tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18673026303410270822024-03-14T07:38:46.377-04:00The Thief's HordeA treasure trove of goodies!Klepto_Kithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11941806779211960199noreply@blogger.comBlogger105125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867302630341027082.post-8427561664930807022012-03-08T09:41:00.000-05:002012-03-08T09:41:13.740-05:00Things Aren't Always So Easy...So it's been a few days and they're still staying with us, which isn't so bad because they don't really have personalities that rub you raw or anything, but... There are a few problems. Like the fact that we're down to the last roll of toilet paper, or that we bought more than enough food but somehow there are only five days worth of it left... See what I'm saying? Not to mention that tea doesn't last even a day around here anymore, where before it at least lasted a couple... And the dishes, sweet jegus, the dishes...<br />
<br />
It's kinda frustrating, especially with this lack of jobage over here. I sent in applications, but without a phone, I can't really know if anyone called, because the Hedgehog can't always answer his, and if they wanted me to come in for an interview, then he couldn't run home to tell me... *sigh*Klepto_Kithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11941806779211960199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867302630341027082.post-44039731288703046982012-03-05T09:36:00.000-05:002012-03-05T09:36:07.233-05:00Life's A Bitch Sometimes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxjZBOoyL587eY9TDHEs9mykQjGrA7LyrxzfOPYlxFTT6qEdk1sO_Ptt2dPuTZnohwa4A-04FdZAS9FjXEFB2xVj3wXiWftE4xoGd8HzzulnmOzrPptxkK3QqZca3Wb7k3HRCxpJxWSchU/s1600/afterlifesucks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxjZBOoyL587eY9TDHEs9mykQjGrA7LyrxzfOPYlxFTT6qEdk1sO_Ptt2dPuTZnohwa4A-04FdZAS9FjXEFB2xVj3wXiWftE4xoGd8HzzulnmOzrPptxkK3QqZca3Wb7k3HRCxpJxWSchU/s1600/afterlifesucks.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
And that's pretty much the one truth of the universe. Life sucks, and then one day we die, and hope the afterlife doesn't suck too. I mean, really. Wouldn't that just suck ass?<br />
<br />
You get to heaven to find out that the rules there are nothing like you thought they would be? No happiness forever, but instead living by some crazy ancient codes of conduct that involve you being forced to do absoultely nothing, not even play, on Sunday's, and you can't eat most foods...<br />
<br />
Or for the majority of people, you get there and find out that the Muslims or the Jews had it right and you were the one worshipping the wrong god. Or, an even bigger blow! You "wake up" on the shores of a river and don't have the money to get across, and when you finally beg your way, this guy won't let you through the gate!<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh2k8vpYBXtckGxJyVp7_8sbx20Y5qbD4MjzgKtGWvt4Xx8ocM-yyeoxsAiGvyDVNhcpKuhxg61mzGu4Drp8zxC4aJqr5bWyzJ8Ef0-sxZ7ZKpo1B5fC27ecnDjwGSswknSa-_OTo7uewF/s1600/cerberus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh2k8vpYBXtckGxJyVp7_8sbx20Y5qbD4MjzgKtGWvt4Xx8ocM-yyeoxsAiGvyDVNhcpKuhxg61mzGu4Drp8zxC4aJqr5bWyzJ8Ef0-sxZ7ZKpo1B5fC27ecnDjwGSswknSa-_OTo7uewF/s1600/cerberus.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The three heads of Cerberus: Serious Bidniss, Apathy, and OHHAIIDARE!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
No, but seriously, this post isn't about me being all emo some more. Pfft, I'm over that shit now. I'm doing my best to be happy, fuck it all and to hell with my depression. This post is about life sucking for other people, most specifically these two.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyqP2YbAKAHUgWiUP87J0wyle0yxZ44NwPm5-u3vBvni9V7lCsVljLo2BbZN74xb0gCVyjcPHRvrC7RHddoHpiW_p5KrJHmWgZmtU1iSvsH27zu7xaBUVhBpWLAXWdC3eiG8Yf8KL85uyA/s1600/GG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyqP2YbAKAHUgWiUP87J0wyle0yxZ44NwPm5-u3vBvni9V7lCsVljLo2BbZN74xb0gCVyjcPHRvrC7RHddoHpiW_p5KrJHmWgZmtU1iSvsH27zu7xaBUVhBpWLAXWdC3eiG8Yf8KL85uyA/s1600/GG.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These guys are friends of mine and the Hedgehog, they've come up in at
least one post before... I'll get that picture, too. Mostly so you can see the difference between pictures and such. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw7JZjLx8vEqj98BvNleXivEzJ6gfHxB1lBEswsqtPOAu4M9pfhxq3FkbZ5wniJ4XRB9vrlEyjye0z3mRcVTt8XHVriU7gI5NE8UuF6mYdQxqM9MixSdtz-aKJTFV1M8VSUNXCCRH0Piix/s1600/friends.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw7JZjLx8vEqj98BvNleXivEzJ6gfHxB1lBEswsqtPOAu4M9pfhxq3FkbZ5wniJ4XRB9vrlEyjye0z3mRcVTt8XHVriU7gI5NE8UuF6mYdQxqM9MixSdtz-aKJTFV1M8VSUNXCCRH0Piix/s320/friends.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
See, they're engaged, and back when I first met
them lived together in Charlotte going to a graphics school. They're
great, absolutely great, funny and kinda awesome, and we can talk for
hours about nothing. It's cool being able to be friends with another
couple, and it's probably one of the benefits of having a girlfriend
that the Hedgehog didn't think of...? I mean, people change when they're
in relationships that last longer, and guys especially, and suddenly
you can't just hang out with your single friends because you realize
they're crazy as shit.<br />
<br />
For me though, it's nice being able to be friends with someone who's friends with my Hedgehog, I get to know more about him, since he's not the kind to really talk about himself much.<br />
<br />
Anyway, onto the sucky part. So despite being sweet and awesome, she... Wait, I really need names for them if I'm going to keep going with this... Um... Dammit.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAvuQhX48ifASKI2kIhi0CvhSl32Uy2TC1wQyS8CCn7LuVj5n_MmFr2GHqzD-sOtQlQBKyy_o0z4ymAdoCAqNwniWVjLFtHKyh_8hIqzRX1sD7v1aw82OXMXPPiNecOEiZUwsWE6h9pMav/s1600/GG2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAvuQhX48ifASKI2kIhi0CvhSl32Uy2TC1wQyS8CCn7LuVj5n_MmFr2GHqzD-sOtQlQBKyy_o0z4ymAdoCAqNwniWVjLFtHKyh_8hIqzRX1sD7v1aw82OXMXPPiNecOEiZUwsWE6h9pMav/s1600/GG2.jpg" /></a></div>
I could call her Giggles, because she laughs easily, but that makes me feel like an idiot, and... I am not, I repeat NOT, calling him Ginger. Screw that... I normally give people nicknames I either call them in real life or that they kinda earn by being themselves. So I guess I can't name them just yet...<br />
<br />
Anyway, they were staying with his mom down here because she got kicked out of her mom's house, and despite cooking and cleaning, his mom said she didn't do anything around the house and kicked her out. That's the short of it at least, the long involves them being held hostage for five hours while his mom demanded his fiancee's engagement ring...<br />
<br />
So now they're both staying with us. Currently sleeping on the floor to be precise. I've been there before, so I know the blow to your pride you get... Hopefully we can get them up on their feet soon... Now to get back to looking for a job.Klepto_Kithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11941806779211960199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867302630341027082.post-36467038178163180792012-02-29T15:01:00.000-05:002012-02-29T15:01:18.404-05:00I Had a Thought<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx_OGX7rXPIrgs9hbllC57HoeOoeGp4WGoTHFolMto93qeTIDloNHpN8lDeibvce2KHKteRUlfiYe_S2sy8xZqWvcD3oW2JXwsztLJFMqf8nXxMCS18AxoTpSFHQnVP7PfYO0ZAX05sydQ/s1600/eh.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx_OGX7rXPIrgs9hbllC57HoeOoeGp4WGoTHFolMto93qeTIDloNHpN8lDeibvce2KHKteRUlfiYe_S2sy8xZqWvcD3oW2JXwsztLJFMqf8nXxMCS18AxoTpSFHQnVP7PfYO0ZAX05sydQ/s1600/eh.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My art is gonna suck until I relearn this...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
This might not come as a surprise to a lot of you, but... I think I've been depressed. All this time, without me knowing it, I've been toeing the line on depression, and I had no idea. It explains a lot... I kept trying to be normal, but it kept backfiring: I got absorbed with the internet and neglected everything as a way to pretend my problems weren't there, and the blog was sorta like... this crazy way for me to TRY to do something good and normal, but at the same time, it too was backfiring at me.<br />
<br />
I started treating the blog like this whole crazy job. If I could post a day, then I was normal. It explains why I suddenly stopped: days were adding up, the longer without, the less normal I felt, the harder it was to pretend... But I think I'm okay now. I talked with the Hedgehog, played a little bit of FF XII, wrote a little, and even cleaned up the apartment all on my own because I wanted to.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxh9m1gN57fe4M2iicxtrhBSpc7AjhXwNuC2-lD_9voQnEh9-UMMnh_l-MgCAeMHV_cDlTsagmbVQPXJgO2vCDwNI6ZKhGAsJ_zrR3ZAsaqTdSGMgh3ptocbqTX9wZSJZPNZUd4rPB7YAG/s1600/cleaning.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxh9m1gN57fe4M2iicxtrhBSpc7AjhXwNuC2-lD_9voQnEh9-UMMnh_l-MgCAeMHV_cDlTsagmbVQPXJgO2vCDwNI6ZKhGAsJ_zrR3ZAsaqTdSGMgh3ptocbqTX9wZSJZPNZUd4rPB7YAG/s1600/cleaning.jpg" /></a></div>
Afterwards I felt kind of... refreshed and cleansed, and happy, like I'd cleaned myself. I think I'm gonna try again, but it's gonna be some slow work...<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMTj_bMhjHEB4zKvtxeqQY2-BIka3bNMIPK3H5n1JEm9-HcrWJLux1oy4iZJKfhS9A7eMkfoqEKzvdPSb3f0RqUURbW_kBTLrz-TMiVPy85Z-NpJ5Vg1jSRdtxVtAk1U_7nYDefTnnoiVU/s1600/Hmmm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMTj_bMhjHEB4zKvtxeqQY2-BIka3bNMIPK3H5n1JEm9-HcrWJLux1oy4iZJKfhS9A7eMkfoqEKzvdPSb3f0RqUURbW_kBTLrz-TMiVPy85Z-NpJ5Vg1jSRdtxVtAk1U_7nYDefTnnoiVU/s1600/Hmmm.jpg" /></a></div>
But I still have a long way to go before I'm ever "normal". You just don't go through what I did growing up and come out the otherside normal. Sure, I put on my brave face and act fine, but I'm pretty damaged in the head, and I don't think any amount of acting is gonna cover that. I've been betrayed and abandoned, hurt and abused, and despite learning to survive, I never learned how to live. I don't know how to laugh and smile around strangers, I don't know how to walk out into the world on my own, at least not without someone beside me or some kind of crazy stubborn/prideful streak driving me to do it.<br />
<br />
So I'm gonna start over again, from the top, starting slow. No rushing in. Just you, me, this blog, and me trying to be funny and trying to get a job. And maybe a haircut, because seriously, look at my hair now, and look at my hair from my first post... that is realtime hair growth, people.Klepto_Kithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11941806779211960199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867302630341027082.post-52048642251755703542012-02-24T04:50:00.000-05:002012-02-24T04:50:02.133-05:00I Am SadfaceIt's kinda funny to be posting here after my month or so long hiatus... I guess it's because I never knew what to say? It's not really that there was nothing to say, because I had tons of opportunities... Every time me and the Hedgehog went to Wal-Mart and we saw a new Kit something, something I'd been planning on doing weekly... My overly ambitious 25 Awesome Legend of Zelda things post, even editing Cathrin's stupid story... I could've talked about how weird it was having the Terror finally treat me normally at Christmas, or how I finally got the courage to talk to the Hedgehog's family...<br />
<br />
I could've talked about Ichibancon and how much fun I had, or about how Hunny's been acting selfishly and seems to not take as much interest in her friends anymore and how that's been bothering me. I could've talked about how I first met the Hedgehog, or said something on his birthday. I could've let him know how much I love him on Valentine's Day; I could've let him know I cared for him, and was thinking about him, and how much I hoped his grandfather would get better when he was in the hospital. I could've said something when his grandfather died, about how my heart went out to him, how I've been there, I know how it feels...<br />
<br />
I could've mentioned the toxic shock syndrome scare, and how stupid hospitals are, or when my dad went missing and I was scared... <br />
<br />
When I started learning to join the Kemetic Orthodoxy I could've posted. I could've joined the Wiccan blog project. I could've talked about how I got interested in Homestuck...<br />
<br />
The truth is, the longer I went without posting, the worse I felt about doing it, and about myself. I'm not confident, though I try to be, and I'm not very brave, I guess... Looking at life around me, I put things off for as long as I can, and then I give it up, because I know I won't do it. It's how I've lived here this long and still not gotten a job, I do everything I can to not do what I have to do.<br />
<br />
You have to admit, you didn't give me a reason to keep this blog up. No one cared what I wrote about, no one left comments, no one showed interest. I wanted a place to vent my spleen, sure, and this was fine for that, but... only my friends were reading it, and since they appeared in all of my posts basically... I started to get afraid, chicken out. I wanted to say something, and thought of them reading it...<br />
<br />
I guess I'm posting this now because I know it'll get read, that the Hedgehog will read it... It's the only way I could ever say this to him. I'm sorry I'm so pathetic and weak, that I can't stand up for myself, and I'm too afraid to go outside; I'm sorry I'm broken and useless... But it hurts so much more because I keep thinking you're ashamed of me. It doesn't help that you don't let me be there for you, that you exclude me from things... Maybe it wouldn't bother me so much if I were stronger, but when you disappear to go spend time with family, I can't help but feel I'm being left behind because you're ashamed of me. I'm weird and cagey, and I barely speak, and when I do I talk too loud and say things I shouldn't...<br />
<br />
But I love you, and I left the house despite trying to talk myself out of it, and I'm saying things I'm saying things I'd never say, even if they are kinda not to your face... The point is, I'm trying, but I need your help; I'm broken, and I won't get fixed on my own. Treating me this way isn't helping. That's... all I have to say...Klepto_Kithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11941806779211960199noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867302630341027082.post-26298181717278924702012-01-04T18:30:00.000-05:002012-01-04T18:30:01.252-05:00The Weekly Kit: Cutter KitThis one's kinda dark, guys... Also, I don't know what a cutter kit is, only that the Hedgehog saw a note about it at work a couple weeks ago.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-VQNRwg_6q-ivhgDP9q6kfCbosNMhLKhuw-93Dw5Fyw0ojQOGpVqdADBfMBjkO3py-8YqsPrFTXjyDLbPosFCqt8-cTGNFLl_BOuPAs4irjaH1pPWlGzzz11Yeyw2Gyi8yFhyphenhyphenLJ6Druw0/s1600/cutterkit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-VQNRwg_6q-ivhgDP9q6kfCbosNMhLKhuw-93Dw5Fyw0ojQOGpVqdADBfMBjkO3py-8YqsPrFTXjyDLbPosFCqt8-cTGNFLl_BOuPAs4irjaH1pPWlGzzz11Yeyw2Gyi8yFhyphenhyphenLJ6Druw0/s1600/cutterkit.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />Klepto_Kithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11941806779211960199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867302630341027082.post-16503363485718258632011-12-28T18:30:00.000-05:002011-12-28T18:30:01.741-05:00The Weekly Kit: Gingerbread Kit<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpUpjPKOONFA7LNjF0dr5GPC1r826AMsyCT9EFCNfCfhGx14j3qTEOqagkUtc2XtFdtnceVXTVWDJBWqpyY6V2tGj09_Rjqr5mOdkpHgQfLykDo1h0BlSEx00C0gaxkRuosNIcOWDG1xDh/s1600/gingerbreadkit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpUpjPKOONFA7LNjF0dr5GPC1r826AMsyCT9EFCNfCfhGx14j3qTEOqagkUtc2XtFdtnceVXTVWDJBWqpyY6V2tGj09_Rjqr5mOdkpHgQfLykDo1h0BlSEx00C0gaxkRuosNIcOWDG1xDh/s320/gingerbreadkit.jpg" width="241" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm a cookie!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Klepto_Kithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11941806779211960199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867302630341027082.post-32596024223006272282011-12-25T14:06:00.001-05:002011-12-25T14:06:18.011-05:00The Girl-Fiend<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-B7nruT4SQ14/TvdzyoOUkKI/AAAAAAAABA0/xqIc07rDIk0/s1600/Girlfiend.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-B7nruT4SQ14/TvdzyoOUkKI/AAAAAAAABA0/xqIc07rDIk0/s1600/Girlfiend.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
So I called my dad to talk to him and instead got the Girl-Fiend… She was nice, polite, sweet… That’s when I remembered that she’s not all bad all the time, she’s only unbearable half the time. You know, when she’s not purposely trying to get under your skin by doing things like… making two boxes of pizza rolls and forcing them on you and your friends, and then later claiming that you ate both of them without her permission and refused to share…Klepto_Kithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11941806779211960199noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867302630341027082.post-49673302362790490622011-12-25T13:35:00.000-05:002011-12-25T13:35:13.782-05:00Full of Shame<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0xFVbpGXp7c/TvdsssYp7KI/AAAAAAAABAE/nfl-Rn1Sciw/s1600/sorryshame.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0xFVbpGXp7c/TvdsssYp7KI/AAAAAAAABAE/nfl-Rn1Sciw/s1600/sorryshame.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Sorry I haven’t had any updates in a while… it’s just… Well, things haven’t been terribly interesting around here and then Christmas kept us kind of busy… Okay, so I have little to no excuse, I just want you to know: new posts are up now.Klepto_Kithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11941806779211960199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867302630341027082.post-9458531497562901572011-12-23T14:02:00.000-05:002011-12-25T14:02:48.529-05:00The StoryAlright, so you’ll notice this Friday there was no edit of Cathrin’s story… that’s cause I’m going to start editing her one from her contest that I reviewed. You should read it, it isn’t terrible... That is, it isn't as terrible as her other book.Klepto_Kithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11941806779211960199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867302630341027082.post-11347740476704713222011-12-21T18:30:00.000-05:002011-12-21T18:30:00.868-05:00The Weekly Kit: Knitting Kit<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB8Dk8i6ME-3hFCUoBSQoo4_W4Tbd93y_PO6nqC3eaN7P2-hAlCm5R_hVrSi0s9E7En1zLsUBxwcEXLpcKx3W_N3tU63_xVws1cNIMK5wFNFaHZdn3ZEy3szJQp7dLa8Ubp6pcbp0pJg_D/s1600/knittingkit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB8Dk8i6ME-3hFCUoBSQoo4_W4Tbd93y_PO6nqC3eaN7P2-hAlCm5R_hVrSi0s9E7En1zLsUBxwcEXLpcKx3W_N3tU63_xVws1cNIMK5wFNFaHZdn3ZEy3szJQp7dLa8Ubp6pcbp0pJg_D/s1600/knittingkit.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm working on your Christmas present!</td></tr>
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<br />Klepto_Kithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11941806779211960199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867302630341027082.post-60987301997108741682011-12-21T14:00:00.000-05:002011-12-25T14:01:05.659-05:00The ReviewSo Cathrin decided to enter a contest at a place called Author Stand; well, since it was free, I downloaded her short story and read it… It… it had potential, so I left a review. A few days later <a href="http://cathrinhelainakushman.blogspot.com/2011/12/review-frustration.html">on her blog</a>, Cathrin mentions the review I left and talks about how I hate her and go out of my way to try to hurt her; she also mentions out fight in February and talks about how I spread lies and when she told the “truth” about me I got mad. Okay, for one: I stopped when she finally told me to. And for two: her “truth” was that I was insane and my dad kicked me out.<br /><br />Me? Insane? Ms. Spirit-Babies, you set the bar far too high for me to ever cross it. As for my dad kicking me out, I left because his Girl-Fiend clawed up the entire left side of my face in a fight.<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://cathrinhelainakushman.blogspot.com/2011/12/review-frustration.html" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Review Frustration</a><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">To be honest, frustration is an
understatement. Yesterday, well this morning really, I got an e-mail
<b>sayging</b> <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">(saying)</span> that my story on authorstand got a review. Naturally<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">(,)</span> I looked
thinking it was one of you who had left the comment.<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">(;)</span> I was wrong. I had a
very nasty comment, which I wouldn't have minded <b>to</b><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">(too)</span> much if I didn't
know who had left it. You see<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">(,)</span> the girl who left the comment used to be
my friend, and the comment she left made me feel like she was attacking
me personally<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">(,)</span> rather <b>then</b><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">(than)</span> the actual story. She has had an issue with me
for a while. I had never done anything to her<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">(;)</span> she started spreading
lies about me, and when asked I said the truth about her and <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">(no and, just comma)</span> she got
even more angry. I don't know what I did to start it<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">(,)</span> but now I feel like
it's gone to far.</span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">You can follow this </span><a href="http://shop.authorstand.com/Products/5408-immortal-becoming-a-king.aspx" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span>link</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
and scroll down the<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">(to)</span> the review section to see the review. You can see
it with out<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">(without)</span> being a member<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">(;)</span> you only need to be a member to read, rate,
and review it. </span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Thanks for listening</span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">~Cathrin</span></span></blockquote>
And just so you don't have to go looking for it, here's my "nasty" comment; oh, by the way, the mods of authorstand have to approve your review before it goes up. Know what that means? They wouldn't post it up if they didn't think it was a good review.<br />
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Obviously Written By A Twelve Year Old <span style="color: #990000;">(... What? I had no other way to explain that the style was simplistic...)</span></div>
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This was... terrible, to be honest. It showed some
potential, perhaps, if it had been written by another author. I mean, a
kingdom where only women are allowed to rule and the people are
apparently telepathic and can, <b>form</b> <span style="color: #990000;">(from... What? I can edit myself...)</span> what I inferred from something read,
teleport anywhere in the world? Yet none of that is explored at all. In
all five pages the only thing that happens is that a twelve year old
boy worries he might not be able to be king. That's it. Nothing else.
There are run on sentences, awkward grammar, and a complete lack of
plot... If it wasn't free I'd say it's not worth it all.<br /><br />Also,
I'm completely confused as to what time period this takes place in.
There's still a monarchy with absolute power reigning, but there's talk
about American presidents?<br /><br />There was a lot of hidden potential in this story, it just... it needs to have a better writer to bring it out.
</blockquote>Klepto_Kithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11941806779211960199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867302630341027082.post-32257252412645564952011-12-20T13:48:00.000-05:002011-12-25T13:49:35.453-05:00Diabolical Diabotical DiabeticThe other night the Hedgehog tried to say diabolical... and it came out diabotical; so then he rolled with it, and now we have this: an angry robot made of sugar.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Jm2HYxWi09U/TvdwD_-bt-I/AAAAAAAABAo/Qgv7eacsAxM/s1600/robot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Jm2HYxWi09U/TvdwD_-bt-I/AAAAAAAABAo/Qgv7eacsAxM/s1600/robot.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />Klepto_Kithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11941806779211960199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867302630341027082.post-8802082811982579332011-12-20T00:19:00.000-05:002011-12-20T00:19:32.750-05:00Check Out This Cake!So I've been hard at work on the Oh Bento! comic this weekend and all of today... Some funny stuff has happened, but honestly? The Hedgehog is funny so often that it's hard to pick something that he does and do a post about it... not to mention a lot of it is weird humor you just have to be there for it. Some of it is even hard to remember afterwards, no matter how hard I laughed at the time... So, instead... Here's something I worked hard on for the webcomic for you guys to enjoy.<br />
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<a href="http://ohbento.smackjeeves.com/comics/1380855/the-cake/"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf8vMRCHJzU086K9DnCXc0xN75nYrwbvotSEeo85X474IsdIpbC2L-JtbMYzoTlBtCoV1IxHlgchfDipGx1b1uGDq74Pb4Zs8CwZnYkCHMQfD1L1TlK1ZxZFEP4-mgLG9jmDk6G-6JhDRv/s400/Hunnycake.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />Klepto_Kithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11941806779211960199noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867302630341027082.post-90230278620523355312011-12-19T13:45:00.000-05:002011-12-25T13:46:08.781-05:00Accidental Stalkers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-T85SUh7AKfE/Tvdu9tN0D5I/AAAAAAAABAQ/swEZppZDm4E/s1600/stalking1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-T85SUh7AKfE/Tvdu9tN0D5I/AAAAAAAABAQ/swEZppZDm4E/s1600/stalking1.jpg" /></a></div>
So one night me and the Hedgehog left the apartment right behind this other couple; it was cold, so we were all in hoodies with the hoods up. They were on the other side of the parking lot by the time we left, so they were far enough away that I didn’t think anything and laughing or joking with the Hedgehog.<br /><br />Apparently this was my first mistake.<br /><br />As we walked, I noticed the guy ahead of us nudge his girl and look back at us, as if pointing out our presence; I laughed about this at the time because, well… Did they really think we were stalking them? We just happened to be walking down the same road, they were way ahead of us, and despite the fact we were in a hurry, we weren’t terribly close to them despite walking slightly faster; they were still a whole parking lot length away.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iGy-BY8TjDg/TvdvKEVaP8I/AAAAAAAABAc/oqVyZ3x3B34/s1600/stalking2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iGy-BY8TjDg/TvdvKEVaP8I/AAAAAAAABAc/oqVyZ3x3B34/s1600/stalking2.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />Well, by the time we reached East Coast Wings, it was confirmed: they thought we were muggers. Suddenly both of them veered off and went into the restaurant, and as we passed by I looked over to watch the both of them walking back out. For a while they walked behind us, but apparently we freaked them out still, because they darted across the road… at the same time we needed to cross the road…Klepto_Kithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11941806779211960199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867302630341027082.post-10133581148821853822011-12-17T19:19:00.001-05:002011-12-17T19:26:36.177-05:00Dynamite In A Biscuit<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAQlI7eN24EBQ0q_i0dEft8uOs6ZEY5S0NRC0KFwHCloCpoGJMy4vwqkSw1bZAZz4QY-94wT28R25GUWLyd2lWzMdYDgAzZt0BkVhyzeF_gphVy8xX1k5Ux7RuqdjnGNmVBUmNOEG5oCCx/s1600/blondeonebiscuit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAQlI7eN24EBQ0q_i0dEft8uOs6ZEY5S0NRC0KFwHCloCpoGJMy4vwqkSw1bZAZz4QY-94wT28R25GUWLyd2lWzMdYDgAzZt0BkVhyzeF_gphVy8xX1k5Ux7RuqdjnGNmVBUmNOEG5oCCx/s1600/blondeonebiscuit.jpg" /></a></div>
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"French food: it's dynamite in a biscuit." - <a href="http://thiefhorde.blogspot.com/2011/11/blonde-one.html">The Blonde One</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinOzi7fTlvZCaWLMl3viaCQoanEcNIwQmvqaege_2ERumtkUquWkTYJzK3ev9P2i0hfR9SCIGbyPpqe2TiFC0uxFBdSPQeW35t-0FL_oFQ3WwtF_dHHU1qKmbaBuoi04RobGO2YinxbJjy/s1600/dynamiteinabiscuit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinOzi7fTlvZCaWLMl3viaCQoanEcNIwQmvqaege_2ERumtkUquWkTYJzK3ev9P2i0hfR9SCIGbyPpqe2TiFC0uxFBdSPQeW35t-0FL_oFQ3WwtF_dHHU1qKmbaBuoi04RobGO2YinxbJjy/s1600/dynamiteinabiscuit.jpg" /></a></div>
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<br />Klepto_Kithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11941806779211960199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867302630341027082.post-83152881357783576852011-12-17T18:12:00.001-05:002011-12-17T18:12:30.773-05:00I AM HAPPY CHEESE!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQY2zF81I80KfM5OY_XkJK4aLDcao6UYAZxLpxTsY_jkoWIwnbGKJ0L2ti5tpAUJfCy1dTLJX4ajkVxUkwD2_Ex7F2JvFton-nB-Y-HHy4xB2PV26hwv9bQ9u19Ap17Bpnf2hwPOJgrcgf/s1600/happycheese.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQY2zF81I80KfM5OY_XkJK4aLDcao6UYAZxLpxTsY_jkoWIwnbGKJ0L2ti5tpAUJfCy1dTLJX4ajkVxUkwD2_Ex7F2JvFton-nB-Y-HHy4xB2PV26hwv9bQ9u19Ap17Bpnf2hwPOJgrcgf/s1600/happycheese.jpg" /></a></div>
The other night the Hedgehog and I were eating grapes and cheese and watching In The Name of The King... While he wasn't looking I took the tip of the knife and carved this happy face into a chunk of cheese... Then turned and shoved it in his face while yelling, "I AM HAPPY CHEESE!"Klepto_Kithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11941806779211960199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867302630341027082.post-4224613142861751382011-12-16T18:30:00.000-05:002011-12-16T19:26:59.563-05:00Chapter One: Positive (Part 2 of 2)And now for the exciting conclusion of chapter one of <a href="http://thiefhorde.blogspot.com/2011/12/she-makes-it-too-easy.html">Cathrin Kushman's</a> "novel" <a href="http://cathrinhelainakushman.blogspot.com/p/snippets.html">In The Presence of Hope</a>!<br />
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This is part of a "Learn By Fail" series I'll be doing once a week in which I attempt to edit and fact check her book in an effort to teach others how to write, it's also because... well, because she's insane and frustrating and I need this!<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dougal nudged me slightly and I realized that I had fallen asleep. <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(Nice way to timeskip... No, it's not, it just gets rid of time that could've been used on character development.) </span>“Your mother is here”, he said to me, quietly helping me get up <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(Speaking to you is being quiet?)</span> and carrying my things for me. <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(;)</span> He truly was an amazing man. I looked at the car that had just pulled up, my mother jumped out as soon as she had the car in park and came over to us. <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(She's sure in a rush, the next scene just confirms this.)</span></span><br style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Rissa,” <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(How do you get Rissa out of the word Anarsa? I could understand Anna, or even Narsy, but Rissa?)</span> she said and wrapped me in her arms, “<u><b>h</b></u>ow are you feeling? Better? Worse?” <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(Okay, just because some authors don't think you should capatilize the he or she after quotations doesn't mean you do the same thing in quotations when continuing the quote...)</span> she asked me as she took my things from Dougal. “Thank you Doug,” she said using her personal nickname for him that both of us hated. <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(Both of us, who? Her and her mom? Her and Dougal? Also, with a name like Dougal I'm sure the mom isn't the only one who's ever used it. A personal nickname is something only that person calls you, like when Lulu calls me "Kitness". I sometimes joke and say "I'm the Kitness", but no one else does.)</span> “You are such a good guy, I’m glad she’s dating you and not some jerky jock.” Well at least she was trying to give him a complement, <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(No comma needed.)</span> and trying to show that it made her happy that he was looking after me. <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(New paragraph!)</span> Trying was the keyword. My mother was still getting used to me being heterosexual, <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(Okay, if I didn't know her mom was lesbian in this story, this would confuse me. It still doesn't make sense: heterosexuality is the society norm, and just because you're raised with two homosexual or heterosexual parents doesn't mean you turn out the same way. Her mom should've been expecting it; sure her daughter would understand better than most that you don't choose love, but still...)</span> and her discomfort around men always showed around Dougal, and any other boy I had dated.<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"> (... Her mom should've been expecting it, apparently she's been dating boys for awhile.)</span> “Your mom is worried about you, she’s home to stay for the day<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(.)</span> I’ve got to go back to work, I would stay home with you<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(,)</span> but I have a horrible deadline tonight that I’m not ready for,<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(;)</span> but mom will take good care of you as always.” <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(Okay, two uses of the word mom from the mom talking... I understand she has two moms... but this is something that needs to be fixed. Wouldn't they be confused? Why isn't one "mom" and the other "momma"? Can someone help me out here?)</span> She said and gave me another hug and ushered me to the car. “Bye Dougal,” She said to him as she got into the car and I waved at him as my mother drove me home. <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(Way to rush through sentences without fleshing them out...)</span></span><br style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“You’re sure you’re going to be okay?” <u><b>m</b></u>y <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(... Should I go through and mark that all of these need to be capitalized?)</span> mother asked after I was tucked under blankets in the living room on the couch, fretting over me,<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(;)</span> I assumed this was normal as I was her only child. <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(Another lovely time skip!)</span></span><br style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“She is fine, Joy, <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(; or .)</span> I won’t let anything happen to her and I’ll be right here with her.” My mom said to her, well my other mother <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(Told you it was confusing.)</span>, <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(; or .)</span> Joy was my biological mother, my other mother is Cassy. The two of them are the only parents that I had ever known, <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(; or .)</span> I had not realized that people did not have two moms<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(,)</span> that they had one mom and one dad<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(,)</span> until I started kindergarten. I was not Cassy’s only child<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(;)</span>, she had a son from before she met my mom, a long while before. When Cassy was sixteen she had been raped and had gotten pregnant<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(Okay, this makes me wince... it also makes me wonder how well this fact is known in the family. You don't just go around telling your children that you were raped and you never wanted them.)</span>, she had given birth to a son who was named Michael. Michael is my only sibling<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(,)</span> but with him being sixteen years older <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(Wait... Hold on, math time... If Cassy was sixteen years old when she got pregnant, then sixteen years later they had a kid who is nearly sixteen years old now... Also, notice the repeating number, then Cassy is forty-eight now!)</span> than me<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(,)</span> I only ever saw him and his boyfriend <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(Oh, no wonder her one mom was worried she wasn't homosexual as well; she seemed to think it really does run in the family... Thank you for making it harder for the homosexuals to fit into society with your misinformation!)</span> on the holidays, <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(; or .)</span> well he would come to help me with makeup for homecoming and such <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(That made me flinch... Seriously, gay men have other talents and not all of them are awesome at make up, or, and a , here)</span> but other than that I never saw him, James, or their three adoptive children. <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(It's okay when your brother adopts, but not you?)</span></span></span></blockquote>
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( When I first read this I screamed "fact check" to myself, as a result, I have two little rants that need to go here... She named her character Anarsa, after a Hindu pastry, but she has her two moms with normal names, and her older brother with a normal name. It would make sense if she had this name because she's part Indian, but she is clearly a white girl... Why the strange name? Honestly: do not make your character have a funny name just so they're a special little snowflake. If they have an odd name, address it, because I guarantee someone made fun of them growing up and it's a sensitive issue. </div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">And while we're on the subject of sensitive issues...: Adoption societies are strict, very very strict, about who they let adopt from them.You have to have a stable household, a steady income, be healthy, mentally and physically, and a lot of states don't let gay people adopt, and even if they do a lot of people are unreasonably biased towards them. I know it's not fair, but it's true. Not to mention it's apparently a known fact that Micheal was the child of a rape, he would've grown up knowing this, he probably would've acted out, needed counseling to get past it... The adoption society would have seen this on record and held it against him; also, they rarely adopt to single parents.)</span><span style="font-size: small;"><br style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My mothers looked at each other, having one of their silent conversation moments that they often had. Then my mom leaned down, kissed my forehead, and headed to the door<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(,)</span> reminding me of all the times she had done that when I was a kid. <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(So she stares at your other mom, kisses you, and leaves, and says nothing? She does this often enough you remember your mom just kissing your forehead and leaving you without a "good-bye" or "I love you?" Also, you should say which mom... and why use their names? Seriously, pick: mom, momma, or real names.)</span> Cassy sat on the couch where there was space for her<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(,)</span> smiled at me<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(,)</span> and brushed my hair out of my face. “Is there anything you want me to get you? A soda to calm your stomach?” <u><b>s</b></u>he asked quietly.</span></span> <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(In my family, Coke was remedy to stomach ailments.)</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Saltines<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(,)</span>” I said quietly in response “and maybe some of the orange carrot juice <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(Thank you for letting me know what color carrot juice is; no, seriously, thank you. I would've been wondering if it had been made of yellow or purple carrots. Also, saying "the orange carrot juice" implies she really did want it instead of, perhaps, "the white carrot juice".)</span>,<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(;)</span> I think that will make me feel better.” I rolled over as Cassy stood up and kissed my forehead<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(,)</span> then headed into the kitchen. <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(Wait... she rolled over as she was standing and kissing your forehead at the same time...? Were you avoiding the kiss for some reason?)</span> I closed my eyes and began to think again. Seeing Cassy made me wonder how she had done it, how had she decided to not only continue the pregnancy but to actually keep the baby. I could never keep the baby I conceived through rape. I was not <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(... Conjunctions are your best friend, use them.)</span> even sure I was going to keep the baby that I conceived through love. <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(You conceived it through love, but abortion is your option ahead of adoption? Abortion is a tough issue, and I understand both sides of the argument, but still...)</span> So how did she do it? <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(She's a stronger woman than you? You said she was sixteen, right? Apparently she did well enough to raise her son on her own so he grew up to be successful enough that even though he's unmarried he could convince and adoption agency to give him not just one but three kids.)</span> I opened my eyes with a start as Cassy placed her hand on my shoulder <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(This is how you fall asleep thinking.)</span> . I looked up at her, her brown eyes looking concerned, my drink and saltines in her hand. “Thanks mom,” I said sitting up and taking the stuff <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(Such a descriptive word...)</span> from her.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“You’re welcome sweetie.” She said with a smile.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Hey mom?” I said<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(,)</span> and she tilted her head to the side<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(,)</span> which was her way of saying ‘yes?’ <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(Like a puppy? Most people go "hmm?" when they do that.)</span> “How come you didn’t get an abortion when you were pregnant with Michael,<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(?)</span> I was thinking about it and I was just wondering how you not only didn’t get an abortion but didn’t give him up for adoption either; I don’t think I could have done either.”</span></span> <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(Wait, she just said she couldn't have either not gotten an abortion or not adopted... Also, I told you it was common knowledge in this household that Cassy had been raped. Micheal grew up and was raised with the knowledge that his father had forced himself on his mother.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Cassy looked at me for another few moments<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(,)</span> then sat down on the couch with me again<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(,)</span> brushing her very short brown hair behind her ear.<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(See, this is how you describe people: little bits and pieces at a time, unless they make a dramatic entrance and the character is shocked by their looks.)</span> “What brought this up?” she asked, “It never seemed to interest you before now.”</span></span> <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(Of course it didn't; what fourteen year old wants to know something like this?)</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“In class we were talking about abortion<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(,)</span> and I remembered that you got pregnant with Michael because of rape. <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(Rape makes you think abortion? Well, considering that's a common pro for abortions, I understand, but still... It just reminds me about this one story Cathrin wrote where our Mythology teacher, her English teacher the year before, raped her... It was all made up of course, just a way to get a different conflict in, but still...)</span>” I said quickly<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(,)</span> beginning to wish I had not started this conversation.</span></span> <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(I wish you hadn't either, I feel squicky now. This is a sensitive subject and should only be brought up when the person who was raped wants to talk about it...)</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Well, after it first happened I was very ashamed and would not tell anyone. My parents would have never accepted that their little girl could have been raped,<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(;)</span> that only happened to other girls who were asking for it, wearing slutty clothes. <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(This whole part right here makes me very sad... and wish for pauses in descriptive breaks. You know: she said as she frowned, eyes dazed and unfocused as she thought back on what had happened.)</span> And <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(Get rid of the and.)</span> I knew that they would disown me because no little girl of theirs was going to be a slut. <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(Are they really that bad? They would disown her over rape?)</span> So for fear of being out on the streets I didn’t say a word, <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(get rid of the comma)</span> to anyone, not even my girlfriend at the time. My parents also didn’t know that I was gay,<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(;)</span> they<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(,)</span> being the <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(remove this the)</span> upstanding members of <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(the)</span> community<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(, also, they are The Upstanding Members of Community!)</span> would not allow me to be gay, <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(;)</span>they would have sent me somewhere that would have gotten the ‘gay’ out of me. <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(Personally, I'm just sad places like those exist...)</span> So obviously, I was not very close to my parents. <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(Obviously.)</span> Anyway, when about two months after I was raped I realized that I had not gotten my period yet. <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(... It took her two months to notice? I'd be like "eh, it's late" after two weeks, then worried after a month "do I need to see a doctor, am I sick?" then suspicious after a month and a half. She says it like one day she woke up, went to the bathroom, saw the box of tampons and went "Huh, haven't used those in a while...")</span> This was just another thing that would kill my relationship with my parents <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(You mean it was still alive after having to hide your sexuality from them and having them think rape victims were sluts?)</span> ,<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(;)</span> teen pregnancy was a very horrible thing to them, <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(:)</span> any sex before marriage was horrible,<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(; or .)</span> so naturally I would be disowned if they found out so I went to the nearest abortion clinic and talked to one of the <b>councilors</b> <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(I think she means counselor, these words sound the same but are very different.)</span> there, <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(.)</span> it was the first time I had told anyone about the rape, and I told her that if I were to keep the baby that I was sure I was pregnant with<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(,)</span> then I would have no home and no way to take care of the baby <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(it could've worked... you never want to overuse adjectives or nouns, imagine if every he and she were the person's name.)</span> . I had always been taught that abortion was wrong, that it was murder<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(,)</span> but here I was sixteen and pregnant,<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(;)</span> and what was I going to do? Raise the baby on the street?</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“After talking for a while<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(,)</span> she told me to keep thinking about what I wanted to do. She knew I wasn’t sure that I wanted to get the abortion. <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(;)</span> I wasn’t sure about it because I knew that I would probably never get pregnant again,<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(.)</span> I had already known that I was gay<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(, also... it always seems odd to use gay for lesbians...)</span> and had dated several girls at my school<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(,)</span> and I knew that one day I would want to be a mother<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(;)</span> and <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(but would work instead)</span> I didn’t see a way to do that. Obviously <u><b>A</b></u>doption was not <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(hadn't would work instead, and sound better)</span> occurring <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(occured, this happened in the past)</span> to me in any way, shape, or form,<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(; or .)</span> I wasn’t thinking <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(I want to replace this with considering)</span> that later in life I could adopt<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(,)</span> or that maybe I could give the baby up. But again most of all of<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(pick one, most of or all of)</span> this runs <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(comes would work better)</span> back to how I had been raised.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“So for several days I sat at home thinking about what I wanted, <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(;)</span>did I want to throw away my only chance at having a baby?<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(get rid of the ? put a comma, and keep on trucking.)</span> Or was I willing to find a way to be a mother to my child? In the end I decided to keep the baby,<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(; or .)</span> I knew that my parents would kick me out<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(, also, they are the worst parents in the world.)</span> so I just left one night and left them a note. I found a church and they got me in a home <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(I flinched, I know I did. <a href="http://thiefhorde.blogspot.com/2011/10/halloween-cat.html">I lived in one of these homes,</a> there's basically only one in the area where Cathrin lives, and it's the same one I lived at. They're an orphanage which also helps teen moms and homeless teenagers; they are also zealously religious and I got in severe trouble just for hugging a friend of mine. A girl there wound up pregnant... you don't want to know how they treated her.)</span> with people who helped me though my pregnancy and helped me stay in school after high school. If it wasn’t for them I would never have met <b>you’re</b> <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(your, otherwise this is: I would never have met you are mother)</span> mother, <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(and)</span> I never would have gone to college.” She smiled at me. “Abortion is a very controversial thing<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(,)</span> Rissa, but when it comes down to it, it is that person’s decision.” She kissed my <b>four head</b>.</span></span> <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(You wrote forehead twice and slip up now? Also, are both of these moms interchangeable? They seem to have the same habits and "personal nicknames".)</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Thanks mom,” I said to her<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(.)</span> and <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(get rid of the and, I)</span> watched her walk over to her laptop<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(,)</span> which was sitting on the loveseat on the other side of the room. <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(I want more of this sentence. Is she surfing? Working?)</span> Cassy was always a little bit more down to earth then my <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(other)</span> mother <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(, Joy,)</span> was, <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(;)</span> a little less <b>worrying</b> <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(worried. Keep tense in mind.)</span> about things <b>then</b><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(than. Really, don't mix these two. Than is the difference between things, then is describing time.)</span> mom. “Mom,” I said suddenly thinking about something. <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(Is this "I said, suddenly thinking about something" or "I said suddenly, thinking about something"? There is a difference.)</span> “Couldn’t you have just done, <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(No comma)</span> artificial insemination like mom <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(Hey mom, why aren't you like mom?)</span> did with me? Or Invetro?” I had been convinced through artificial insemination, my moms had read through many different profiles of the ‘great’ attributes of the men <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(,)</span> and decided on a sperm donor,<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(; or .)</span> I had never really thought about it other <b>then</b> <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(than)</span> when people asked me how I existed when I only had mom and my mom had never been with a man before. I knew I got my green eyes from my father and not my mother, <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(Actually they could have come from grandparents or a combination of genes reacting... You know what, I'm not even going to go into genetics...)</span> my mother had blue eyes and almost platinum blond hair<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(,)</span> so my hair must have came from my father too.</span></span> <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(But your hair is blonde and blonde shades vary even in genetics... Wait, I said I'm not going into genetics... Just... No.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Cassy looked back over at me as she opened her laptop again to begin working on her column again. <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(Again.)</span> “When I was pregnant with Michael they didn’t exist, and maybe if they did I didn’t know about them.” <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(It's math and fact check time! First, the fact check: invetro became sensationalized in the news across the entire globe around 1978-1980 when the first couple was impregnated this way and later when the first official clinic opened, let's see... It's 2011 now, so I'll assume that's when this story takes place, minus sixteen years for Anarsa's age, and sixteen years more for Micheal's age... That is 1979, when it was in the news and everyone everywhere was talking about it. Also, most religious families, like the kind who think being gay is a sin, considered it be a crime against God; basically, it would probably be the most talked about thing in her household. Also, in the 70's the sperm bank industry and artificial insemination was commercialized, so there was no avoiding these two things. I think that about sums it up.)</span> She answered<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(,)</span> her fingers beginning to type away at her column. “Anything else Riss?”</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“No<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(,)</span> I think I’ve got it all covered now.” I said and <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(Start a new sentence here and get rid of the and.)</span> munched on my saltines and juice. <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(;)</span> I really did love this juice<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(,)</span> it was one of my favorite things in the world, and so far the baby didn’t seem to mind that I was drinking it<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(,)</span> which was good. <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(The baby shouldn't be protesting much of anything at this stage, there should be little to no nausea at all, let alone so bad that the only thing you can eat are crackers and carrot juice.)</span> I looked down at my stomach as I munched. What am I going to do about you? <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(I flinched... This reminds me way too much of the pro-choice post going around from the point of view of the baby: "I love you mommy, you're so warm and happy. You talk to me. I'm sad, mommy, today daddy hit you, and you won't talk to me anymore. What's going on, mommy? I hurt, why is the doctor hurting me?" Oh gods I just made myself feel squicky...)</span>I know Dougal would want you, he’s just that kind of guy. Am I the type of woman who would abort you? It’s not that I don’t want you, I do, it’s just that now is such a bad time,<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(;)</span> I can’t support you, <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(get rid of comma, and)</span> I can’t be a good mother to you, not now. I just want you to have everything and I can’t give you anything <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(And adoption is your second choice after abortion...?)</span>. <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(New paragraph!)</span> I sighed as I finished eating my saltines and curled back up under the blankets<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(,)</span> closing <b>me</b><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(my. Are we Irish, now? Because I'm insulted if we are.)</span> eyes. Pros of abortion: No one would ever need to know, <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(Oooh, I'll play this game too! Um, let's see: the child won't have to grow up in the system and be passed around from place to place feeling unwanted and unloved and end up as a broken shell of a human being. See, I can play this game, too.)</span> Cons of abortion: guilt, possible self hatred, Dougal hating me. <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(Fact: most women who get an abortion say they would never do it again.)</span> Pros of adoption: I wouldn’t be killing the baby, the baby would have good parents, I could have an open adoption. <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(You could see the baby again, if it was adopted by people you knew you could be part of their lives)</span>, Cons of adoption: Missing the baby, <b>every one</b> <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(everyone)</span> would have to know, my grades would probably go down while pregnant <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(The baby could spend its entire life in the system and end up in an orphanage like the one I was at, also... if you're that concerned with missing the baby and the baby being happy, why even consider an abortion?)</span>. Pros of keeping the baby: Dougal wouldn’t hate me, and um Cons of keeping the baby: bad grades, having to get a job, <b>every one</b> <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(everyone)</span> would have to know about the baby. There has got to be more <b>then</b> <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(than)</span> those reasons for keeping the baby<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(,)</span> right? If there wasn’t then there would not be so many teenage girls keeping their babies<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(,)</span> would there? <span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(Three words for you: Sixteen And Pregnant.)</span></span></span></blockquote>
That is the end of this chapter, this is no more of this chapter. What saddens me is that towards the end of the first half of this chapter it felt like she might be getting the hang of writing; I've read the other two chapters that are up, from this point on she just gave up. <br />
<br />
Grammar lessons to remember:<br />
<br />
Whenever you're not sure how something sounds, read it aloud to yourself; if something sounds stiff or just not right, fix it. <br />
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Conjunctions are your friend, if you wouldn't talk that way out loud, then don't write that way.<br />
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You're and your are different words, you're is you are. Say it out loud if you're not sure.<br />
<br />
Then and than, there is a difference, mainly the difference between one meaning "and then this happened" and the other being the difference between two things, such as "I would rather eat chocolate than go to the dentist."<br />
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Also, everyone and every one is different. Everyone refers to all of a group of people, every one is saying all of one.<br />
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And as always, remember punctuation and spell check, and that only proper nouns are capitalized. See you next week for another lesson!Klepto_Kithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11941806779211960199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867302630341027082.post-18058019326759225922011-12-15T20:00:00.000-05:002011-12-15T20:00:04.270-05:00Bonus Kit: Hot Chocolate Kit... Not sure if this is appropriate, cause... you know... I'm naked...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCikkDVHDoD70pt-QUQdyFHH3lYBLiqcCGK5BQdAhRaGGxtB4TZYa6RAMEVk_KqasgiA0ngfdtobSWI_WwjXhtV5tu8xEiUKYS9tKH07nt_dR2FZqlJYplXPCICLYGqIKhdESeV3Rznc2a/s1600/hotchocolatekit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCikkDVHDoD70pt-QUQdyFHH3lYBLiqcCGK5BQdAhRaGGxtB4TZYa6RAMEVk_KqasgiA0ngfdtobSWI_WwjXhtV5tu8xEiUKYS9tKH07nt_dR2FZqlJYplXPCICLYGqIKhdESeV3Rznc2a/s1600/hotchocolatekit.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />Klepto_Kithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11941806779211960199noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867302630341027082.post-32058036806531471682011-12-15T19:41:00.004-05:002011-12-15T19:41:48.433-05:00Some People have BirthDAYS, I Have BirthWEEKSAlright, so I haven’t been online all week long, and I have a pretty good reason: this week the Hedgehog, unintentionally, has made me feel ultra special just for being born. This week alone we went out to eat five times. I also spent two nights this week staying with Kenny at work, crocheting a scarf or reading a book, and drinking so much hot chocolate it made me feel super happy. He also had the day off yesterday, and we spent the whole day running around going to Wal-Mart and such. Surprisingly I didn’t have a headache or anything, even after drinking so much rum the night before. <br /><br />Anyway, to make up for missing so many days while I wasn't internetting, I put up all the posts I wrote this week. All of these posts are pretty much full of win… sorta. Plus, there’s a bonus Weekly Kit.Klepto_Kithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11941806779211960199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867302630341027082.post-74546075812722034542011-12-14T18:30:00.000-05:002011-12-14T18:30:03.072-05:00The Weekly Kit: First Aid Kit<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir_nrFqf7kd9r8q9rQOK5P4YTr-plNY9f8q03u_r04-3WEbvtlkT1lRS_xPJgi6JJtcoKk8ypgUSw34IFI6Vci8N0kZkceOSp675CledADxndnIWEkwTSwLQT41450jbI7iphDGpL5p1vr/s1600/firstaidkit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir_nrFqf7kd9r8q9rQOK5P4YTr-plNY9f8q03u_r04-3WEbvtlkT1lRS_xPJgi6JJtcoKk8ypgUSw34IFI6Vci8N0kZkceOSp675CledADxndnIWEkwTSwLQT41450jbI7iphDGpL5p1vr/s1600/firstaidkit.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lemme make your boo-boos better.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Klepto_Kithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11941806779211960199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867302630341027082.post-45205045248853874442011-12-13T23:30:00.000-05:002011-12-15T19:40:26.381-05:00My Drunken PostWell, tonight me and the Hedgehog finally celebrate my 21st birthday… by making drinks from <a href="http://www.thedrunkenmoogle.com/">the Drunken Moogle</a>. Come on, I mean, video game inspired drinks? And us being huge ass nerds? Hells yeah we’re gonna drink video game inspired cocktails! If I’m drinking it’s gonna be that!<br /><br />We tried the <a href="http://www.thedrunkenmoogle.com/post/351427390/anti-sora-kingdom-hearts-cocktail-ingredients">Anti-Sora</a> drink… The Hedgehog liked it, but I hate grape, so… And there was this <a href="http://www.thedrunkenmoogle.com/post/363552869/the-crimson-omen-gears-of-war-cocktail">Gears of War drink with Cheerwine</a>… but there was too much vodka… It was way too bitter.<br /><br />The <a href="http://www.thedrunkenmoogle.com/post/7829564863/squirtle-wartortle-blastoise-pokemon-shot-and">Pokemon drinks</a> are awesome, though. The Squirtle shot was intense, but coconuty afterwards, and the Wartortle was… Yummy.<br /><br />So far I’m feeling pretty good, not too fuzzy in the head. We’re watching Troy, only I keep sprouting all sorts of mythology. Curse you mythology class and my own paganism and love of mythology! Curse you and my now fuzzy arms!<br /><br />Okay, so I’m starting to feel a little weird now… I’ve drank alcohol before, and I can honestly say: I like the warmth, I hate the way it makes my body feel. The first time I drank anything my dad offered me some cheap red wine. That stuff tasted like what it was: rotten grapes and moldy old bread. I had some pink champagne when my cousin got married, too… it was bitter. On my 18th birthday me and Jess split a bottle of Smirnoff, and another time we drank Mike’s Hard Lemonade. I didn’t finish all mine, and when I went home the next day the Girl-Fiend spiked it with vodka and I finished it. I got past giggly and all the way to sits-there-and-stares. That was when my dad was in jail.<br /><br />Another time me and Lulu split a six pack of mango stuff. She had to make me drink a second bottle because apparently when I start drinking I don’t like to keep drinking. It makes my chest feel uncomfortable and my uterus gets all hot and angry, then my jaws feel funny… Finally I’ll feel normal, but that’s only after I get buzzed, and then I still feel kinda odd in my muscles. Oh! And on Thanksgiving last year I drank a little too, the Girl-Fiend made me do it. Spiked my drink.<br />
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<br />Well, apparently I’m okay enough to type. So…Klepto_Kithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11941806779211960199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867302630341027082.post-13744228142816796592011-12-13T19:29:00.000-05:002011-12-15T19:30:49.295-05:00Cerberus<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh2k8vpYBXtckGxJyVp7_8sbx20Y5qbD4MjzgKtGWvt4Xx8ocM-yyeoxsAiGvyDVNhcpKuhxg61mzGu4Drp8zxC4aJqr5bWyzJ8Ef0-sxZ7ZKpo1B5fC27ecnDjwGSswknSa-_OTo7uewF/s1600/cerberus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh2k8vpYBXtckGxJyVp7_8sbx20Y5qbD4MjzgKtGWvt4Xx8ocM-yyeoxsAiGvyDVNhcpKuhxg61mzGu4Drp8zxC4aJqr5bWyzJ8Ef0-sxZ7ZKpo1B5fC27ecnDjwGSswknSa-_OTo7uewF/s1600/cerberus.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />Klepto_Kithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11941806779211960199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867302630341027082.post-54000385152826574102011-12-11T02:00:00.000-05:002011-12-15T19:28:46.777-05:00Seriously. I Have The Best Boyfriend. Ever.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGzQUzFrzTGfZyu04sPbTHqpoyqZYY8JIF9uDxX7T7Uj1aXG2JShvEaCsneL2xF966Fl1AcbZN6dloLkSnGK4U0comZxgmKQoLVoTf9PcR6kG2hlEQmy5YuPHYvU1KhijiKvDNOfr1o5pL/s1600/pregnanthedgehog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGzQUzFrzTGfZyu04sPbTHqpoyqZYY8JIF9uDxX7T7Uj1aXG2JShvEaCsneL2xF966Fl1AcbZN6dloLkSnGK4U0comZxgmKQoLVoTf9PcR6kG2hlEQmy5YuPHYvU1KhijiKvDNOfr1o5pL/s1600/pregnanthedgehog.jpg" /></a></div>
So when the Hedgehog came home, he looked like he was preggers, and told me to turn around. So I did. Then he told me to cover my eyes, so I did… then he said to put my head in a pillow… so I did. It took him a bit, but finally I was allowed to turn around, and when I did he had a cake in one hand and a giant Simba plush in the other. Also, he had a new book: The Red Pyramid.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnnd9Zm7qhVBtYLG8nvojwqhnUFTVSPx-5JrfgrqFbEoegkbdlofNXv1Gf9f5LUWNMReXo5NNTuoCXdrPhQhFFtuBQGjUajpcnxLR5fILnarpG22chyphenhyphen3dVIZTWfDq3RQL6lrhabOkakYd8/s1600/awesomehedgehog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnnd9Zm7qhVBtYLG8nvojwqhnUFTVSPx-5JrfgrqFbEoegkbdlofNXv1Gf9f5LUWNMReXo5NNTuoCXdrPhQhFFtuBQGjUajpcnxLR5fILnarpG22chyphenhyphen3dVIZTWfDq3RQL6lrhabOkakYd8/s1600/awesomehedgehog.jpg" /></a></div>
Once, I told him this story about how when I was two I had this baby Simba plush that I loved to death; I carried it everywhere, and then one day I left it over at my dad’s boss lady’s house because she used to watch me while he worked, and I never got it back. See, dad quit his job and went to work with the lady’s husband. The fact the Hedgehog remembered this story and brought me the plush just… it…<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRQzjPV66xm02KhRfjjXbU92zmeixSPxv4A30I9Pd3ERsANF8V9kaZyfb24OFdA1tEy4PGGbtTEM0_MjE-K8Mk4YgM7A5pzNxV1dMKUZtZKulrpzGcwlgqZp0lglYT-ESuoc3k0XFJSxtz/s1600/glomp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRQzjPV66xm02KhRfjjXbU92zmeixSPxv4A30I9Pd3ERsANF8V9kaZyfb24OFdA1tEy4PGGbtTEM0_MjE-K8Mk4YgM7A5pzNxV1dMKUZtZKulrpzGcwlgqZp0lglYT-ESuoc3k0XFJSxtz/s1600/glomp.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Made me the happiest Kit ever.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Klepto_Kithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11941806779211960199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867302630341027082.post-90378412219456612022011-12-11T00:00:00.000-05:002011-12-15T19:20:25.098-05:00Book Time with KitOn the day of my 21st birthday, I did not drink… I nuzzled under covers with a good book and read; I had to finish Sea of Monsters. Rick Riordan is one of my most favorite authors ever.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsmxPGgQ3fUAD82GCRuymnpW5SMZyX1xqJn4K41jweSOH_XfwvxmHZ9OQdCB91GtldWKgo7yUFf4RwcYDHRuwE8uXLWUQ6dBULSpjeOz1DQk6rSfVnKhApnhvnCuqonliatXT_wV7fZrZO/s1600/reading.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsmxPGgQ3fUAD82GCRuymnpW5SMZyX1xqJn4K41jweSOH_XfwvxmHZ9OQdCB91GtldWKgo7yUFf4RwcYDHRuwE8uXLWUQ6dBULSpjeOz1DQk6rSfVnKhApnhvnCuqonliatXT_wV7fZrZO/s1600/reading.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />Klepto_Kithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11941806779211960199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867302630341027082.post-38277009595679542132011-12-10T23:00:00.000-05:002011-12-15T20:06:15.379-05:00FUDGE! I Thought You Sounded Familiar<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzanqHm13ggoTzl6XtniitniUuinC7P7vj0f4cpKQbZWGI-PCVu8T3zjqo2Z74jS2fUdmmLGZoA76I9TAS6Nw2rcP5-mANqe0pki_cEeNLxuACv9rsXHzPqQfK2AhOw_Qx5NDCL5QMJUYT/s1600/mydad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzanqHm13ggoTzl6XtniitniUuinC7P7vj0f4cpKQbZWGI-PCVu8T3zjqo2Z74jS2fUdmmLGZoA76I9TAS6Nw2rcP5-mANqe0pki_cEeNLxuACv9rsXHzPqQfK2AhOw_Qx5NDCL5QMJUYT/s1600/mydad.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPQCQCAWbx0hhtcrg7cc_vo3eZEz7oVQbnYj_McyolmPIRmn-tGvioQ_Wb0hsvn3aJIB6ysgHFxiQ0aBlBcUyuCt6xRjCbEIukdO0qQL2HAIYLaaFrEePHAdgeyoOuPUFWVULcS4aenvog/s1600/dadtellingoff.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPQCQCAWbx0hhtcrg7cc_vo3eZEz7oVQbnYj_McyolmPIRmn-tGvioQ_Wb0hsvn3aJIB6ysgHFxiQ0aBlBcUyuCt6xRjCbEIukdO0qQL2HAIYLaaFrEePHAdgeyoOuPUFWVULcS4aenvog/s1600/dadtellingoff.jpg" /></a></div>
So when I got home from lunch it was to find Hunny’s mom had sent me a message saying my dad had gone over to her house and had left his phone number… Considering I hadn’t talked to <a href="http://thiefhorde.blogspot.com/2011/12/my-awesome-birthday-story.html">my dad</a> since before I moved here in May, only a few days after his birthday, I was shocked. I mean, things have been difficult with my dad since I stopped living at home, and that was more than a year before I had moved in with the Hedgehog anyway. We're talking back before I still lived with <a href="http://thiefhorde.blogspot.com/2011/10/halloween-cat.html">the Home</a>. In fact, at one point, I had told him that, unless he came to look for me, he might as well not even consider himself a father anymore because he certainly wasn’t acting like one.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOyt0wiuxn_YO0WXtjxAr_IO0iNS_3rWiuV009kvGgSqWv-lTyvXSHvPIl3ZL3Xx5qa23H2B4GcLnDP1NFc12HgbGm4VwRE7ee2jKVEMWtUoJkmLFUxbR1gSRWgpQ350wmE-xsk8QwHosi/s1600/puppydogeyes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOyt0wiuxn_YO0WXtjxAr_IO0iNS_3rWiuV009kvGgSqWv-lTyvXSHvPIl3ZL3Xx5qa23H2B4GcLnDP1NFc12HgbGm4VwRE7ee2jKVEMWtUoJkmLFUxbR1gSRWgpQ350wmE-xsk8QwHosi/s1600/puppydogeyes.jpg" /></a></div>
Trust me, it was a hard thing to say, but it needed to be said. It was hard to get out, too, because my dad has these huge brown puppy eyes that just stare right into the soul, and it breaks my heart when he looks at me like that; almost every time he gives me that look it’s accompanied with the phrase, “You know I love you, right?”<br />
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Only the thing is… I don’t. Ever since <a href="http://thiefhorde.blogspot.com/2011/12/kit-and-lulu-and-hunnys-adventures-in.html">the Girl-Fiend</a> came along my dad hasn’t been himself… Sure he was the dad who let me <a href="http://thiefhorde.blogspot.com/2011/10/consequences.html">go play in the street</a> and run the neighborhood at the age of four, but he was also the same dad who promised me after mom died that, “I may whore around a little, but I’ll never marry another woman.”<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEievBBoDs9cUOl_Vi-LQkEmyG4bc4k16LlS-URgwVn17SurFEYoZssrazjvDKL6jll7v_xOWRMU7eUKiEq0OotyZBHQM1EprwAMSRk6eMz3CWW-xLiz-gdLECkfM7T-lMZBxhhj8xNkhMXp/s1600/girlfiendbride.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEievBBoDs9cUOl_Vi-LQkEmyG4bc4k16LlS-URgwVn17SurFEYoZssrazjvDKL6jll7v_xOWRMU7eUKiEq0OotyZBHQM1EprwAMSRk6eMz3CWW-xLiz-gdLECkfM7T-lMZBxhhj8xNkhMXp/s1600/girlfiendbride.jpg" /></a></div>
Yeah right, dad. There’s something called common law marriage. You two have been together six years now. It’s official, you’re married to her.<br />
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Anyway, now he’s the dad who chooses his girlfriend over his daughter and who also does things like... gives away his daughter's dog without telling her; so of course I was surprised when suddenly he wanted to talk to me after seven months of silence. We talked for a little bit and he gave me my grandparents phone number so I could talk to them, but considering I know they hate me I don’t expect a call back on that message I left them. Mostly he just said he was thinking about me and missing me, and I told him about the blog and how that was the best way to check up on my nowadays…<br />
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The sad thing is, I think it was more guilt than love that inspired him to look for me; and you know what? Guilt is almost as good as love, so I’ll take it.<br />
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The funny part of this post, however, stems from the part where I went to call my grandparents and accidentally called him back…<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgONwxXk6fKMpPaR8D_lI4L_5esUTG029SggyK4skicFXBvoRmxOmOAGxEujEuIZcZ_aucgAjlF5lTgBqaamxhJx9PXgPqjEA0BHORKlT7MM5aQDc6Jhoxs1ZxR4Nure5pEBXam4wI6o_2p/s1600/fudge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgONwxXk6fKMpPaR8D_lI4L_5esUTG029SggyK4skicFXBvoRmxOmOAGxEujEuIZcZ_aucgAjlF5lTgBqaamxhJx9PXgPqjEA0BHORKlT7MM5aQDc6Jhoxs1ZxR4Nure5pEBXam4wI6o_2p/s320/fudge.jpg" width="244" /></a></div>
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<br />
Me: Hello?<br />
Dad: Hi.<br />
Me: It’s me, Kit.<br />
Dad: I know.<br />
Me: Dad told me to call.<br />
Dad: I am dad.<br />
Kit. FUDGE! I thought you sounded familiar!Klepto_Kithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11941806779211960199noreply@blogger.com0