<?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-6055299785888833412</id><updated>2012-02-16T03:43:51.354-08:00</updated><title type='text'>MeAgainstTheWorld</title><subtitle type='html'>A place for me to rant.
A home for my crappy mspaint comic.
Updated whenever the hell I feel like it.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lastblognameavalible.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6055299785888833412/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lastblognameavalible.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>De Mar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11662974113569122438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='19' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fq7oYYjrJwg/Sf26e2a31wI/AAAAAAAAAFA/bBD_OXrmyeE/S220/1dc0.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>12</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6055299785888833412.post-8159375771337952460</id><published>2009-06-09T11:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-09T11:42:40.225-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Another rant about fake people.</title><content type='html'>I hate fake people. You know the type. They tell you one thing then when it comes down to it, they backpedal. Ya know, if you're not going to do what you say, then don't fucking say it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Srsly, WTF!?!?&lt;br /&gt;I guess I am just strange in the fact that I expect people to tell me the truth. We are not kids anymore, it's time to grow up, put on your big girl panties and act like an adult. Fucking people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, don't trust what people tell you. It's probably a lie.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6055299785888833412-8159375771337952460?l=lastblognameavalible.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lastblognameavalible.blogspot.com/feeds/8159375771337952460/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6055299785888833412&amp;postID=8159375771337952460' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6055299785888833412/posts/default/8159375771337952460'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6055299785888833412/posts/default/8159375771337952460'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lastblognameavalible.blogspot.com/2009/06/another-rant-about-fake-people.html' title='Another rant about fake people.'/><author><name>De Mar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11662974113569122438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='19' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fq7oYYjrJwg/Sf26e2a31wI/AAAAAAAAAFA/bBD_OXrmyeE/S220/1dc0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6055299785888833412.post-2117035950963903999</id><published>2009-03-25T13:34:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-25T13:38:56.057-07:00</updated><title type='text'>last in line</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fq7oYYjrJwg/ScqWFO7mPsI/AAAAAAAAAE0/G30W6RC4294/s1600-h/untitled.bmp"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 131px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fq7oYYjrJwg/ScqWFO7mPsI/AAAAAAAAAE0/G30W6RC4294/s320/untitled.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317227326715870914" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6055299785888833412-2117035950963903999?l=lastblognameavalible.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lastblognameavalible.blogspot.com/feeds/2117035950963903999/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6055299785888833412&amp;postID=2117035950963903999' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6055299785888833412/posts/default/2117035950963903999'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6055299785888833412/posts/default/2117035950963903999'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lastblognameavalible.blogspot.com/2009/03/blog-post_25.html' title='last in line'/><author><name>De Mar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11662974113569122438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='19' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fq7oYYjrJwg/Sf26e2a31wI/AAAAAAAAAFA/bBD_OXrmyeE/S220/1dc0.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fq7oYYjrJwg/ScqWFO7mPsI/AAAAAAAAAE0/G30W6RC4294/s72-c/untitled.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6055299785888833412.post-4397772542362724137</id><published>2009-03-25T13:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-25T13:23:51.712-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Getting old</title><content type='html'>I always figured I would be dead by now. I never expected to live this long. I was thinking somewhere in my early 20's I would be gone. Now that I am in my 30's, I don't really know what to do with the rest of my life. I have hit a brick wall as far as progress goes. I really haven't done that much with my life the last few years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I smoke, so I figured lung cancer but my doctor said my lungs were healthy. Surprising. Either that or a drug overdose. I used to take lots of drugs in my younger days. I drank a lot too. I also drove too fast, rode motorcycles and didn't wash my hands after a pee. I was a rebel. :-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Enough of a rebel that I figured it would have killed me already. I think maybe that's why I have panic attacks and constant thoughts about death. I KNEW I wouldn't live this long, and now that I have, my brain doesn't know what to do from here. And now, I don't want to die. I didn't want to die when I was younger but it didn't bother me then just because I just always figured that I would. I had not intention of sticking around this long. I am glad that I have lived this long but it's odd.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So where do I go from here? Every decision that I have ever made has brought me to this exact point in time. Like the first time I ever skipped school. That decision brought me here, to this office, at this job. Had I not skipped that day, maybe I wouldn't have skipped all those other days and maybe I would have been a doctor or something far greater then I am now. Who knows?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I guess my point is that now that I'm not dead, and I'm in my 30's, I am so completely and utterly lost and I don't know what to do about it. I think I am more lost then when I was a teen. At least when I was a teen I always had the future to look forward too. I don't have that now. I'm an adult, I can't look forward to growing up. Fuck.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6055299785888833412-4397772542362724137?l=lastblognameavalible.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lastblognameavalible.blogspot.com/feeds/4397772542362724137/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6055299785888833412&amp;postID=4397772542362724137' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6055299785888833412/posts/default/4397772542362724137'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6055299785888833412/posts/default/4397772542362724137'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lastblognameavalible.blogspot.com/2009/03/i-always-figured-i-would-be-dead-by-now.html' title='Getting old'/><author><name>De Mar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11662974113569122438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='19' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fq7oYYjrJwg/Sf26e2a31wI/AAAAAAAAAFA/bBD_OXrmyeE/S220/1dc0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6055299785888833412.post-5368444963913635753</id><published>2009-01-31T15:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-31T15:28:52.643-08:00</updated><title type='text'>rant</title><content type='html'>I will never again buy or sell something just because someone else thinks I should.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am tired of being treated a certain way just because of the decisions I make.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't understand why anyone would want to join a motorcycle club. Too much drama.&lt;br /&gt;The phrase "I'm not your bitch" does not apply anymore, because you are a bitch. Fuck that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate people.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6055299785888833412-5368444963913635753?l=lastblognameavalible.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lastblognameavalible.blogspot.com/feeds/5368444963913635753/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6055299785888833412&amp;postID=5368444963913635753' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6055299785888833412/posts/default/5368444963913635753'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6055299785888833412/posts/default/5368444963913635753'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lastblognameavalible.blogspot.com/2009/01/rant.html' title='rant'/><author><name>De Mar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11662974113569122438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='19' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fq7oYYjrJwg/Sf26e2a31wI/AAAAAAAAAFA/bBD_OXrmyeE/S220/1dc0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6055299785888833412.post-7073619838811304319</id><published>2008-11-03T12:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-14T13:01:04.958-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Men vs Women</title><content type='html'>&lt;h2&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.deaddog.com/?p=7868" rel="bookmark" title="Permanent Link to Men vs Women"&gt;Men vs Women&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;     &lt;small&gt;&lt;abbr title="2008-11-02T16:00:24-0700"&gt;&lt;/abbr&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;My comments in Blue&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/small&gt;        &lt;p&gt;1. NAMES: If Laurie, Linda, Elizabeth and Barbara go out for lunch, they will call each other Laurie, Linda, Elizabeth and Barbara.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;If Mark, Chris, Eric and Tom go out, they will affectionately refer to each other as Fat Boy, Godzilla, Peanut-Head and Scrappy. &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;I call my friends by their names.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;2. EATING OUT: When the bill arrives, Mark, Chris, Eric and Tom will each throw in $20, even though it’s only for $32.50. None of them will have anything smaller and none will actually admit they want change back. &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;If I invite, I pay for it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;When the girls get their bill, out come the pocket calculators.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;3. MONEY: A man will pay $2 for a $1 item he needs.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;A woman will pay $1 for a $2 item that she &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;doesn&lt;/span&gt;’t need but it’s on sale.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;Yeah I have to agree with that one.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;4. BATHROOMS :A man has five items in his bathroom: a toothbrush, shaving cream, razor, a bar of soap, and a towel from the Marriott. &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;Toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, shaving foam, razor, after shave, soap, wash cloth, towel, lotion, hair brush, hair gel and about 100 other things.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;The average number of items in the typical woman’s bathroom is 337.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;A man would not be able to identify most of these items. &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;Yeah, I probably could.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;5. ARGUMENTS: A woman has the last word in any argument.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Anything a man says after that is the beginning of a new argument.&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt; Not true.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;Whom ever is correct has the last word.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;6. CATS: Women love cats.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Men say they love cats, but when women &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;aren&lt;/span&gt;’t looking, men kick cats. &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;I like cats, dogs stink.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;7. FUTURE: A woman worries about the future until she gets a husband.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;A man never worries about the future until he gets a wife. &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;I worry about the future all the time, even before I got married.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;8. SUCCESS: A successful man is one who makes more money than his wife can spend.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;A successful woman is one who can find such a man.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;I define success as the trust and love I get from my family.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;9. MARRIAGE: A woman marries a man expecting he will change, but he &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;doesn&lt;/span&gt;’t.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;A man marries a woman expecting that she won’t change and she does. &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;This I must agree with.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;10. DRESSING UP: A woman will dress up to go shopping, water the plants, empty the garbage, answer the phone, read a book, and get the mail.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;A man will dress up for weddings and funerals. &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;And work.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;11. NATURAL: Men wake up as good-looking as they went to bed. &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;hahahah&lt;/span&gt;, on what planet?!?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Women somehow deteriorate during the night. &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;true but so do men.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;12. OFFSPRING: Ah, children.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;A woman knows all about her children. She knows about dentist appointments and romances, best friends, favorite foods, secret fears and hopes and dreams.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;A man is vaguely aware of some short people living in the house. &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;I know everything about my kids. What kind of father doesn't!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;13. THOUGHT FOR THE DAY: Any married man should forget his mistakes. There’s no use in two people remembering the same thing. &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;hehe&lt;/span&gt;, true.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6055299785888833412-7073619838811304319?l=lastblognameavalible.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lastblognameavalible.blogspot.com/feeds/7073619838811304319/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6055299785888833412&amp;postID=7073619838811304319' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6055299785888833412/posts/default/7073619838811304319'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6055299785888833412/posts/default/7073619838811304319'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lastblognameavalible.blogspot.com/2008/11/men-vs-women.html' title='Men vs Women'/><author><name>De Mar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11662974113569122438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='19' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fq7oYYjrJwg/Sf26e2a31wI/AAAAAAAAAFA/bBD_OXrmyeE/S220/1dc0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6055299785888833412.post-7151672800992694486</id><published>2008-10-29T06:33:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-25T13:39:15.383-07:00</updated><title type='text'>last in line</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fq7oYYjrJwg/SQhmK9Lkv2I/AAAAAAAAACs/2_xZfEUlECc/s1600-h/nevermind.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 681px; height: 425px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fq7oYYjrJwg/SQhmK9Lkv2I/AAAAAAAAACs/2_xZfEUlECc/s320/nevermind.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262568502990258018" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6055299785888833412-7151672800992694486?l=lastblognameavalible.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lastblognameavalible.blogspot.com/feeds/7151672800992694486/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6055299785888833412&amp;postID=7151672800992694486' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6055299785888833412/posts/default/7151672800992694486'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6055299785888833412/posts/default/7151672800992694486'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lastblognameavalible.blogspot.com/2008/10/when-you-see-it.html' title='last in line'/><author><name>De Mar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11662974113569122438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='19' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fq7oYYjrJwg/Sf26e2a31wI/AAAAAAAAAFA/bBD_OXrmyeE/S220/1dc0.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fq7oYYjrJwg/SQhmK9Lkv2I/AAAAAAAAACs/2_xZfEUlECc/s72-c/nevermind.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6055299785888833412.post-8364540795993301027</id><published>2008-09-26T13:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-26T13:22:50.876-07:00</updated><title type='text'>not enough friends</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fq7oYYjrJwg/SN1Ehz8JyMI/AAAAAAAAACU/yD7p511fid4/s1600-h/untitled.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 576px; height: 236px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fq7oYYjrJwg/SN1Ehz8JyMI/AAAAAAAAACU/yD7p511fid4/s320/untitled.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250428088252745922" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6055299785888833412-8364540795993301027?l=lastblognameavalible.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lastblognameavalible.blogspot.com/feeds/8364540795993301027/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6055299785888833412&amp;postID=8364540795993301027' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6055299785888833412/posts/default/8364540795993301027'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6055299785888833412/posts/default/8364540795993301027'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lastblognameavalible.blogspot.com/2008/09/not-enough-friends.html' title='not enough friends'/><author><name>De Mar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11662974113569122438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='19' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fq7oYYjrJwg/Sf26e2a31wI/AAAAAAAAAFA/bBD_OXrmyeE/S220/1dc0.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fq7oYYjrJwg/SN1Ehz8JyMI/AAAAAAAAACU/yD7p511fid4/s72-c/untitled.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6055299785888833412.post-6249199643369191364</id><published>2008-09-18T12:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-18T12:57:17.029-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Why I dislike Christians.</title><content type='html'>Why I dislike Christians.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, well, well. It is finally over. I have spent the last week in another city with my company for their international meeting. There were about six thousand people here and I don’t like crowds. I work for a religious organization and they have lots of conferences and meetings. Most of the time I don’t have to go to them but for this one I did. I work in IT and we had a lot of different projects for this particular meeting. We arrived on Saturday and it has been non-stop ever since.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At first we had to set up all of our equipment for various sub-meetings and gatherings. I was working most of the day with only an hour for lunch. I did get to stay at a nice motel that I barely got to see. At first it was a lot of work but overall it was kind of fun. They put on lots of concerts and had lots of worship services. Now, I am not a very religious person myself but I do respect the beliefs of others.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a while though, I started noticing that all of the songs at all of the concerts were pretty much the same. After you hear the same song over and over, it starts to get pretty old. By the last day, I was ready to strangle someone. During the worship services, the patrons would dance in the isles like pagans around a bond fire. I thought that was weird but I just kept going. I knew if I could wait it out then I would get to go home soon and wouldn’t have to come back for a very long time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now on to the part about why I dislike Christians.&lt;br /&gt;I had a lot of equipment to move to various areas of the convention center. Now keep in mind that this place is big so I had to push big boxes of computer equipment all over the place. While I was bent over pushing boxes from one end of the center to the other, no one would move out of my way. I had to stop pushing then start again. Never once did any of these “Christians” say excuse me. I mean, WTF! Whatever happened to common courtesy? Here I am pushing boxes, hooking up equipment and running from place to place to make sure all of this stuff is running properly so we can put on a show for these people and they are some of the rudest people I have ever seen. I wasn’t just that. None of them would hold the elevator for me. They are all dressed in their Sunday best and apparently don’t want some “commoner” riding on the elevator with them. I was dressed appropriately, but I guess I wasn’t dressed nice enough to be on the elevator with them.  What these people don’t get is that without me and my team, there would be no show, no meetings and no anything. I would have used the freight elevator but there wasn’t always one available. So I had to use the passenger elevator in some parts of the complex. I don’t know. Maybe I just didn’t look “Christian” enough.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also noticed that most of them acted very spoiled. It was like being around eight thousand brats for a whole week. I just don’t get it. I would not consider myself a Christian. I guess I am still searching for what I consider the truth. But even I would have taken a side step to let somebody who was obviously tired from moving boxes get through and be on their way. I just don’t get it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a while, it just got nauseating. I was so ready to go home that after it was all over, I just sat in my room and starting writing this post. I didn’t want to be around anyone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also find it curious that these “Christians” only preach to their own kind. This has always bothered me about them. They claim to follow Jesus, yet most of them never try to spread the gospel outside of church. Where are the true Christians that try to lead the broken and beaten down to Christ? Why preach to someone who already believes? There were a few times that I got offended by what they were saying but I won’t get into all of that. I know it wouldn’t change anything anyway. I guess I just feel that a true Christian would not have acted the way that most of these people did. Why is it so hard for them to see that with the money and time it took to carry on this meeting, they could have built and staffed a homeless shelter, or an outreach program? Or, God forbid, a fund for unwed mothers and bastard children? That is the consensus of the people I met here and not necessarily me calling them bastards. Most of the preachers that touched on this subject (while they never used the word bastard) had the attitude that anyone with children that was unmarried was going to burn for it. There were a few that actually preached a message of tolerance but most did not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The way that most talked about getting kids hooked on God was just absolutely stupid. I don’t think any of them have a clue. Kids are smarter then they give them credit for and I find it sad that none of them seem to understand that. They speak of molding and shaping kids in the image of Christ but don’t seem to have a clue of where to begin. How about just talking to kids instead of trying to “mold” them. They also need to understand that some of them just don’t want to talk about it. I think that just making themselves available would work much better than trying to change everything about the child.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While sitting through all of this I started thinking. I thought about a lot of things that had nothing to do with any of it but I also thought about the possibility of God. What if God does exist? What would he think of all of this? I know if I were God, I would be disgusted with the whole thing. I think God just wants us to be happy. So, that is what I have decided to do. I have decided that instead of trying to understand God, I will try to make myself and those I love, happy. Happiness is a good religion.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6055299785888833412-6249199643369191364?l=lastblognameavalible.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lastblognameavalible.blogspot.com/feeds/6249199643369191364/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6055299785888833412&amp;postID=6249199643369191364' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6055299785888833412/posts/default/6249199643369191364'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6055299785888833412/posts/default/6249199643369191364'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lastblognameavalible.blogspot.com/2008/09/why-i-dislike-christians.html' title='Why I dislike Christians.'/><author><name>De Mar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11662974113569122438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='19' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fq7oYYjrJwg/Sf26e2a31wI/AAAAAAAAAFA/bBD_OXrmyeE/S220/1dc0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6055299785888833412.post-4343278211342888732</id><published>2008-09-09T06:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-09T06:35:02.145-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The nature of god.</title><content type='html'>I have had a grand idea that I wanted to share. Even though I know no one reads this blog, it is my way of venting and getting ideas out of my head and on to the internet where they will do the most good. :-P&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God does not punish and God does not reward. I have spent years trying to figure out what God wants and why god allows the things that he allows in this world and this is the best that I can come up with.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think that if there is a god, a true god like the one we read about in the bible, then we have his nature all wrong. He does not want us to be like children, I believe that he wants us to evolve but at the same time, he is not going to hold our hands like babies. No, you cannot evolve, you cannot learn if someone is always protecting you. I think I believe more in god now then I did before but I don't believe in what most people believe in. I don't think he is coming back to save us and I don't think he is answering prayers. I don't think he punishes the wicked and I don't think he rewards the &lt;span class="ital-inline"&gt;righteous&lt;/span&gt;. So there. I could be wrong but I don't think I am. I guess we will all see some day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6055299785888833412-4343278211342888732?l=lastblognameavalible.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lastblognameavalible.blogspot.com/feeds/4343278211342888732/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6055299785888833412&amp;postID=4343278211342888732' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6055299785888833412/posts/default/4343278211342888732'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6055299785888833412/posts/default/4343278211342888732'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lastblognameavalible.blogspot.com/2008/09/nature-of-god.html' title='The nature of god.'/><author><name>De Mar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11662974113569122438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='19' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fq7oYYjrJwg/Sf26e2a31wI/AAAAAAAAAFA/bBD_OXrmyeE/S220/1dc0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6055299785888833412.post-8582174970114947345</id><published>2008-08-07T07:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-07T07:26:12.881-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Women Superiority</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" &gt;Found this on another blog and just had to comment on it. My comments are in &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"&gt;green&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Women Superiority &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;(heh, no, not really)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt;We got off the Titanic first. &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"&gt;(because most men would rather go down with the ship then to listen to your whining “OMG we’re gonna die!”)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;We can scare male bosses with mysterious gynecological disorder excuses. &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"&gt;(The only man this scares is the one most men make fun of anyway)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we buy a vibrator it is glamorous. &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"&gt;(no, really it’s not)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When men buy a blow up doll it's pathetic. &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"&gt;(Yep it kinda is)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Men's clothes make women look elfin and gorgeous. &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"&gt;(SOME women, not all of you can pull this off so stop lying to yourself)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Men look like complete idiots in women's clothes. &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"&gt;(Two words “Drag Queen”)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We can be groupies. Male groupies are stalkers.&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"&gt; (Still just a stalker, and men have no respect for the “groupies”. You’re just a living blow up doll)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We've never lusted after a cartoon character or the central figure in a computer game. &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"&gt;(bullshit)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Taxi's stop for us. &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"&gt;(Because the cabbie knows he will not get robbed, after all you are the weaker sex :-) )&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Men die earlier, so we get to cash in on the life insurance. &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"&gt;(Because we want to. It has to do with that whining thing again)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We don't look like a frog in a blender when dancing. &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"&gt;(Yeah, you really do)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We know the Truth about whether or not size matters. &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"&gt;(And so do we. Men are not as stupid as women think. BTW, it totally does matter)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's possible to live our whole lives without ever taking a group shower.&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"&gt; (Yeah, we can too)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No fashion faux pas we make could ever rival the male's Speedo. &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"&gt;(heh, bodysuit)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We don't have to fart to amuse ourselves. &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"&gt;(Real men do not do this. Only little boys)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We never have to wonder if his orgasm was real. &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"&gt;(Sorry to break it to you. Men fake it too. It’s not as easy but we can do it)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6055299785888833412-8582174970114947345?l=lastblognameavalible.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lastblognameavalible.blogspot.com/feeds/8582174970114947345/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6055299785888833412&amp;postID=8582174970114947345' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6055299785888833412/posts/default/8582174970114947345'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6055299785888833412/posts/default/8582174970114947345'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lastblognameavalible.blogspot.com/2008/08/women-superiority.html' title='Women Superiority'/><author><name>De Mar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11662974113569122438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='19' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fq7oYYjrJwg/Sf26e2a31wI/AAAAAAAAAFA/bBD_OXrmyeE/S220/1dc0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6055299785888833412.post-6614312444855086101</id><published>2008-07-31T09:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-31T09:27:44.061-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Last in line</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fq7oYYjrJwg/SJHnkEg1OEI/AAAAAAAAACM/cIPh1oQE6lg/s1600-h/temp.bmp"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fq7oYYjrJwg/SJHnkEg1OEI/AAAAAAAAACM/cIPh1oQE6lg/s320/temp.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229215249226610754" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6055299785888833412-6614312444855086101?l=lastblognameavalible.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lastblognameavalible.blogspot.com/feeds/6614312444855086101/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6055299785888833412&amp;postID=6614312444855086101' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6055299785888833412/posts/default/6614312444855086101'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6055299785888833412/posts/default/6614312444855086101'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lastblognameavalible.blogspot.com/2008/07/last-in-line.html' title='Last in line'/><author><name>De Mar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11662974113569122438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='19' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fq7oYYjrJwg/Sf26e2a31wI/AAAAAAAAAFA/bBD_OXrmyeE/S220/1dc0.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fq7oYYjrJwg/SJHnkEg1OEI/AAAAAAAAACM/cIPh1oQE6lg/s72-c/temp.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6055299785888833412.post-5003320892238229777</id><published>2008-07-10T06:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-26T13:24:57.970-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Because I'm a Real Man...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); background-color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Found this on the internet and it was just full of errors. So, I decided to correct it. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;The first half is the original; the second half is the corrected version. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Let me know what you think.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Because I'm a man…&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.    Because I'm a man, when I lock my keys in the car I will fiddle with a wire long after hypothermia, or heat stroke, has set in. The AAA is not an option. I will win.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.    Because I'm a man, when the car isn't running very well, I will pop the hood and stare at the engine as if I know what I'm looking at. If another man shows up, one of us will say to the other, "I used to be able to fix these things, but now with all these computers and everything, I wouldn't know where to start." We will then drink beer and break wind as a form of Holy Communion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3.    Because I'm a man, when I catch a cold, I need someone to bring me soup and take care of me while I lie in bed and moan. You're a woman. You never get as sick as I do, so for you this isn't a problem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4.    Because I'm a man, I can be relied upon to purchase basic groceries at the store, like milk or bread. I cannot be expected to find exotic items like "cumin" or "tofu." For all I know, these are the same thing. And never, under any circumstances, expect me to pick up anything for which "feminine hygiene product" is a euphemism. ( F.Y.I. guys cumin is a spice and not a bodily function).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5.    Because I'm a man, when one of our appliances stops working, I will insist on taking it apart, despite evidence that this will just cost me twice as much, once the repair person gets here and has to put it back together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6.    Because I'm a man, I must hold the television remote control in my hand while I watch TV. If the thing has been misplaced, I may miss an entire show looking for it (though one time I was able to survive by holding a calculator)…applies to engineers mainly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7.    Because I'm a man, there is no need to ask me what I'm thinking about. The answer is always either sex, cars or  sport. I have to make up something else when you ask, so don't ask.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8.    Because I'm a man, I do not want to visit your mother, or have your mother come visit us, or talk to her when she calls, or think about her any more than I have to. Whatever you got her for Mother's Day is okay; I don't need to see it. And don't forget to pick up something for my mother too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9.    Because I'm a man, you don't have to ask me if I liked the movie. Chances are, if you're crying at the end of it, I didn't…and if you are feeling amorous afterwards…then I will certainly at least remember the name and recommend it to others.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10.    Because I'm a man, I think what you're wearing is fine. I thought what you were wearing five minutes ago was fine, too. Either pair of shoes is fine. With the belt or without it, looks fine. Your hair is fine. You look fine. Can we just go now?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11.    Because I'm a man, , after all,  I will share equally in the housework. You just do the laundry, the cooking, the  cleaning, the vacuuming, and the dishes, and I'll do the rest…  like looking for my socks, or wandering around in the garden with a beer wondering what to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;Because I am a Real Man…&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.    Because I am a real man, when I lock my keys in the car, I will go in the house and get my spare set or I will have someone bring me my spare set from home. Just because I have a penis does not mean I'm stupid enough to risk my health to open a car door.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.    Because I am a real man, when the car isn't running very well, I will pop the hood and see is there is something obviously wrong and (If I can) fix it. If another man shows up, he can either help or stay out of my way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3.    Because I am a real man, when I catch a cold, I would like someone to bring me soup and take care of me while I lie in bed and moan. You're a woman, when you get sick you do the same damn thing and I bring you soup and tissues and medicine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4.    Because I am a real man, I can be relied upon to purchase basic groceries at the store, like milk or bread. I can also be expected to find exotic items like "cumin" or "tofu." Because I know, these are not the same thing. And I don't care to pick up anything for which "feminine hygiene product" is a euphemism, it just shows I have a woman at home unlike the pimply faced guy at the checkout counter. ( F.Y.I. I know what cumin is).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5.    Because I am a real man, when one of our appliances stops working, I will insist on taking it apart, because I used to work for Maytag and I know how to repair appliances. It's not that hard and you can buy the repair manual online.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6.    Because I am a real man, I must hold the television remote control in my hand while I change channels. If I can't find the remote I will walk to the TV and change the channel manually. Growing up, my parents had a console TV with three channels; I think I can handle walking to the TV and pushing a button.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7.    Because I am a real man, there is a need to ask me what I'm thinking about if you really want to know. Men do think about more than just sex and sports. Actually, I hate sports and think that watching games on TV is stupid. Call me crazy but as a man I do think about my future and career choices and kids and family and all that other stuff.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8.    Because I am a real man, I don't have a problem visiting your mother, she always feeds me. Whatever you got her for Mother's Day is okay; I don't need to see it. And don't forget to pick up something for my mother too. (Ok, I'll give you that one.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9.    Because I am a real man, you don't have to ask me if I liked the movie. Chances are, if you're crying at the end of it, I didn't…and if you are feeling amorous afterwards…then I will certainly at least remember the name and recommend it to others. (Ok, that one too.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10.    Because I am a real man, I want you to look good in public, so take as much time as you need. It makes me feel good when other people admire you. I also know that you are flattered when people stare at you when you dress sexy, even though you would never admit it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11.    Because I am a real man, I will share equally in the housework when I am able to do so. You may have to remind me from time to time but I don't care to help out if I feel like I am needed.&lt;span style="background-color: rgb(255, 0, 0); color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: rgb(255, 0, 0); color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6055299785888833412-5003320892238229777?l=lastblognameavalible.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lastblognameavalible.blogspot.com/feeds/5003320892238229777/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6055299785888833412&amp;postID=5003320892238229777' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6055299785888833412/posts/default/5003320892238229777'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6055299785888833412/posts/default/5003320892238229777'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lastblognameavalible.blogspot.com/2008/07/because-im-real-man.html' title='Because I&apos;m a Real Man...'/><author><name>De Mar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11662974113569122438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='19' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fq7oYYjrJwg/Sf26e2a31wI/AAAAAAAAAFA/bBD_OXrmyeE/S220/1dc0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
