<?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-4475415116668115466</id><updated>2011-07-08T03:17:21.558-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Larry 8</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Teri Battles</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>28</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4475415116668115466.post-4224221261751822217</id><published>2009-06-05T14:51:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-05T14:57:49.388-04:00</updated><title type='text'>CHORUS CONCERT TUESDAY! COME!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#33ccff;"&gt;So on Tuesday, June 9th we're having a chorus concert. you should come! this one is going to have choreography and the high school girls will be singing with us, the middle school girls. We're singing a Hawaiian song called &lt;em&gt;Ahe Lau Makani&lt;/em&gt;. It sounds really pretty. The middle school is also singing this song called &lt;em&gt;Floating Upstream&lt;/em&gt;. It doesn't have any words but it's a really pretty tune. We also have choreography for that song. And you know the high schoolers will be good. they're always good. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#33ccff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#33ccff;"&gt;This is going to be the last concert of the year and it'll be the best! Come see it and bring friends!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4475415116668115466-4224221261751822217?l=hbw08larry8.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/feeds/4224221261751822217/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4475415116668115466&amp;postID=4224221261751822217' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/4224221261751822217'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/4224221261751822217'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/2009/06/chorus-concert-tuesday-come.html' title='CHORUS CONCERT TUESDAY! COME!'/><author><name>Larry8</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03471945190397215788</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KFun8ch827U/SYnv1Q686sI/AAAAAAAAABg/AVKtByp4BSY/S220/robert-pattinson-short-cut.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4475415116668115466.post-3895861523126621551</id><published>2009-06-03T14:57:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-03T15:06:00.684-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Love</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ff0000;"&gt;A lot of people say that you can't love someone when you're 12/13. I totally disagree on that. When i say love someone,  I don't mean a family member. I mean a guy or girl that you really have a crush on. I told my friend that I loved this guy and she gave me the grossest look. She was like "you don't love him! you're 12 years old!" But I did love him! It's so annoying when people say that! They don't know how you feel about the person.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4475415116668115466-3895861523126621551?l=hbw08larry8.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/feeds/3895861523126621551/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4475415116668115466&amp;postID=3895861523126621551' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/3895861523126621551'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/3895861523126621551'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/2009/06/love.html' title='Love'/><author><name>Larry8</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03471945190397215788</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KFun8ch827U/SYnv1Q686sI/AAAAAAAAABg/AVKtByp4BSY/S220/robert-pattinson-short-cut.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4475415116668115466.post-811962351652998633</id><published>2009-05-20T14:48:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-03T14:46:09.194-04:00</updated><title type='text'>no title yet...sorry</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#33ccff;"&gt;I thought that getting pregnant at 14 was a one in a million chance. Obviously, I wasn’t well educated on that subject. I didn’t know that it would happen so quickly.&lt;br /&gt;“Oh god, he’s going to kill me,” I said to myself. I took a deep breath and walked out of the bathroom stall. “Well?” asked my best friend, Kate. “I’m pregnant,” I said, fighting back the tears. “Aw, it’s going to be alright,” Kate hugged me tight. The tears ran down my cheek, nearly soaking her shoulder. All I could think about was Tim. What was he going to think? I only did it to make him happy. “Do you want to go to class?” Kate asked me.&lt;br /&gt;“No”&lt;br /&gt;“Okay, well I'm going to go cause i have to make up a test.”&lt;br /&gt;“That’s fine”&lt;br /&gt;Kate walked out of the bathroom. I sunk down to the floor, leaning up against the stall door. I dug my quivering arms into my stomach to ease the feeling of throwing up.&lt;br /&gt;I didn’t feel like going to the rest of my classes, but  i did eventually have to leave the bathroom. Girls kept walking in and giving me weird looks because they saw the pregnancy test sitting next to me. I wrapped the test up in a paper towel and threw it away. I felt guilty and displeased looking at it.&lt;br /&gt;To be continued :)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4475415116668115466-811962351652998633?l=hbw08larry8.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/feeds/811962351652998633/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4475415116668115466&amp;postID=811962351652998633' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/811962351652998633'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/811962351652998633'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/2009/05/no-title-yetsorry.html' title='no title yet...sorry'/><author><name>Larry8</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03471945190397215788</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KFun8ch827U/SYnv1Q686sI/AAAAAAAAABg/AVKtByp4BSY/S220/robert-pattinson-short-cut.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4475415116668115466.post-7075201769975876101</id><published>2009-05-13T14:46:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-13T14:47:21.236-04:00</updated><title type='text'>AKJGHAUYIOEVMNA ;G</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#33ccff;"&gt;UGH I AM SOOOOOO  MAD!!!!!!!!!! I just had to re take a test and the teacher was NOT NICE!!! My friend was sneezing and coughing a lot so I whispered to her “are you okay?” and the teacher came marching over, ripped my test out of my hands, gave me a nasty look, and moved me to a new seat. I was just checking to see if my friend was okay. GOD! Then, she left the room to talk to another teacher and her phone was ringing when she left so everyone was like “uhm should we answer it?” and then when she came back in she was like “OH MY GOD! STOP TALKING!!”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Uggh!!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4475415116668115466-7075201769975876101?l=hbw08larry8.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/feeds/7075201769975876101/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4475415116668115466&amp;postID=7075201769975876101' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/7075201769975876101'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/7075201769975876101'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/2009/05/akjghauyioevmna-g.html' title='AKJGHAUYIOEVMNA ;G'/><author><name>Larry8</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03471945190397215788</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KFun8ch827U/SYnv1Q686sI/AAAAAAAAABg/AVKtByp4BSY/S220/robert-pattinson-short-cut.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4475415116668115466.post-842076333828020253</id><published>2009-03-13T14:56:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-03-13T15:03:24.599-04:00</updated><title type='text'>fight with a tiger shark?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#ccffff;"&gt;     Spear-fisher, Craig Clasen had a fight with a tiger shark! Craig and two other friends were scuba diving in the Gulf of Mexico off of Louisianna, hunting for a yellowfin tuna but ended up having a fight with a tiger shark. The fight ended up lasting two hours. In the end, Classen ended up killing the shark.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#ccffff;"&gt;      I found this on aol.com and i just think it's amazing! i would like pee in my scuba suit if i was fighting with a shark!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4475415116668115466-842076333828020253?l=hbw08larry8.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/feeds/842076333828020253/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4475415116668115466&amp;postID=842076333828020253' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/842076333828020253'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/842076333828020253'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/2009/03/fight-with-tiger-shark.html' title='fight with a tiger shark?'/><author><name>Larry8</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03471945190397215788</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KFun8ch827U/SYnv1Q686sI/AAAAAAAAABg/AVKtByp4BSY/S220/robert-pattinson-short-cut.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4475415116668115466.post-7968198687734787548</id><published>2009-03-11T14:32:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-03-11T14:36:24.545-04:00</updated><title type='text'>American Idol ☺</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#ccffff;"&gt;woo! american idol! it's the top 13! I love Scott, Danny, and Adam! Scott is breath taking, Danny has an interesting (and when i say interesting i mean amazing!) voice, and Adam is a total rocker... and a hottie. Adam can really belt it. ah i love american idol...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4475415116668115466-7968198687734787548?l=hbw08larry8.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/feeds/7968198687734787548/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4475415116668115466&amp;postID=7968198687734787548' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/7968198687734787548'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/7968198687734787548'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/2009/03/american-idol.html' title='American Idol ☺'/><author><name>Larry8</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03471945190397215788</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KFun8ch827U/SYnv1Q686sI/AAAAAAAAABg/AVKtByp4BSY/S220/robert-pattinson-short-cut.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4475415116668115466.post-6490738333163513316</id><published>2009-02-27T14:59:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-27T15:01:56.102-05:00</updated><title type='text'>what do you think of this quote?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#ccccff;"&gt;what do you think of this quote?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#ccccff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#ccccff;"&gt;It's better to have loved than lost to have never loved at all&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4475415116668115466-6490738333163513316?l=hbw08larry8.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/feeds/6490738333163513316/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4475415116668115466&amp;postID=6490738333163513316' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/6490738333163513316'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/6490738333163513316'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/2009/02/what-do-you-think-of-this-quote.html' title='what do you think of this quote?'/><author><name>Larry8</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03471945190397215788</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KFun8ch827U/SYnv1Q686sI/AAAAAAAAABg/AVKtByp4BSY/S220/robert-pattinson-short-cut.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4475415116668115466.post-2585842391363733159</id><published>2009-02-20T14:27:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-20T14:29:15.531-05:00</updated><title type='text'>cute</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_KFun8ch827U/SZ8Eb0o7pFI/AAAAAAAAACQ/qrRLwJB3xGM/s1600-h/CuteAnimals28.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304963762099037266" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 128px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_KFun8ch827U/SZ8Eb0o7pFI/AAAAAAAAACQ/qrRLwJB3xGM/s200/CuteAnimals28.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#ffccff;"&gt; I thought this bunny was really cute!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&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/4475415116668115466-2585842391363733159?l=hbw08larry8.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/feeds/2585842391363733159/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4475415116668115466&amp;postID=2585842391363733159' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/2585842391363733159'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/2585842391363733159'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/2009/02/cute.html' title='cute'/><author><name>Larry8</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03471945190397215788</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KFun8ch827U/SYnv1Q686sI/AAAAAAAAABg/AVKtByp4BSY/S220/robert-pattinson-short-cut.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_KFun8ch827U/SZ8Eb0o7pFI/AAAAAAAAACQ/qrRLwJB3xGM/s72-c/CuteAnimals28.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4475415116668115466.post-6041753064686959919</id><published>2009-02-13T14:42:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-13T15:01:43.230-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Some good songs</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ccffff;"&gt;1. Let it rock&lt;br /&gt;2. In the ayer&lt;br /&gt;3. Without love&lt;br /&gt;4. Cupid shuffle&lt;br /&gt;5. fall for you (my fave song)&lt;br /&gt;6. Get low&lt;br /&gt;7. Scream&lt;br /&gt;8. The Way I are&lt;br /&gt;9. Love Story&lt;br /&gt;10. Hero/Herione&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4475415116668115466-6041753064686959919?l=hbw08larry8.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/feeds/6041753064686959919/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4475415116668115466&amp;postID=6041753064686959919' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/6041753064686959919'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/6041753064686959919'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/2009/02/some-good-songs.html' title='Some good songs'/><author><name>Larry8</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03471945190397215788</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KFun8ch827U/SYnv1Q686sI/AAAAAAAAABg/AVKtByp4BSY/S220/robert-pattinson-short-cut.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4475415116668115466.post-4697251129815019436</id><published>2009-02-13T14:27:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-13T14:40:15.233-05:00</updated><title type='text'>H-B dance!!! wooo!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ffccff;"&gt;I got the inspiration for this entry from my friend Anna...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ffccff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ffccff;"&gt;The H-b dance is tonight!!! wooo!!! I'm really excited! I like going to H-B dances more than the lfds 'cause I know everyone there. The lfds are kinda crazy. But anyways... I'm really excited!The best part is, it's a Valentines Dance so I get to go with my crush!! woo!! yay!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#ffccff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#ffccff;"&gt;♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4475415116668115466-4697251129815019436?l=hbw08larry8.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/feeds/4697251129815019436/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4475415116668115466&amp;postID=4697251129815019436' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/4697251129815019436'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/4697251129815019436'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/2009/02/h-b-dance-wooo.html' title='H-B dance!!! wooo!!!'/><author><name>Larry8</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03471945190397215788</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KFun8ch827U/SYnv1Q686sI/AAAAAAAAABg/AVKtByp4BSY/S220/robert-pattinson-short-cut.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4475415116668115466.post-9183761892775458409</id><published>2009-02-11T14:56:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-11T15:00:31.467-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Converse</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_KFun8ch827U/SZMuMkFUSiI/AAAAAAAAAB4/mBp5A1_8yYM/s1600-h/2349939829_51d22fe421.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301631979724491298" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_KFun8ch827U/SZMuMkFUSiI/AAAAAAAAAB4/mBp5A1_8yYM/s200/2349939829_51d22fe421.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#33ccff;"&gt;I really like converses. They are really comfortable and they come in a bunch of different colors. My mom said that I shouldn’t get them because they would hurt my feet but they don’t. I thought that they wouldn’t be very supportive when I run around in gym and such, but they are! It’s amazing! I have light blue ones.&lt;br /&gt;Go out and get some converses!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4475415116668115466-9183761892775458409?l=hbw08larry8.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/feeds/9183761892775458409/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4475415116668115466&amp;postID=9183761892775458409' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/9183761892775458409'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/9183761892775458409'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/2009/02/i-really-like-converses.html' title='Converse'/><author><name>Larry8</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03471945190397215788</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KFun8ch827U/SYnv1Q686sI/AAAAAAAAABg/AVKtByp4BSY/S220/robert-pattinson-short-cut.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_KFun8ch827U/SZMuMkFUSiI/AAAAAAAAAB4/mBp5A1_8yYM/s72-c/2349939829_51d22fe421.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4475415116668115466.post-204187573684634597</id><published>2009-02-06T14:34:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-06T15:04:29.974-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A Starbucks Nightmare</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff99ff;"&gt;“Hold on Charlotte, let me go get my scarf.” My best friend Abigail said to me. While Abigail ran upstairs to dig her scarf out from under a pile of dirty laundry, I bundled myself up, ready for our walking trip to Starbucks.&lt;br /&gt;“Sorry ‘bout that.” Abigail was skipping gracefully down the stairs tying her scarf around her neck. I opened the front door and the bells hanging from the doorknob jingled.&lt;br /&gt;            We began our journey to Starbucks by walking on stone wall. We gossiped about people in our school and talked about our crush. I was so glad that we decided to walk to Starbucks before the pumpkin spice lattes were out of season. “Hold my hand as we cross the street,” Abigail teased. I clutched Abigail’s hand walked at a nice pace across the intersection. I heard police car sirens from a distance and listened to them come closer. I turned my head to the direction of the sirens. I saw a black mustang racing past stop signs and red lights in the direction of me and Abigail. Three police cars followed closely behind the mustang. “Watch out!” I yelled to Abigail. Suddenly, everything was in slow motion. The mustang forced itself into the side of Abigail and she went rolling up the hood of the car. Everything was back in normal speed. I break down into hysteric tears as I watch my best friend lay in a pile of blood and roll off the hood of the car. Police men run to the dead body and cover her with their jackets. They carry her away.&lt;/span&gt;&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/4475415116668115466-204187573684634597?l=hbw08larry8.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/feeds/204187573684634597/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4475415116668115466&amp;postID=204187573684634597' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/204187573684634597'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/204187573684634597'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/2009/02/starbucks-nightmare.html' title='A Starbucks Nightmare'/><author><name>Larry8</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03471945190397215788</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KFun8ch827U/SYnv1Q686sI/AAAAAAAAABg/AVKtByp4BSY/S220/robert-pattinson-short-cut.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4475415116668115466.post-8061550239978640644</id><published>2009-01-08T12:46:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-08T13:00:23.783-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Robert Pattinson ♥</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ffccff;"&gt;OMG ROBERT PATTINSON IS SO HOT!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ffccff;"&gt;don't you think? Did you know that anna and I are sharing him? lol. Did anyone see twilight? I think he was the absolute PERFECT Edward!! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ffccff;"&gt;He has a really nice jaw. It's manly. He also has a slightly crooked nose. That makes him even more hot! ah I love him!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4475415116668115466-8061550239978640644?l=hbw08larry8.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/feeds/8061550239978640644/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4475415116668115466&amp;postID=8061550239978640644' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/8061550239978640644'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/8061550239978640644'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/2009/01/robert-pattinson.html' title='Robert Pattinson ♥'/><author><name>Larry8</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03471945190397215788</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KFun8ch827U/SYnv1Q686sI/AAAAAAAAABg/AVKtByp4BSY/S220/robert-pattinson-short-cut.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4475415116668115466.post-4476678220504285544</id><published>2009-01-06T14:09:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-08T13:01:43.060-05:00</updated><title type='text'>another poem</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ccccff;"&gt;I love you&lt;br /&gt;He whispers in my ear&lt;br /&gt;He leans in close and kisses me softly&lt;br /&gt;Then hugs me tight&lt;br /&gt;I love you too&lt;br /&gt;I was so nervous&lt;br /&gt;It sounded like I was spitting out those&lt;br /&gt;Three powerful words out of my mouth&lt;br /&gt;He holds my hand&lt;br /&gt;And leads me to my next class&lt;br /&gt;I sit in my seat&lt;br /&gt;Thinking&lt;br /&gt;I know I’ll be with him forever&lt;br /&gt;I love him and he loves me&lt;br /&gt;We’re perfect&lt;br /&gt;The bell rings&lt;br /&gt;I walk to my locker to drop my things off&lt;br /&gt;I see him there&lt;br /&gt;Leaning up against his locker&lt;br /&gt;Talking to someone&lt;br /&gt;I shift my body so I can see the stranger&lt;br /&gt;It was my best friend&lt;br /&gt;Kissing him&lt;br /&gt;My heart tears in half&lt;br /&gt;I run to the bathroom and fight the tears&lt;br /&gt;He doesn’t love me &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4475415116668115466-4476678220504285544?l=hbw08larry8.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/feeds/4476678220504285544/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4475415116668115466&amp;postID=4476678220504285544' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/4476678220504285544'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/4476678220504285544'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/2009/01/another-poem.html' title='another poem'/><author><name>Larry8</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03471945190397215788</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KFun8ch827U/SYnv1Q686sI/AAAAAAAAABg/AVKtByp4BSY/S220/robert-pattinson-short-cut.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4475415116668115466.post-8262521562791640690</id><published>2008-12-16T14:12:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-06T14:15:40.464-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Poem</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ff99ff;"&gt;He drags himself slowly to me&lt;br /&gt;with his hands deep into his denim pockets&lt;br /&gt;His head facing the ground&lt;br /&gt;He mumbles some words that I can’t understand&lt;br /&gt;“What?” I asked&lt;br /&gt;He raises his head&lt;br /&gt;“Will you go out with me?”&lt;br /&gt;I stand there&lt;br /&gt;Shocked&lt;br /&gt;The guy I’ve been crushing on for the whole year is asking me out&lt;br /&gt;I say yes&lt;br /&gt;He smiled and wraps his arms around my body&lt;br /&gt;Then kisses my cheek&lt;br /&gt;♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥&lt;br /&gt;Two weeks have passed&lt;br /&gt;We’re happy&lt;br /&gt;He gives me a light peck everyday&lt;br /&gt;But today&lt;br /&gt;He didn’t kiss me&lt;br /&gt;He just walked by me&lt;br /&gt;I went running after him&lt;br /&gt;“Hi” I said&lt;br /&gt;I smiled&lt;br /&gt;“I need to talk to you” he told me&lt;br /&gt;He grabs my hand and pulls me outside&lt;br /&gt;“I really love you but I don’t think we should go out anymore”&lt;br /&gt;I stood there&lt;br /&gt;Tears running down my cheeks&lt;br /&gt;“But why?” I asked&lt;br /&gt;He walked away&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4475415116668115466-8262521562791640690?l=hbw08larry8.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/feeds/8262521562791640690/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4475415116668115466&amp;postID=8262521562791640690' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/8262521562791640690'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/8262521562791640690'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/2008/12/poem.html' title='Poem'/><author><name>Larry8</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03471945190397215788</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KFun8ch827U/SYnv1Q686sI/AAAAAAAAABg/AVKtByp4BSY/S220/robert-pattinson-short-cut.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4475415116668115466.post-1268143135685681766</id><published>2008-11-11T17:59:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-13T12:43:54.406-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Door 4- Chapter 6</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffccff;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;I wiped my eyes and smiled as I watched two cops enter the front door. Mark was removing the door hardware. It clanged on to the wooden floor and Mark burst into the bathroom. "Come on Vanessa, we have to go." Mark grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the bathroom. "It's too late Mark. There are policemen surrounding the house!" I told him. Mark stopped moving and looked at me. Sweat glistened on his brow. I could tell he was thinking of a way to get out of the house, with me. Seconds later, Mark smiled. He looked truly evil. He shoved me hard into a cluttered closet across from the bathroom. I lost my balance and fell into a broom and some old metal hangers. Mark quickly locked the closet and walked away.  The closet was pitch black. I felt around and found a string hanging from the closet ceiling. I pulled it. I heard it click but the no light illuminated. I felt around in the darkness. The closet was cluttered, small and stuffy. The smell of old cedar was overwhelming. I felt like I had no air and began to get light headed. My eyelids felt heavy and I couldn't keep them open. I fell on to my knees, and sideways into something metal. That was all I remember.  &lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ffccff;"&gt;     "Vanessa, wake up." Someone touched my cheek. I slowly opened my eyes and blinked. Slowly, the image of a young policeman filled my vision. I couldn't speak. "Don't worry Vanessa. My partner is downstairs. He has Mark in custody. You're safe. He won't be hurting you anymore." I was unable to speak. I smiled weakly at his kind face. The policeman helped me out of the closet and up on to my feet. He held my arm as we walked downstairs.  Only a few more feet to the front door and safety.  I could feel the cool air on my face.  "Where do you think you're going?" Mark stepped in front of the door. His dagger was in one hand and he held a gun in his other hand. Beside him lay the other policeman, the partner. He had a hole in his head and blood pooled on the floor. I looked at the policeman who still held my arm. "Run," he mouthed and squeezed my arm. I made a movement to run. I  heard a gun cock. Mark fired and the policeman fell beside me, clutching his chest. I looked at Mark. He cocked the gun again and pointed it at me. I heard the shot. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ffccff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ffccff;"&gt;To be continued&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4475415116668115466-1268143135685681766?l=hbw08larry8.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/feeds/1268143135685681766/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4475415116668115466&amp;postID=1268143135685681766' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/1268143135685681766'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/1268143135685681766'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/2008/11/door-4-chapter-6_11.html' title='Door 4- Chapter 6'/><author><name>Larry8</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03471945190397215788</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KFun8ch827U/SYnv1Q686sI/AAAAAAAAABg/AVKtByp4BSY/S220/robert-pattinson-short-cut.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4475415116668115466.post-4614882320051304987</id><published>2008-11-07T14:08:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-07T14:15:39.717-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Blocked Computers</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ffcccc;"&gt;Everyone complains about the computers being blocked for R rated material but it's really not that bad. Why would you want to look up inappropriate material at school anyway? You would get caught by a student or maybe a teacher. It would be extremely embarrassing. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ffcccc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ffcccc;"&gt;But sometimes it can be annoying. My friend was looking up something for an american studies project and it was blocked so she couldn't do her research. She was only looking up stuff for the oil company.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4475415116668115466-4614882320051304987?l=hbw08larry8.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/feeds/4614882320051304987/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4475415116668115466&amp;postID=4614882320051304987' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/4614882320051304987'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/4614882320051304987'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/2008/11/blocked-computers.html' title='Blocked Computers'/><author><name>Larry8</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03471945190397215788</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KFun8ch827U/SYnv1Q686sI/AAAAAAAAABg/AVKtByp4BSY/S220/robert-pattinson-short-cut.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4475415116668115466.post-725800757139262268</id><published>2008-11-07T13:38:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-07T13:48:27.855-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Grades</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#cc66cc;"&gt;I just had English and I am so not happy with my grades. I hate grades. If you get a bad grade it makes you feel stupid. Well, at least I do. Then i get pressure from my parents to get a good grade and if I don't then they start yelling. That puts on more pressure. Why can't we just get smiley faces next to each subject instead of a letter grade?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4475415116668115466-725800757139262268?l=hbw08larry8.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/feeds/725800757139262268/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4475415116668115466&amp;postID=725800757139262268' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/725800757139262268'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/725800757139262268'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/2008/11/grades.html' title='Grades'/><author><name>Larry8</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03471945190397215788</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KFun8ch827U/SYnv1Q686sI/AAAAAAAAABg/AVKtByp4BSY/S220/robert-pattinson-short-cut.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4475415116668115466.post-549447077597066812</id><published>2008-11-06T13:05:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-06T13:18:34.704-05:00</updated><title type='text'>middle school is hurtful</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#33ccff;"&gt;Middle school is full with drama. I hate it. Well, sometimes drama is fun but not when it is hurtful! I hate being in the middle of drama. It stinks! People talk behind your back and they talk bad about your best friend right in front of your face. Jake (I'm using code names for this entry) is being really annoying and he keeps saying really hurtful things about me and Brian (this guy i like) to my face. He says stuff like "oh, you guys are a terrible couple" and he says mean things about him. I don't tell him that it hurts me though. I am so mad right now i am violently pressing hard on the keys. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#33ccff;"&gt;    People make a huge deal out of the smallest situations! Especially girls.... most girls can't let it go. It's annoying. I'm a girl but i try to let things go and leave them behind me!!! UGH&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#33ccff;"&gt;    People also ditch you. When people ditch me, it just makes me extremely mad. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#33ccff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#33ccff;"&gt;middle school is just UGH!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4475415116668115466-549447077597066812?l=hbw08larry8.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/feeds/549447077597066812/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4475415116668115466&amp;postID=549447077597066812' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/549447077597066812'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/549447077597066812'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/2008/11/middle-school-is-hurtful.html' title='middle school is hurtful'/><author><name>Larry8</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03471945190397215788</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KFun8ch827U/SYnv1Q686sI/AAAAAAAAABg/AVKtByp4BSY/S220/robert-pattinson-short-cut.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4475415116668115466.post-4232450858346413710</id><published>2008-10-30T19:26:00.015-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-31T13:58:58.280-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Door 4- chapter 5</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ff9966;"&gt;I felt his dagger creep up my back and then dissapear off my body. I got bad goosebumps. For a moment, I couldn't breathe. Questions were racing through my mind. "Why did he kill my grandfather? Do my parents know?" I asked myself those questions over and over again. Confusing thoughts were racing through my mind. I was too startled to ask Mark any questions. I forgot I was even blindfolded and tied to a chair. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9966;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ff9966;"&gt;"Why did you kill him?" I spit out those words and was surprised they came out correct. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9966;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ff9966;"&gt;"He was dishonest and rude. I desperately needed money so I came up with new designs for his software. I showed your grandfather and he stole my ideas and got all the money and credit. so I killed him.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9966;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ff9966;"&gt;"I don't believe you. You were his favorite employee and he wouldn't do such a thing!" I shouted&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9966;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ff9966;"&gt;" Be quiet!" He yelled&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9966;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ff9966;"&gt;I felt his dagger poke my forehead. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9966;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ff9966;"&gt;"Untie me!" I shouted back. I squirmed around in my chair. Marks cold hands rubbed up against my back as he untied the rope. I stood up and ripped off the blindfold. No one was in the room. I turned around many times looking for Mark but he wasn't in the room. I walked over to a queen size bed and sat down. Suddenly, something cuffed around my ankle and pulled me down. I fell to the ground on my knees. Mark crawled out from under the bed and climbed on top of me. He raised his dagger above his head, ready to stab me. I turned my head sideways and reached for a pillow that fell off the bed when he pulled me off. I shoved the pillow in his face and he dropped the dagger. I got a burst of adrenalin and forced him off of me. He raced to get his dagger. I wanted to get the dagger before him but he was too fast so I bolted out the door. There were so many doors I didn't know which one was the exit. I ran into the one farthest away from him. I locked it tight behind me. While trying to catch my breath, I looked around the room and saw a window. It looked big enough for me to fit through. Tears of joy ran down my cheeks when I looked out the window and saw about 20 police cars and swat teams surrounding the house. I quickly opened the window and yelled "Help! I'm up here!" I waved my arms around and screamed at the top of my lungs. A cop looked up at me and yelled "Don't worry! We're coming into get you! You're going to be okay!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9966;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ff9966;"&gt;To be continued&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4475415116668115466-4232450858346413710?l=hbw08larry8.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/feeds/4232450858346413710/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4475415116668115466&amp;postID=4232450858346413710' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/4232450858346413710'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/4232450858346413710'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/2008/10/door-4-chapter-5.html' title='Door 4- chapter 5'/><author><name>Larry8</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03471945190397215788</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KFun8ch827U/SYnv1Q686sI/AAAAAAAAABg/AVKtByp4BSY/S220/robert-pattinson-short-cut.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4475415116668115466.post-5550678678661152251</id><published>2008-10-30T12:58:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-30T13:05:02.337-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Friends</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ugh right now i hate friends&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;They ditch you,&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;talk about you behind your back, &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;and insult you to your face when they &lt;em&gt;promise&lt;/em&gt; they're just kidding!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;They also hit you &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;and then laugh&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;it's annoying!!!!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#ff0000;"&gt;it might just be my friends that do this&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#ff0000;"&gt;maybe i just need space away from them&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#ff0000;"&gt;I don't know&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4475415116668115466-5550678678661152251?l=hbw08larry8.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/feeds/5550678678661152251/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4475415116668115466&amp;postID=5550678678661152251' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/5550678678661152251'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/5550678678661152251'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/2008/10/friends.html' title='Friends'/><author><name>Larry8</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03471945190397215788</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KFun8ch827U/SYnv1Q686sI/AAAAAAAAABg/AVKtByp4BSY/S220/robert-pattinson-short-cut.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4475415116668115466.post-3598442856308567299</id><published>2008-10-16T10:13:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-07T13:52:58.940-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Smudge</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ccffff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I pet her soft fur&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ccffff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I kneaded my hands into her stomach&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ccffff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I felt a bump&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ccffff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;She had a tumor&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ccffff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ccffff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I took her to the vet&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ccffff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;She had cancer&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ccffff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;They had to put her to sleep&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ccffff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ccffff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I cried all night holding her picture&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ccffff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;When i tried to sleep, I could feel her &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ccffff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;curled up around my legs&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ccffff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ccffff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I put the picture down&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ccffff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;and picked up her ashes&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ccffff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;They were in a small wooden box&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ccffff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I cried even more&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ccffff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ccffff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I have to stay strong &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ccffff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;There were other pets to buy&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ccffff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;But i will miss her...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ccffff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;She was the best cat&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ccffff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;She was my smudge&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4475415116668115466-3598442856308567299?l=hbw08larry8.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/feeds/3598442856308567299/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4475415116668115466&amp;postID=3598442856308567299' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/3598442856308567299'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/3598442856308567299'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/2008/10/smudge.html' title='Smudge'/><author><name>Larry8</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03471945190397215788</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KFun8ch827U/SYnv1Q686sI/AAAAAAAAABg/AVKtByp4BSY/S220/robert-pattinson-short-cut.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4475415116668115466.post-8516727639663957270</id><published>2008-10-09T19:12:00.010-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-16T10:32:21.565-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Door 4- chapter 4</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ccccff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;       The pain from my bleeding arm was horrendous, but that didn't matter. I was too focused on where he was going to take me. "What do you want?" I screamed to Mark. He didn't reply. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ccccff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;       We pulled up to a house that badly needed attention. Shutters were missing, a porch swing hung by one chain scraping up against the wooden porch in need of paint. Mark parked his van up against the curb, quickly got out, and ran around to my side of the van and opened the door. "Let's go" he said. I refused to move. "Come out." Mark ordered. He grabbed my arm but i pulled away. He was getting impatient with me. He put his two hands on my arm and pulled me. I lost my balance and I fell out of the van. "Get up," he said flatly. I remembered his dagger and did what he ordered.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccccff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ccccff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;       The inside of his house was just as bad as the outside. The living room was full of dark colors. The floors were crooked and there was a long, pitch black hallway leading to the kitchen. I wanted to run up the wooden stairs next to the kitchen but i thought i should cool down for a little bit."Sit" Mark shoved me onto a moss green sofa. I refuse to make eye contact with him so i turned my head and starred at a black table nearby the sofa. I reached for a pair of glasses on the table and examined them.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ccccff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"These are my grandfathers glasses. Why do you have them?" I trembled.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ccccff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"Those aren't your grandfathers." &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ccccff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"Yes they are! I remember he has his initials engraved in them and i see his initials right here." He didn't respond.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ccccff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I slammed my fist on the side of the couch. "Why do you have them!" I yelled. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ccccff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Mark walked out of the room to the kitchen. I was furious. I ran to the door and shook the handle. It was locked. I couldn't think so I ran up the wooden stairs into a pitch black room. I leaned my head up against the door and caught my breath. "Vanessa? Where are you!". I heard footsteps. I put all my weight on the door so he couldn't come in. The footsteps suddenly stopped. I bent down on my knees and cracked the door open to look out. Our eyes met. "Ahhh!" Mark pushed the door towards me and it hit my head. I was knocked out cold.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ccccff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;        I woke up tied to a chair. I couldn't see a thing. "Mark, I know you're there." There was no reply. "Why do you have my grandfathers glasses?" I asked. I could feel him breathing on my neck. He ran his dagger up my arm till it got to my face. " I killed you're grandfather Vanessa."&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccccff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ccccff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;To be Continued&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccccff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4475415116668115466-8516727639663957270?l=hbw08larry8.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/feeds/8516727639663957270/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4475415116668115466&amp;postID=8516727639663957270' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/8516727639663957270'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/8516727639663957270'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/2008/10/door-4-chapter-4.html' title='Door 4- chapter 4'/><author><name>Larry8</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03471945190397215788</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KFun8ch827U/SYnv1Q686sI/AAAAAAAAABg/AVKtByp4BSY/S220/robert-pattinson-short-cut.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4475415116668115466.post-5727443605325847777</id><published>2008-10-03T13:38:00.011-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-05T18:22:49.614-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Door 4- chapter 3</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;"&gt;       &lt;/span&gt;All I could do was stare. My heart raced. “Get in the van.” He ordered me. I couldn’t move. “I said, get in the van.” He moved closer and stood next to me. I could feel his breath. Worse, I could feel the dagger poking my side. A green car slowed and its curious driver looked at us and then drove on.  He shoved his dagger in his pocket. “I put the dagger away. I won’t hurt you,” he grunted through clenched teeth. He rested his hand on my limp arm, slowly moving his hand down to my hand. His hands felt like icicles. They felt like the hands of a killer. We walked the few feet to the van.  “Come on, get in the car.” He said. I started to get anxious. My mind was racing. I put all my weight on his arm and just fell. His grip loosened and I sprinted away. I was crying so it was difficult to see. Everything was blurry. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;       My heart felt like it was outside my chest. I was unable think, to process what was happening.  I hid behind a big tree. I reached into my pocket and grabbed a tissue to wipe my eyes. I peered around the tree to see if he was there. I saw no sight of him or the van. I let out a sigh and leaned against the tree, grateful for the support. I started  for home. Suddenly I felt something on my shoulder. I was too scared to look so I simply stopped moving. I forced myself to turn around and saw the murderer right before me. “Why are you running from me?” he asked. “Don’t you recognize me? I used to work for your grandpa.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;       “What?” I said. He reached into his back pocket and grabbed a bloodied picture of him standing next to my grandpa. “Oh my god… you’re Mark.” I said to him. “You got it, Vanessa. Now get in the van!” He pulled a black bag out of his jacket and placed it over my head. I tried getting away but his grip was too strong. He shoved me inside through the side door. I immediately took off the bag. He was driving too fast for me to consider jumping out of the van. We drove by my school. Through the side van windows, I saw Carry and Allison walking in the bus lane. I pounded on the window and they looked at me. Carry dropped her books and gasped. “Help!” I yelled. I didn't know if they could hear me, but I know they saw me. Mark pulled out his knife and slashed at my arm. Blood saturated my sleeve. My arm was burning.  “You’re not going to escape,” he told me. I started crying again and waited to see where he was going to take me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;To be continued&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4475415116668115466-5727443605325847777?l=hbw08larry8.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/feeds/5727443605325847777/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4475415116668115466&amp;postID=5727443605325847777' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/5727443605325847777'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/5727443605325847777'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/2008/10/door-4-chapter-3.html' title='Door 4- chapter 3'/><author><name>Larry8</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03471945190397215788</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KFun8ch827U/SYnv1Q686sI/AAAAAAAAABg/AVKtByp4BSY/S220/robert-pattinson-short-cut.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4475415116668115466.post-3872640581401631093</id><published>2008-10-02T12:46:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-03T20:25:40.621-04:00</updated><title type='text'>school starting earlier?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;this is a proposal&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;i think that school should start earlier.. like half an hour earlier or an hour earlier. I know that everyone wants to sleep in but wouldn't you like more time in the afternoon to hang out with friends and do sports? I get  home at like 6 every night because we have to pick my brother up and my mom has work so i don't have much time after school to do anything. i have to do homework, shower, and eat dinner and i am so exhausted! i need time to relax. so thats why im proposing this. I had to quit my soccer team because i don't have any time. does anyone have problems like this? I would appreciate it if you would comment your opinion and give me reasons on why or why not you think school should start earlier. thanks!&lt;/span&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/4475415116668115466-3872640581401631093?l=hbw08larry8.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/feeds/3872640581401631093/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4475415116668115466&amp;postID=3872640581401631093' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/3872640581401631093'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/3872640581401631093'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/2008/10/school-starting-earlier.html' title='school starting earlier?'/><author><name>Larry8</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03471945190397215788</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KFun8ch827U/SYnv1Q686sI/AAAAAAAAABg/AVKtByp4BSY/S220/robert-pattinson-short-cut.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4475415116668115466.post-2739370708127133154</id><published>2008-09-25T13:08:00.014-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-10T13:42:41.384-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Door 4- Chapter 2</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(255,0,0)"&gt;       “What’s your name, kid?” asked the man. He had large sea blue eyes and pencil thin lips. He kind of looked like a fish. “Uh...” I was thinking of a fake name so he wouldn't know that I was the girl he was looking for. “My name is… is, Allison.” I started trembling. “Really?" he said with some measure of disbelief. "Do you know a Vanessa by any chance?” He held a dagger right below my neck. “No.” I said flatly. The man pushed me to the ground like a and I fell like a ragdoll. He walked away. “I’m not going to kill you.  But if I find out you’re lying or if you tell someone about this little scene, then I will kill you," he said. I sprinted away as fast as I could and didn't risk looking back.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(255,0,0)"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(255,0,0)"&gt;       All throughout science class, I was shaking. I couldn’t concentrate on my test. “Is something wrong, Vanessa?” asked Ms. Johnson. “Uh, no I’m just fidgeting because I’m trying to think of the answer to question six.” I told her. She nodded and walked away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="WHITE-SPACE: pre"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(255,0,0)"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(255,0,0)"&gt;Outside, the murderer was walking back to his van when he stepped on something. It was Vanessa's wallet. He opened the wallet. Inside was Vanessa's ID. “That stupid girl is Vanessa!!” The man yelled. He started going through her wallet and found a small piece of notebook paper. On the paper was Vanessa's cell phone number and her address. The man chuckled to himself and shoved the paper into the pocket of his blue jeans and tossed the wallet into a nearby bush. He touched the dagger in his pocket and quickly walked back to his van.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(255,0,0)"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(255,0,0);" &gt;       “Bye mom! I’ll see you after school.” Vanessa shouted to her mom. She shut the door and locked it tight behind her. The morning air was chilly so she zipped her fleece jacket. “Why is there a van parked outside our house?” Vanessa said to herself. She shrugged then kept on walking to her bus stop. As she approached the spot where she met the bus each morning, a van was approaching behind her. She turned around to look and saw the van. She was a little anxious, so she walked more quickly. The van was also moved faster. Vanessa ran past her bus stop to the intersection. She stopped on the corner and hoped the van would drive but it didn't. The van stopped. The window rolled down. Cigarette smoke drifted out the window. The door opened abruptly and a man stepped out. It was the murderer. In his hand he held the dagger.  “Hello Vanessa,” he grinned.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(255,0,0)"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;To be continued&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4475415116668115466-2739370708127133154?l=hbw08larry8.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/feeds/2739370708127133154/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4475415116668115466&amp;postID=2739370708127133154' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/2739370708127133154'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/2739370708127133154'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/2008/09/door-4-chapter-2.html' title='Door 4- Chapter 2'/><author><name>Larry8</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03471945190397215788</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KFun8ch827U/SYnv1Q686sI/AAAAAAAAABg/AVKtByp4BSY/S220/robert-pattinson-short-cut.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4475415116668115466.post-101227912975726242</id><published>2008-09-18T10:15:00.019-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-05T18:18:32.865-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Door 4 (working title) Chapter 1</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KFun8ch827U/SNQlIQHpE6I/AAAAAAAAAAw/yqX-TjP_lwM/s1600-h/dagger.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KFun8ch827U/SNQlIQHpE6I/AAAAAAAAAAw/yqX-TjP_lwM/s200/dagger.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247860289489671074" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 204, 255);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 204, 255);"&gt;“Vanessa, I am really sorry about your grandpa.” Allison said. “At least he died from old age and not a slow, painful death from an illness,” Carry said. Vanessa had a tear run down her cheek. Allison slapped Carry on her thigh. “Why did you say that? It made her more upset.” Allison fumed. Carry shrugged. “Guys, it’s fine. I’m just going to go for a little walk to try to take my mind off of him.” Vanessa hopped off the wooden bench and ran down the grass covered hill. She took a nice walk around the ball field and thought about how she was going to get through her science test she had later that day when she hadn't even studied. “Ugh, I’m dead meat.” Vanessa said to herself. “Ouch! Stop it! Get off of me!! Let me go!! Please!” cried a strange voice that Vanessa did not recognize. “What was that?” she thought to herself as she ran towards the voice. It was coming from door 4. Vanessa tip toed over toward the noise. Her heart thundered in her chest as she watched a man she didn't recognize hover over a boy. “Ouch stop! Get off!!! I’ll do anything! Just stop!” screamed the boy. “Where was everyone? How come no one could hear the cries of this boy?” Vanessa thought to herself.  The man mumbled something to his captive, but I couldn’t understand him from where I stood. “Vanessa? Who’s Vanessa? I can’t do that!!! HELP! SOMEONE PLEASE HELP!” the boy cried out. I gasped and covered my mouth in disbelief just as the man plunged his dagger directly into the boys chest. The boy slumped lifelessly to the ground, blood pouring from his chest, painting the concrete around him scarlet. I could no longer hold my own fear or my own pain inside myself. I whimpered. The murderer slowly turned his head toward me. I tried to run but it felt like my feet were nailed to the ground. The man walked closer and closer until we were nose to nose.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 204, 255);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To be continued&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&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/4475415116668115466-101227912975726242?l=hbw08larry8.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/feeds/101227912975726242/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4475415116668115466&amp;postID=101227912975726242' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/101227912975726242'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/101227912975726242'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/2008/09/chapter-one-vanessa-i-am-really-sorry.html' title='Door 4 (working title) Chapter 1'/><author><name>Larry8</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03471945190397215788</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KFun8ch827U/SYnv1Q686sI/AAAAAAAAABg/AVKtByp4BSY/S220/robert-pattinson-short-cut.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KFun8ch827U/SNQlIQHpE6I/AAAAAAAAAAw/yqX-TjP_lwM/s72-c/dagger.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4475415116668115466.post-4886667389090802941</id><published>2008-09-12T13:36:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-06T13:22:33.644-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm a flip flop kind of person.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_KFun8ch827U/SMqqYRr1rpI/AAAAAAAAAAM/jc3ZHL27cE4/s1600-h/s_flip-flops.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245192050067222162" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_KFun8ch827U/SMqqYRr1rpI/AAAAAAAAAAM/jc3ZHL27cE4/s320/s_flip-flops.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ffff66;"&gt;I love flip flops&lt;br /&gt;I wear flip flops everyday!!!&lt;br /&gt;Except in gym when i have to change to sneakers&lt;br /&gt;but then i change right back into my flip flops&lt;br /&gt;I feel bad for people who can't wear flip flops because they have weird feet&lt;br /&gt;sometimes for people, flip flops don't give much support so they can hurt your feet&lt;br /&gt;I hate the kind of flip flops that have a huge wedge heel&lt;br /&gt;but i don't like really flat ones either&lt;br /&gt;i like ones with a little wedge heel&lt;br /&gt;they are so comfortable to walk in and even run in!&lt;br /&gt;i would run in them but my gym teacher makes me wear sneakers&lt;br /&gt;but oh well&lt;br /&gt;Right now I'm wearing light brown flip flops with dark blue and a little pink paw print&lt;br /&gt;I got them for my birthday&lt;br /&gt;What kind of shoe person are you?&lt;br /&gt;do you like flip flops, sneakers, clogs, boots, etc?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4475415116668115466-4886667389090802941?l=hbw08larry8.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/feeds/4886667389090802941/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4475415116668115466&amp;postID=4886667389090802941' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/4886667389090802941'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4475415116668115466/posts/default/4886667389090802941'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hbw08larry8.blogspot.com/2008/09/im-flip-flop-kind-of-person.html' title='I&apos;m a flip flop kind of person.'/><author><name>Larry8</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03471945190397215788</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KFun8ch827U/SYnv1Q686sI/AAAAAAAAABg/AVKtByp4BSY/S220/robert-pattinson-short-cut.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_KFun8ch827U/SMqqYRr1rpI/AAAAAAAAAAM/jc3ZHL27cE4/s72-c/s_flip-flops.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry></feed>
