html' title='hullo.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-786122931771810352</id><published>2010-05-30T13:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-30T13:57:14.500-07:00</updated><title type='text'>thirty days of music.</title><content type='html'>I'm bored, so I feel like doing the "30 days of music meme." It's good fun. Plus, I've got relatively nothing to do. How vundarful. xD&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Day 01 - Your favorite song&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My favorite song is Riot Radio by the Dead 60s. It's kinda weirdly awesome, and has this really cool sound and I just love it. It's on the Nick &amp; Norah's Infinite Playlist soundtrack, if you wanna listen to it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Listen &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mJfCJVH0jOM"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-786122931771810352?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/786122931771810352/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=786122931771810352&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/786122931771810352'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/786122931771810352'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/05/thirty-days-of-music.html' title='thirty days of music.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-3407178048267913821</id><published>2010-05-28T22:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-28T22:32:53.015-07:00</updated><title type='text'>nothing to do on a friday night (original song)</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-492ebcd89abbfe65" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v4.nonxt4.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D492ebcd89abbfe65%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1329843549%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D5951692971B4040FCA6A34B461FF7BF366A0CA9B.39D76766048FB5CA9832C33872AB51BCE4CB4023%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D492ebcd89abbfe65%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DCZDt_2thcJkX9MS0u-1XTsGLQP0&amp;amp;autoplay=0&amp;amp;ps=blogger"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v4.nonxt4.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D492ebcd89abbfe65%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1329843549%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D5951692971B4040FCA6A34B461FF7BF366A0CA9B.39D76766048FB5CA9832C33872AB51BCE4CB4023%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D492ebcd89abbfe65%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DCZDt_2thcJkX9MS0u-1XTsGLQP0&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please do not call this video your own or upload a video of yourself playing this song without giving me credit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Video sucks: I'm not awake, my guitar needs new strings, and I keep forgetting what I'm playing. My brother walked in while I was editing, and I could tell from the look on his face that he was thinking, "Wtf?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LYRICS:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am sitting at home on a Friday night&lt;br /&gt;There's nobody to talk to except the loners on Facebook chat&lt;br /&gt;Scratch that; they're all my friends&lt;br /&gt;But none of them can drive and I really wanna get out of this house.&lt;br /&gt;Cause there's somewhere I wanna be.&lt;br /&gt;Cause everyone's got a life but me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I'm so sick of sitting around with nothing to do&lt;br /&gt;Cause everyone's at a party but me&lt;br /&gt;And while I could set my room on fire, I should probably not&lt;br /&gt;Cause then my mom would probably get mad at me.&lt;br /&gt;And even though I'm never grounded, it would just make things worse&lt;br /&gt;Because then everybody else would see&lt;br /&gt;I'm not at the party (x3)&lt;br /&gt;I'm home alone&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My brother's watching TV in the family room&lt;br /&gt;I think he's watching Role Models; I recorded that an hour ago&lt;br /&gt;Or maybe he's just talking to our dog&lt;br /&gt;He does that a lot. I notice it way too frequently for it to be rational.&lt;br /&gt;But there's voices in the background.&lt;br /&gt;My dog cannot speak English.&lt;br /&gt;Or Spanish for that matter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I'm so sick of sitting around with nothing to do&lt;br /&gt;Cause everyone's at a party but me&lt;br /&gt;And while I could set my room on fire, I should probably not&lt;br /&gt;Cause then my mom would probably get mad at me.&lt;br /&gt;And even though I'm never grounded, it would just make things worse&lt;br /&gt;Because then everybody else would see&lt;br /&gt;I'm not at the party (x3)&lt;br /&gt;I'm home alone&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Someone IMed me…&lt;br /&gt;I'm doing a survey…&lt;br /&gt;I'm blogging about llamas…&lt;br /&gt;I really have no life…really.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I'm so sick of sitting around with nothing to do&lt;br /&gt;Cause everyone's at a party but me&lt;br /&gt;And while I could set my room on fire, I should probably not&lt;br /&gt;Cause then my mom would probably get mad at me.&lt;br /&gt;And even though I'm never grounded, it would just make things worse&lt;br /&gt;Because then everybody else would see&lt;br /&gt;I'm not at the party (x3)&lt;br /&gt;I'm home alone&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-3407178048267913821?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/3407178048267913821/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=3407178048267913821&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/3407178048267913821'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/3407178048267913821'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/05/nothing-to-do-on-friday-night-original.html' title='nothing to do on a friday night (original song)'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-7699638073698809420</id><published>2010-05-28T16:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-28T17:12:07.680-07:00</updated><title type='text'>thus, the secret jar explodes.</title><content type='html'>&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;I'm sixteen, but I have neither a license nor a permit yet. I also have the maturity level of a thirteen-year-old boy.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;My room is like a theater, sorta. I lip sync songs in front of my bathroom mirror and my closet mirror. I also dance or sing at my computer.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I'm too lazy to get anything done. But I've got big dreams, and a ton of lists of things that I need to accomplish.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I want to start a diary. A really diary. One that I'll write in every day, and that I can put actual names into and that I won't publish on teh intarwebs.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I feel self-conscious for the most ridiculous things. Like, if I'm listening to a song on iTunes and it's my status for AIM, I'll change it if it's a love song or something. I stick to neutrals.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;One of my favorite styles of music is 90s pop. That means Backstreet Boys, N'SYNC, Briteny Spears, A*Teens, etc. It's amazingly dorky, but it reminds me so much of my childhood, which is a good thing. I'm serious.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I hate romantic comedies and romance movies. I'm a sucker for chick-lit and cheesy novels. I think love is fake, but romance and cheesiness is adorable.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I can't paint my own nails. Or someone else's, for that matter. I want my fingers to be lime green and my toes to be black :)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I am always chewing gum or eating something.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Organization and I don't agree very often.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I prefer acoustic covers to actual songs. Or acoustic to electric. Although I love playing my electric guitar. But if I had to choose, I'd want a guy to play acoustic guitar rather than electric.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;A girl in my world history class today told me that she thinks Scottish accents are gross. I disagree. If a guy had a Scottish or Irish accent and he talked to me, I think I'd be in love.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I think this is the most amazing thing ever right now: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j16phD1FFoo.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Calm music makes me wake up, and really loud, screamo music makes me fall asleep.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I can't nap in comfortable places (like my bed), but if I'm at my desk in chemistry, I'll fall asleep really quickly. I took an hour long nap yesterday.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;When I have a crush I know I shouldn't have, I try to like other people. It doesn't work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-7699638073698809420?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/7699638073698809420/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=7699638073698809420&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/7699638073698809420'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/7699638073698809420'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/05/thus-secret-jar-explodes.html' title='thus, the secret jar explodes.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-3243497697408456891</id><published>2010-05-25T20:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-25T20:53:58.927-07:00</updated><title type='text'>wants, needs, and fears.</title><content type='html'>&lt;font size=5&gt;&lt;b&gt;wants;;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/font&gt;&lt;br /&gt;♥ a tray of brownies,&lt;br /&gt;♥ some new books to read,&lt;br /&gt;♥ a less psycho director for my show,&lt;br /&gt;♥ friends who don't invite you to something, blow you off, then plan the same exact thing with someone else,&lt;br /&gt;♥ a good grade in algebra 2,&lt;br /&gt;♥ no zero period ever again,&lt;br /&gt;♥ a boyfriend (maybe),&lt;br /&gt;♥ or maybe just for him to notice me as something more than a friend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;font size=3&gt;&lt;u&gt;needs;;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/font&gt;&lt;br /&gt;☠ a hug,&lt;br /&gt;☠ a kiss,&lt;br /&gt;☠ attention for once,&lt;br /&gt;☠ straight a's,&lt;br /&gt;☠ to change my next year's schedule so i'm in physics b ap,&lt;br /&gt;☠ food and water,&lt;br /&gt;☠ some time alone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;font size=1&gt;&lt;i&gt;fears;;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/font&gt;&lt;br /&gt;✈ loneliness,&lt;br /&gt;✈ crowds of people,&lt;br /&gt;✈ starving,&lt;br /&gt;✈ getting fat,&lt;br /&gt;✈ knowledge,&lt;br /&gt;✈ or lack thereof,&lt;br /&gt;✈ losing the friends i have now,&lt;br /&gt;✈ keeping the friends i have now, if they act like this all the time,&lt;br /&gt;✈ drifting from my three best friends in the entire world since first grade.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-3243497697408456891?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/3243497697408456891/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=3243497697408456891&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/3243497697408456891'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/3243497697408456891'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/05/wants-needs-and-fears.html' title='wants, needs, and fears.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-5794939325235965443</id><published>2010-05-22T17:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-22T17:54:09.691-07:00</updated><title type='text'>a letter to my brother.</title><content type='html'>Dear Isaak,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was watching &lt;i&gt;My Sister's Keeper&lt;/i&gt; earlier. I know, strange movie choice for me. Anyway, the main character's family was kinda effed up in a way that it was similar to ours, but not completely. The oldest son is Jesse - the neglected one. Next is Kate - the one with cancer. Lastly is Anna - the one whose body parts are used to save Kate. You can probably tell who you and I would be, huh?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, the movie keeps displaying flashbacks of times when it was just Jesse, Kate, and their parents. When they realize Kate is sick, the parents pay attention to Kate and begin to neglect Jesse, simply because her life is at stake and he's the child that'll live a longer, healthier life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember when we were little, and mom and dad found out I had hypertelorism? Did they neglect you? The majority of my childhood is made up of getting shots and going to the hospital and prepping for surgery and having surgery and recovering from surgery. And I'm still gonna have more surgeries in years to come, just because I'm that messed up. I'm a medical basket case, and you're completely normal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm sorry for acting like an attention whore. Every time you did something great - getting the lead in the school play - or were written about in the newspaper, I felt like it was something I had to one up. Like I was neglected and you were the star. All this time, I never realized that I'd taken up the majority of summer vacations having surgery.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember how mom and dad would never yell at me or hurt me. Remember when Beni accidentally threw a wiffle ball at my face, and mom carried me to my remember to dress my "wounds" and you and Beni were both grounded? I remember. It wasn't your fault. It's because mom and dad have some stupid idea that I'm fragile, and that I can't take more than a poke.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sorry for letting them treat you like you weren't there. I know how you feel now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your sister,&lt;br /&gt;Tessa&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-5794939325235965443?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/5794939325235965443/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=5794939325235965443&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/5794939325235965443'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/5794939325235965443'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/05/letter-to-my-brother.html' title='a letter to my brother.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-3288384148638916321</id><published>2010-05-17T18:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-17T19:00:48.539-07:00</updated><title type='text'>three cheers for the invisible girl.</title><content type='html'>I feel like everyone has forgotten that I exist. During lunch today, most of my friends ignored me. My best friend went to Six Flags without me. The kids I grew up with - my best friends since kindergarten, practically - don't call or text me anymore. They don't send me birthday wishes, ask me about crushes, or offer to help me with my homework anymore. Sure, they live in an entirely different city, but all through middle school, they made a point to three-way-call me once or twice a week, and then see a movie with me over the weekend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mom forgot to pick me up from voice lessons today. She came an hour later than my voice lessons normally ended. The whole time, I sat in the rain, thinking about the last few times she forgot me. Somehow, I remembered every single time. I spent a whole hour throwing rocks at plants, growing angrier or sadder with each throw.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When my mom picked me up, she automatically assumed my silence meant that I was hungry, and she turned to me, saying, "Don't worry. I made pork chops."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't want your pork chops.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just want everyone to remember that I'm still here.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-3288384148638916321?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/3288384148638916321/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=3288384148638916321&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/3288384148638916321'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/3288384148638916321'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/05/three-cheers-for-invisible-girl.html' title='three cheers for the invisible girl.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-7689692071893077311</id><published>2010-05-03T15:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-03T15:18:18.096-07:00</updated><title type='text'>try to mold me. try. see what happens.</title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Current mood:&lt;/b&gt; royally pissed off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Current song:&lt;/b&gt; Sparks - Coldplay (which contradicts my mood, but the song's amazing anyway and you should all listen to it).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know what I hate? Those people who try to bend you into something so much that you literally feel like breaking. Like the you inside of you is stamped out and replaced with some hybrid human. Like you're just a puppet with no control of your movements whatsoever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I get it, okay? I get that you want to have your perfect show. I get that you want us all to be perfect dancers. But you can't just take every single piece of my week and cram it into your fucking musical theater prep classes. I love theater, I really do. But I love rock music and friends and horror movies and sodas and watching the stars from on top of a roof. It's not as if my week isn't full enough already: voice lessons on Monday, rehearsal on Tuesday and Wednesday, cramming all homework and studying on Thursday, band practice on Friday, rehearsal on Sunday. Saturday was my sleep day, and Friday was my one day where I could forget about lines and blocking and vocals and just think about my electric guitar and pick.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now you force me to join some dumbass dance class just so that I can be like all the rest of your dancers. Newsflash, lady: I never signed up to be a dancer. I don't want to dance. It's bad enough already having to sing a duet with a boy whose voice is higher than my own. I never planned to dance. I just want to act and sing. I want a good show, but I also want a life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So stop stealing every second of it and let me live.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-7689692071893077311?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/7689692071893077311/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=7689692071893077311&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/7689692071893077311'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/7689692071893077311'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/05/try-to-mold-me-try-see-what-happens.html' title='try to mold me. try. see what happens.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-4554685389509676058</id><published>2010-05-01T21:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-01T21:59:32.773-07:00</updated><title type='text'>i need a little less pressure and a little more time.</title><content type='html'>All week long I've been freaking out (even if Footloose was already over). We had STAR testing this week, along with my best friend's birthday being tomorrow. I threw her a surprise party (today) that I thought was gonna suck but ended up being freaking amazing. I mean, at first I was freaking out cause she already found out, and she blamed me for it, and then my other friend had the invite list but she wouldn't show it to me until like Thursday, and then she didn't send out invites til yesterday (Friday).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then no one responded until today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The girl's mom made sandwiches - enough for 40 people - but we still managed to eat most of them. That's cause we had an epic water gun fight at the park, and when we all got hungry we ate like 5 each. The game lasted like forever, until we got tired and sat on the swings. Then, we moved to a patch of grass and had a dare contest, then played 8-Headed Alien and toilet tag and a ton of other stuff.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then we went to the birthday girl's house and watched Monty Python and the Holy Grail. After that, we went to our high school and climbed on the roofs, then climbed down when we thought we were gonna get caught. Then we played team tag until she had to go home to get her cell phone. Then, when we got back, we just kinda talked until 9:30. I got home about 18 minutes ago.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This turned out to be the most successful party I've ever thrown, even if I did get soaked by an idiot who poured 5 bottles of water down the back of my shirt.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-4554685389509676058?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/4554685389509676058/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=4554685389509676058&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/4554685389509676058'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/4554685389509676058'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/05/i-need-little-less-pressure-and-little.html' title='i need a little less pressure and a little more time.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-8400845635043525796</id><published>2010-04-28T07:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-28T07:49:51.837-07:00</updated><title type='text'>we are your doctors, trust us. TRUST US.</title><content type='html'>You know what I hate? Those kids who have that unnecessary fear of the needles. They're scared cause needles are pointy. Cause they're sharp. Cause they're afraid that one tiny pinch in their arm will kill them. And the only reason they have this fear is because they think that this &lt;b&gt;Poke of Doom&lt;/b&gt; or whatever is the equivalent of a stab wound, when it really isn't.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I mean, I'm afraid of needles, but I have a reason. For the first six years of my life, I freaking lived in the hospital. I knew the doctors and nurses. I knew where to find the comfier chairs while waiting around. I got away with not wearing a gown. But I also had to get a needle in the arm every day, whether it was for blood tests or whatever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was only &lt;i&gt;six&lt;/i&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So for all those six&lt;i&gt;teen&lt;/i&gt;-year-olds who just don't want a needle in the arm cause they have irrational fears of needles, fuck you. I've had more needles in the arm, and I'm still scared.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You shouldn't be.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-8400845635043525796?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/8400845635043525796/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=8400845635043525796&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/8400845635043525796'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/8400845635043525796'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/04/we-are-your-doctors-trust-us-trust-us.html' title='we are your doctors, trust us. TRUST US.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-2950410811765417866</id><published>2010-04-26T16:18:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-26T16:26:12.503-07:00</updated><title type='text'>how we gonna pay last year's rent?</title><content type='html'>I'm finally only down to one show: Grease. Footloose ended as of yesterday (well, that was strike, but still), and then I might do crew for Guys &amp; Dolls over the summer, and then possibly help out with the show my friend's directing. For Footloose I did costumes, although I'm good with props and sets too :) I had to be assistant stage manager for a day cause my friend couldn't be there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;When they act tough, you call their bluff.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Uhh, yeah, I'm listening to Rent. And trying to think about how many shows I'm planning on doing this year (AKA a lot). Cause after Grease, I might leave the theater group I'm in; they're planning on doing a tap show, meaning migraine city: population me. The school play next year is gonna be a comedy (The Iliad, the Odyssey, and All of Greek Mythology in 99 Minutes Or Less by Jay Hopkins and John Hunter). I'm either auditioning or doing crew.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love my Footloose friends. Especially Ninja and Sparkles, cause Sparkles is graduating and even though Ninja'll still go to school with me, he's probably not gonna say hi ): I'll say hi to him, though (both were part of the cast). I hang with my crew friends erreday. Shyeah.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-2950410811765417866?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/2950410811765417866/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=2950410811765417866&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/2950410811765417866'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/2950410811765417866'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/04/how-we-gonna-pay-last-years-rent.html' title='how we gonna pay last year&apos;s rent?'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-7623300344340061622</id><published>2010-04-23T15:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-24T11:13:35.843-07:00</updated><title type='text'>no, this is not a real blog. just deal with it.</title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Tell me the truth, what made you start liking the person you like right now?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Uhmmm. I don't know.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Your ex comes up to you and says "i'm sorry", what do you say?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Uh, okay. Bye.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;When was the last time you gave someone the finger?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lol. Uhh, not since Wednesday. I've been good :D&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Did you talk to someone until you fell asleep last night?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah. Well, first I made pancakes, and THEN I fell asleep.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;When was the last time you completely broke down?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I was gonna edit the Spanish video project and the videos all got deleted and I freaked out.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Do you swear often?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah. Haha.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Would you go out in public looking the way you do?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No thank you.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Are you listening to any music?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No, I'm simply listening to birds chirping.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Your hair long enough to put in a ponytail?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shyeah.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;What are you doing tomorrow?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Strike.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Do you like being called babe/baby?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not really. It creeps me out.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Has anyone ever sang or played music for you personally?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Haha, yes.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Are you trying to avoid liking somebody at the moment?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just a little bit.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Did you kiss anyone in August?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah. On the cheek though, lol.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Have you done something bad today?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just kinda woke up.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;How's your hair right now?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dreadful.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Have you ever hooked up with someone just to make someone jealous?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hahahaa. No.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Would you consider yourself to be spoiled?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Technically, but I don't act like a brat. I say thank you and sometimes don't want all that much stuff.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Does it bother you when people try to make you jealous?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah. It's annoying.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Will this weekend be a good one?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;End of Footloose D: Cast party tonight!&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Do you want to start over with anyone?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe a bit :)&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Have you ever been rude to someone without even realizing it?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah. I felt bad after. xD&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;What annoys you?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I get blamed for cast members losing their costumes.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Do you have any jewelry on?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Necklace.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Hair color?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Blackish brown.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;If you could go back in time and change something, would you?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Where is the one boy/girl you want to see the most right now?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not sure. Home.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Do you know any mechanical stuff about cars?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know how to hot wire one :D&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Do you hate the last guy/girl you were talking to?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NO WAY. WE IS TIGHT BRAHH.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Last movie you watched?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I Love You, Man.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;One thing you're looking forward to?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last Footloose show! Cast party! Gift exchange!&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Last night you felt?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hyper.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Are you taller than 5'5"?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sadly, no.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Did you speak to your father today?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nope. He's at work.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Do you find the opposite sex confusing?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Extremely, but not at the same time.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;How has this week been?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hectic.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;What are you listening to?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Darren Criss singing I'll Make A Man Out Of You from Mulan. Oh my god, godly.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Do you wish someone was with you right now?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Is someone on your mind right now?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two someones. Shhh.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Do you believe in love?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not really.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Do you want someone you can't have?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, a celebrity.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Do you think your last ex deserves to die?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nahhh, he's alright I suppose.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;When is the last time you cried?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dunno.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Is your last ex still someone you care about?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Meh.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Have you ever kissed someone with the letter P?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Actually, no.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Next time you will kiss someone on the lips?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No idea.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Are there any bruises on your body?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nope. Wait. Yes. Haha.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Do you miss your past?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A ton of it. But I like the future.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Would you ever date someone who was gorgeous but they had a conceited attitude?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No way, man.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Have you ever cried from being so mad?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;What did your last text message say?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yay!"&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Are you someone's best friend?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Many someones :D&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Have you told anybody you loved them today and meant it?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No sir.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Do you toss and turn for hours at night or fall right to sleep?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Toss and turn for hours.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Would you kiss the last person who texted you, on the lips?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LOL NO.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Camping with a ton of friends or hotel with a few friends?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Camping with a ton of friends!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Has anyone told you they don't ever want to lose you?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah and they did.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;What's usually colder, your hands or your feet?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Feet.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Do you want to get married?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When it happens.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Who was the last person to make you laugh the hardest?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lyn. "SHIT THEY'RE COMING!"&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;How many days until your next birthday?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;257 days.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Do you like hugs?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah. No one believes me though.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Do you want to tell someone how you feel?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not sure.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Ever gave a really long apology?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah. It was epically long.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Are you texting anyone right now?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nope.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Are you any good at math?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm a human calculator.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Have you ever made someone so mad that they broke something?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mom.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;What color is your toothbrush?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Orange.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Do you think parents are too hard on kids these days?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Extremely.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Honestly, what is the one thing you need more than ANYTHING right now?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A hug.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Do you like to go out in the rain?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All the time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-7623300344340061622?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/7623300344340061622/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=7623300344340061622&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/7623300344340061622'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/7623300344340061622'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/04/no-this-is-not-real-blog-just-deal-with.html' title='no, this is not a real blog. just deal with it.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-8250174138172075495</id><published>2010-04-19T20:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-19T21:05:40.169-07:00</updated><title type='text'>cool pool party, lalalala.</title><content type='html'>Hey, does anyone remember BEOWULF/Nate? You know, my guy friend who helped me write hilarious blogs and advice to those who need it? He's got a blog now (FINALLY. right?). Here's the &lt;a href="http://www.theaquabats.com/"&gt;link&lt;/a&gt; if you wanna see &lt;a href="http://fromthedeskofnate.blogspot.com/"&gt;it&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Click &lt;i&gt;it&lt;/i&gt; above for the link. Click &lt;i&gt;link&lt;/i&gt; for something else?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-8250174138172075495?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/8250174138172075495/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=8250174138172075495&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/8250174138172075495'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/8250174138172075495'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/04/cool-pool-party-lalalala.html' title='cool pool party, lalalala.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-2397024693902155910</id><published>2010-04-08T20:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-08T20:59:08.144-07:00</updated><title type='text'>teenage wastelandddd.</title><content type='html'>Today I sat on my roof holding up a sign that said "Save the Narwhals." I was in my pajamas. Only two people looked (mostly cause I live on a main street so everyone focuses on driving). One of those two people was my mom (and another was this &lt;s&gt;bitchy&lt;/s&gt; mean girl in my grade). She started yelling at me to get down cause she thought I was going to kill myself. Silly mother. I just enjoy the sunshine and confusing people, is all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm going to Universal Studios, so my mom is renewing our family's bout of annual passes and buying those loverly all-you-can-eat passes that I regularly fantasize about. (SHUT UP I AM ONLY 100 LB AND 5'2" SO I'M ACTUALLY UNDERWEIGHT. I JUST EAT A LOT. GOD. &lt;-- someone posted on my formspring that I am a fat whore so I'm feeling delicate with such matters at the moment.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friend Colleen and I went to Build-a-Bear yesterday (cause we're both on Spring Break and deliriously bored - we also baked cookies at 2 AM and played espionage at an empty mall) and got a teddy bear that we named Ryan Ross. But there were no RyRoss-esque clothing (but they did have Brendon Urie clothes!). She prefers Ryan and I prefer Brendon but Ryan left P!ATD so we felt like we needed to fill that depressing gap of no Ryan. But we love Brendon (and Spencer! And Jon!) very much too.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-2397024693902155910?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/2397024693902155910/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=2397024693902155910&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/2397024693902155910'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/2397024693902155910'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/04/teenage-wastelandddd.html' title='teenage wastelandddd.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-1226482110370508674</id><published>2010-04-07T22:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-07T22:08:45.380-07:00</updated><title type='text'>there's probably more truth to it than you think.</title><content type='html'>I've always liked Spring Break.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sure, bad things happen and you might not see your friends at all during the time, but good things happen too. You get closer to people you hated at the beginning of the school year. You make new memories to replace the ones you wish would disappear forever. You make new friends with the most random and ridiculous of people. And you grow as a person, letting go of the shit that's clogged up your life and letting go of the hold on yourself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes you meet people who you think will change your life. They don't change anything. They just allow you to finally express the emotions and parts of yourself you were too afraid to let out in the first place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All spring breaks have one thing in common: you get a chance to relax, catch up on TV shows, and ignore your homework for a week. And all I want to do now is go to Universal Studios with my friends and family (and finish up all that homework I have due Monday...)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-1226482110370508674?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/1226482110370508674/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=1226482110370508674&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/1226482110370508674'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/1226482110370508674'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/04/theres-probably-more-truth-to-it-than.html' title='there&apos;s probably more truth to it than you think.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-5807278502937670243</id><published>2010-04-05T10:36:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-05T10:36:56.713-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Today, I witnessed a little girl conquering her fears. Yesterday, a bunch of ducks were swarming her villa, and she kept screaming at them to go away. Today, she walked up to the ducks without any fear.&lt;p&gt;The little girl is my hero.&lt;p&gt;This message has been sent using the picture and Video service from Verizon Wireless!&lt;p&gt;To learn how you can snap pictures and capture videos with your wireless phone visit &lt;a href="http://www.verizonwireless.com/picture"&gt;www.verizonwireless.com/picture&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;p&gt;Note: To play video messages sent to email, Quicktime@ 6.5 or higher is required.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-5807278502937670243?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/5807278502937670243/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=5807278502937670243&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/5807278502937670243'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/5807278502937670243'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/04/today-i-witnessed-little-girl.html' title=''/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-289837559855496390</id><published>2010-04-03T23:28:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-03T23:28:44.320-07:00</updated><title type='text'>i eated ice cream.</title><content type='html'>No, this is not one of those drunk blogs that everybody wishes to stumble upon. This is one of those &amp;quot;I&amp;#39;m sleepy but can&amp;#39;t fall asleep&amp;quot; blogs (sorry if you expected otherwise). I&amp;#39;m trapped in a hotel room with my family and my friend&amp;#39;s family, and everyone wants to sleep but my younger brother and friend Mat are playing Super Smash Bros Melee and keeping us up. Yeah.&lt;p&gt;I SURVIVED MY SAD DAY! Well, mostly. I was stuck in a car for the most part, cause we drove to Palm Desert and it took FOREVER cause of traffic and stuff. And I had a headache and I was starving. And then waaaaaaaay later, like 10 PM lol, my dad took me to Ben &amp;amp; Jerry&amp;#39;s and got me Phish Food ice cream.&lt;p&gt;So I&amp;#39;m quite content right now. And I will sleep now. Yeey.&lt;p&gt;This message was sent using the Picture and Video Messaging service from Verizon Wireless!&lt;p&gt;To learn how you can snap pictures and capture videos with your wireless phone visit &lt;a href="http://www.verizonwireless.com/picture"&gt;www.verizonwireless.com/picture&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;p&gt;Note: To play video messages sent to email, QuickTime� 6.5 or higher is required.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-289837559855496390?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/289837559855496390/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=289837559855496390&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/289837559855496390'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/289837559855496390'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/04/i-eated-ice-cream.html' title='i eated ice cream.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-7992254940309290430</id><published>2010-04-03T13:35:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-03T14:15:53.711-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="mobile-photo"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S7ewCTwDB_I/AAAAAAAAAI4/9cmoHHbEO1w/s1600/0719091941_01-753712.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S7ewCTwDB_I/AAAAAAAAAI4/9cmoHHbEO1w/s320/0719091941_01-753712.jpg"  border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456023027290671090" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&amp;quot;I&amp;#39;ve still got a piece of you under my skin. It&amp;#39;s always there no matter where I&amp;#39;ve been.&amp;quot; - Won&amp;#39;t Even Start, David Choi&lt;p&gt;This message was sent using the Picture and Video Messaging service from Verizon Wireless!&lt;p&gt;To learn how you can snap pictures and capture videos with your wireless phone visit &lt;a href="http://www.verizonwireless.com/picture"&gt;www.verizonwireless.com/picture&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;p&gt;Note: To play video messages sent to email, QuickTime� 6.5 or higher is required.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-7992254940309290430?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/7992254940309290430/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=7992254940309290430&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/7992254940309290430'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/7992254940309290430'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/04/still-got-piece-of-you-under-my-skin_03.html' title=''/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S7ewCTwDB_I/AAAAAAAAAI4/9cmoHHbEO1w/s72-c/0719091941_01-753712.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-3060368301366820405</id><published>2010-04-03T00:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-03T00:24:40.123-07:00</updated><title type='text'>april third, twenty-ten.</title><content type='html'>One year ago today, I met a boy who was crazy, sarcastic, naive, arrogant, carefree, and moronic. And I liked him, because he made me realize that I should run my own life, and that I shouldn't do something just cause my mom and dad said I should. And for a while, I was happy. Happier than I'd ever been.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But then the boy, this very same boy, decided to mess with my head. He knew that I was caught in his trap, and he decided to manipulate me so that I'd blame myself for the things he did wrong. I started relying on the boy for strength, but he wasn't there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He never was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He made me realize that I'm in charge of myself. I create my own happiness. And if anyone hurts me, I have a ton of friends to back me up. I shouldn't think into things too much, because when I do, a ton of things - both good and bad - come out of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happiness deadline: 365 days.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-3060368301366820405?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/3060368301366820405/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=3060368301366820405&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/3060368301366820405'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/3060368301366820405'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/04/april-third-twenty-ten.html' title='april third, twenty-ten.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-9025578444216770845</id><published>2010-04-02T21:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-02T21:10:14.695-07:00</updated><title type='text'>jump and stop.</title><content type='html'>Today's the first day of Spring Break. Tomorrow is my happiness deadline. Next week my parents will get my grades sent home. They're not too pretty, but I can bring them up. But it's not my grades that I'm really worried about. (I mean it - it's easy stuff, bringing up grades.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have one day left to be perfectly happy. Or content. Or just over him. And it's not gonna happen, cause everything's happening in the same order as last time:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1) My friends are all leaving for the week.&lt;br /&gt;2) The only friends left are the ones I don't converse with much.&lt;br /&gt;3) I'm going on vacation with my best friend Mat and his family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Except this time I'm not gonna talk to anyone new. I'm gonna lounge by the pool, reading a book and listening to my iPod. I'm gonna be antisocial. I'm not gonna flirt. I'm gonna play guitar and study and not have the time of my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because if I have the time of my life, I'll regret it a year from now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Funny how one tiny thing can change a person.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tomorrow's the day that all hell breaks loose. Wear a helmet.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-9025578444216770845?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/9025578444216770845/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=9025578444216770845&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/9025578444216770845'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/9025578444216770845'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/04/jump-and-stop.html' title='jump and stop.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-771727176830489997</id><published>2010-04-01T07:39:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-01T07:43:06.571-07:00</updated><title type='text'>groundedgroundedgroundedgroundedgrounded.</title><content type='html'>If you can't tell from the title, I'm grounded. April Fools! Not. I'm like actually grounded. That would be why I'm writing this on a school computer at 7 AM. Yeahhh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Uhh I got the part of Jan in Grease? Wudebber. There's other shows, right? Although this one guy quit cause he didn't get the lead -___- He wasn't fit for the lead either, so I was like, "Wtf?" Yeah. My brother and my best guy friend got the double casting for Danny, though. They're quite good, so I'm not like going crazy over it or anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want to go to a concert...D:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I has a bad Algebra 2 grade. I be making it up. Yo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why is Skylr's blog all teenage angst con el humor-o, Jackie's blog all genius child type, and my blog dumbshit rambling? I need a new hobby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happiness Deadline: 2 days.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*gulp*&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-771727176830489997?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/771727176830489997/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=771727176830489997&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/771727176830489997'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/771727176830489997'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/04/groundedgroundedgroundedgroundedgrounde.html' title='groundedgroundedgroundedgroundedgrounded.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-3225464616472389300</id><published>2010-03-26T14:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-26T14:24:06.573-07:00</updated><title type='text'>gee, my nose is so stuffy.</title><content type='html'>I missed school today. Reason? I can't breathe through my nose (I'm sick). I also can barely talk. It sucks. Especially since I felt like this/sounded funny at both my audition and my callback, guaranteeing me a bad part in the show ):&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, does anyone watch Selling New York on HGTV? The Kleiers are my cousins, and I watched one of the episodes today. It's odd seeing family on TV...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-3225464616472389300?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/3225464616472389300/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=3225464616472389300&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/3225464616472389300'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/3225464616472389300'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/03/gee-my-nose-is-so-stuffy.html' title='gee, my nose is so stuffy.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-6594162113041034092</id><published>2010-03-23T20:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-23T20:46:09.961-07:00</updated><title type='text'>meep.</title><content type='html'>I have an audition tomorrow. For Sandy. In Grease. (Also a smaller part called Cindy who sings a song, but yeah). I want to curl up in a ball and never come back.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-6594162113041034092?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/6594162113041034092/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=6594162113041034092&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/6594162113041034092'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/6594162113041034092'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/03/meep.html' title='meep.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-6589655734331766070</id><published>2010-03-23T16:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-23T17:06:28.202-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Is it bright where you are, and have the people changed?</title><content type='html'>Currently listening to: "The Beginning Is the End Is the Beginning" by Smashing Pumpkins - it's kinda dark and creepy, but it's awesome.&lt;br /&gt;Currently chewing: Forever Fruit Stride gum. No more 5 gum for me...&lt;br /&gt;Currently obsessing over: Childhood. Hold on to it, kiddos!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tomorrow is March 24th. It's a Wednesday. It's also the day that Isaak, my older brother, turns 18. Frightening to think about it, right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He's pretty much exactly like me. Theater geek, musician (although he plays only the piano and sings), Harry Potter-obsesser, dark clothing-wearer, writer, complete dork, etc. And he's gonna be a legal adult as of tomorrow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I'm more freaked out about this than my parents are. He already chose the college he wants to go to, he can drive (but he won't have his license for a full year until this summer, which is when I'll probably get mine cause I'm lazy xD), and he still calls our mom &lt;i&gt;mommy&lt;/i&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't think I'm ready to grow up just yet, and neither is he.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-6589655734331766070?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/6589655734331766070/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=6589655734331766070&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/6589655734331766070'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/6589655734331766070'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/03/is-it-bright-where-you-are-and-have.html' title='Is it bright where you are, and have the people changed?'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-3085485997837783493</id><published>2010-03-18T17:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-18T17:11:32.782-07:00</updated><title type='text'>i sneeze loudly.</title><content type='html'>I need to make mix CDs for like five million people. Thankfully they all appreciate the same type of music, or I'd shoot myself. Or something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel like this is my diary, and I spend days thinking of what to write, but if I actually post something, it means something's been bugging me and I needed to vent. Because of &lt;i&gt;course&lt;/i&gt; I don't vent to people. I don't trust them enough. Which makes no sense cause then I vent on teh intarwebs, where any untrustworthy fellow can read this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shut up, rational Tessa.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's a box of crayons on my desk, and I feel like coloring. Although I should probably buy supplies for my spanish project/test out the recipe/practice "Kid" by The Pretenders for band practice/do homework (although that's in 19 minutes, cause I made a schedule:D).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-3085485997837783493?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/3085485997837783493/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=3085485997837783493&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/3085485997837783493'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/3085485997837783493'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/03/i-sneeze-loudly.html' title='i sneeze loudly.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-7893162510447560335</id><published>2010-03-17T22:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-17T22:16:12.342-07:00</updated><title type='text'>60 minutes x 24 hours x 365 days = 525,600 minutes.</title><content type='html'>I used to think the people who jump around on crushes every other day were crazy, cause they'd never end up in a realistic relationship. Then I realized I was crazy for thinking that I had an attention span that would let me crush on the same guy for over a week. Instead, I've chosen to switch off on the same guys every so often, cause then I get excited every so often :D&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know what's overrated nowadays? Dinosaurs. Being different. Photography. Zombie apocalypse. Sharpie rainbows. Cardigans (uhh long story). Class rings (also a long story). That's because the crazy/random/weird people are taking control and the stuff we thought was cool and different is now totally mainstream and the stuff that was mainstream is being played once again and being called "the old stuff."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like, I probably hated a ton of Backstreet Boys/Dream Street/NSYNC/A*Teens stuff when I was younger. Along with Disney movies and things. But now I love them, and so does everyone else. And then you see those groups on Facebook that are called like "When Ron does that shocked face on the train in the first movie" and you're thinking, &lt;i&gt;I thought that I was the only one who noticed that&lt;/i&gt;! And then it turns out ten million other people knew?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah. That's pretty mainstream.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and for the people who say that they're obsessed with The Cure and that &lt;i&gt;Just Like Heaven&lt;/i&gt; is their best song (okay, I prefer that song too, but I listen to their other stuff), and that they're so hardcore, please remember that that song and &lt;i&gt;Friday I'm In Love&lt;/i&gt; were written when they changed to pop.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-7893162510447560335?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/7893162510447560335/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=7893162510447560335&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/7893162510447560335'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/7893162510447560335'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/03/60-minutes-x-24-hours-x-365-days-525600.html' title='60 minutes x 24 hours x 365 days = 525,600 minutes.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-7526177534936400286</id><published>2010-03-14T18:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-14T19:07:38.173-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"Oh, I'm Sandy Dumbrowski."</title><content type='html'>So I'm in Grease right now, and auditions are like next week? Yeah. And I'm auditioning for Sandy cause I'm cool like that, but I'm also auditioning to be a soloist cause I don't wanna be like one of &lt;i&gt;those&lt;/i&gt; girls and audition for 23938192038 lead parts all in the same show. Yeah.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Uhhh, there's a scene where Sandy and Danny kiss...o_O Hopefully the Danny is not grody? Heh. Or my &lt;i&gt;brother&lt;/i&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-7526177534936400286?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/7526177534936400286/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=7526177534936400286&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/7526177534936400286'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/7526177534936400286'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/03/oh-im-sandy-dumbrowski.html' title='&quot;Oh, I&apos;m Sandy Dumbrowski.&quot;'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-2544017921497907737</id><published>2010-03-13T12:32:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-13T12:33:58.771-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"the wand chooses the wizard, mr. potter."</title><content type='html'>My class schedule in terms of Hogwarts classes:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;0 Period: Arithmancy&lt;br /&gt;1st Period: Defence Against the Dark Arts&lt;br /&gt;2nd Period: Ancient Runes&lt;br /&gt;3rd Period: Potions&lt;br /&gt;4th Period: Quidditch Practice&lt;br /&gt;5th Period: History of Magic&lt;br /&gt;6th Period: NEWT Charms (lol)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-2544017921497907737?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/2544017921497907737/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=2544017921497907737&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/2544017921497907737'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/2544017921497907737'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/03/wand-chooses-wizard-mr-potter.html' title='&quot;the wand chooses the wizard, mr. potter.&quot;'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-4206833168815535550</id><published>2010-03-08T18:44:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-08T18:54:42.039-08:00</updated><title type='text'>renegade log number 14...it is august 15, 2014.</title><content type='html'>Yesterday was like the most eventful day ever. To sum up: I have two balloon animals in my room; Bruised by Jacks Mannequin is now in my head; I cannot tell you why a raven is like a writing desk; and if old women offer you their half-eaten bags of popcorn, pour out the popcorn and rip up the bag so you can get a free one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;Sometimes perfection can be, it can be perfect hell, perfect...&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"We live in a world where people hand out free popcorn, and we can't get a refill, because the bags are ripped." - Jacob&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That was just &lt;i&gt;awkward&lt;/i&gt;." - Skylr&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-4206833168815535550?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/4206833168815535550/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=4206833168815535550&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/4206833168815535550'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/4206833168815535550'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/03/renegade-log-number-14it-is-august-15.html' title='renegade log number 14...it is august 15, 2014.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-1468422754711729287</id><published>2010-03-07T16:31:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-07T16:32:14.938-08:00</updated><title type='text'>do you need advice? (OF COURSE YOU DO)</title><content type='html'>Need advice? Email Alice at askaliceblog@hotmail.com, and she'll respond in her blog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's like...something about Alice in Wonderland. *searches for link*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;http://aliceadviceinwonderland.blogspot.com/&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-1468422754711729287?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/1468422754711729287/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=1468422754711729287&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/1468422754711729287'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/1468422754711729287'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/03/do-you-need-advice-of-course-you-do.html' title='do you need advice? (OF COURSE YOU DO)'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-5355367514427087285</id><published>2010-03-06T22:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-06T22:42:37.426-08:00</updated><title type='text'>AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.</title><content type='html'>So I just got a call from my voice teacher.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She said that I sang very nicely at the Certificate of Merit thingamabob (the one with the evil test that I hated).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She told me that I was chosen to sing at the Honors Recital.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was chosen to sing "A Cock Eyed Optimist" from South Pacific.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I is shocked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happiness deadline: 28 days, oh fuck.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-5355367514427087285?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/5355367514427087285/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=5355367514427087285&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/5355367514427087285'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/5355367514427087285'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/03/ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.html' title='AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-4034074650242397924</id><published>2010-03-06T16:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-06T16:41:38.174-08:00</updated><title type='text'>there is a moose in the cabana!</title><content type='html'>When I was like nine, my dad asked me if I'd rather learn to drive a car or a motorcycle. I stupidly told him car, cause the car was in the garage and my dad's old motorcycle was like in storage or something. So he let me drive to the park and then he got me ice cream.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Younger self is stupid. I should've chosen motorcycle. No, fuck that, I want to drive a freaking airplane. &lt;i&gt;I believe I can fly...&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, so today I had to wake up early to take a test (which included an essay question, fuck my life...) about singing. SINGING. My friend Gavin talked me into doing it, because apparently it is fun and you make friends, and my sorta friend whose name I don't even know was there but she had to sing while I took my written test, so uadjskadjlsk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I'm gonna move to Connecticut and live in my grandparents' basement, cause that's where my dad's old band would practice. But they SUCKED and the basement is dusty and has spiders, but if a hurricane or something hits, I'm safe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need to shop. Skylr got to shop, and she was sorta grounded, and all I got to do was feed my dog who sits in flowerpots. KAJSKAJ D:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel like the world asploded and nobody bothered to tell me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel alone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;):&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-4034074650242397924?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/4034074650242397924/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=4034074650242397924&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/4034074650242397924'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/4034074650242397924'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/03/there-is-moose-in-cabana.html' title='there is a moose in the cabana!'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-2259472136118399599</id><published>2010-03-02T19:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-02T20:10:20.534-08:00</updated><title type='text'>this is why i'm hot (not really).</title><content type='html'>TEN PIECES OF CLOTHING YOU OWN AND LOVE.&lt;br /&gt;1// my hydraulic skinny jeans&lt;br /&gt;2// my smashing pumpkins concert tee&lt;br /&gt;3// my blackish striped cardigan&lt;br /&gt;4// my black ripped up converse&lt;br /&gt;5// my navy roxy zip-up hoodie&lt;br /&gt;6// my black-white strapless dress&lt;br /&gt;7// my black patent leather peeptoe bow pumps&lt;br /&gt;9// my yellow the hush sound concert tee&lt;br /&gt;10// my purple/blue/green striped pj pants&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NINE THINGS YOU WANT TO LEARN ABOUT.&lt;br /&gt;1// greek mythology&lt;br /&gt;2// computer science&lt;br /&gt;3// programming video games&lt;br /&gt;4// how to put on eyeliner&lt;br /&gt;5// drumming&lt;br /&gt;6// fencing&lt;br /&gt;7// flirting without getting scared&lt;br /&gt;8// being brave&lt;br /&gt;9// how to cast a patronus&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;EIGHT THINGS THAT MAKE YOU HAPPY.&lt;br /&gt;1// harry potter&lt;br /&gt;2// batman&lt;br /&gt;5// my friends&lt;br /&gt;6// root beer&lt;br /&gt;7// hot chocolate with marshmallows&lt;br /&gt;8// new books to read&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SEVEN THINGS THAT FRUSTRATE YOU.&lt;br /&gt;1// boy who is uber flirty with both me and my friend who does not like him&lt;br /&gt;2// running&lt;br /&gt;3// algebra 2&lt;br /&gt;4// my computer&lt;br /&gt;5// the fact that i still don't know who to audition for in grease&lt;br /&gt;6// democrats (sometimes)&lt;br /&gt;7// people who like bad music&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SIX STUFFED ANIMALS YOU OWN.&lt;br /&gt;1// pikachu&lt;br /&gt;2// brown teddy bear named Coco&lt;br /&gt;3// white teddy bear named Snowbear (gosh, I'm so darn creative at age 5)&lt;br /&gt;4// giant white teddy bear named Snowball (again with the creativity)&lt;br /&gt;5// yellow pig with pink bow&lt;br /&gt;6// stuffed frankenstein named roberta (don't ask.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FIVE MOVIES AND BOOKS YOU CAN QUOTE.&lt;br /&gt;1// All Harry Potter things.&lt;br /&gt;2// Back to the Future&lt;br /&gt;3// Monty Python and the Holy Grail&lt;br /&gt;4// Big Daddy&lt;br /&gt;5// School of Rock&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FOUR PEOPLE YOU WOULD PUNCH IF GIVEN THE CHANCE&lt;br /&gt;1// someone i can't name.&lt;br /&gt;2// someone i can't name.&lt;br /&gt;3// someone i can't name.&lt;br /&gt;4// miley cyrus.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;THREE MAGAZINES YOU LIKE.&lt;br /&gt;1// seventeen&lt;br /&gt;2// teen vogue&lt;br /&gt;3// people magazine&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;TWO THINGS YOU SHOULD BE DOING RIGHT NOW.&lt;br /&gt;1// algebra 2 homework&lt;br /&gt;2// english 2 honors homework.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;ONE PERSON YOU WANT TO SEE&lt;br /&gt;not telling.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-2259472136118399599?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/2259472136118399599/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=2259472136118399599&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/2259472136118399599'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/2259472136118399599'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/03/this-is-why-im-hot-not-really.html' title='this is why i&apos;m hot (not really).'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-313666986333588936</id><published>2010-02-28T11:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-28T11:33:00.333-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="mobile-photo"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S4rE7CyzZCI/AAAAAAAAAIo/zpWITCWcm9I/s1600-h/0221101448-780335.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S4rE7CyzZCI/AAAAAAAAAIo/zpWITCWcm9I/s320/0221101448-780335.jpg"  border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443379618271945762" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;Whoa, so it&amp;#39;s the last day of our production of Fiddler. Alex and Colleen slept over and we kinda went overboard with craziness and my mom screamed at us to shut up and we got like 5 hours of sleep, probably. Yeah. And Nicole&amp;#39;s upset cause she didn&amp;#39;t get to stay over and she&amp;#39;s blaming me.&lt;p&gt;Thanks, Nicole. Thanks a billion.&lt;p&gt;I have a big box of Ritz crackers! Yum.&lt;p&gt;This message was sent using the Picture and Video Messaging service from Verizon Wireless!&lt;p&gt;To learn how you can snap pictures and capture videos with your wireless phone visit &lt;a href="http://www.verizonwireless.com/picture"&gt;www.verizonwireless.com/picture&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;p&gt;Note: To play video messages sent to email, QuickTime� 6.5 or higher is required.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-313666986333588936?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/313666986333588936/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=313666986333588936&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/313666986333588936'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/313666986333588936'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/02/whoa-so-it-last-day-of-our-production.html' title=''/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S4rE7CyzZCI/AAAAAAAAAIo/zpWITCWcm9I/s72-c/0221101448-780335.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-6084127483231845892</id><published>2010-02-25T15:18:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-25T15:23:20.476-08:00</updated><title type='text'>no, i am not giving ice cream to you.</title><content type='html'>Today I am eating meatballs for a snack. I like meatballs. They are tasty, but they have such perverted tendencies that I should probably stay away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We started running today in PE, which means the happiness deadline is going to be s o o n. I have...37 days left. I'm making the official Happiness Deadline on April 3, right? So I must tell Nicole and Skylr that I effed up on my brain calendar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm gonna check on the meatballs again. They're still in the toaster-oven. I'm gonna toast some delicious bread and drink water that I put in the fridge last night but is still not even that cold. Whatthepoo.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-6084127483231845892?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/6084127483231845892/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=6084127483231845892&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/6084127483231845892'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/6084127483231845892'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/02/no-i-am-not-giving-ice-cream-to-you.html' title='no, i am not giving ice cream to you.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-5877363532773289246</id><published>2010-02-23T18:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-24T17:23:47.448-08:00</updated><title type='text'>let's settle down where palmtrees grow.</title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Currently wearing:&lt;/b&gt; Hydraulic skinny jeans, hot pink ankle socks, yellow converse, black Smashing Pumpkins tee, black striped cardigan.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Currently watching/listening to:&lt;/b&gt; Life Unexpected: "Turtle Undefeated"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Currently avoiding:&lt;/b&gt; Homework. But it's easy, so it's no big.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Currently texting/IMing:&lt;/b&gt; Nobody because I am a loner. Blah.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everyone just got arrested in Life Unexpected, haha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay so I'm extremely hungry but bored. But seeing as I'm hungry, it's a good sign cause that means I'm not under any weird things that I probably shouldn't mention on here but will anyway. It means I'm not as depressed as I was before (AKA over the summer and in like November), bahhh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why are all CW shows so sappy? "I didn't invite you...not because I'm ashamed of you. I'm ashamed of me." Why can't she just say something like "I didn't invite you, even though you're a really awesome person and best friend, because the party was for this cute guy and I didn't want you to tell my boyfriend, kthx?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No, wait. Then it'd turn into like Gossip Girl or something (which is also a CW show, wtf?). Speaking of GG, when does it come back on? Kenny told me last weekend, but I forget ):&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What kind of name is Lux, anyway? I like names that start with Cs...like Charlie or Calypso or Caprica or Cady. Something &lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;c&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt;ool (:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want more pretzels. Or waffles. Those always make me feel happy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-5877363532773289246?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/5877363532773289246/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=5877363532773289246&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/5877363532773289246'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/5877363532773289246'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/02/lets-settle-down-where-palmtrees-grow.html' title='let&apos;s settle down where palmtrees grow.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-1863953541572568183</id><published>2010-02-21T21:21:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-21T21:30:21.629-08:00</updated><title type='text'>today, i almost lost my cell phone and $7 in a fro-yo shop. i'm not normally forgetful, i swear! mylifeislamesauce.</title><content type='html'>Who sits next to you in English?&lt;br /&gt;Chris in front, Rachelle behind, Monica on the right, and Katie on the left.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who was the last person you talked to before you went to bed last night?&lt;br /&gt;Uh. My mom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Would you consider your parents to be strict?&lt;br /&gt;No way, man.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever tackled someone to the ground?&lt;br /&gt;Kyle, when we were practicing the papa-hug! Haha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is your last name longer than 7 letters?&lt;br /&gt;Definitely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What was the last thing you wore that was black?&lt;br /&gt;Tights. Shut up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Think about today, what did you do?&lt;br /&gt;Woke up, got dressed awkwardly and brushed teeth, ate waffles, changed, drove to the theater, put on makeup and costume, listened to notes, did show, listened to iPod, made up &lt;b&gt;The List&lt;/b&gt;, finished show, went out for fro-yo with friends, made up corny joke, almost lost cash and phone, sat in car for twenty pointless but hilarious minutes, drove friend home, drove other friend home, texted two friends, got home, ate dinner, did this. Yeah (:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you say the F word a lot?&lt;br /&gt;Nope.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What woke you up this morning?&lt;br /&gt;Myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What happened a year ago today?&lt;br /&gt;February 21, 2009...I believe I was watching my brother's show.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who was the last person to text you?&lt;br /&gt;Jacob. Also no service at home ):&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last incoming call?&lt;br /&gt;Brooke.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When was the last time you laughed really hard and why?&lt;br /&gt;Today in the car because we were probably high on something, I just don't know what.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Does your mom think your crazy?&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, and nerdy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you have any zebra clothing?&lt;br /&gt;A SCARF. Nicole got it for me for Christmas :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you have a mirror in your room?&lt;br /&gt;In my closet, on the door.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ever played twister?&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, not in soo long though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you have any shoes that you don't wear?&lt;br /&gt;Yes, awkward Rocketdogs my mom bought on sale. Lol.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are you texting anyone?&lt;br /&gt;I &lt;i&gt;tried&lt;/i&gt; but I have no service.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last time you cooked for yourself?&lt;br /&gt;Blahhh. A while ago.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you have to pee?&lt;br /&gt;Uh, no? Lol.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Has someone ever called you at midnight on your birthday?&lt;br /&gt;No, just texted x]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who all did you talk to on the phone today?&lt;br /&gt;Jacob, Alex, Nico, Motherwoman.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When was the last time someone changed in front of you?&lt;br /&gt;Today, in the girls dressing room while we changed between scenes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are you the youngest person living in your house?&lt;br /&gt;Nope &gt;:)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever liked someone older than you?&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, haha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Would you hug the last person you hugged again?&lt;br /&gt;Der. We're tight, yo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Would you rather love one person, or have many short relationship?&lt;br /&gt;Love one person.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can you be your complete self around the person you like?&lt;br /&gt;Yes. If by that you mean utterly dorky.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever kissed the last person you texted?&lt;br /&gt;Uhm, no. Not unless I kissed him when we were teeny?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you have alcohol in your house?&lt;br /&gt;Yes, my parents' stash.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who was the last person to wink at you?&lt;br /&gt;Wtf? xD&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did you like anyone last summer?&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, hahaha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you think two people can last forever?&lt;br /&gt;Yep. My parents will, promise. *crosses fingers*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are there any condoms in your room? If so, how many?&lt;br /&gt;None.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The last person to be under covers with you?&lt;br /&gt;Nobody, wtf?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you like the rain?&lt;br /&gt;When I'm watching it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you think someone is thinking about you right now?&lt;br /&gt;Uhh, yes. No. Maybe?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who is one person who has always been there for you?&lt;br /&gt;AHHHH. Whoever I've known longest, lol.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-1863953541572568183?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/1863953541572568183/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=1863953541572568183&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/1863953541572568183'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/1863953541572568183'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/02/today-i-almost-lost-my-cell-phone-and-7.html' title='today, i almost lost my cell phone and $7 in a fro-yo shop. i&apos;m not normally forgetful, i swear! mylifeislamesauce.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-4054096829342287417</id><published>2010-02-21T14:54:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-21T14:54:54.543-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="mobile-photo"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S4G5vr4y9kI/AAAAAAAAAIg/PP_abKcdVWI/s1600-h/0221101449-794544.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S4G5vr4y9kI/AAAAAAAAAIg/PP_abKcdVWI/s320/0221101449-794544.jpg"  border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5440834053726205506" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;Drawings from THE BOYS DRESSING ROOM.&lt;p&gt;This message was sent using the Picture and Video Messaging service from Verizon Wireless!&lt;p&gt;To learn how you can snap pictures and capture videos with your wireless phone visit &lt;a href="http://www.verizonwireless.com/picture"&gt;www.verizonwireless.com/picture&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;p&gt;Note: To play video messages sent to email, QuickTime� 6.5 or higher is required.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-4054096829342287417?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/4054096829342287417/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=4054096829342287417&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/4054096829342287417'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/4054096829342287417'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/02/drawings-from-boys-dressing-room.html' title=''/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S4G5vr4y9kI/AAAAAAAAAIg/PP_abKcdVWI/s72-c/0221101449-794544.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-2745528329302495047</id><published>2010-02-18T17:59:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-18T18:00:06.786-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="mobile-photo"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S33wcSpMoqI/AAAAAAAAAIY/mUQBAlBGuwE/s1600-h/0217101816_02-752829.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S33wcSpMoqI/AAAAAAAAAIY/mUQBAlBGuwE/s320/0217101816_02-752829.jpg"  border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439768293765063330" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friend nicole texted my friend jeff, asking for his cell number as a joke. I'm testing out text-blogs :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-2745528329302495047?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/2745528329302495047/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=2745528329302495047&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/2745528329302495047'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/2745528329302495047'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/02/my-friend-nicole-texted-my-friend-jeff.html' title=''/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S33wcSpMoqI/AAAAAAAAAIY/mUQBAlBGuwE/s72-c/0217101816_02-752829.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293901700562906987.post-3719128306371334084</id><published>2010-02-17T20:53:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-17T21:12:58.755-08:00</updated><title type='text'>this. is. SPARTAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.</title><content type='html'>Three hundredth post. Just thought I should let you know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Miniature Tigers are playing near where I live next month, but I can only go if I'm with a friend and an adult. So far, I know of two friends who want to go, and my older brother turns 18 the day before. I smell a loophole :) Also, tickets are only like $12, so yay for that!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You're single, why?&lt;br /&gt;Because I'm not sure who I like, and I don't want anyone to find out who I like. Even if telling the guy sometimes helps out.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?&lt;br /&gt;I'd normally want to be taller, but right now I wish I were more confident. Or, more likely, I want to be able to act like I did last spring, when I was cocky and confident and didn't seem to give a shit.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Do you eat ranch with your pizza?&lt;br /&gt;No, that's disgusting.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;What are some lyrics to the song you're listening to?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;I can ride my bike with no handlebars...no handlebars...no handlebars...&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;What is the last reason you cried?&lt;br /&gt;I'm guessing either anger or stress.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Do you love anybody?&lt;br /&gt;My friends (:&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Do you think you and your best friends will still be friends in 10 years?&lt;br /&gt;Of course. Twenty six and still be eff effs.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Could you even go 30 minutes without cursing?&lt;br /&gt;Uhh. I'll try :D&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Have you had any beer this week?&lt;br /&gt;Nope. I'ma straightedge to the extreme xD&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;What color are your eyes?&lt;br /&gt;They're brown, with like a darker brown ring around them and greenish bits inside the colory bit. Uhh, the iris.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Have you ever eaten an uncooked cookie?&lt;br /&gt;Like cookie dough? Well, yes. It's part of life, no? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can you cook?&lt;br /&gt;Certain things.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;What's bothering you?&lt;br /&gt;BOTHA BOTHA. Uhh, my mom won't let me go to a concert ):&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Is there a place you would like to be right now?&lt;br /&gt;There's no place like home...&lt;br /&gt;Actually, Dorothy lied. I'd rather be at Six Flags right now.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Do you know anybody that's in jail?&lt;br /&gt;No. I know someone who &lt;i&gt;was&lt;/i&gt; in jail (but we're not friends).&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Are you cold?&lt;br /&gt;No. Stupid.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Are you shy or outgoing?&lt;br /&gt;I'm kinda both. It depends on who I'm talking to.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Who was the last person you talked on the phone with?&lt;br /&gt;Like phone call..? Uhhh, according to my phone, Brooke.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Where is your last bruise from?&lt;br /&gt;I believe I bumped into something and/or fell off something at some point or another.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Were you happy when you woke up?&lt;br /&gt;Is &lt;i&gt;anyone&lt;/i&gt; seriously happy when they wake up?&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Would you date someone who smokes?&lt;br /&gt;Ahhh. No. Sorry ):&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Do you like relationships, or do you prefer to be single?&lt;br /&gt;I like relationships, but I don't need a boyfriend all the time. Like, if I get out of a relationship, I don't require a new guy (unless I liked some guy while I was with some other guy who I never liked in the first place and who's an asshole, and the guy I do like likes me back, you know?) right away.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Could you go the rest of your life without smoking a cigarette?&lt;br /&gt;Of course! Cigarettes are no-nos.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;What's the connection between you and the last person who texted you?&lt;br /&gt;She's in chem with me, and I've known her since I was eight.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;What does the last text message you received say?&lt;br /&gt;"Are you going on the field trip tomorrow"&lt;br /&gt;There's not even a question mark! Wtf.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Who was the last person to leave you a voicemail?&lt;br /&gt;Ahhh. SKYLR.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Do you prefer to call or text?&lt;br /&gt;Depends on the person. Sometimes I just wanna close my eyes and blab, but only a few people let me do that ): And one of them had his birthday today, and we're on awkward terms but I told him happy birthday anyway and yeah.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;When is the last time you saw your mom?&lt;br /&gt;I want to say eight-ish.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Do you tan or burn?&lt;br /&gt;Tan. (:&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;What did you fear at night as a child?&lt;br /&gt;Everything my older brother told me about: mummies, the boogeyman, ghosts, werewolves, vampires, the dark, giant spiders, rapists, kidnappers, terrorists. I was one frightened little kid.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;What was the last thing that really made you laugh?&lt;br /&gt;Oh wow, the last person wrote "skyler", which is odd cause I was gonna write "Skylr." GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAPE.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;How many TVs do you have in your house?&lt;br /&gt;Uhhhh. Three. Only two have cable, though. The last is used solely for gaming.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;When did you last get in a argument?&lt;br /&gt;Uhh. Not today, strangely. I'm guessing yesterday..?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1293901700562906987-3719128306371334084?l=tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/feeds/3719128306371334084/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1293901700562906987&amp;postID=3719128306371334084&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/3719128306371334084'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1293901700562906987/posts/default/3719128306371334084'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tessabroketheinternet.blogspot.com/2010/02/this-is-spartaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.html' title='this. is. SPARTAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.'/><author><name>tessa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09745491259101243700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jW6-JTG_wYs/S203FFTtHkI/AAAAAAAAAH4/E95XmpZdTUE/S220/ICONATOR_794d8c7d0818201b9d10b37dc2809529.png'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
