<?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-1830475053734000396</id><updated>2012-02-16T09:28:19.222-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Drunks, Lovers, Sinners and Saints</title><subtitle type='html'>To ponder irrelevant thoughts to which there are no answers, in an attempt to find nothing at all except more questions to which there are no more answers.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Nelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14985134524875010425</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SM02MfOeQ9I/AAAAAAAAAFs/SpbzNcwewnM/S220/nel.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>39</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1830475053734000396.post-4385773222466656426</id><published>2009-11-24T18:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-24T18:42:39.521-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Up to here</title><content type='html'>Yes I know I have not blogged in quite some time. However, I believe this is because I was enjoying my summer and got slightly busy with school. Why now you ask? Well because I'm well into my semester of school and Its all starting to hit me. All those little things that bother me OH so much in my everyday life are starting to eat me alive. Bit by bit, all those people in my life whos little annoying habbits are interfering with my very sanity! That is why I need to blog again. Because if I can't let it all out then im going to explode !&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ah, more to come.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1830475053734000396-4385773222466656426?l=daniellecollura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/feeds/4385773222466656426/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1830475053734000396&amp;postID=4385773222466656426' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/4385773222466656426'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/4385773222466656426'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/2009/11/up-to-here.html' title='Up to here'/><author><name>Nelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14985134524875010425</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SM02MfOeQ9I/AAAAAAAAAFs/SpbzNcwewnM/S220/nel.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1830475053734000396.post-8574663482253470722</id><published>2009-04-01T19:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-01T19:54:31.676-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Karma Police</title><content type='html'>Do you believe in it? Karma that is.&lt;br /&gt;I do.&lt;br /&gt;I mean - I really really hope that it exists. For good and for bad. I believe that people who do great things for others, will one day be rewarded - if they haven't already - with complete happiness. Whatever happiness is to those people, it shall be theirs. On the other hand - what about the people who hurt others? I define "hurt" as anything you want it to be. From manipulation to murder. Do those people deserve to have karma thrown in their faces?&lt;br /&gt;I do.&lt;br /&gt;To what extent? I think that if you have hurt someone, you do not deserve to live a happy life with everything you want and no &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;repercussions&lt;/span&gt;. You don't deseve love. You don't deserve fame. You don't deserve everything that, that person you hurt, should have. You do not get to live their life. YOU hurt THEM remember? How is that fair?&lt;br /&gt;This is why I HAVE to believe in karma.&lt;br /&gt;It has to exist - for those people - who know people - that don't deserve what they have.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to say that those people deserve to be miserable for the rest of their lives. Only until they realize that what they have done in the past has come full circle to make them feel as awful as the ones they have hurt have felt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then again, how do we know when they're going to feel that awful?&lt;br /&gt;Ugh, Karma is complicated.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1830475053734000396-8574663482253470722?l=daniellecollura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/feeds/8574663482253470722/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1830475053734000396&amp;postID=8574663482253470722' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/8574663482253470722'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/8574663482253470722'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/2009/04/karma-police.html' title='Karma Police'/><author><name>Nelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14985134524875010425</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SM02MfOeQ9I/AAAAAAAAAFs/SpbzNcwewnM/S220/nel.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1830475053734000396.post-3158219465109634338</id><published>2009-02-05T11:20:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-06T06:26:40.660-08:00</updated><title type='text'>hey...teacher...leave those kids alone!</title><content type='html'>In my recent experience of some college classes I have been exposed to many different teaching styles that I was not exposed to in University. Some have been good and some have been absolutely terrible. Lets start with the terrible shall we? I  do not understand how SOME, im not saying all, but SOME college "professors", if you want to call them that, actually land a job as a college professor. As a student - of both university and college - I am paying to learn about a certain subject as much as I can possibly stand to soak in about the wonderful world of psychology, or philosophy, or recreation or whatever it is that i enjoy learning about! And im not just paying chump change here, i'm talking loads of money. But hello, im preaching to the choir right? We're all paying through the nose for education. So whyyy is it that some "professors" college and university (although my experience has only been with college thus far) are teaching certain courses that they are clearly so  utterly unqualified to teach? Tell me why am I paying all this money for some quack to stand at the front of the room, read off the slides that he or she may not have even put together themselves and appear to me like they actually know what they are talking about?!&lt;br /&gt;I don't understand - if a teacher or prof is teaching a subject shouldn't they be able to answer general questions about the topic at hand? The logical answer would be YES of course, but in my experience some of my teachers have not even been able to do this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway - I have a lot of studying to do - and packing for the weekend, so I'll continue this blog at a later date!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1830475053734000396-3158219465109634338?l=daniellecollura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/feeds/3158219465109634338/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1830475053734000396&amp;postID=3158219465109634338' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/3158219465109634338'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/3158219465109634338'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/2009/02/heyteacherleave-those-kids-alone.html' title='hey...teacher...leave those kids alone!'/><author><name>Nelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14985134524875010425</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SM02MfOeQ9I/AAAAAAAAAFs/SpbzNcwewnM/S220/nel.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1830475053734000396.post-7632950913492151599</id><published>2008-12-23T18:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-23T20:36:32.938-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Holiday from Real</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SVG8S1XOEzI/AAAAAAAAAIE/zBK0cqq0bq0/s1600-h/efin425l.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SVG8S1XOEzI/AAAAAAAAAIE/zBK0cqq0bq0/s320/efin425l.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283210869630440242" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is a known fact that more car accidents happen over this holiday season, than any other time of the year. Between the Christmas holidays and New Years, there are many motor vehicle accidents that occur. Now you might be asking yourself why on earth I am bringing up such a morbid topic at a time when we should be thankful for our family and friends health? Well my friends, I am concerned about this mostly because the past few days I have been a cautious driver, taking into consideration weather conditions that must be dealt with. HOWEVER, it seems like a large percentage of people don't give a crap about the weather conditions. They feel like they can just boot about like its friggin July and not be cautious of the road and of other drivers.&lt;br /&gt;"Why the hell are these people, who don't know how to drive on a nice day, out in this weather?" I ask myself as It takes me 1 hour to drive to a normal 10 minute destination. Seriously, if you can't drive, or are nervous or unsure about driving in snow, PLEASE STAY HOME.&lt;br /&gt;I can't describe how annoying and frustrating it is when people with no common sense decide to risk the lives of other drivers just because they cannot admit that they don't know how to winter drive!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Most of these people are heading to the mall to finish their last minute shopping! It's all well and good if you want to leave it to the last minute, but for god sakes, take A BUS!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1830475053734000396-7632950913492151599?l=daniellecollura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/feeds/7632950913492151599/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1830475053734000396&amp;postID=7632950913492151599' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/7632950913492151599'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/7632950913492151599'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/2008/12/holiday-from-real.html' title='Holiday from Real'/><author><name>Nelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14985134524875010425</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SM02MfOeQ9I/AAAAAAAAAFs/SpbzNcwewnM/S220/nel.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SVG8S1XOEzI/AAAAAAAAAIE/zBK0cqq0bq0/s72-c/efin425l.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1830475053734000396.post-8368952547279384293</id><published>2008-12-13T18:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-13T18:10:38.118-08:00</updated><title type='text'>One Million Acts</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SURrGEfN7zI/AAAAAAAAAH8/JV5Wpk12CbY/s1600-h/green-recycle-img.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 277px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SURrGEfN7zI/AAAAAAAAAH8/JV5Wpk12CbY/s320/green-recycle-img.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279462415213129522" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So i have recently taken a liking to the new campaign implemented by CBC and George Strombo, One Million Acts of Green. I personally think it is a great attempt to motivate people to be more "green". I know a lot of people can go absurdly overboard tending to the necessities of the earth. However, these are just simple everyday habits that take no effort at all to change and surprising, when completed by a large sum of people, can actually make a difference. I can understand that  all you environmentally friendly skeptical people are probably thinking what you always think ... "what a crock" right? Well maybe, but maybe not? A lot of people think that a small change that they make can't make an impact on the environment. Well you're right, you can't. But together ... we probably could make an extremely small change. But a  change nonetheless.&lt;br /&gt;I was explaining to my father the idea of one million acts of green, and although he was intrigued byt the marketing of the idea (hes always looking for good marketing tips), he was skeptical. He asked me "how do they actually know that you did that act of green". Well chuck ... they don't know. Nobody knows. Only you know. I would hope that people aren't lying to themselves to make themselves feel like they are making a difference. In the end my friends, it is only the human race that will suffer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm no tree hugger, but I do have extreme hope for the human race, that one day we can come together as one, and helping the environment is a small, but good start.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So go. Be green.&lt;br /&gt;green.cbc.ca&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1830475053734000396-8368952547279384293?l=daniellecollura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/feeds/8368952547279384293/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1830475053734000396&amp;postID=8368952547279384293' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/8368952547279384293'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/8368952547279384293'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/2008/12/one-million-acts.html' title='One Million Acts'/><author><name>Nelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14985134524875010425</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SM02MfOeQ9I/AAAAAAAAAFs/SpbzNcwewnM/S220/nel.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SURrGEfN7zI/AAAAAAAAAH8/JV5Wpk12CbY/s72-c/green-recycle-img.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1830475053734000396.post-3337714864421169323</id><published>2008-12-10T11:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-17T20:44:47.219-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A blog not worthy of a title</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SUAdvImOvNI/AAAAAAAAAGE/miAa559m2yc/s1600-h/Baby_Penguin_by_Usiku.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SUAdvImOvNI/AAAAAAAAAGE/miAa559m2yc/s320/Baby_Penguin_by_Usiku.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278251458877111506" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Word.&lt;br /&gt;Ah, yet another attempt to procrastinate from that which is exam preparation. I owe this to my new blog buddy (and roommate) Crash and Burn Girl. If you haven't already, visit her domain. You won't be sorry.&lt;br /&gt;Not only am i procrastinating from my academic studies, but also from the tedious event that is packing. I don't have far to go... once my exams are done I will just reside in my hometown of Hamilton for about a month until school resumes. But the process of packing, even if it's not for a tropical vacation is so mundane.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm procrastinating so much that I don't even have a blog topic in mind.&lt;br /&gt;Here's one.&lt;br /&gt;Do you say Boogers? Or Bugers?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;haha like my penguin?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;okay. enough of the fun and games. I do have a blog worth story.&lt;br /&gt;Today I was at Michaels ( you know..the handy dandy craft store) with a couple of friends, and we were waiting in line at the checkout counter. The lines were not ridiculously long, but they had seemed to be moving like molasses. So, like any store, another employee kindly opened an additional till and announced that she would "help the next person in line". At that moment, a woman standing 3 people behind me and my friends, claimed the spot. " Oh good, i'm late for work" she said. And the employee helped the coustomer like she just didnt bypass 3 god damn people in the line.&lt;br /&gt;Now this woman, wasnt just your ordinary late for work person. She was the bitchiest, most dreadful bus driver any St.Catharines person has ever had to deal with. If you're from around here you know who im talking about. Shes tall, with salt and pepper hair, eyes like ice. She looks at your bus pass so closely that one of these days i'm going to offer her a magnifying class. Shes an A class bully on the streets and apparently everywhere else too.&lt;br /&gt;Why did this lady figure that because she was late for a shift, it was her duity to rudely cut into line and assume that it was her right to be first. I mean, i could have waited all day in that line, i had nothing better to do. But the point is, if you have to work -- why are you at Michaels when you should getting yourself to work? And why are you so friggin mean?&lt;br /&gt;If you want to be a huge douche bag to the bratty university kids on the West Brock Commuter, FINE. But do me a favor and lay off the poor old women who are just trying to buy some craft supplies.&lt;br /&gt;baaahumbug.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1830475053734000396-3337714864421169323?l=daniellecollura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/feeds/3337714864421169323/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1830475053734000396&amp;postID=3337714864421169323' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/3337714864421169323'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/3337714864421169323'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/2008/12/word.html' title='A blog not worthy of a title'/><author><name>Nelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14985134524875010425</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SM02MfOeQ9I/AAAAAAAAAFs/SpbzNcwewnM/S220/nel.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SUAdvImOvNI/AAAAAAAAAGE/miAa559m2yc/s72-c/Baby_Penguin_by_Usiku.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1830475053734000396.post-1127461419529653521</id><published>2008-12-08T13:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T13:44:17.600-08:00</updated><title type='text'>This City's a Mess</title><content type='html'>So it seems I have run into another "blog block". Sounds kind of painful, but it's mostly just a mental pain. Every single time I sit down at this dreadful dell laptop, which i would love to spontaneously combust, so that I cant ask my father very nicely to assist me in the purchase of a MacBook, I cannot seem to find the words to explain how I am feeling about the random crap that urks me oh so much.&lt;br /&gt;Its not like these things, or people, or situations are hard to come by. They fly by me daily, but for some reason these past few months I have found it extremely difficult to even relay into words. I suppose it could be because these situations are becoming more ludicrous than ever before. Or perhaps it is because I am becoming immune to all of my moronic surroundings, in so far that I am immobilized from my ability to gather any sort of opinion about anything. Either way, it is becoming rather irritating.&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, i hope this irrelevant post will help me to break through my block.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You only have 17 more shopping days until Christmas by the way.&lt;br /&gt;Hurry the Eff up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1830475053734000396-1127461419529653521?l=daniellecollura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/feeds/1127461419529653521/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1830475053734000396&amp;postID=1127461419529653521' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/1127461419529653521'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/1127461419529653521'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/2008/12/this-citys-mess.html' title='This City&apos;s a Mess'/><author><name>Nelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14985134524875010425</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SM02MfOeQ9I/AAAAAAAAAFs/SpbzNcwewnM/S220/nel.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1830475053734000396.post-8477425305374146100</id><published>2008-08-27T12:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-27T13:25:25.661-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Baby Makers : Please advise.</title><content type='html'>I feel sorry for babies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not because they cant walk, or ride bikes, or smoke.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But because they have retarded parents.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What parent thought it would be a good idea, to try and get your kid to stop crying by rattling your car keys in the kids face? First of all, its &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;friggin&lt;/span&gt; dangerous. One abrupt move and the little guy is down to one eye. Secondly, do you think that your child enjoys this? No. Not even a little bit. Yes, you get 3 seconds of quiet as he stares at the keys wondering why on earth you would do that to him, and if this &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;foreign&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;object&lt;/span&gt; is going to harm him in any way. And when he realizes that this giant silver bundle of sharp edges could very well injure him, he starts crying again!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Often you hear parents say "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;yeah&lt;/span&gt;, they're cute until they start talking back". Really, they are only cute because they &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;aren't&lt;/span&gt; able to defend themselves from the stupid annoying things that you do to them. Don't be fooled parents - when your 13 year old kid talks back to you, he is only saying the same things he would have said back then if he could.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously. There should be like a baby union. In which one person can willfully speak for all children everywhere, when they're parents choose to be huge &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;dinks&lt;/span&gt; in the way they are "entertaining" their child.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway - i apologize to all those people who do not put their child's lives in danger and are relatively good parents.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ON THE OTHER HAND. I cannot stand parents who continue to treat their kids like they are precious gold, and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;don't&lt;/span&gt; let them ruff it out a bit. Don't get me wrong, watching your child to make sure he or she is safe is one thing, but doting after your kid to prevent every scrape and bump is just &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;ridiculous&lt;/span&gt;. Just.. give them the keys for &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Christs&lt;/span&gt;' sake.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also. Tim hortons sold me a day-old tea buscuit today.&lt;br /&gt;Bastards.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1830475053734000396-8477425305374146100?l=daniellecollura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/feeds/8477425305374146100/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1830475053734000396&amp;postID=8477425305374146100' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/8477425305374146100'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/8477425305374146100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/2008/08/i-feel-sorry-for-babies.html' title='Baby Makers : Please advise.'/><author><name>Nelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14985134524875010425</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SM02MfOeQ9I/AAAAAAAAAFs/SpbzNcwewnM/S220/nel.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1830475053734000396.post-7494667929429545442</id><published>2008-08-25T10:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-25T10:44:11.692-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Nantucket</title><content type='html'>ode to the end of summer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.jakeandamir.com/"&gt;http://www.jakeandamir.com/&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1830475053734000396-7494667929429545442?l=daniellecollura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/feeds/7494667929429545442/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1830475053734000396&amp;postID=7494667929429545442' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/7494667929429545442'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/7494667929429545442'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/2008/08/nantucket.html' title='Nantucket'/><author><name>Nelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14985134524875010425</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SM02MfOeQ9I/AAAAAAAAAFs/SpbzNcwewnM/S220/nel.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1830475053734000396.post-5990993547253358365</id><published>2008-08-14T11:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-14T11:40:11.202-07:00</updated><title type='text'>when i grow up</title><content type='html'>As children, so many of us were asked the question " What do you want to be when you grow up"? And of course we came up the coolest things we thought we could be at the time. A princess, A hockey player, A 'bull &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;dozer&lt;/span&gt;' driver....and so on. We were so young, none of us knew what kind of work was involved to become the people we see everyday like doctors, or police officers or fire fighters. We just thought they were cool and hey, we could do it if we wanted too.&lt;br /&gt;Our parents were usually the ones who would ask that loaded question .... and when we were 3 and 4 the answer we gave them was &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;comical&lt;/span&gt; and they enjoyed the fact that we were so oblivious and ambitious at the same time. Then we grew a little older... got into our &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;high school&lt;/span&gt; years and the question suddenly had a little more meaning. And when we were asked it, the answer started to stray from what we wanted to be - to what we're going to take in school. But now that we're in school the question has become heavier than it has ever seemed before. Its actually morphing from "What do you want to be when you grow up?" to "Your grown up now what exactly are you doing?"&lt;br /&gt;Some of us still have those same answers as we did when we were young. We're going to be doctors, we're going to be police officers... key phrase " we're going to be". So what about us. The ones who no longer have a clue and can only answer " I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;don't&lt;/span&gt; know". Why are we treated like people who are "wasting time and money" in school. Why cant i just go and learn and figure it out. Why am i rushing into a 3o &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;some odd&lt;/span&gt; year career?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then there are those parents.. who think their child will be the be all and end all in their university career. Oh yes, my kid is so smart he should have no problem taking 8 classes this year and coming home every weekend to work. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Ya&lt;/span&gt; right. If your kid is so smart, they should be smart enough to tell you that they are 18 years old and they can think for themselves. Let them figure out &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;their&lt;/span&gt; boundaries on their own. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Don't&lt;/span&gt; set them for them before they even get there. I used to like school. I mean ... I still like school. But school has been unfair to me. Its not going to go &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;smoothly&lt;/span&gt; for everyone and for those of us who have to overcome certain obstacles, i hope it makes us stronger in the end. I've learned that you cannot look at someone e&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;lse's&lt;/span&gt; performance and say " how are they still in school"? School is different for everyone. Life is different for everyone. But in the end, if you want to be that princess, if you want to be that doctor, or if you just want to learn... you can.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1830475053734000396-5990993547253358365?l=daniellecollura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/feeds/5990993547253358365/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1830475053734000396&amp;postID=5990993547253358365' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/5990993547253358365'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/5990993547253358365'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/2008/08/when-i-grow-up.html' title='when i grow up'/><author><name>Nelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14985134524875010425</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SM02MfOeQ9I/AAAAAAAAAFs/SpbzNcwewnM/S220/nel.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1830475053734000396.post-4283411258020633345</id><published>2008-08-06T09:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-07T08:37:28.094-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I dont really want to dance with you</title><content type='html'>We all do things that we don't want to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For some of us, its working at our lame summer jobs. Or maybe its doing homework. Or perhaps chores you're parents (who still think they have full rein over you ) tell you to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For me, its usually doing something that i'm totally not into but I do it because my friends, or people i'm with, really want too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To me this is quite a large sacrafice but most of the time, im happy to do it. I find myself conforming to plans that, on any given day, when i'm not with these people, i wouldnt normally do. And lately its not just plans that im conforming too. Its the types of music we listen to when we drive, or the people we are continuously hanging out with. Why can't we try something different? Why do we have to go to a different club every weekend? Why cant we do something I want to do for a change?  I can question these things all i want, but i know the answer is because certain people thouroughly enjoy these activies even tho i may not.&lt;br /&gt;Yet I find myself being the only one giving in to others. Why is it that we constantly do these things that you want to do but when there are certain things i want to do, im on my own? I thought comprimise was supposed to go both ways?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I shouldnt have to have a completely different set of friends just do go and do the things that I enjoy. I should be able to go out with all of my friends, and do something that i like doing, weather they like it or not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because I do it for you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1830475053734000396-4283411258020633345?l=daniellecollura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/feeds/4283411258020633345/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1830475053734000396&amp;postID=4283411258020633345' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/4283411258020633345'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/4283411258020633345'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/2008/08/i-dont-really-want-to-dance-with-you.html' title='I dont really want to dance with you'/><author><name>Nelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14985134524875010425</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SM02MfOeQ9I/AAAAAAAAAFs/SpbzNcwewnM/S220/nel.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1830475053734000396.post-5441285656688871121</id><published>2008-06-18T13:07:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-18T13:18:15.641-07:00</updated><title type='text'>second chances..they dont ever matter, people never change.</title><content type='html'>Why is it that we feel the need to give people we're in relationships with, or lack there of, the benefit of the doubt, not once, not twice, but several times. Not only do we give them the benefit of the doubt, but in some cases, we make excuses for them.&lt;br /&gt;No matter how many times they screw up, or let you down, or hurt you....most of the time, we're willing to put all of that behind us and set ourselves up for failure yet again. I understand we all have needs and wants, but why do we let these people who are just downright ungrateful, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;unappreciative&lt;/span&gt;, insecure people walk in and out of our lives as they please?&lt;br /&gt;We &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;shouldn't&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;That's&lt;/span&gt; what &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;I'm&lt;/span&gt; trying to say.&lt;br /&gt;Think about it - lets say you have a friend, who constantly lets you down, is &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;unreliable&lt;/span&gt; and is sometimes devious and malicious. What do we do with that friend? Most of us say SEE YA LATER. We &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;don't&lt;/span&gt; put up with it, we rant and rave to our other friends, and most of the time we let that friend know that they are being a crappy person. So why can't we do that with people we are in relationships with? You could say, " oh well its different you cant compare the two". No its not really different at all. If someone is treating you like crap, chances are they are going to keep treating you like crap if you let them.&lt;br /&gt;The reason i say this is because there has been a lot of this going around lately, from what i hear. Cut your losses my friends. Chances are you will be happier in the long run, and those people will not be.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1830475053734000396-5441285656688871121?l=daniellecollura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/feeds/5441285656688871121/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1830475053734000396&amp;postID=5441285656688871121' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/5441285656688871121'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/5441285656688871121'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/2008/06/second-chancesthey-dont-ever-matter.html' title='second chances..they dont ever matter, people never change.'/><author><name>Nelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14985134524875010425</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SM02MfOeQ9I/AAAAAAAAAFs/SpbzNcwewnM/S220/nel.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1830475053734000396.post-7485096689247663588</id><published>2008-06-06T06:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-06T06:39:52.198-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Summer Days, Summer Hayze.</title><content type='html'>If you live in Hamilton Ontario, then you can relate to me when i  refer to summer as Summer &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Hayze&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;Our &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;smoggie&lt;/span&gt; weather takes a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;toll&lt;/span&gt; on us when the summer heat hits. Of course, we're used to it. Outside &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;vistors&lt;/span&gt; may not be, but they are aware when they enter &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;smoggville&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;But you would think, if you lived in Hamilton you would know to take all the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;necessary&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;precautions&lt;/span&gt; of personal &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;hygiene&lt;/span&gt; when the hot weather takes over the city. Its quite simple actually - if you know you are going to be taking the bus to work ( for example ) then you might want to shower that morning. Or at least pack on the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;deodorant&lt;/span&gt; for the sake of other people who are crammed on the bus. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Theres&lt;/span&gt; barely room to breathe as it is... please don't make the breathing painful by smelling dumpster. If you know that its going to be a hot day, but you have to wear a suit to work - skip the jacket ! no one expects you to wear that anyway - they do sell dress shirts of breathable cotton, there is no need to be &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;trekking&lt;/span&gt; to work in a full out suit.&lt;br /&gt;Ladies who are self conscious about bare arms, legs, or any part of their body which causes them to wear parkas on these summer days. GET OVER IT. its hot okay - no ones going to blame you for wanting to keep cool. Chances are you don't look as bad as you think you look anyway!&lt;br /&gt;Ladies who don't want to wear any clothes at all. PUT IT AWAY. nobody wants to see that.&lt;br /&gt;The world would be a better, less smelly place if people would just take this into consideration.&lt;br /&gt;Enjoy the weather!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1830475053734000396-7485096689247663588?l=daniellecollura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/feeds/7485096689247663588/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1830475053734000396&amp;postID=7485096689247663588' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/7485096689247663588'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/7485096689247663588'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/2008/06/summer-days-summer-hayze.html' title='Summer Days, Summer Hayze.'/><author><name>Nelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14985134524875010425</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SM02MfOeQ9I/AAAAAAAAAFs/SpbzNcwewnM/S220/nel.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1830475053734000396.post-7533805286431268402</id><published>2008-05-26T19:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-04T12:25:06.894-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Life Effect.</title><content type='html'>You could say that im not ready to start my life.&lt;br /&gt;And im honestly not.&lt;br /&gt;Right now, what i have going on, is as much as i can probabaly handle right now, at this point in my life.&lt;br /&gt;So why does my life decide it wants to throw me these curveballs? Im just living my life. Im not bothering anyone with my life.&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes i feel like its not worth fighting for. I should just stop now and start my life. But i can't, because i know that's not where im supposed to be right now. I know where i'm supposed to be, and yes, its going to be hard to get back there. But i have to get back there, because thats where i belong.&lt;br /&gt;Im going to do everything i can, like the doctors on greys when they are trying to save someones life. Thats how hard im going to work.&lt;br /&gt;I will get back there.&lt;br /&gt;I will continue to do what im supposed to do.&lt;br /&gt;Im not going to settle for my half lived life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1830475053734000396-7533805286431268402?l=daniellecollura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/feeds/7533805286431268402/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1830475053734000396&amp;postID=7533805286431268402' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/7533805286431268402'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/7533805286431268402'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/2008/05/life-effect.html' title='Life Effect.'/><author><name>Nelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14985134524875010425</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SM02MfOeQ9I/AAAAAAAAAFs/SpbzNcwewnM/S220/nel.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1830475053734000396.post-6446828603013380742</id><published>2008-05-21T20:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-21T20:20:04.603-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Don't be afraid to sing</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:180%;"  &gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your quiet eyes, your mouth that never tells lies&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;"  &gt; You've got one hour, its time you told your story&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;"  &gt; Eighteen alone, in love with the answer phone&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;"  &gt; And too afraid, you're too afraid to fall for anything&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;"  &gt; And too afraid, much too afraid to sing&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;"  &gt; I won't pretend, that I can see the end, but&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;"  &gt; Its far away, its in the distance&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;"  &gt; We'll find a place, there isn't room for two of us&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;"  &gt; The minutes drag, then there's a world between us&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;"  &gt; We all come to an end&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;"  &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt; And we all end together&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:180%;"  &gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1830475053734000396-6446828603013380742?l=daniellecollura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/feeds/6446828603013380742/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1830475053734000396&amp;postID=6446828603013380742' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/6446828603013380742'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/6446828603013380742'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/2008/05/dont-be-afraid-to-sing.html' title='Don&apos;t be afraid to sing'/><author><name>Nelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14985134524875010425</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SM02MfOeQ9I/AAAAAAAAAFs/SpbzNcwewnM/S220/nel.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1830475053734000396.post-1283107086491111265</id><published>2008-04-10T08:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-10T18:07:37.892-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The District Sleeps Alone</title><content type='html'>Everyone has those days,&lt;br /&gt;when you cant help but feel alone.&lt;br /&gt;And its not because your friends aren't hanging out with you, or because your away from your family, or even because you don't have a significant other to go to. Its simply because of you.&lt;br /&gt;Imagine that your watching your life like you would watch a movie on this particular day of feeling lonely. The camera zooms in on you... and everything around you is a blur.&lt;br /&gt;Your friends are talking but you don't really hear them&lt;br /&gt;People are laughing but you don't care why&lt;br /&gt;You call home, and the world seems to be ending and all you can think about is being somewhere else, even though nowhere else can change how you feel.&lt;br /&gt;So what happens when you are trapped in this blur.&lt;br /&gt;   You think about what you  need to do, and decide you simply aren't capable of it.&lt;br /&gt;   Everything makes you cry, for no reason&lt;br /&gt;   You think of every past event in your life that has left you unhappy and wonder 'why me'?&lt;br /&gt;   Things seem way worse then they are&lt;br /&gt;This feeling doesn't happen very often, but when it does it hits you like a ton of bricks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So whats the solution?&lt;br /&gt;Have that day.&lt;br /&gt;Deal with it all.&lt;br /&gt;Get some sleep.&lt;br /&gt;And when you wake up the next day, it will all seem like a bad dream.&lt;br /&gt;I believe our bodies and our minds make us have these days, in order to face the issues that implicitly you don't know you have.&lt;br /&gt;Almost like... Spring cleaning, for your brain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;haha. yeah.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1830475053734000396-1283107086491111265?l=daniellecollura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/feeds/1283107086491111265/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1830475053734000396&amp;postID=1283107086491111265' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/1283107086491111265'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/1283107086491111265'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/2008/04/district-sleeps-alone.html' title='The District Sleeps Alone'/><author><name>Nelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14985134524875010425</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SM02MfOeQ9I/AAAAAAAAAFs/SpbzNcwewnM/S220/nel.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1830475053734000396.post-6495196052453324519</id><published>2008-03-16T20:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-20T15:56:44.121-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Expectations</title><content type='html'>There are so many things in life that as humans we expect.&lt;br /&gt;We expect to go to school.&lt;br /&gt;We expect  to make friends.&lt;br /&gt;We expect that we will lead happy lives.&lt;br /&gt;We expect we will find someone to love.&lt;br /&gt;But do these expectations that we want for ourselves get in the way of what we expect from other people?&lt;br /&gt;Granted we all want and deserve basic things from other people : respect, kindness and fair judgment. What happens when we expect things beyond these basic aspects of life? There are certain people in the world that are not able to change who they are. You have the choice on whether or not to have these people in your lives.&lt;br /&gt;You cannot expect people to be able to read your mind.&lt;br /&gt;You can't expect them to be good at something they have never done before.&lt;br /&gt;You can't expect them to act and respond they way that you want them too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes people need to step back, look around them and look at what they have. Ask themselves if they're happy, if they want more from life. You can't expect things to change if you dont do anything to change them. Ultimately you control your own life, your happiness, your decisions.&lt;br /&gt;You can't expect people to make you happy.&lt;br /&gt;You make your own happiness.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1830475053734000396-6495196052453324519?l=daniellecollura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/feeds/6495196052453324519/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1830475053734000396&amp;postID=6495196052453324519' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/6495196052453324519'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/6495196052453324519'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/2008/03/expectations.html' title='Expectations'/><author><name>Nelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14985134524875010425</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SM02MfOeQ9I/AAAAAAAAAFs/SpbzNcwewnM/S220/nel.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1830475053734000396.post-6236953320351623473</id><published>2008-03-02T20:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-02T20:23:50.526-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Fall Together</title><content type='html'>Change.&lt;br /&gt;In one instant, before you even have time to process that something in your life has changed, its too late.&lt;br /&gt;I don't think we will ever understand why things happen. There will never be a full explanation for changing the course of a persons life.  We all live our day to day lives like we're going to be here tomorrow, and be the same person we are tomorrow as we are today. But sometimes, for these unknown reasons, that doesn't happen for everyone.&lt;br /&gt;Its hard to know what you have until you see someone else lose everything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A twenty five year old man walked into his indoor soccer game ( like he does every week) and left a paraplegic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just like that, this man's life is changed. At the peak of his youth he is no longer able to walk and confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life. There was nothing he could have done to prevent what happened, it was an accident. There is nothing anyone could do to prepare themselves for a loss like that because no one expects it to happen to them. Thankfully he is still with us and this is a blessing in itself however, he has many obstacles he must overcome now that he would never imagine he would have to.&lt;br /&gt;These challenges he will overcome with the support of his friends and family and the people that love him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life is short, and we don't know what it holds for us.&lt;br /&gt;So act on your gut feelings&lt;br /&gt;Say the things that are on your mind when they come to you&lt;br /&gt;Feel emotion, let it in, and embrace it.&lt;br /&gt;Do things for yourself and let someone be proud of you.&lt;br /&gt;Mend broken relationships before its too late.&lt;br /&gt;Tell the people you love, that you love them. Everyday.&lt;br /&gt;And be thankful for what you have because you never know when you may not have it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Trust Fund for Joe Boudreau&lt;br /&gt;Anyone who'd like to help can donate to the trust account for Joe Boudreau at any First Ontario Credit Union branch using the verification number 416188.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1830475053734000396-6236953320351623473?l=daniellecollura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/feeds/6236953320351623473/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1830475053734000396&amp;postID=6236953320351623473' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/6236953320351623473'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/6236953320351623473'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/2008/03/fall-together.html' title='Fall Together'/><author><name>Nelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14985134524875010425</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SM02MfOeQ9I/AAAAAAAAAFs/SpbzNcwewnM/S220/nel.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1830475053734000396.post-7846314213904559177</id><published>2008-02-23T13:13:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-23T13:15:39.453-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Yes We Can</title><content type='html'>My dad knows me oh too well and sent me this link, check it out...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=jjXyqcx-mYY"&gt;http://youtube.com/watch?v=jjXyqcx-mYY&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1830475053734000396-7846314213904559177?l=daniellecollura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/feeds/7846314213904559177/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1830475053734000396&amp;postID=7846314213904559177' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/7846314213904559177'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/7846314213904559177'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/2008/02/yes-we-can.html' title='Yes We Can'/><author><name>Nelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14985134524875010425</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SM02MfOeQ9I/AAAAAAAAAFs/SpbzNcwewnM/S220/nel.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1830475053734000396.post-797240201948924082</id><published>2008-02-20T11:17:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-20T11:35:21.737-08:00</updated><title type='text'>With a little help from my FRIENDS...</title><content type='html'>what would you do if i sang out of tune? would you stand up and walk out on me?&lt;br /&gt;lend me your ears and ill sing you a song and ill try not to sing out of key&lt;br /&gt;oh i get by with a little help from my friends, oh im going to try with a little help from my friends&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/R7x9khlDiTI/AAAAAAAAABY/O-BVWEE1ges/s320/The+Arms+055.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5169144538757040434" border="0" /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/R7x94xlDiUI/AAAAAAAAABg/pd3LEfje988/s1600-h/Frost+Week+042.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/R7x94xlDiUI/AAAAAAAAABg/pd3LEfje988/s320/Frost+Week+042.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5169144886649391426" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/R7x-GRlDiVI/AAAAAAAAABo/vylD8FmdS1M/s1600-h/n625480396_146139_934.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/R7x-GRlDiVI/AAAAAAAAABo/vylD8FmdS1M/s320/n625480396_146139_934.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5169145118577625426" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/R7x-ZBlDiWI/AAAAAAAAABw/ynw7b_uR4oI/s1600-h/Christmas+break+008.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/R7x-ZBlDiWI/AAAAAAAAABw/ynw7b_uR4oI/s320/Christmas+break+008.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5169145440700172642" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/R7x-thlDiXI/AAAAAAAAAB4/BlPR87Q6mxo/s1600-h/New+Years+045.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/R7x-thlDiXI/AAAAAAAAAB4/BlPR87Q6mxo/s320/New+Years+045.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5169145792887490930" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/R7x--BlDiYI/AAAAAAAAACA/sca5KjTOhv8/s1600-h/New+Years+021.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/R7x--BlDiYI/AAAAAAAAACA/sca5KjTOhv8/s320/New+Years+021.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5169146076355332482" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/R7x_7hlDiZI/AAAAAAAAACI/pzCqWYq-nWE/s1600-h/My+boys+do+Brock+013.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/R7x_7hlDiZI/AAAAAAAAACI/pzCqWYq-nWE/s320/My+boys+do+Brock+013.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5169147132917287314" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/R7yAqhlDibI/AAAAAAAAACY/R0etKI1Vd58/s1600-h/n172000966_33885694_2376.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/R7yAqhlDibI/AAAAAAAAACY/R0etKI1Vd58/s320/n172000966_33885694_2376.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5169147940371138994" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/R7yAMxlDiaI/AAAAAAAAACQ/ZDeR2nYzhgY/s1600-h/Family+and+Work+067.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/R7yAMxlDiaI/AAAAAAAAACQ/ZDeR2nYzhgY/s320/Family+and+Work+067.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5169147429270030754" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/R7yA5RlDicI/AAAAAAAAACg/jEwCtiauuKI/s1600-h/n172000788_32797131_8098.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/R7yA5RlDicI/AAAAAAAAACg/jEwCtiauuKI/s320/n172000788_32797131_8098.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5169148193774209474" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1830475053734000396-797240201948924082?l=daniellecollura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/feeds/797240201948924082/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1830475053734000396&amp;postID=797240201948924082' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/797240201948924082'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/797240201948924082'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/2008/02/with-little-help-from-my-friends.html' title='With a little help from my FRIENDS...'/><author><name>Nelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14985134524875010425</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SM02MfOeQ9I/AAAAAAAAAFs/SpbzNcwewnM/S220/nel.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/R7x9khlDiTI/AAAAAAAAABY/O-BVWEE1ges/s72-c/The+Arms+055.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1830475053734000396.post-2169353183031025237</id><published>2008-01-21T19:49:00.002-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-21T20:37:29.848-08:00</updated><title type='text'>For the Price of a Cup of Tea.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/R5Vy1aPAJHI/AAAAAAAAABQ/ptH05WOfdOY/s1600-h/Visiting+Orphans+-+2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/R5Vy1aPAJHI/AAAAAAAAABQ/ptH05WOfdOY/s320/Visiting+Orphans+-+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158155210123650162" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So this morning - as i tiredly walked back from my 9 AM Neuropsychology Lab - I crossed that place in Mac Chown where all kinds of people set up booths for all kinds of reasons - from bake sales to political events.&lt;br /&gt;I passed a table where there was an empty water jug on the table, 2 girls sitting down at a table with no fancy signs or cupcakes and another girl standing on a chair yelling "Change for Orphans". A couple booths down there was another set of girls dressed in pre-made t-shirts that were skin tight with a table full of delicious treats that co-ordinated with the t-shirts they wore, and loaded with endless amounts of your non dietary candy coded sugar balls. The glittery sign at the front of the booth read " Suport Brock Cheerleaders" - ( no i did not make a spelling mistake- this is what the sign read).&lt;br /&gt;As i stopped to drop a couple of quarters in the empty water jug i noticed the abundance of people crowded  around the baked goods, forking out money to "suport" the cheerleaders. I thanked the girls at the table for sticking around for such a good cause as i watched hundreds of people walk by the table pretending like they did not hear the girl who was standing on the chair yelling at the top of her lungs as they walked on looking down at their shoes, fiddling with their cell phones or stopping for the cheerleaders.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As i made my way to the library i couldn't shake the feeling of watching all of those people pretend like they did not know what was going on. Are people so involved in their everyday lives and so consumed with how they live their life that they think there are no other people in this world who need their help? What does it take to pop a new coins into a jar? No one was asking you to give up your home with your parents and move from foster home to foster home like these kids are doing.  I don't understand how somewhere along the way we have deemed ourselves better then others. I don't understand how its okay to stop for the cheerleaders (who clearly need more help then we think because they can't spell) but not okay to stop for the actual causes of this world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Good thing you didn't stop to give for those orphans.&lt;br /&gt;What would the Cheerleaders tink?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1830475053734000396-2169353183031025237?l=daniellecollura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/feeds/2169353183031025237/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1830475053734000396&amp;postID=2169353183031025237' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/2169353183031025237'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/2169353183031025237'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/2008/01/for-price-of-cup-of-tea_21.html' title='For the Price of a Cup of Tea.'/><author><name>Nelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14985134524875010425</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SM02MfOeQ9I/AAAAAAAAAFs/SpbzNcwewnM/S220/nel.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/R5Vy1aPAJHI/AAAAAAAAABQ/ptH05WOfdOY/s72-c/Visiting+Orphans+-+2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1830475053734000396.post-1355670735479761242</id><published>2008-01-16T18:10:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-16T21:34:20.906-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Nerves normal. Breath normal.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="me"&gt;nor·mal&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span class="pronset"&gt;&lt;span class="show_ipapr" style="display: none;"&gt;&lt;span class="prondelim"&gt;/&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="pron"&gt;ˈnɔr&lt;img class="luna-Img" src="http://cache.lexico.com/dictionary/graphics/luna/thinsp.png" alt="" border="0" /&gt;məl&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="prondelim"&gt;/&lt;/span&gt; &lt;a class="pronlink" onclick="pk = window.open('/help/luna/IPA_pron_key.html', 'PronunciationKey','height=700,width=560,left=0,top=0,resizable,scrollbars');if(pk){pk.focus();}" onmouseout="status='';return true;" onmouseover="status='Click for pronunciation key';return true;" title="Click for pronunciation key"&gt;Pronunciation Key&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="pron_toggle" style="display: inline;"&gt;&lt;span class="prondelim"&gt; - &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a class="pronlink" onclick="javascript:show_sp()" onmouseout="status='';return true;" onmouseover="status='Click to toggle pronunciation';return true;" title="Click to show spelled pronunciation"&gt;Show Spelled Pronunciation&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="show_spellpr" style="display: inline;"&gt;&lt;span class="prondelim"&gt;[&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="pron"&gt;&lt;b&gt;nawr&lt;/b&gt;-m&lt;i&gt;uh&lt;/i&gt;l&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="prondelim"&gt;]&lt;/span&gt; &lt;a class="pronlink" onclick="pk = window.open('/help/luna/Spell_pron_key.html', 'PronunciationKey','height=700,width=560,left=0,top=0,resizable,scrollbars');if(pk){pk.focus();}" onmouseout="status='';return true;" onmouseover="status='Click for pronunciation key';return true;" title="Click for pronunciation key"&gt;Pronunciation Key&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="pron_toggle" style="display: inline;"&gt;&lt;span class="prondelim"&gt; - &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a class="pronlink" onclick="javascript:show_ip()" onmouseout="status='';return true;" onmouseover="status='Click to toggle pronunciation';return true;" title="Click to show IPA pronunciation"&gt;Show IPA Pronunciation&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="pg"&gt;–adjective  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;table class="luna-Ent"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="dn" valign="top"&gt;1.&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign="top"&gt;conforming to the standard or the common type; usual; not abnormal; regular; natural.&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have come to believe that many people in today's society are obsessed with normality. Day after day you hear people say " i just want things to go back to normal." But what is normal really? And when people say that, can they even remember a time when they recalled their life to be "normal". I think that people try so hard for their lives to be normal, when really - theres nothing normal about them. And what constitutes a "normal" life anyway? Who sets the standards of whats normal and what isnt? We can't very well base normality on history because what was once history is now foreign to us and not considered normal in today's society. So whats normal today? Celebrity gossip, bleached blonde hair, fake tans and Ugg boots?- If normality is conforming to the "standard or the common type" then yes this is what it means to be "normal" in today's society.&lt;br /&gt;If this is the unanimous  idea of normality then i want no part in it. Im normal - and i dont even own Ugg boots. Just because we each live our lives a different way does not mean that we are not normal people. Its normal to want what other people have, its normal to try your best and still fail sometimes, its normal not to not be in a serious relationship all the time, its normal to want to do well and its normal to not want to do anything at all.&lt;br /&gt;So the next time you hear someone say " thats not normal " - ask them how many tanning minutes they have left, or what colour Ugg boot they perfer.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1830475053734000396-1355670735479761242?l=daniellecollura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/feeds/1355670735479761242/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1830475053734000396&amp;postID=1355670735479761242' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/1355670735479761242'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/1355670735479761242'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/2008/01/nerves-normal-breath-normal.html' title='Nerves normal. Breath normal.'/><author><name>Nelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14985134524875010425</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SM02MfOeQ9I/AAAAAAAAAFs/SpbzNcwewnM/S220/nel.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1830475053734000396.post-5213953864395684491</id><published>2008-01-10T17:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-10T19:46:11.263-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Moment i Said it...</title><content type='html'>A new year is upon us ( a little late i know ) but nonetheless its here.&lt;br /&gt;    At the end of a year people tend to look back on their year, think it over, decide what they thought was good about and what they regretted, hence New years resolutions. Regret especially is the kind of thing that once it happens... theres no turning back. Sometimes people say and do things just because its what they were feeling in the heat of the moment.  We've all been there and we've all done it. The point in time when theres a slip of the tongue and instant regret the moment it has been said. Of course the immediate response when this happens is " i didn't really mean that..." but we all know that yes, we did. Somewhere deep down inside us we mean every single word of it. But we say we don't mean it because we know that it hurts someone else.&lt;br /&gt;     Maybe its our guilty conscious taking over for a quick recovery, or maybe its the fact that as much as something bothers us we do not have the heart to make someone else feel inadequate, unwanted, or unhappy. But what about the things that tend to bother you so much that you cant shake them. You tell yourself over and over that it doesn't bother you but really nothing has ever bothered you so much in your entire life. Do you take the chance and tell those people how they are really making you feel or do you keep quiet and suffer because... you'd rather see them happy.&lt;br /&gt;I guess it depends on how much they mean to you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1830475053734000396-5213953864395684491?l=daniellecollura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/feeds/5213953864395684491/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1830475053734000396&amp;postID=5213953864395684491' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/5213953864395684491'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/5213953864395684491'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/2008/01/moment-i-said-it.html' title='The Moment i Said it...'/><author><name>Nelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14985134524875010425</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SM02MfOeQ9I/AAAAAAAAAFs/SpbzNcwewnM/S220/nel.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1830475053734000396.post-2805345551473649397</id><published>2007-12-12T16:58:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-12T17:11:32.404-08:00</updated><title type='text'>She can't help it, the girl can't help it</title><content type='html'>I understand what it means to love.&lt;br /&gt;I love people everyday. All kinds of people.&lt;br /&gt;People say a lot of things about love.  One that i've heard a lot lately is that "love makes you do stupid things". I agree with this. I mean, ive been there (there being stupid). But im not so sure that i believe it to the extent that they are words to live by. How can you let "love" rule your world? Let you tell you what to do, and keep you from saying the things you want, or even ending what you thought may have been love? And why do people let love be all they have, to the point that they wouldn't be able to go on without that other person. Yes, i believe in love but i do not believe in not having self love. If i lost someone i loved - and i mean legitimately lost- i may think that i couldn't go on without that person, but its not true because you do go on, you have too. It would hurt for a while, maybe even forever but you have to go on. So why is it that people think that when they lose love - and not legitimately lose it- that they don't have anything else to live for. People lose love and they move on, so why is it that when love leaves you, you suddenly become nonexistent  and unimportant?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;To top it off - people shouldn't have to be scared to leave love if its what they want. Its not fair that because you don't feel the love that you once felt that you have to stick it out to save someone else.&lt;br /&gt;Maybe im way off. Maybe what i thought was love really wasn't at all and i don't understand what other people are going through and i am completely insensitive and incorrect about these situations.&lt;br /&gt;But i don't think so. I'm usually never wrong.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1830475053734000396-2805345551473649397?l=daniellecollura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/feeds/2805345551473649397/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1830475053734000396&amp;postID=2805345551473649397' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/2805345551473649397'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/2805345551473649397'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/2007/12/she-cant-help-it-girl-cant-help-it.html' title='She can&apos;t help it, the girl can&apos;t help it'/><author><name>Nelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14985134524875010425</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SM02MfOeQ9I/AAAAAAAAAFs/SpbzNcwewnM/S220/nel.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1830475053734000396.post-7987145408608272911</id><published>2007-12-04T20:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-04T20:21:58.728-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I believe in miracles</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/R1YnSsgJwcI/AAAAAAAAABI/CegLh_jljIs/s1600-h/oc151.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/R1YnSsgJwcI/AAAAAAAAABI/CegLh_jljIs/s320/oc151.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5140339226827145666" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So i guess i woke up on the wrong side of the bed today. But not the side of the bed you're thinking of.... the...good side. Which hasent really happened for me in a while. But regardless i was feeling good. About everything, my first exam that i was about to write, my upcoming exams, and most of all the number one thing on my mind was... Christmas. Which yes, is also very unusal for me, but i proceeded to download all of the required Pop Diva christmas albums and have had them on all day.&lt;br /&gt;So why the new leaf? Well, last Christmas in my little world was not what i had expected it to be. A part of my life that i wish could be erased, kept me from experiencing a good Christmas. The stress of school (my first exams i had ever written in university), the balance of making new friends in university and keeping the ones i had left behind, not being close to my family, and relationships that ended up being... not so relationshipy.&lt;br /&gt;I dont think that its a bad thing that i want to make this christmas/new years a better one then i have had in many years. If it mean i have to be happy for a while, i will make that sacrifice. As much as i still acknowledge of the crap things that go on in my life, this is a pretty good excuse for keeping things chipper, especially around exams, and im going to keep it up ( or at least try ) because it feels goood.&lt;br /&gt;Also, i am awaiting my Christmuka miracle and dammit im going to get it this year :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1830475053734000396-7987145408608272911?l=daniellecollura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/feeds/7987145408608272911/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1830475053734000396&amp;postID=7987145408608272911' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/7987145408608272911'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/7987145408608272911'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/2007/12/head-vs-heart.html' title='I believe in miracles'/><author><name>Nelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14985134524875010425</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SM02MfOeQ9I/AAAAAAAAAFs/SpbzNcwewnM/S220/nel.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/R1YnSsgJwcI/AAAAAAAAABI/CegLh_jljIs/s72-c/oc151.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1830475053734000396.post-2918313876292638282</id><published>2007-12-01T16:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-02T20:50:06.155-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Seriously</title><content type='html'>Have you ever wondered that maybe, somewhere in your future, weather its near future or not, that theres something else for you. That the way you think your life is going to go - may not work out the way you are planning. Or are you one of those people who already see their future - know whats going to happen - because for you, there are no other options.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;okay danielle where is this rant coming from? Well ive been watching a lot of Grey's Anatomy lately (shut up its a good show) and i cant help but notice that in that show the most unexpected things happen to the most decent of people. People who have their lives already planned, people who know what they want and where they are going. Its rare that you see bad things happen to people who deserve it. Why is that? Maybe because no one really deserves bad news like the people on that show get.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;on another note&lt;br /&gt;exams are coming up and i am stressssing out. I dont want it to be a repeat of midterms when i studied my ass off and got nowhere. Im hoping that all my studying this time will pay off a little bit more. I just need to get through this year. I need to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess there is no point to this blog, i just havent written in a while.&lt;br /&gt;Good Luck on Exams.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1830475053734000396-2918313876292638282?l=daniellecollura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/feeds/2918313876292638282/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1830475053734000396&amp;postID=2918313876292638282' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/2918313876292638282'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/2918313876292638282'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/2007/12/have-you-ever-wondered-that-maybe.html' title='Seriously'/><author><name>Nelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14985134524875010425</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SM02MfOeQ9I/AAAAAAAAAFs/SpbzNcwewnM/S220/nel.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1830475053734000396.post-4204822048855641395</id><published>2007-11-19T19:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-19T19:50:29.108-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Little Trees</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/R0JZR8YFutI/AAAAAAAAABA/kCdN0gI-sMI/s1600-h/xmas-tree4c.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/R0JZR8YFutI/AAAAAAAAABA/kCdN0gI-sMI/s320/xmas-tree4c.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5134764689955601106" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So today, Dennis and i got on the topic of Christmas. Last years Christmas was different. I wasn't looking forward to going home- not at all.  We were going on a Cruise, and as much as i should have been excited, i was the farthest thing from.  This Christmas is going to be different. I am actually looking forward to going home and spending some time with the family and friends.&lt;br /&gt;So, along with all the fun things that come with Christmas, over the years its become more of a chore in my house then anything else.&lt;br /&gt;My mom, loves the fact that we are "older" and in her eyes, Christmas doesnt mean that much to us anymore- so no more stockings, no more colored lights, no more getting to help put up the tree. My mom preps the tree now, which we no longer go out and buy all together, my dad will go to the nearest parking lot where the guy sits in his car and waits for someone to buy a tree. She decorates in all one color (gold) because it looks classy. No more tacky sentimental homemade ornaments that Steven James and I worked so diligently on. She makes my dad put up white christmas lights only outside. No more multicolor bulbs for us.&lt;br /&gt;We no longer get Christmas presents from Santa. So one gift each, plus what Steven Jimmy and I buy for each other.&lt;br /&gt;My Dad- no longer feels the need to get us up at 7am. And instead of all accumulating in the living room in a rush, we make coffee first, sit on the couch and wait for our mom to distribute the gifts with such enthusiasm ( "this is yours, this is yours, put that wrapping in the garbage, i already have one of these, etc).&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes i wish i was still 7 so i got all the perks of Christmas Still&lt;br /&gt;But this is my Christmas, and i can't wait for it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1830475053734000396-4204822048855641395?l=daniellecollura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/feeds/4204822048855641395/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1830475053734000396&amp;postID=4204822048855641395' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/4204822048855641395'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/4204822048855641395'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/2007/11/happy-little-trees.html' title='Happy Little Trees'/><author><name>Nelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14985134524875010425</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SM02MfOeQ9I/AAAAAAAAAFs/SpbzNcwewnM/S220/nel.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/R0JZR8YFutI/AAAAAAAAABA/kCdN0gI-sMI/s72-c/xmas-tree4c.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1830475053734000396.post-1508298159520583547</id><published>2007-11-14T07:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-14T07:43:48.056-08:00</updated><title type='text'>What Im trying to say</title><content type='html'>So i havent written in my blog for a long time - ive had blog block.&lt;br /&gt;Actually ive had no time. For anything&lt;br /&gt;I'm going home this weekend and I think thats a good idea. I need a little home time. I wont want it for long, but I need it.&lt;br /&gt;I need to get back to feeling like me. Not this person i have become in the past couple of weeks. Ya, i know, i am a generally angry person but ive never been the way i am right now.&lt;br /&gt;Just frustrated, all the time.&lt;br /&gt;Most of the time i just want to scream at everyone. I found myself becoming this person who is not happy because i cant help but think of everything that makes me mad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So im thinking...&lt;br /&gt;There are some things that im not going to do anymore, and its not because I don't care anymore but its because I need to give myself some sanity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to feel sorry anymore unless is something that is genuinely unfortunate. I will refuse to feel sorry and HELP those people who are not willing to help themselves.&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to not tell you when I need you to do something. When it comes down to it, everyone is busy and everyone needs to help out, asking for help is not a bad thing. It does not have to be deceiving and temperamental, its just help.&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to get the closure i want. Because, its over. I don't need to know why everything happens, because thats not how life works. There are going to be more people like you who don't always give me a the straight answer that i want. I can't dwell on those people, I have noticed that i have better things to do.&lt;br /&gt;I am not going to expect the worst of people all the time. I want to give you the chance to prove to me that you don't always put yourself before the people you care about.&lt;br /&gt;I am not going to pretend that everything you say and do is okay. I will tell you when the things you say are hurtful, because sometimes they are. We all say things we don't mean.&lt;br /&gt;I'm going to spend more time with me, less time being angry. I'm going to try to gather my thoughts before i decide i'm going to be in a bad mood because that is not fair to the people around me who have done nothing wrong. If it is worth being upset however, i will be. But i wont just be miserable and not know why.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Im going to try to do these things. I may not be perfect, and i may need help. But i am going to try, not for anyone else, but for me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1830475053734000396-1508298159520583547?l=daniellecollura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/feeds/1508298159520583547/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1830475053734000396&amp;postID=1508298159520583547' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/1508298159520583547'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/1508298159520583547'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/2007/11/so-i-havent-written-in-my-blog-for-long.html' title='What Im trying to say'/><author><name>Nelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14985134524875010425</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SM02MfOeQ9I/AAAAAAAAAFs/SpbzNcwewnM/S220/nel.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1830475053734000396.post-9385205771616612</id><published>2007-11-04T19:43:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-04T19:49:42.056-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I Can't Hear the Music</title><content type='html'>So this weekend, i did probably the hardest thing ive ever had to do&lt;br /&gt;I turned down the opportunity to attend, not one, but TWO concerts. IN A ROW. Ya ya i know. What was i thinking right?&lt;br /&gt;Concert number 1 : Manchester Orchestra. YAA. I know. Me, Roth, good old big bro rick, it would have been amazing and from what i hear it was Superb.&lt;br /&gt;Concert number 2: The Most Serene Republic. I know, another great disapointment. Ive seen them once before and yes they captured my heart.&lt;br /&gt;So why do you ask? Why Danielle (Donyelle) did you do such a stupid thing? Because of HOMEWORK... i know! who does homework?&lt;br /&gt;I have never sacrificed concerts before.&lt;br /&gt;Ever.&lt;br /&gt;It didnt feel very good. I hope my friends never let me make those decision ever again. And if i don't get 80 or above on my lab and my presentation that kept me from these wonders of the world, i will not be a happy concert goer.&lt;br /&gt;Barsin wrote a new song thing weekend. Its awesome. Not as awesome as those 2 concerts would have been, but it kept me going anyway.&lt;br /&gt;Back to Work.&lt;br /&gt;Peace in the Middle East.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1830475053734000396-9385205771616612?l=daniellecollura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/feeds/9385205771616612/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1830475053734000396&amp;postID=9385205771616612' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/9385205771616612'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/9385205771616612'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/2007/11/i-cant-hear-music.html' title='I Can&apos;t Hear the Music'/><author><name>Nelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14985134524875010425</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SM02MfOeQ9I/AAAAAAAAAFs/SpbzNcwewnM/S220/nel.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1830475053734000396.post-9169166894047018280</id><published>2007-10-30T09:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-31T15:45:37.515-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I get Annngry when you're  Around</title><content type='html'>I looove small talk&lt;br /&gt;Especially when the person you are having small talk with has no idea how small you actually want your talk to be. There are those people that just come around whenever they please and feel the need to want to talk to you about your life, that they perhaps were once in. But really, what is the need? If you were really concerned about me, and my life, then wouldn't you just talk to me on a regular basis anyway? Obviously you don't care that much if you only want to talk when you find yourself trapped and there is nothing else to do but talk. I'm not offended, by the way, if you choose to opt out of that little chat and walk away. " Lets talk later" - actually i have a better idea, lets not talk later. Or actually i have an even better idea, lets not talk ever. Theres always going to be people who you will just have small talk with, and thats fine. But those people who never used to be small talk people to you and now are....those people are a waste of my time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1830475053734000396-9169166894047018280?l=daniellecollura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/feeds/9169166894047018280/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1830475053734000396&amp;postID=9169166894047018280' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/9169166894047018280'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/9169166894047018280'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/2007/10/i-get-annngry-when-your-around.html' title='I get Annngry when you&apos;re  Around'/><author><name>Nelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14985134524875010425</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SM02MfOeQ9I/AAAAAAAAAFs/SpbzNcwewnM/S220/nel.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1830475053734000396.post-1869989000429101693</id><published>2007-10-24T14:54:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-24T14:55:12.826-07:00</updated><title type='text'>When it Rains.</title><content type='html'>And when it rains,&lt;br /&gt;Will you always find an escape?&lt;br /&gt;Just running away,&lt;br /&gt;From all of the ones who love you,&lt;br /&gt;From everything.&lt;br /&gt;You made yourself a bed&lt;br /&gt;At the bottom of the blackest hole&lt;br /&gt;And you'll sleep untill May&lt;br /&gt;And you'll say that you don't want to see the sun anymore&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1830475053734000396-1869989000429101693?l=daniellecollura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/feeds/1869989000429101693/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1830475053734000396&amp;postID=1869989000429101693' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/1869989000429101693'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/1869989000429101693'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/2007/10/when-it-rains.html' title='When it Rains.'/><author><name>Nelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14985134524875010425</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SM02MfOeQ9I/AAAAAAAAAFs/SpbzNcwewnM/S220/nel.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1830475053734000396.post-4570272974143450616</id><published>2007-10-22T18:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-22T18:30:23.513-07:00</updated><title type='text'>This is for Keeps</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/Rx1Oqo_Ml0I/AAAAAAAAAA4/zB2B7ycV9ko/s1600-h/n89905532_33476798_6386.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/Rx1Oqo_Ml0I/AAAAAAAAAA4/zB2B7ycV9ko/s320/n89905532_33476798_6386.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5124338445481449282" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sooo we went back to the pet store today to purchase the bunny rabbit we so fell in love with over the weekend.....sadly, he was already sold. But don't you fret, we got another just as cute, just as loveable bunny ! We have yet to name him, we're waiting on Bailey to come home so that we can do it together! Hes a really special guy and he will be so loved here :) :)!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1830475053734000396-4570272974143450616?l=daniellecollura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/feeds/4570272974143450616/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1830475053734000396&amp;postID=4570272974143450616' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/4570272974143450616'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/4570272974143450616'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/2007/10/this-is-for-keeps.html' title='This is for Keeps'/><author><name>Nelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14985134524875010425</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SM02MfOeQ9I/AAAAAAAAAFs/SpbzNcwewnM/S220/nel.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/Rx1Oqo_Ml0I/AAAAAAAAAA4/zB2B7ycV9ko/s72-c/n89905532_33476798_6386.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1830475053734000396.post-4330434003750118956</id><published>2007-10-21T19:41:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-21T20:13:14.703-07:00</updated><title type='text'>We Are Broken</title><content type='html'>Im not going to expand on this.&lt;br /&gt;This is all i have to say today.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1830475053734000396-4330434003750118956?l=daniellecollura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/feeds/4330434003750118956/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1830475053734000396&amp;postID=4330434003750118956' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/4330434003750118956'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/4330434003750118956'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/2007/10/we-are-broken.html' title='We Are Broken'/><author><name>Nelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14985134524875010425</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SM02MfOeQ9I/AAAAAAAAAFs/SpbzNcwewnM/S220/nel.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1830475053734000396.post-3589423248758143347</id><published>2007-10-20T16:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-20T17:05:53.456-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Crash the Party</title><content type='html'>Sooo yesterday Bails and i had our stats exam. yay stats! hahaha we did okay ( i hope ). After we hiked our butts home from school ( seeing as our bus doesnt run on friday nights ! ) we headed over to Dragonfly to crash Paula's nineteenth birthday bash! It was lots of fun. I'm missing my girls from home ! It was sooo good to see them, oh yeah and the rest of my highschool that apparently goes to Niagara Falls every weekend?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today i bought a fish. His name is Dexter. Hes not as cool as the fish i bought for Bailey last year ( rip Derek). haha Derek was a fighter, a reeealll tough guy. Dexter is kind of a softy, but hes still totally rad.  While we were at the pet store, we fell in love with a bunny. He had to be the most rad bunny i have ever held in my hands lol. I hope we get him :) I reallllly wanna get him !!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/RxqXmo_MlyI/AAAAAAAAAAo/Js_hYjt2-Gw/s1600-h/Image014.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/RxqXmo_MlyI/AAAAAAAAAAo/Js_hYjt2-Gw/s320/Image014.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123574216180668194" border="0" /&gt;this is the bunny&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/RxqXxo_MlzI/AAAAAAAAAAw/UYqq5OKIQJc/s1600-h/Image021.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/RxqXxo_MlzI/AAAAAAAAAAw/UYqq5OKIQJc/s320/Image021.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123574405159229234" border="0" /&gt;this is dexter &lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1830475053734000396-3589423248758143347?l=daniellecollura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/feeds/3589423248758143347/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1830475053734000396&amp;postID=3589423248758143347' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/3589423248758143347'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/3589423248758143347'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/2007/10/crash-party.html' title='Crash the Party'/><author><name>Nelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14985134524875010425</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SM02MfOeQ9I/AAAAAAAAAFs/SpbzNcwewnM/S220/nel.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/RxqXmo_MlyI/AAAAAAAAAAo/Js_hYjt2-Gw/s72-c/Image014.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1830475053734000396.post-3797584191810149842</id><published>2007-10-17T18:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-17T18:23:55.474-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Misery Business</title><content type='html'>So the other day i was in my Mass Media Philosophy seminar, its a great seminar, the people are awesome, my TA is a pretty good guy and the actual content is actually interesting. Who woulda thought? During our discussion we started talking about blogs, and our TA was telling us that there are people in Iraq who write blogs about what is going on in their country. Could you imagine, sitting down at a computer to write about how you almost died that day? Or maybe someone you know. They are writing these things from their points of view of whats going on and what they see. It gives us a different perspective then what see and hear on the news. But what i was thinking was, how irrelevant does my life become when people are writing blogs about stuff like that? Maybe i shouldn't be writing a blog at all, seeing as what goes on in my daily life... really, isn't all that important?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1830475053734000396-3797584191810149842?l=daniellecollura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/feeds/3797584191810149842/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1830475053734000396&amp;postID=3797584191810149842' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/3797584191810149842'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/3797584191810149842'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/2007/10/misery-business.html' title='Misery Business'/><author><name>Nelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14985134524875010425</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SM02MfOeQ9I/AAAAAAAAAFs/SpbzNcwewnM/S220/nel.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1830475053734000396.post-2453957663893604956</id><published>2007-10-13T15:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-13T18:45:46.397-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Like O, Like H</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/RxFEQo_MlvI/AAAAAAAAAAM/XCHjWcLXZ6Y/s1600-h/DSCN2026.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/RxFEQo_MlvI/AAAAAAAAAAM/XCHjWcLXZ6Y/s320/DSCN2026.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5120949303968044786" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;O O sugar spell it out...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love the way my roommates and I can convince each other that going out on a Thursday night when they all have 9 am class on Fridays, is a good idea. Its not my fault that I have Friday's off. Sorrrryyy. Im not a bad friend, im just looking out for them, socially. I owe them, but they know they loved it. Roth even curled her hair.  Yessss.&lt;br /&gt;Flip cup champs they are too!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our weekends last year used to start on Thursdays and wouldn't end until mid Sunday when we woke up and all realized how much homework we had. These weekends are different. Its good that we are all taking school a lot more serious this year buuuuut im not going to lie i miss our four day weekends when the party used to come to us. No matter what, even when wanted to say in and work, the party was always still there. So temping, all the time. Those days when we didn't care if we ate pizza for lunch and dinner four days in a row. When going to the bar was soo scandalous because we knew we weren't allowed to be there. When cleaning up the morning after a party put everyone in the worst mood but we all knew the night before was so worth it.  But of course things change. But change isnt always a bad thing. Now we have a new house and new traditions and new things that make us who we are.&lt;br /&gt;The 24 1/2 Parker Girls.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b class="quote"&gt;“&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Change. We don't like it, we fear it. But we can't stop it from coming. We either adapt to change or we get left behind. It hurts to grow. Anybody who tells you it doesn't is lying. But here's the truth. Sometimes the more things change the more they stay the same. And sometimes, oh sometimes, change is good. Sometimes change is everything.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b style="font-style: italic;" class="quote"&gt;”&lt;/b&gt;         &lt;div style="padding: 5px; text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;-Dr. Meredith Grey&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1830475053734000396-2453957663893604956?l=daniellecollura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/feeds/2453957663893604956/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1830475053734000396&amp;postID=2453957663893604956' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/2453957663893604956'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/2453957663893604956'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/2007/10/like-o-like-h.html' title='Like O, Like H'/><author><name>Nelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14985134524875010425</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SM02MfOeQ9I/AAAAAAAAAFs/SpbzNcwewnM/S220/nel.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/RxFEQo_MlvI/AAAAAAAAAAM/XCHjWcLXZ6Y/s72-c/DSCN2026.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1830475053734000396.post-3866165669690701072</id><published>2007-10-12T14:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-12T14:36:07.553-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sleep don't Weep</title><content type='html'>Its so amazing how everything in your life can be going so well. You are used to everything, and for the most part are happy with the way things are going.  Then when you least expect it things can change. Juuust like that. No notice. No one asks you if its okay. It just changes. What do you do? Do you dwell on the new found life that you are not happy with. Do you try your best to make things go back to the way they were because ultimately that was the time when you were truly happy. Or do you pretend like nothing has changed, and hope that it will all go away soon.&lt;br /&gt;I know i like to hate on people who are "happy" but i have never actually realized how quickly it can be taken away.  Its not fair but as Luisa always says, " bad things happen to good people and we don't know why."- shes so wise.&lt;br /&gt;    I watched 3 episodes of Gossip girl today and am feeling a bit compelled to start my own gossip girl....thing. Whatever it is that the girl goes. Is she some kind of crazy ghost who can walk through walls and see and hear everything? Frig that girl is my idol. Don't worry, i wont make my blog into a gossip girl blog. Plus i don't think anyone would be able to keep up with all those short forms.&lt;br /&gt;    Anyway, im going to go hang with  B and maybe chill with R. L is going to be pretty upset when she finds out D went home. And wheres M? Thats a secret no one will tell . BAHA. its a bad show.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Toodles.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1830475053734000396-3866165669690701072?l=daniellecollura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/feeds/3866165669690701072/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1830475053734000396&amp;postID=3866165669690701072' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/3866165669690701072'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/3866165669690701072'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/2007/10/sleep-dont-weep.html' title='Sleep don&apos;t Weep'/><author><name>Nelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14985134524875010425</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SM02MfOeQ9I/AAAAAAAAAFs/SpbzNcwewnM/S220/nel.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1830475053734000396.post-5019579898967372861</id><published>2007-10-10T18:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-10T18:54:10.285-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Celebrations!</title><content type='html'>Today i celebrate&lt;br /&gt;For what do you ask?&lt;br /&gt;First i celebrate for Nonna. For the first time since ...everything...we hear good news :)&lt;br /&gt;Second i celebrate for Steven. For deciding that he didnt need to spend $640 on a new TV and that these are obstacles that we can overcome together . Good work Steven&lt;br /&gt;Third i celebrate for me. Because i like me. And because i'm proud of me. I don't really care if anyone else is proud of me, because I am. I know that i can "always do better" but im proud of me for how i am doing so far. I complain a lot. I say that school isn't for me and when it gets too much i joke about not doing it anymore, but then i remember those summer days when i worked in an office from 9-5 and all i could think about was school. Because i would much rather be in school.  I will still complain, and i will still joke about dropping out, but in the end i will be proud of me.&lt;br /&gt;I am not usually this optimistic about stuff.&lt;br /&gt;So enjoy it.&lt;br /&gt;It wont happen again :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1830475053734000396-5019579898967372861?l=daniellecollura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/feeds/5019579898967372861/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1830475053734000396&amp;postID=5019579898967372861' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/5019579898967372861'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/5019579898967372861'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/2007/10/celebrations.html' title='Celebrations!'/><author><name>Nelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14985134524875010425</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SM02MfOeQ9I/AAAAAAAAAFs/SpbzNcwewnM/S220/nel.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1830475053734000396.post-3135222476954759521</id><published>2007-10-09T13:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-09T13:18:12.589-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bloggers</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Sooo i made a huge stink that blogs we're a waste of time for people who  had nothing better to do , then i realized that i used to have a blog. So i went back and read it and i sorta liked it so im going to start another one.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;My blog used to be about the OC. I was obsessed. Im not that big of a fan of the OC anymore. It  was ruined for me. Its about greys these days.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Thats what we're going to be for Halloween.  The cast of greys. Im Callie O'Mally. I don't know why i'm Callie, i don't even like her that much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, welcome to my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1830475053734000396-3135222476954759521?l=daniellecollura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/feeds/3135222476954759521/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1830475053734000396&amp;postID=3135222476954759521' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/3135222476954759521'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1830475053734000396/posts/default/3135222476954759521'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://daniellecollura.blogspot.com/2007/10/bloggers.html' title='Bloggers'/><author><name>Nelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14985134524875010425</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zvVtSXnWKtE/SM02MfOeQ9I/AAAAAAAAAFs/SpbzNcwewnM/S220/nel.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
