<?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-2126010784366750393</id><updated>2012-02-16T17:53:06.594-08:00</updated><category term='Ground rules'/><title type='text'>Mom always said, "Use your wordz!"</title><subtitle type='html'>A place for you to share your feelings safely and with the freedom of being completely anonymous</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://useyourwordz.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2126010784366750393/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://useyourwordz.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Use your wordz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07235453582091724554</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vKiOFe2aP8/SKS_sd1AWHI/AAAAAAAAAA8/Pk-gFvi8Qpw/S220/blogpic.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>11</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2126010784366750393.post-4898440767526553693</id><published>2009-04-30T07:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-30T08:11:42.889-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mortified</title><content type='html'>We have a clean house. We live in a nice area. We have a nice yard, not too big, not too small. But we live in the country and I guess that's where rats live too. They know how to make their way into our crawl space under our house. My husband put rat poison out and they took the bait. The only problem is they were in the crawl space when they died. Whether they ate it in the crawl space or ate it outside and then got into the crawl space, who knows. But regardless these things keep dieing in our crawl space and the smell of them is more than one person, let alone 2 adults and one child should have to bare. Maybe my nose is just too sensitive and it's really not as noticable as I think it is. But to me it's awful. We found one body, and the smell went away, but now the smell is back and my husband has looked in the crawl space numerous times and can't find another dead rat carcass.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am mortified. I don't want people at our house until it's gone. I guess someone could possibly mistake the smell of the decaying rat for the kitty litter box, and I'm constantly now burning candles which do a pretty good job of covering the smell. I suppose the decaying bodies will disintegrate eventually, right? So there's that! But until then I am left to smell that nasty thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate that we have a rat problem. We do not live in the ghetto in the middle of a city...why are they taking refuge in our house? It's so frustrating and it's mortifying to even think about them. Arggghhhhh!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2126010784366750393-4898440767526553693?l=useyourwordz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://useyourwordz.blogspot.com/feeds/4898440767526553693/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2126010784366750393&amp;postID=4898440767526553693' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2126010784366750393/posts/default/4898440767526553693'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2126010784366750393/posts/default/4898440767526553693'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://useyourwordz.blogspot.com/2009/04/mortified.html' title='Mortified'/><author><name>Use your wordz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07235453582091724554</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vKiOFe2aP8/SKS_sd1AWHI/AAAAAAAAAA8/Pk-gFvi8Qpw/S220/blogpic.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2126010784366750393.post-7477530619099736021</id><published>2009-04-17T13:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-17T14:12:33.410-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Secrets</title><content type='html'>I have several secrets, that I really want to share, but really can't do it on my own blog. But getting them 'out there' is something I wanted to do. Maybe it will spark some discussion or posts on the blog? So here goes:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-I sometimes wish I had married my college boyfriend.&lt;br /&gt;-I sometimes think about cheating.&lt;br /&gt;-I am not that interested in sex.&lt;br /&gt;-I find ex's on social networking sites and just check up on them every once in awhile.&lt;br /&gt;-I totally pick my nose.&lt;br /&gt;-If I could, I would travel to Europe, by myself.&lt;br /&gt;-If I were single, I would have casual sex, and probably with both sexes.&lt;br /&gt;-I have thought about suicide.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyone care to share?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2126010784366750393-7477530619099736021?l=useyourwordz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://useyourwordz.blogspot.com/feeds/7477530619099736021/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2126010784366750393&amp;postID=7477530619099736021' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2126010784366750393/posts/default/7477530619099736021'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2126010784366750393/posts/default/7477530619099736021'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://useyourwordz.blogspot.com/2009/04/my-secrets.html' title='My Secrets'/><author><name>Use your wordz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07235453582091724554</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vKiOFe2aP8/SKS_sd1AWHI/AAAAAAAAAA8/Pk-gFvi8Qpw/S220/blogpic.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2126010784366750393.post-6156155818449930067</id><published>2009-04-01T19:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-01T20:15:40.395-07:00</updated><title type='text'>This me I have become</title><content type='html'>I don't know how much longer I can hold on.&lt;br /&gt;My marriage to you is a mess. I realize that people change, marriages change, children change you. I get that. What I don't get is this constant aggression, anger, competition. You always have to be right, prove you're right, prove a point...you always have to win, be on top, and get the last word. I can't keep being your stomping ground. I am so tired of being your rag doll. I say something, and you immediately argue the other side of it, when I &lt;em&gt;don't even want to argue. &lt;/em&gt;When did we stop having normal conversations?&lt;br /&gt;When did it become okay for you to talk to me like I'm a piece of shit? Like I'm someone you &lt;em&gt;pay to be your spouse? &lt;/em&gt;When did you get so arrogant? So hard-headed? So mean-spirited?&lt;br /&gt;Thankfully, you aren't this way with our child. You have these reserves, somewhere in your tired heart, for our child. If you ever &lt;em&gt;ever&lt;/em&gt; do to her what you do to me, I will be gone before you can blink.&lt;br /&gt;You crush me with your words. But more so, you crush me with your silence. And what's worse, &lt;em&gt;you know you are doing it. &lt;/em&gt;You have no problem shutting down and acting as though my words mean nothing-like our marriage means nothing.&lt;br /&gt;I don't understand. What did I do? Stay with you the three previous times you tore my heart out, spit on it, and stomped out all the love inside of it? I accepted your apology each time, took you back into my arms, learned to trust you again.&lt;br /&gt;This last time was different. A part of me will never trust you again. And now, after almost three years, I am seeing &lt;em&gt;why&lt;/em&gt; I don't completely trust you: you will &lt;em&gt;never&lt;/em&gt; love me like you used to-you will not have my best interests in mind when you do all the things you do.&lt;br /&gt;I realize that we have a pattern: every year, around this time, you shut down, and shut me out. You become emotionless (0ther than anger) and our home becomes cold. I know it's because of your uncle's death. I know this. Yet...&lt;br /&gt;I just can't handle it anymore. Every year, I can expect this? Every year, I can expect you to shut me out, shut me down, and push me away? For what?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;In everything, I am the &lt;strong&gt;one &lt;/strong&gt;person who has never pushed you away or denied you love. &lt;/em&gt;How can you forget this? How can this mean nothing?&lt;br /&gt;I don't understand you. I don't understand me. Why do I continue to stay? Why do I keep praying that your heart will soften, that your words will soften, that you will &lt;em&gt;let me love you &lt;/em&gt;and &lt;em&gt;love me in return?&lt;/em&gt; Why?&lt;br /&gt;If I leave, you will become an absolute prick. More than you are being now. And honestly, that doesn't scare me anymore. What??-Are you going to &lt;em&gt;ignore me&lt;/em&gt; more than you do now? Are you going to make fun of me, taunt me, bait me, refuse to kiss me (but then ask for a blow job)???? How would that be any different than our marriage?&lt;br /&gt;I want peace. I want explanations for your awful, hurtful behavior. I don't want an apology anymore, although I deserve one. I just want it to stop. I just want our slate to be wiped clean, and a promise of a new beginning as a couple, not as two people who co-exist in the same house, share the same bed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2126010784366750393-6156155818449930067?l=useyourwordz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://useyourwordz.blogspot.com/feeds/6156155818449930067/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2126010784366750393&amp;postID=6156155818449930067' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2126010784366750393/posts/default/6156155818449930067'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2126010784366750393/posts/default/6156155818449930067'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://useyourwordz.blogspot.com/2009/04/this-me-i-have-become.html' title='This me I have become'/><author><name>Use your wordz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07235453582091724554</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vKiOFe2aP8/SKS_sd1AWHI/AAAAAAAAAA8/Pk-gFvi8Qpw/S220/blogpic.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2126010784366750393.post-1625146620517614119</id><published>2008-09-26T13:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-26T13:00:01.356-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Are you dying or what??</title><content type='html'>Ever since I've known my wife, she seems to be dying. Okay...maybe not DYING per se, but there is ALWAYS some health issue that she HAS to tell me about. It might be her eyes (Are they red? I think I have cataracts!) to her head (I think I have a migraine coming on!) to her ankles (My ankles are fat. Is there corrective surgery for that?) to her stomach (Ugh...my stomach aches today. Maybe I should see a gastroenterologist.) If there is an ache or a pain, she's got it and she has to complain about it. Seriously, it would be nice just one morning to see her get out of bed without any issues. But after 14 years...I doubt that is EVER gonna happen.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2126010784366750393-1625146620517614119?l=useyourwordz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://useyourwordz.blogspot.com/feeds/1625146620517614119/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2126010784366750393&amp;postID=1625146620517614119' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2126010784366750393/posts/default/1625146620517614119'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2126010784366750393/posts/default/1625146620517614119'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://useyourwordz.blogspot.com/2008/09/are-you-dying-or-what.html' title='Are you dying or what??'/><author><name>Use your wordz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07235453582091724554</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vKiOFe2aP8/SKS_sd1AWHI/AAAAAAAAAA8/Pk-gFvi8Qpw/S220/blogpic.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2126010784366750393.post-2697295166023562738</id><published>2008-09-25T14:37:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-25T14:37:53.704-07:00</updated><title type='text'>First</title><content type='html'>It was a Valentine ’s Day, warm and sunny, excitement rippling through the patio as everyone went round bellowing about the flowers each had exchanged. We sat there, my friends behind you, wanting to know what was happening, your friends behind me, coaxing you into doing it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had been waiting for so long and finally the moment came. Finally, after all those months of yearning, you asked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Yes” I replied, shyness betrayed in my voice. I was delighted, elated that you had done it on this precise day. In my 13 year old mind, it was entirely romantic. “Are you sure?” you ventured in a small voice. It shocked me. What did you mean by that, how could you not be immediately excited by my answer? My expression must have shown my outrage because you quickly added “I want you to think about it, I mean, I don’t want you to change your mind later”. I wanted to tell you that I had already thought about it. That it had been 3 months since I knew I liked you and you liked me and I had been waiting for this moment for ages. But I obviously didn’t. I just sighed. “I’m sure”. I said, smiling. “Really”.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You were my first boyfriend. You were always quite blunt and shocking. You used to tell me things just to watch my bafflement and reaction. I had no idea what to do about you, but it did not matter. You were exciting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is one day I remember with the most fondness.  We were walking across the Shopping Centre. That place where all of us went on Friday afternoons to casually meet; boys and girls enjoying our precious freedom, afternoons away from the prodding eyes of our parents.  You and I lagged behind, agreeing to meet the others by the ice cream store in 10 minutes. All of a sudden, as if in slow motion, your fingers touched mine and in an instant I felt a delicious zap of energy rippling furiously through my arm. It was all wrong -you were a lot taller than me, and my hand twisted under yours uncomfortably- but I did not dare to let go for fear it would not happen again. It was such an intense feeling; it spread all over the place, every cell in my body responding to this new experience. This was the first time a boy held my hand and it was so much better than I ever imagined it could be. I don’t know why I reacted this way, maybe I had been reading too many young adult romances.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our relationship only lasted about 3 months. We were too different, too young. I broke your heart, and for a long time you seemed to hate me. But I would like you to know that I have never felt that instant zap again.  I have felt other things, also lovely and intense when I have had other ‘firsts’, but that electricity was unique. Thank you for giving me that. I will always remember it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2126010784366750393-2697295166023562738?l=useyourwordz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://useyourwordz.blogspot.com/feeds/2697295166023562738/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2126010784366750393&amp;postID=2697295166023562738' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2126010784366750393/posts/default/2697295166023562738'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2126010784366750393/posts/default/2697295166023562738'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://useyourwordz.blogspot.com/2008/09/first.html' title='First'/><author><name>Use your wordz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07235453582091724554</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vKiOFe2aP8/SKS_sd1AWHI/AAAAAAAAAA8/Pk-gFvi8Qpw/S220/blogpic.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2126010784366750393.post-900711910956345240</id><published>2008-08-22T11:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-22T11:30:00.848-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It's been 3 weeks....But Who's Counting?</title><content type='html'>Flashback to Saturday night. I took my wife out for a nice dinner. We had great conversation. Had a couple of drinks. All was going well and I thought I might get lucky (we're 7 years into our marriage). It's been a little over 2 weeks since our last time, so considering that and how the evening was going, I thought it was a lock. But alas...it was not to be. She got into bed, turned out the light and rolled over. The end. Or so I thought.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I couldn't get to sleep. I was a little steamed about how this all went down and couldn't sleep, so I got out of bed and went and watched t.v. to help me go to sleep. Next morning she asks me where I went. I tell her what I did and she starts accusing me of having an Internet girlfriend! I didn't say it but all I could think was "I wish!" Anyway, turns out she WAS in the mood, but I just didn't pursue it. Uh...SHE ROLLED OVER AND DIDN'T DO ANYTHING?!?! How was I supposed to know that she was ready to go??? So that hung in the air all day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That night, I get in bed and she follows and starts reading her book. Now...I'm not the brightest guy, but I figure after last night, we're due for some makeup sex...right? Well...I'm an idiot and I drift off while she's reading. But she finally turns off the light at around midnight and I wake up. She rolls over. So I'm thinking..."Should I try something? Or am I too late?" So I start making noises to let her know I'm awake. Shifting around, tossing in bed, all the usual tricks. Nothing. Damn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Around 1pm she "wakes" up and goes to the bathroom. There's a chance! So after she comes back, I make my move. I put my hand on her back. Nothing. Then I move my hand down to her leg. She sits straight up and says, "Just go get the KY and let's get this over with!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Soundly defeated and pissed off, I slept on the couch last night. It won't be the last night either. 3 weeks and counting...and still not an end in sight...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2126010784366750393-900711910956345240?l=useyourwordz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://useyourwordz.blogspot.com/feeds/900711910956345240/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2126010784366750393&amp;postID=900711910956345240' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2126010784366750393/posts/default/900711910956345240'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2126010784366750393/posts/default/900711910956345240'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://useyourwordz.blogspot.com/2008/08/its-been-3-weeksbut-whos-counting.html' title='It&apos;s been 3 weeks....But Who&apos;s Counting?'/><author><name>Use your wordz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07235453582091724554</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vKiOFe2aP8/SKS_sd1AWHI/AAAAAAAAAA8/Pk-gFvi8Qpw/S220/blogpic.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2126010784366750393.post-2354449999173441999</id><published>2008-08-22T08:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-22T08:00:01.288-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My sister is a complete nut job.</title><content type='html'>No really, she is. We grew up in the same house, have the same parents, were taught the same lessons, etc. But I’m really starting to wonder what has happened to her. I could go on and on about my sister, but this particular subject has me so bent out of shape I had to vent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My sister, Susan, has two beautiful children. Let’s call them Brittney (6) and Kyle (1). Brittney and Kyle’s birthdays are a mere 18 days apart. I asked Susan what her plans were for their respective birthdays because she lives out of town and I needed to start making plans for the trip to see them. My sister then informs me that they will be ‘combining the kids’ birthdays this year…it would just be easier that way.’ Are you kidding me? Her logic is that the same people will be coming to both birthdays anyway so why not just send out one big invite and let everyone come all at once?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Am I the only one that has issue with this? I mean, asking my poor niece to share her 7th birthday with her little brother? Granted, Kyle is still too young to care, but he WILL know what a birthday is all about by his 3rd. And according to my sister, all Brittney will get next year is a couple of her friends to come over and spend the night. No party. Nothing. Why would an 8-year-old little girl want a party anyway? OMG!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Growing up, birthdays were always a HUGE deal in our family. It was YOUR day. You didn’t have to share it with anyone else. Out of all the days in the year, your birthday was yours alone. You got to pick what you wanted for your birthday dinner, what kind of cake you wanted, and so on. We didn’t have the money for a huge party with all the entertainment, party favors, and decorations you see these days. But I always got to do something that I wanted, and I certainly never had to share my day with my sister.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m still in total shock that Susan is doing this, and she thinks it’s ok. Lack of money isn’t the issue, it’s strictly done out of convenience. At least I hope that’s what it is. I mean, certainly no mother could be that oblivious to the importance of a birthday for their own child(ren). Is it fair for my sister to be forcing her kids to share their birthday only because it is more convenient for her? Is it right that she is taking away the only day that belongs to these precious children? Am I just being totally irrational about this?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2126010784366750393-2354449999173441999?l=useyourwordz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://useyourwordz.blogspot.com/feeds/2354449999173441999/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2126010784366750393&amp;postID=2354449999173441999' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2126010784366750393/posts/default/2354449999173441999'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2126010784366750393/posts/default/2354449999173441999'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://useyourwordz.blogspot.com/2008/08/my-sister-is-complete-nut-job.html' title='My sister is a complete nut job.'/><author><name>Use your wordz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07235453582091724554</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vKiOFe2aP8/SKS_sd1AWHI/AAAAAAAAAA8/Pk-gFvi8Qpw/S220/blogpic.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2126010784366750393.post-8365345281401134457</id><published>2008-08-21T13:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-21T13:30:01.106-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Wife wants a boob job...</title><content type='html'>And she's determined to get it. Now this might seem strange coming from the man who married her...but I could care less. And here is why...&lt;br /&gt;I'm NEVER gonna see them ANYWAYS!&lt;br /&gt;All the time she is asking me... "What size should I get?" ... or ... "Won't you love them even more if they're bigger?"&lt;br /&gt;And my only thought is..."Who cares?"&lt;br /&gt;I figure my wife and I have sex, in the dark, at most, twice a month on a good month! I never see her naked. She covers up the second she hears my footsteps coming up the stairs after her shower. I get nothing! So she asks me if I'm excited that she wants to enhance her boobs?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whatever... Get your boobs. See if I care. It's just gonna cost our kids their first quarter of college tuition. No biggie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My wife is so insecure and so pathetic sometimes it makes me want to scream! Maybe if she just loosened up and realized that I love her for who she is, she might see herself in a different light.&lt;br /&gt;But as it stands, I am not impressed. I'm not impressed with the thought of her having bigger boobs to tease me with and I'm not impressed with the high school mentality that having bigger breasts will make her more confident. It's all bullshit. I married her for who she is. Too bad she can't see that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Get your boob job. You silly, little woman. See if it makes you feel any better. As for me, I have sports and Internet porn to keep me busy. And it costs me about $35 a month for the Internet hookup...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2126010784366750393-8365345281401134457?l=useyourwordz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://useyourwordz.blogspot.com/feeds/8365345281401134457/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2126010784366750393&amp;postID=8365345281401134457' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2126010784366750393/posts/default/8365345281401134457'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2126010784366750393/posts/default/8365345281401134457'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://useyourwordz.blogspot.com/2008/08/my-wife-wants-boob-job.html' title='My Wife wants a boob job...'/><author><name>Use your wordz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07235453582091724554</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vKiOFe2aP8/SKS_sd1AWHI/AAAAAAAAAA8/Pk-gFvi8Qpw/S220/blogpic.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2126010784366750393.post-7484488061846780158</id><published>2008-08-21T08:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-21T09:00:41.363-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Open Letter to my Husband</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;When he passed away, our marriage changed. You changed. I changed. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I know it was inevitable, but it was also heartbreaking.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I live with these changes daily. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;You may not notice.......&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I used to hug, kiss, touch, fawn over you. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Now? Not so much. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;When you pushed me away, time after time, and rejected me while you mourned, it created something that I am not strong enough to fix. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;A part of me is tore up by this; I cannot seem to heal it enough to actually let you back in. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;But&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; just as painful is the isolation that has been created within me. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I miss you. I miss &lt;em&gt;me. &lt;/em&gt;I sometimes don't recognize this &lt;em&gt;me &lt;/em&gt;that I am now. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I miss our connection. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I miss you letting me tickle you, and you playfully kicking me off the bed. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Ultimately, I miss &lt;strong&gt;US. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Where do we go from here?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2126010784366750393-7484488061846780158?l=useyourwordz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://useyourwordz.blogspot.com/feeds/7484488061846780158/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2126010784366750393&amp;postID=7484488061846780158' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2126010784366750393/posts/default/7484488061846780158'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2126010784366750393/posts/default/7484488061846780158'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://useyourwordz.blogspot.com/2008/08/open-letter-to-my-husband.html' title='Open Letter to my Husband'/><author><name>Use your wordz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07235453582091724554</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vKiOFe2aP8/SKS_sd1AWHI/AAAAAAAAAA8/Pk-gFvi8Qpw/S220/blogpic.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2126010784366750393.post-9090227993579635901</id><published>2008-08-15T08:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-15T08:13:27.497-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ground rules'/><title type='text'>Welcome! Please make yourself at home!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#ff9900;"&gt;Hello there! This blog has been created with you (and us!) in mind. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9900;"&gt;Please feel free to use this blog to vent, rant, blow off steam, or air your dirty laundry, all with the safety of ANONYMITY. Email your post to useyourwordz (at) gmail (dot) com and it will be posted within a couple of days.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9900;"&gt;Of course, there are rules, because there always are!       &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9900;"&gt;                   &lt;br /&gt;Here’s the deal:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9900;"&gt;1. We will never reveal the writer of a post.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9900;"&gt;2. We will never reveal the identity or identities of the publisher/creator of this blog.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9900;"&gt;3. Do not email your murder confession or any other punishable offense.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9900;"&gt;4. Don’t email your domestic violence confessions, because we will be forced to report you…mmmkay? Good!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9900;"&gt;5. Don’t identify the author of a post if you happen to know the person. Please don’t leave a comment trying to figure out who it is, or who they are talking about…comments to this effect will be deleted promptly.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9900;"&gt;6. Be respectful. Be supportive. Be kind.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9900;"&gt;7. There is no limit to how many posts you can email in. Bring it on!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9900;"&gt;8. If you are concerned about your anonymity and being recognized by your normal email address, go create yourself a separate new email address so you feel more safe.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9900;"&gt;9. We are not responsible for any repercussions.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9900;"&gt;10. It is our decision if we deem a post not appropriate to post.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9900;"&gt;And that's it! Ten simple rules. Other than that, put your feet up, curl up on the couch, and blog away with the freedom of being invisible. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9900;"&gt;Enjoy!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2126010784366750393-9090227993579635901?l=useyourwordz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://useyourwordz.blogspot.com/feeds/9090227993579635901/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2126010784366750393&amp;postID=9090227993579635901' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2126010784366750393/posts/default/9090227993579635901'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2126010784366750393/posts/default/9090227993579635901'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://useyourwordz.blogspot.com/2008/08/welcome-please-make-yourself-at-home.html' title='Welcome! Please make yourself at home!'/><author><name>Use your wordz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07235453582091724554</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vKiOFe2aP8/SKS_sd1AWHI/AAAAAAAAAA8/Pk-gFvi8Qpw/S220/blogpic.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2126010784366750393.post-6464858181632891346</id><published>2008-08-09T18:28:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-09T18:28:25.445-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Anonymous Blogging Test</title><content type='html'>This is a test post!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2126010784366750393-6464858181632891346?l=useyourwordz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://useyourwordz.blogspot.com/feeds/6464858181632891346/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2126010784366750393&amp;postID=6464858181632891346' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2126010784366750393/posts/default/6464858181632891346'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2126010784366750393/posts/default/6464858181632891346'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://useyourwordz.blogspot.com/2008/08/anonymous-blogging-test.html' title='Anonymous Blogging Test'/><author><name>Use your wordz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07235453582091724554</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vKiOFe2aP8/SKS_sd1AWHI/AAAAAAAAAA8/Pk-gFvi8Qpw/S220/blogpic.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
