<?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-8448715718672919374</id><updated>2011-04-21T13:39:21.428-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Rhianna's Blog</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Rhianna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17153836142567653250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SLoh3nqdrfI/AAAAAAAAAAM/-sTFQ6c5VCA/S220/myspace.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>21</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8448715718672919374.post-7498704026573052139</id><published>2008-11-24T11:24:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-24T11:34:17.665-08:00</updated><title type='text'>How technology has transformed my life</title><content type='html'>Technology definately makes life easier. Just this morning I sent a quick email to my sons daycare letting them know he wasn't coming in today, instead of having to call her or talk to her in person. When I have to break plans with a friend or give someone bad news I prefer to do it in a text. Things are just easier to say when you don't have to say it to their face.&lt;br /&gt;    I use the internet for everything. I sell and buy stuff on craigs list all the time. I keep in touch with friends and family members through myspace. My husband uses instant messenger and our web cam to connect with his family in el salvador. I just started sending my family in florida web cam videos of my son saying "hi grandpa" "hi grandma..." and they loved it. And whenever I have a question, the computer has my answer.&lt;br /&gt;     Our house is full of technology. Our tv is actually a projector- a huge screen for a cheaper price. We don't use a land line anymore, just our cell phones which I'm noticing a lot of people doing. Even the massage chair and blender can be considered technology. It is just tools that improve your quality of life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8448715718672919374-7498704026573052139?l=rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/feeds/7498704026573052139/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8448715718672919374&amp;postID=7498704026573052139' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/7498704026573052139'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/7498704026573052139'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2008/11/how-technology-has-transformed-my-life.html' title='How technology has transformed my life'/><author><name>Rhianna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17153836142567653250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SLoh3nqdrfI/AAAAAAAAAAM/-sTFQ6c5VCA/S220/myspace.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8448715718672919374.post-4825886702053687809</id><published>2008-11-24T11:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-24T11:23:26.504-08:00</updated><title type='text'>If I won the lottery...</title><content type='html'>Assuming that it was a very big lottery, the first thing I would buy is a house... or two. Probably not a huge mansion, but something modern and pretty big. Then I would probably have to buy all of my family members some kind of gift, like a car for my mom, college money for my cousins, and a house in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;el&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;salvador&lt;/span&gt; for my in laws (that is where they are from... I'm not trying to get rid of them :)). I would get all the furniture I could want, a new car, and take a long family vacation. I would probably quit my job, and have my husband quit his too.&lt;br /&gt;I saw a show on &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;tv&lt;/span&gt; about lottery winners, and there was this one guy who bought the stupidest stuff. It was like he just wanted to spend his money. He had a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;disney&lt;/span&gt; world statue replicated especially for him so he could put it right by his pool. He got quite the kick out of showing off his cool stuff to the camera men. I wouldn't be like that at all. I would use what I needed and save or invest the rest.&lt;br /&gt;I never play the lotto though, so I guess I will never win. Ill just save my 4 dollars a week for something useful, instead of hoping I'm the 1 person is 1,000850947590856078240670 who wins the jackpot.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8448715718672919374-4825886702053687809?l=rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/feeds/4825886702053687809/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8448715718672919374&amp;postID=4825886702053687809' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/4825886702053687809'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/4825886702053687809'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2008/11/if-i-won-lottery.html' title='If I won the lottery...'/><author><name>Rhianna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17153836142567653250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SLoh3nqdrfI/AAAAAAAAAAM/-sTFQ6c5VCA/S220/myspace.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8448715718672919374.post-3447705955954197631</id><published>2008-11-24T11:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-24T11:14:49.829-08:00</updated><title type='text'>blog, billboard, and text message</title><content type='html'>"Barbie is a bad role model for young girls"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Blog- Have you ever looked closely at a Barbie doll? Barbie has an unhealthily thin figure and feet permanently prepared for high heels. She sends a message to girls about what they are supposed to look like when they grow up. Not only her &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;appearance&lt;/span&gt;, but all of her accessories instill negative values in children. It teaches them to be materialistic. They absolutely have to have the barbie dream house, barbie pink &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;convert able&lt;/span&gt;, and barbie tea party set. Barbie gets everything she wants, so why shouldn't they?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Billboard- Christmas List:&lt;br /&gt;                   &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Rock star&lt;/span&gt; Barbie&lt;br /&gt;                   Christmas Barbie&lt;br /&gt;                   Barbie dream house&lt;br /&gt;                   Barbie &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Convertable able&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What you give her: A new puppy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Give  your kids joy this holiday season, not negative values&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Text Message- Barbie= bad 4 kids. Give stuffed animal instead.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8448715718672919374-3447705955954197631?l=rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/feeds/3447705955954197631/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8448715718672919374&amp;postID=3447705955954197631' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/3447705955954197631'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/3447705955954197631'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2008/11/blog-billboard-and-text-message.html' title='blog, billboard, and text message'/><author><name>Rhianna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17153836142567653250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SLoh3nqdrfI/AAAAAAAAAAM/-sTFQ6c5VCA/S220/myspace.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8448715718672919374.post-9188916817876605025</id><published>2008-11-03T19:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-03T20:07:06.810-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My Favourite Place on the Planet</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SQ_KV5hV4VI/AAAAAAAAACY/Bh6f03eo2X4/s1600-h/tarpon.bmp"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264648966986129746" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SQ_KV5hV4VI/AAAAAAAAACY/Bh6f03eo2X4/s320/tarpon.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SQ_KVSZEjeI/AAAAAAAAACQ/DTmK-vD3CY4/s1600-h/spongerack.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264648956482457058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 256px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SQ_KVSZEjeI/AAAAAAAAACQ/DTmK-vD3CY4/s320/spongerack.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SQ_KVNST1iI/AAAAAAAAACI/84coppynfFQ/s1600-h/Tarpon+springs.bmp"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264648955111921186" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SQ_KVNST1iI/AAAAAAAAACI/84coppynfFQ/s320/Tarpon+springs.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So I am completely drained on blog topics and decided to look on the internet. There are websites with hundreds of random blog topics. It really helps!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;My favorite place definately isn't very exotic being as I haven't been to many places. But I would have to say that my favorite place on the planet is my grandma's house. She lives in a million dollar home in Tarpon Springs, Florida. Now, when most people think of a million dollar home, they think of brand new, pool in the backyard, windy staircase, marble floors etc. Hers is nothing like that. It is actually pretty old. When I inherit it someday I will be making a lot of updates. But the thing I love most about the house is its location. It is right where the Anclote River empties into the golf of mexico. She has a big fishing dock with boats and kayaks hooked onto it. There are little islands all around that I used to explore when I was a kid. Sitting on the dock, you can watch speedboats and tour boats take tourists out into the ocean. There are always dolphins swimming around her dock. When I was little I used to catch starfish and snails near the water. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Her backyard is filled with grapefruit, orange, and bamboo trees. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Another thing I absolutely love about my grandma's house is the neighborhood. Tarpon Springs is a greek neighborhood with beautiful historic buildings. Every year during the Ephiphany the town goes to watch the greek boys dive for the cross off the bayou. The city is cluttered with little mom and pop sponge shops where you will find every variety of sponge you can possibly imagine, and then more. The streets smell of cuban cigars. There are tons of restaurants offering greek food, but the best is Mr. Soulvaki's greek salads (and I'm not even a salad eater). Its a place where you can lie back listening to Jimmy Buffet drinking Margaritas all day. When I am there its like I am in another world. It is so calm and relaxing, all the stresses of everyday life fade away. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8448715718672919374-9188916817876605025?l=rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/feeds/9188916817876605025/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8448715718672919374&amp;postID=9188916817876605025' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/9188916817876605025'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/9188916817876605025'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2008/11/my-favourite-place-on-planet.html' title='My Favourite Place on the Planet'/><author><name>Rhianna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17153836142567653250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SLoh3nqdrfI/AAAAAAAAAAM/-sTFQ6c5VCA/S220/myspace.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SQ_KV5hV4VI/AAAAAAAAACY/Bh6f03eo2X4/s72-c/tarpon.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8448715718672919374.post-5159725939328379152</id><published>2008-11-03T19:18:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-03T19:33:10.478-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Obama Rally</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SQ-_y7GFUrI/AAAAAAAAACA/WyD8YGAlenA/s1600-h/DSCF2069.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264637370996970162" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SQ-_y7GFUrI/AAAAAAAAACA/WyD8YGAlenA/s320/DSCF2069.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SQ-_yZoJ2zI/AAAAAAAAAB4/uGfABd-5a_M/s1600-h/DSCF2064.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264637362013068082" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SQ-_yZoJ2zI/AAAAAAAAAB4/uGfABd-5a_M/s320/DSCF2064.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SQ-_x2jT6WI/AAAAAAAAABw/enj_b8MqDFE/s1600-h/DSCF2071.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264637352597514594" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SQ-_x2jT6WI/AAAAAAAAABw/enj_b8MqDFE/s320/DSCF2071.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SQ-_xWwWxII/AAAAAAAAABo/gahCZz-FQAk/s1600-h/DSCF2067.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264637344062293122" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SQ-_xWwWxII/AAAAAAAAABo/gahCZz-FQAk/s320/DSCF2067.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SQ-_xNgK1pI/AAAAAAAAABg/NczhC32qQWE/s1600-h/obama+rally+2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264637341578483346" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 256px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SQ-_xNgK1pI/AAAAAAAAABg/NczhC32qQWE/s320/obama+rally+2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've wanted to go to an Obama Rally for a while now, so as soon as I heard he was going to be at Civic center park we were there. He was supposed to be be speaking at 11:30 but the gates opened at 10. We were there at 9:30. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When we got there, we took our place in a line that went on for miles. Thankfully, we were just about a half mile from the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;entrance&lt;/span&gt;. While we were in line we got tons of no on 49, 54 (whatever #s they are) stickers stuck all over us. Finally we got to the park &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;entrance&lt;/span&gt; and there were no good spots. We ended up way back on the capital steps next to some speakers so we could at least hear the speech. We gave up on getting any glimpse of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Obama&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The crowds were &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;ridiculous&lt;/span&gt; but amazing. It was great to see so many people come together in support of Obama. People stood on trash cans to see over the 100,000 people. Every tree had a person in it who wanted a better view. Even the tops of buildings were full of people. I read that this was the biggest gathering at the park since the pope came in the 80's.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;His speech felt like the same old we've been hearing every day for the past few months, but still it was nice to hear in person. Right when he stepped out Obama said "wow who are all those people back there on the capital steps. Does &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Denver&lt;/span&gt; ever have small crowds? I wish you could all see what I am seeing right now!" Something like that any ways. Not an exact quote. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Although&lt;/span&gt; Colorado is a battleground state, I feel like Obama has won it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8448715718672919374-5159725939328379152?l=rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/feeds/5159725939328379152/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8448715718672919374&amp;postID=5159725939328379152' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/5159725939328379152'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/5159725939328379152'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2008/11/obama-rally.html' title='Obama Rally'/><author><name>Rhianna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17153836142567653250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SLoh3nqdrfI/AAAAAAAAAAM/-sTFQ6c5VCA/S220/myspace.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SQ-_y7GFUrI/AAAAAAAAACA/WyD8YGAlenA/s72-c/DSCF2069.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8448715718672919374.post-2009745653124348178</id><published>2008-11-03T12:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-03T13:13:09.969-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Popular Culture Brainstorm</title><content type='html'>I would like to argue how an ad promotes a stereotype, but I'm not sure which ad I want to look at yet. Looking on the internet I found some ideas...&lt;br /&gt;1. Diet ads promote obese stereotypes/create negative stigmas&lt;br /&gt;2. Cleaning ads that promote sexual stereotypes&lt;br /&gt;3. Lucky Charms commercail promotes Irish stereotypes&lt;br /&gt;4. Barbies promote racial stereotypes&lt;br /&gt;I really like the barbie idea and I think that is what I'm going to go with. I could talk about how barbies give girls an unrealistic image. They are white, blond, and super skinny. Barbie's feet are permanently prepared for high heels. Bratz dolls are another great example of this. They are dressed in mini skirts and anchored at young girls. The barbie dolls are also very racially stereotyped. Theres black barbie, indian barbie, asian barbie etc..&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8448715718672919374-2009745653124348178?l=rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/feeds/2009745653124348178/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8448715718672919374&amp;postID=2009745653124348178' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/2009745653124348178'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/2009745653124348178'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2008/11/popular-culture-brainstorm.html' title='Popular Culture Brainstorm'/><author><name>Rhianna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17153836142567653250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SLoh3nqdrfI/AAAAAAAAAAM/-sTFQ6c5VCA/S220/myspace.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8448715718672919374.post-8239360946745738402</id><published>2008-10-24T17:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-24T18:02:28.262-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The price of getting green</title><content type='html'>This morning I went with my husband to his lawyer appointment. Now that I am finally 18 (in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;december&lt;/span&gt;) he can apply for his green card. It is &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;rediculous&lt;/span&gt; how much immigrants have to go through just to be here legally. I can almost understand why people run across the boarder :). The lawyer first gave us a list of fees totalling $5,000. I honestly thought it would cost a lot more than that, but I guess $5,000 is a lot just to file some paperwork.&lt;br /&gt;Next he handed us a list of things we need to get together to make our case. I had to laugh when I read we had to prove that we were in a "real marriage" not just so he could become a citizen. We need to submit pictures of us together at our wedding, our son's birth, vacations, graduations etc. and then any invitations or cards that were addressed to the both of us. We also have to prove we live together, pay bills together, and like a million other things. I have to send immigration our "Merry Christmas" cards for gods sake.He obviously has to submit legal documents like birth certificates but also letters from his pastor, teacher, and coaches saying that he is a good person. There were probably 50 items on that list, some pretty &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;ridiculous&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;The most shocking part about all this, is after about a year of filing paperwork he finally gets an interview. We both have to fly to El Salvador, where my husband is from, and get interviewed. And &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;that's&lt;/span&gt; not where it ends. We have to STAY in El Salvador for a YEAR while the paperwork is being processed!! I find this completely insane. At least I'm not at a point in my life where I have a house and steady job. How could they expect people to just pack up and leave for a year. I am free to come back to the US but &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;theres&lt;/span&gt; no way I could support myself and my son without him so I will just live there. I have to admit that it sounds like an fun adventure. But its a very fun &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;inconvenient&lt;/span&gt; adventure. But I will do whatever it takes to help him get a green card. It's a huge accomplishment for someone from another country because it is such a difficult and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;lengthy&lt;/span&gt; process.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8448715718672919374-8239360946745738402?l=rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/feeds/8239360946745738402/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8448715718672919374&amp;postID=8239360946745738402' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/8239360946745738402'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/8239360946745738402'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2008/10/price-of-getting-green.html' title='The price of getting green'/><author><name>Rhianna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17153836142567653250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SLoh3nqdrfI/AAAAAAAAAAM/-sTFQ6c5VCA/S220/myspace.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8448715718672919374.post-1205382063031575038</id><published>2008-10-20T13:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-20T13:14:57.520-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Belief</title><content type='html'>So I'm writing this a little late and I see where Amy is going with this. For my essay I'm thinking about writing either about fate or how a young child has a lot to teach if you are willing to listen. I think I will pick the 2nd topic for today.&lt;br /&gt;I believe that you can learn a lot from a young child. You just have to be willing to listen. My son teaches me something new every day. From the moment he was born, I learned that I need to care about people other than myself. When you have a child you have no choice but to let go of selfishness. Any extra bit of money that I might have I spend on my son. Not because I feel that I have to, but because I want to.&lt;br /&gt;As he grows so does his ability to teach me about being a better person. He is entering the "terrible two's" which in itself is a learning experience. One positive thing I was able to bring out of his temper tantrums is his ability to express emotion. When he is mad, the world will know about it. I have also learned for his joy and excitement in the most ordinary of objects. He is one of the happiest children I have ever met. Although many kids are scared of strangers, Angelo says "hi" to every person he comes into contact with. He also notices little things that I am to busy to see. He will be in awe over an airplane flying through the sky, or squeal with joy when he sees a dog running at the park. I think everybody needs to take a lesson from children.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8448715718672919374-1205382063031575038?l=rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/feeds/1205382063031575038/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8448715718672919374&amp;postID=1205382063031575038' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/1205382063031575038'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/1205382063031575038'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2008/10/my-belief.html' title='My Belief'/><author><name>Rhianna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17153836142567653250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SLoh3nqdrfI/AAAAAAAAAAM/-sTFQ6c5VCA/S220/myspace.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8448715718672919374.post-2435461522937257248</id><published>2008-10-20T12:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-20T13:02:24.634-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Unconditional Love of Children</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.thisibelieve.org/dsp_ShowEssay.php?uid=6559&amp;amp;themelist=children&amp;amp;yval=0&amp;amp;start=0"&gt;http://www.thisibelieve.org/dsp_ShowEssay.php?uid=6559&amp;amp;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;themelist&lt;/span&gt;=children&amp;amp;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;yval&lt;/span&gt;=0&amp;amp;start=0&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I read an essay titled "The Unconditional Love of Children". The tone was heart warming but &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;humorous&lt;/span&gt;. The author's voice comes through when she says that she was a dead broke teen working in a day care because "a girl has to pay for all those purses some way". Her voice also shows when she mentions her day-to-day struggles like getting a speeding ticket or failing a calculus test.&lt;br /&gt;I think what shaped her belief was when she realized that no matter how bad she had failed, "her kids" in the daycare loved her unconditionally. When a little boy told her how much he loved her, she realized that all of her hard work in the daycare had been worth it.&lt;br /&gt;She creates a balance between communicating and preaching by adding humor. She talks about "wading through crushed saltines, catching every virus known to toddlers, and dodging wood chips". It makes the essay seem lighter and makes the audience laugh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8448715718672919374-2435461522937257248?l=rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/feeds/2435461522937257248/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8448715718672919374&amp;postID=2435461522937257248' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/2435461522937257248'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/2435461522937257248'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2008/10/unconditional-love-of-children.html' title='The Unconditional Love of Children'/><author><name>Rhianna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17153836142567653250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SLoh3nqdrfI/AAAAAAAAAAM/-sTFQ6c5VCA/S220/myspace.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8448715718672919374.post-1568749244473054912</id><published>2008-10-07T13:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-07T13:42:23.916-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Kid thrown into an adult world.</title><content type='html'>Sometimes I feel like a kid who was thrown into an adult world. A world of bills, rent, work, school (in my case) and nothing fun! I guess I really was forced to grow up faster than most people. I got pregnant a few months after I turned 15, had my son a week after my 16&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; birthday, then got married and moved out on my own a few months later. I graduated from high school a year early, so now &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;I'm&lt;/span&gt; going to college and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;I'm&lt;/span&gt; only 17. I am extremely proud of my accomplishments, I know most kids my age could never do what I have done. I kept my baby, when everyone told me not to. I've had many girls who chose to get abortions come to me crying saying that they were glad I had my son, because it was something they couldn't do themselves. I beat the statistics by not only being a teen mom and graduating &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;high school&lt;/span&gt;, but by doing it a year early AND going to college. And unlike most teen moms, I am happily married to the father of my child.  But there are times when I wish I could have enjoyed my childhood a little longer. There is nothing better than doing what you want, when you want, and having no responsibilities. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Ironically&lt;/span&gt;, when I had the chance at that, all I wanted to do was turn 18 so I could have my "freedom" from my parents. I want my son to enjoy his childhood as much as possible and not to grow up too fast. You never know what you've got till its gone. And the grass isn't greener on the other side. (It all smokes the same) &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;haha&lt;/span&gt; just kidding!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8448715718672919374-1568749244473054912?l=rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/feeds/1568749244473054912/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8448715718672919374&amp;postID=1568749244473054912' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/1568749244473054912'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/1568749244473054912'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2008/10/kid-thrown-into-adult-world.html' title='Kid thrown into an adult world.'/><author><name>Rhianna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17153836142567653250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SLoh3nqdrfI/AAAAAAAAAAM/-sTFQ6c5VCA/S220/myspace.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8448715718672919374.post-3622490357052248323</id><published>2008-10-07T12:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-07T13:21:48.577-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A difficult decision that no mother should have to make</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SOu8zhlh_jI/AAAAAAAAABQ/PqquCUFOzws/s1600-h/0083357-R2-034-15A.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254500983632952882" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SOu8zhlh_jI/AAAAAAAAABQ/PqquCUFOzws/s320/0083357-R2-034-15A.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SOu8zhxUbGI/AAAAAAAAABY/zFXIHxlVg9g/s1600-h/0083357-R2-026-11A.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254500983682395234" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SOu8zhxUbGI/AAAAAAAAABY/zFXIHxlVg9g/s320/0083357-R2-026-11A.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; So I just got back from the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Children's&lt;/span&gt; hospital with Angelo. Going to the doctor is nothing new for us. Angelo was born with a birth defect called Fibular &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Hememilia&lt;/span&gt; (he is missing the fibula bone in his leg). Because of this, his affected leg is a little bit shorter than his other leg, a discrepancy that will increase as he ages. He also only has 4 fingers on that foot, and 4 fingers on his right hand. This is fairly common in children with his condition. In fact, Angelo was lucky he was born with all 4 of his toes, many kids have only 1 or none at all, making walking nearly impossible. He didn't get lucky when it came to his &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;fibular&lt;/span&gt; bone though. Many kids are born with shortened &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;fibulas&lt;/span&gt;, but Angelo's fibular bone is absent &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;all together&lt;/span&gt;. It is unknown what causes Fibular &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Hemmelia&lt;/span&gt;. Doctors believe it could be genetic, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;although&lt;/span&gt; we have no history of limb defects in our family. They do know it occurs in the 2&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;nd&lt;/span&gt; to 8&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; week of gestation. There are 2 options for treatment: limb &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;lengthening&lt;/span&gt; surgery, of prosthetic reconstruction (amputation).&lt;br /&gt;I was really upset about the news his doctor gave us today. It is about time for us to decide which treatment route we would like to go. He gave us the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;pros&lt;/span&gt; and cons of each procedure. Limb &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;lengthening&lt;/span&gt; would allow him to keep his leg but because the bone he is missing in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;essential&lt;/span&gt; in forming the ankle joint, his ankle would have to be fused together, making it stiff and unable to move. He could also have knee joint problems. With a stiff ankle and bad leg, it would be very hard for him to play any sports. This procedure will require many surgeries, and he will have to wear a large metal brace for 10 months after each procedure. It is a lot for a child to have to go through. Going the other rout, the doctors would perform an amputation below ankle, allowing him to keep his heel so he could walk even if he &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;wasn't&lt;/span&gt; wearing a prosthetic leg. Then they would fit him for a prosthetic and we would be on our merry way. This procedure needs to be done before he is 3, so he can best adjust to life with a prosthetic leg. The doctor told me prosthesis are very advanced. They don't let people with prosthetic legs run with the other &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;competitors&lt;/span&gt; in the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;Olympics&lt;/span&gt; because the prosthetics allow them to run faster. At first I said "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"&gt;absolutely&lt;/span&gt; not". How could I ever decide to let doctors cut off my sons foot?? I do see advantages to the amputation, but I don't know how I could ever come to that decision. I would prefer to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"&gt;lengthen&lt;/span&gt; and reconstruct his leg if at all possible. In November we are flying to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"&gt;Shriners&lt;/span&gt; Hospital in Salt Lake City (they prefer the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19"&gt;lengthening&lt;/span&gt; treatment) to get a second opinion. I want what is best for my son. This is going to be one of the hardest decisions I will ever have to make.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8448715718672919374-3622490357052248323?l=rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/feeds/3622490357052248323/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8448715718672919374&amp;postID=3622490357052248323' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/3622490357052248323'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/3622490357052248323'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2008/10/difficult-decision-that-no-mother.html' title='A difficult decision that no mother should have to make'/><author><name>Rhianna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17153836142567653250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SLoh3nqdrfI/AAAAAAAAAAM/-sTFQ6c5VCA/S220/myspace.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SOu8zhlh_jI/AAAAAAAAABQ/PqquCUFOzws/s72-c/0083357-R2-034-15A.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8448715718672919374.post-5409911722173253652</id><published>2008-10-07T12:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-07T12:42:53.960-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Cider Days</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SOu7jwTeWWI/AAAAAAAAAAo/g1Vbg8jxvoU/s1600-h/Cider+Days-31.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254499613194213730" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SOu7jwTeWWI/AAAAAAAAAAo/g1Vbg8jxvoU/s320/Cider+Days-31.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SOu7kM6WcGI/AAAAAAAAAAw/3lR0CN3Ld0k/s1600-h/Cider+Days-33.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254499620873465954" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SOu7kM6WcGI/AAAAAAAAAAw/3lR0CN3Ld0k/s320/Cider+Days-33.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SOu7kOB7HBI/AAAAAAAAAA4/rMxKdxufEkI/s1600-h/Cider+Days-27.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254499621173664786" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SOu7kOB7HBI/AAAAAAAAAA4/rMxKdxufEkI/s320/Cider+Days-27.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SOu7kaRwgrI/AAAAAAAAABA/I8ESEcJ8W1E/s1600-h/Cider+Days-7.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254499624461304498" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SOu7kaRwgrI/AAAAAAAAABA/I8ESEcJ8W1E/s320/Cider+Days-7.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SOu7kdfLL_I/AAAAAAAAABI/t_tbWpMuZZk/s1600-h/Cider+Days-4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254499625322885106" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SOu7kdfLL_I/AAAAAAAAABI/t_tbWpMuZZk/s320/Cider+Days-4.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;This weekend we went to Cider Days at &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Belmar&lt;/span&gt;. My husband and I took our son and our 5 year old &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;niece&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Estefany&lt;/span&gt;. It was a lot of fun for the kids. That morning, before we left, I went to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Safeway&lt;/span&gt; and spent $10.00 on apples so we could press our own apple cider at the festival. When we got there we went around to the booths getting free things. Then we took the kids to the petting zoo where they got free pony rides. My &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;niece&lt;/span&gt; thought the animals smelled bad but my son loved them. They both &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;enjoyed&lt;/span&gt; the pony rides. We took &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Estefany&lt;/span&gt; to the face painting booth where she got a sparkly butterfly on her cheek. Then the kids got to "milk" a fake cow. There was a really cute train that we put them on while I waited in line for the hay ride. At the end of the day we decided to press our apples, and only ended up with a cup of cider. $10.00 for one drink- but it was delicious! We left at 12:30- and boy was I glad we got there early. The crowds were just starting to arrive. I would really &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;recommend&lt;/span&gt; Cider Days as a family activity, I remember going as a kid and I loved it. I am glad my son was able to enjoy it too.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8448715718672919374-5409911722173253652?l=rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/feeds/5409911722173253652/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8448715718672919374&amp;postID=5409911722173253652' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/5409911722173253652'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/5409911722173253652'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2008/10/cider-days.html' title='Cider Days'/><author><name>Rhianna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17153836142567653250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SLoh3nqdrfI/AAAAAAAAAAM/-sTFQ6c5VCA/S220/myspace.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SOu7jwTeWWI/AAAAAAAAAAo/g1Vbg8jxvoU/s72-c/Cider+Days-31.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8448715718672919374.post-4738200999387668122</id><published>2008-10-06T12:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-06T13:02:13.537-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Vanished Place</title><content type='html'>When I was a kid, I lived in New Port &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Richey&lt;/span&gt;, Florida. Our house was painted white with a tacky turquoise trim. I remember catching grasshoppers in my pink &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;tea set&lt;/span&gt; and playing outside with the neighborhood kids. I rode my bike up and down the street, but I was never allowed to go past the "big pink tree", an apple tree full of blossoms. We had a huge orange tree in our backyard which made for many &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;juicy&lt;/span&gt; snacks. I used to go inside the tree, which was like a big fort. We lived across the street from a river. There were often large &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;turtles&lt;/span&gt; walking across the street that the neighborhood kids would lift into wagons and push around the streets. I enjoyed visiting my next door neighbor, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Gladice&lt;/span&gt;. She was a nice old lady who let me take a trinket from her house every visit. My other next door neighbor, Lauren, was one of my best friends. She was only a year younger than me, and we played together every day.&lt;br /&gt;     When I visit Florida every summer I like to go back to my old neighborhood and see what it looks like. It has been quite a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;disappointment&lt;/span&gt;. As I expected, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Gladice&lt;/span&gt; died many years ago. The big orange tree in our front yard has been cut down, and in place of the tree, between my old house and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Gladice's&lt;/span&gt;, is another new home. It is faced in the opposite direction of all the other houses on the street. It's backyard is where everybody &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;else's&lt;/span&gt; front doors are. It looks terrible. I have to say, whoever bought my old house did a really nice job fixing it up. It is now a pink color, but the yard is lush and grassy. Everyone who used to live there had moved away except Lauren and her family. They came to my wedding in Tampa Florida this summer and I've noticed how far apart we have grown. Her mother is still the nice lady she always has been, but Lauren and I no longer have much in common.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8448715718672919374-4738200999387668122?l=rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/feeds/4738200999387668122/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8448715718672919374&amp;postID=4738200999387668122' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/4738200999387668122'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/4738200999387668122'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2008/10/vanished-place.html' title='Vanished Place'/><author><name>Rhianna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17153836142567653250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SLoh3nqdrfI/AAAAAAAAAAM/-sTFQ6c5VCA/S220/myspace.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8448715718672919374.post-584626922418312017</id><published>2008-09-29T12:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-29T13:16:16.706-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Our Sprawling Supersize Utopia</title><content type='html'>This essay explains how people everywhere are flocking to suburbia. I've always thought the little neighborhoods with matching houses and a playground on every corner were really cute. I always imagined the typical &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;American&lt;/span&gt; family: a husband, wife, son, daughter, and a dog. But this article talks about how there is much more to the suburbs than that.&lt;br /&gt;    The author characterizes each type/group of people who occupy suburbia. She says that there are the doctor/lawyer/professor group of people who drive around in foreign cars, serve healthy snacks and make conversation about granite &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;counter tops&lt;/span&gt;. Then there are the Asians serving live fish and buying copies of Korea Central Daily News. Even farther into suburbia are the "golfer" type who strive for perfection. They own &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;blackberries&lt;/span&gt;, have cheerleader daughters, walk in closets, always maintain a casual composure and are surrounded by miles of parking lot.&lt;br /&gt;     I agree with this article, although they are making &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;humorous&lt;/span&gt; stereotypes of many groups of people. I used to sell newspapers door to door and it was amazing how segregated suburban neighborhoods are. I remember knocking on my first door of the evening to find an &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Asian&lt;/span&gt; woman who spoke no &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;English&lt;/span&gt;. I was shocked when the next 10 houses in a row were the exact same thing. It completely &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;depletes&lt;/span&gt; the whole cookie cutter suburban family idea.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8448715718672919374-584626922418312017?l=rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/feeds/584626922418312017/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8448715718672919374&amp;postID=584626922418312017' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/584626922418312017'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/584626922418312017'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2008/09/our-sprawling-supersize-utopia.html' title='Our Sprawling Supersize Utopia'/><author><name>Rhianna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17153836142567653250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SLoh3nqdrfI/AAAAAAAAAAM/-sTFQ6c5VCA/S220/myspace.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8448715718672919374.post-8987872525787934085</id><published>2008-09-22T12:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-22T13:02:57.301-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Guess the mood</title><content type='html'>The windows of the preschool are darkened. As the children slumber on their cozy cots, a neglected ball blows up against the sandbox. The sidewalks are lined with chalk outlines of the children who once occupied them. A crime scene without a victim. Rather than the squeals of childhood joy that fill the air earlier in any given afternoon, the playground is silent. A strong breeze rustles the dried leaves off the the orange fall trees. A &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;bicycle&lt;/span&gt; is blown to the corner of the fence, banished away until the children awaken. A table and it's chairs have been tipped over, forgotten. The wind pushes invisible children on the swings as the metal link chains moan and creak with each motion. All is frozen, awaiting nap time's end.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8448715718672919374-8987872525787934085?l=rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/feeds/8987872525787934085/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8448715718672919374&amp;postID=8987872525787934085' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/8987872525787934085'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/8987872525787934085'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2008/09/guess-mood.html' title='Guess the mood'/><author><name>Rhianna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17153836142567653250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SLoh3nqdrfI/AAAAAAAAAAM/-sTFQ6c5VCA/S220/myspace.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8448715718672919374.post-8911397678094199026</id><published>2008-09-15T13:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-15T13:16:59.066-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Body Modification</title><content type='html'>I have 2 tatoos, 4 ear piecings, and a nose ring. I had always wanted to get my ears pierced, ever since I was a kid. My parents wanted me to wait until I got out of Elementary School. Eventually in 6th grade I got tired of waiting so my friend Emily pierced my ears on the playground during recess. It was soley for fashon purposes, and probably made me feel "grown up". I just started piercing my ears whenever I felt that I needed more. I got up to four earrings on each side but I decided to let most of them close. I didn't like to take them out every night and have to put them back in every morning, but they were too uncomfortable to sleep with.&lt;br /&gt;    For my first tattoo I was in Mexico with my friend Emily ( yes the same one) and we decided that we would find someone to give us tattoos. We were only 13 so we couldn't get them legally. We met some kids who took us to this "underground" tattoo shop. I ended up getting a butterfly tattoo on my hip and she got cherries in the same place. The tatoos came out pretty bad, so once our parents found out we had them (they were pretty pissed) we had to go get them fixed. I really don't know why we got those tattoos. Mostly out of rebelousness I guess.  Partly out of just being teenage girls. We hate them now but we laugh about our experiences and how stupid we were. Anything could have happened in mexico, including disease from the needle. If nothing more, it was just a fun experience.&lt;br /&gt;    My last and most recent tattoo is of my sons name and his newborn handprint. That one was more carefully thought out. I took in his baby book and the tattoo artist tattooed his first handprint on my lower back. I do not regret that tattoo. It is something I will always love because I will always love my son.&lt;br /&gt;     Lastly- my nose ring. That too was for fashion reasons. I just thought it looked cute. But now its a pain in the ass to take care of and I will probably let it close up too someday soon.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8448715718672919374-8911397678094199026?l=rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/feeds/8911397678094199026/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8448715718672919374&amp;postID=8911397678094199026' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/8911397678094199026'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/8911397678094199026'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2008/09/body-modification.html' title='Body Modification'/><author><name>Rhianna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17153836142567653250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SLoh3nqdrfI/AAAAAAAAAAM/-sTFQ6c5VCA/S220/myspace.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8448715718672919374.post-6847669879406704799</id><published>2008-09-13T09:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-13T09:33:30.778-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Body Images</title><content type='html'>I think girls these days are more pressured by the media to fit that skinny, beautiful, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Hollywood&lt;/span&gt; image than ever. The most popular teen girl magazines are filled with images of beautiful women and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;products&lt;/span&gt; that send the message: "this is what you should look like". &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Celebrities&lt;/span&gt; and weight loss products are all over &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;TV&lt;/span&gt;. Even the music we hear on the radio is about body proportions "24, 34, 46" (&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Petey&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Pablo&lt;/span&gt;) and clothing brands "apple bottom jeans, boots with the fur" (Flo &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Rida&lt;/span&gt;). Girls are pressured to spend virtually all of their money on brand name clothing, make-up, manicures, pedicures, gym memberships... you name it, just to feel beautiful. What they don't understand is that half of what they see on &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;TV&lt;/span&gt; isn't real. With photo shop and other programs, even models are digitally modified to look their best. Blemishes are edited out, eyes and noses are adjusted so they are more &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;proportionate&lt;/span&gt;. It's all just an illusion.&lt;br /&gt;    Boys, on the other hand, deal with much less pressure. Many boys think it is important to dress in brand name clothing as well, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;whether&lt;/span&gt; it be Nike or &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;Abercombie&lt;/span&gt; and Fitch. Some even go to the gym so they can build up their muscles. They are clean &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;shaven&lt;/span&gt; and sport fresh hair cuts. But that is about where it ends. Men don't usually see what they should &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;strive&lt;/span&gt; to look like all over &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;TV&lt;/span&gt;, and they usually don't obsess over it either. They are more concerned about having the latest technology and driving the nicest cars. If boys shop at Target instead of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;Hollister&lt;/span&gt;, nobody really cares. Therefore, they do not have to deal with half of the pressure and media influence that girls do.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8448715718672919374-6847669879406704799?l=rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/feeds/6847669879406704799/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8448715718672919374&amp;postID=6847669879406704799' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/6847669879406704799'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/6847669879406704799'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2008/09/body-images.html' title='Body Images'/><author><name>Rhianna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17153836142567653250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SLoh3nqdrfI/AAAAAAAAAAM/-sTFQ6c5VCA/S220/myspace.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8448715718672919374.post-406437688335560030</id><published>2008-09-04T20:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-04T21:59:53.439-07:00</updated><title type='text'>McCain</title><content type='html'>I feel like McCain rewrote half of his &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;speech&lt;/span&gt; after watching &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Obama's&lt;/span&gt;. McCain knows that living such a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;privileged&lt;/span&gt; life hurts him. The fact that he owns 9 houses (not 7) &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;separates&lt;/span&gt; him from average &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Americans&lt;/span&gt; in a way that he can not relate. In an attempt to try and help his campaign he told stories of a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;solider&lt;/span&gt; killed in action and a struggling mother who's son was recently diagnosed with autism in order to convince &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Americans&lt;/span&gt; that he is able to relate to them through his &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;acquaintances&lt;/span&gt;. He wanted to convince &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Americans&lt;/span&gt; that he does want change and he can go against his own party (even though he voted with Bush 91 percent of the time). He told &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Americans&lt;/span&gt; that he would lower taxes while &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;Obama&lt;/span&gt; would increase them (although that's not what I heard in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;Obama's&lt;/span&gt; speech) and lower government spending when &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;Obama&lt;/span&gt; would raise it.&lt;br /&gt;The only part of McCain's speech that I felt was truly genuine was his &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;prisoner&lt;/span&gt; of war story. He spent a large portion of his life defending his country and made sure his audience knew it. I was quite bored by McCain's speech and very bothered by how he kept using conjunctions and slang like "we're gonna". We're gonna do this. We're gonna do that. Very annoying. And what about Sarah &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;Palin&lt;/span&gt;? The audience was more excited for her than for the man who is running for president of the United States. It is cheap that McCain chose a woman as his vice president. I'm all for feminism and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;woman's&lt;/span&gt; rights(Hillary was my first choice), but not for McCain's strategy of choosing a woman to gain woman's votes. The announcers said that Sarah will appeal to the disabled citizens because her baby was born with Down Syndrome. Well yea, what do you expect when you have a child at 44? Almost 1 in 30 babies born to mothers over 40 have down syndrome. And she doesn't believe in global warming?! OMG! &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"&gt;Ahhh&lt;/span&gt; I'm just so frustrated I need to stop writing! &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"&gt;OBAMA&lt;/span&gt; '08!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8448715718672919374-406437688335560030?l=rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/feeds/406437688335560030/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8448715718672919374&amp;postID=406437688335560030' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/406437688335560030'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/406437688335560030'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2008/09/mccain.html' title='McCain'/><author><name>Rhianna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17153836142567653250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SLoh3nqdrfI/AAAAAAAAAAM/-sTFQ6c5VCA/S220/myspace.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8448715718672919374.post-3575226749376013739</id><published>2008-09-03T13:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-13T09:38:20.983-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The perks of motherhood</title><content type='html'>I've suddenly began to realize how different my life has been since I had a child. I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;don't&lt;/span&gt; know why it took two years for it to finally hit me, but I can't believe that I'm a mom! Maybe it's just that I'm in the toddler stage. But I find myself saying the funniest things these days.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Angelo, you already have &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;wawa&lt;/span&gt; in your dado!" That's mom speak. My son calls bottles &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;dados&lt;/span&gt;, I'm really not sure why. Bah-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;tul&lt;/span&gt; and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;dah&lt;/span&gt;-dough sound nothing alike to me. But I say it anyways. Just as he picks up things from me, I'm picking up things from him. I figured out why he says &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;wawa&lt;/span&gt; though. My husband is from El Salvador, and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;spanish&lt;/span&gt; was his first language. So &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;wawa&lt;/span&gt; is a mixture of water and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;agua&lt;/span&gt; (&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Spanish&lt;/span&gt; for water). I find it very cute, and although I probably should correct him, I'd like to let his innocence last just a little bit longer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He thinks everything is gross. Every time he sees a crumb on the floor he will bring it to me and say "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;ewwe&lt;/span&gt;!" The truck that parks next to me is &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;ewwe&lt;/span&gt; because it has some old rusty tires in it. When he finds something unexpected, like a stringy green bean he spits it out and brings it to me with a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;disgusted&lt;/span&gt; look on his face.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He does have his annoying habits though. Whenever I eat a bowl of lucky charms he is over my shoulder picking out all the marshmallows and eating them for himself. Those are the best part and he knows it. And he constantly wants to go outside. He will go get my shoes and put them on my feet with a little puppy dog look on his face, then ask me, "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;outdied&lt;/span&gt;?" His favorite movie is &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;Shrek&lt;/span&gt;. He knows what is going to happen and sometimes finishes the lines.&lt;br /&gt;Every day is something new with him, and I can't wait to see what the future will bring.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8448715718672919374-3575226749376013739?l=rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/feeds/3575226749376013739/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8448715718672919374&amp;postID=3575226749376013739' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/3575226749376013739'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/3575226749376013739'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2008/09/perks-of-motherhood.html' title='The perks of motherhood'/><author><name>Rhianna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17153836142567653250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SLoh3nqdrfI/AAAAAAAAAAM/-sTFQ6c5VCA/S220/myspace.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8448715718672919374.post-6503151916856289529</id><published>2008-09-02T12:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-04T21:00:24.065-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Obama</title><content type='html'>After endless "thank &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;yous&lt;/span&gt;" &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Obama&lt;/span&gt; was finally able to begin his speech. He started out by saying that the American Promise is in jeopardy. This is a result of the government's failure to react and Bush's failed policies. He says that America is better than the past eight years. McCain is nothing but a 3rd Bush term. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Obama&lt;/span&gt; stated, "John McCain voted with Bush ninety percent of the time. What does it say about your judgement when you think George Bush is right ninety percent of the time?!" &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Obama&lt;/span&gt; wants to evoke fear in his audience that the American promise is in jeopardy. He wants them to see that everyone must do their part and stand up for change. He wants &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;americans&lt;/span&gt; to say "ENOUGH!" &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Obama&lt;/span&gt; wants his audience to see him as their only chance to save the American Promise.&lt;br /&gt;Everyone likes someone who they can relate to, and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Obama&lt;/span&gt; is just that. He is the American poster child. Being a Caucasian and African American child growing up in a single parent home, he did not have an easy start at life. Even though his mother was on food stamps, she sent her children to the best schools in the country. His is a story of rags to riches. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Obama&lt;/span&gt; compares his grandfather to the young veterans returning home from Iraq and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Afghanistan&lt;/span&gt;. He compares his mother to the struggling student who can sleep only three hours before working the night shift. He compares his grandmother to every woman who has difficulty starting a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;business&lt;/span&gt; or making her way in the world because of her gender. He says that those are his heroes and they have shaped him to be who he is today. His life is not that of a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;celebrity&lt;/span&gt;, as is &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;McCain's&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;Obama&lt;/span&gt; wants Americans to see him as one of us. He wants us to see McCain as someone who is ignorant of the real American lifestyle- someone who is hasn't had to experience struggle and hard work, like the rest of us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;Obama&lt;/span&gt; is trying to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;persuade&lt;/span&gt; every last American to do their part. He wants the Republicans to own their failure and citizens to help better their communities. He wants us to believe that if we work hard we will succeed. Although &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;Barack&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"&gt;Obama&lt;/span&gt; is only one person, he &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"&gt;certainly&lt;/span&gt; has some big changes in mind. Some believe that he is just saying what everyone wants to hear, and one person can not change the world. I believe he will stand up for his values &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"&gt;until&lt;/span&gt; the end, and although he can only do so much, he will do his best and encourage others to do so as well.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8448715718672919374-6503151916856289529?l=rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/feeds/6503151916856289529/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8448715718672919374&amp;postID=6503151916856289529' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/6503151916856289529'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/6503151916856289529'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2008/09/obama.html' title='Obama'/><author><name>Rhianna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17153836142567653250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SLoh3nqdrfI/AAAAAAAAAAM/-sTFQ6c5VCA/S220/myspace.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8448715718672919374.post-2174399843325497633</id><published>2008-08-27T12:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-04T21:00:37.899-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Educational/Noneducational Text</title><content type='html'>Text is everywhere that you look. You would have to go out extremely out of your way to avoid text for just one hour of the day. Even if you're not the reading type, you can find text on the food you eat, your clothing, television, email, the cellphone &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;that's&lt;/span&gt; constantly vibrating in your pocket, and the blog that you are reading at this very moment. Text can be classified as "anything &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;deliberately&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;fashioned&lt;/span&gt; by human beings to convey an idea, a message, or even a feeling". But which text is educational and which isn't?&lt;br /&gt;School textbooks, newspapers, and informative books are your typical education text. I believe that all text is educational, however. Whether it's reading a book about how to write an essay, or reading a clothing tag telling you to wash with like colors, you are picking up bits of information with everything that you read. When your friend texts you about the party tomorrow night, it might be a stretch, but you are still learning of something that you would have otherwise known nothing about. When you read billboards you are learning of new products. When you look at the nutritional information while munching on a bag of potato chips, you are learning how much fat you are ingesting (and how many miles you will have to run to burn all that off!) So no matter where you encounter text, it is educational.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8448715718672919374-2174399843325497633?l=rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/feeds/2174399843325497633/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8448715718672919374&amp;postID=2174399843325497633' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/2174399843325497633'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8448715718672919374/posts/default/2174399843325497633'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rhiannasrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2008/08/educationalnoneducational-text.html' title='Educational/Noneducational Text'/><author><name>Rhianna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17153836142567653250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SpRB1tDw7ag/SLoh3nqdrfI/AAAAAAAAAAM/-sTFQ6c5VCA/S220/myspace.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
