<?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-1888525076070630504</id><updated>2011-11-27T19:21:54.523-06:00</updated><category term='-'/><title type='text'>Mady &amp; The City</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>ThePress</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08050655373953266602</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SbUQwN_TAOI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0QYh0Db_vSg/S220/MyPicture.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>39</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1888525076070630504.post-7484003920147521959</id><published>2009-04-28T14:27:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-28T14:32:33.457-05:00</updated><title type='text'>so the saying goes..</title><content type='html'>"If you love something let it go, if it comes back love it forever."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He always comes back.&lt;br /&gt;I'll keep letting go til you're ready to hold on.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1888525076070630504-7484003920147521959?l=madyandthecity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/feeds/7484003920147521959/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1888525076070630504&amp;postID=7484003920147521959' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/7484003920147521959'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/7484003920147521959'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/2009/04/so-saying-goes.html' title='so the saying goes..'/><author><name>ThePress</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08050655373953266602</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SbUQwN_TAOI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0QYh0Db_vSg/S220/MyPicture.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1888525076070630504.post-4808802718008177390</id><published>2009-04-26T03:27:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-26T10:06:02.566-05:00</updated><title type='text'>this is another drunken post.</title><content type='html'>Lets just say I'm happy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll always save you.&lt;br /&gt;My best friend will always help me. I'll always help her. "In all this chaos we found safety." Love is.. Love is being there. Love is understanding.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1888525076070630504-4808802718008177390?l=madyandthecity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/feeds/4808802718008177390/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1888525076070630504&amp;postID=4808802718008177390' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/4808802718008177390'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/4808802718008177390'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/2009/04/this-is-another-drunken-post.html' title='this is another drunken post.'/><author><name>ThePress</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08050655373953266602</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SbUQwN_TAOI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0QYh0Db_vSg/S220/MyPicture.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1888525076070630504.post-3779645264886917604</id><published>2009-04-20T03:40:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-20T03:49:13.817-05:00</updated><title type='text'>oh so typical.</title><content type='html'>My skin won't stop peeling, metaphorically and physically.&lt;br /&gt;I got burned bad last week for being stupid and tanning twice ine one day. I got burned the last year of my life for being stupid too. Now I'm shedding my skin of it all. Underneath all the damage my skin is new and clean, free of fingerprints I never thought would leave.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I live in metaphors.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1888525076070630504-3779645264886917604?l=madyandthecity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/feeds/3779645264886917604/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1888525076070630504&amp;postID=3779645264886917604' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/3779645264886917604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/3779645264886917604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/2009/04/oh-so-typical.html' title='oh so typical.'/><author><name>ThePress</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08050655373953266602</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SbUQwN_TAOI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0QYh0Db_vSg/S220/MyPicture.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1888525076070630504.post-3523243504979948849</id><published>2009-04-16T03:50:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-16T04:07:55.978-05:00</updated><title type='text'>the new me</title><content type='html'>At work my favorite chef has been referring to me as "new Mady." I like that, a lot. I really do feel like since last year I've become a new person, and it's not just the hair. New Mady doesn't take shit from anyone, new Mady is one of the best damn servers at Wasabi, I'm motivated, I don't concern myself with things I can't have, I'm selfish when I should be, selfless when I should be, I'm happy.. about the right things. My life is so simple now, and I only keep  pushing for simplicity. I don't want complication or altercations or frustration. I like a clean house, a clean concious, and for everything to feel in sync. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My best friend is home in one week. I couldn't be happier.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1888525076070630504-3523243504979948849?l=madyandthecity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/feeds/3523243504979948849/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1888525076070630504&amp;postID=3523243504979948849' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/3523243504979948849'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/3523243504979948849'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/2009/04/new-me.html' title='the new me'/><author><name>ThePress</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08050655373953266602</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SbUQwN_TAOI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0QYh0Db_vSg/S220/MyPicture.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1888525076070630504.post-132985444064939809</id><published>2009-04-14T00:47:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-14T01:13:17.143-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I traded my skin for cheap sex and tattoos.</title><content type='html'>Why I keep trying to give people chances is beyond me. For one minute, I felt like this was genuine, I let that minute take me over. I guess I thought:&lt;br /&gt;I've done nothing but look past this kid, doubt him, have no trust in him, expect nothing from him, play games with him, ditch him, listen to all the trash talk.. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe it's the person you least expect who will sweep you off your feet. Maybe we could prove them all wrong. Maybe I'm what he needs. Maybe if he really wants me to be his girlfriend, then maybe he's legit. Maybe, I could be happy. Maybe, maybe I should give him a chance. Yes all this went through my head, and in that minute, I said yes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All those thoughts are haunting me now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe, there's no such thing as maybe. Just reality, and it only took me two days to fall back to it. So much for proving them wrong, you proved them all right. You say you wanna change? Well stop running from your problems between reno and minneapolis, No matter where you run, you'll keep running into yourself.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1888525076070630504-132985444064939809?l=madyandthecity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/feeds/132985444064939809/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1888525076070630504&amp;postID=132985444064939809' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/132985444064939809'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/132985444064939809'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/2009/04/i-traded-my-skin-for-cheap-sex-and.html' title='I traded my skin for cheap sex and tattoos.'/><author><name>ThePress</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08050655373953266602</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SbUQwN_TAOI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0QYh0Db_vSg/S220/MyPicture.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1888525076070630504.post-1022717215493139895</id><published>2009-04-13T01:52:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-13T02:20:45.831-05:00</updated><title type='text'>you are my sunshine.</title><content type='html'>I stopped caring about this blog a while ago. I've been uninspired. This weekend was great, and now I start working at wasabi again tomorrow, and I'm excited.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Friday was the AP Tour at Station 4 with Tiff. I drank way way too much on an empty stomach. This had its advantages and diadvantages.&lt;br /&gt;Advantages.. Having no fear of talking to a certain boy in a certain band and ending up hanging out with him. Dance party. Making friends with Vito, who was the shit, free shorts, and I was able to tolerate that everyone was younger than me. &lt;br /&gt;Disadvantages... not realizing how drunk I was til I got off the bus, (thank god I wasn't that drunk ON the bus though) puking, vito holding my hair back, yelling things, puking, more puking, tiff filming me, puking at every stop light, passing out in tiff's bathroom.&lt;br /&gt;The ending was a bummer. But it could have been a lot worse. Pretty sure tiff and vito were the only ones that witnessed my downfall. Either way, whatever, I rarely get sick drunk. Everyone has their night. I'm aloud one every 3 months. &lt;br /&gt;Saturday was This Providence and Copeland at The Varsity (which just got remodeled &amp; is sooo sick). I was so hungover though that I fell asleep before the show and was late. Missed half of TP's set.. But parked in front, ran in, moved straight to the front in time for 'sand in your shoes' acoustic. Score. Love them.. But for whatever reason the crowd was so unresponsive. Everyone was just standing there, awkward.&lt;br /&gt;Same deal for Copeland, so I just walked right to front and center again. It was like no one even cared, so weird. It's fucking Copeland!? I felt like I was the only person even singing.. I don't get it. But I enjoyed the set. Mostly new songs, and no California :( but I mean really, I can't complain, it's Copeland, it was free, I was like 5 feet from aaron. Plus, 'brightest' and 'testing the strong ones' were the encore songs. Amazing.&lt;br /&gt;After the show was over, I said some hello's, talked to d.blaise for a hot minute and just headed to Joe's.. Where he caught me completely off guard and asked me to be his girlfriend. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Andddd that's the story so far.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;=)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1888525076070630504-1022717215493139895?l=madyandthecity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/feeds/1022717215493139895/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1888525076070630504&amp;postID=1022717215493139895' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/1022717215493139895'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/1022717215493139895'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/2009/04/you-are-my-sunshine.html' title='you are my sunshine.'/><author><name>ThePress</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08050655373953266602</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SbUQwN_TAOI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0QYh0Db_vSg/S220/MyPicture.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1888525076070630504.post-2723475973114421859</id><published>2009-04-09T04:39:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-09T05:08:16.222-05:00</updated><title type='text'>the death of me</title><content type='html'>Everytime I seem to tell myself 'I've never felt so lost..' I always seem to top it the next year. As much as I love being a lost soul, sometimes I just want to feel found. &lt;br /&gt;I can't wait until it gets warmer out, everything seems better when the sun shines. Even if it isn't. Margot is coming home next month, I guess that's the one thing I have to look forward to. And Joe gets home tomorrow, I'm excited about that. He's truly one of the few genuine people I know. &lt;br /&gt;I've been emailing a lot with my step-ex-grandma (yea wrap your head around that) from San Diego. She's always been a push my whole life to do things right, so far I've done everything wrong. She wants to help me out, that's nice because my parents really don't give a shit about me anymore. If I can't pull my act together by summer I'm going to move with her. It won't be for my happiness, I love minneapolis, it will be to get my life in line. I know she will make me go to school and not get drunk 5 nights a week.&lt;br /&gt;I woke up Monday morning and didn't know where the whole last week of my life went.. That's when I knew shit wasn't okay. Went to Wisconsin for the day, my sister makes me feel better always. Just being with her, she doesn't have to do anything.. She's me 5 years ago. She's still naiive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fml.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1888525076070630504-2723475973114421859?l=madyandthecity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/feeds/2723475973114421859/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1888525076070630504&amp;postID=2723475973114421859' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/2723475973114421859'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/2723475973114421859'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/2009/04/death-of-me.html' title='the death of me'/><author><name>ThePress</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08050655373953266602</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SbUQwN_TAOI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0QYh0Db_vSg/S220/MyPicture.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1888525076070630504.post-3230239356605504389</id><published>2009-04-01T02:13:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-01T02:35:12.405-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Lost Notes.</title><content type='html'>I was skimming through the notes on my sidekick and I found some I forgot about. Decided I would post them on here for the world to see instead of just me.&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes I just write what's in my head.. or a quote(s) that I want to remember because they meant a lot.. or just something little that happens and I know I'll forget. Enjoy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;8.27.08&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If someone were to ask me, what kind of girl are you? I would tell them I'm the kind of girl that goes through yellow lights, stays up til 5am more often than not, takes chances just cause there's nothing else to take, breaks hearts, but is usually the one broken, wants what she can't have, moves too fast but always late. Fashionable and cliche, smart when I wanna be, follows rules, but only the ones I believe in. I love the feeling of missing someone, almost as much as I love being missed. I don't give in or give up on something I believe is worth it. Words are everything to me but I can only write the ones I mean, never speak them. I like to make plans, even though I never keep them.. Plans are only an outline of what will really play out. I don't fall in love easy, lust is a different story. I've been in love twice. I hate them both for making me feel that way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;9.24.08&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't believe that heartbreak is the most unfortunate thing that could happen to me right now, getting my car towed would be far worse.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;10.28.08&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I always want to be great for him. Isn't that what it's all about, finding someone that makes you want to be better?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;2.26.07&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's faces and numbers and voices you'll always remember. There are times of day and places that will always feel right. The way you walk will never change and the way you sleep it's all out of habbitt. It's the things that will go away that I already miss. The way you call me even though you know I'll be asleep, you know there's a 50/50 chance of me rolling over and answering. The way you ask me for help with everything, like I'm some incredible life that can fix everything. Honestly, it's everything, I'd miss every inch of your skin, every flaw, every inch of you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;6.6.08&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A homeless man sat next to me, he surprised me a little. He looked at me, I couldn't see his eyes through his sunglasses, he just said, "sometimes I wonder." Sometimes I wonder too, but I guess I didn't feel the need to tell strangers. Someday I'll be at that point, because someday my friends will be tired of listening. See, I have the kind of friends that fade with the seasons.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;3.8.09&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Is it best to settle or kill yourself trying to get what you'll never have?"&lt;br /&gt;Jack: "I don't know. But don't settle. Never settle." &lt;br /&gt;Me: "Is it terrible that I'm only happy not being happy with him?"&lt;br /&gt;Jack: "Well, you'll never be happy with out him."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1888525076070630504-3230239356605504389?l=madyandthecity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/feeds/3230239356605504389/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1888525076070630504&amp;postID=3230239356605504389' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/3230239356605504389'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/3230239356605504389'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/2009/04/lost-notes.html' title='Lost Notes.'/><author><name>ThePress</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08050655373953266602</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SbUQwN_TAOI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0QYh0Db_vSg/S220/MyPicture.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1888525076070630504.post-1817679783452958117</id><published>2009-03-26T20:13:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-26T21:25:12.223-05:00</updated><title type='text'>for the thrill of the fall.</title><content type='html'>Living on Lebanese salad, and my room is such a mess, I've been reading more, sleeping less, staying awake fighting the truth, rain turns back to snow. Lacking a best friend and somewhere to place my affection. I need sunshine, I need a tan, I need to forget him, snow turns back to rain. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want to get on a plane to Arizona and put all your belongings in your car and make you drive home, only stopping for cigarettes and vitamin water.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This awkward gray area of seasons has got me down. It's the third cloudy day in a row, it always gets me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1888525076070630504-1817679783452958117?l=madyandthecity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/feeds/1817679783452958117/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1888525076070630504&amp;postID=1817679783452958117' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/1817679783452958117'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/1817679783452958117'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/2009/03/for-thrill-of-fall.html' title='for the thrill of the fall.'/><author><name>ThePress</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08050655373953266602</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SbUQwN_TAOI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0QYh0Db_vSg/S220/MyPicture.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1888525076070630504.post-2598013721481873097</id><published>2009-03-25T16:03:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-25T16:26:59.241-05:00</updated><title type='text'>the positives.</title><content type='html'>I'm working on the good things. I may only have 10 bucks in my wallet, but I absolutely have to stay positive if I'm going to stay standing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My new job is neat. It's not great, it's not glamorous, but it's a job. I get to learn how to make tons of cool lebanese food that I'd never have a clue about. I've mastered cutting gyro meat now! Woo! I'm forced to try something new everyday. Zakia is the cutest little old lady in the world, and she speaks French and smiles a lot. I wish my two years of French would come back to me. As of now I'm working everyday 9am-230, which is good because that's steady. Once I'm done training I'll surely lose hours though, so I just need to get my hands on a second job.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really want to make a plan, find a path, and get on it. Lanette and I need to have a talk, I want to stay there for the summer again and work with her. From there I want to really work on building connections and job shadowing everything she does. This often involves conference calls on the deck with cigarettes and white wine, the best. After that I can either take that experience back home or stay there depending on how things are going and go to community college and get a degree to fall back on.. But I don't need a degree to work in music mgmt.. Sooo we'll see if I need it. I might be just lucky enough to do it with connections, which equals interning for big names, which means more than a degree. I kind of like that I know what I need to do and I don't need to rush. I'm 20 I can't start a career yet anyways.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mom just called me for guy advice, shouldn't it be the other way around? I thought it was funny. She always calls me and lanette because "we always know what to say." Though this is true, I can always tell someone else what to say, I can't do it myself. It's a curse.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1888525076070630504-2598013721481873097?l=madyandthecity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/feeds/2598013721481873097/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1888525076070630504&amp;postID=2598013721481873097' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/2598013721481873097'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/2598013721481873097'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/2009/03/positives.html' title='the positives.'/><author><name>ThePress</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08050655373953266602</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SbUQwN_TAOI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0QYh0Db_vSg/S220/MyPicture.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1888525076070630504.post-5795190671494944988</id><published>2009-03-18T03:28:00.025-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-18T10:00:52.916-05:00</updated><title type='text'>An Actual Update</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScDWLiuQS3I/AAAAAAAAAJA/TIyfn-EZCjA/s1600-h/2579_70834158676_545948676_2271497_5771501_n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScDWLiuQS3I/AAAAAAAAAJA/TIyfn-EZCjA/s400/2579_70834158676_545948676_2271497_5771501_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314483054084901746" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I'm going to update mostly just to remind me of the last week of events.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Last Thursday marked the start of "Spring Break Yo'Self 09". For a recap on why some events in '09 seem to feel like deja vu I w&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScC5NcLtrKI/AAAAAAAAAHI/NIQIYvJETFk/s1600-h/2579_70834693676_545948676_2271508_2031180_n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314451200851946658" style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; float: right; width: 271px; height: 200px;" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScC5NcLtrKI/AAAAAAAAAHI/NIQIYvJETFk/s400/2579_70834693676_545948676_2271508_2031180_n.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;ill refresh your memories quick.. Last year, the whole month of Feb up until Spring Break 08, myself and Michael hated each other. Like couldn't stand the sight, "perma-banned" from his house. I moved on, I dated or had whatever with Andrew from the higher for a hot minute, (just like I had whatever with Jordan this year, weird right?) and then at their show at the varsity (first day of spring break) Mike was there. He was black out drunk and invited Andrew and I over to his house. After Andrew left for tour Mike and I got back together.. urr whatever (it gets really complicated that we have no title) and we spent the entire Spring Break 08 together. I only went home to shower and grab clothes. We also spent everyday drunk with Jack doing fucking sweet things everyday. Long story short, it resulted in getting us back into our thing and a lot of fun. It needed to be repeated. I make my own time machines.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;SO.. &lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Thursday-&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt; It was my wond&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScC5ykmLN6I/AAAAAAAAAHY/JvASfOleKk4/s1600-h/2579_70834038676_545948676_2271491_3392769_n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314451838765578146" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left; width: 209px; height: 151px;" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScC5ykmLN6I/AAAAAAAAAHY/JvASfOleKk4/s400/2579_70834038676_545948676_2271491_3392769_n.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;erful close friend Ryan Waggoner's 20th birthday. I went to his apartment, where I hope to reside next year! We had tequila and orange juice and talked about things. Then Kathryn met up with us and we went over to Mike and Jack's and a lot of people were over. I drank a good portion of cheap wine, some of Mike's snowboard friends got in a fight with Poitras which resulted in them leaving and a very upset Mike. He was extremely pissed, so we talked and everything seemed fine until he drunkenly decided that since he was in a bad mood I had to be too. He starts trying to make me feel like shit, it works, I get upset, we fight, blah blah, we yell, we talk, we make up, we sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Friday-&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt; Woke up bright and early, drove home and cleaned my house. Went to pick up applications and talk to managers at a couple places by my house. Had a partial interview at psycho Suzy's. Relaxed. Kathryn came over, we ran and got booze at 9:57 and made it! Went to pick up Jack in St Paul, then to Carly and Elsa's City of Sound after party. It was so packed and I got to see a lot of faces I missed. I drank more gin than expected, went back to Jack and Mike's and slept there.&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScC8v0jYjSI/AAAAAAAAAHo/myyHh6mQ7gg/s1600-h/014.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314455090044112162" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left; width: 162px; height: 216px;" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScC8v0jYjSI/AAAAAAAAAHo/myyHh6mQ7gg/s320/014.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScC9Xr1TsoI/AAAAAAAAAHw/nBmlqLJZDQg/s1600-h/020.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314455774898139778" style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; float: right; width: 167px; height: 222px;" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScC9Xr1TsoI/AAAAAAAAAHw/nBmlqLJZDQg/s320/020.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314456684935712706" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 289px; height: 218px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScC-Mp_LD8I/AAAAAAAAAIA/P6R12Q7MI3k/s400/001.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Saturday-&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt; Woke up early again! Went to the mall and got something to wear to the show. Went home and showered and got pretty, then I went to pick up Tiff and Poitras. Poitras had a very happy happy hour, and was passed out on his couch, that was great. (black out friend at a show again?)Had to drag him out the doo&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScDD60Rm5_I/AAAAAAAAAIY/Fm-KPVQ8nco/s1600-h/n545948676_2171048_9558.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314462975529510898" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left; width: 250px; height: 187px;" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScDD60Rm5_I/AAAAAAAAAIY/Fm-KPVQ8nco/s400/n545948676_2171048_9558.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;r to get to the fallout. I wasn't sure if the show would be awkward with Jordan because this was after I just decided he was no longer worth my time. I got to see Tom! And that made me happy, maybe if Jordan would have been half as much fun as his best friend he would still be around, ouch. The show was fun, besides Poitras passing out on the couch. I went to pick up Madison after Blue Ox played and we drank Carlo straight from the jug with Tiff, because we are classy. The Goodbye Sound really impressed me, and wow Tyler, that's all I have to say about that. haha. My My Misfire sounded good up until the last song, which go figure is also their best song. It just lacked in every area, sorry boys. Practice makes perfect, if you ever did. Immediately after the show we headed to the party back at Jack and Mikes, already a ton of people so I wasn't sure how I'd swing getting out of there for the other party. It was jam packed with everyone I know, then I left with Emily and Alex to go to the after party at Ton&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScDXir6T5OI/AAAAAAAAAJI/eLVg5Fr-b_Y/s1600-h/l_f26293a862aa466c9847eada7f58e817.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScDXir6T5OI/AAAAAAAAAJI/eLVg5Fr-b_Y/s320/l_f26293a862aa466c9847eada7f58e817.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314484551200007394" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;y's house. And everyone else I knew that wasn't at Mike's was at that party. It sucked though, I didn't wanna be around Jordan and his trashy arm candy, or any of the trash that was there for that matter. So I finished my drink and went back to where I belong.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The party had multiplied by three when I got back and I was drunk. The night gets blurry around here, I think I hung out with Mike's high school friends for like two hours? I don't know where I was. Around 4am I started to realize that I didn't know anyone that was there and got concerned. We tried to start kicking people out and they just wouldn't leave. By 5am, the people left were super weird. Still wouldn't leave. Mike, I and Matt Brown had to sleep in the living room and the fucks would still not leave. Finally as I am trying to sleep this kid starts shit with me, I snap and scream at him and Matt starts yelling too at everyone else to get the fuck out.. this starts a fight between two of the random dudes for some reason. Random dude 1 hits random dude 2 in the face, they fight, chocolate cake on the coffee table falls, beer bottles go everywhere.. I push everyone out the front door. Mike goes and sleeps upstairs leaving me and Matt to deal with this. I try to clean up, It's 6am I'm tired, drunk and pissed off at this point. The random people stay on the porch talking still, Matt and I are scared to go to bed, so finally Matt went and yelled at them and they left, at 630am!! It was so frustrating, and poor little Matt had to work at 9am. &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314461999246032418" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 379px; height: 284px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScDDB_VfPiI/AAAAAAAAAII/n4T-94sCCSQ/s400/2581_751011190477_8625420_47999372_5424449_n.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" &gt;Sunday-&lt;/span&gt; I slept til like 1 or so. Then I woke up and went to The Beat with Kathan, Kevin, and Mike. I got iced tea and ordered free Caffrey's thanks to bff. I learned how to play avatar then Mike and I walked back. We cleaned up the house a little bit, but it's still trashed. T&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScDR6ZlSjCI/AAAAAAAAAIg/zxN2fx-gog4/s1600-h/2579_70834623676_545948676_2271507_7558574_n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 201px; height: 158px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScDR6ZlSjCI/AAAAAAAAAIg/zxN2fx-gog4/s400/2579_70834623676_545948676_2271507_7558574_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314478361527094306" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;hen I tried to lay down and watched Scarface with Jack and fell asleep. When I woke up Jamie was over and her and Mike were making vegan soup in the crock pot. I watched them play avatar, ate more free Caffrey's then the boys went to the CC Club and I went home for a shower. I was wide awake after this so I went back to the house, ate soup and drank the rest of my gin and played avatar with Mike until 7am. yup, like over 3hrs straight up of just drinking and avatar, it ruled. When we realized it was 7am we also realized the sun was coming up and it's impossible to fall asleep when it's light out in his room.. so we locked ourselves in the vip bathroom and slept on the couch in there. It sounds weird but, it was really cute actually.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Monday-&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;We slept until forever but when we woke up it was beautiful out. Mike went to work and Jack and I went to Calhoun Square, hit up the bank, the roof top of Stella's, Heartbreaker, then Mike called and said he got sent home from work. We went to The Independent for happy hour then to American Apparel and Lund's. Decided we were going to&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScDSdDWIfPI/AAAAAAAAAIo/iwQgSbxqWIs/s1600-h/avatar.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 130px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScDSdDWIfPI/AAAAAAAAAIo/iwQgSbxqWIs/s200/avatar.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314478956853361906" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; have a grill out and went to the wedge.. around this time we started getting strange texts about a party at their house that night. None of us had any idea, turns out the power of Poitras'  twitter is exceptional. Tried to cancel and failed. Sean and Madison came over and grilled dinner with Mike and I, then we left to ditch the party. Ended up going to his friends from Japanese class house where I watched them bake a vegan dish and then vegan chocolate cupcakes with coconut frosting. Amazing. After that we devised a plan that if there was still a party going on we'd sneak straight to the room with the jug of wine and play avatar in solitude for the rest of the night. Luckily we arrived at an empty house, but still played avatar until we were sleepy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" &gt;Tuesday-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;By today my body had just had it. I've been drunk or consumed alcohol every night since Thursday. I wanted nothing more than to take it easy, but I awoke to realize it was St Patrick's Day, I now felt obligated to get drunk. Then I couldn't even find anything worth doing, I have this problem a lot on Tuesday's thanks to The Triple Rock. I ended up just going over to Tiff's with Madison and drank some wine, then I went over to Ryan's and we watched Gossip Girl until he was tired. Then went home and I'm going to sleep in my own bed for the first time in almost a week, I'm not excited about it, I hate my bed and I hate sleeping alone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScDVd9LJvYI/AAAAAAAAAI4/4-mHDEnAHVI/s1600-h/2579_70835058676_545948676_2271518_7104298_n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScDVd9LJvYI/AAAAAAAAAI4/4-mHDEnAHVI/s400/2579_70835058676_545948676_2271518_7104298_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314482270911446402" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Basically, so far everything is panning out the way it did last year this time. Mike and I don't hate each other anymore and I am happy, and I don't care about what we "are" or "aren't" to other people, I still have the most fucking cool friends in the world and I'm extremely grateful.. and stilllll every other boy that comes my way proves himself no match for mike eames. sorry boys.  Also, huuuuuge surprise this Friday. Stay posted for Friday nights events =)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1888525076070630504-5795190671494944988?l=madyandthecity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/feeds/5795190671494944988/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1888525076070630504&amp;postID=5795190671494944988' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/5795190671494944988'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/5795190671494944988'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/2009/03/actual-update.html' title='An Actual Update'/><author><name>ThePress</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08050655373953266602</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SbUQwN_TAOI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0QYh0Db_vSg/S220/MyPicture.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScDWLiuQS3I/AAAAAAAAAJA/TIyfn-EZCjA/s72-c/2579_70834158676_545948676_2271497_5771501_n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1888525076070630504.post-2551772342037473026</id><published>2009-03-16T00:36:00.007-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-18T10:14:19.294-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I can't keep on without you.</title><content type='html'>I'm conflicted. It's complicated, I don't want to change, as predicted. Maybe that last post was only kidding myself after all. I'll never give up those old mittens, after all they are the ones that are always there for me, everyone else just disappears. I'm dumb for not realizing that's what I should have learned from that metaphor. I saw it but I was naiive to the fact that I can't move on, because I wanted to so bad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've learned the following in the past week... it only takes a month for me to destroy my pseudo relationship with someone, but I still can't completely ruin the one with Michael  after a year? I'm trying to make sense of it. I guess as much as we want to, we can't give each other up. I've tried to ruin it though, oh and believe me he does too. Distance only makes the heart grow fonder, time only makes a relationship stronger. I suppose the only way in ever ending our stupid thing would be is if one of us fell in love with someone else, but it hasn't happened. I wouldn't mind if it did for him, I only want to see him happy. I'm not in the same place I've been with him in the past. This is different, I'm not expecting a single thing from him, he is my friend, I am his. We enjoy spending time together with our friends and we share a bed sometimes, I don't expect him to want to be with me again, I just know that I'm not happy with anyone else at this point in time.. and I'm not looking. If someone wanders along, well great, but I don't have time for it. I'm putting a wall up, closing my doors. I'll give my affection to him I'll kill my free time with friends, I'm alright with it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We're like magnets, when there's no one between us we default to each other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScDbAjFKRuI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/oe3GFnLZ21U/s1600-h/scared.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 272px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScDbAjFKRuI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/oe3GFnLZ21U/s400/scared.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314488362760554210" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"&gt;..this note lies by our sides each night, my last thoughts.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://http//www.mediafire.com/download.php?qknzonznjvg"&gt;Download-&gt; A Rocket To the Moon- If Only They Knew&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1888525076070630504-2551772342037473026?l=madyandthecity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/feeds/2551772342037473026/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1888525076070630504&amp;postID=2551772342037473026' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/2551772342037473026'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/2551772342037473026'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/2009/03/boy-you-know-you-got-it-oh-you-know-you.html' title='I can&apos;t keep on without you.'/><author><name>ThePress</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08050655373953266602</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SbUQwN_TAOI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0QYh0Db_vSg/S220/MyPicture.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScDbAjFKRuI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/oe3GFnLZ21U/s72-c/scared.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1888525076070630504.post-9140879076868771855</id><published>2009-03-14T01:56:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-18T08:32:55.052-05:00</updated><title type='text'>drunk posts rule</title><content type='html'>Everyone can relate to what I'm about to write about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's that moment, where you've had a fling with someone, and you just know it's over. Texts have become short, you see them and eye contact is minimal. You laugh and smile in hopes that they won't think you care. There was never an actual conversation that ended with 'it's over'. But you know it's over. What I'm talking about is that first party you're at together, but not "together". You stay in seperate rooms, you don't speak, you look at each other in the corner of your eye, wondering if they're looking at you too. Your friends are there and you're happy, but there's that empy feeling in the pit of your stomach. There's that feeling of rejection, of failure, that yet again it "just didn't work out." You wonder, that cute girl with big eyes, will it work out for her? You'll never know, because all you know is it's over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScD37IhDfSI/AAAAAAAAAJY/DME9x2oTdm8/s1600-h/drinkdrive.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 278px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScD37IhDfSI/AAAAAAAAAJY/DME9x2oTdm8/s400/drinkdrive.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314520155567652130" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1888525076070630504-9140879076868771855?l=madyandthecity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/feeds/9140879076868771855/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1888525076070630504&amp;postID=9140879076868771855' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/9140879076868771855'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/9140879076868771855'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/2009/03/drunk-post-rule.html' title='drunk posts rule'/><author><name>ThePress</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08050655373953266602</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SbUQwN_TAOI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0QYh0Db_vSg/S220/MyPicture.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScD37IhDfSI/AAAAAAAAAJY/DME9x2oTdm8/s72-c/drinkdrive.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1888525076070630504.post-8148578223642958724</id><published>2009-03-12T03:50:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-12T04:58:30.044-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I don't wait, I always just let it go.</title><content type='html'>This might sound weird, but it's a metaphor I had in my head all night in my freezing car, and it makes perfect sense to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I have this old pair of mittens, there was already a small hole in between the thumb when I got them. I bought them half off because they were ripped, but they were cute, I wanted them anyways. Even though I'd known up front they'd cause me trouble and never be enough. I guess I never counted on them to last, but they were cheap and I needed mittens. The hole just kept ripping, then the other one ripped too. I threw them in my droor and bought new mittens. I've since gone on to buy multiple mittens, I always lose them. Either I lose both all together or there's just one, and they're deemed useless with out the other half. Until I find new ones I always go back to the ripped ones, why is it that I never lose those ones? They're the only mittens I've kept for so long, and they don't even keep me warm, it's been over a year since I got them.&lt;br /&gt;What I'm about to say is specifically for someone, they may or may not ever read this. He may stumble on it one night late lurking, high and bored and maybe intrigued about the stupid shit I write in here..&lt;br /&gt;What I want to say is, it's not the old ripped ones that I want. They don't keep me warm, they were cute at first and now they're just falling apart. It's not him that I want. They're just always there in the back of my droor when I need to be somewhat warm, they're better than nothing at all. It's new mittens that I want, that aren't torn from the start, that keep me warm on nights like these. It's you that I want and I don't want to lose you. I know that if I try hard enough I can find the part of you I lost and you can warm my hands again. I miss you and I'm sorry. I know now that it's you that I want, not something old that I already know will never work. I'd rather take all the chances in the world on you than any chance on him. I don't know where along the way I lost you but I'm not ready to just forget about it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1888525076070630504-8148578223642958724?l=madyandthecity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/feeds/8148578223642958724/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1888525076070630504&amp;postID=8148578223642958724' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/8148578223642958724'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/8148578223642958724'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/2009/03/i-dont-wait-i-always-just-let-it-go.html' title='I don&apos;t wait, I always just let it go.'/><author><name>ThePress</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08050655373953266602</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SbUQwN_TAOI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0QYh0Db_vSg/S220/MyPicture.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1888525076070630504.post-2750394895365621601</id><published>2009-03-10T06:32:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-18T08:35:56.398-05:00</updated><title type='text'>house of mirriors.</title><content type='html'>I'm in love with illusion so saw me in half. I'm in love with tricks so pull another rabitt out your hat.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScD4p5fbXVI/AAAAAAAAAJg/_qamQYLw-0M/s1600-h/hom2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 272px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScD4p5fbXVI/AAAAAAAAAJg/_qamQYLw-0M/s400/hom2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314520958988148050" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I once knew this girl, and she was the most naiive girl I'd ever met. Now I'm not one to face reality with the most grace, but this girl was all falling pieces of false hope. Clumsy as a drunken school girl, tripping over the truth like it wasn't there. She always had someone to keep her on balance, to kick the truth under the rug and say, darling it's alright you look beautiful tonight. I'd try to leave bits of the truth on her phone some nights, but let's face it I'm far too scared to start fights. The girl continued to ignore all signs, smile and laugh like everything was fine. Living in a world where the bad guys were the good guys, where up was down and down was up, a drunken kiss was love. I can't tell someone their whole worlds a lie, how do you word that and sound polite?&lt;br /&gt;The bad guys are really bad guys, they will never change, not for you and not for me. The things you heard weren't lies, the times you weren't there I heard it all, the ice is as slippery as it looks.. they have no friends but themselves for a good reason.&lt;br /&gt;I feel terrible, I let you be the rug I swept all the lies beneath and watched them walk all over it. I'd go back now.. I'd never let you walk into a house of mirriors alone. I'd hold your hand and walk with you and tell you it's alright, you look beautiful tonight.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1888525076070630504-2750394895365621601?l=madyandthecity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/feeds/2750394895365621601/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1888525076070630504&amp;postID=2750394895365621601' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/2750394895365621601'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/2750394895365621601'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/2009/03/house-of-mirriors.html' title='house of mirriors.'/><author><name>ThePress</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08050655373953266602</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SbUQwN_TAOI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0QYh0Db_vSg/S220/MyPicture.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScD4p5fbXVI/AAAAAAAAAJg/_qamQYLw-0M/s72-c/hom2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1888525076070630504.post-1684190078048300014</id><published>2009-03-09T07:53:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-18T09:26:10.532-05:00</updated><title type='text'>one more night</title><content type='html'>I hate how everyone has that person, and I hate that that person is you. I hate that I've moved on but not past it and I'm missing someone else too.&lt;div&gt;Arms and legs and our hair tangle and it feels less like a knot and more like a trap, and I'm caught. Fighting a fight I've already fought. Bricks on a sidewalk aligned, puzzle pieces I've been trying to find, a trap that is so perfectly intertwined. The album in your car plays tracks one through thirteen not missing a chord of our story. Perfectly recorded and re-recorded and replayed a million times. I don't have the energy anymore to do a thing but listen, I'm too tired to change anything, too exhausted to try anything new. Let's sleep a million years and hope someday soon you'll buy those curtains. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScEEbYZDGuI/AAAAAAAAAJo/QBRaHLk0cjs/s1600-h/curtains.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScEEbYZDGuI/AAAAAAAAAJo/QBRaHLk0cjs/s400/curtains.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314533903724387042" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1888525076070630504-1684190078048300014?l=madyandthecity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/feeds/1684190078048300014/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1888525076070630504&amp;postID=1684190078048300014' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/1684190078048300014'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/1684190078048300014'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/2009/03/one-more-night.html' title='one more night'/><author><name>ThePress</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08050655373953266602</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SbUQwN_TAOI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0QYh0Db_vSg/S220/MyPicture.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScEEbYZDGuI/AAAAAAAAAJo/QBRaHLk0cjs/s72-c/curtains.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1888525076070630504.post-3867487821033051263</id><published>2009-02-27T22:54:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-03-18T09:52:34.100-05:00</updated><title type='text'>thoughts. memories. thank you's. IOU.</title><content type='html'>Everyones making promises they can't wait to break, and plans they'll never follow through on. I just want something real.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Something as real as an afternoon spent passing the results of everyones few bucks and quarters, around a back porch. Lofted above the city, trees in bloom, no shoes, and a carton of cigarettes from my mom. We'd stay there til the sun went down, and until it came up again. Sometimes we'd read, sometimes we'd listen, and sometimes we'd talk, but we didn't need to say a word. Everything, everyone was so unperfect that it made it perfect, in my eyes. Remember the nights where our biggest worry in the world was how we'd get to taco bell before close? 'We' was always different, but always the same. So many people were a part of it, but the same few faces were always staring back at me at the end of the night. We've all slurred the words to each other, but to all of you I'll say it again, I love you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScEKAf9JqaI/AAAAAAAAAKI/VnFlhGgJQiQ/s1600-h/summer4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScEKAf9JqaI/AAAAAAAAAKI/VnFlhGgJQiQ/s400/summer4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314540038968158626" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The people that have stood by me despite all my mistakes and bad choices. All my failed attempts at succeeding, my talk of ending it all, the times you've held my hand and told me things would get better. Those things mean the most, and rather you know it or not, have saved me from doing what I know you all know about. You've all saved me in one way or another.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScEKAFp6etI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/C--nRaOM6pY/s1600-h/summer2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScEKAFp6etI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/C--nRaOM6pY/s400/summer2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314540031908149970" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The reason I got to thinking about all this is because I can sit and think about how bad things suck all I want.. But everything would be a whole lot worse if it were not for all of you. You've helped me learn and grow so much, (though clearly I have a lot more work to do to fix myself. I'm finally trying.) I honestly would not be alive with out you, I know that sounds dramatic, it is, and it's true. I feel like I have been letting you all drift away from me. It stops now, I won't let that happen. I won't let something so small, that seemed so big at one time, a boy, keep me from being with the people that I love. People that will accept you and love you unconditionally despite all your flaws and mistakes are not easy to come by. I just hope that you all know and appreciate that I love you back the same, no matter what, unconditional.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScEKAdS8bVI/AAAAAAAAAKA/DBEBcwYIqaI/s1600-h/summer3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScEKAdS8bVI/AAAAAAAAAKA/DBEBcwYIqaI/s400/summer3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314540038254259538" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On my drive back home this morning, while thinking about this, I stared at my left forearm while I ashed my cigarette. Rescued. When I got the tattoo, I didn't have much of a sentimental meaning besides how much that song means to me, and wanting to even out my arms.. But I knew that at some point I would find a meaning. Not just any petty meaning, something I'd forever look at the print on my arm and know that it means more than a word, and more than a song I didn't write. I finally found it.&lt;br /&gt;I don't need to go into depth about why, because the people this blog is for already know what's going on with me.. and though I like to publish my life for all you lurks, some things are better kept from your skimming eyes.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScEJ_yXXkmI/AAAAAAAAAJw/Tx05QWzg1Zw/s1600-h/summer1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScEJ_yXXkmI/AAAAAAAAAJw/Tx05QWzg1Zw/s400/summer1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314540026730091106" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;Because of Margot Hurwitz, Jack Mulkern, Andrew Poitras, Mike Eames, Madison Karpan, and Tiffany Conran I am rescued. Of course their are more people that have been there, but I consider you guys my closest, and to be the only people that "really" know me. Thanks for the summer, and fall, last winter and this one. Thanks for always being there, thanks for listening, thanks for being honest, but also thanks for lying when I needed it. Thanks for sharing your beds and keeping me warm, thanks for pushing me to do things I never would have. Thank you for always being able to make me smile and of course for all the times you've shared booze. I wouldn't be me with out you guys. No regrets. I'd do everything again.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(On another note: if you guys all read this today, call me when you do.. And I wanna do something tonight with all of you!)&lt;/b&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1888525076070630504-3867487821033051263?l=madyandthecity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/feeds/3867487821033051263/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1888525076070630504&amp;postID=3867487821033051263' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/3867487821033051263'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/3867487821033051263'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/2009/02/everyones-making-promises-they-cant.html' title='thoughts. memories. thank you&apos;s. IOU.'/><author><name>ThePress</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08050655373953266602</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SbUQwN_TAOI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0QYh0Db_vSg/S220/MyPicture.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScEKAf9JqaI/AAAAAAAAAKI/VnFlhGgJQiQ/s72-c/summer4.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1888525076070630504.post-7361606034286451899</id><published>2009-02-21T02:48:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-03-18T11:06:53.131-05:00</updated><title type='text'>her pride makes her hard to forget.</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;And pretty girls can shake the girls of sad boy's past.&lt;br /&gt;And they'll twist and moan in hopes of sending those sad boys home all alone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm missing my best friend a lot. With her by my side I feel like we can take on the world. We don't let people talking put us down, we let it build us up and make them keep talking. We meet the right people, we say the right things, we become who you wish you were. We're the girls you write songs about, we inspire what pop music thrives on, only caring about ourselves, each other.. And not caring who gets hurt in the process. Shameless. The way we talk. About a girl. Take Cover. Last chance to lose your keys. She's a lady. Bad News. Woe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScEcBc-wjiI/AAAAAAAAAKY/K24sZPEEP6k/s1600-h/mango.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScEcBc-wjiI/AAAAAAAAAKY/K24sZPEEP6k/s400/mango.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314559846558764578" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God I miss you please come find me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1888525076070630504-7361606034286451899?l=madyandthecity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/feeds/7361606034286451899/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1888525076070630504&amp;postID=7361606034286451899' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/7361606034286451899'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/7361606034286451899'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/2009/02/her-pride-makes-her-hard-to-forget.html' title='her pride makes her hard to forget.'/><author><name>ThePress</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08050655373953266602</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SbUQwN_TAOI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0QYh0Db_vSg/S220/MyPicture.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/ScEcBc-wjiI/AAAAAAAAAKY/K24sZPEEP6k/s72-c/mango.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1888525076070630504.post-490477522736889310</id><published>2009-02-18T18:04:00.009-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-20T02:05:25.363-06:00</updated><title type='text'>You Whispered Words Not Meant for Telephones.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;How do you learn to trust after you've been burned? The scars are always there, it doesn't just go away. How do you learn to let someone in, when everytime you did before it was only a regret. How do two people work when they have the same issues? Does it make sense that we'd understand each other, or make sense that we're terrible for each other. who knows. I can preach to the choir and tell him, don't live in the past, but I still think of the past everyday. He can tell me to trust him all he wants, but he doesn't trust me.. so how does this work? Will it? Is it worth it? He said let's just not take it serious, I said that was for the best, I won't take you seriously.. but that's not what he wants.. everyone wants to be taken seriously, even if they're not ready to in return. This is my life, this is me back in a situation with an amazing boy. This is me trying to decide if I want to run for cover or dive back in. This is me hanging from a thread, sink or swim. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;My night last night was weird. It went from almost falling asleep watching The Office, to not being able to sit still when the adderal kicked in, to not being able to walk straight when the karkov kicked in... all the way to ending up talking for almost two hours at 6am in a sauna that wasn't on, to falling off a couch all night.. with a bunch of stupid band dude and sibling drama in between. I hate guys that think they're god's gift and they're everything but that. getfuckedab.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;PS. OBSESSED WITH THE GAY BLADES&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304377580265237778" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 246px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SZzvTjJBbRI/AAAAAAAAAGY/t1ceVjp0sHE/s400/gayblades_big2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Downloads!--&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?hoz0n2nntjw"&gt;The Gay Blades- &lt;em&gt;Why Can't I Grow a Beard?&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/a&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?yt5j1zzq0j5"&gt;The Gay Blades- &lt;em&gt;The Cellphone Song&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;I'm not coming out unless you get some answers soon. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;If the answers don't come I'll stick to my guns... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;I'm entitled to this I feel I've overcome getting stepped on and hurt and abused... a&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;nd it's gonna end bad so I guess I'll just end this now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1888525076070630504-490477522736889310?l=madyandthecity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/feeds/490477522736889310/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1888525076070630504&amp;postID=490477522736889310' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/490477522736889310'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/490477522736889310'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/2009/02/you-whispered-words-not-meant-for.html' title='You Whispered Words Not Meant for Telephones.'/><author><name>ThePress</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08050655373953266602</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SbUQwN_TAOI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0QYh0Db_vSg/S220/MyPicture.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SZzvTjJBbRI/AAAAAAAAAGY/t1ceVjp0sHE/s72-c/gayblades_big2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1888525076070630504.post-2042669048123608174</id><published>2009-02-17T13:55:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-17T14:25:12.631-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='-'/><title type='text'>bad decisions</title><content type='html'>Here's a brief summary of the last few days. The days are all running together and I'm trying to keep shit straight. Plus it's just good for me to write. Ps this is what happens when you decide you don't give a fuck about anything anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Friday- Alex's Birthday Party. Drank almost a whole bottle of gin. Was in a room with three ex's, caused a sibling feud, got jealous, hated my life for a hot minute. Almost got left at the party. Managed to get home in a tiny little car with a drunken driver and 5 passengers. Had wrestling matches when we got back to my house, ripped my shirt, have bruises in weird places now. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saturday- Kathryn's Birthday/Valentine's Day. Went to Kathryn's dads house with Billy, Jordan, Tom, Peewee, Sandy, Rob, and Brian. Drank a lot of jack and coke and played some drinking game we made up, which was so fun. Smoked out of an apple. Passed out in the weight room, woke up in Kathryns bed. Who knows. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sunday- show at the garage with Tiff and the boys. I really had no fun at that show because I'm just too old to be going to the garage. If you can't smoke somewhere because there's too many kids under 18, yup, too old. Then there was the housewarming party for mike, jack, poitras and kathan. That was sick, so many wonderful faces and so many people being generous to help me kill my liver. Then I spaced out like an hour or so and came to in the mymy van.. On it's way to st paul, singing The Semester. Went to Birdsall's parents huge ass house. Drank more. Went in the sauna with rob, tom, and jordan. Drank more. The rest is a mystery, sort of. Its blotchy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Monday- I woke up still drunk in some weird attic room that I didn't know existed. Bummed around with the boys all day because I realized I left my car in uptown. Watched 21 grams, peewee made us pasta, watched them practice for a bit. Kathryn came over, we went and got rum. Rum and root beers all night. Watched the boys practice. Went in the sauna with Tom where we concluded the following things; we weren't leaving the sauna til our drinks were gone, and that we are now brother and sister. When we finally left the sauna, well we were very intoxicated. Mikey, Derek, and Tyler came over with a bunch of jag. So hey, why not. Tom passed out. I tried to pass out in the sauna but no one would let me. Haha. Tried to pass out in the living room but people kept waking me up. Ended up staying awake til like 5am.. And now, my car is still in uptown, it's Toms Birthday, and I don't see a good reason to slow down.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1888525076070630504-2042669048123608174?l=madyandthecity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/feeds/2042669048123608174/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1888525076070630504&amp;postID=2042669048123608174' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/2042669048123608174'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/2042669048123608174'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/2009/02/bad-decisions.html' title='bad decisions'/><author><name>ThePress</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08050655373953266602</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SbUQwN_TAOI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0QYh0Db_vSg/S220/MyPicture.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1888525076070630504.post-6347798787264213277</id><published>2009-02-13T01:46:00.005-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-13T04:43:15.520-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Just Right.</title><content type='html'>All this time I've been looking for something just right. Someone not too cold, not too hot, not too young, not too old, not too egotistical, not too shy, not too talkative, not too quiet. Someone that didn't have too many of the same friends as me, but not somone that didn't know anyone, likes the same things as me but has their own tastes as well, nice but not too nice.. The list could go on, but the point is, I've tried to settle for someone that wasn't right, I've convinced myself that someone who was all wrong for me was the best I would find... but things are looking up, and I'm starting to believe all those people that said I would find better, and I deserved better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I trapped myself in the past for so long, I am so glad that I'm out of it and though I made a mistake by rebounding straight to Wesley, I feel like that sort of needed to happen. I needed to have somone that I didn't care about to fill the void before I would be able to let myself care about someone again. I'm terrifed and happy at the same time. I don't want to get hurt again. I don't want to let myself fall, I wasn't going to because I know I should have time on my own.. but you can't control timing. I can't just not let myself fall because it's not the right time, their might never be a right time,  it could pass me by. I've hung out with Jordan for a week straight, I've come to the conclusion the absolute best way to get to know someone is to hang out with them and their best friend for a week. Think about it, on dates it's awkward and you feel pressured to talk about the right thing and blah blah I usually end up not acting like myself just because it's so awkward.  People aren't fake in front of their best friend, and if I can let someone stay with me for a week and then wish they were still here when they leave, well that's a great thing. I get sick of people before they can even finish saying their name. So fuck it, I'm jumping because it feels "just right."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SZUpVwwnpwI/AAAAAAAAAGI/XT25wwP3TZs/s1600-h/goldilocks.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302189590141445890" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 398px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SZUpVwwnpwI/AAAAAAAAAGI/XT25wwP3TZs/s400/goldilocks.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SZUmqfaYxBI/AAAAAAAAAGA/EUXs1eWf4pQ/s1600-h/spaceball.bmp"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302186647727162386" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 1px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 1px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SZUmqfaYxBI/AAAAAAAAAGA/EUXs1eWf4pQ/s400/spaceball.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SZUmE2ba-fI/AAAAAAAAAF4/ERZz69R8bGM/s1600-h/goldilocks.gif"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302186001070488050" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 1px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 1px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SZUmE2ba-fI/AAAAAAAAAF4/ERZz69R8bGM/s400/goldilocks.gif" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I'm going to try hard to start updating this regularly again. I lost touch for a hot minute.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1888525076070630504-6347798787264213277?l=madyandthecity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/feeds/6347798787264213277/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1888525076070630504&amp;postID=6347798787264213277' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/6347798787264213277'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/6347798787264213277'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/2009/02/blog-post.html' title='Just Right.'/><author><name>ThePress</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08050655373953266602</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SbUQwN_TAOI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0QYh0Db_vSg/S220/MyPicture.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SZUpVwwnpwI/AAAAAAAAAGI/XT25wwP3TZs/s72-c/goldilocks.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1888525076070630504.post-2830693039801487375</id><published>2009-01-21T18:04:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-21T18:06:09.498-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="400" height="300"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true" /&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always" /&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=2908981&amp;amp;server=vimeo.com&amp;amp;show_title=1&amp;amp;show_byline=1&amp;amp;show_portrait=0&amp;amp;color=&amp;amp;fullscreen=1" /&gt;&lt;embed src="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=2908981&amp;amp;server=vimeo.com&amp;amp;show_title=1&amp;amp;show_byline=1&amp;amp;show_portrait=0&amp;amp;color=&amp;amp;fullscreen=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="400" height="300"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://vimeo.com/"&gt;Untitled&lt;/a&gt; from &lt;a href="http://vimeo.com/user789528"&gt;tom&lt;/a&gt; on &lt;a href="http://vimeo.com"&gt;Vimeo&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="400" height="213"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true" /&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always" /&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=2909298&amp;amp;server=vimeo.com&amp;amp;show_title=1&amp;amp;show_byline=1&amp;amp;show_portrait=0&amp;amp;color=&amp;amp;fullscreen=1" /&gt;&lt;embed src="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=2909298&amp;amp;server=vimeo.com&amp;amp;show_title=1&amp;amp;show_byline=1&amp;amp;show_portrait=0&amp;amp;color=&amp;amp;fullscreen=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="400" height="213"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://vimeo.com/"&gt;Untitled&lt;/a&gt; from &lt;a href="http://vimeo.com/user387728"&gt;Bing T&lt;/a&gt; on &lt;a href="http://vimeo.com"&gt;Vimeo&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1888525076070630504-2830693039801487375?l=madyandthecity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/feeds/2830693039801487375/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1888525076070630504&amp;postID=2830693039801487375' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/2830693039801487375'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/2830693039801487375'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/2009/01/untitled-from-tom-on-vimeo.html' title=''/><author><name>ThePress</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08050655373953266602</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SbUQwN_TAOI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0QYh0Db_vSg/S220/MyPicture.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1888525076070630504.post-107004910120716133</id><published>2009-01-20T21:15:00.005-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-20T21:55:53.138-06:00</updated><title type='text'>In the worst kind of way</title><content type='html'>Where to go from here...&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;the world fell down and I just let it crash.. and you told me you never wanted it to fall, but you were there when it started to break, you watched it fall, you were gone when I had to pick up the pieces. And you claim you've been here all along. I knew you were. I knew you were.. but why didn't you answer the phone. You were never here. Dial tones and static. Leave me a wonderful and exciting message and I'll never get back to you. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I never wanted you to know. Telling you what I never wanted to say made me listen to what I always wanted to hear. Someday things will be different, you'll see, someday I'll really leave you, but I don't want to tonight. You need me too much.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SXaazGTijxI/AAAAAAAAAEw/WSNRERPKIyY/s400/Fear+%3D+Curiosity.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293588614677171986" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;DOWNLOAD-&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?mnj2ymneyim"&gt;BRIGHTWOOD&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1888525076070630504-107004910120716133?l=madyandthecity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/feeds/107004910120716133/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1888525076070630504&amp;postID=107004910120716133' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/107004910120716133'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/107004910120716133'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/2009/01/in-worst-kind-of-way.html' title='In the worst kind of way'/><author><name>ThePress</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08050655373953266602</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SbUQwN_TAOI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0QYh0Db_vSg/S220/MyPicture.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SXaazGTijxI/AAAAAAAAAEw/WSNRERPKIyY/s72-c/Fear+%3D+Curiosity.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1888525076070630504.post-7044860832932928253</id><published>2009-01-14T22:30:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-14T22:44:29.140-06:00</updated><title type='text'>don't tempt me.</title><content type='html'>I find comfort in discomfort. I'm used to this mess, I don't know what I'd do if things were in order and everything made sense. I'm comfortable in Jack and Andrew's dirty messy apartment, I've lived in this mess before, I would do it again. I'm an addict to addictions, caught up in being caught up.. Happy being unhappy. Life wasn't meant to be the same thing everyday, the things that stay the same are the things I keep there. Things repeat themselves because I want them repeated, because second, third, sixth chances are there, so take them. Chances are like drinks, you will only turn them down if you're sick, but once you're alright you'll gladly warm your stomach. So pour me a glass, I'm begging you to impair my judgement.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1888525076070630504-7044860832932928253?l=madyandthecity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/feeds/7044860832932928253/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1888525076070630504&amp;postID=7044860832932928253' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/7044860832932928253'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/7044860832932928253'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/2009/01/dont-tempt-me.html' title='don&apos;t tempt me.'/><author><name>ThePress</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08050655373953266602</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SbUQwN_TAOI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0QYh0Db_vSg/S220/MyPicture.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1888525076070630504.post-574860319479393501</id><published>2009-01-11T20:15:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-11T21:34:57.820-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Maybe when I'm done with endings this can begin.</title><content type='html'>Last night was a punk rock show, shitty beer, and a crazy big girl named Pepper. Old things, new people, I'm trying to make myself better. I'm doing my best to start over. I've decided to throw away my judgments and stop being a hypocrite. I hate rumors and gossip and just because someone does stupid things doesn't make them stupid. I'll give it a chance. &lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 256px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SWq6Qikv84I/AAAAAAAAAEo/1Aka1Cw2TE0/s400/corp.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290245505621685122" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In honor of the punk show last night, this is the best I can do.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?fyqnde2hhoq"&gt;-&gt;Something Corporate- Punk Rock Princess&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1888525076070630504-574860319479393501?l=madyandthecity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/feeds/574860319479393501/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1888525076070630504&amp;postID=574860319479393501' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/574860319479393501'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/574860319479393501'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/2009/01/maybe-when-im-done-with-endings-this.html' title='Maybe when I&apos;m done with endings this can begin.'/><author><name>ThePress</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08050655373953266602</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SbUQwN_TAOI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0QYh0Db_vSg/S220/MyPicture.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SWq6Qikv84I/AAAAAAAAAEo/1Aka1Cw2TE0/s72-c/corp.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1888525076070630504.post-5380844447828027696</id><published>2009-01-11T19:45:00.006-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-11T20:05:06.425-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SWqk-2dsSLI/AAAAAAAAAEg/1dxPo1q1JgI/s1600-h/wishbone.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 153px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SWqk-2dsSLI/AAAAAAAAAEg/1dxPo1q1JgI/s400/wishbone.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290222111978965170" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'courier new';"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;We are terrible for each other, and, yes, we are a disaster. But tell me your heart doesn't race for a hurricane or a burning building. I'd rather die terrified than live forever. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'courier new';"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'courier new';"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'courier new';"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1888525076070630504-5380844447828027696?l=madyandthecity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/feeds/5380844447828027696/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1888525076070630504&amp;postID=5380844447828027696' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/5380844447828027696'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/5380844447828027696'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/2009/01/we-are-terrible-for-each-other-and-yes.html' title=''/><author><name>ThePress</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08050655373953266602</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SbUQwN_TAOI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0QYh0Db_vSg/S220/MyPicture.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SWqk-2dsSLI/AAAAAAAAAEg/1dxPo1q1JgI/s72-c/wishbone.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1888525076070630504.post-5798427632679504621</id><published>2009-01-08T05:48:00.006-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-08T07:42:09.605-06:00</updated><title type='text'>1.8.09.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" ;font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;It's a shortcut to drive past your old street on the way home, and when I see your street I think I would've saved a lot of time if it just ended there on Quincey. I wonder about where we'd be if we never met, or if we met sooner. It seems things just happened the way they were supposed to, we can't control that. Life sets us up for devastation sometimes to thicken our skin, but I thought it hurt enough the first three times we walked away. The twists and turns somehow always brought me back to you and your scraggly arms, and to think I felt safe there. hah. Your denial overthrew the truth and it feels like falling feet first and breaking both my legs. All I can ask myself is why I jumped in the first place when I knew I could break. I'm okay but getting back up is hard when you feel like you'll never walk again. I still don't know if I will.. be myself again I mean.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;And Madison says she's never been in love. I wish I could tell her she's lucky, that it hurts more than it doesn't, it only fills voids, and she's better off sticking to lust. But I couldn't destroy someone's hope like that. I used to have hope too, until I met you. I could list off all the reasons I hate you and publicly humiliate you, but I leave the low blows to you, you're good at it. Go date a stripper and contract a disease or something. Talk to me in a year and tell me you made the right choice. You'll never find better, that's a promise. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style=" ;font-family:arial;font-size:10px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" ;font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;Remember this&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt; song?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" ;font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?mjjzqw3mijw"&gt;-&gt;The Early November- I want to hear you sad&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style=" ;font-family:arial;font-size:13px;"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 211px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SWXwFTB9WrI/AAAAAAAAAD4/KhYxC8os7es/s320/worm-ace-enders-300x211.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288897311215016626" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" ;font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;I could use an Ace Enders right now.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" ;font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Try something new..&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" ;font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?ixyyyyztl4v"&gt;-&gt;Ace Enders and A Million Different People- Reaction&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" ;font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?0ni5to2ymld"&gt;-&gt;Ace Enders and A Million Different People- Red Eye&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" ;font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?foxg0txuzmh"&gt;-&gt;Ace Enders and A Million Different People- Why Do You Run&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" ;font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?gzezzjywnny"&gt;-&gt;Ace Enders and A Million Different People- Motion&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"&gt;or&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?jgmwdntoydl"&gt;-&gt;I can make a mess like nobody's business- An oak tree stands beside a linden&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?kndz32znz2i"&gt;-&gt;I can make a mess like nobody's business- Untitled 3&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1888525076070630504-5798427632679504621?l=madyandthecity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/feeds/5798427632679504621/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1888525076070630504&amp;postID=5798427632679504621' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/5798427632679504621'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/5798427632679504621'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/2009/01/1809.html' title='1.8.09.'/><author><name>ThePress</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08050655373953266602</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SbUQwN_TAOI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0QYh0Db_vSg/S220/MyPicture.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SWXwFTB9WrI/AAAAAAAAAD4/KhYxC8os7es/s72-c/worm-ace-enders-300x211.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1888525076070630504.post-8864201923693823969</id><published>2009-01-07T04:15:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-08T06:53:34.286-06:00</updated><title type='text'>But being alone wasn't half as bad.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;I never thought it possible, I think I fell in love with someone worse than me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;..and I'm getting that feeling like I don't wanna go on anymore. We are all suffering from "seasonal depression." At least we're convinced of something. It was there all along, it just takes scraping the ice of your windows to remember why it's not worth scraping off. I've drank a half bottle of gin, I've successfully battered my friendship with three of my closest, and I've let them as well as I, convince myself I am clinically insane. Remember all those people in your past that said, "you will never be happy." ? I hate laying my head down and knowing they were right, but dammit now is your chance more than ever to say, I told you so.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I will never be happy. I am a masochist in love with a narcissist and I can't quit him because I am a masochist. I'd rather be hurt than hurt anyone. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?3izmjt1nwlr"&gt;--&gt;Listen to Bayside&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1888525076070630504-8864201923693823969?l=madyandthecity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/feeds/8864201923693823969/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1888525076070630504&amp;postID=8864201923693823969' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/8864201923693823969'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/8864201923693823969'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/2009/01/but-being-alone-wasnt-half-as-bad.html' title='But being alone wasn&apos;t half as bad.'/><author><name>ThePress</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08050655373953266602</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SbUQwN_TAOI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0QYh0Db_vSg/S220/MyPicture.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1888525076070630504.post-8669207888818974531</id><published>2009-01-06T15:30:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-06T22:35:37.772-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Do Yourself A Favor</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mediafire.com/?sharekey=a39b2c2bebea54c491b20cc0d07ba4d2be7ba298a5739823"&gt;--&gt;Download the MCS Acoustic EP &lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SWPN3QemlCI/AAAAAAAAADo/DLBulEDDadM/s1600-h/motioncitysoundtrack.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SWPN3QemlCI/AAAAAAAAADo/DLBulEDDadM/s320/motioncitysoundtrack.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288296736662918178" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/u3UBtRF1xsA&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/u3UBtRF1xsA&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1888525076070630504-8669207888818974531?l=madyandthecity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/feeds/8669207888818974531/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1888525076070630504&amp;postID=8669207888818974531' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/8669207888818974531'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/8669207888818974531'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/2009/01/do-yourself-favor.html' title='Do Yourself A Favor'/><author><name>ThePress</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08050655373953266602</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SbUQwN_TAOI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0QYh0Db_vSg/S220/MyPicture.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SWPN3QemlCI/AAAAAAAAADo/DLBulEDDadM/s72-c/motioncitysoundtrack.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1888525076070630504.post-5542986838446527273</id><published>2009-01-05T15:20:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-05T15:24:03.956-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Dear Hunter</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new';"&gt;It's ironic how I fall just to get back up again&lt;br /&gt;I fixed to cure this ailing bitter agony&lt;br /&gt;Maybe where the roads part you remember where we first met&lt;br /&gt;So tongue and cheek with stale irony, if it pleases you it pleases me&lt;br /&gt;Just an innocent call a telephone call&lt;br /&gt;Just an innocent call&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now if you were in bloom I’d pluck your petals clean&lt;br /&gt;Although I don’t seem low I can promise you my egos running me&lt;br /&gt;Then I'd be called you were the only one that didn’t fold&lt;br /&gt;But I just broke right down for you in an attempt to gain control&lt;br /&gt;Maybe I'm a waste of time&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new';"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.megaupload.com/?d=329Q4LQC"&gt;--&gt;Download album here&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new';"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You were the only one that didn’t fold&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1888525076070630504-5542986838446527273?l=madyandthecity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/feeds/5542986838446527273/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1888525076070630504&amp;postID=5542986838446527273' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/5542986838446527273'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/5542986838446527273'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/2009/01/dear-hunter.html' title='The Dear Hunter'/><author><name>ThePress</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08050655373953266602</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SbUQwN_TAOI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0QYh0Db_vSg/S220/MyPicture.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1888525076070630504.post-1392998318869896942</id><published>2009-01-02T17:00:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-02T18:34:48.427-06:00</updated><title type='text'>This is Twice Now.</title><content type='html'>I'm tying myself to the train tracks I'm letting my friends watch me, I'm making them pull the last knot. I stare you straight in the eyes as you cut so far inside me that I lose my breath, I'm letting my friends kill me, I'm letting you hurt me. I'd only be your floor mat if my hair weren't so bright, so now I'm just your pretty head to lay asleep with at night. I don't know how you sleep so soundly with my breath on your neck because I couldn't sleep a wink, and all the pills and all the drinks they never excuse the secrets that we keep.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Messages from across the city will be the only way we convey.. and tomorrow we'll move on, but we never really move on. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1888525076070630504-1392998318869896942?l=madyandthecity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/feeds/1392998318869896942/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1888525076070630504&amp;postID=1392998318869896942' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/1392998318869896942'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/1392998318869896942'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/2009/01/this-is-twice-now.html' title='This is Twice Now.'/><author><name>ThePress</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08050655373953266602</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SbUQwN_TAOI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0QYh0Db_vSg/S220/MyPicture.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1888525076070630504.post-5280035773977411443</id><published>2008-12-28T03:39:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-02T18:36:49.420-06:00</updated><title type='text'>xmas update 2</title><content type='html'>I have been high at least half the time I have been here. It's the only way to get through being stuck with the family. I don't like smoking much when I'm  home because I don't want it to become a daily habbit, but on vacation I always just say fuck it. There's no such thing as saying "no" to weed in California.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I miss my friends so muchh. It's ridiculous how much of a homesick baby I am. Also I think I like Joram, I would actually date him, no one has come along like that since Alex and I broke up and Mike strung me along for a year. Spealking of boys I don't want to date... Ben from Burrito Loco called me tonight, at least 5 times. Completely hammered, mumble jumbling some words about wanting me, and having his ex girlfriend back. Who knows what the meaning behind telling someone that you're sorry that you got back with your ex and that you still want me in the same conversation, but it's can't be good. He's making himself sound almost as bad as Wesley.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today I got the joy of going to the swap meet. It's the best. It was almost liberating to just walk by myself down the rows and rows of tents selling stolen things and shouting in spanish. I managed to get all of my close friends presents, I said I wasn't going to get anyone presents but I couldn't resist. Buying xmas presents is always  my favorite thing to do, and I couldn't do it until now this year cause I was/am still so broke. I also consumed way more greasy pizza than the human body should, and a great deal of Mountain Dew. Hello chubby. I went to the 99 Cent Store and grabbed a few items. Then I suceeded in watch The Dark Knight for the second night in a row. I decided I don't care how cliche it is, that movie is my favorite movie. It's just so good, I can't say I love it because of interest in batman or anything, it's just the whole story line, setting, concept, acting, wardrobe is great. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-thepress&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1888525076070630504-5280035773977411443?l=madyandthecity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/feeds/5280035773977411443/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1888525076070630504&amp;postID=5280035773977411443' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/5280035773977411443'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/5280035773977411443'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/2008/12/xmas-update-2.html' title='xmas update 2'/><author><name>ThePress</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08050655373953266602</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SbUQwN_TAOI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0QYh0Db_vSg/S220/MyPicture.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1888525076070630504.post-3041045990337444745</id><published>2008-12-21T05:12:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-30T22:23:39.884-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Xmas vacation update 1</title><content type='html'>I've been on the road for about 14 hours. It is hell.. But it could always be worse. So it's myself, my dad, my little sister, her best friend, and my brother and two of his friends. Shoot me. I'm curled in a ball in the back with my ipod and my cigarettes. My back is killing me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After you move out, when you're back with your family you feel like a fish out of water. But it was out of water, on land with them that I began.. I guess I just dove in and have been drowning ever since.. I need water, I'd rather be gasping for air with my friends. I don't remember why I thought this trip was a good idea, I'll get back to you when I figure it out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night was pretty great. Slept in til 2 with michael, showered and tiff came over. Got ready for the show. Was very late for the show. Got drunk in the car.. Then I sang my little heart out to Sing It Loud, cause I have no shame. All these people saying they're too good for sing it loud.. Well here's what I have to say, since when were you ever too good for your friends band that happened to get successful? I guess they weren't really your friends to begin with huh. I don't believe in the term sold out, I believe in the words success and jealousy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The after party at Wickard's was so so. A lot of weirdo randoms showed up. I just don't know how people figure it out sometimes.. It's not like his address was posted anywhere, people are creeps. It was so nice to see the boys. I got to actually talk to Ben, I haven't in so long. It's weird thinking what we used to be. Two kids in Menomonie  downloading music on limewire and burning cds for each other like it was our job. Going to Minneapolis on the weekends to see The Semester, and now he's playing with Pat. It's surreal. I'm so proud. There was a lot of stupid drama with Pat last night, I'm glad I'm not involved. Regardless, it was nice to be in the same house drinking beer with so many people I love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I'm in Oklahoma now and I'm listening to The Morning Light on repeat. Absolutely obsessed with the song "follow me home" because of this verse:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;I don't believe you, I don't believe that you're alright. No I don't believe you cause there's a part of you that never wanted any part of me. And you never knew enough to know that you're forever going to be alone... &lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And you were better before you got better than me.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?kngnilmwyet"&gt;--&gt;Download&lt;---&lt;/a&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Mady&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1888525076070630504-3041045990337444745?l=madyandthecity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/feeds/3041045990337444745/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1888525076070630504&amp;postID=3041045990337444745' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/3041045990337444745'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/3041045990337444745'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/2008/12/xmas-vacation-update-1.html' title='Xmas vacation update 1'/><author><name>ThePress</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08050655373953266602</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SbUQwN_TAOI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0QYh0Db_vSg/S220/MyPicture.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1888525076070630504.post-6325627868979909791</id><published>2008-12-20T04:01:00.006-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-26T04:29:45.540-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Why Isn't Love Enough?</title><content type='html'>I get so tired of fighting it, and then I just end up crumbling in your arms. I hate it, I love it, I don't need it, I want it. Friends tell me to leave, they tell me there's nothing left to believe. There is everything left, there is nothing but time, they will never understand the way we do. Ever. End of story.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was a drunken sorry mess at Wesley's party tonight. I'm just glad you saved me and took me home. Apparently everyone else had a good time heres pictures:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284042384352276258" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SVSwjXFs7yI/AAAAAAAAADg/mODUWswNsIw/s320/WesleysHouse12-19-0819%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284041473675647826" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SVSvuWjeW1I/AAAAAAAAADQ/-lp-RSPvz38/s320/WesleysHouse12-19-0823%5B2%5D.jpg" border="0" /&gt; &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284042076211391874" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SVSwRbLMLYI/AAAAAAAAADY/Kfaap9UCbI8/s320/WesleysHouse12-19-082%5B2%5D.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284040700112993330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SVSvBUzw_DI/AAAAAAAAADA/EQbRXGq3Hxw/s320/WesleysHouse12-19-0820%5B2%5D.jpg" border="0" /&gt; &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284040941477907490" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SVSvPX9pTCI/AAAAAAAAADI/qi9tezxzBMY/s320/WesleysHouse12-19-085%5B2%5D.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1888525076070630504-6325627868979909791?l=madyandthecity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/feeds/6325627868979909791/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1888525076070630504&amp;postID=6325627868979909791' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/6325627868979909791'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/6325627868979909791'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/2008/12/why-isnt-love-enough.html' title='Why Isn&apos;t Love Enough?'/><author><name>ThePress</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08050655373953266602</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SbUQwN_TAOI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0QYh0Db_vSg/S220/MyPicture.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SVSwjXFs7yI/AAAAAAAAADg/mODUWswNsIw/s72-c/WesleysHouse12-19-0819%5B1%5D.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1888525076070630504.post-5619561694627891069</id><published>2008-12-15T00:49:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-15T02:22:08.726-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Make Me Believe You Mean This.</title><content type='html'>Current feelings, over it. I feel a sense of closure, relief, satisfaction in meeting someone new and so entirely great that it makes boys from the past feel so far gone. Though all of this said with a grain of salt, trust is also a feeling of the past. That makes me a little sad. Just the thought that a few shitty people ruined it for everyone I will meet in the future. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyway, what I've been doing. Since I've been very sick there isn't a whole lot of excitement in my life. This weekend was nice though. Friday I worked at Urban and I talked to Joram a lot at work, so we made plans to hang that night. I didn't think much of it to be honest. After work I went home then met with Mike for dinner at Chipotle, and we talked and for the first time in a long time I could honestly look him in the eye and not care who he would be drunkenly screwing (over) that night. It doesn't matter anymore, he has chosen to not have me, and be it a mistake or not, it was his mistake to make. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I went to uptown after that to meet Joram and we walked to meet Josh and Maya and went to a show in Chaska. Hardcore obviously not being my thing in any way shape or form, I don't even know what compelled me to join him. I guess it went like this, I called Andrew and said, I hate hardcore and I met this cute boy and I don't think I want to go because guys have been disappointing me left and right. So do I go home and sit on my computer and over think how much things suck until we get drunk later or do I grit my teeth through this show? He said, don't be dumb, go to the show. So I went. It is really sad how much I rely on Andrew, and it's even more sad thinking about the lack of time I've spent with him in the last two weeks.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; The show was exactly what I expected. Almost all kids under 18, gross girls that do not know how to dress, boys that have way too much testosterone and sweat. But it was alright because I saw Joram in a new light, and he was great, and he introduced me to all his friends and he was always making sure that I was doing okay and and.. it was so much better than going places with he whose name must not be mentioned. After that we went to a party in uptown. It was all mcad kids, fuck mcad kids, no offense to the few of you that I love. But seriously, step off your soap box, you kids are like "the cool kids" in high school, and funny thing is you were all the losers in high school.. now you're being the people you hated. fuck off. I don't care that your mommy and daddy paid lots of money for you to go be a pretentious fuck and make art and talk about your super indie books and record collections. You all look the same in your sweaters from some thrift store because you are oh so thrifty... and paired with your designer jeans... wait what? Yeah. Thrifty. get fucked. I had to leave. So I did. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Saturday I spent the entire day with Joram. We slept in, got lunch, and watched movies. Then we went back to his place in uptown and Joel came over, so we walked to the liquor store where Wesley met us. Then we drank and watched The Dark Knight and talked about a bunch of shit. Cheers to Urban for opening the door to meet some of the coolest fucking people ever. Once the four of us were pretty drunk the night only got better. We had a snow ball fight and then went to Lauren's apartment and drank brandy with root beer and watched Pete and Pete, the night gets blurry about there. But at some point I managed to drive home and pass out in my clothes. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today I woke up and watched Twilight in my bed and fell back asleep for a while and dreamt about Edward Cullen. I'm lame. Then I picked up Joram and we went to target to get groceries and movies. Made dinner and watched Tropic Thunder and Step Brothers with Jack and Madison. Thanks red box for only having dumb movies, but surprisingly both movies were very funny, I guess they are what they are and nothing better. Now it's a blizzard outside and it's time for me to get some sleep. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Currently Listening to Say Anything feat. Kenny Vasoli &amp;amp; Hayley Williams- Plea&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?jzb2w0y4o5a"&gt;--&gt;DOWNLOAD&lt;--&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1888525076070630504-5619561694627891069?l=madyandthecity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/feeds/5619561694627891069/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1888525076070630504&amp;postID=5619561694627891069' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/5619561694627891069'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/5619561694627891069'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/2008/12/make-me-believe-you-mean-this.html' title='Make Me Believe You Mean This.'/><author><name>ThePress</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08050655373953266602</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SbUQwN_TAOI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0QYh0Db_vSg/S220/MyPicture.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1888525076070630504.post-9114482061161349665</id><published>2008-12-11T14:29:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-12T02:24:22.434-06:00</updated><title type='text'>My one and lonely..</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The reasons to not hate you are starting to feel more like excuses. The reasons can be counted with fingers. The wear and tear is setting in more than ever, patience wearing thin. Ready to call it quits again. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I've spent the last few days in bed, sick and tired. All the symptoms of mono, but sometimes symptoms don't mean a thing. I'll be fine in a couple of days. I've been spending some time with Aaron, and I like it. He's leaving for California Friday, he will be there the same time I'm supposed to be with my family there.... but I just can't go to Cali right now as much as I want to.. but then again I'm not sure I will handle being alone for Christmas so well. I hate Christmas though, so I should be fine, I'm pretty sure every year I end up wishing I was alone anyway.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Last night Madison and I got our hair done at Zach's house. The Aarons, Kathryn and Jordan came over. We drank wine and got a kick out of the mpls gossip board. Then Aaron and I went to Ryan Traester's and chilled out for a while, then went to Little T's. Things are as simple as simple gets lately. &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;A&lt;/span&gt; re&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;lie&lt;/span&gt;f. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1888525076070630504-9114482061161349665?l=madyandthecity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/feeds/9114482061161349665/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1888525076070630504&amp;postID=9114482061161349665' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/9114482061161349665'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/9114482061161349665'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/2008/12/my-one-and-lonely.html' title='My one and lonely..'/><author><name>ThePress</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08050655373953266602</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SbUQwN_TAOI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0QYh0Db_vSg/S220/MyPicture.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1888525076070630504.post-1541896245810223463</id><published>2008-12-06T17:59:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-06T18:46:56.508-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I've been waiting since birth to find a love that would look and sound like a movie</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;It was about this time last year, when I was falling for the first time with you.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When we met, I didn't think much of you, I didn't think I'd ever care for you as more than a friend, now I can't imagine not caring. You were too loud and sang too much in the car, you said weird things in public, and you were mean to me except you thought it was funny. I could go on but that's not important, because it is all those things I &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;can't&lt;/span&gt; be with out now.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today was like all of it never happened.. all of it as in January, February, March, April... and on. We were back, it was like the first time hanging out, except this time I just laughed when you said weird things in public and we made a scene on the street and pretended to be breaking up, When you sang too loud in the car I just smiled, and when you made fun of me, I knew it was because you think I'm cute when I'm bothered so I played along.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Honestly, I NEVER in a million years thought a year later it would still be you. I never thought I'd still be running with you all over the city to random places, doing random things, and smiling simply because I am never down when we are together. I never thought I would end up living with you for three months and sharing a car, I never thought we'd make up and break up an infinite amount of times, I never thought I could even like you again after the perma-banned incident.. fuck look at all we've been through since then. I know all of my friends that will read this will think I am absolutely crazy for saying the following, but the truth of it is... I would not take back any of it. I would do it all over again, I would cry and be upset over and over because.. what I feel when I'm with Mike, it feels sort of like being front and center for your favorite band when they play your favorite song, except no, it's not like that because it's better. It's way better.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That, is not something you find everyday, I can only be so lucky to have found it once, even if it doesn't end well, even if things never happen the way I want them to, I have no regrets because I got to have that. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1888525076070630504-1541896245810223463?l=madyandthecity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/feeds/1541896245810223463/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1888525076070630504&amp;postID=1541896245810223463' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/1541896245810223463'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/1541896245810223463'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/2008/12/ive-been-waiting-since-birth-to-find.html' title='I&apos;ve been waiting since birth to find a love that would look and sound like a movie'/><author><name>ThePress</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08050655373953266602</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SbUQwN_TAOI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0QYh0Db_vSg/S220/MyPicture.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1888525076070630504.post-3071519514952684937</id><published>2008-12-05T23:54:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-06T06:08:26.777-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Cheap Shots, Low Blows.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Last Saturday... came the ultimate crash. Fuck adderal, I mean I love adderal. Which is it? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I slept in Michael's bed until I couldn't keep my eyes closed anymore. Until we realized it was far past afternoon. I went home and tried to shower off the hang over the pills that were still running through me, I didn't want to go to work at the bar, I knew it was going to be bad. I couldn't tell if that gut feeling was the hang over or the truth.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I got there, and of course the second I get there Joe is on my ass, just can't do anything right. I had that feeling I always get when he yells at me, that feeling like I am 15 again, with out a car, stuck in a small town, and my dads yelling at me about something I have no control over. Except, I'm 20 now, my relationship with my dad is fine, I'm happy, so it's just him that brings all that bullshit back. That was it, it was not the night to make me feel like dirt, I snapped. I talked back, I would have got grounded, but I quit instead. I walked out with my head high.... until I got to my car.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I think sometimes that's just the way it goes, and you have to look at yourself in the mirror and say, this was the right thing to do. I couldn't work for someone like him for one more day, one more hour, or minute, I did what I needed to do. It's been making me miserable for months. No amount of money is worth that, especially considering I wasn't making much money anyway. Where does that leave me? With no money, one job that never schedules me, it leaves me completely FUCKED. But at least I have my pride. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I basically spent the next two days a mess curled up in Mike's bed, the only place I didn't feel like everything was falling down on me. The only person that didn't make me want to scream, that didn't want to talk about it, or talk about drama, that didn't need to say anything to make everything fine. That's why I like him. I haven't spoken to him much or seen him around the last few days and it's really got me down. He's crammed with papers and tests, all leading up to finals. If I have learned anything in this never ending pseudo-relationship, it's to leave him alone during finals. I'm enough of a distraction when I'm in his bed at 8am and he is supposed to be leaving for class and he chooses not to. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Onward, this week has been miserable, and now it's the weekend. Besides spending my Thursday night drinking wine in a Hilton hot tub with Madison. That was great, see picture below. Tonight was supposed to be good, but the snow kept me in.. I'm hoping for a late start. I'll make the most of my Saturday night.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/STpfoAH9DjI/AAAAAAAAACg/FOISxd05K5g/s320/IMG00108.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276635054250724914" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;click2&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:large;"&gt;DOWNLOAD- This Providence&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;try: &lt;a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?yrfqzghbjwn"&gt;Card House Dreamer- from Self Titled&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?yrfqzghbjwn"&gt;A Wolf In Sheep's Clothing- from Self Titled&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;or &lt;a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?m22gimjizyr"&gt;Sand in Your Shoes (acoustic)- from The Bright Lights EP&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(85, 26, 139); "&gt;&lt;img src="http://i84.photobucket.com/albums/k10/CityInTheClouds/Post%20Images/thisprovidence.jpg" border="0" alt="" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 428px; height: 285px; " /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1888525076070630504-3071519514952684937?l=madyandthecity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/feeds/3071519514952684937/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1888525076070630504&amp;postID=3071519514952684937' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/3071519514952684937'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/3071519514952684937'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/2008/12/cheap-shots-low-blows.html' title='Cheap Shots, Low Blows.'/><author><name>ThePress</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08050655373953266602</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SbUQwN_TAOI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0QYh0Db_vSg/S220/MyPicture.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/STpfoAH9DjI/AAAAAAAAACg/FOISxd05K5g/s72-c/IMG00108.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1888525076070630504.post-850524716758270672</id><published>2008-11-29T23:41:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-06T00:30:09.914-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Alex Uhrich Comes Back To Mpls</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SToUqFp3OLI/AAAAAAAAACI/Z59rUfWmS4Y/s1600-h/alexu.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SToUqFp3OLI/AAAAAAAAACI/Z59rUfWmS4Y/s320/alexu.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276552626722781362" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Black Friday. Started work at Urban in Uptown at the insane hour of 7am, to then be followed by taking the whiney little sister shopping. Turned out great that I did that for her, karma. Almost falling asleep driving her home, she decided she'd be generous enough to give me an adderal... which would be a lifesaver followed by a ruthless crash. &lt;div&gt;Around 10 when no one except Marriah was at my house, I started to fret a bit and the adderal was making me all things crazy. Of course people did show up, a lot of people showed up. Luckily we only had to kick one person out. It was a psycho ex-girlfriend whom thought she would be tricky and key her ex's car, not on my time sweetheart. Get the fuck out.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Around 230, after most of you had gotten your drunk asses home some how, after chairs had been broken, the porch had been puked on, and most people had made their decisions as to who they would be hooking up with... that's when the cops came. Madison and Margot pulled me in the bathroom, we turned off all the lights in the whole house and everyone hid. I don't know who fucking opened the front door and let them in, there is always some idiot who gets too scared. Anyway, as soon as we heard them come in Madison opened the bathroom window and jumped, Margot grabbed me, and I was jumping too. We jumped the fence and made a run for it a few blocks. I phoned Mike and he said he would come get us. Luckily the cops left after about 15 minutes so we made it back to the house, but that was quite the fucking adventure. Looks like no parties past 2am from now on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SToUXQsEyfI/AAAAAAAAACA/cDh4362PARM/s1600-h/l_ca6a0419d08747278e5934132cb809f7.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SToUXQsEyfI/AAAAAAAAACA/cDh4362PARM/s320/l_ca6a0419d08747278e5934132cb809f7.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276552303267334642" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; "&gt;The Happenings: (photos courtesy of alex)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SToUXUNtbRI/AAAAAAAAAB4/SUsK5Bqaxuc/s1600-h/l_474b7a120b994f769677a46e9e8b2672.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SToUXUNtbRI/AAAAAAAAAB4/SUsK5Bqaxuc/s320/l_474b7a120b994f769677a46e9e8b2672.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276552304213716242" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Madison, Margot, and... I think the rest of the females at the party took a liking to "the new kid" Derek. Moved here from Chicago a few months ago.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SToUXFLsUFI/AAAAAAAAABw/g_-p0JF_MQw/s1600-h/l_dee762bfc2b345d788fe9ee9df00bc2a.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SToUXFLsUFI/AAAAAAAAABw/g_-p0JF_MQw/s320/l_dee762bfc2b345d788fe9ee9df00bc2a.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276552300178722898" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Ahbdi made an appearance.. he does that sometimes, and then I never know what happens to hi after that or where he goes, that kid is the biggest fucking mystery.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SToUXD4mQRI/AAAAAAAAABo/YKStalnpYyc/s1600-h/l_be27b412dd3d466492ee71937819877c.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SToUXD4mQRI/AAAAAAAAABo/YKStalnpYyc/s320/l_be27b412dd3d466492ee71937819877c.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276552299830198546" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Rumor has it Andrew Poitras has  a new girlfriend. She's cool, don't fuck it up Dandy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SToUW2KbHmI/AAAAAAAAABg/4liFstm6WPs/s1600-h/l_6f745e2509474f02a57b563c5e21e1f5.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SToUW2KbHmI/AAAAAAAAABg/4liFstm6WPs/s320/l_6f745e2509474f02a57b563c5e21e1f5.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276552296146869858" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Mike did manage to show his face, a little bit.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SToT7JsgffI/AAAAAAAAABY/Ws4SGt-rcTA/s1600-h/l_590f5b9155d642dd99db8620259ac918.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SToT7JsgffI/AAAAAAAAABY/Ws4SGt-rcTA/s320/l_590f5b9155d642dd99db8620259ac918.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276551820353764850" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SToT67hbjzI/AAAAAAAAABQ/mZjtPta_lus/s1600-h/l_0b2d6b14184048c28e142aca0e8583ac.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SToT67hbjzI/AAAAAAAAABQ/mZjtPta_lus/s320/l_0b2d6b14184048c28e142aca0e8583ac.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276551816549207858" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Marriah's crazy friend Megan managed to again get past the point of ridiculous. I recall pouring her drink in the sink, but hey I think I like her for that&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SToT63UK0RI/AAAAAAAAABI/xLODa09X6WI/s1600-h/l_b82d19b907df403f910cf96833dadc6c.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SToT63UK0RI/AAAAAAAAABI/xLODa09X6WI/s320/l_b82d19b907df403f910cf96833dadc6c.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276551815419842834" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SToT6h9y6GI/AAAAAAAAABA/EmAXBmvys5o/s1600-h/l_3e7d7d5b432a4e0aa396a14c1b8fb1cb.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SToT6h9y6GI/AAAAAAAAABA/EmAXBmvys5o/s320/l_3e7d7d5b432a4e0aa396a14c1b8fb1cb.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276551809688856674" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SToTRHumqUI/AAAAAAAAAAw/lTfiXBpSWVU/s1600-h/l_f60bed12037e453abd953a9fd834f4dd.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SToTRHumqUI/AAAAAAAAAAw/lTfiXBpSWVU/s320/l_f60bed12037e453abd953a9fd834f4dd.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276551098271181122" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Jayme is back in Minneapolis. Thank God. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Enjoy these Christmas Tunes&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mediafire.com/?ynw4uikk5yn"&gt;DOWNLOAD- The Maine- Happy New Year EP&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SToaXOmBwtI/AAAAAAAAACQ/FuPq35-Z7j8/s320/2q2lngh.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276558899774866130" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 177px; " /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1888525076070630504-850524716758270672?l=madyandthecity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/feeds/850524716758270672/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1888525076070630504&amp;postID=850524716758270672' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/850524716758270672'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1888525076070630504/posts/default/850524716758270672'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madyandthecity.blogspot.com/2008/12/alex-uhrich-comes-back-to-mpls.html' title='Alex Uhrich Comes Back To Mpls'/><author><name>ThePress</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08050655373953266602</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SbUQwN_TAOI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0QYh0Db_vSg/S220/MyPicture.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RIC96bu04Ho/SToUqFp3OLI/AAAAAAAAACI/Z59rUfWmS4Y/s72-c/alexu.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
