<?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-4480665387607604418</id><updated>2012-01-21T04:30:19.260-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Straight to you from East Coast Suburbia</title><subtitle type='html'>"One girl's emotional coming of age tale, reminiscent of "The Diary of Anne Frank" about her struggle to get fucked up and laid"- Patchwork</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>59</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-4632846737641988580</id><published>2009-01-11T21:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-11T22:26:10.733-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Music to my Ears</title><content type='html'>I haven't really talked about the Scot much but I guess thats just because nothing has been going wrong. We've been seeing each other for a couple months, but its been about three weeks since I've last seen him being on Winter Break and all..&lt;br /&gt;Before I packed up all my things headed back home, before he flew home to Scotland, he came over after my last exam. I was completely fried after just having two back to back exams, having studied all through the night before and not getting a lick of sleep, I was more than due for a good shower and nap. None of that mattered though. We met up so I could lend him my calculator, in other words so we could get in one last make out sesh'. We walked back to my room, hands held and kept warm in his coat pocket, seeing friends along the way, wishing them a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. Finally reaching my room and getting out of the cold, we talked casually for a moment and then just hugged really tightly, falling on to my bed and not moving from our embrace. We only had a couple minutes as he had an exam soon and my mom would shortly arrive to pick me up, but they were well spent indeed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, three weeks later things have changed mildly. Not for the worse its just been a while since we've seen each other but with a week to go I am so ecstatic. He gets back to the States a week before school starts up so I'm welcoming him back properly and staying over his apartment next Monday night. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This happened just a couple hours ago, just thought I'd share:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;The Scot:&lt;/span&gt; what you doing now?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;ETP:&lt;/span&gt; nothing tonight. just a movie with my sister worked this morning had dinner with the family tonight&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;The Scot&lt;/span&gt;: id love to come in from work to you it would be lovely&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;The Scot:&lt;/span&gt; go for a wee bath with you and tell you about my nightmare PE kids&lt;br /&gt;or how im getting too old for soccer&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;The Scot:&lt;/span&gt; then i'd have a wee tea and and listen about you and your day at the hospital&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;ETP:&lt;/span&gt; aww haha that does sound lovely&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;The Scot:&lt;/span&gt; id throw a stick on the fire and lie on the sofa beside you and watch the scottish news i pay for specially on comcast if its possible lol&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;ETP:&lt;/span&gt; we could get the satellite, watch celtic!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;The Scot:&lt;/span&gt; then i'd whisk you to bed ( a big one with comforter) and kiss every inch of you show my sexy little septic* how much i fancy her&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;ETP:&lt;/span&gt; well doesnt that just sound perfect ￼&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;ETP:&lt;/span&gt; sign me up!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;ETP:&lt;/span&gt; maybe we can do the last part sooner rather than later ￼&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;The Scot:&lt;/span&gt; ahead of my tea, bath and the news?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;The Scot:&lt;/span&gt; oh woman much to learn lol&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;ETP:&lt;/span&gt; no no i mean sooner as in maybe next week! haha not in 10 years&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;The Scot&lt;/span&gt;: oh lol ok but i cant offer you a big bed or scottish news&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;The Scot&lt;/span&gt;: not even a bath&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;The Scot: &lt;/span&gt;im still making my way but i can still show you how much i fancy you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;ETP:&lt;/span&gt; well thats more than enough for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unbelievable, right? Oh God, can I keep him?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Septic is cockney slang for Americans. Pretty offensive, I know. They do this rhyming thing with all of their slang so "Yank" rhymes with Septic Tank. The Scot affectionately refers to me as his "wee Septic"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-4632846737641988580?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/4632846737641988580/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=4632846737641988580' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/4632846737641988580'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/4632846737641988580'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2009/01/music-to-my-ears.html' title='Music to my Ears'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-3743075972241046339</id><published>2008-12-24T23:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-25T00:44:12.280-08:00</updated><title type='text'>How do you remember 18?</title><content type='html'>On the drive to midnight mass tonight (p.s. Merry Christmas folks) my dad and I got into a discussion about his girlfriend's relationship with her children. She's one of those moms who allows your bf/gf to sleepover in your bed, y'know one of &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;those &lt;/span&gt;families. Being the diplomatic blogger and person I strive to be, I don't see what the big deal as far as my dad goes. Listen, bud, you don't live there and your girlfriend can crash at your place if you want to have a kid-free snuggle sesh. Fine. He just sees that level of sexual comfort in a household to be disrespectful to the mother. In the whole shpeil he referred to his girlfriend and himself as "seasoned adults", carefully picking his words. Placing "seasoned" before adult so not to equate me with himself. Interesting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When is one finally recognized as an &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;adult&lt;/span&gt; in society?&lt;br /&gt;We're assorted different privileges at different ages, few being appropriate. &lt;br /&gt;We all go on to do different things with our lives at different points, some things governing more or less responsibilities. &lt;br /&gt;It is a standard in our culture that continues to perplex me, especially now that I am recognized as a "legal" adult, whatever that means. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've come up with a couple ideas as to what defines an adult: A) You are capable of supporting yourself. And if you're REALLY good, B) You're capable of supporting someone else while supporting yourself. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All of these thoughts come into question after moving back home for winter break... I receive a great deal of respect at college, it typically comes along with all the responsibility. I do what I want, when I want. Its wonderful. Teachers assign me things, no one is breathing down my neck forcing me to do it. If I want to get completely obliterated the night before an early class, thats my fucking prerogative. The whole thing is down right refreshing. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I come back to my small hometown and immediately I'm right where I left  off. I mean, the idea of college seems really fun and wild to everyone so folks are usually pretty eager asking about the whole bit, but other than that nothing has changed. I'm still just a kid. I went to alumni day a couple days ago and I freaked out a little inside during the first few minutes. (Granted: I WAS a little high after the bowl me and the amigos smoked before going in, but I bet it would have been just as terrifying otherwise)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The same people I still couldn't relate to on any level except for the fact that we had attended the same high school and,  most likely, middle school. The whole thing was awkward and I was really unsure of myself the whole time. The hallways seemed too fucking familiar, I had been away too long to miss it and not long enough to feel missed and welcomed by others. With the usual woes upon moving to college (homesick b.s.) your last days from high school are so glorified and truly missed... but shit. After going back, I am SO fucking psyched to be done with all of that. Ugh. I'll take my best friends with me and say PEACE to the rest of the bullsh I no longer have to deal with on a regular basis. Such as: being constantly monitored, being forced to interact with shitty people. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was even mistaken for a student and almost got reprimanded for leaving the school before it got out. It was funny and so innocent, yet mildly insulting. DON'T YOU KNOW I'M LEGALLY CONSIDERED AN ADULT NOW AND ATTEND&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt; COLLEGE&lt;/span&gt;!? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Its just funny. and weird. Its an awkward stage to be in, 18. Adult, technically. Still a kid, supposedly. A hefty load of new responsibilities but not enough to get any pats on the back.. Hmph. How do you remember 18? When did you start feeling entitled to Adult-size respect?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-3743075972241046339?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/3743075972241046339/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=3743075972241046339' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/3743075972241046339'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/3743075972241046339'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2008/12/how-do-you-remember-18.html' title='How do you remember 18?'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-8996479148220363657</id><published>2008-12-03T08:13:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T12:26:15.508-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sons of Scotland! I am your biggest fan.*</title><content type='html'>I've been told good things come to those who wait, or at least that's the idea anyways. &lt;br /&gt;I started to realize something about my dating habits upon flipping through pages of my journal, the book that holds all the deep dark secrets I'm even too embarrassed to share to strangers. What I realized was that I date the same guy over and over again; starts the same way, ends the same way. I feel the exact same way about everyone of them start to finish.&lt;br /&gt;Why do I do this? I went to college and out of all the fish in the cesspool I took interest in one who was emotionally unavailable, ridiculously insensitive and more over, completely unapologetic. Alas, I learned my lesson and self-destruction is out of my system for at least another few months or so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the past couple months I've been hanging out with a nice Scottish boy who recently moved to the US to play on my school's soccer team. We actually met in my school's cafeteria in the pizza line. (side note: pizza= safe choice= doesn't act as colon blow upon leaving the dining hall) When I saw him my jaw literally dropped... I mean I usually always browse in every public setting, but he really caught my eye. Then he opened his mouth and out came the most powerful aphrodisiac known to all womankind, and I suppose guys as well, an accent. Not just any accent, a scottish one! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I kept running into the Scot and eventually we started talking. One day I saw him in the cafe and I told him about how I had visited a place called West Rock in New Haven and how I would really love to bring him there. Its super beautiful and a choice spot to spark a joint. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://s2.photobucket.com/albums/y46/elysepedra17/?action=view&amp;current=n1083210204_30165336_9272-1.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y46/elysepedra17/n1083210204_30165336_9272-1.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pretty, right??&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We never actually went to West Rock but we did start talking regularly and eventually begun hanging out. Although the accent really intrigued me, perhaps because I assumed he was different in other ways too, once I started to get to know him I was pleasantly surprised to find a very wholesome person with similar values and ideals to mine. A great looking Scot with morals? Wow, that sounds delicious, I'll have two! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As we hung out I was beginning to wonder just how he saw me....He insisted on paying for me, was quite the gentleman and quite a bit of flirting went down. But he never made a move. So I began to think, after a couple months of the same old hug goodnight, ahem what the fuck Scotty? &lt;br /&gt;Just as I was about to give up, he professed his love to me one night (something that went a little like: "I fancy the arse off you.") and kissed me shortly there after.  Halllllllelujah folks. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stay tuned for more tales of the Scot.. :) &lt;br /&gt;P.S. Bloggers, I'm now and forever a legal adult. 18 has finally come!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*"Sons of Scotland! I am William Wallace" -Braveheart&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-8996479148220363657?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/8996479148220363657/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=8996479148220363657' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/8996479148220363657'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/8996479148220363657'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2008/12/sons-of-scotland-i-am-your-biggest-fan.html' title='Sons of Scotland! I am your biggest fan.*'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-6357534320711317014</id><published>2008-10-26T22:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-26T23:23:37.112-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hear me roar.</title><content type='html'>So I sort of began to tell you about the man whore, Chris, I was hooking up with in the last post. However, after rereading his brief post-appearance, I feel that I should go into a little more detail about him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We've begun this sort of vicious cycle that college has fueled.&lt;br /&gt;We're very good friends and have a lot of chemistry but with him being a very good looking guy and college girls not being much less than SLUTS, the whole exclusive objective becomes virtually obsolete.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The vicious cycle goes a little something like this:&lt;br /&gt;i) we hang out have some laughs&lt;br /&gt;ii) we start drinking&lt;br /&gt;iii) he hits on me and I deflect any of his attempts with some sarcasm, e.g. "I'm gonna try to kiss you tonight so drink up." "Thats going to take far too much booze to ingest in one night so good luck."&lt;br /&gt;iv) i get drunk and make out with him&lt;br /&gt;v) he leaves me to have sex with someone else&lt;br /&gt;vi) hatred.&lt;br /&gt;vii) he apologizes, we start hanging out again&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Really. I allow this shit to happen. &lt;br /&gt;To elaborate..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other night a bunch of us headed downtown to a karaoke bar I've been dying to check out.&lt;br /&gt;We buy a few rounds of beers and I own the stage with a little Sweet Caroline a la Neil Diamond. &lt;br /&gt;Chris and I go outside for a smoke where he tries to kiss me but I'm not nearly drunk enough to allow that to happen so we head inside and buy another round.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As the night progresses, I'm feeling pretty good so I grab Chris. We both just look at each other and he leans in and kisses me. (just a peck) He turns away and goes back to flirting with the cutest girl to hold his fun-sized attention span.&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly, the cops come in and they make everyone get into single-filed lines.&lt;br /&gt;In case, any of you dismissed the fact that I'm 17, well I am. In other words, totally fucked.&lt;br /&gt;I find Chris and hear his roommate call his name.&lt;br /&gt;He grabs my hand and we start booking it to the back of the bar.&lt;br /&gt;We run through an Employees Only marked door into some back storage room trailing about 15 other runaways.&lt;br /&gt;The bar owners are cheering us on, yelling, "RUN, GUYS, RUN. GO GO GO!" Showing us the light at the end of the tunnel reading "EXIT" in case of a fire.&lt;br /&gt;All of us pile out the bar onto some side street making a clean getaway. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Feeling like I was just apart of something bigger than myself, than a karaoke bar, something more like the underground railroad perhaps, (I was loaded give me a break) I light up a smoke and start doing a victory dance in the middle of the street.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chris and I start making out on the sidewalk (why not? we just DIDNT get arrested) and my friend picks us up on the next street over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We get back to our dorm and go up to his room. Shortly there after he leaves to go meet his "fuck-buddy" &lt;br /&gt;I see him the next night over a cigarette outside our building.&lt;br /&gt;I made it quite clear that I wanted nothing more to do with the vicious cycle I'd been allowing on account of sheer convenience and instant satisfaction- But what I hadn't taken into account, until now, was the instant disappointment that always seemed to follow the satisfaction. I'm tired of just allowing things like this to happen. I'm tired of asking, why me? Well, because I let it be me.&lt;br /&gt;No more, folks. Chris might be a babe and a very good kisser but on a college campus, he's a dime a dozen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He, of course, was very understanding.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-6357534320711317014?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/6357534320711317014/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=6357534320711317014' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/6357534320711317014'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/6357534320711317014'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2008/10/hear-me-roar.html' title='Hear me roar.'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-2206592854914264096</id><published>2008-10-08T13:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-08T14:18:06.884-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Since being at college I can say I've been to two completely excellent concerts: Built to Spill and Jenny Lewis.&lt;br /&gt;Both performances were completely riveting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For Jenny Lewis, my sister accompanied me to the Schubert Theatre in New Haven, CT. Midway there from school I realize I forgot the tickets in my other purse..ugh. &lt;br /&gt;So we turned around in a speedy fashion and ended up being 15 min late for the show, only catching the second half of the first performance by a guy named Michael Runion. I was totally impressed by him and ended up saying hello between sets.&lt;br /&gt;He was walking up one of the aisles so I decided to say hello and ask whether or not he was selling cds. &lt;br /&gt;He was so ridiculously nice and seemed a bit nervous too. He asked my name and then even remembered it after the show when I came to the merch table to purchase one of my new favorite cds. &lt;br /&gt;Its real folk-y, which I'm into...and it has excellent lyrics. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Off of one track, called "Soft Hands", some lyrics I completely adore read:&lt;br /&gt;"We'll slip into the streets drunk as lonely soldiers and we'll own the night like vandals 'til the morning burns our eyes"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;pretty good, right? I dig it. and I'd like to think its my current college mantra but that might be overestimating my social life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As for the gents...well if this sums it up: water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink.&lt;br /&gt;They're all okay...I was hooking up with one for a while but he's just a whole mess of confusion that right now in my life, I really don't need. I'm the kind of girl that would always prefer a relationship over single life but college is just a different animal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dating doesn't exist here. Dating consists of: I'll buy you a drink as leverage for dome later on. &lt;br /&gt;Fortunately, if you're going to make stupid decisions, I've come to the right place!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just last night, me and my girl Georgia went to a bar just off campus. We showed up and this boy, we'll call Jake, was sitting in the booth next to us. I knew from the start he wanted my goods but he gave me douche vibes so I kept a distance.&lt;br /&gt;We bought a few pitchers and worked the crowd a little bit.&lt;br /&gt;Surprise Surprise, my ex-hook-up-big-mess-but-such-a-babe guy shows up and he greets me with a big hug so we start dancing a little and he kisses my neck a couple times but I don't really play into it. &lt;br /&gt;Eventually he starts doing his own thing and I see Jake.&lt;br /&gt;He asks what I've been up to and I said, dancing! So he asks me for a dance and I ask if he's any good so he says, "Lets go find out!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As it turns out, he is. However, I like to leave sex to the bedroom and not the dance floor so you going up and down my shirt and pants while rhythmically humping me to some techno song...not my cup of tea. Of course, ex-guy is dancing next to me with some girl and keeps looking over at me and then kisses the girl he dances with.&lt;br /&gt;To retaliate I of course do the same only to experience a sudden distasteful jabbing of the tongue motion..&lt;br /&gt;I said I needed to get some air, grabbed Georgia and got the fuck out of there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I felt dirty afterwards. But it was in the name of revenge damnit!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-2206592854914264096?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/2206592854914264096/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=2206592854914264096' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/2206592854914264096'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/2206592854914264096'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2008/10/since-being-at-college-i-can-say-ive.html' title=''/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-3995199339751913581</id><published>2008-09-07T08:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-07T08:33:12.444-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh, College.</title><content type='html'>Well, I've been living at college for a full week now and already my life has changed completely.&lt;br /&gt;Since I've been here I've: missed 1 class, dropped 1 class, gotten drunk at least 4 times, made out with some random dude at a club, and had a friend wake up in Yale New Haven on account of being absolutely pickled off the &lt;A HREF="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dubra"&gt;DirtyDub.&lt;/A&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's pretty fuckin awesome around here, not going to lie. I've been here for a week and I can't see myself leaving anytime soon. Bring on the 5 year plan, student advisor! I'll show all of you how it's done! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other night started in the parking garage which I've come to know and love. We were all drinking some beers and I had a huge water bottle of Peach Iced Tea and Vodka. Needless to say I ended up getting drunk...and then continued to hit on every male around me. We moved our little party to the Gazebo, a place no doubt will deliver many posts. Its reserved for smokers as a means of shielding the non-smokers from our filthy addiction! Blahblah, everyone hangs in there smokin, drinkin, and sometimes bangin. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, Gazebo. See a guy from my dorm that lived a few floors above me. My friend, Georgia, and I had hung out with him before and we were about ready to ditch the guys we were with. It starts pouring out and we tell the boys we're going to bed. Georgia and I go up to our friend's floor and end up having a beer with his neighbor and dancing to the sweet sweet sounds of the White Stripes. Dave, the kid we has planned to hang out with, comes into the room and joins the fun!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later, we go outside to have a cigarette. The rain was coming down hard so I decide to just lay down in a huge puddle. My booze-induced spontaneity inspired the other three to start sprinting around the quad &lt;A HREF="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Slip_'N_Slide"&gt;slip 'n sliding&lt;/A&gt; in the grass and scattered puddles. It was fucking awesome. Not long after, we took a break laying in the grass letting the rain come down on us. I looked around at my new friends, barely knowing them for more than just a few good moments and felt completely satisfied and thankful. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After feeling so trapped towards the end of the summer, I couldn't stop thinking about how free and alive I felt just then. I was cut up, Georgia had ripped her favorite Sevens, Dave kept kissing my forehead, and Jake just wanted to dance. With our different lives and agendas, we had all come to the same place looking for just this particular moment of freedom and that night we found it with a few strangers.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-3995199339751913581?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/3995199339751913581/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=3995199339751913581' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/3995199339751913581'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/3995199339751913581'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2008/09/oh-college.html' title='Oh, College.'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-6267481638535402712</id><published>2008-08-28T08:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-28T08:28:19.407-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What I've been waiting for...</title><content type='html'>Sunday is the big day! I'm packin' up and headin' out into the world of the unknown.&lt;br /&gt;One undoubtedly to be filled with hook ups, hang overs, fuck ups, and do-overs. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm a little scared, weren't you? &lt;br /&gt;Is my roommate going to be a tool? &lt;br /&gt;Is it true that you'll get warts in the shower sans flip-flops?&lt;br /&gt;How the fuck am I going to survive on the contents left in my bank account after the last purchase of a macbook? &lt;br /&gt;Will dudes find me cute and funny and laugh at my jokes? &lt;br /&gt;Will I find dudes cute and funny and be able to sincerely laugh at their jokes?&lt;br /&gt;ugh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, it's a little overwhelming but I can honestly say I'm ready. &lt;br /&gt;No strings attached, no messy break ups right at the end of the summer..&lt;br /&gt;Just long heartfelt hugs to friends with whom I've shared countless memories and in turn, our adolescence. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So Sunday I'll be moving out and moving on to the whole other life awaiting me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-6267481638535402712?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/6267481638535402712/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=6267481638535402712' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/6267481638535402712'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/6267481638535402712'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2008/08/what-ive-been-waiting-for.html' title='What I&apos;ve been waiting for...'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-5534438061592510907</id><published>2008-08-07T18:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-07T18:28:20.343-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Oops.</title><content type='html'>So I had the last cigarette of my pack this morning and then drank in excess with my boss tonight at work. The weathers really shitty tonight so I can't really go out, i.e. get my nicotine fix in the process, so all I was left to do was just pick a fight with my mom over my sister and how she has endless freedom and I don't have enough.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I never pick fights. I just fucking begged for one. That was ridiculous. I was yelling at her for nothing. It's almost comical because I'm not naturally a very confrontational person but take away my nicotine and I'll fucking bite your head off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I should quit.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-5534438061592510907?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/5534438061592510907/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=5534438061592510907' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/5534438061592510907'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/5534438061592510907'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2008/08/oops.html' title='Oops.'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-2169599202851335336</id><published>2008-08-07T10:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-07T10:45:48.735-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh, how the tables have turned!</title><content type='html'>I know I was on hiatus for a few months but I think I'm back now for good. I missed all of your blogs and I've spent the last couple weeks catching up on all of my favorites. So! I guess I'll catch you up on what's been happening with me as well. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For those of you who remember Joe, well lets just say, I won so fucking hard!&lt;br /&gt;I do not remember whether or not I posted about him calling me up, while he had a girlfriend, and asking me to go to a party with him. So-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I made sure I looked adorable and showed up fashionably late with a vengeance. We were getting along like old pals until we both started drinking heavily and then things got kind of weird.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He started off on how he still really liked me and how he didn't love his girlfriend anymore blahblahblah. I wasn't really falling for any of this but I still kind of went along with it. Then! He actually started begging me to kiss him. HA! Saying things like, "Just one?" Really, Joe? Easy does it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Right when I was leaving, I excused myself to the bathroom. After I was all freshened up, I open the door only to find Joe waiting for me! He kind of sort of trapped me and we ended up making out. Oops! This led to him asking me to sleep over and whatever else. After I politely refused for the millionth time, he asked me to hang out tomorrow. "Uh, yeah maybe." "Why not definitely?" "Well because I don't know what I'm doing tomorrow!" And with that I kissed him on the cheek and never saw him again. Victory is mine! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do I regret kissing him? Nope, cause I got mine. Do I regret letting him cheat on his girlfriend? Not even a little bit. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He then called me almost every single night without fail after this. I never responded or even took the calls until one day I just straight up told him I had a boyfriend and was not even a little interested. Tough break.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me having a boyfriend at the time was true but not so much anymore. But I'll save that whole run down for another post.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-2169599202851335336?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/2169599202851335336/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=2169599202851335336' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/2169599202851335336'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/2169599202851335336'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2008/08/oh-how-tables-have-turned.html' title='Oh, how the tables have turned!'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-5848391901405187538</id><published>2008-08-04T11:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-04T11:15:43.060-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hey I'm not dead!</title><content type='html'>I just needed some new material. My posts were getting bitter and repetitive. Summer's almost over, another boy's come and gone, and I'll be off to college in just a few weeks! I am ridiculously excited. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As for now, days are pretty lazy on the East Coast. I sleep in, go to work, go out with friends/ stay in and read. Life isn't seriously thrilling or anything but I know the best is yet to come and right now I just have to enjoy my friends before I leave them all in the dust. Just kidding, I could never. Mostly because there's always next summer and smoking pot by yourself is never as fun as everyone makes it out to be! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alright. Best be off to work.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-5848391901405187538?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/5848391901405187538/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=5848391901405187538' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/5848391901405187538'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/5848391901405187538'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2008/08/hey-im-not-dead.html' title='Hey I&apos;m not dead!'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-783219501110541143</id><published>2008-04-29T20:12:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-29T20:20:04.310-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Remember the scene from Breakfast at Tiffany's where</title><content type='html'>that dude says this big thing:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"You know what's wrong with you, Miss Whoever-you-are? You're chicken, you've got no guts. You're afraid to stick out your chin and say, 'Okay, life's a fact, people do fall in love, people do belong to each other, because that's the only chance anybody's got for real happiness.' You call yourself a free spirit, a 'wild thing,' and you're terrified somebody's gonna stick you in a cage. Well baby, you're already in that cage. You built it yourself. And it's not bounded in the west by Tulip, Texas, or in the east by Somali-land. It's wherever you go. Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://s2.photobucket.com/albums/y46/elysepedra17/?action=view&amp;current=rain.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y46/elysepedra17/rain.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well here's what- if love is the only chance any of us have at experiencing 'real happiness' we're all fucked. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ugh, it's so overdone.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-783219501110541143?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/783219501110541143/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=783219501110541143' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/783219501110541143'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/783219501110541143'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2008/04/remember-scene-from-breakfast-at.html' title='Remember the scene from Breakfast at Tiffany&apos;s where'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-1095276273158644435</id><published>2008-04-07T19:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-07T19:39:44.243-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It never ends.</title><content type='html'>"I'll be at Chiane's for 1:30. Just text me if you're not coming."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He never came and he never texted.&lt;br /&gt;I waited for 20 minutes before I got the nerve to walk back to my car and drive home.&lt;br /&gt;A few nights later, I smoke pot with my ex-boyfriend and Doug calls him. &lt;br /&gt;My ex informs him I'm at the party.&lt;br /&gt;I'm in the kitchen saying goodbye to everyone when he walks in, gives me a shit-eating grin and I can't help but smile back. Then again, what &lt;em&gt;does&lt;/em&gt; one do in situations like these? I leave sad and stoned and exhausted. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight, as I'm finishing up my book, I get a phone call.&lt;br /&gt;I don't recognize the number so I call back.&lt;br /&gt;They don't pick up but I hear a familiar voice on the answering machine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Joe calls back a few moments later asking, rather politely to his credit, if I knew where he could score some coke. I respond, "Well yes, but surely not right now. It's 10:30 on a monday night."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He says thanks, and says that I should expect to hear from him soon.&lt;br /&gt;He was always well-mannered.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-1095276273158644435?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/1095276273158644435/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=1095276273158644435' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/1095276273158644435'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/1095276273158644435'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2008/04/it-never-ends.html' title='It never ends.'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-8738499878744133739</id><published>2008-03-31T18:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-31T20:17:54.245-07:00</updated><title type='text'>TGIM</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;Monday.&lt;/strong&gt; I've still got four days before I have to deal with the new status of the guy. He's not my guy, so we'll use his name instead: Doug. I'm expected to see him on the weekend; if I don't I might actually have to deal with this change, until then I'll just assure myself the reason we're not seeing each other is because he's busy during the week. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Last Friday:&lt;/strong&gt; I head to a party with Jill where I know I'll see Doug. Fortunately, Jill drove so I help myself to a beer and a couple drags of a joint that's offered my way. Doug plays a couple games of beer pong and when he assumes a substantial buzz, he asks me if I would like to go upstairs. I know what this means and nod okay and he follows me to the couch. We don't talk, just start kissing. We lay down on the couch and kiss harder. Someone walks upstairs, we shift positions and play it cool. They come sit with us, serving as not only a disturbance but now a cock-block, and turn on iTunes. Doug kisses me and I kiss back. We make the kid uncomfortable, but we don't care. He's too drunk and I like him too much. The kid leaves, and I stroll over to the computer and put on a song we once heard in a Quentin Tarantino movie. We dance and laugh and kiss and I'm loving every minute of this. He sits back down on the couch expectantly and I say I need to tell him something. He inquires where his cell phone is instead. He's avoiding me and I'm paranoid he knows what I'm about to say. We find his cell phone, he wants to keep making out. I tell him I like him. He stares back at me expressionless. "No response?" "No, I'm just looking at you." I get off him, put on my coat, and walk back downstairs. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Next Day:&lt;/strong&gt; This time I drive but me and Jill got the okay from the parents to crash at Nick's house so I know I can get drunk. I walk downstairs to the basement and see Doug with a couple friends. I choose not to approach him but just make a quiet entrance and stick by Jill. He doesn't acknowledge my entrance and suddenly I tense up and think back to last night's unfortunate meeting. Eventually, I make my presence known by yelling something to one of my friends playing beer pong. He comes up to me saying he didn't even notice I had showed up. Thanks, jackass. &lt;br /&gt;I mingle and drink a lot of beer. Doug and I flirt but not in the usual way. Things are more tense. So much that he refuses to kiss me. I walk by and he grazes my side affectionately but I come and inch from his face and he just half smiles and looks the other way. I mutter for him to fuck himself and walk away. Mid-neglect, Jill catches my ex-boyfriend looking at me for 'a solid 10 seconds.' I talk to him instead.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later, I notice my ex is nowhere to be found. I ask where he's run off to and I'm informed he's on the back porch. I walk out and its so dark and I'm so drunk but I know he's there. He tells me he drank too much and he starts to throw up. I rub his back and want so badly to tell him how much I'd rather date him than Doug. I want to tell him that I love him and need him, that I never stopped caring for him and that Doug is just the next best thing. I don't know whether or not any of this true but I want to tell him so badly. I bite my tongue and kiss his head. I wonder if he'll remember but it doesn't bother me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I go back to the party and see Doug. He kisses me, finally. I try not to think about my ex, his best-friend. We kiss some more. Someone asks him if I'm his girlfriend. Neither of us responds. Later, we're kissing and we back step down a hallway. We find a room, we find a couch, we've done this before. As we're falling down to the less than comfortable futon, he says, "I like you too." I don't know what to say so I say nothing but just kiss back. He's going up my shirt and I know I should warn him not to go further in lieu of really unfortunate timing. He says he understands. He accidentally hits my eye and I say, "Oh no! You fucked up my contact." He responds with, "Sorry, babe. I didn't even know you wore contacts." I wonder what else he doesn't even know about me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I go check on my ex, help him walk up the stairs by throwing his arm around my shoulder and bracing his back. I know Doug hates that I've been tending to Ryan all night but I don't care. I get him to bed and see him puking more, I know I've done all I can and go to bed with Doug. People keep walking in, I'm getting irritated. We're kissing, I know he's getting bored of this. We're joking around and I ask him a serious question. He doesn't answer. I flip over away from him, doze off and then wake up a few minutes later craving comfort. Instead he gets up, puts on his belt and jacket. I ask him where he's going. He says he can't sleep. &lt;br /&gt;"Don't go." I say, petrified of spending the duration of the night alone in a stiff twin bed with just a shitty 300 thread count sheet to keep me warm. &lt;br /&gt;"I don't have the patience. Don't be mad." He kisses me on the cheek. I would beg him to stay but I know its no use. He's gone. My bed faces the window on the front of the house. I watch him start his car, pull the car into reverse and idle for 30 seconds. I say aloud, "Please come back, what are you doing?" He shifts into drive and I watch him speed away, "Read my Mind" by the Killers trailing off as he disappears.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two hours of sleep serves me well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;7am&lt;/strong&gt; Oh God, I have to relive all of it again. Fuck. Why did he leave? Was it because I have my period and he couldn't get laid? He wouldn't have regardless. Did he think he was going to get laid? He must know nothing of me.&lt;br /&gt;A little later, my ex thanks me for caring for him and hugs me goodbye. I'm so grateful for this. Later on, he texts me thanking me again. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I IM Doug last night and it goes horribly. I'm convinced he feels nothing for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Next move:&lt;/strong&gt; play hard to get and lure him back. Forget my ex-boyfriend.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-8738499878744133739?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/8738499878744133739/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=8738499878744133739' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/8738499878744133739'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/8738499878744133739'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2008/03/tgim.html' title='TGIM'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-6901944307793620154</id><published>2008-03-26T18:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-26T19:00:15.364-07:00</updated><title type='text'>ugh.</title><content type='html'>I'm a little upset. Not very. Just a little.&lt;br /&gt;I'm in the band at school, I play trumpet. We're going on a lovely cruise down the coast of California April 12-19th, so close! ahhh! Well my mom absolutely INSISTED on coming so I was cool with it. She originally said, "I want to chaperone if I can, but if I can't then I'll just buy a separate boarding pass for the cruise ship and just tag along." Well, she was fortunate enough to get a spot on the chaperone list.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight, I tell her how excited I am and suddenly my stupid sister opens her mouth and goes, "I don't Mom is going to like being a chaperone. I don't think you can drink or anything."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then my mom starts FREAKING out about how she paid so much moneyyyy and now she finds out she won't be able to drink or party or do anything worth her while. She starts saying how this is MY fault because I waited too long to give her the details, (that she can't consume alcohol while supervising highschool students...gee, ma, sorry I left that one out!) From here, I choose to leave the room after telling her how incredibly rude she's behaving.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I wanted to say was, "This trip isn't about you. It's about me. It's what I've been working towards for 9 years. You begged to come just so you could see me. Had I known you just wanted a vacation with some background music I wouldn't have gotten you on the list."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sick of this shit.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-6901944307793620154?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/6901944307793620154/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=6901944307793620154' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/6901944307793620154'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/6901944307793620154'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2008/03/ugh.html' title='ugh.'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-9020711167129953580</id><published>2008-03-15T17:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-15T17:24:40.326-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What is it about my ears...</title><content type='html'>that screams "PLEASE PUT ME IN YOUR MOUTH" ?????&lt;br /&gt;The new boy likes ears &lt;a href="http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2008/01/return-of-my-ear-obsessed-dream-boy.html"&gt;too.&lt;/a&gt; &lt;br /&gt;What to do, what to do!? &lt;br /&gt;Well, I think I like him very much so I won't do much about it; in the meantime, I'll just make sure to be extra thorough with my q-tip.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-9020711167129953580?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/9020711167129953580/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=9020711167129953580' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/9020711167129953580'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/9020711167129953580'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2008/03/what-is-it-about-my-ears.html' title='What is it about my ears...'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-2045214923089154525</id><published>2008-03-10T16:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-10T16:57:43.934-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It's funny how things work out.</title><content type='html'>Joe is back with his ex girlfriend. Well, I'm not sure they're officially dating, but they've been spending a lot of time together.&lt;br /&gt;I posed a question to my boss as to why he would ditch me and go back with her, and he gave me quite the enlightening response.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's why I asked- in the entire 3-4 months Joe and I dated he never did more than kiss me. There was plenty of opportunity, I mean plenty. &lt;br /&gt;We sort of separated once but then shortly after, we started talking again and met up at CCSU. &lt;A HREF="http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2008/02/i-damn-near-forgot-my-password.html"&gt;Remember?&lt;/A&gt; Then we tried it out for another month or so and it ended with him saying he didn't want to "hurt me." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He called a few times after that but I was pretty much done.&lt;br /&gt;Now he's back with his sex-obsessed ex-girlfriend.&lt;br /&gt;Alas, the object of my confusion was, he never even made a move on me, but seemed to like me a lot. Then! he dumps me and goes back to his past nymph. Ironic, eh? If all he was looking for was booty, I would have skipped all the emotional crap and worked out some sort of agreement...a little FWB, for ya? (friends with benefits)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm totally kidding, but that's besides the point.&lt;br /&gt;My boss told me the real reason he dumped me and went back was because he clearly still had feelings for his ex and didn't see our situation going any further until he sorted things out with her. Fair enough. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This makes entirely TOO much sense. Now I'm left with the mystery as to WHY he couldn't just tell me. It had nothing to do with me. How could I be hurt by that? It was ending either way, a little honesty could have smoothed things over immediately.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm content. I deleted his number from my phone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been seeing the new boy frequently.&lt;br /&gt;My current mission is to woo him into loving me. &lt;br /&gt;Shouldn't take too long so feel free to practice a few exercises to improve the ol' lung capacity until I report back with good news. ;)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-2045214923089154525?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/2045214923089154525/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=2045214923089154525' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/2045214923089154525'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/2045214923089154525'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2008/03/its-funny-how-things-work-out.html' title='It&apos;s funny how things work out.'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-178545855454222743</id><published>2008-03-05T17:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-05T17:55:32.942-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Punch drunk love?</title><content type='html'>To recount the past week's events in a timely manner:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Realized that I can never go back to ex, and decided to mack it on his best friend&lt;br /&gt;-Joe has tried a few times to get in contact with me but there's just no hope for him&lt;br /&gt;-My ear-obsessed dream boy texted me saying he wants to hang out when he gets home from college next week&lt;br /&gt;-I've taken quite a liking to the White Stripes, I'll elaborate more later&lt;br /&gt;-I gave up the whole Lent thing. I love meat, call me a sinner. &lt;br /&gt;-I really need to play catch-up on all of your blogs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So! The new boy:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He's my ex-boyfriends best friend but that hardly matters; it just serves as a lovely device to inspire jealousy. He's devilishly attractive and a little untrustworthy. We have been texting like fiends and I met up with him today. He reserved a bottle of Cabernet for the two of us, so we cracked that bad boy open minutes after my arrival. The next two hours are a complete blur but they are mostly comprised of a lot of flirting and him backing me into a hallway and kissing me.&lt;br /&gt;Later, we went down to the basement to listen to the White Stripes where he (I know this sounds pretty corny, but bare with me) sang along in my ear and gave me a whole new meaning to the lyrics, "Soft hair and a velvet tongue, I wanna give you what you give to me." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Amidst all of our punch-drunk love, some girl took me aside to tell me that typically he hits it and quits it. He goes from girl to girl and doesn't think twice when he gives her the news that it might be a smart idea to stop talking.&lt;br /&gt;Now! If we recall to my last post, I'm certainly not up for any more of that shit.&lt;br /&gt;Alas, my guard will be up. However! his very good friend, mine as well, told me he's never seen him like this around one of his many girls. So maybe, things will be different.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Either way, it'll make for a good blog post. OPA!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-178545855454222743?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/178545855454222743/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=178545855454222743' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/178545855454222743'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/178545855454222743'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2008/03/punch-drunk-love.html' title='Punch drunk love?'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-3333551066660143423</id><published>2008-02-24T19:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-24T19:24:00.081-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I think it's really over this time.</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;Joe&lt;/strong&gt;: thats pretty cool to have your friends call me last night&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; they took my phone when they saw i was upset.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; i thought we weren't talking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; do you mind providing an explanation?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; i dont know if you're reading this now or what but you just amaze me how you can call me at 1am when im drunk and youre probably drunk too and tell me after hanging out for like 3-4 months "i dont think we should talk anymore" then go on to provide no sort of explanation and have the nerve to im me the next night and ignore me when i ask you a simple fucking question.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Joe: &lt;/strong&gt;i just dont want to end up hurting you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; well thanks for the favor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Joe:&lt;/strong&gt; whatever&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I suppose I'll elaborate more later, but there you have it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-3333551066660143423?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/3333551066660143423/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=3333551066660143423' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/3333551066660143423'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/3333551066660143423'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2008/02/i-think-its-really-over-this-time.html' title='I think it&apos;s really over this time.'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-3979368605784542968</id><published>2008-02-21T10:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-21T11:13:04.079-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"Here's to being 17 and making bad decisions"</title><content type='html'>I wake up at 6:25 to the revolting "Cingular Sound" I set my cell phone alarm to. &lt;br /&gt;I briefly consider how the name is dated and how they should change it to "AT&amp;T sound" - more appropriate but not quite as catchy. &lt;br /&gt;I fall back asleep and when my mom yells up the stairs, "ELYSE, ARE YOU AWAKE?" I lie and say I have study hall first period. I set my alarm for 45 minutes later. &lt;br /&gt;I can't really fall back asleep because the sun is shining through my window...&lt;br /&gt;I hate the sun, consider shutting my blinds, but am too lazy and instead think Spring is almost here due to the new annoying, yet later appreciated, early winter sunrise. &lt;br /&gt;I wake up at 7:20, jump in the shower and think about my short February break's events: partied a bit with Jill with kids from another town. Saw my ex-boyfriend. He didn't once through the night make eye contact with me. Partied again with the same kids, sans ex-boyfriend, a couple days later and win a game of pong with an epic bounce, earning the respect of all the guys there and a little extra from my very cute pong partner. Get the title of "Team Lightweight" due to our very obvious intoxication after four games. Smoke a cigarette and then convince myself I'm just fine to drive home. Drive home, sobered at this point, pass a cop, drive impeccably, reach destination and pass out. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dry off and throw my hair in a towel. &lt;br /&gt;Walk downstairs and pour myself a cup of coffee.&lt;br /&gt;Apply make up and head off to school, only to stay for three classes and then head home.&lt;br /&gt;Consider going to the gym, consider fueling my empty stomach, but instead read a few pages from a Bret Easton Ellis novel. Hear my dog snoring beside me and join her in 45 minute nap. Wake up and walk upstairs to my bedroom where I escape to my roof and smoke a cigarette. Smoke. Crawl back inside and light a stick of incense to cover up any odor that might have crept in. Blog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's to being 17 and making bad decisions.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-3979368605784542968?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/3979368605784542968/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=3979368605784542968' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/3979368605784542968'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/3979368605784542968'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2008/02/heres-to-being-17-and-making-bad.html' title='&quot;Here&apos;s to being 17 and making bad decisions&quot;'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-2359449498281393447</id><published>2008-02-15T11:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-15T11:30:33.603-08:00</updated><title type='text'>V-day Come and Gone.</title><content type='html'>I couldn't be more pleased.&lt;br /&gt;I'm pretty sure the general consensus on Blogger is that it fucking sucks.&lt;br /&gt;I haven't had a good Valentine's Day to date, well except when I was like 14 but that shit doesn't count. (My boyfriend put a bouquet of roses and a heart-shaped box of chocolates in my locker. Not a year later, I was hanging on to the relationship by the skin of my teeth and our V-day celebration consisted of a second-hand meal at Bertucci's and a 2-hour nap to follow. I was more pissed about the nap cause I sure as fuck wasn't tired.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wanna know how much I hate Valentine's day? I gave up meat for Lent and I damn slaughtered a cow last night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://s2.photobucket.com/albums/y46/elysepedra17/?action=view&amp;current=070529_madcow_hmed_1phmedium.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y46/elysepedra17/070529_madcow_hmed_1phmedium.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fortunately, for me and livestock alike, I went to Flatbread with Jill and got a Vegetarian-friendly Pizza, Tomato Basil to be specific and heavens, it's tasty. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With that said, on a brighter note- Joe and I finally discussed all of our bullshit last night and actually made some sense out of our mess of feelings.&lt;br /&gt;Turns out, as I sort of predicted, most of our problems are a product of the problems he's chosen to not only keep quiet about, but take on by himself.&lt;br /&gt;Clearly, there's a reason he hasn't taken the intiative to include me in his drama, so I won't pry, but just give him time to work it out on his own.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight, I'm partying with my ex-boyfriend and some other folk. I plan on getting wasted and making shit-tons of poor decisions.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-2359449498281393447?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/2359449498281393447/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=2359449498281393447' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/2359449498281393447'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/2359449498281393447'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2008/02/v-day-come-and-gone.html' title='V-day Come and Gone.'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-6339770837121678385</id><published>2008-02-03T21:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-03T22:05:22.666-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I damn near forgot my password.</title><content type='html'>Agh. I know I haven't posted for a while but I'm beginning to feel a little discouraged. My life is extremely repetitive and a little predictable so every time I get an idea, I overthink it to be garbage.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To give you a condensed run through of my life since my last post:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Saw Joe at CCSU (we both had plans to go, notified eachother randomly 8 hours before and decided to meet up) ended up sleeping (the sort with Rapid Eye Movement, to be clear) with him at his friend's dorm, macked it slow and sweet, and have been hanging out since...unfortunately the same sporadic tendency has carried. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Started going to Hardcore shows again with my friend Jill and ended up running into a lot of old friends- we've been hanging out since and I'm setting Jill up with a good friend of mine from the long lost group, coining myself "match-maker extraordinaire." Ex-boyfriend included in this group...He gave me the whole "I'm going to single-handedly ruin your social life and self-esteem" treatment after we broke up but I'm a chump and would love to have a "spontaneous-totally-wasn't-thinking-alcohol-induced-hotpassionatelovemaking" experience with him. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-I've taken a fondness to quotes apparently. (see last 2 bullet statements)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-I want to take a shit on Randy Moss' doorstep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-I've been listening to far too much Radiohead lately but just can't bring myself to refuse them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-School is dull and boring...so much that I skipped to work 8 hours the other day.&lt;br /&gt;The morning waitress' newly wed husband dropped dead of a heartattack at the age of 37 just the other day. *Cue shock and sympathy* Yeah, well guess what folks. I'm starting to get tired of the whole thing. My bosses feel the fucking need to tell EVERY single customer that comes in the restaurant, regardless if they knew her or not. And the part that pisses me off the most is the stupid rehearsed look they get on their face right after they tell the person. "Yeapp (somber shake of the head) that's life for ya." Yeah, that is life for you. Stop fucking advertising someone's tragedy for a conversation starter. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's all I got.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-6339770837121678385?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/6339770837121678385/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=6339770837121678385' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/6339770837121678385'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/6339770837121678385'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2008/02/i-damn-near-forgot-my-password.html' title='I damn near forgot my password.'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-4569260805401531557</id><published>2008-01-12T09:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-12T10:23:20.997-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The return of my ear-obsessed dream boy.</title><content type='html'>Not that I would entirely know, since I'm still 17, but how is it that you are considered in your "golden years" when you're 70+, senile, arthritic, and near death?&lt;br /&gt;I'm having a fucking ball being 17.&lt;br /&gt;Granted my last post was very emotional and retarded, but I figure it's all apart of the experience. You learn a whole lot about yourself when you get to those "emotional and retarded" points. To quote Little Miss Sunshine, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Anyway, he uh... he gets down to the end of his life, and he looks back and decides that all those years he suffered, those were the best years of his life, 'cause they made him who he was. All those years he was happy? You know, total waste. Didn't learn a thing. So, if you sleep until you're 18... Ah, think of the suffering you're gonna miss. I mean high school? High school-those are your prime suffering years. You don't get better suffering than that.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anywho, shit sucks from time to time but then you have nights like last night and you know that everything, one way or another, will fold out just as it should, despite all of our overally pessimistic predictions of what lies ahead.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This weekend, four of my close friends are celebrating their 17th or 18th birthday.&lt;br /&gt;So we headed over to the Murphy's for a good old-fashioned booze-a-palooza.&lt;br /&gt;The night was great fun. We danced, drank, smoked, and thoroughly enjoyed each others company. Although there were many different cliques at the party, I managed to spend quite a bit of time with everyone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Around 11:30-midnight everyone started to head home except a small group of kids (7 guys and me) Leaving me as the only girl, naturally every boy was turning on the flirt...that is until Coleman stepped in. We hadn't spent a ton of time together that night but at this point, hooking up is sort of inevitable. (side note: Does this make me easy? I don't think so, right?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since there was no need for an ice-breaker, he just gave me a couple kisses on my forehead and cheek. I wasn't entirely prepared to share a bed with him...well, actually. Who am I kidding? I was fully prepared. But I acted like I wasn't. Little hard to get bit to keep him on his toes. We went and laid down on one of the bunk beds and then all the other boys came filing in. Alas, no choice but to stay put for the night unless I wanted to sleep on the floor. It was pitch black so we figured we could get away with kissing if we were quiet about it. Eventually, I proposed a smoke and we made a b-line for the nearest empty room. He did the ear thing again but I used Dr. Kenneth Noisewater's tip:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"After a few minutes too many on the ear, that's when you just grab his head and put his mouth wherever you want it. He'll take it as, "she's so turned on she can't stand it anymore," but it will really be, "this ear shit has to stop." Every one's happy."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Worked like a charm! Major kudos for you, my friend.&lt;br /&gt;So yeah, we got down and dirty and I'll save you the vivid details because this post is running a little lengthy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Around 4:30, we headed back downstairs to our bunk and passed out.&lt;br /&gt;Best part about the whole bit is that, throughout hooking up/sleeping/waking up/basically until I drove home this morning, we could not stop laughing or kissing or cuddling. Not gay cuddling either. Cute cuddling where you can't help but always wrap your arms and legs around the other person. It was just perfect. He's leaving soon so I'll take it for what is was. However, he did mention he was coming back in May for the whole summer and that we could potentially take things up again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll play it by ear. Oh, Joe is sooo very over. Kicked that motherfucker to the curb. The deets are unnecessary and tired so I'll refrain from listing them. Just thought I'd let y'all know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have a good weekend=)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-4569260805401531557?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/4569260805401531557/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=4569260805401531557' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/4569260805401531557'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/4569260805401531557'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2008/01/return-of-my-ear-obsessed-dream-boy.html' title='The return of my ear-obsessed dream boy.'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-4380491330658588328</id><published>2008-01-06T20:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-06T20:27:47.524-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Not Happy.</title><content type='html'>There's something wrong with me I think.&lt;br /&gt;I smoke too much pot.&lt;br /&gt;I care too much about Joe- he does not care for me at all I'm beginning to fear.&lt;br /&gt;I care too much in general and I can't turn off this constant feeling of disappointment. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mom says to me, "It's sad to me that you have no friends that care about you as much as you care about them."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks, Mother. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have no idea where I'm going to college.&lt;br /&gt;I believe my life is at a standstill where something big is about to happen.&lt;br /&gt;The future either holds a lot of good or a lot of bad. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I give so much and receive so little.&lt;br /&gt;Even if people aren't, I feel as though I am taken for granted all the time.&lt;br /&gt;I feel like no one cares as much as me.&lt;br /&gt;My mother said that weeks ago, and I replay it in my head 100 times a day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am a slave to this false potential I see in everyone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I constantly question, What am I doing?&lt;br /&gt;No answer of reassurance. &lt;br /&gt;I try to go from one high to the next and when no high is provided I feel so fucking low it's nauseating.&lt;br /&gt;Whether the high is drug-induced or boy-induced. &lt;br /&gt;Sounds weird, but the only time I ever feel "even" is when I'm with my family.&lt;br /&gt;I love my sisters.&lt;br /&gt;I love my father.&lt;br /&gt;I love my mother but she drives me absolutely fucking crazy and has a personal agenda for every matter I take on. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel like my mother has ruined any chance I could be considered a rational person.&lt;br /&gt;I have taken on all of her coping methods: bottling up all emotions and then FUHREAKING out later. I.E. this post. I get into moods where I'm convinced everything good in my life has suddenly gone to shit. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is definitely something wrong with me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-4380491330658588328?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/4380491330658588328/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=4380491330658588328' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/4380491330658588328'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/4380491330658588328'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2008/01/not-happy.html' title='Not Happy.'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-2101527637082884429</id><published>2008-01-01T10:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-01T11:14:29.860-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy New Year!</title><content type='html'>A new year it shall be! 2008 is going to be killer, I know it. I'm graduating high school, turning 18, going to college (where? who the fuck knows, but I'm going!) etc. etc. Lots of awesome shit. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Boy, did I bring in the New Year with some good clean fun. &lt;br /&gt;Joe and I decided to go our separate ways for the night and hang out with our respective crowds. This I thought was an excellent idea. I can make out with Joe whenever I want, now Coleman...not so often. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The day started off great! My friend, Alex, called me up for a powertoke* before I had work at 3. I took a quick shower, did my hair, and got a call from work saying those sweet, sweet three words, "We're closing early." I was feeling great! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wait one second there, ETP! Something going according to plan? Better than expected even? Think again!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some douche bag that had ASKED to come to Alex's house that night for New Year's Fiesta, ratted us out. His dad found a bottle of 151 and Morgan's and continued to interrogate him. He falsely accused Alex of "asking him to supply the booze." So, Douche Bag's Dad calls Alex and asks to speak to his dad. Alex did what any smart teenager would do, he acted like he was his dad. Douche Bag's Dad sort of buys it and shuts up. As I'm pulling up the drive way, still buzzing from the "no work" inform, I see a big truck blocking the whole top of the drive way. Douche Bag's Dad continued to C-block my whole fucking evening. He made Alex call up his dad so he could talk to him personally. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This guy is fucking crazy town. I mean seriously, we're 17-19 years old. It's New Year's Eve. Eat Shit. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the next two hours we practiced a little damage control, in between baking out his basement.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Somehow we managed to work everything out. I got to the party around 8:30 and there was no booze in sight. (well, except my stash in my purse) They made it pretty clear there would be no drinking tonight. As the night progressed, we managed to hide it pretty well and then everyone came filing in. It turned out to be a pretty big party.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was sort of bummed because it looked like Coleman would not be bringing in the New Year with us, until around 11 when he showed up, just coming back from another party. Of course we did the whole flirty bit. We danced together and shared a few cigarettes. Out of curiosity and maybe a hint of jealousy, my friend &lt;A HREF="http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2007/12/promiscuity-in-holiday-season.html"&gt;Dave&lt;/A&gt; goes to Coleman, "So, Elyse?" to which he responds, "Like fishing with fuckin' dynamite." WHAT?! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because I had my eye on the prize, and Coleman is &lt;strong&gt;such&lt;/strong&gt; a babe, I let this slide. It's not like I hadn't been planning this shit for a good week and a half anyway. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We sort of went our separate ways and mingled with other people for a little while. All of the sudden, Tila Tequila pops on the screen with her gigantic head and begins the countdown. (This shit really came out of nowhere. Could have been cause I was WASTED at this point but nonetheless) "3, 2, 1," Coleman grabs my face and kisses me. It was perfect.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We kept kissing all night pretty much. And at one point I whispered in his ear, "It's like fishing with fucking dynamite, huh?" I think I scored points with this comment, put the fucker in his place. Later on we decided to "top-bunk-it" and made out while my good friend was having sex in the bunk below (WEIRD!) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The hook up...was less than spectacular. I have a LOT of hair and no hair-tie so it was sort of everywhere. Hands were everywhere. We were kissing so hard, he scratched me with his chin scruff. Then he did something a little weird. He made out with my ear for like 15 minutes. At first it was hot and I was into it. But FUCK. He was practically getting off to my ear. Maybe he has a thing for ears? I wasn't into it. Weird. Then someone came in and he bounced. It was nearing 2am and my friend Jackie wanted to leave, so I announced to the room I was leaving. "Bye everyoneee!" That sort of thing. A few boys got up to hug me. Coleman however was quite set on playing his dumb videogame. He didn't move a muscle, didn't even look at me- and there's no chance he didn't hear me. I decided to not play into his little game and just left. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Around 3am, he calls me asking why I didn't take him aside to say bye. Sure, pal. We texted this morning and he even called me to talk. I got a little nervous and said I had a lot of work to do and that I'd call him later.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He goes back to college in a few weeks so I'll just hang out with him until then.&lt;br /&gt;This would all be much more exciting to me if I didn't really like Joe. But whatever, I can do both! =) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Joe called me a million times last night, so I'll probably see him tonight. He asked if I kissed anyone and I told him I hadn't. I did lie, but at the same time, he doesn't need to know everything just yet. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do any of you have any particularly memorable New Year's Eve kisses??&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*smoke up his basement before work/school/any sort of committment that would be boring otherwise.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-2101527637082884429?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/2101527637082884429/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=2101527637082884429' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/2101527637082884429'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/2101527637082884429'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2008/01/happy-new-year.html' title='Happy New Year!'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-5451599058798796009</id><published>2007-12-23T18:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-23T21:16:37.395-08:00</updated><title type='text'>It is officially Christmas Eve.</title><content type='html'>SO much shit has happened since I last blogged. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;1. I went to a party with Joe friday night.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;      I really like his friends so going to parties with him is always a blast. He was being way more affectionate than usual too- I think it's because I said something. The whole night he stuck by my side. Aside from his shyness, he really is QUITE the gentleman and not in a phony way, either. For example: Naturally because I am 17, we have parties in basements with cement floors. (Not all the time but in this case.) Joe was occupying the comfiest seat in the house, but as soon as he realized I had to sit on a cement floor, he gave up his seat. Very sweet, no? I appreciate the small things. By the end of the night we were all pretty hammered and then I decided to drive home. Normally, I'm very opposed to this sort of thing. I didn't even think I was too drunk- more like a strong buzz. Regardless, I got home safely and then decided to never do it again. But guess what! Joe walked me to my car and actually made a move- shocking, right? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;2. I went to NYC yesterday!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://s2.photobucket.com/albums/y46/elysepedra17/?action=view&amp;current=IMG_5831.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y46/elysepedra17/IMG_5831.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;      SO fun! I spent the day in St. Mark's, my favorite part of the city. I went with six friends- one was celebrating a birthday. For the big 1-8 she got a really lame tattoo of an outline of a heart on the back of her neck. Smart, right? So glad I lack the "I want to tattoo fairies/angels/hearts/moons all over my body" girl gene. Anywho, later on we went over to Rockefellar Center to see the tree. I've actually never seen it before so it was quite the treat; minus the horrible mobs and barking children, of course. Next, we went into Saks. Although, I felt extremely out of place with my shabby coat and hoodie, I couldn't help but love every single second of being in that place. I might lack the gene for bad taste in tattoos, but I sure as hell inherited the adoration for all things frilly and expensive. The decorations were lovely, everyone was so nice and welcoming, I never wanted to leave. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;3. I went to a party after NYC.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;      Because my friends never can accept going to bed before midnight, after we got back from the train station, my friends and I christened my new bowl and got McDonalds. After stoned hysterics in the car....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Drive thru person: What would you like to order?&lt;br /&gt;Alyssa: 3 #8s please!&lt;br /&gt;ETP: YEAH! GOT THAT?!...JUST KIDDING. (Seriously, no reason for malice. None at all. I felt horrible afterward, hence "just kidding", also- a bit scared of Drive Thru person spitting in my french fries.) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;... We headed over to my friend's house. I walk downstairs and see Coleman.&lt;br /&gt;Coleman, oh Coleman. Man of my dreams. He graduated last year and every girl from my school was in love with him. He is the most charming guy you'll ever meet. A couple months ago, we hung out at a party. We flirted all night and I asked him outside for a smoke. We ended up sitting out there for three hours, not stop talking/laughing. It was wonderful. Later that night, he asked me to bed and we hooked up. When the kissing stopped, the cuddling began. Definitely not a chincy hook-up at all. It had some meaning behind it, or at least it did for me. Unfortunately, after that night, he went back to college and we hadn't talked since last night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The flirting basically resumed last night. He kept doing that thing, that all guys think is sOoOo clever: walk by and quick pinch/grab of waist. So very sly! Actually, I didn't mind a bit. At the end of the night when I had to leave, Coleman gave me a hug and we exchanged numbers.  He's home for a month so hopefully I'll get to have a repeat of our first encounter. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;4. Loads of Christmas shopping.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;      The only upside to spending tons of money was I got to do it with my best friend who is home from the city. As for now, I just have to muster up the motivation to wrap all this shit. Wish me luck!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Merry Christmas, Bloggers=)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-5451599058798796009?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/5451599058798796009/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=5451599058798796009' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/5451599058798796009'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/5451599058798796009'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2007/12/it-is-officially-christmas-eve.html' title='It is officially Christmas Eve.'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-9025242021266211873</id><published>2007-12-20T18:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-20T19:02:59.152-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My love life is about as hot as the East Coast.</title><content type='html'>It's currently 12 fucking degrees outside.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know you all keep telling me to quit this guy like a bad habit but I just can't. Maybe it's because I've actually fooled myself into believing, like so many women do, that there is something there when there really isn't. He's hot, he makes me laugh, I can hang out with him all day, and he pays for everything. Perfect right?&lt;br /&gt;So, I'm not ready to back off just yet...I'll play it cool for a couple more weeks and if nothing results I'll know it wasn't meant to be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight, I went over to his house and we rented a XMen. Ordered Chinese. Hung out with his friend for a bit. At the end of the night, his friend left and I said:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ETP: I think I'll head out too.&lt;br /&gt;JC: Okay well call me tomorrow.&lt;br /&gt;ETP: Want to walk me to my car?&lt;br /&gt;JC: Oh yeah yeah of course.&lt;br /&gt;-walks to vehicle, starts vehicle, shuts car door-&lt;br /&gt;ETP: Sooo...(in girl lingo: Try a little tenderness, jackass.)&lt;br /&gt;JC: So when do you get out of school tomorrow?&lt;br /&gt;blahblahblah&lt;br /&gt;JC: Alright, well call me tomorrow.&lt;br /&gt;ETP: Will do.&lt;br /&gt;-gets back into vehicle-&lt;br /&gt;ugh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mom thought I should try out the super cool "So why aren't you kissing me, Joe?"&lt;br /&gt;Real smooth. Instead I tried- &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; do you hang out with a lot of girls or just me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; sorry if that's out of nowhere&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;JC:&lt;/strong&gt; just you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; theres a reason for that, right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;JC:&lt;/strong&gt; yes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; okay just making sure cause sometimes idk about you joe&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;JC:&lt;/strong&gt; how so&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; mixed signals&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;JC:&lt;/strong&gt; like..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; well sometimes idk if you're shy or just not feeling it, you know? i mean idc. i love hanging out with you but i just want to make sure we're on the same page&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; i def want to keep hanging out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;JC:&lt;/strong&gt; i do want to hang out with you &lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;JC:&lt;/strong&gt; i really like hanging out with you &lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; do you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; that makes me happy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;JC:&lt;/strong&gt; yes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;JC:&lt;/strong&gt; but im going to bed&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;JC:&lt;/strong&gt; so call me tomorrow&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; i willl&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;JC:&lt;/strong&gt; goodnight&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; gnight&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If it doesn't happen tomorrow, I don't think it ever will. The only thing is- IT ALREADY DID. IT ALREADY HAPPENED. WE MADE OUT. IT WAS AWESOME. LETS DO IT AGAIN PLEASEEE.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I keep having dreams about making out with guys. Not just any guy. Certain ones. Like Jon. I visited him at work today when I left the gym. We're hanging out Sunday...So we shall see how that pans out. My friend, Brian, told me that "make out" dreams mean more than sex dreams. Sex dreams are purely lustful whereas "make out" dreams come from somewhere deeper, emotionally of course. In my case, I think it is a combination of both. I just need something. Anything. Even my subconscious is frustrated with Joe. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wouldn't be so damn eager to hang out with other dudes if Joe would just man the fuck up. It's really not too much to ask. 18 aside, he's experienced. I'm experienced for God sake. "Making a big deal out of kissing" period ended like freshman year. FUCK.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm going to NYC Saturday- I couldn't be more excited. Really. The weather might be shitty but it is completely what I need right now. Some good old fashioned smog and interaction with people just as miserable as me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-9025242021266211873?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/9025242021266211873/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=9025242021266211873' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/9025242021266211873'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/9025242021266211873'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2007/12/my-love-life-is-about-as-hot-as-east.html' title='My love life is about as hot as the East Coast.'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-3803070484383142105</id><published>2007-12-16T17:53:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-16T19:15:45.479-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Promiscuity in the Holiday Season</title><content type='html'>Friday kicked off with a great start.&lt;br /&gt;I had a delay for school due to horrrible roads so Pat and I met for coffee.&lt;br /&gt;Following coffee, we took a drive blasting Lil Wayne and Damian Marley with a cigarette in hand. It was seriously the best way to begin my weekend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After school I met with Joe to go get some CDs (as you read in the last post)&lt;br /&gt;And you also read- no "mackage" as I so eloquently put it.&lt;br /&gt;A bit disappointing but whatever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went to a party Friday night and got completely fucking wasted. It was a magical evening. However, as you also read in my last post, lately I've been particularly impatient...So when 1am rolled around and my friend Dave wanted to go to bed- I followed. Go ETP, right? FUCKING WRONG.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As &lt;a href="http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2007/10/4-day-weekends-are-coolest.html"&gt;Dave&lt;/a&gt; and I are making out- guess who calls? JOE. &lt;br /&gt;Guess who picks up: DRUNK ETP.&lt;br /&gt;I felt reallyyy horrible. Here's this sweet guy calling me to see how my night went and I'm mid make-out sesh with my ex-fling. Shortly after I sort of just rolled over and passed out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's not even the kissing that bothered me about the whole situation- it was the fact that Dave and I, at one time, liked each other a great deal. It meant something. As we were kissing he kept saying things like, "I've been thinking about you a lot lately." It freaked me out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The whole time I wished it was Joe I was kissing. &lt;br /&gt;The weirdest part was I had been waiting for that forever. When it finally happened, it was better than I had expected, exactly what I needed, but the complete opposite of what I wanted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I woke up the next morning, got McDonalds with my guys and shortly after headed home with some strong coffee to ease my hangover. Around 2 or so I went to a little Portuguese Christmas party- it was lovely=) Delicious food. Great family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Joe had told me- during our 1am phone conversation - that we would hang out that night. So I called him around 6:30 to see what the deal was and he responded with- "Well, is there anything to do? I'll call you when I figure out something to do."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hey, dummy, I'm something to do. What the hell kind of question is that? Anyway-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In desperate need of some nicotine- I called up Pat with the proposal of a trip to Starbucks. We smoked a joint on the way there and got some lattes. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally, around 9 I'm wondering what the hell is up so I call Joe-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; Hey, Pat just told me about some party so unless you still want to do something, I'm going out with him&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Joe:&lt;/strong&gt; Yeah, yeah. Just go there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear men everywhere: When a girl says something along these lines to you, NEVER EVER should you say "just go there." That is not the response we are looking for.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went to the LAMEST party ever, chock-full of douche bags. One girl there was actually begging every guy in the room to have sex with her.&lt;br /&gt;Direct quote: "I'M PISSED CAUSE YOU MOTHERFUCKERS WON'T FUCK THE SHIT OUT OF ME."&lt;br /&gt;I nearly vomited. Except I was stoned so I just sort of stared with my mouth open.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I talked to Joe a little today and it didn't go particularly well. All I wanted was him to just call me and tell me what was up. Don't keep me waiting- fair enough, right? Come to find out- his best friend was home from college so they were getting themselves into loads of trouble. Forgivable. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The rest of my day was pretty much spent sulking around the house, watching my family decorate the tree, and eating half my body mass in chestnuts mmmmm =)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-3803070484383142105?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/3803070484383142105/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=3803070484383142105' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/3803070484383142105'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/3803070484383142105'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2007/12/promiscuity-in-holiday-season.html' title='Promiscuity in the Holiday Season'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-2586295596748478855</id><published>2007-12-14T13:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-14T14:47:03.192-08:00</updated><title type='text'>IM Convos that define who I am.</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;ETP&lt;/strong&gt;: i dont understand the situation with Joe&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP&lt;/strong&gt;: we just hung out&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP&lt;/strong&gt;: and no mackage&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;solo pat:&lt;/strong&gt; whatthefuck&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;solo pat:&lt;/strong&gt; what did you do&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; just went to FYE and then to his friends house&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; who wasnt home but we still hung out in his basement&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; it was fun&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; but there was no kissing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; is he waiting for the perfect moment?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;solo pat:&lt;/strong&gt; idkkk&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; whatever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; if it doesnt happen this weekend= friend territory&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; i cant believe im back here!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;solo pat:&lt;/strong&gt; oh noo we keep getting back&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; ETP is frustrated like none fucking other&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; i forgot some of my shit in his car so we met up at lake garda and even then&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; nothing&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;solo pat:&lt;/strong&gt; that was  like perfect&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; that would have been perfect moment!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;solo pat:&lt;/strong&gt; i knowww&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; ugh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; he was just like "okay well call me tomorrow!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; i think im gonna call jon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP: &lt;/strong&gt;i dont need to peruse just one option&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;solo pat:&lt;/strong&gt; elyse&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; if one gets serious- ill stop. until then there is no reason to settle after one drunken make out&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;solo pat:&lt;/strong&gt; stop FREAKING out&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; im not freaking out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;solo pat:&lt;/strong&gt; well you dont need to call jon&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; why the heck not?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; his friends are sweet and have awesome pot&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; and hes hot&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; and we have a good time&lt;br /&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; definitely shouldn't call him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;solo pat:&lt;/strong&gt; lol fine&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;solo pat:&lt;/strong&gt; ETP: his friends are sweet and have awesome pot&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;solo pat: &lt;/strong&gt;thats the clincher&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; haha well OBVIOUSLY.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; reason why i said it first&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; but the longer we do the "getting to know eachother" thing the more bored i get. id rather get to know him naked. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP: &lt;/strong&gt;thats all im sayin&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;solo pat:&lt;/strong&gt; oh goddddd&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17, impatient, antsy* &lt;br /&gt;A deadly combination, my friends. &lt;br /&gt;What the hell should I do? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photobucket.com" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y46/elysepedra17/retarded.jpg" border="0" alt="Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*originally: horny- changed in the better interest of my safety.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-2586295596748478855?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/2586295596748478855/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=2586295596748478855' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/2586295596748478855'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/2586295596748478855'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2007/12/im-convos-that-define-who-i-am.html' title='IM Convos that define who I am.'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-2067080442324705905</id><published>2007-12-09T17:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-09T20:57:35.139-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"Don't want no funk down under"</title><content type='html'>Yet another update:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After many failed attempts of hanging out, it finally happened last night. Joe picked me up from my house around 9 and we headed off to a party. When I first got there, I was a bit disappointed. There were only a few kids there, no one I knew. So, I asked Joe to go get food and we headed off to Burger King. (What can I say? I'm a hopeless romantic.) By the time we got back, the party had doubled in size and a few kids were playing beer pong. Also, we picked up my friend Alyssa- I was sooo thankful I had a friend come with. Made things MUCH easier. Joe and I didn't really get a lot of one-on-one time at the party but I didn't mind much. There was this other realllyyy hot guy, also named Joe, who was playing pong. We were partners together and cleaned up so I was feeling pretty good and drunk. P.S. Sam Adams Winter Lager= DELICIOUS! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src=http://farm1.static.flickr.com/128/380755017_a191c3edfb.jpg?v=0&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I was kicking major ass at pong, I couldn't help but notice that (my) Joe was being way neglected, at his own party no less. So, I gave my pong partner a hearty high-five and joined Joe for a smoke. Pretty soon people started clearing out and it was about 5 of us left. We were all pretty hammered at this point, except Joe. No drunk driving, no sir. We stayed for maybe another hour- all just sitting around bullshitting. I must have made a good impression because later on Joe told me that when I left to use the bathroom, his friends told him they liked me a lot.&lt;br /&gt;(=&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We drop his huge Samoan friend, Justin, off who gave me the biggest hug as he got out of the car (p.s. turns out Samoa is a country. who knew?) The rest of the ride home Joe and I were just talking/laughing about everything. As we're driving close to my house I say to him, &lt;br /&gt;"I want to keep hanging out." &lt;br /&gt;"So lets keep hanging out!"&lt;br /&gt;"No, I mean right now" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So he came inside and we watched SNL reruns and talked some more- both telling one another some things we could have held off on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FOR EXAMPLE: He felt the need to tell me about one of his drunken sexual escapades.&lt;br /&gt;"Now, I'm not gonna lie, elyse. I put it in her butt." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I appreciate the honesty, HOWEVER!- I never even asked. He chose to tell me- THUS! He wouldn't be lying if he maybe held off on telling me about how he did some girl up the ass. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Round 2:30 I was sobering out and he was damn near passing out so he decided it was time to call it a night. I walked him to my door and we had the *I think this is it* moment one experiences (mostly at my age- no?) right before the first kiss and then finalllyyyy it happened. Thank Jesus. It would have been safe to assume he was a gay if he left without a kiss/hug/etc. Oh, and it was perfect. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He left. I was so &lt;strike&gt;drunk&lt;/strike&gt; happy I laid down on my couch and passed right out. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning I couldn't find my cell phone anywhere- Joe later on confirmed I left it in his car. Because paranoia and me are like two peas in a pod, I am freaking out "what if he reads my text messages" "what if he goes through my pictures" blahblahblah- SO! My friend Ryan (total babe) texts my phone being like "Hey elyse thanks for playing with my balls the other night, hope it got you wet" I didn't help him think of this one- he did it all by himself- but the point is, if Joe says anything about it or it is marked as read- we'll know someone was peaking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also- I changed my picture because I feel like I'm becoming more and more paranoid that someone who knows me will find the site- if any of you would like to see the real ETP- facebook me!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-2067080442324705905?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/2067080442324705905/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=2067080442324705905' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/2067080442324705905'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/2067080442324705905'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2007/12/dont-want-no-funk-down-under.html' title='&quot;Don&apos;t want no funk down under&quot;'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-3903167667247811420</id><published>2007-12-05T19:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-05T20:16:18.703-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Thanks, pal.</title><content type='html'>IM convo with a friend:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;alex:&lt;/strong&gt; you are cute, just not afraid to speak your mind&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;alex:&lt;/strong&gt; which seems to frighten some&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; well i dont really care&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; i hate when people say that to me alex&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; i know you mean well&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;alex:&lt;/strong&gt; say which&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; its not like the most pleasant thing to hear that i frighten people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; obviously the ones that matter stick around&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;alex:&lt;/strong&gt; the ones that dont matter get frightened by a girl who actually shows some semblence of intelligence&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP&lt;/strong&gt;: and if half the people i "frighten" took 10 min to get to know me they'd probably find a lot more than a cynic&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;alex&lt;/strong&gt;: there you go&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP&lt;/strong&gt;: yeah but no one gets that&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP&lt;/strong&gt;: and you bring it up all the time, do people say this a lot?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;alex&lt;/strong&gt;: its just a conclusion that ive reached listening to what you say and watching how people act&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;alex&lt;/strong&gt;: but its what i think, and it would explain a lot of your boy issues&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Forgive me, but if I'm not totally fucking off base here- this is indeed a round-about way of saying YOU ARE A BITCH.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks, pal.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-3903167667247811420?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/3903167667247811420/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=3903167667247811420' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/3903167667247811420'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/3903167667247811420'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2007/12/thanks-pal.html' title='Thanks, pal.'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-2272836494069399743</id><published>2007-12-04T16:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-04T16:16:00.913-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The joys of txting.</title><content type='html'>For some silly reason, whenever my friend, Pat, feels like discussing a certain someone with me he uses their initials (mostly, in group settings so our conversation is a little more discrete) He refers to Joe as JC. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pat: "So JC?"&lt;br /&gt;ETP: Don't call him that! It sounds like you're talking about Jesus.&lt;br /&gt;Pat: Jesus Christ?&lt;br /&gt;ETP: No, the other one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later on texting...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ETP: Fingerbang. (Don't ask)&lt;br /&gt;Pat: LMAO are you hanging out with jesus tonight?&lt;br /&gt;ETP: haha don't call him Jesus, that's horrible! But yeah, I'm hanging out with him. If we don't make out I might die from with drawl.&lt;br /&gt;Pat: it is about time you got some&lt;br /&gt;ETP: Seriously dude. Last time was Homecoming. I'm near death, I can see the light.&lt;br /&gt;Pat: Well only *Jesus* can save you now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Humor via text. Who knew?&lt;br /&gt;I do know that I will be kicking this mother fucker to the curb if he doesn't stick his tongue down my throat. That's all I'm saying.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-2272836494069399743?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/2272836494069399743/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=2272836494069399743' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/2272836494069399743'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/2272836494069399743'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2007/12/joys-of-txting.html' title='The joys of txting.'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-3219489185390189106</id><published>2007-12-01T22:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-02T16:01:29.336-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Updates are in!</title><content type='html'>Last night I went out with Joe again.&lt;br /&gt;Originally Jon was supposed to come into my work to make plans with me, we decided this Wednesday. Once I established Joe was a babe, I decided I much rather hang out with him Saturday night and together we came up with a bullshit excuse to tell Jon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So Saturday night rolls around and Jon never even shows up at my work. So I'm thinking this gives me a perfect excuse to cut all emotion off with him- plus I didn't have to lie to get out of hanging out. I run home, tell my mom where I'm off to and she asks about Jon- right as I'm telling her the whole shpiel, Jon calls.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Jon:&lt;/strong&gt; yo, what up?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; not a lot, you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Jon:&lt;/strong&gt; oh man, I'm really sorry that I didn't come visit you tonight. I got backed up at work and ended staying way late. What are you doing tonight? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; Oh well, because you never showed up I made other plans. (a bit manipulative, no?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Jon:&lt;/strong&gt; Ughhh, I'm so sorry. What are your plans?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; (slightly annoyed) welll, I'm going to see a movie with a friend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Person in background of Jon's current location:&lt;/strong&gt; YO WE GON' HAVE A PARTYYY!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Jon:&lt;/strong&gt; Yeahh so maybe if you wanna show up with your girlfriend or whatever you can. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ETP:&lt;/strong&gt; uh, maybe. I'll call you if I'm up to it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He actually sounded really stoned on the phone. I've decided I'm not nearly as interested in Jon as I am in Joe so I think I made the right choice in blowing off Jon. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Joe picks me up, meets mom (She highly approved of him "oh hes just so cute and friendly"- this makes things so much easier. She's a real pain in the ass if she doesn't like who I'm dating) and then we're on our merry way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We go to the movies and decide the only acceptable thing to see is Beowulf in 3D, but it didn't start until 10:10 so we went over to get pizza in the meantime.&lt;br /&gt;He paid for both my food and my ticket. The movie was okay and afterwards he brought me home. He said he had a great time, how he wanted to talk to me later on, and I said "Thanks for the great night!" I get out of the car and walk inside. Yes, folks. That was it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pizza. Beowulf. Thanks for the great night. &lt;br /&gt;And the blue balls, asshole.&lt;br /&gt;I looked so cute too. I mean really.&lt;br /&gt;No hug, no nothing.&lt;br /&gt;Now all of you have to think in an 18 year old boy's mindset.&lt;br /&gt;I've gotten mixed reviews- some say he could just be shy/nervous, some say he could just think of me as a friend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have such great conversation! We laugh and have so much in common. I'm so attracted to him too. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need an objective point of view here people so give me some damn feedback.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also- I was nominated for "Most Pessimistic" and "Most Sarcastic" for superlatives. I was flattered.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-3219489185390189106?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/3219489185390189106/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=3219489185390189106' title='15 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/3219489185390189106'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/3219489185390189106'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2007/12/updates-are-in.html' title='Updates are in!'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>15</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-5239982046262942244</id><published>2007-12-01T07:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-01T08:09:01.076-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Seriously?</title><content type='html'>I guess I HAVE to play along, obviously you people need surveys to really get to know the true ETP. Clearly, a blog about MY LIFE is too vague and impersonal.&lt;br /&gt;Here goes- &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Rules:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1) Put your iTunes/ music player on Shuffle&lt;br /&gt;2) For each question, press the next button to get your answer.&lt;br /&gt;3) YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER WHAT(this is in capital letters, so it is very serious. No hiding your showtunes, folks!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After you’ve answered all of the questions, tag 5 other people and then let them know they’ve been tagged to do the meme themselves!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And away we go....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1) IF SOMEONE SAYS “IS THIS OKAY” YOU SAY? "no one"- alicia keys&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2) WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY? "vultures"- john mayer &lt;strong&gt;HAHAH&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3) WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL? "a break a pause" - as tall as lions &lt;strong&gt;(thats depressing)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4) HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY? "get gone" - fiona apple&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5) WHAT IS YOUR LIFE’S PURPOSE?  "new slang" - the shins&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6) WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO? "here comes the sun"- the beatles&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7) WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU? "naomi"- neutral milk hotel&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8) WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR PARENTS? "we will become silhouettes"- the postal service&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9) WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN? "hide and seek" - imogen heap&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10) WHAT IS 2+2? "i will follow you into the dark"- death cab for cutie&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11) WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND? "right me up"- state radio&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12) WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE? "clark gable" - the postal service&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;=)=)=)=)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13) WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY? "champagne supernova"- oasis &lt;strong&gt;mmm pretty much&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;14) WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP? "evil"- interpol &lt;strong&gt;couldn't be further from the truth!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15) WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE? "amsterdam"- coldplay&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;16) WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU? "don't die in me" -mirah&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17) WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING? "good people" - jack johnson&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;18) WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL? "slow hands" - interpol &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;19) WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST? "pardon me" - incubus &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;20) WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET? "use me" - fiona apple &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;21) WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS? "the way things are"- fiona apple&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;well this was overall depressing, so glad I played your little game.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-5239982046262942244?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/5239982046262942244/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=5239982046262942244' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/5239982046262942244'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/5239982046262942244'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2007/12/seriously.html' title='Seriously?'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-5667642339656330165</id><published>2007-11-29T17:27:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-29T17:45:59.880-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Cloud Nine ain't too bad.</title><content type='html'>The reason for my increased elevation is I met up with the other guy tonight. (Not Jon, the other one who I didn't know enough to write about)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay what you are about to read may be a little comical/frightening but you are NOT allowed to judge/mock me. Got it, chief?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This kid Joe added me on myspace. I usually never accept anyone I don't know personally but it said he lived in Bristol, just a town over from me so I figured, why the hell not? Plus he was damn cute. That helped. That always helps.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We got to talking and at first I thought he was a complete douche, really. complete. &lt;br /&gt;But Myspace is notorious for giving the wrong impressions about people so we started to chat through instant messenger. Not only was he SO funny, but also very intelligent. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I told my friend Pat about this new kid I had been talking to and come to find out, he knows him personally! This was quite relieving, to say the least. That way, I figured, if we ever met up it would be because we had mutual friends and not because we met on myspace. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have been talking to this kid non stop for the past few days and tonight we hung out. We met at McDonalds for a little fast-food cuisine (FAST being the key word- I had a meeting at 7 and we met at 5:45 so obviously our time was limited) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had so so so sooo much fun! We did not stop talking the entire time. If there was a lull in conversation it was because we didn't want to be rude and talk with our mouths full of food. (Delicious chicken selects for me, mmm. The more trans fat, the better, I always say!) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We actually managed to have a deep conversation and crack up laughing at the same time. How common is that?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He payed for my food- not exactly a $246 meal a la Mortar- but the way he did it was so sly; I didn't even have the opportunity to object. His McFlurry came to all of $2 but he still payed for my full meal. Needless to say, I appreciate the little things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not sure when I'll see him again, but I really hope it is soon.&lt;br /&gt;I have a date with Jon saturday night and suddenly I'm not very excited to go...&lt;br /&gt;I suppose it's too early to start worrying about eventually choosing one over the other but I genuinely hope it doesn't come to that point.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-5667642339656330165?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/5667642339656330165/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=5667642339656330165' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/5667642339656330165'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/5667642339656330165'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2007/11/cloud-nine-aint-too-bad.html' title='Cloud Nine ain&apos;t too bad.'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-1146622432926190330</id><published>2007-11-27T18:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-27T18:55:23.636-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Thirsty Tuesday?</title><content type='html'>Right when I was swearing myself off men, two come a-knockin' on my door!&lt;br /&gt;The one I actually care about is a guy named Jon.&lt;br /&gt;We used to work together but he quit and now he works for his Dad's restaurant.&lt;br /&gt;Tonight, at work my boss told me that Jon was coming in to work for a couple hours.&lt;br /&gt;I should probably mention, I've had a thing for Jon since we started working together in the beginning of September...on the other hand, I have a thing for half the male student body at my high school.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anywho, I ask my boss what time Jon was planning to come in and he said 5.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5:15-&lt;br /&gt;Me- Where's your boy?&lt;br /&gt;Boss- He's a frickin' liar! He always tells me he's coming and never shows up. Whatever, I don't give a shit if he comes or not.&lt;br /&gt;Me- Yes, you do. You're clearly upset.&lt;br /&gt;Boss- No, I do not!&lt;br /&gt;Me- Uh, sure. Anyways, maybe he's just running late. No big.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5:25 Jon arrives&lt;br /&gt;Boss- See Elyse, I told you he'd show up. (to Jon) She was all worried you wouldn't be here.&lt;em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Cue death glare and silent plotting of poisoning boss' coffee*&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A little while later, Jon went to the package store to pick up some beer.&lt;br /&gt;While he's gone my boss explained to me how he is going to hook me and Jon up. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Sure, Gramps. Work your magic cause clearly you've been the missing secret weapon I've needed all along. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The rest of the night was very fun. We had a few beers and laughs, did I mention I fucking LOVE my job? What 17 year old gets paid for this shit?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jon asked me to have a smoke with him after we closed so I gladly obliged.&lt;br /&gt;It was a sweet little conversation and at one point he grabbed my hand- can't say I minded a bit. My boss made his exit by saying "Bye Lovebirds"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Er... Do I say something? (I didn't want Jon to think I thought this was some big romantic moment if he was on a totally different page)&lt;/em&gt; But, nope. I didn't and neither did Jon. =]&lt;br /&gt;We left it off by me promising I'd go visit him at work tomorrow and I intend to keep that promise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other guy is pretty hot but I don't really know enough about him yet to add anything to this post. All I know is that, I am not getting my hopes up because I refuse to say, "It's all right, I just had my hopes up for this one, that's all."&lt;br /&gt;I won't do it damnit.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-1146622432926190330?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/1146622432926190330/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=1146622432926190330' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/1146622432926190330'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/1146622432926190330'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2007/11/thirsty-tuesday.html' title='Thirsty Tuesday?'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-7883680567783174657</id><published>2007-11-26T20:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-26T20:07:59.098-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Everyone needs to complain once in a while</title><content type='html'>Everything lately seems a little off.&lt;br /&gt;I don't feel like my normal self.&lt;br /&gt;I feel like I'm just treading water until I fall off a big fucking waterfall or something, if that makes sense. &lt;br /&gt;Nothing is new and yet I feel completely different.&lt;br /&gt;I'm completely lazy and it disgusts me.&lt;br /&gt;I can't even get my shit together for college applications&lt;br /&gt;I'm doing it all by myself and I know you're probably thinking &lt;em&gt;"wah wah wah I did too, everyone does, so just do it." &lt;/em&gt; But its just getting tiresome.&lt;br /&gt;Work is the same day in and day out.&lt;br /&gt;I don't learn in classes.&lt;br /&gt;I don't do my homework.&lt;br /&gt;I maintain decent grades but I haven't handed in a single homework assignment for the past 2 weeks so I'm sure I'm slowly but surely fucking myself royally.&lt;br /&gt;Give me some damn inspiration, would you?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-7883680567783174657?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/7883680567783174657/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=7883680567783174657' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/7883680567783174657'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/7883680567783174657'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2007/11/everyone-needs-to-complain-once-in.html' title='Everyone needs to complain once in a while'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-5788769885345015538</id><published>2007-11-25T09:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-25T09:54:52.882-08:00</updated><title type='text'>To quote the funniest person I know-</title><content type='html'>This isn't some of her best work but it made me giggle.&lt;br /&gt;My oldest sister wrote this in her myspace blog (amateur)-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Who's Gonna Drive You Home, Tonight? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let me tell you something. If you are a cab driver and do not want to drive my drunk ass back to Brooklyn, then just say so . Do not huff and puff and make passive aggressive comments at me the entire way there. Cause if you want to play it that way, I will get rowdy. And yes, I will call you a cocksucker when you act like a dickhead and I will throw your seventy five cents at your ugly ass as I exit your cab and hit my hand as hard as possible on the trunk of your car.  Maybe I should limit my intake of Grey Goose, but maybe you should be less of a motherfucker. How about that. How. About. That! GRRRRRRRRRRRR. And really. That Dungeons and Dragons look went out a long time ago you piece of shit."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-5788769885345015538?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/5788769885345015538/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=5788769885345015538' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/5788769885345015538'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/5788769885345015538'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2007/11/to-quote-funniest-person-i-know.html' title='To quote the funniest person I know-'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-6721570228374088872</id><published>2007-11-22T21:43:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-25T08:11:30.256-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Taking a moment to say grace</title><content type='html'>So, the whole point of this day is to realize what you have and then appreciate all of those things. Actually you're supposed to "thank" someone or something. Being a Christian, I thank God. However, I feel this day has become an excuse to stuff your fucking face. I actually for a minute considered saying a little pre-supper prayer (a little thing I like to call "GRACE" for all you disgraceful atheists! JK furealz!) and then I was like "Fuck it" and just started eating. Realllllll niccceee. Too lazy to even say thank you to the big man upstairs. My food sure as hell wasn't going anywhere. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So in light of my gluttony, I've formed a list of things I actually am thankful for, not necessarily in any particular order:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;My car.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photobucket.com" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y46/elysepedra17/mavehicle.jpg" border="0" alt="Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have no idea how thankful I am for my ride. Yesterday, I got into a huge fight with my sister (over BLUSH of all things UGH) and it ended with her screaming "It's so much fucking better when you're not around. All you do is bitch." and then me taking off in my car and crying in private. I'm not a huge crier, but that was straight up cunt-like. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Booze.&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Now, I'm certainly no drunkard HOWEVER! It really lightens the mood and encourages flirting and social interaction. No one NEEDS to get wasted* but a little liquor can do ya good! Plus, when you've had a horrible month nothing is better than just getting absolutely hammered with your best friends only to wake up the next morning and have NO idea where you are. (I love reminiscing about my b-day)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My family.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They are really wonderful. My parents split years back but it doesn't bother me much at all. My dad is my hero and he is always making me crack up laughing. My mom is completely different. I drink in front of her, not a lot but sometimes I'll have a beer or something on slightly special occasions. It is just one of those relationships where I could tell her anything and she'd be straight up honest with me. She is very understanding of my feelings and my lifestyle. She, however, does not like anything outside the norm. My sisters are also GREAT people. Leigh is 9 years older than me and is a barrel of laughs. She may not be all in one piece but she can make me laugh til I choke my own Thanksgiving dinner. (TRUE STORY) Brooke, my other sister, is not quite 2 years older than me. She has a wonderful boyfriend whom I look to as a brother. However, she lately has been a complete fucking bitch to me, but that's not to say she doesn't have a lot of good in her. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The Opposite Sex&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Boy do I love 'em! wheewwww. Everything about them. Not to say I'm a big ol' tramp or whatevz but I've also never been called a prude either. There is this one boy I'm trying to woo right now. I'm a little unsure of what he's thinking but I'll know in time. He is Brooke's BF's very good friend. He comes over the house all the time, I spent the night in his dorm once (Nothing went down to my poor fortune cause he had a girlfriend or whatever SNOOOZE.) And for my b-day he drove about 30 min to come have dinner with me and whatever, a very nice gesture. He also asked Brooke's BF for my number and continued to call me incessantly for a couple days. He suddenly broke up with his GF of 2 years too...Except he hasn't called me since he broke things off with her which makes me think maybe he's just taking some time for himself, totally understandable. My neighbor (the coolest 50 year old you will ever meet) told me he noticed whenever Ryan was around, he seemed to have "big-eyes" for me. All good, right? FUCKINGMOTHERFUCK WRONG! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ETP: So, uh, Ryan broke up with his GF then?&lt;br /&gt;Brooke: Uh, yeah, why?&lt;br /&gt;ETP: Well, I saw it on Facebook so I just wanted to confirm it.&lt;br /&gt;Brooke: Well, yeah but I hope you don't think you have a chance. &lt;br /&gt;He thinks you're wayyyy too young.&lt;br /&gt;ETP: (crying inside) Uh..no no. I'm not into him or anything..just checkin'...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So is the never-ending saga of my pathetic excuse for a lovelife. This I am definitely not thankful for. Could be worse, could be A LOT better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back to Ryan- He's almost 21 and I'm 17. Granted it IS illegal BUT! It really isn't THAT bad. Most married couples meet around our age and typically are 5-6 years apart. SO there. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My new ipod&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photobucket.com" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y46/elysepedra17/ipod.jpg" border="0" alt="Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It holds all my supercool music (which I'm ALSO thankful for) and I also donated to AFRICA by buying it in red! A tech-savvy philanthropist with supercool taste in music, all in one? Who knew!? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And of course my amazinnggg friends. They are truly wonderful. So are all of you!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HAPPY THANKSGIVING!&lt;3&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photobucket.com" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y46/elysepedra17/thanksgiving.jpg" border="0" alt="Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*I'm 17. The day I admit to myself (slash put in writing) that the status of my weekends is completely dependant on how liquored up I become, I might op for a Fanta instead. Thus, my reasoning for writing "no one NEEDS to get wasted" Bring on the booze!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-6721570228374088872?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/6721570228374088872/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=6721570228374088872' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/6721570228374088872'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/6721570228374088872'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2007/11/taking-moment-to-say-grace.html' title='Taking a moment to say grace'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-8776234014004104032</id><published>2007-11-18T12:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-18T14:11:19.828-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A new year and a new attitude</title><content type='html'>I've decided to change my entire dating style; it has proved QUITE unsuccessful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By the way, not to stray from the topic at hand but my birthday was a BLAST!&lt;br /&gt;My best friend came home from NYC just for me. &lt;br /&gt;About 20 of my friends joined me at Bertucci's (you know, the better version of Olive Garden) for some delicious dinner. &lt;br /&gt;I was shocked to find several of my friends bearing all sorts of different gift bags just for me! =)&lt;br /&gt;I've never been the friend that gives OR receives presents. I think all that jazz is SO overdone and pretty much a huge waste of money, but whatever. I was ecstatic to open presents regardless of said sentiment. Plus at this point it was 8pm and I had been drinking since about 5:30. &lt;br /&gt;Dinner was GREAT. I had stashed a small bottle of Smirnoff in my purse to spice up my otherwise boring Coke. Boy was my chicken marsala FANTASTIC. It was a very good dinner. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Following dinner, we all decided to go back to my friend Frank*'s place for some more fun. I have not been so drunk in quite a while. Holy shit. My goal of getting shitfaced was passed by FLYING COLORS. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photobucket.com" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y46/elysepedra17/IMG_5638_edited.jpg" border="0" alt="Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My other goal was not. (hot boy in my pants) So, in note of this I'm changing my dating mentality. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To give a little background info:&lt;br /&gt;By December of freshman year of High school, I had a boyfriend. He was my best friend, my first love, my world. This sort of love at a young age can really fuck with the rest of someone's adolescence. We didn't break up until August 2006, when he was on his way to college. Although I still loved him very much, this was my opportunity to experience something new. New at this point was a totally foreign concept to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I ran wild with this new freedom: taking whatever drugs that were put in front of me, hooking up with a few guys in one night, getting stoned friday night, wasted saturday night, only to wake up sunday morning and smoke more pot. side note: by "wasted" I mean smoking pot, drinking, and downing pills all in one night (a triple threat as we called it). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have no idea why I did all this shit, but I did and I fucking loved it. I had never been a party girl with Tim and suddenly I was the girl people liked to get fucked up with. I would decide at the beginning of the party who I was going to hook up with and by the end of the night I would without fail every time. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe this was all my way of self-medicating; trying to fill the enormous void Tim had so freely created. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, I've changed a lot. I don't do stupid shit like that anymore. I have actual friends now, not just ones I get fucked up with on weekends. My priorities are a little more in line. I like my life. I am sort of happy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, I live in a very small town. I have about 150 kids in my graduating class. AWESOME! This does not provide for very many men. All of the boys that are worth pursuing go to some far off college. I am used to being able to get any boy I want and now I really can't. The field has diminished down to a couple of mildly attractive boys, who most of the time view me as one of them. Funny how you males find neither my superb belching/smoke ring abilities nor my seemingly always unshaven legs, very attractive. (side note: It's winter and cold. The smooth shave sort of disafuckingppears when it is 30 degrees outside.) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This sort of constant rejection doesn't exactly do wonders for a girl's self esteem. Completely in the opposite direction, actually. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I've decided I will no longer search for a boy, as I have been doing since my last break-up (May) I refuse to try and hook up with any guys at parties. I will try to impress NO ONE but myself. I will work on relationships with my friends and completely ignore my love life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel this will solve nothing but it's the only card I have left.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-8776234014004104032?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/8776234014004104032/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=8776234014004104032' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/8776234014004104032'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/8776234014004104032'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2007/11/new-year-and-new-attitude.html' title='A new year and a new attitude'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-5200750475174039837</id><published>2007-11-15T19:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-15T19:18:00.725-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hey Everybody!</title><content type='html'>It's my birthday on Saturday WOOOO.&lt;br /&gt;Except not really. Well it's my birthday, I'm just not "WOOOO"ing about it. &lt;br /&gt;I'm looking forward to it I suppose but it will just be like every other Saturday except I'll put a lot of pressure on it to be the BEST Saturday ever and then when it is less than or equal to every other one, I'll be let down.&lt;br /&gt;I can already feel it happening.&lt;br /&gt;I make a HUGE deal out of my bday every year. Why? I have no fucking idea.&lt;br /&gt;I always end up being disapointed at how unfun they seemingly always turn out to be.&lt;br /&gt;I got some cute clothes today for the weekend bash so hopefully they'll bring me some luck and maybe some booty too. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Plans are thus far:&lt;br /&gt;saturday- Bertuccis around 7ish with all of my amigos. &lt;br /&gt;THEN HOPEFULLY, I'll be going to my friend's house afterward accompanied by all of my amigos to get shitfaced and God willing, ready to make some bad decisions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All I want for my birthday is a hot dude to make out with and a 6 pack of Bud Light.&lt;br /&gt;Seriously, is that too much to fucking ask for? REALLY?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is it just me or is there a recurring theme in my blog?&lt;br /&gt;It's just been a while, folks. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Elyse here needs a boyfriend. bad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't judge me for speaking in the 3rd person, I rarely ever do. Just on special occasions when the subject is quite serious. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;blahhh wish me luck, I sure as fuck need it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-5200750475174039837?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/5200750475174039837/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=5200750475174039837' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/5200750475174039837'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/5200750475174039837'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2007/11/hey-everybody.html' title='Hey Everybody!'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-6729298430648841695</id><published>2007-11-14T16:32:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-14T16:38:51.318-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Would someone</title><content type='html'>explain to me why the hell I compulsively scroll to my ex's screen name and then incessantly check his away message? While you're at it, please explain to me why I'm so crazy! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need someone new to obsess over.&lt;br /&gt;Or at least to have some good conversations with.&lt;br /&gt;Maybe good conversation is too much to ask,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;if you are NEAR my age (ahem mortar you're out sorry!) decently attractive, a good kisser, and able to finish a book (doesn't matter what kind, though Kesey is a personal favorite) PLEASE CONTACT ME.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;best!&lt;br /&gt;elyse the portuguese.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-6729298430648841695?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/6729298430648841695/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=6729298430648841695' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/6729298430648841695'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/6729298430648841695'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2007/11/would-someone.html' title='Would someone'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-7314246626741206727</id><published>2007-11-06T16:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-06T16:31:32.692-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Braces.</title><content type='html'>Really, I think they're making a comeback.&lt;br /&gt;Some guy came into my work today, looked about 20..maybe younger I don't know.&lt;br /&gt;At first glance he was pretty cute.&lt;br /&gt;We were sort of flirting and then he smiled- only to expose hideous metal wires and gears eating his teeth.&lt;br /&gt;The flirting on my end ended abruptly.&lt;br /&gt;Never get braces if you're over the age of 14.&lt;br /&gt;UNLESS it's Invisaline or however you spell it.&lt;br /&gt;Just spring for the extra grand and save yourself years of looking like a douche bag.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-7314246626741206727?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/7314246626741206727/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=7314246626741206727' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/7314246626741206727'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/7314246626741206727'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2007/11/braces.html' title='Braces.'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-6380626501818883233</id><published>2007-11-05T16:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-05T16:52:34.022-08:00</updated><title type='text'>All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.</title><content type='html'>Today at work I met my future husband. &lt;br /&gt;He was perfect, a bit old though.&lt;br /&gt;He came in and I was like wow this dude's hot.&lt;br /&gt;And I was sitting at the little bar and he was at a nearby table so he began to make conversation: "So..do you live around here? Well, obviously, or else you wouldn't be working here." "Uh, yeah I live right down the street actually."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We got to talking for about a half hour as he was eating and whatever else. He went to RISD and was totally casual about it. A lot of people like to throw that sort of shit in your face but he was like yeah, "I went to art school in Providence." "Oh yeah, which?" (I know nothing about art schools) "RISD" "Um are you serious? Holy shit." He kind of just laughed it off and kept talking. We talked for a while, it was very nice. He seemed sort of interested but I don't know if he was just being friendly considering there was at least a 7 year age difference. Unfortunately, he was just passing through town so I told him to come in again if he was ever in the area. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We didn't even exchange names which seems a bit ironic. A first name is pretty impersonal when you think about it. Millions of people share the same names and yet you can have a lengthy conversation with a stranger, discussing everything from where you grew up and where you hope to be a few years down the road, and never even ask their first name. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really hope he comes in again. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways! Big things poppin' for the weekend! &lt;br /&gt;My friend Tucker has this friend that lives a couple towns over. I met said friend over the summer when Tucker threw a party. He was definitely a babe and we actually ended up talking quite a bit; none of which I can recall due to mass alcohol consumption. Come to find out he has a girlfriend, or as Tucker puts it, "They're sort of going out." Translation= He cheats on her all the time and she doesn't know about it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, Tucker told me that this kid (Brendan) is coming to town this weekend to party with the big boys. He actually asked if I was going to be around. This was initially flattering but then I got to thinking: Does he expect to just hook up with me and then make a run for it? Will I end up hurt and wanting more than just a one night hook-up? Will he be like every other guy I've encountered (except the future husband) in the past year?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then I came to my senses. Who am I kidding? Short and sweet is the only way. Why even consume alcohol with the opposite sex if you're not even hoping to get a little lovin' by the end of the night? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm trying to keep things light and casual.&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately, I'm very bored.&lt;br /&gt;I feel like nothing I do is of any value to anyone but myself.&lt;br /&gt;It's exhausting.&lt;br /&gt;Maybe I'll go volunteer at a hospital or something. Feed some poor people. Fuck I don't know.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-6380626501818883233?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/6380626501818883233/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=6380626501818883233' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/6380626501818883233'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/6380626501818883233'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2007/11/all-work-and-no-play-makes-jack-dull.html' title='All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-5961392491071523371</id><published>2007-11-04T20:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-04T20:30:39.840-08:00</updated><title type='text'>This weekend sucked balls.</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;Friday:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Work til 7&lt;br /&gt;Party where I couldn't drink/smoke/doanythingfun cause I had to leave at 9:30&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Saturday:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SATs&lt;br /&gt;Concert (I played in, not attended)&lt;br /&gt;gym&lt;br /&gt;American Gangster (actually this was fucking AWESOMEEEE. Holy hell is Denzel a babe.)&lt;br /&gt;Uncomfortable car ride home with Dave, kid mentioned in &lt;a href="http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2007/10/4-day-weekends-are-coolest.html"&gt;this&lt;/a&gt; post. He NOW likes me but he's just a fucking basket case and I can't even handle him.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sunday&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Laundry&lt;br /&gt;gym&lt;br /&gt;work til 7:30 &lt;br /&gt;Food with Dad &lt;br /&gt;Fight with Dad&lt;br /&gt;Fight with Mom&lt;br /&gt;Blog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well there you have it. No exciting drunken tales to blog about. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;On a lighter note: &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pats kicked ASSSS! &lt;br /&gt;I now want to be an American Gangster or to do an American Gangster- the latter the more likely of the two. &lt;br /&gt;My abs are gettin' to be in tip-top condish! =)&lt;br /&gt;ANDDDD- 4 day weekend coming up= another trip to CCSU!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-5961392491071523371?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/5961392491071523371/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=5961392491071523371' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/5961392491071523371'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/5961392491071523371'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2007/11/this-weekend-sucked-balls.html' title='This weekend sucked balls.'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-8137300068931328577</id><published>2007-10-31T14:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-31T14:22:44.037-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mortar got me-</title><content type='html'>Everybody's playing tag, so now I have to join in.OK, let's get this over with. Here are the rules:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Link to the person that tagged you and post the rules on your blog...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Share 7 random and/or weird facts about yourself...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Tag 7 random people at the end of your post and include links to their blogs...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. Let each person know that they've been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seven things??? Well, here goes-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. I'm closer to my mom than my dad but I always thought I'd be more devestated if my dad died.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. I'm one of the youngest in my grade and yet I feel years ahead of most. (not to brag)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. I'm one of 6, 3 are step though. I never see them and I don't mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. I've always been envious of my oldest sister because she had 8 years of dance traning and I had one lousy one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. The one lousy year of dance- the pants of my costume were too long so my mom stapled them instead of hemming them, before the recital. During the recital the staples fell out and I fell on my ass. I wrote a paper on it, maybe I'll post it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. Many of my peers nominated me for "Most Pessimistic" but I don't think I'm pessimistic at all... I'm just opinionated and I'm proud of my opinions, at least I fucking have some. &lt;---see right there. That's not pessimism, is it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. I once told my father my grand plan for my life (graduate from UConn, move to NYC, become a Physician's Assistant, travel throughout Europe, etc.) Then he told me, "Well, what if you meet a guy and fall in love? What then? OR what if you got pregnant? Shit happens. What if your plan doesn't work out?" I'm not sure why he said this to me but it scared the shit out of me. No one has ever suggested I might fail at something. My generation has been told, "Get an education and you can conquer the world AND your dreams!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I'm horribleeee at those damn links. Thus, I will simply tell you that I will probably tag all the people to the right (my favorite deliquents) And Mortar tagged me=) &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-8137300068931328577?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/8137300068931328577/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=8137300068931328577' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/8137300068931328577'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/8137300068931328577'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2007/10/everybodys-playing-tag-so-now-i-have-to.html' title='Mortar got me-'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-1179269550151174316</id><published>2007-10-29T11:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-29T11:32:59.048-07:00</updated><title type='text'>How hard do I rule?</title><content type='html'>Oh yeah- this hard:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;embed width="448" height="361" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" src="http://i2.photobucket.com/player.swf?file=http://vid2.photobucket.com/albums/y46/elysepedra17/135_0461.flv"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm the Indian-clearly the best dancer...and we're missing our other two village people, they were in class maybe.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-1179269550151174316?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/1179269550151174316/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=1179269550151174316' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/1179269550151174316'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/1179269550151174316'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2007/10/how-hard-do-i-rule.html' title='How hard do I rule?'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-1403351838027300398</id><published>2007-10-23T19:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-23T20:42:08.808-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dumbledore Goes Gay?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photobucket.com" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y46/elysepedra17/_39367963_dumbledore.jpg" border="0" alt="Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photobucket.com" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y46/elysepedra17/thumb.jpg" border="0" alt="Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I find this to be a bit absurd. I mean really, quite absurd. There was NO mention of this in any of the books. Okay, so in the last one he had some weird admiration for another dude wizard (redundant?) but that was certainly not enough evidence to jump to the conclusion that the Big Headmaster D was also a wand connoisseur! JK is trying to trip me up, I know it. Trying to reach out to the gay community, are ya JK? What's next! Harry, an illegitimate child? Snape, Muslim? Ron, strawberry blonde? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But really, I'm pissed. I think I'm a pretty insightful reader and in most circumstances have a pretty accurate Gay-dar. This one is throwing me for a loop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a slightly more serious note, why does sexual orientation have to be at all included in the book? And if no one picked up on it, why tell everyone about it anyway? There was a reason you made it so SUBTLE no one even noticed. Dumbledore is just a character, hes not a real person. The book does not include his religious denomination or his health record so why do I give a shit about whether he likes dudes or not? It's not relevant to the story. Way to go, JK.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-1403351838027300398?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/1403351838027300398/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=1403351838027300398' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/1403351838027300398'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/1403351838027300398'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2007/10/dumbledore-goes-gay.html' title='Dumbledore Goes Gay?'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-1867759835381877321</id><published>2007-10-22T17:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-22T17:32:58.485-07:00</updated><title type='text'>If you wear this:</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photobucket.com" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y46/elysepedra17/gay.jpg" border="0" alt="Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will automatically write you off as a douche bag. &lt;br /&gt;UNLESS:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You are driving.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Under no other circumstances is it socially acceptable to wear a fucking headset.&lt;br /&gt;Cellphones are portable people! That's the beauty of it! No need to wear a headset like you are someone important.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-1867759835381877321?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/1867759835381877321/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=1867759835381877321' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/1867759835381877321'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/1867759835381877321'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2007/10/if-you-wear-this.html' title='If you wear this:'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-5921259908954411229</id><published>2007-10-19T21:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-19T22:00:22.967-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Are braces making a comeback?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photobucket.com" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y46/elysepedra17/grossss.jpg" border="0" alt="Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NO. but more on that later.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally, I get to enjoy a wonderfully boring weekend. I'm &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;soo&lt;/span&gt; thankful to just relax and not think. I have nowhere I have to be this weekend except for work Sunday. Also, tonight I had to play in a band concert and rocked the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;mothafuckin&lt;/span&gt; house.&lt;br /&gt;But other than that, I can do whatever.&lt;br /&gt;Tonight after the concert, my friend &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;sarah&lt;/span&gt; and I headed over to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;starbucks&lt;/span&gt; for tea and girl talk.&lt;br /&gt;(side note: it's really fucking pouring right now! &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;torrential&lt;/span&gt; downpour! &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;gahh&lt;/span&gt;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There, I got to hang out with all the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;kool&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;kidz&lt;/span&gt; as they sucked down cigarette after cigarette and discussed real &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;kool&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;shyt&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;lyke&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;DeathXCore&lt;/span&gt; bands and how awesome cigarettes are. In lieu of partaking in this intense conversation, Sarah and I sort of huddled in a corner and steered clear of the douche bag &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;debauchery&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went inside quick to use the facilities when I made eye contact with a fairly attractive dude.&lt;br /&gt;(side note: I was about 20 feet away and my contacts aren't exactly up to par)&lt;br /&gt;He was definitely staring and so I smiled and just kept on &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;walkin&lt;/span&gt;'.&lt;br /&gt;Later, he decided to come outside and try to talk to me. Very bold.&lt;br /&gt;Not only was he about 5'4 (I'm almost 5'7 and will not accept anything under 5'9) but he had BRACES. BRACES!! He was like "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;sooo&lt;/span&gt; uh, how old are you guys??" "Too old for you bud." He was a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;sophomore&lt;/span&gt; in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"&gt;High school&lt;/span&gt; and a bit repulsive. He had nothing good to say and I was trying DESPERATELY to move away from him. To my poor fortune, homeboy couldn't take a hint.&lt;br /&gt;I ended up pulling conversation out of my arse and then told him we had to hit the road.&lt;br /&gt;THEN! He asks for a ride home. The nerve! And I should mention, seconds before he asked for a ride, he had to clarify my name.&lt;br /&gt;I didn't even consider this one. There was no hesitation whatsoever. "Absolutely not. Nice meeting you! Uh &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"&gt;buh&lt;/span&gt;-bye."&lt;br /&gt;We had met for about 5 minutes and suddenly I'm your ride home? I think not! It's not my fault you're 15 and don't have your license. Nor is it my fault that you thought it was a good idea to go to Starbucks when it was pouring outside knowing you had no ride home.&lt;br /&gt;I should have inquired what I would receive in return. That would have tripped him up good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Other than the awkward encounter, I had a great night with Sarah. Nice conversation and good laughs. Tomorrow, I'm hitting up a bonfire with my friend Anthony, whom I haven't see in nearly 2 months! So I'm psyched for that. Other than that, I have nothing good to say.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;3&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-5921259908954411229?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/5921259908954411229/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=5921259908954411229' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/5921259908954411229'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/5921259908954411229'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2007/10/are-braces-making-comeback.html' title='Are braces making a comeback?'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-6832606865881377930</id><published>2007-10-18T20:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-18T20:35:18.368-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What if the world really ends in 2012?</title><content type='html'>My friend, Craig, just freaked me the FUCK out.&lt;br /&gt;What if it really does end then?&lt;br /&gt;I have so much left to see, to do, to say, to fight for.&lt;br /&gt;5 years?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I refuse to believe it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-6832606865881377930?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/6832606865881377930/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=6832606865881377930' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/6832606865881377930'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/6832606865881377930'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2007/10/what-if-world-really-ends-in-2012.html' title='What if the world really ends in 2012?'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-5331108973838371765</id><published>2007-10-17T16:42:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-17T16:48:01.262-07:00</updated><title type='text'>For Christ's Sake</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photobucket.com" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y46/elysepedra17/britney.jpg" border="0" alt="Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This was one of the features on CNN yesterday. REALLY, CNN? I MEAN, REALLY?&lt;br /&gt;This is the best you fucks can do?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Britney Spears in a pink wig?? Golly gee, Barbara! The viewers are going to pee themselves when this gets out!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I no longer give a shit about Britney Spears. Dead, alive, childless, bald, whatever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let's talk about something of value CNN. YOU'RE FUCKING CNN.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-5331108973838371765?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/5331108973838371765/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=5331108973838371765' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/5331108973838371765'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/5331108973838371765'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2007/10/for-christs-sake.html' title='For Christ&apos;s Sake'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-369973021975221935</id><published>2007-10-08T18:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-08T18:21:36.956-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dear Movie Theatres of Patheticut,</title><content type='html'>WHY WON'T ANY OF YOU PLAY &lt;em&gt;ACROSS THE UNIVERSE&lt;/em&gt;?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;all of you advertised it.&lt;br /&gt;and made me almost cry at the previews&lt;br /&gt;undoubtedly gave me chills&lt;br /&gt;made me fall in love with just the fucking PREVIEW.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and then when it comes time to finally watch one of the potentially greatest movies ever on the silver screen, you decide "NOPE!" and refuse to air it anywhere in CT.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FUCK YOU.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;sincerely,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;elysetheportuguese&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-369973021975221935?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/369973021975221935/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=369973021975221935' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/369973021975221935'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/369973021975221935'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2007/10/dear-movie-theatres-of-patheticut.html' title='Dear Movie Theatres of Patheticut,'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-1928423266464940807</id><published>2007-10-06T09:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-07T14:49:00.529-07:00</updated><title type='text'>4-day Weekends are the Coolest.</title><content type='html'>So! I have been blessed (!) with a 4-day weekend and I couldn't be more excited.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I probably could be more excited if the Yanks had won &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Friday&lt;/span&gt; night. Or, if A-rod wasn't such a piece of SHIT! Or if Red &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Sox&lt;/span&gt; fans could shut the hell up! Serenity now!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In spirit of the 4-day &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;vaca&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;, I decided to go to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;CCSU&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; (where my sister goes) to celebrate Thirsty Thursday. Boy, did we celebrate...until 3:30 am in fact. And then, once we got back to my sister's dorm, I continued to celebrate by laying down (it can't even be considered sleep) on the CONCRETE floor. Awesome. After waking up every 45 min, I decided to delete all my old text messages, shop for &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;ring tones&lt;/span&gt;, look through my pictures on my camera...need I go on?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank God I had a damn good night (well, prior to the sleeping situation)&lt;br /&gt;I went to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;CCSU&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; with 2 good friends, Pat and Sarah.&lt;br /&gt;They decided to bring every pillow/blanket from their house so when we got there we had to walk around campus along with Bed, Bath &amp;amp; Beyond. Awesome. (side note: maybe not such a bad idea on their part after the concrete bed incident)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We met up with my sister and then walked over to an &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;apartment&lt;/span&gt; building to go to some party. It was actually pretty cool. Definitely a change of pace from the parties I normally attend. There was a beer pong table, but it wasn't the main focus of the room- actually a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;VERYYY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; nice change of pace. I have come to loathe beer pong after the boys in my grade started to beat off to it at night. I don't see the enormous attraction, but whatever guys love it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pat, Sarah and I were all sort of doing our own thing for the first hour or so and then managed to find our way back together over near the smokers' corner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;THEN! &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;dundundunn&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; My motherfucking ex-boyfriend walks in. The same one that dated me for 2 years and then broke up with me to go to see the world, i.e. Oklahoma State University. WHO THE FUCK GOES TO OKLAHOMA? My ex-boyfriend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah so he walks in. I nearly throw up from shock. (side note: the last time I saw the bastard was at a party 6 months ago. I got wasted and basically told him to fuck himself.) As I am trying to light a cigarette, I am seriously shaking and as I quote Sarah, "You're a mess! You're a hot mess!" Just horrible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We make eye contact and do the awkward wave thing that ex-couples do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Instinctively&lt;/span&gt;, I decide to take a couple of shots to calm the nerves and it does the trick.&lt;br /&gt;We actually start talking and it goes extremely well, not at all awkward.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The rest of the night goes smoothly and not all that interesting so I won't elaborate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night, I went over to my friends house where a bunch of people met up.&lt;br /&gt;My friend, Dave, went too and it was a bit weird.&lt;br /&gt;We've been on and off REALLY &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;flirtatious&lt;/span&gt; for about a year and a half.&lt;br /&gt;A couple weeks ago, I approached him and tried to figure shit out once and for all.&lt;br /&gt;Of course, that's just too simple. Everything has to be complicated to be fun &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;sooo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; he turns me down and says he doesn't want a relationship to affect our friendship.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other day after school, we went to Starbucks. On the way there (I drove) he kept looking over at me and even told me how pretty I looked and how cute I was. Then at Starbucks, he had his arm around me the whole time, paid for my drink, and then positioned his chair right next to mine so our legs were practically overlapping. He asked me to meet up later that night, but I told him I was going to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;CCSU&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; and couldn't. Then, he asked me what I was doing &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;Friday&lt;/span&gt; night, and if maybe I wanted to watch a movie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Friday night, I call him and he is like, "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;ohh&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;Elyse&lt;/span&gt;! I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;totallyyy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; forgot all about that. Sorry, I'm out right now. Talk to you later."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, last night, I asked him to come to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;McDonalds&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; and he full out refused. He showed me no attention and then proceeded to ask "what's wrong?" when I became visibly upset.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bullshit.&lt;br /&gt;How long is too long? If I decide friendship can't cut it and a relationship won't work, he is out of my life entirely (the exact thing I'm trying to avoid.) I just don't know what to do.&lt;br /&gt;Advice is welcomed. and demanded. GO!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-1928423266464940807?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/1928423266464940807/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=1928423266464940807' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/1928423266464940807'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/1928423266464940807'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2007/10/4-day-weekends-are-coolest.html' title='4-day Weekends are the Coolest.'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-2574891524901073763</id><published>2007-09-30T19:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-30T20:23:59.776-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Awkward Moments and "Good Moods"</title><content type='html'>Okay, so. Last night:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I get out of work around 7:30, pick up my friend Jill, then head over to my friend Ryan's for a party. I wasn't really &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;boozin&lt;/span&gt;' too hard cause I had to drive. I took like A shot and then kind of perused my other options of having a good time. Translation: "Hey, guys, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;who brought&lt;/span&gt; weed?"&lt;br /&gt;So whatever, Jill and me got blitzed and had a grand old time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ryan goes out to get cups and calls his house saying, "I got pulled over!"&lt;br /&gt;So we're all freaking out, why? I'm not sure. Turns out, Ryan just did that so some of the 50 people at his house would leave. I fell for it! So wholeheartedly. I was so nervous for him and everything, I didn't know if he was looking at a DUI or what. But that is neither here nor there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But whatever, Jill and me get the fuck out of there and go over to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Cumby's&lt;/span&gt; to grab some snacks and drinks. I was feeling pretty good at the time, keep in mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I walk up to the dirty cashier woman and try making some sort of lame joke.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I couldn't actually tell you what it was because I have no idea what I said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But when I said it she had absolutely no response. None. Didn't even bother to look at me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I go, "Apparently, you didn't find that funny." Again, no response.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At this point, the situation could not get much more awkward.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally, she just hands me my change and continues to not look at me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jill and I talked about it later that night and found the whole situation fucking hysterical but at the time it was quite awful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Blahblahblahh&lt;/span&gt; we went to some lame bonfire involving no drinking and no fun.&lt;br /&gt;Everyone kept pulling the, "OKAY! Are &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;youu&lt;/span&gt; high?"&lt;br /&gt;No, I'm just in a really good mood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh yeah, I helped out at this benefit on Saturday morning before work.&lt;br /&gt;It was for a peer of mine that died in a car crash. There was a scholarship set in his name, and all the proceeds from the benefit went to it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My neighbor was trying to hook me up with her friend's son. My neighbor had told me that his name was Mike, he went to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;UConn&lt;/span&gt; and was a total babe.&lt;br /&gt;I was a little &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;disappointed&lt;/span&gt; to find him only a couple inches taller than me and not all that cute! (side note: he was wearing sunglasses so I couldn't really see his face.)&lt;br /&gt;Later on, I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;facebooked&lt;/span&gt; him and was SHOCKED.&lt;br /&gt;Tell me, Mike, why did sunglasses seem like a good choice when you were trying to impress a girl? Especially when the best part of your face is not exactly highlighted by your &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;supah&lt;/span&gt; cool shades. (side note: they were white. and tacky. courtesy of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;volcom&lt;/span&gt;? some &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;douchey&lt;/span&gt; skateboarding company I'm sure.) He looked like he was straight out of a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;PACSUN&lt;/span&gt; catalogue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All the same, he was &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;sooo&lt;/span&gt; much more attractive on &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;Facebook&lt;/span&gt; than he had been in person.&lt;br /&gt;I was &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;disappointed&lt;/span&gt; to say the least with his presentation on Saturday, but whatever.&lt;br /&gt;Maybe I'll see him again in the near future. Or, maybe not.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-2574891524901073763?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/2574891524901073763/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=2574891524901073763' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/2574891524901073763'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/2574891524901073763'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2007/09/awkward-moments-and-good-moods.html' title='Awkward Moments and &quot;Good Moods&quot;'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-463511579114051651</id><published>2007-09-21T16:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-21T17:15:43.524-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Porn for AZNS and freaks.</title><content type='html'>It's been a while. My 3 readers total must be in a total state of disrepair but nonetheless, I'm back.&lt;br /&gt;I have been busy as fuck.&lt;br /&gt;For real, busybusybusy.&lt;br /&gt;I really don't even know where to begin.&lt;br /&gt;Well, I just got home from work and am planning to go out to a local diner in a few minutes. Not exactly what I would consider shit tons of fun, but oh well. That's what you get when you're underage and shit out of luck for a place to party. Plus, the Patheticut living status doesn't help.&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, I am sick and tired of having to provide, for some friends, something to do.&lt;br /&gt;Do I look like a fucking event planner? Clearly, not. And THEN, if I do something fun and don't include one of these friends, I am suddenly accused for alienating them. For goodness sake, shut the fuck up. PLEASE.&lt;br /&gt;Whatever. Everyone sucks. Except the friends I actually do like=)&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday I went to the mall with the Spanish exchange students and their owners.&lt;br /&gt;I think I included the Spaniards in the last post...&lt;br /&gt;Well, I'm in love with one. Not really. But I could be if he wasn't so...pre-pubescent? weird.&lt;br /&gt;So we went to the mall and checked out Anime Porn at FYE. May I just say, WHAT THE FUCK?&lt;br /&gt;The most disturbing shit I have yet to have witness.&lt;br /&gt;"Project Boobs" was my personal favorite.&lt;br /&gt;The cover was of a cartoon AZN (asian, lol) girl (who was crying p.s.) with her huge ass taking up half the picture. On said ass, was some sort of cum design. At first, I thought it might read something, but no. Just a random pattern. Abstract cum? hmm. Then if you looked close, you could see some otherrr fluids...shooting out of her string thong. This shit was just fucked. Just imagine all this as a cartoon. They had little descriptions on the back too...one read like this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The mysterious Uji likes to have his way with unsuspecting women on the train. Except, he's really bad at it. SO! The well learned Taki takes Uji under his wing and teaches him. How to romance the ladies like a true champion." WITH the sentence fragment and everything.&lt;br /&gt;This was followed by a cartoon of a Japanese dude with long hair doing it doggy style with a Japanese girl...who was also crying. Fucked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Conclusion: If you watch Anime Porn, never EVER talk to me. Unless you'll let me actually watch it. I must say, I'm a little intrigued. Only because I can't imagine that shit actually being sexy or something that would get me, or anyone for that matter, going.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-463511579114051651?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/463511579114051651/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=463511579114051651' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/463511579114051651'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/463511579114051651'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2007/09/porn-for-azns-and-freaks.html' title='Porn for AZNS and freaks.'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-5699315124154879010</id><published>2007-09-08T23:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-08T23:45:22.350-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Well, Folks</title><content type='html'>Last night was quite eventful, quite.&lt;br /&gt;[see, I repeated myself there, so you know a good story is coming.]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was the first of many parties at my friend's house.&lt;br /&gt;We were talking wednesday night and were thinking about maybe getting together friday night to play some beer pong with a couple kids. emphasis on COUPLE.&lt;br /&gt;So, friday afternoon rolls around and we make some plans that I'll head over to the Murphys house after work. (side note: my new job RULES. seriously. rules. I work with a male model. seriously. male model. Hes Greek. and damn fine.) So I get out at around 8 and get some beer and head over to the Murphys. I was one of the first people to get there, the others were picking up more beer, apparently my Milwaukees Best isn't good enough for some people! you know what I say, fuck off! It's cheap, light, and will get you fucked up. What more can you ask for?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That being said, I'll continue, a few people joined in on the fun and we started off the night with a game of beer pong. For those of you who aren't familiar with the term "beer pong" its a drinking game (obviously) played on a ping pong table. You set up a triangle of cups full of beer (solo cups really set the mood I feel) and there are 2 people on each side. The teams take turns trying to shoot ping pong balls into the opposing team's cups. When a ball lands in a cup, the cup is removed from the triangle and drank. Which ever team takes down the others' triangle first, wins.  It's fun, I guess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was probably the worst game I have ever played. I took down maybe 2 cups. Fucking pitiful. And of course the guy I'm sort of crushing on, we'll call him Jeff (his actual name, I have no secrets here), was there watching the whole time. I felt like a major douche, especially when I had been talking myself up since wednesday night. Saying how I was going to kick his ass in pong. The only ass that was being kicked was MINE.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then seriously 20 people show up at the house, including some Spanish exchange students that are staying with a few of my friends. So yeah, they all showed up. I really showed them a good time too. We played some more drinking games and got pleasantly shitfaced. Later on, we went and jumped in the pool and hottub. That lasted for about 30 min and everyone dried off and continued drinking!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just when everyone is heading home, I decide to sleep over hoping to maybe get some alone time with Jeff. And by alone time I mean hardcore make out sesh. (exageration? probably.) Well, as I'm saying goodbye to everyone, I ask someone, "wheres jeff?" "oh, he's downstairs puking" "ohhh, greatttt." So much for the hardcore make out sesh! I ended up taking care of his ass for 2 fucking hours. Then I smoked a little weed and passed out, but that is neither here nor there. I tucked him in and then continued to hold a bowl for him to puke in. Do I get a thank you this morning? NO. No thank you. Should I be a little pissed about that? Its not like I was having a blast sitting with him while he ralphed all night long.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I found out later that after he had had about 13 beers he took 2 shots and then drank more beer. Can you say, rookie?? I can! ROOKIE. There I said it. Or at least, I typed it. When they make a rhyme about something, you should probably fucking pay attention. i.e., liquor before beer, in the clear; beer before liquor, never sicker. How many times does something need to happen before someone is like, "Hey, they should make a rhyme about that, that way no one will ever make that mistake again." And then you choose not to listen to it?! ROOKIE. fuck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So whatevz. I came home around 8:30 with a horrible hang over, climbed into bed and passed out. I did not wake up until my sister came in and woke my ass up at 3pm. Crazy, right? I was dreaming and everything. Probably could have slept until at least 4.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I spent the rest of the day doing a whole lot of nothing. It was perfect and much needed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-5699315124154879010?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/5699315124154879010/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=5699315124154879010' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/5699315124154879010'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/5699315124154879010'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2007/09/well-folks.html' title='Well, Folks'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-428074073287275911</id><published>2007-09-04T17:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-04T17:58:18.437-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm bad at titling things.</title><content type='html'>I wish I were older. Why? Because I hate being associated with girls my age.&lt;br /&gt;I was in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Walmarts&lt;/span&gt; the other day picking up school supplies and some girl, who seemed relatively close to me in age was on her cell phone. She was just blabbing away to her friend, who I'm sure was just as annoying and dumb, without a care in the world, or any concern for anyone around her. Laughing and carrying on! Waving her hands as she talked, she actually hit me accidentally. If looks could kill, I would have crucified this bitch with my death glare. Maybe its an East Coast thing, but I fucking hate anyone that is loud and obnoxious in places that are CLEARLY inappropriate for this sort of behavior.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Same thing the other day at Starbucks. I go to Starbucks with my dad on &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Sundays&lt;/span&gt; to get some tea and catch up on current events. I don't know how it is in other states than &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Patheticut&lt;/span&gt; (stole that one from cunning linguist) but since there are limited spots for the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;kool&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;kidz&lt;/span&gt; to hang, they flock to Starbucks! They are loud and all they do is smoke cigarettes and lay all over &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;each other&lt;/span&gt; in the parking lot. Its obscene. One time, one of them was actually playing the electric guitar in the parking lot with an amplifier and everything! Along side the shitty guitar playing, his friend sang some death metal bullshit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know what else bugs me? When some Hispanics (see I'm being PC by saying SOME) think that if others can't understand what they're saying, it doesn't mater how loud they talk. WRONG. It does matter. Cause it annoys the fuck out of everyone, me in particular, who has to listen to it! And I'm only saying Hispanics because I haven't really noticed any other particular group of foreigners that did this as regularly as said group. Really people I'm not trying to offend. I'm Portuguese, for goodness sake. I'm practically one of them, except with better hair=)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;School started today. I'm sure this year will entail a lot of bullshit, but &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;that's&lt;/span&gt; okay. My classes aren't too bad. I've got good people in most of them. I get to leave early 3 times a week, so I can't really complain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This a completely pointless post. Sorry.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-428074073287275911?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/428074073287275911/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=428074073287275911' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/428074073287275911'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/428074073287275911'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2007/09/im-bad-at-titling-things.html' title='I&apos;m bad at titling things.'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-3106056765697558742</id><published>2007-08-27T21:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-27T21:38:59.867-07:00</updated><title type='text'>With a week left of summer...</title><content type='html'>Today, the girls and I wanted to take a trip up to the beach. This idea was shut down immediately when we took into consideration the inevitable rush hour traffic coming back and forth from the beach. blahblahblah we ended up going to a huge reservoir just 30 minutes from my house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, just as we're turning on to the road to the reservoir, there appeared to be some construction going on. Some dumb bitch casually steps in front of my fucking car and tells us we have to take a 10 minute detour to the reservoir. Of course, I am very annoyed at this point. Its like for god sakes, I just want to go fucking swimming. There always has to be some sort of obstacle between me and fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, we end up finding this hidden little paradise. However, to our disapointment there were signs everywhere reading "permit required." Being the regular badass, I am, I said "fuck it!" and cooly marched onto the beach, with no permit or worries. In truth, they didn't even ask for one, so I didn't think there was much to worry about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As the girls and I are stepping into the water, I see my neighbor in the lifeguard chair. She, and her perfect body, was glaring down at me. I did the "oh, HI!" thing, like "OH! I didn't even see you there in your 10 ft lifeguard chair!" Then she loudly says, for all 30 occupants of the private beach to hear, "um. How did you get here?" Avery then replied, "We ran." She apparently didn't think this was very funny, but I sure as hell did. So anyways she goes, "No no, I mean how did they let you in?" "OHHH! Yeah, Jackie's parents have a permit, so we just used hers."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WHAT THE FUCK?&lt;br /&gt;That bitch almost blew my cover. For real. I was pissed. Shes a neighbor. That's practically family status in some neighborhoods, mine being one of them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later on, her mom did the "oh, hi" thing. But in this case it was more "what the fuck are you doing here without a permit?" I just don't get it. Is anyone that hurt that three teenage girls sat on a beach today in a private beach without a permit? Did we pollute their water with our cheap, permitless selves? Highly unlikely. Fuck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All in all, it was a perfect day. I was really pleased with the beach and everything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can we just talk about Owen Wilson for a second? Poor guy tried to commit suicide. That's sad. I'm sure the last thing he wants is for everyone in the country to be informed on his illicit suicide attempt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;AND! Britney Spears is being investigated for potential abusive parenting. Biggg shockkerrr! Whoaaa! You really caught me off guard with that one, Brit! I was under the impression you were up for the Mother of the Year Award. What with your, cooter exposing, head shaving, wig wearing, alcohol abusing, seemingless endless bad traits! It was only a matter of time, folks.&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps, she, Lindsey, Paris, AND Nicole can share a cell and blow some lines of coke off eachother's asses. =)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-3106056765697558742?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/3106056765697558742/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=3106056765697558742' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/3106056765697558742'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/3106056765697558742'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2007/08/with-week-left-of-summer.html' title='With a week left of summer...'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4480665387607604418.post-2695233839545730383</id><published>2007-08-26T11:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-26T12:37:30.876-07:00</updated><title type='text'>America Runs on Dunkin</title><content type='html'>When I initiated my job search, I applied to all the cool hot spots in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Simsbury&lt;/span&gt; (a slightly less boring version of my town, located 15 min from my house). I imagined myself being the cool chick working at Barnes and Noble, always sneaking around and reading books when her boss wasn't watching. Then, I imagined myself working at &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Flatbread&lt;/span&gt;, a hippie, all-organic pizza place. I would be looked at as the bohemian waitress who flirted for extra tips. Just as I was getting caught up in all these hypothetical situations, I was shocked and disappointed when none of my hypothetical employers called me back. When I realized that everywhere I wanted to work would never hire me for one reason or another, I applied to the local &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Dunkin&lt;/span&gt; Donuts. To my sheer horror and apparent misfortune, I got hired on the spot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Dunkin&lt;/span&gt; Donuts isn't the best working environment for a person of low tolerance to utter stupidity and especially not for a person with a notoriously low level of patience. However, with hard work and motivation to keep those pitiful, depressingly low, but much needed paychecks coming, I have become quite tolerant and quite patient to the many "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;eXpresso&lt;/span&gt;" digging assholes, if you will. Every Saturday, Sunday, and Monday I am graced with the presence of hundreds of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Dunkin&lt;/span&gt; Donut customers. A large part, fuck, the vast majority of the customers lack all common sense. They go up to the counter and suddenly it fucking escapes them. They insist on using what I like to refer to as a "12 inch voice" where you can only hear what they're saying if you are 12 inches away from them. If I ask them to repeat it, they repeat it and either get confused and forget their order or get annoyed with me for not quite having the sensitivity of hearing that a German shepherd might possess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;mvc's&lt;/span&gt; (most valued customers) are ones who think it is their civic duty, nay, their responsibility as a citizen of the United States, to tell me how fucking expensive our products are. As if, I personally priced them and am reaping all the proceeds. IDIOTS.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ANYWAYS.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One elderly man actually discussed with me (side note: it &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;wasn't&lt;/span&gt; actually a "discussion" considering he was just spitting words in my face as I imagined how justified I would be in killing him.) for 15 minutes about how &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Dunkin&lt;/span&gt; Donuts has a lot of competition with Tim Horton's. 15 FUCKING MINUTES. As if it were my fault that we charge a $1.80 for a medium coffee as opposed to a $1.16 at Tim Horton's. He was quite enthusiastic when rubbing it in my face that Tim Horton's has an appetizing beef stew, and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Dunkin&lt;/span&gt; Donuts did not. I responded by, "Although this is all quite interesting, and I fully intend to take this up with my manager, there are customers behind you interested in buying coffee. I truly apologize for the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;absence&lt;/span&gt; of beef stew on the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;DUNKIN&lt;/span&gt; FUCKING DONUTS menu, perhaps you could try a restaurant or a nursing home. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;buhbye&lt;/span&gt;" (I didn't actually say any of that. But I had you going for a sec there, didn't I?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before, I would get quite annoyed and frustrated with the customers, but it has now gotten to a point where I am faced with constantly swallowing my pride. I like to do my affirmations every morning before work. I repeat to myself, "You are much, much more intelligent than all the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;Dunkin&lt;/span&gt; Donut customers combined." And then I write this on my mirror in lipstick and proceed to ponder exactly when my life took a turn for the worst.&lt;br /&gt;Yet another added bonus to working at the wonderful establishment of D&amp;D, I now hate children and their parents. When there are about 10 people waiting in line to be served that are already pretty antsy because they haven't had their morning coffee yet, probably the worst thing to do is hold your 3 year old up to the counter and have them tell me the 5 course meal everyone would like. They just spit out random words like "bagel. Sprinkles. Poppy. Vanilla. Coffee. Straw." Now I don't blame the children for not knowing how to order at the age of 4, but I do blame the parents. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;Dunkin&lt;/span&gt; Donuts at 9am on a Saturday is totally not at all the place to teach your toddler how to act like a grown up. Not even a little bit, folks. A mother will tell the child, "Now give the change to the nice lady!" and then the conversation will then proceed as, "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;Ohh&lt;/span&gt;! What a good boy! You're such a good boy! You get a treat! Can he have a treat? What kind of treat would you like Jacob? …a what? Why don't you tell the nice lady what you want." And then we are back to where we started, me trying to figure out what the fuck kind of donut a 4 year old would like.&lt;br /&gt;Finally, probably one of the best parts of my job is going home and reeking of spoiled coffee and donuts. I've been told I've smelled like onions and wet dog. It's like a little part of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"&gt;Dunkin&lt;/span&gt; Donuts gets to stay with me all day long. In fact whatever I touch, at any point after working, seems to soon after have a distinct smell of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"&gt;Dunkin&lt;/span&gt; Donuts. No matter how big the space I occupy after working, it always seems to become overwhelmed with this smell. I've had to bleach my work clothes, just to get the smell of coffee and bacon, egg, &amp;amp; cheese sandwiches out of the fibers. I have stained just about every pair of khakis I own, and my converse are covered in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"&gt;confectionery&lt;/span&gt; sugar and jelly. But I suppose my incessant unpleasant smell acts as a friendly reminder that I am done working for the day and probably won't have to go back to my personal hell for at least 24 hours.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After all my ranting about the horrible, slightly terrifying side effects of working at &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19"&gt;Dunkin&lt;/span&gt; Donuts, I must at least say that I have made great friends there. It also doesn't hurt that I make a decent pay check and have excellent hours. Then again I have only worked there for a little under two months. Who knows, in a few more I might be highly medicated and fired for lashing out a senior citizen explaining to me all about the elevating competition between Tim Horton's and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20"&gt;Dunkin&lt;/span&gt; Donuts. But I like to stay positive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(I actually wrote this a few months back. I ended up getting a new boss who was fucking INSANE, forcing me no choice but to leave the fine establishment of Dunkin Donuts. I've since been a member of Subway, hated that shit too. Quit. And am now waitressing. Fuck corporate America. I refuse to work at another franchise. Its all bullshit. Fuck Yeah Waitressing! I'll be getting paid shit tons of money (by my standards) but really, the tips aren't bad!)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4480665387607604418-2695233839545730383?l=elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/feeds/2695233839545730383/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4480665387607604418&amp;postID=2695233839545730383' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/2695233839545730383'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4480665387607604418/posts/default/2695233839545730383'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elysetheportuguese.blogspot.com/2007/08/america-runs-on-dunkin.html' title='America Runs on Dunkin'/><author><name>ETP</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02012998621728819306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sS3kCG_uIXE/R1zAoOuIjVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zon_Ro7la08/S220/art.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry></feed>
