tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69414605581453226792024-03-05T03:04:53.634-08:00Belle of the BullshitMarissa Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315925723239879512noreply@blogger.comBlogger68125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941460558145322679.post-56961888358220428612012-09-27T04:38:00.000-07:002012-09-27T04:38:17.408-07:00begging, begging pleaseI've had this song stuck in my head for days now. Maybe that's why I'm crying so much. In any case, here's a beautiful recording of it.<br />
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<br />Marissa Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315925723239879512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941460558145322679.post-61706348712797403092012-08-24T16:00:00.000-07:002012-08-24T16:00:09.891-07:00these dreams under my pillow<br />
<br />
"It was so beautiful. Words just can't describe or explain.. You were curled up in my lap with your head against my chest. I was holding you like this, with my arms wrapped around you, and it was so comfortable and perfect.. I would sleep sitting up on this couch right here just to have you in my arms like that every single night. I looked down while you slept, and you looked so peaceful - you have the face of an angel - and I thought, 'Wow, this is it - this is what it's all about. This is happiness in its truest and purest form. This, THIS moment, this is what it feels like to be happy.' It was just so beautiful, Marissa. I wish I could explain it. Nothing can compare."<br />
<br />
<br />
I found joy again. It's the best feeling in the whole world, even if it can't be forever.Marissa Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315925723239879512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941460558145322679.post-33801451023692866002012-07-22T15:22:00.004-07:002012-07-22T15:23:24.953-07:00Stupid.Stupid girl,<br />
traditional broken heart,<br />
LOST LOVE.<br />
Your stupidity stumps me.<br />
Utilizing your stupid, sly tactics,<br />
You stupefied this stupid fucking soul.<br />
<br />
Myself, so stupid.<br />
Starting to summarize my stupid existence,<br />
into a stupid surreal setting,<br />
sleeping sound, <span style="font-size: large;"><b>Dreaming Sweetly</b>,</span><br />
on some stupid silent island.<br />
<br />
Our stupid crooked hearts,<br />
beating smooth echoes across our stupid secret sanctuary,<br />
staying satisfied with I, this stupid stump of matter.<br />
<b>You laying on my stupid chest,</b><br />
<b> Stupid arms surrounding this body:</b><br />
<b> <i>Your Being.</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b><br />
In stupid paradise,<br />
late in some stupid hour,<br />
just staring, stupid,<br />
rooted,<br />
watching you exhale.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>"Stupid is as stupid does."</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i> </i>"Stupid will always be as stupid was."<br />
<br />
<br />
Senseless stupid fantasy,<br />
stupid stained stone throne,<br />
<b>supporting your stupid flesh,</b><br />
<b>saying your stupid story,</b><br />
stupid ears, listening.<br />
Saying stupid goodbyes,<br />
Starting stupid plans<br />
about staying <i>side-by-side</i>,<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Us both forgetting about your stupid</span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">HOPE</span>.</b><br />
Stumbling inside stupid stupor,<br />
STUPID, STUCK.<br />
<br />
Stupid images of stupid Eden,<br />
in my head.<br />
Stupid self-righteous walls and ceilings,<br />
submerged in stupid sticky blood.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>YOUR STUPID FACE</b>,</span><br />
stuck in space,<br />
that <b><span style="font-size: large;">STUPID FACE</span></b> orbiting my stupid mind.<br />
Sitting stupidly still synchronizing two destinies.<br />
<br />
Seven stupid years into your stupid fucking marriage,<br />
<b>sex with some stupid someone</b><br />
<b>Saying 1-4-3,</b><br />
<b> to someone you don't hardly know.</b><br />
Stupid me,<br />
<i>stupid suicide.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
So stupid,<br />
stupidly seeing you slip,<br />
through my stupid fingers.<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">SUCH STUPID LOVE CANNOT EXIST FOR STUPID ME.</span></b><br />
Stupid words stupidly said.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
This was written for/about me in 2008 while I was at Warren Wilson and I was getting quite ill... physically and in the head. I am the stupid girl. The seven years into marriage line is really the only bit that doesn't make sense to me still. He's a good writer, it's sad he was so mean to me. He wrote some beautifully sweet things about me, too, so I can't pretend this is all I ever heard/read. I just found it in my room and thought I'd share.Marissa Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315925723239879512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941460558145322679.post-38932470755355030172012-05-28T08:32:00.003-07:002012-05-28T08:32:29.417-07:00there ain't no cure for the summertime blues<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Happy birthday, big sister. I hope you're happy and healthy now like you were on this birthday.<br />I miss you so much.<br />And, of course, I always love you.<br /><3</div>
<br />Marissa Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315925723239879512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941460558145322679.post-28302783136593932622012-04-20T20:27:00.003-07:002012-04-20T20:42:55.637-07:00This new layout blows cockI'm so tired. Physically, mentally. I would say emotionally but I'm pretty sure I'm all out of those. Or they're just stuffed down low because whenever I need to or want to or try to express them, someone's telling me, "shhh," and "you need to calm down," and "it's not a big deal, there's no reason to freak out, Marissa."<br />
I was calm until you started telling me to be quiet. And yeah, there IS reason to freak out when you won't let me finish my fucking sentence.<br />
<br />
All I was trying to say was that I don't like people reminding me of how sick my sister was.<br />
All I was trying to say is that I've been having bad dreams and I'm tired and it makes me that much more frustrated with my school work.<br />
All I was trying to do was verbalize how fucking disgusting and fat and ugly I feel lately so that I don't keep internalizing it and dwelling on it and continue letting it pull me down.<br />
<br />
Cutting me off and telling me to calm down when I'm expressing my thoughts in relation to my sister is probably the dumbest thing you can do. Yes, I raise my voice so that I can finish what I'm saying over your shushing. How dare you? How FUCKING dare you, especially when I've said at least 10 times in the last week that I'm going through a tough time with her absence right now? You probably weren't listening, or you just don't think it's that big of a deal...?<br />
Telling me to "oh, just shut up straight A student" when I'm stressed out doesn't make anything better. It just makes me want to punch you in the fucking nose.<br />
Rolling your eyes at me when I'm trying to tell you things that I don't tell almost anyone any more, like how horrible my body image has been for about a month (well, particularly bad for about a month. it's been generally bad for.... about a year now) and how frustrating it is to have my day-to-day life dictated by how I think my body looks... yeah fuck you for that. Rolling of the eyes, the sigh, and the, "You're NAWWWWTTTT FAT!" is a sure fire way to push me away. Telling me to calm down when I yell back, "I know I'm not! You think I don't know that? I'm not saying I AM FAT, I'm saying I SEE SOMETHING DIFFERENT THAN YOU DO and I FEEL disgusting and IT'S IN MY HEAD" (of course I never get that far in that statement due to the, "okay, okay, I know, I know, calm down) doesn't make me any less anxious or ready to get out of sweat pants and pull the blanket back off my head.<br />
Shushing me and wrapping your arms around me, literally restraining me,
when I start to cry because I'm so upset (and you're the one who pushed
that over the edge to tears) will make me want to scream. If you don't
fucking let me speak AND you don't let me go, I will scream. <br />
Getting annoyed when I cry... Jeez, I'm sorry I inconvenience you so. I just have no other way to let out the SHIT festering inside of me since <b>no.one.will.just.fucking.listen.to.me.</b><br />
And people wonder how I managed to give myself an ulcer. <br />
<br />
Oh! Oh! And my favorite part is when I specifically say, "I cannot talk right now I have a lot of work to do," and you think that means that you can keep chewing my ear off and blowing my fucking phone/skype/facebook up. QUIT IT. Then maybe I won't bitch so much about how overwhelmed I am with school because I'll get something done for once.<br />
<br />
<br />
I have so much studying to do and I'm getting up in less than six hours.<br />
Fuck. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
FOR THE RECORD, the "you" being addressed in this entry is a bunch of different people depending on the circumstance. Some of them apply to multiple "you"s. Just sayin, don't think too hard on who I'm yelling at via blogger because I can't yell at them in person :)<br />
<br />
ALSO FOR THE RECORD, when I say that no one will fucking listen to me, I mean no one will really hear me. I know people listen, I never shut the fuck up. Truly <i>hearing</i> me, though.. different thing entirely.Marissa Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315925723239879512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941460558145322679.post-20583840105394168932012-04-20T03:44:00.000-07:002012-04-20T03:44:48.134-07:00Mah BoyzIn honor of Levon Helm, may he rest in peace, the kiddos from Cry Fire played The Weight at their show last night at Club Cafe. Though Nathaniel's face is constantly blocked out, you get his pretty voice. I was right by a speaker, so I apologize for the shit sound quality - usually my iPod videos are great for sound. But I thought this was cute anyway :)<br />
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PS- moma, THIS is the song I was trying to remember the name of that Zach always karaokes and changes "Fanny" to "Leslie." haha adorableMarissa Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315925723239879512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941460558145322679.post-41926123472726590622012-04-17T10:08:00.000-07:002012-04-17T10:08:41.122-07:00some days are better, and then some nights are worseToday would have been 3 years.<br />
My lower abdomen is causing me excruciating pain right now.<br />
I haven't been able to stop crying since I got up.<br />
All of these statements are completely unrelated.<br />
I hate today.<br />
<br />
I would vomit up my life if I could.Marissa Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315925723239879512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941460558145322679.post-76562986197880883712012-04-14T13:34:00.000-07:002012-04-14T13:34:43.773-07:00Fall of '82<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I do relate to you<i> in so many ways</i>,</div><div style="text-align: center;">but<i> I didn't go through what you must have</i> in those early days.</div><div style="text-align: center;">You had to be strong at such a very young age.</div><div style="text-align: center;"> A new life on lemonade. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">So, won't you listen to me now?</div><div style="text-align: center;">There's <u>something</u> <u>I</u> <u>never</u> <u>told</u> <u>you</u>,</div><div style="text-align: center;">and I'm about to try.</div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;"> <span style="font-size: small;"><b>See, <i>you were my lifeline</i> when the world was exploding. </b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">You moved back in with us in the [summer of '08].</div><div style="text-align: center;">I fell into <span style="background-color: #999999;">dark</span> times, and <i><u><b>you</b></u> <u><b>were</b></u></i><i> <u><b>there</b></u> to help me through</i>.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">You told me that a downturn would eventually improve</span>,</div><div style="text-align: center;"> <strike>and you were right</strike>, so I'm thanking you.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">So, won't you listen to me now?</div><div style="text-align: center;">There's <u>something</u> <u>I</u> <u>never</u> <u>told</u> <u>you</u>,</div><div style="text-align: center;">and I'm about to try.</div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>See, <i>you were my lifeline</i> when the world was exploding,</b></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b> footholds eroding.</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Had you never been my friend,</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I wouldn't be quite what you see;</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> <i><b>I wouldn't be the [wo]man I am.</b></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><u>Sister</u></span>, <u>you</u>'<u>ve</u> <u>known</u> <u>me</u></span></b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">lost in a strange world.</span></b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">What has it shown me?</span></i></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">What has it gone through?</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><u>Sister</u></span>, <u>you</u>'<u>ve</u> <u>known</u> <u>me</u>.</span></b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Been <b>lost</b> in a <i>strange </i>world,</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">but <b><u>has</u> <u>it</u> <u>shown</u> <u>me</u></b>?</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"> <i>What has it gone through?</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">October chill in <i>that old dusty town</i>.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Halloween came,<b> <u>I</u> <u>was</u> <u>still</u> <u>feeling</u> <u>down</u></b>.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Mama, <b>lost my sweet tooth</b>, <i>what's the point</i> in going 'round?</div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Your [girl] is losing count</i>,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-size: xx-small;">maybe try the lost and found.</span></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i1112.photobucket.com/albums/k492/skinnyburgher/Snapbucket/3d1f5b3e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="306" src="http://i1112.photobucket.com/albums/k492/skinnyburgher/Snapbucket/3d1f5b3e.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Marissa Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315925723239879512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941460558145322679.post-92123443940526196742012-03-08T08:23:00.000-08:002012-03-08T08:23:22.250-08:00Sad Day For Austinites<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://whitehotphotoblog.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/06/DSC9270.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://whitehotphotoblog.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/06/DSC9270.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Rest in Peace, Leslie.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Austin is a hell of a lot less weird without you in it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Marissa Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315925723239879512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941460558145322679.post-7294467491543366142012-02-27T16:17:00.000-08:002012-02-27T16:17:54.450-08:00Does it break my heart, of course, every minute of every day"It's so hard to forget pain, but it's even harder to remember sweetness. We have no scar to show for happiness. We learn so little from peace."<br />
<br />
It just occurred to me that my moma is in Texas during NEDAwareness week. And it fucking breaks my heart. I wish I could be with you, moma. I wish you didn't have to be in that awful place. But more so, I wish I could be with you.<br />
<br />
I think I'm going to nix the article I was supposed to write for the Communique this week and let K. Copes write it instead. I'm going to write an ED piece. A NEDAwareness Week piece. It would've been better if I'd written it last week so it'd come out in this week's paper, but I don't give a fuck.<br />
I messed up and didn't write the ED Awareness/Prevention event article because I missed the damn event, and I will not let this slide.<br />
Facebook is not sufficient for spreading awareness. Not for me - not FROM me.<br />
I'm pretty sure that at this point, everyone (except Katie H. and Becca D.) just glosses over my constant sharing and resharing of ED Awareness or body dysmorphic awareness/prevention articles and links on facebook anyway. I've become THAT girl whose "news" links you just ignore with a slight eye roll.<br />
Well, fuck facebook. I should be doing more.<br />
I, of all people, should be doing more.<br />
I, of all students on this campus, should be shouting from the fucking rooftops (a surprisingly easy task, if I wanted to literally do it).<br />
I have to.<br />
I feel like I've been so lazy, so dormant, so uninvolved in advocacy and fighting in the honor of my sister and my friends and my family and myself.. I actually feel really guilty about this.<br />
Fuck.<br />
<br />
I wish I could be with you this week, moma.<br />
<br />
<br />
I have an article to write.Marissa Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315925723239879512noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941460558145322679.post-84957627861108250762012-02-07T14:49:00.000-08:002012-02-07T14:49:36.436-08:00the stars, they crowned us all misfitsI don't know why I felt compelled to write. I really have nothing to say. I've been staring at this open, blank "New Post" for a little while now, singing along to my iTunes waiting for it to inspire some train of thought to jump on. Nothing. So I guess I'll go with my most uncomfortable topic. Always a good idea, right?<br />
<br />
Something over the last two, two and a half weeks has changed me. I can't tell you what, not because I don't want to but because I really don't know. I can't tell you how or why, I just know that something has shaken me hard, rocked me all the way down to my core and back out again. I don't think it's a good change, either. I feel like I'm falling backwards. I always say I feel so alone, and I was saying that a lot last week when I thought I was losing my mind. That's not exactly how I feel I've come to realize. I don't feel separated or disconnected from others, I feel separated and disconnected from myself. It's an atrocious feeling. It makes me kind of want to vomit. It's also extremely tiring.<br />
<br />
That's as far as I feel like delving into it publicly. Plus, I've got class in an hour and I can't be all emotional and up in my head from unraveling all my neurosis right now.<br />
<br />
In other news, I still have no friends further than being facebook friends with people I've met and spent time around once or twice, and still there is no conversation going on. Ironically, the only person who has been able to make me feel even remotely human or normal since I've started to lose touch with reality is Dan, and we are solely cyber friends. Currently, the part of my day I enjoy the most is the hunt for the best picture I can get for an instagram February photo challenge that Dan got me into. I've been posting two pictures a day usually; if I find the perfect something for the day's theme too early, then I get sad because there's nothing left to look forward to. This is how pathetic my life is.<br />
But still, thank you, Dan, for making me feel like a real person on a daily basis, and even better - for making me smile. It's gotten to the point where there's no guarantee that even Jessica can get a smile out of me (though she usually does), and that's truly saying something.<br />
<br />
<br />
I'm either freezing my ass off or burning up and sweating constantly now. There has not been a comfortable in between, or just a plain old in between, for two weeks straight. I'm currently freezing my ass off, and the temperature's rapidly dropping outside. Time for more layers and class.<br />
<br />
I hate myself a little bit every time I make a random, pointless entry like this.Marissa Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315925723239879512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941460558145322679.post-18398641593504924422012-01-10T20:19:00.000-08:002012-01-10T20:19:45.752-08:00this.You walk on to a new sound an old song that you just found<br />
It still hurts, but it helps out with the change that you couldn’t<br />
know about<br />
Fire red to powder blue this stone inside of you<br />
Is neither hot nor cold, but it is heavy and too damn old<br />
<br />
She dreams feathers and her blazing guns<br />
The myth it’s worth fighting for all along<br />
He stares because he knows<br />
There’s something that he’s lost or maybe just forgot<br />
But either way it’s goneMarissa Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315925723239879512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941460558145322679.post-37013572139695047122011-12-04T20:54:00.000-08:002011-12-04T20:55:40.543-08:00shut the door<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I'd like to hang Christmas ornaments from my rib cage, put a collar with a golden bell around my throat so everybody would know that I was coming; give them all a chance to make a clean get away. I'm tangled in mixed views and I really don't know which way is up anymore. I'm pressing my vertebrae up against the rear view mirror of the sky, and it was just yesterday that I learned what it felt like to be trapped. Highways all seem to lead in the same direction, back to the same address, but I'm trying to avoid you now for unknown reasons. I think it's because you're always calling my bluff. I'm stuffing November in boxes, getting rid of wounded bellies and dry mouth wit. Cats with crooked jaws dance with bare feet, and I shut the door on what you and I might have been.</span></span>Marissa Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315925723239879512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941460558145322679.post-39026900778893106162011-11-27T12:20:00.000-08:002011-11-27T12:20:41.674-08:00this<h3>"It’s bullshit to think of friendship and romance as being different. They’re not. They’re just variations of the same love. Variations of the same desire to be close."</h3><h3><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">--Rachel Cohn </span></span></h3>Marissa Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315925723239879512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941460558145322679.post-39252941765760778822011-11-05T11:49:00.000-07:002011-11-05T12:03:03.972-07:00I wish that I knew what I know nowI started writing all of this in a comment on <a href="http://crossroadwoman.blogspot.com/2011/11/geography-lesson.html">my mother's recent post</a>, but when I realized how much I had begun typing and how much more I wanted to explore this line of thought, I decided to make it its own post.<br />
<br />
I think it's important to know which makes you happier - the person, or the place? What is the bigger sacrifice? Of course, for me, it's the flip side of that. I have to ask myself what makes me more miserable - being away from the person (Jacob), or being in the shitty place (Texas)?<br />
I like to say that I'd rather grow old alone than go back to Texas, and most of the time I believe that. But most of the time I'm not thinking about the person, just the place.<br />
Would I really rather grow old without Jacob than go back to Texas? No. He made me happy when I was in Texas. We were happy together in Texas. He made that place bearable, livable even. I can say with confidence that I love him more than I hate Texas.<br />
But it's not just hatred for the place, it's not just the fact that there are more desirable places to live. It's everything that ever happened in Texas, it's the ghosts that make my skin crawl, make me (literally) sick to my stomach and mind and soul that reside in Texas. I just cannot go back there permanently.<br />
I don't honestly know which would be (or will be, I guess) more insufferable: being alone or being there. I tell myself that being there would ruin me and therefore end up ruining us, so "us" being over now is okay because in the process I'm saving myself. But I don't really know that. I don't know for sure, anyway. I know that being there would ruin me, but I don't know if being there <i>with him</i> would ruin me. What if I could live in that hell without going to pieces because I'd be with him? I don't know if loving him more than I hate Texas is the same thing as the power of our love being stronger than the destructive power of my past. I just don't know, I just don't know.<br />
I do know that I'm acting like a fucking high schooler by saying that I WILL be alone forever if I'm not with him. But at 22-years-wise, that's how it feels.<br />
I'd be willing to test all of this, find out of I'd break by giving up my preferred location, find out if our relationship is stronger than my ghosts, but I don't want to be the only one. Not only do I not want to be the only one willing to sacrifice because that's just not fair, but I don't want to be the only one willing to sacrifice because it's more than a preferred location that I'd be sacrificing - I'd potentially be giving up my sanity and my entire self.<br />
I feel childish again for being so life or death, black or white. I know that it is possible to hold onto at least part of my sense of self and sanity in Texas, and I know that it is possible to lose myself and my mind and be utterly miserable outside of Texas.<br />
But I know that if I were to go back for a person, for THE person, and it didn't work out for whatever reason, I would lose everything. I would lose the person, the place, and any semblance of peace of mind.<br />
Right now I've lost him, but I still have myself. There's no guarantee that I could go there and get him back. And if I were able to get him back by going back there, then there's no guarantee that I'd be able to stay healthy. There's actually an extremely slim chance that I'd be able to stay healthy, especially considering the fact that it wasn't until I got out of Texas that I even got healthy.<br />
<br />
<br />
Wow.<br />
I guess I've answered my own initial question...<br />
I guess [right now] being alone is better.<br />
No, it's just easier.<br />
Fuck both of those words - it's not better, it's not necessarily easier, but it's safer.<br />
That sucks.<br />
<br />
I really thought that by getting the hell out of Texas I'd have a better chance of finding myself and growing up and getting a grip on/embracing health. I thought that by getting out of there and bettering myself, I'd be able to be a better partner to Jacob. I thought that my leaving would give each of us time to grow and come back together as stronger individuals and thus a rock solid couple.<br />
I don't know if he's grown up any; I actually have no idea how he's doing. But I know that I am so much better than I was in Texas, so much healthier, so much more optimistic. I actually believe that the future is possible. I haven't really found myself or grown up, but I no longer rule those things out as impossibilities, and I believe I am <i>finding</i> myself.<br />
<br />
I wish this growth could be beneficial to him. <br />
It's hard to believe that we are really only possible at the cost of me.<br />
How does that work? Is it really a "we" if there's only a part of me that exists? And is it really the case that "we" are only possible when I'm weak and lost? Could I keep what progress I've made if I went back for him? Is it a sign of strength and stability on my part to be willing to find out? Or is it a sign of weakness and fear? Is my willingness a healthy confidence in myself or a fear of the strength and power that I have the potential to possess?<br />
Considering my tendency to self sabotage, I know that I cannot go back.<br />
<br />
This is a strange thing. I know I should be happy and proud of myself, but I'm not. I'm sad and I feel disgustingly selfish. I think I need to be selfish now, though. Isn't that what I've been saying throughout this entire post? I need to be selfish - this is a healthy kind of selfishness. Right?<br />
<br />
OH MY GOD SAID THE SAME DAMN THINGS LIKE 3285728042 TIMES JUST NOW. GOING TO STFU AND CRAWL BACK INTO MY HOLE NOW.Marissa Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315925723239879512noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941460558145322679.post-22498201007587970362011-10-17T22:16:00.000-07:002011-10-17T22:16:16.511-07:00this story's old but it goes on and onSometimes I find myself thinking that some day you'll just show up where ever I am, tell me I'm the one and you're sorry, we hug and kiss and cry and then we live happily ever after. There are variations, but of course that's what it always comes down to. I think about this and my head hurts, my stomach flips, I think I'm going to vomit and cry. I realize that this is just a fantasy and you're not coming. You'll never come for me.<br />
I feel like a complete idiot.<br />
I'm trying to get to the point where I'm not the way I was when we dated so many years ago - I'm not that lovesick little girl anymore, and I can't keep holding on to these ridiculous romantic notions. For the most part, I don't. I am different. I am understanding of what happened, why it happened, and I know that there is no point in being mad at you or crying about it. I even recognize that getting drunk will not fix my situation. Yet I find myself thinking that we've come together so many times so there MUST be something to it - there must be something to us.<br />
But our luck has run out. We're never going to be together again. There is no "some day." You'll never come here. I'll never be swept off my feet. You're not going to find me alone on the Clemente bridge watching boats go by with wind in my hair and tell me you want to be with me forever. That's some shit from a romantic comedy that probably made me cry when I was PMSing at 14 years old. We verged on a cute little romcom happy-ending love story, but you couldn't handle it, and we're never going to get that back.<br />
This is over.<br />
That makes me sick to my stomach.<br />
I'll probably never see you again.<br />
That scares me and makes me sad and is relieving all at once.<br />
This is over.<br />
This is over.<br />
This is really, really over.<br />
<br />
<br />
Just.. get the hell out of my head.Marissa Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315925723239879512noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941460558145322679.post-38974980281193542832011-09-05T11:52:00.000-07:002011-09-05T11:52:12.052-07:00Texas, oh Texas.Tony Norman (editor and columnist for the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette) interrupted me in Reporting class on Tuesday after I'd spoken literally five words to ask me where I'm from. I guess I looked surprised (I was caught off guard), so he added, "You have an interesting accent." Embarrassed that someone had finally picked up on my hickish roots, I told him Austin, Texas. His response: "Really? Wow. You have an amazing accent - it's beautiful! I love it." That was the first, and probably only, time I've ever been proud of my Texas drawl.Marissa Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315925723239879512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941460558145322679.post-38757796928119007992011-08-23T10:26:00.000-07:002011-08-23T10:28:49.695-07:00moving on again<br />
In less than 48 hours, I will be moving in to my 4th dorm room at my 3rd college with my 4th new roommate, about to embark on my 3rd college orientation. Am I excited? Yes, yes I am. At the same time, though, there's a part of me that feels unprepared and scared to go back to school, especially a new school. Actually, I think that's the only thing that's making me nervous. I'm a 3rd year, technically a second-semester Sophomore (by Chatham transfer standards), and I don't know my way around campus, don't know any of the teachers, don't have any friends besides my freshman roommate who already has friends attending Chatham, and I feel inadequate & unprepared.<br />
I think it's mostly the not knowing my teachers that gets me. I would be a hell of a lot less intimidated by my course load (Intro to Reporting, World Film History, Intercultural Communications, Elementary Statistics, Step Aerobics, and The Communique - the school newspaper) if I knew that Dr. Duder, Dr. Stayton, and Dr. Teinert were going to be my three main professors, along with Dr. Nick for stats. But they're not, and I don't know these people. What if they're real bastards? What if they don't like me like my previous english professors have, giving me buckets full of adoration and preferential treatment? What if the classes are TOO hard? What if I fall ill, physically and/or emotionally, like I'm prone to do under stress, and need a little help later in the semester but am too shy to ask for it because these new, unfamiliar teachers haven't known me for 2 years nor do they know my back story? What if I need to plop down on a pile of comfy pillows in someone's office and cry for awhile, but Dr. Stayton's comfy pillows instead of chairs aren't there and Dr. Teinert's not there to lower the lights and close the blinds so we can be alone? What if I get fed up with it all and just need to vent and talk about football, but Dr. Nick isn't there to be my psychology teacher and part-time psychologist when I refuse to get up from my seat because I'm about to explode with anger and/or tears after class ends? What if I need extra encouragement to write, but Dr. Duder isn't there to tell me I'm the best writer he's ever encountered at such a young age and to tell me I made him cry with the paper I wrote in less than an hour, boosting my self-esteem and allowing me to power through three more papers in one day? What if I'm having a bad day and just secretly want someone to recognize it, but Dr. Teinert isn't there at 8 pm to find me loitering in the hallway and give me a big hug because I "look really sad"? What if these new professors are hardasses that I can't relate to on any level, that don't see me as anything special, that don't really care?<br />
<br />
I was <b>SPECIAL</b> at Concordia - I was a star student, and I truly believe a lot of that had to do with the fact that I was one of maybe 6 English majors in the entire undergrad population, so of course I <i>SEEMED</i> like a great writer and like I "got" everything on a deeper level than any of my classmates. But my classmates were athletes and business majors who couldn't give two shits about literary structure, symbolism, and the power of alliteration, nor could they appreciate Greek Drama for the foundation and backbone of literature that it is, even if they wanted to. I know, I'm a fucking snob, sue me. I earned my right to be a snob at Concordia. Now.. now I'm just another average undergrad with a Peterpan complex who doesn't want to grow up so is settling on the dream of being a writer because it doesn't require a career path.<br />
I finally got comfortable at Concordia - I dug my heels in and made myself a cozy little home among professors that I loved and that loved me equally, then throw in a handful of peers I found myself in a lot of classes with that became familiar, almost friendly faces. I knew I was going to uproot myself from that place, that it was only temporary, but I found a similar comfort there to what I had at Huntington-Surrey, and now I'm afraid Chatham will become to Concordia what Warren Wilson became to Huntington: not good enough, not home enough, the crazy and the asylum. I'm scared.<br />
It's just school. It's actually a rather easy course load, save reporting and stats (Reporting is really hard and I'm not good at it. For someone who voluntarily became a Communications: Journalism major, I am unbelievably uncomfortable and bad at reporting. And I'm not anticipating stats to be very easy, but according to my World Film History teacher, who is also my advisor, the professor is REALLY cool and REALLY understanding of us english majors and our lack of mathematical understanding), but it's intimidating nonetheless. I know it's going to be a lot of work, and I'm lazy. When it all comes right down to it, it's just that: I'm lazy. I could get away with doing a half-assed job at Huntington because half-assed was good enough and because I was a favorite. Same story at Concordia. Now I actually have to work, and I have to work hard. And I'm just not used to it. And it scares me.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Going to shut up now and find something relatively productive to do.<br />
<br />
My tooth hurts.<br />
<br />
The end.Marissa Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315925723239879512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941460558145322679.post-25382436816841720022011-07-26T10:51:00.000-07:002011-07-26T10:51:55.296-07:00I'm SorryWhy do we feel the need to apologize when something bad happens? I mean something bad that isn't our fault, that isn't anyone's fault.<br />
Dr. Spencer's dead and I'm apologizing to my nutritionist, to my cousin, to Jacob for random shit that's completely unrelated to Dr. Spencer just because I feel like I've done something horribly wrong. Why? What have I done wrong in this situation? Nothing. I'm reaching out to three people that I trust to help me deal. But I feel like a burden for doing it, I guess? Maybe I want them all to tell me it's okay, that it's going to be okay? Maybe I really want to apologize to Dr. Spencer? I felt the need to apologize to Kelsey for Dr. Spencer's death (and I did so, out loud in the basement). Try and figure that one out.<br />
My head is pounding, I'm sick to my stomach, and I'm shaking uncontrollably. Probably lack of food but I feel like I need to throw up so eating is not something I feel I can do right now. I want to go to sleep. I want to be forgiven by whatever god or greater entity that I've pissed off so badly they find it necessary to punish me by letting everything and everyone around me die. I think I can do sleep.Marissa Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315925723239879512noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941460558145322679.post-85269975537206851702011-07-14T04:59:00.000-07:002011-08-01T21:33:09.245-07:00out of my headI'm about to go to Accepted Student Day at Chatham. I don't know why I'm nervous about it. I'm nervous about attending that school more so than I have been about any school for a myriad of reasons (don't know anyone, all girls, etc.), but non-mandatory treat-you-like-a-baby wander-around-campus-with-a-name-tag-and-your-parents day? Lame. I do feel kind of silly knowing now that I will be attached to my mother's hip and I'm 22-fucking-years-old, but who cares my mom's my BFF and I don't look 22 for sure if I was embarrassed about being glued to my parents. I've got acne to boot and my body image is god awful, so that's not helping anything. I'm wearing a dress which ultimately makes me feel goofy, over-dressed like I'm trying to impress someone, but, again, who cares it's comfy & makes me feel okay in my own skin. I kind of almost hope my new roommate isn't there.. I don't really want to meet her yet. I'm nervous about her, she's SO pretty, talented (I assume.. she went to a fancy high school here in town, and she's for sure talented with a camera), probably has friends who are attending the school, has potential to be a giant snob (so does everyone, I just assume the worst because I AM a giant snob) or the biggest sweetheart ever (which makes me feel like an even bigger snob/bitch), etc., so delaying meeting her makes me more comfortable haha Stupid, I know. Of course, all of these things could/would be good for me: accept natural beauty, be around talent and brilliance, be humbled or be made a better person, etc. so meeting her is actually my only way of getting comfortable with my soon-to-be living situation. Whatever. I could go on and on, about the things that are probably making me nervous & why they shouldn't rationally, but it's time to go.Marissa Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315925723239879512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941460558145322679.post-84065206018804931362011-07-10T21:24:00.000-07:002011-07-10T21:24:45.525-07:00I've boycotted facebook for a little while.<br />
So I've landed here.<br />
Wow. That's kind of pathetic.<br />
Maybe I'll finally do my placement tests.<br />
Maybe I'll call and harass the fuckers in health services at Chatham for ignoring my emails.<br />
I probably won't do the second one, but it sounds nice.<br />
My eczema's back with a vengeance. I guess it's better than the ulcer. Still don't know what's causing me enough stress to warrant bodily reaction, but apparently something.<br />
I've got nothing else to write.Marissa Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315925723239879512noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941460558145322679.post-49184971641622648242011-06-20T07:29:00.000-07:002011-06-20T07:29:23.152-07:00Swing Low, Sweet Chariot<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0.4em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Swing low, sweet chariot</i><br />
<i>Coming for to carry me home.</i><br />
<i>Swing low, sweet chariot,</i><br />
<i>Coming for to carry me home.</i></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0.4em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I looked over Jordan, and what did I see<br />
Coming for to carry me home?<br />
A band of angels coming after me,<br />
Coming for to carry me home.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0.4em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><i>Swing low, sweet chariot</i><br />
<i>Coming for to carry me home.</i><br />
<i>Swing low, sweet chariot,</i><br />
<i>Coming for to carry me home.</i></span></i></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0.4em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Sometimes I'm up, and sometimes I'm down,<br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(Coming for to carry me home)</span></i><br />
But still my soul feels heavenly bound.<br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(Coming for to carry me home)</span></i></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0.4em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><i>Swing low, sweet chariot</i><br />
<i>Coming for to carry me home.</i><br />
<i>Swing low, sweet chariot,</i><br />
<i>Coming for to carry me home.</i></span></i></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0.4em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The brightest day that I can say,<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>(Coming for to carry me home)</i></span><br />
When Jesus washed my sins away.<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>(Coming for to carry me home)</i></span></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0.4em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><i>Swing low, sweet chariot</i><br />
<i>Coming for to carry me home.</i><br />
<i>Swing low, sweet chariot,</i><br />
<i>Coming for to carry me home.</i></span></i></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0.4em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">If I get there before you do,<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>(Coming for to carry me home)</i></span><br />
I'll cut a hole and <b>pull you through</b>.<br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(Coming for to carry me home)</span></i></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0.4em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><i>Swing low, sweet chariot</i><br />
<i>Coming for to carry me home.</i><br />
<i>Swing low, sweet chariot,</i><br />
<i>Coming for to carry me home.</i></span></i></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0.4em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><b>If you get there before I do,</b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>(Coming for to carry me home)</i></span><br />
<b>Tell all my friends<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> I'm coming, too.</span></b><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(Coming for to carry me home)</span></i></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0.4em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><i>Swing low, sweet chariot</i><br />
<i>Coming for to carry me home.</i><br />
<i>Swing low, sweet chariot,</i><br />
<i>Coming for to <u>carry</u> <u>me</u> <u>home</u>.</i></span></i></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0.4em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><i><br />
</i></span></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHxzcg3edQtyURqrsCQXXYRaxatz1IAfMvCn46scrW9bjU1RtPrXY9T6M3JtM5zZDn1YAipIT9h91-zxu7lKLiXKpWHBu6vF6zHAYH8mX_v068-yTfx4DXrY8RF8jWtJspxO5d3kwhO3fU/s1600/halsey_2011_November_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHxzcg3edQtyURqrsCQXXYRaxatz1IAfMvCn46scrW9bjU1RtPrXY9T6M3JtM5zZDn1YAipIT9h91-zxu7lKLiXKpWHBu6vF6zHAYH8mX_v068-yTfx4DXrY8RF8jWtJspxO5d3kwhO3fU/s320/halsey_2011_November_2.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0.4em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><i><br />
</i></span></i></span></div>Marissa Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315925723239879512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941460558145322679.post-20426792145072871132011-06-08T19:13:00.000-07:002011-06-08T19:13:26.838-07:00I thought he was a man, but he was just a little boy.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Everyone's least favorite saying:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">"It is what it is."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">No, it's fucking not. It's not what YOU think it is. And I refuse to agree so that you can sleep better tonight. I hope you toss & turn; I hope the curiosity and the discomfort of not knowing and the uneasiness of our very obviously unstable relationship eats at you. I hope you realize that you did say mean things, that you did hurt me, and I hope you do regret it. When you are able to acknowledge ANY of that, I might say something. But in the meantime...</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I am Marissa motherfucking Pearl Veldman.</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">No environmental change is going to stop that.</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div>Marissa Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315925723239879512noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941460558145322679.post-67130077345357539272011-05-31T22:22:00.000-07:002011-05-31T22:22:11.315-07:00Love. Love. Love. Ah! Phish!<div style="text-align: center;">My favorite Phish ever.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">A classic.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/bakWKHj051I?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">and I'm Sofa King jealous of the bitches who got to witness this live:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/om2EQ7YXork?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>L</b>ovel<b>OV</b>elov<b>E</b>!!!</div>Marissa Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315925723239879512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941460558145322679.post-62353644060280055222011-05-26T00:24:00.000-07:002011-05-26T00:24:10.157-07:00I LUFF THIS GIRL - MY TRUEST FRIEND<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxeEucC2YzzaI1FCBsUTWVPQGC2QpTAs2s4XlzWkkHhVueGE7F3nuAuZo9ksKuVjWsdlRcWGBABorl9FIMNmg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Marissa Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315925723239879512noreply@blogger.com0