<?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-5280324327735212011</id><updated>2011-07-08T19:39:57.490+10:00</updated><title type='text'>Featuring Some Of Your Favourite Words</title><subtitle type='html'>♡♡ Addict for Dramatics ♡♡</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awkward-last-words.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5280324327735212011/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awkward-last-words.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>songsforthesadman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06183915923293052698</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_V3LHQ_tvEbE/S5xsram5LLI/AAAAAAAAADA/lR14AqvaCx0/S220/2609_56016793116_578373116_1417408_3637968_n.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>11</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5280324327735212011.post-6326845556651492531</id><published>2009-12-04T01:03:00.003+11:00</published><updated>2009-12-04T01:18:03.910+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Late night</title><content type='html'>So, even though it's after midnight, I figure this post still counts, as I am yet to go to sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My headache hasn't gone away. Three days I've had it now, or is it four? I can't even remember.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kim visited me today, which was nice. I don't see her much now, which is sad, because she makes me laugh so much. I always have so much fun when I'm with her. Speaking of fun people, I'm hoping to go visit Renee next weekend. I really want to because things are so easy with her. I can be myself and not feel like the total &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;spaz&lt;/span&gt; I am. Actually, she makes me more of a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;spaz&lt;/span&gt;. Most of my favourite photos are with her. I really want to see her but it's just &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;so&lt;/span&gt; much effort getting to Sydney. Why does it have to be so far away? Why don't I have my licence or a car? Besides, I am so sick. Stupid weather, gave me a stupid cold. And then there's this  bloody headache. And the stabbing pain I keep getting in my stomach. I don't want to go and then be a misery guts all weekend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mick got fired today. I expected it to have all been blown out of proportion and for him to have his job back by the end of the day. I was wrong. Well, he had found a new job by the end of the day so I'm taking that as a partial win for me. I'm still half expecting to hear that his old boss wants him back. After Mick got the shits and quit the other day, and his boss &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;apparently&lt;/span&gt; begged him not to, it seems weird that he get fired today. I guess I wasn't there, so I don't really know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The biggest problem for me about this is that he doesn't have a car anymore, as the van he'd been driving belonged to work. Now who is meant to drive me places? More importantly, how are we meant to get into Canberra to see Tim &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Minchin&lt;/span&gt;?? I am going, I just think it would be weird all 5 of us going in with Kathryn's mum driving. A little too much like being 15 again. It's weird, I've had her drive me to several of these shows recently, but for some reason the thought of Mick being included in all this would just be weird. My friends are from two different worlds, and the thought of them being combined in a car together for all that time is just too much. But, t might be the only option.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wrote a proper entry today, but it's still boring as hell. I guess that's okay because no one is reading this. Why do I feel so guilty then?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5280324327735212011-6326845556651492531?l=awkward-last-words.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awkward-last-words.blogspot.com/feeds/6326845556651492531/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5280324327735212011&amp;postID=6326845556651492531' title='30 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5280324327735212011/posts/default/6326845556651492531'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5280324327735212011/posts/default/6326845556651492531'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awkward-last-words.blogspot.com/2009/12/late-night.html' title='Late night'/><author><name>songsforthesadman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06183915923293052698</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_V3LHQ_tvEbE/S5xsram5LLI/AAAAAAAAADA/lR14AqvaCx0/S220/2609_56016793116_578373116_1417408_3637968_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>30</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5280324327735212011.post-4417582323614285296</id><published>2009-12-02T23:48:00.001+11:00</published><updated>2009-12-02T23:50:03.688+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Headache</title><content type='html'>I have a splitting headache, a killer cold, and may vomit from eating too much frosting, but seeing as it is 10 minutes until midnight I have to write at least &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;something!&lt;/span&gt; Maybe tomorrow I'll manage to write a proper entry. :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5280324327735212011-4417582323614285296?l=awkward-last-words.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awkward-last-words.blogspot.com/feeds/4417582323614285296/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5280324327735212011&amp;postID=4417582323614285296' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5280324327735212011/posts/default/4417582323614285296'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5280324327735212011/posts/default/4417582323614285296'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awkward-last-words.blogspot.com/2009/12/headache.html' title='Headache'/><author><name>songsforthesadman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06183915923293052698</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_V3LHQ_tvEbE/S5xsram5LLI/AAAAAAAAADA/lR14AqvaCx0/S220/2609_56016793116_578373116_1417408_3637968_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5280324327735212011.post-2596066221120968035</id><published>2009-12-01T22:36:00.002+11:00</published><updated>2009-12-01T22:46:17.624+11:00</updated><title type='text'>100 posts in 100 days</title><content type='html'>So, I signed up for this thing, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;One hundred days to make me a better person.&lt;/span&gt; Basically, the idea of it is that you do one thing, once every day, for one hundred days. The thing I committed to was to write to my blog everyday. So, today, even though I have absolutely nothing to say I am writing something, because I would absolutely hate to fail this on the very first day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is the link to the website, if anyone is interested; http://www.hundreddays.net/&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5280324327735212011-2596066221120968035?l=awkward-last-words.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awkward-last-words.blogspot.com/feeds/2596066221120968035/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5280324327735212011&amp;postID=2596066221120968035' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5280324327735212011/posts/default/2596066221120968035'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5280324327735212011/posts/default/2596066221120968035'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awkward-last-words.blogspot.com/2009/12/100-posts-in-100-days.html' title='100 posts in 100 days'/><author><name>songsforthesadman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06183915923293052698</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_V3LHQ_tvEbE/S5xsram5LLI/AAAAAAAAADA/lR14AqvaCx0/S220/2609_56016793116_578373116_1417408_3637968_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5280324327735212011.post-5237632628173194142</id><published>2008-11-19T11:57:00.002+11:00</published><updated>2008-11-19T12:34:26.864+11:00</updated><title type='text'>wasting time</title><content type='html'>Wow. It's been a long time since I posted last. I guess that because not much has really happened. Finished school. I've got just under a month until I get the results. I aced the exams, no worries lol. I got moved to supervisor at work. 20 cents an hour more. Yay! It was hardly worth it. I haven't balanced once since I became supervisor. Horrible. Yeah so I don't really have anything to say.&lt;br /&gt;Boring, I know, but I have no life!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5280324327735212011-5237632628173194142?l=awkward-last-words.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awkward-last-words.blogspot.com/feeds/5237632628173194142/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5280324327735212011&amp;postID=5237632628173194142' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5280324327735212011/posts/default/5237632628173194142'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5280324327735212011/posts/default/5237632628173194142'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awkward-last-words.blogspot.com/2008/11/wasting-time.html' title='wasting time'/><author><name>songsforthesadman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06183915923293052698</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_V3LHQ_tvEbE/S5xsram5LLI/AAAAAAAAADA/lR14AqvaCx0/S220/2609_56016793116_578373116_1417408_3637968_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5280324327735212011.post-3933262635763729591</id><published>2008-07-24T20:29:00.004+10:00</published><updated>2008-07-24T20:53:14.961+10:00</updated><title type='text'>Basically (Clearly, Obviously)</title><content type='html'>Over the past few weeks, I managed to remove a few people from my life. It's amazing how good it feels. I finally realised that I don't need to be holding onto the past, and so I stopped. I gave up trying to be friends with people who just couldn't care. I moved on, and my life is so much better for it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's strange, by making the decision to stop caring about the past, I subconsciously stopped caring about the present. Everything has become so easy, and I no longer feel the need to impress people. I know I'm great, and so do the people I care about. And for the people who don't, it's their loss, not mine. I'm not friends with them because I don't want to be, not the other way around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I've had a really good few weeks. Everything has been going so well, I think.  It was my 18th two weeks ago, and I really couldn't have asked for a better time. Everyone I wanted to see, I saw. And I didn't have to pretend to like people I didn't. I just felt genuinely happy, which I hadn't done for a long time. Everyone who helped make my birthday special deserves the world. I only wish I could give it to you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am especially thankful to my girls, Cassie and Tracey, who put so much effort into getting me exactly what I want. A shit load of red bull and smarties, and a great time. Without you two it would have basically (clearly, obviously) been another wasted day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5280324327735212011-3933262635763729591?l=awkward-last-words.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awkward-last-words.blogspot.com/feeds/3933262635763729591/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5280324327735212011&amp;postID=3933262635763729591' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5280324327735212011/posts/default/3933262635763729591'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5280324327735212011/posts/default/3933262635763729591'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awkward-last-words.blogspot.com/2008/07/over-past-few-weeks-i-managed-to-remove.html' title='Basically (Clearly, Obviously)'/><author><name>songsforthesadman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06183915923293052698</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_V3LHQ_tvEbE/S5xsram5LLI/AAAAAAAAADA/lR14AqvaCx0/S220/2609_56016793116_578373116_1417408_3637968_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5280324327735212011.post-8389954191798746395</id><published>2008-05-07T21:45:00.006+10:00</published><updated>2008-05-07T22:42:40.452+10:00</updated><title type='text'>you need the exercise</title><content type='html'>Today was good. Today was great. Even with double English. Today was great. I'm hyped up on red bull, so thats probably why I think it was great, but either way, today was great. For the first time in a long time I loved being at work, again, probably thanks to the red bull. You gotta love red bull. Even that customer that implied I was fat didn't phase me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This old fella came up and asked where the mint sauce was. So being the kind, generous person that I am *cough* I went to show him where it was. When I got the area I noticed a woman standing in front of the shelf I was heading to, holding a bottle of the said mint sauce. The man who I was helping spoke to this woman, saying "oh, did you find it". She replied in the affirmative, causing him to turn to me to indicate he no longer required my assistance. Instead of saying something polite, such as "oh its ok we found it, but thanks anyway for your help", he chose to tell me "well, you needed the exercise". He the turns back to the mint sauce woman, and I turn and leave.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lol, "She replied in the affirmative". Red bull clearly makes me write like a smart arse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously, who says that to a complete stranger. Well, really, who says that to &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;anyone.&lt;/span&gt; However, tonight, instead of being infuriated at the stupidity and rudeness of this customer, I was highly amused. That has to be one of the funniest things a customer has said to me. Incredibly rude, but funny. Thank god for red bull. I swear, I would not be alive without that bloody drink.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Although really, why did he even need my help. He clearly hadn't looked for it at all. What was his thinking process? "hmm where could the mint sauce be? In the sauce isle? Nope, that would be logical, and we all know that these supermarkets love making it as hard us possible for us to buy their products. Well, I'm smarter than them, I'll do the unexpected. I'll go ask someone instead of getting off my lazy arse and looking for it myself." Really, if the old lady could find it, it clearly wasn't that well hidden. I must fix that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But yes, work was good. Krystle, if you're reading this, you're just about the maddest bitch I know. Gotta love ya. Yep Yep. Its hard to think of something to write about when I'm feeling so good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hmmm. Oh. On Saturday I went to Tyrel's farewell party... For all of you who don't know, he &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;was&lt;/span&gt; my boss. Isn't anymore, hence the farewell party. It was good, pity he didn't wait two months and a week and a bit.  So close, yet so far away. So yes, I was completely sober while nearly everyone else was off their faces. It got quite painful towards the end of the night. I couldn't handle Leanne screaming, both in general and at me. And the singing, my god, what is it about alcohol that makes people sing? I don't think I've ever been so drunk that I've sung like that. No, I don't think, I know. I am never that embarrassing. And I don't spit on people. Thats just rude, whether its intentional or not, lol.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But yeah, it was good. I swear though, I ran up and down the stairs to the toilet like fifty times, not for me though, mostly taking someone else. But I guess thats good, apparently I need the exercise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_V3LHQ_tvEbE/SCGgCrSE5yI/AAAAAAAAABU/KL9ov7QqM7Q/s1600-h/n544279551_835204_578.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_V3LHQ_tvEbE/SCGgCrSE5yI/AAAAAAAAABU/KL9ov7QqM7Q/s320/n544279551_835204_578.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197611412800988962" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Tyrel, at his party, looking uber creepy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Yeh, haven't really got much else to say. Today was good. Today was great. Thats because it is a Wednesday, and we all know Wednesdays are the best day ever. Pay day too. And thanks a lot to Krystle for FUCKING UP MY PAY SLIP!! No really. Thanks. Tomorrow will be crap. Tomorrow is a Thursdays, and Thursdays are hell. I swear. When you die, you will see, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;every&lt;/span&gt; day in hell is a Thursday. Thursdays are gay, and tomorrow is Thursday. I might just stay in bed the whole day and pretend it doesn't exist.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That might be nice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5280324327735212011-8389954191798746395?l=awkward-last-words.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awkward-last-words.blogspot.com/feeds/8389954191798746395/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5280324327735212011&amp;postID=8389954191798746395' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5280324327735212011/posts/default/8389954191798746395'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5280324327735212011/posts/default/8389954191798746395'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awkward-last-words.blogspot.com/2008/05/today-was-good.html' title='you need the exercise'/><author><name>songsforthesadman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06183915923293052698</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_V3LHQ_tvEbE/S5xsram5LLI/AAAAAAAAADA/lR14AqvaCx0/S220/2609_56016793116_578373116_1417408_3637968_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_V3LHQ_tvEbE/SCGgCrSE5yI/AAAAAAAAABU/KL9ov7QqM7Q/s72-c/n544279551_835204_578.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5280324327735212011.post-1242156792422075750</id><published>2008-04-30T22:08:00.003+10:00</published><updated>2008-04-30T22:49:19.362+10:00</updated><title type='text'>i hate the dishwasher</title><content type='html'>Well. Yesterday I did say Mironov was a whore. And wasn't I right. It's her fault I did so badly in English. 21/45? WTF is that? Its a fail, thats what it is. "There is no such thing as a fail." Whatever, I don't care, its still gay. And it's all Mironov's fault. I don't mind though, I'm to happy to care. Today was okay, (even with double English, gah.) and tonight was better. Not one single dick head customer. Nice change. Well actually, I can't guarantee that they weren't dickheads, but they didn't do any dickhead-ish things to me anyway. So all is good. For now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tomorrow is Thursday. Thursdays are awful. I don't think they should even be allowed to be a day. Especially tomorrow. Tomorrow is the cross country. Of all the stupid things schools do, cross county has to be right up there with the things I hate most. Plus, it means I miss out on double business. Now, I don't particularly &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;mind&lt;/span&gt; missing double business, its just that I also have double English, which I would &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;much&lt;/span&gt; rather miss out on, for the obvious reason that Mironov is a whore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wednesdays are much better. They always have been. Firstly, I was born on a Wednesday night. It was also animal day on playschool. I can't guarantee that it still is, but I hope so. I only know that in the days that my sister-in-law worked on playschool, Wednesday was always animal day, which is the coolest of all the playschool theme days. Between then and now there were many other great happenings on Wednesdays, right up until this very Wednesday, which was pay day. Doesn't get much better than that. Free money. Free other than having to put up with retards with their credit cards, but I'm not even going to go there tonight. Oh, and Chris, as you can see I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;did&lt;/span&gt; end up writing about Wednesdays. Sorry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hmm, I hate my dishwasher. I&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; hate&lt;/span&gt; it. Well, it's not mine, but is currently in the kitchen of the house to which I pay the mortgage, so I think I have fair claim over the dishwasher. Whoever the dishwasher belongs to is irrelevant, I still hate it. Why do I hate it? Well besides the fact that it nearly takes  half a day just to do a load, and that it is so noisy that I can hear it all the way in my room over my music... It does this weird thing to all my glasses. It makes them feel really weird. It is hard to explain, but it gives me the sort of feeling you get when someone scratches their nails on a chalk board. I also get this feeling from touching the paint on cars. Particularly older cars. It seems I am the only one who gets this, though. Both from the cars, and the glasses. I have to rub the glasses until they feel better, but this only helps for a few seconds, then the icky feeling comes back. I have to rinse them out before I use them, which defeats the purpose of having a dishwasher. The dishwasher&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; must &lt;/span&gt;go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have to say, the greatest thing about today was the temperature. It was pretty cold, I'm sure you will all agree, but not too cold. It was just the right temperature so that the red bull I had in my school bag felt like I had just pulled it out of the fridge. Any day that can keep my red bull cold is a good day. Plus, it's Wednesday.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5280324327735212011-1242156792422075750?l=awkward-last-words.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awkward-last-words.blogspot.com/feeds/1242156792422075750/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5280324327735212011&amp;postID=1242156792422075750' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5280324327735212011/posts/default/1242156792422075750'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5280324327735212011/posts/default/1242156792422075750'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awkward-last-words.blogspot.com/2008/04/well.html' title='i hate the dishwasher'/><author><name>songsforthesadman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06183915923293052698</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_V3LHQ_tvEbE/S5xsram5LLI/AAAAAAAAADA/lR14AqvaCx0/S220/2609_56016793116_578373116_1417408_3637968_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5280324327735212011.post-648260721424038540</id><published>2008-04-29T20:19:00.003+10:00</published><updated>2008-04-30T22:49:46.361+10:00</updated><title type='text'>mironov's a whore</title><content type='html'>Today I'm in a slightly happier mood. Today I proved that I just may be the smartest person I know. (Whats that? 90% wow. Is that another 90%? Why yes it is. Oh look at that! Could that be a &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;third&lt;/span&gt; 90%. Yes, yes it could, and in fact, it&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; is.)&lt;/span&gt; Yes, I realise I am being completely arrogant, but I have had 5 red bulls today. I'm on top of the world, and I am going to be as proud (and arrogant) as I damn well want.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today was the first day of school for the term. Not good. Although I do love how everyone seems to be so much happier on the first day, we all get along nicely. Give it a few weeks and we will all go back to bitching about each other the second one of us leaves the room. Back to what I'm good at.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought Mironov was going to bite someones head of when she realised not one of us had read that godforsaken book. Serves her right for being a whore.  Speaking of whores, I thought she was going to have a total spaz attack when she heard me calling Lisa a cheating whore. (&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"Juniors use this area too!!")&lt;/span&gt;. Seriously, how can you be that fucking clueless.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My life is so boring right now, I don't even have anything to talk about. I need to do something... but what? Meh. I'd probably find some excuse not to do it anyway.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5280324327735212011-648260721424038540?l=awkward-last-words.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awkward-last-words.blogspot.com/feeds/648260721424038540/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5280324327735212011&amp;postID=648260721424038540' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5280324327735212011/posts/default/648260721424038540'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5280324327735212011/posts/default/648260721424038540'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awkward-last-words.blogspot.com/2008/04/today-im-in-slightly-happier-mood.html' title='mironov&apos;s a whore'/><author><name>songsforthesadman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06183915923293052698</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_V3LHQ_tvEbE/S5xsram5LLI/AAAAAAAAADA/lR14AqvaCx0/S220/2609_56016793116_578373116_1417408_3637968_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5280324327735212011.post-7963661419639972580</id><published>2008-04-28T02:02:00.002+10:00</published><updated>2008-04-28T02:08:55.454+10:00</updated><title type='text'>why don't people just mind their own business?</title><content type='html'>Why do people feel the need to be all up in each others shit? Really, if it doesn't affect you then why do you care? If someone does something that you think is wrong then thats their problem, not yours. Sure, if they are hurting someone feel free to jump in and be a hero, but if they aren't, then just mind your own business.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Against gay marriage? Don't get one. Against abortion? Keep the damn child. Against marriage before sex? Don't get laid until your thirty. But fuck off and stop telling other people how to run their lives. They don't tell you what to do, so butt the fuck out of their business.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5280324327735212011-7963661419639972580?l=awkward-last-words.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awkward-last-words.blogspot.com/feeds/7963661419639972580/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5280324327735212011&amp;postID=7963661419639972580' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5280324327735212011/posts/default/7963661419639972580'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5280324327735212011/posts/default/7963661419639972580'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awkward-last-words.blogspot.com/2008/04/why-dont-people-just-mind-their-own.html' title='why don&apos;t people just mind their own business?'/><author><name>songsforthesadman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06183915923293052698</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_V3LHQ_tvEbE/S5xsram5LLI/AAAAAAAAADA/lR14AqvaCx0/S220/2609_56016793116_578373116_1417408_3637968_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5280324327735212011.post-1884581376950665385</id><published>2008-04-27T15:36:00.003+10:00</published><updated>2008-04-27T16:14:06.032+10:00</updated><title type='text'>you're never going to be funny, so just stop trying</title><content type='html'>Why do people think they are funny? They so rarely are. But don't try telling them this, oh no! They will just come back with some lame insult ie "your mums not funny". Your mum jokes died long ago, give them up, especially if you can't think of something good to say.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Obviously there are exceptions. If you make me laugh then consider yourself an exception. However, the rest of you suck. If I tell you you're not funny, then believe me. Trying to prove me wrong just makes you look &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;pathetic&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are some thing that you don't joke about. Firstly, they aren't funny. Secondly, I'm going to take you seriously, because why on earth would someone joke about that? Like I said earlier, you aren't funny, so stop thinking you are. Joking about stuff like that makes you look like a prick, not a comedian, so grow up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh and another thing. If I don't like you, then don't come near me. I may sound like a bitch, but really, its easier for everyone if you just stay the fuck away. I am not going to be nice to you, and you won't like it when I tell you that you're a smelly fat fuck. So to save yourself from the truth just fuck off and leave me alone. That way we will all be happy. Oh, and if you &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;must&lt;/span&gt; come near me, &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;don't&lt;/span&gt; do it when I'm at work. I&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;have&lt;/span&gt; to be nice to you there, and it is not fair to attack me while I'm down like that. I will be polite at the time, because I have no choice, but I'll remember it the next time you piss me off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sorry, I just need to bitch again today. I'm in a lot of pain, with a pulled muscle in my shoulder, and a sore elbow, so I have a really short temper today and everything is pissing me off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wait. Why am I apologising? It's my blog, I can bitch all I want.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5280324327735212011-1884581376950665385?l=awkward-last-words.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awkward-last-words.blogspot.com/feeds/1884581376950665385/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5280324327735212011&amp;postID=1884581376950665385' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5280324327735212011/posts/default/1884581376950665385'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5280324327735212011/posts/default/1884581376950665385'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awkward-last-words.blogspot.com/2008/04/youre-never-going-to-be-funny-so-just.html' title='you&apos;re never going to be funny, so just stop trying'/><author><name>songsforthesadman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06183915923293052698</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_V3LHQ_tvEbE/S5xsram5LLI/AAAAAAAAADA/lR14AqvaCx0/S220/2609_56016793116_578373116_1417408_3637968_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5280324327735212011.post-464598280067620227</id><published>2008-04-25T22:53:00.001+10:00</published><updated>2008-04-27T16:15:48.795+10:00</updated><title type='text'>stop being so selfish you stinky prick!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Whose stupid idea was it to let idiots do there own shopping? Let them starve to death, I say. But seriously;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div  style="text-align: justify;font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;FUCK ME!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;People in this town are truly retarded.  Why makes them think I give a fuck about them? More importantly; why do they think they are funny? THEY NEVER ARE!!! If I have to listen to any more of their stupid jokes I think I will go insane.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;And really, telling me that you don't have a fucking loyalty card because you "aren't very loyal" wasn't funny the first time I heard it, and after hearing it a million times, I can tell you that it doesn't improve with age. It just makes me think "thank god you aren't loyal. We don't want retards like you shopping in our store".&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"  style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;GAH&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;! $10.55 is NOT ENOUGH to make me want to be nice to people, but honestly, no amount of money would make it any easier to be nice to the spastics in this town. OH! And if you are in a hurry, DON'T COME IN WITH A TROLLEY FULL OF MARKDOWNS! Those cunt-of-a-things take a freaking eternity to put through, and if you aren't happy to wait then don't be so fucking stingy and pay the full price. And take a shower. I'm sure you would be disgusted if you realised how badly you stink. Not only is it not fair to me, as I have to stand there holding my breath, trying not to gag, its also not fair to everyone else who comes into the shop, your stench hangs around for hours.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;If you knock something over then fucking pick it up. Don't knock over a whole display of lip gloss and then walk into the next isle. You CAN pick it up, so why DON'T you? I don't get paid to pick up after you lazy shits, I'm not a fucking maid. I have better things to do with my time, like serve you selfish pricks.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"  style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;URRGH&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;, as you can tell, I had a shit day at work. Every moron in town decided today would be a good day to come and piss me off. Not to mention I felt like I was going to puke. By the end of the night I thought I was going to cry. And the second I got home that's what I did, once I realised I was out of red bull. Sorry to everyone I was working with, I'm sure you were all sick of me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;This town is full of retards. I can probably count the people who don't drive me insane on one hand. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"  style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Hmmm&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;, let me see, I can think of... 3? wait. 4.  four people that I know in this town who I ACTUALLY like, and I'm not just being polite to. Thank god for those four.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I'm not saying that I'm perfect, I'm sure plenty of people hate me too, but really, I don't care. I stopped caring long ago. I have to put up will bullshit coming at me from all angles, and what you think about me isn't really something &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"  style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;that's&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt; right up there on my list of priorities. That said, just because you don't like me doesn't mean you have to go out of your way to piss me off. Hell, if you don't even know me then that's even worse, you have no fucking excuse.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Sorry, I just really need to rant tonight.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5280324327735212011-464598280067620227?l=awkward-last-words.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awkward-last-words.blogspot.com/feeds/464598280067620227/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5280324327735212011&amp;postID=464598280067620227' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5280324327735212011/posts/default/464598280067620227'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5280324327735212011/posts/default/464598280067620227'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awkward-last-words.blogspot.com/2008/04/stop-being-so-selfish-you-stink-prick_25.html' title='stop being so selfish you stinky prick!!'/><author><name>songsforthesadman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06183915923293052698</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_V3LHQ_tvEbE/S5xsram5LLI/AAAAAAAAADA/lR14AqvaCx0/S220/2609_56016793116_578373116_1417408_3637968_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
