<?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-33511989</id><updated>2011-04-21T15:22:49.581-06:00</updated><category term='Work'/><category term='Life'/><category term='Relationships'/><category term='Shopping'/><category term='Politics'/><title type='text'>Dallas Hell</title><subtitle type='html'>My thoughts on life while I am stuck in &lt;strike&gt;Dallas&lt;/strike&gt; DFW</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Dallas Hell</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07564110096392688068</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='12' src='http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p263/dallasaggie/dallas3.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>28</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33511989.post-637847919401101686</id><published>2008-07-05T19:21:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-07-05T19:34:46.151-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Politics'/><title type='text'>Random political musings</title><content type='html'>One of my great loves in life is politics. My parents always required that I stay up on current events when I was younger, and I suppose that is where my interest in the political arena began. My parents were staunch Democrats, and raised me to be the same.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I've gotten older, I've gotten a little more liberal than they are (and that's saying A LOT). Most of the people I know are like minded but I do have two friends that are pretty much the opposite of me as far as their political leanings. I don't talk about politics with one friend, and the other, I really try not to, because usually she ends up offending me big time. I have found it best to just avoid the subject if at all possible, yet she brings it up anyway with little comments or opinions here and there. Those times, I try to change the subject without stating my opinion one way or the other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another friend asked me the other day: "How can you be friends with someone like that?" The answer is, I really don't know. It's hard. It's one thing to think differently than someone, and its another to be completely offended by their line of thinking sometimes, and when you state your opinion they talk to you like you don't really understand how the world works.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am so excited about this election, but on the other hand, I can't wait for it to be over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So anyway - I am going to be honest I didn't accomplish shit today! So onto happiness:&lt;br /&gt;1. My two hour nap&lt;br /&gt;2. The weather is so nice, a little hot, but nice&lt;br /&gt;3. Still have one more day of weekend!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33511989-637847919401101686?l=dallashell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/feeds/637847919401101686/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33511989&amp;postID=637847919401101686' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/637847919401101686'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/637847919401101686'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/2008/07/political-musings.html' title='Random political musings'/><author><name>Dallas Hell</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07564110096392688068</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='12' src='http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p263/dallasaggie/dallas3.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33511989.post-1663009703781249161</id><published>2008-07-03T18:39:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-07-03T18:50:05.059-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Life'/><title type='text'>I got out!</title><content type='html'>I got out of Dallas hell! Without going into all the nasty details of how or why - let's just say I am now a resident of Fort Worth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What?! What? You? In Fort Worth? Yes, I know that's what you're thinking. I was one of "those" Dallas people that hated on Fort Worth constantly. CONSTANTLY. But now that I live here, I have found it's not so bad. *whispering* I might like it a little better. In all honesty, it's really not that much different than Dallas, except the traffic is worse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yea, that's another myth. The traffic is FAR worse in north Fort Worth than in Dallas. But that's ok.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So yea, three things I accomplished today:&lt;br /&gt;1. I closed our accounting system, all by myself!&lt;br /&gt;2. I worked out&lt;br /&gt;3. I applied for a part time job.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Three things that made me happy:&lt;br /&gt;1. Going to the gym&lt;br /&gt;2. Seeing my dog when I got home from work&lt;br /&gt;3. Talked to my mom this morning.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33511989-1663009703781249161?l=dallashell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/feeds/1663009703781249161/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33511989&amp;postID=1663009703781249161' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/1663009703781249161'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/1663009703781249161'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/2008/07/i-got-out.html' title='I got out!'/><author><name>Dallas Hell</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07564110096392688068</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='12' src='http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p263/dallasaggie/dallas3.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33511989.post-6769665165384609873</id><published>2008-02-09T18:29:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-02-09T18:41:08.329-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Relationships'/><title type='text'>Never been better!</title><content type='html'>Has someone ever asked you how you were doing and your answer was "Never been better!" and you actually meant it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today I had an appointment to get my eyebrows done, and per usual, my eyebrow lady asked how I was doing, and "Never been better" was my answer. And I totally meant it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sure I am broke like I always am, and I had to work today. However, for the first time in a long time I am completely in control of my life and it feels AMAZING. Fucking amazing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A lot has happen since I last posted almost a year ago -- the most important stuff in the last month or so. I finally have my life back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Three things I accomplished today:&lt;br /&gt;1. I got my laundry done and cleaned the house&lt;br /&gt;2. I went to step aerobics this morning&lt;br /&gt;3. I got my eyebrows done&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Three things that made me happy today:&lt;br /&gt;1. The weather was gorgeous&lt;br /&gt;2. I got to see one of my friends&lt;br /&gt;3. My clean house&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33511989-6769665165384609873?l=dallashell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/feeds/6769665165384609873/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33511989&amp;postID=6769665165384609873' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/6769665165384609873'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/6769665165384609873'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/2008/02/never-been-better.html' title='Never been better!'/><author><name>Dallas Hell</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07564110096392688068</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='12' src='http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p263/dallasaggie/dallas3.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33511989.post-9080224996730214418</id><published>2007-03-10T10:54:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-03-10T11:04:18.043-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Life'/><title type='text'>No no no</title><content type='html'>Apparently I need to introduce the word "No" into my vocabulary.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It seems that no one else has a problem telling me no. People tell me they are going to do something, but then when it becomes inconvienent for them, all of a sudden it's ok to back out on me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Call me weird, but when I tell someone I am going to do something or be somewhere, 99% of the time, I'm going to follow through. I don't want to have a reputation for letting people down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm just going to become an uber-bitch and not doing shit for anyone anymore. Because I think I'm starting to get the reputation of a doormat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh and Happy Birthday to a certain someone! If you think this post is about YOU, you're right!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33511989-9080224996730214418?l=dallashell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/feeds/9080224996730214418/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33511989&amp;postID=9080224996730214418' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/9080224996730214418'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/9080224996730214418'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/2007/03/no-no-no.html' title='No no no'/><author><name>Dallas Hell</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07564110096392688068</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='12' src='http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p263/dallasaggie/dallas3.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33511989.post-6879025210493699571</id><published>2007-02-26T20:37:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-02-26T20:43:54.100-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Life'/><title type='text'>Three Things</title><content type='html'>A poster on a message board I frequent gave a suggestion for something to do when you are feeling down: write down three things you accomplished today and three things that made you happy today. So here goes:&lt;br /&gt;Three things I accomplished&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;I went to kickboxing after work&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I finished a project for my bosses boss&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I found a hotel for me and T's vacation&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Three things that made me happy&lt;br /&gt;    1.   T called me today at work just to see how I was&lt;br /&gt;    2.   My dog Bailey when I got home from work&lt;br /&gt;    3.   Finishing kickboxing (ha!)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Hmmm... I guess I do feel better!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33511989-6879025210493699571?l=dallashell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/feeds/6879025210493699571/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33511989&amp;postID=6879025210493699571' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/6879025210493699571'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/6879025210493699571'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/2007/02/three-things.html' title='Three Things'/><author><name>Dallas Hell</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07564110096392688068</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='12' src='http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p263/dallasaggie/dallas3.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33511989.post-3774838477286137829</id><published>2007-02-17T17:50:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-02-17T17:56:46.613-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Life'/><title type='text'>Obligatory Britney post</title><content type='html'>Ok - I admit it. I am addicted to celebrity gossip. Each weekday, my job in corporate america doesn't start until I have checked all my favorite gossip sites, and discussed with my friends what all those crazy celebs are up to. I am almost ashamed about it, since I consider myself to be reasonably intelligent and up on current events and all that good stuff.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today I woke up to find that Britney Spears had completely shaved her head overnight. Lovesit! For some reason (and I'm sure I'm not the only one) my favorite celeb news story is one where the celeb in question has completely gone off the deep end. And this is what I believe has finally happened to poor BritBrit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not ashamed, I used to be a fan of Britney. I defended her when my friends made fun of me. Oh well, sometimes I like cheesy pop music! But here lately she hasn't left me with much to defend, so I think I'll just get on the bandwagon and commence to ridicule her. It's not right but it's ok!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33511989-3774838477286137829?l=dallashell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/feeds/3774838477286137829/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33511989&amp;postID=3774838477286137829' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/3774838477286137829'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/3774838477286137829'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/2007/02/obligatory-britney-post.html' title='Obligatory Britney post'/><author><name>Dallas Hell</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07564110096392688068</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='12' src='http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p263/dallasaggie/dallas3.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33511989.post-7677496862004157360</id><published>2007-02-11T18:10:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-02-10T11:19:47.905-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Life'/><title type='text'>Sleepless in Dallas</title><content type='html'>Have you ever had the feeling that you were not able to turn your mind off at the end of the day?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;T always tells me that my mind is always going going going. Ha! He doesn't even realize the extent of it. During the day, my mind is going, but it's thinking about the task at hand. I guess at night, when I'm laying in the bed, that's when I get to think about EVERYTHING ELSE. And let me tell you it sucks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lately, I have been averaging about three hours of sleep at night. Not nearly enough, but what can you do? Fortunately (unfortunately?), I am feeling a bit under the weather this weekend so I have been able to take a little Nyquil at night to help me sleep more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just wish I could quit worrying all the time. SIGH.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33511989-7677496862004157360?l=dallashell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/feeds/7677496862004157360/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33511989&amp;postID=7677496862004157360' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/7677496862004157360'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/7677496862004157360'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/2007/02/sleepless-in-dallas.html' title='Sleepless in Dallas'/><author><name>Dallas Hell</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07564110096392688068</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='12' src='http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p263/dallasaggie/dallas3.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33511989.post-2914303865342194754</id><published>2007-01-31T19:52:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-01-31T20:01:38.173-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Work'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Relationships'/><title type='text'>Yeaaaaaaaaaaa</title><content type='html'>Things are going pretty well right now. I have a job interview tomorrow. I previously interviewed there for another job, which they filled already, but the hiring manager has a newly created postion which she thinks I would be perfect for. She wanted me to come in as soon as possible, so hopefully they will make a decision pretty quickly!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the T front, we had a heart to heart on Monday night. To make a long story short, I am going to stop questioning his intentions and just go with it. He made it pretty clear where I stand with him, and told me that I had to trust him and leave the past in the past, and he had to do the same. So that's what we're going to do, and take things day by day. I don't know what happened to the T I used to know, but I really like this new one a whole hell of a lot better. Oh and it looks like I am not going to have to move anywhere because SOMEONE had a change of heart!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And, being the last day of the month, its PAYDAY!! Woot woot!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33511989-2914303865342194754?l=dallashell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/feeds/2914303865342194754/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33511989&amp;postID=2914303865342194754' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/2914303865342194754'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/2914303865342194754'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/2007/01/yeaaaaaaaaaaa.html' title='Yeaaaaaaaaaaa'/><author><name>Dallas Hell</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07564110096392688068</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='12' src='http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p263/dallasaggie/dallas3.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33511989.post-4461291311394178608</id><published>2007-01-27T19:11:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-01-28T18:38:06.490-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Relationships'/><title type='text'>Moving On</title><content type='html'>Would you move across country for the right man?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My good friend (the one who told me I had the "intimacy problem") told me that he most definitely would. It's something I've been thinking about lately with the whole T thing. Sure, I'd love for him to move here, but he also mentioned me moving there in passing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Would I do it? I don't know. I have great friends here, and a good job. That's really all that's holding me here. I hate Dallas, and have been itching to get out of here for awhile. However, where T lives definitely is not on my short list of places I wanted to move. So if I did it, I would be doing it for him, and him only. Of course I would have to get a job, and it would have to be the RIGHT job, so I guess that would be a plus. Anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If it were one of my friends, and she asked me if moving to another city for a guy was a good idea, I know what I'd say. I'd tell her absolutely not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So why am I browsing jobs online where T lives right now?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33511989-4461291311394178608?l=dallashell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/feeds/4461291311394178608/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33511989&amp;postID=4461291311394178608' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/4461291311394178608'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/4461291311394178608'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/2007/01/moving-on.html' title='Moving On'/><author><name>Dallas Hell</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07564110096392688068</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='12' src='http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p263/dallasaggie/dallas3.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33511989.post-8612732446848448910</id><published>2007-01-25T18:19:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-01-25T18:26:15.514-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Life'/><title type='text'>Broke!</title><content type='html'>I have a confession. I am a 30 year old, college educated professional, and an accountant no less, soon to be a CPA... and I had to call and beg my dad for money two nights ago. Sad sad sad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know why I cannot seem to manage my money better. I like to shop but I don't do it THAT much. I guess I have an active social life, so maybe that's the problem? All I know is that when all is said and done, most of the time I don't have enough to cover my bills at the end of the month.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And there is nothing more demoralizing than your dad reminding you that he sent you to college to study finance, become an accountant, and be able to take care of yourself. Thanks, as if I wasn't feeling bad enough already.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At least payday is on Wednesday.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33511989-8612732446848448910?l=dallashell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/feeds/8612732446848448910/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33511989&amp;postID=8612732446848448910' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/8612732446848448910'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/8612732446848448910'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/2007/01/broke.html' title='Broke!'/><author><name>Dallas Hell</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07564110096392688068</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='12' src='http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p263/dallasaggie/dallas3.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33511989.post-7922649888789118303</id><published>2007-01-23T20:27:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-01-23T20:33:56.387-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Work'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Relationships'/><title type='text'>Whew!</title><content type='html'>Everything is fine between T and I now. We chalked it up to miscommunication, and that fact that we hadn't seen each other in a long time. He said we just needed to spend some time getting to know each other again. Who knew he could have such a rational thought?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So - while I was visiting him, he brought up the subject of us getting back together. I tried to be nonchalant about it, acting as if I didn't care either way. If he knows anything about me at all, and he should since we have known each other for 10 years, he saw right through all that. But now I don't know if I should bring it up again and just be honest or what.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other news, my boss has done a complete 180. She is giving all my menial tasks to our accounting clerk (and he is way too smart for those tasks too, but that's another story), and actually giving me some real work. And being really nice too. I haven't felt like I needed to drop kick her in days!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33511989-7922649888789118303?l=dallashell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/feeds/7922649888789118303/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33511989&amp;postID=7922649888789118303' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/7922649888789118303'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/7922649888789118303'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/2007/01/whew.html' title='Whew!'/><author><name>Dallas Hell</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07564110096392688068</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='12' src='http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p263/dallasaggie/dallas3.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33511989.post-3771371071502739669</id><published>2007-01-21T20:58:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-01-23T20:35:03.363-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Relationships'/><title type='text'>Word Vomit</title><content type='html'>Today I said something to T I shouldn't have. As I was saying it, I knew it wasn't a good idea, but the words just kept coming out. It was like I was watching myself in slow motion, completely unable to do anything but watch and wait for the fallout.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the fallout was not pretty. I saw T for the first time in over five years yesterday. It was so great. Dare I say, magical? That's a little corny, but it definitely was something special. It was the best day I have had in awhile, and that is saying a lot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I went and screwed everything up this morning. I don't know why I can't keep my mouth shut sometimes. If I could develop a cure for the disease of Word Vomit, I would be a millionaire. It's usually a disease which afflicts people that complain if they had one certain thing in their life, they would be happy. Then they, through a chain of unbelievable events, get that thing they covet, and use their mouths to screw it up. Fantastic!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33511989-3771371071502739669?l=dallashell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/feeds/3771371071502739669/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33511989&amp;postID=3771371071502739669' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/3771371071502739669'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/3771371071502739669'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/2007/01/word-vomit.html' title='Word Vomit'/><author><name>Dallas Hell</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07564110096392688068</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='12' src='http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p263/dallasaggie/dallas3.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33511989.post-2724490058388712297</id><published>2007-01-15T13:21:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-01-23T20:35:32.122-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Relationships'/><title type='text'>A week and a half later</title><content type='html'>We're still talking. I can't stop thinking about him. I am such a mess.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33511989-2724490058388712297?l=dallashell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/feeds/2724490058388712297/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33511989&amp;postID=2724490058388712297' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/2724490058388712297'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/2724490058388712297'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/2007/01/week-and-half-later.html' title='A week and a half later'/><author><name>Dallas Hell</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07564110096392688068</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='12' src='http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p263/dallasaggie/dallas3.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33511989.post-2345708516619007775</id><published>2007-01-08T20:59:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-01-23T20:35:53.753-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Work'/><title type='text'>Manic Monday</title><content type='html'>Man! I cannot stand my boss. She is so sometimey. Some days she makes me feel bad for hating her, because she will actually talk to me and have a conversation like a normal person. Then there are days like today where she talks to me crazy and I just want to drop kick her ass. That's not very nice, is it. Oh well, that's how I feel. Life isn't always sunshine and roses.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33511989-2345708516619007775?l=dallashell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/feeds/2345708516619007775/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33511989&amp;postID=2345708516619007775' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/2345708516619007775'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/2345708516619007775'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/2007/01/manic-monday.html' title='Manic Monday'/><author><name>Dallas Hell</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07564110096392688068</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='12' src='http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p263/dallasaggie/dallas3.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33511989.post-213654866502463944</id><published>2007-01-07T13:06:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-01-23T20:36:24.499-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Relationships'/><title type='text'>Surprise!</title><content type='html'>Well what a shocking end of the week this has been. 2007 has definitely gotten off to an interesting start. Remember T, my boyfriend from college? I guess he really did want to keep in touch, because I got an email from him on Thursday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Friday we emailed all day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saturday we talked on the phone. We had not actually spoken to each other in almost five years.&lt;br /&gt;Today, I'm not going to talk to him. Even if he calls. Let me stop lying... haha!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway -- when I first got his email, I wondered why he was emailing me after all this time. I had some theories running through my head, but now that we have talked more, my head is really spinning. He's single. He might be coming to Dallas next weekend. He wants to see me. According to him, little things have reminded him of me over the years. Either he is trying to sweet talk me into bed, or he realized what a dumbass he was, and he wants me back. Of course he might just want to reconnect and be friends... but I can say that there is one thing I don't think T and I can be, and that is friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Time will tell what will come of all this, but I am excited, nervous, and wary all at the same time. I told D this morning that I feel like I have reconnected with my long lost best friend, and we have so much to say and so much catching up to do, that we can't stop talking.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33511989-213654866502463944?l=dallashell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/feeds/213654866502463944/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33511989&amp;postID=213654866502463944' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/213654866502463944'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/213654866502463944'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/2007/01/surprise.html' title='Surprise!'/><author><name>Dallas Hell</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07564110096392688068</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='12' src='http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p263/dallasaggie/dallas3.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33511989.post-7393912861629410725</id><published>2006-11-12T21:53:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-01-23T20:37:01.034-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Shopping'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Life'/><title type='text'>Feel Better</title><content type='html'>Nothing makes me feel better than spending money. Today I spent a ton of money and didn't have to use any actual cash.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First I went to Pier 1 and got some Christmas decor for my party that I am going to have next month. Luckily, I still had leftover giftcards from my birthday so that's what I used for my purchases.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I got home, I was still feeling pretty worthless, so I ordered a Marc Jacobs purse. On my Neiman's card. Granted, it might not have been the smartest thing to do considering I am beyond broke, but I tell you -- clicking on "Submit Order" did wonders for my mood. I just hope it comes in time for the Mavs game on Saturday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I went to the movies to see Borat. It was my favorite kind of movie: hilarious, offensive, and short. And I paid for it with a giftcard I got from a coworker. Even better!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another thing that helped my mood. I was reminded today that I don't have to see my boss again till the Monday after Thanksgiving. Fabulous!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33511989-7393912861629410725?l=dallashell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/feeds/7393912861629410725/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33511989&amp;postID=7393912861629410725' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/7393912861629410725'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/7393912861629410725'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/2006/11/feel-better.html' title='Feel Better'/><author><name>Dallas Hell</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07564110096392688068</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='12' src='http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p263/dallasaggie/dallas3.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33511989.post-8751307868316786410</id><published>2006-11-11T19:21:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-01-23T20:37:30.432-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Life'/><title type='text'>Weird Week</title><content type='html'>Last week was a pretty strange week. In some ways good, some ways just weird, not necessarily bad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The good: The election!!! We still have that idiot Rick Perry as governor, however, Dallas County went from completely Republican to Democrat! The house and senate are controlled by the Dems again, finally! Haters want to say "Oh what's really going to change, blah blah blah?" You know what? Maybe not much will change, but the fact that the American people have spoken is so cool to me. And at least the Dems are saying they want to make changes, and they are changes *I* care about. I don't care about big business, I don't care if gay people get married or if women have abortions -- I think they should be able to actually. I think the minimum wage should be raised. You get my drift. When all was said and done, I was pretty damn happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The weird: Work Guy aka BBQ. He came over on Wednesday. It was weird, and now I am worried things are weird between us. I know I am using the word weird a lot, but I don't want to relive the bizarreness of it all by typing it all out. Plus I will start to obsess about it again and I am just not up for that right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today I am feeling kind of down. I want to go shopping (I still have some giftcards leftover from my birthday) but I just can't bring myself to get up off the couch. Don't tell anyone, but I haven't even changed out of my PJs today. Maybe tomorrow I will feel up for going out.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33511989-8751307868316786410?l=dallashell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/feeds/8751307868316786410/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33511989&amp;postID=8751307868316786410' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/8751307868316786410'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/8751307868316786410'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/2006/11/weird-week.html' title='Weird Week'/><author><name>Dallas Hell</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07564110096392688068</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='12' src='http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p263/dallasaggie/dallas3.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33511989.post-116213146327386053</id><published>2006-10-29T08:08:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-11-11T17:07:27.151-06:00</updated><title type='text'>"I am not my hair"</title><content type='html'>I really really hate that song by India.Arie "I Am Not My Hair," mostly because I kind of feel like I AM my hair. If my hair ain't right, then more than likely my day isn't going to go right. I am one of those girls who will take about someone's "good hair" or "nappy hair." It's not right, but it's ok... that's just me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well after trying everything in the book to try and get my hair to grow to the desired length, and then just wearing extensions so it would be the desired length, I just up and cut it off yesterday. SHORT. The majority of it is less than an inch long. I was scared out of my mind but when I looked in the mirror, I loved it! It is so fly and flashy, which is exactly the look I was going for. Yippee!!! Maybe I finally found the style for me?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33511989-116213146327386053?l=dallashell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/feeds/116213146327386053/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33511989&amp;postID=116213146327386053' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/116213146327386053'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/116213146327386053'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/2006/10/i-am-not-my-hair.html' title='&quot;I am not my hair&quot;'/><author><name>Dallas Hell</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07564110096392688068</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='12' src='http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p263/dallasaggie/dallas3.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33511989.post-116190949652928463</id><published>2006-10-26T18:25:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-11-11T17:07:26.920-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Willpower</title><content type='html'>Well things seem like they are moving right along with Work Guy aka BBQ. Nothing *concrete* has happened with us yet other than a lot of flirting, but worst case scenerio, I have made a new friend, which is always cool.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But that is not the point of this post. BBQ told me last night on the telephone, while he was getting ready to go to the gym, that he used to weigh 300 lbs. Wow! Would have never guessed that considering the fine specimen he is now. I asked him how long it took him to lose the weight, and he said about a year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought back to how long I have been actively trying to lose weight. Probably three or four years. I could have this knocked out already! Why do some people struggle and struggle with their weight, and some people make the decision that they are going to lose, and then just do it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It makes me feel like such a weak, lazy, loser. I am going to do this. Starting tomorrow!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33511989-116190949652928463?l=dallashell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/feeds/116190949652928463/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33511989&amp;postID=116190949652928463' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/116190949652928463'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/116190949652928463'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/2006/10/willpower.html' title='Willpower'/><author><name>Dallas Hell</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07564110096392688068</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='12' src='http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p263/dallasaggie/dallas3.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33511989.post-116156413904637762</id><published>2006-10-22T18:26:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-11-11T17:07:26.778-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Sundays</title><content type='html'>I don't really like Sundays very much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is a lot to like about them. It's still the weekend, football, lazing around all day, etc. For me, Sundays usually represent something I need to get done, but have not finished yet. Today's issue is school. I have an exam that I must get done tomorrow, and another one due on Wednesday. I did study today, but my plan was to get one of the exams done today. Did I do that? No.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did get in a nice long nap and some football along with that studying. When am I going to grow out of this procrastination stage?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33511989-116156413904637762?l=dallashell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/feeds/116156413904637762/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33511989&amp;postID=116156413904637762' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/116156413904637762'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/116156413904637762'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/2006/10/sundays.html' title='Sundays'/><author><name>Dallas Hell</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07564110096392688068</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='12' src='http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p263/dallasaggie/dallas3.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33511989.post-116113316343046784</id><published>2006-10-17T18:59:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-11-11T17:07:26.619-06:00</updated><title type='text'>"Keep in Touch"</title><content type='html'>So after another failed "relationship," of course my mind drifts back to my boyfriend from college, T. Remember him? The one who told me to keep in touch? I guess he didn't really mean it, because I haven't heard from him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why do people even say that? Why don't people just say what they really mean? For example:&lt;br /&gt;-"its really good to hear from you, what a surprise!" really means "Oh God, you again?"&lt;br /&gt;-"give me a call sometime" really means "you can call but I'm not going to answer, and I sure as hell am not going to call YOU"&lt;br /&gt;-"last night was great" really means "you're easy and I won't be calling you"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm just tired, so tired, of me and my friends going through the same.old.thing.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33511989-116113316343046784?l=dallashell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/feeds/116113316343046784/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33511989&amp;postID=116113316343046784' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/116113316343046784'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/116113316343046784'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/2006/10/keep-in-touch.html' title='&quot;Keep in Touch&quot;'/><author><name>Dallas Hell</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07564110096392688068</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='12' src='http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p263/dallasaggie/dallas3.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33511989.post-116086715587531479</id><published>2006-10-14T16:59:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-11-11T17:07:26.467-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Stick a fork in me, I'm done!</title><content type='html'>So, I had to kick young guy to the curb. He tried to give me some more BS about how busy work was, and Oct-Jan was the busy time in retail (yea, uh, thanks Einstein. I had no idea about &lt;strong&gt;that.&lt;/strong&gt;) But I'm sorry, if you are trying to get to know someone and date them, I think you need to see and talk to them more than once every couple of weeks. And you can't tell me that you don't have an hour somewhere in your week to grab a bite to eat, or five minutes to call me while you are on your way home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WTFever, he was 25, with a busted car, a busted apartment, spoiled, selfish, a know-it-all, and had some definite Crazy-Jason-Type-Traits. No thank you. Plus, anyone who takes like 50 pictures of just himself (you know, like standing in front of the mirror and snapping a picture) and posts them on his myspace page, in addition to just himself looking "fly" as the desktop on his computer, definitely has some kind of issue. Why did I even deal with him for so long? UGH.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am really starting to get kind of worried about my chances of meeting a decent guy. I like this guy at my job but I doubt that will work out. We went to lunch yesterday and it went really well, but hell, doesn't it always start off really well? My friend C in San Antonio has dubbed him "BBQ," so from here on out the guy from work will be referred to as BBQ. Lovely!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a more upbeat note.... My Aggies just upset Mizzou today. Now I can stop secretly cheering for Texas every Saturday. Whoop!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33511989-116086715587531479?l=dallashell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/feeds/116086715587531479/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33511989&amp;postID=116086715587531479' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/116086715587531479'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/116086715587531479'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/2006/10/stick-fork-in-me-im-done.html' title='Stick a fork in me, I&apos;m done!'/><author><name>Dallas Hell</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07564110096392688068</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='12' src='http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p263/dallasaggie/dallas3.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33511989.post-115971693301905241</id><published>2006-10-01T09:22:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-11-11T17:07:26.305-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Dirty Thirty!</title><content type='html'>Friday was my big 30th birthday blowout. So much fun!! I love my friends, they are so great. I can't believe I will be 30 years old on Tuesday. Crazy!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Young guy told me ahead of time that he has been busy at work and might not make it. I guess I thought he would try harder to come, or surprise me or something. Well at like 11:30 he sends me a text message saying he is "so sorry." Hell yea negro, you is sorry alright. You couldn't be that tired if you are still up at 11:30 sending damn text messages. Why wasn't your ass in bed? He could have at least come shown his face. I am so so so sick of this shit. Really.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Other than that side note, my birthday was fantastic! I am so lucky to have such great family and friends to celebrate my 30th birthday with!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33511989-115971693301905241?l=dallashell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/feeds/115971693301905241/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33511989&amp;postID=115971693301905241' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/115971693301905241'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/115971693301905241'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/2006/10/dirty-thirty.html' title='Dirty Thirty!'/><author><name>Dallas Hell</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07564110096392688068</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='12' src='http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p263/dallasaggie/dallas3.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33511989.post-115793254256377180</id><published>2006-09-10T17:45:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-11-11T17:07:25.934-06:00</updated><title type='text'>This is why.....</title><content type='html'>....I didn't want to date Young Guy. I KNEW the minute that I agreed that we could date, and then I started to like him, something would go wrong. Well nothing has gone wrong, per se, but now he is too busy for me. My friend C in San Antonio, who is also a retail manager, told me that's the life of a retail slave. Ok, I understand that, but it doesn't mean it sucks any less. We were supposed to watch football tonight and oops, he forgot he had a staff meeting. I guess I'll get to see him for my birthday. Blah.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He did feel bad about tonight though. And while I was gone to see my parents over the weekend, he sent me an email telling me to be careful on the road and that he would miss me while I was gone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess I shouldn't complain, huh? It could be worse.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33511989-115793254256377180?l=dallashell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/feeds/115793254256377180/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33511989&amp;postID=115793254256377180' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/115793254256377180'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/115793254256377180'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/2006/09/this-is-why.html' title='This is why.....'/><author><name>Dallas Hell</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07564110096392688068</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='12' src='http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p263/dallasaggie/dallas3.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33511989.post-115724447333545966</id><published>2006-09-02T18:38:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-11-11T17:07:25.348-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Frickin frackin fluck!!! I hate when this happens!</title><content type='html'>So. A couple of weeks ago, I came across my ex boyfriend, T, from college. Not in person, but online. It was one of those mornings where I had to get up and let the dog out, and it was too early to get up but I couldn't go back to sleep. So I started Googling people, and of course T was the first person I checked on. Well wouldn't you know it, I got several hits!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Turns out he has made some huge huge huge changes in his life both personally and professionally. And there was his contact info right there, taunting me. Instead of thinking about the last time I talked to him and the ugly things he said to me, I immediately shot off an email. DUMB! Of course I didn't tell anyone I did this. Well except D.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Never heard back from him and had &lt;strong&gt;almost&lt;/strong&gt; forgotten that I had even emailed him. Then this past Friday morning, check my email and there it was -- a reply back. I was scared to even open it but at the same time couldn't wait to see what he had to say. Anyway - basically he sent a really nice reply, that ended with "Keep in touch."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WTF does that mean? Is he being for real? Was it just a generic keep in touch? Then I start thinking, how and why do we always end up back in touch with each other? Is he single? Is there still a chance for us?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It goes without saying, I am not over T, even after all these years. I constantly think, if I was who I am now back then, things would have been better. Every single guy that I date is compared to T, and of course none of them measure up. Hell, my own mom isn't over T -- she will ask about him every few months or so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why did I even email him in the first place is my main question. Why do he and I keep going through this every few years. T and I broke up back in 2000. Yet here we are six years later going through the same thing again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And what is really sad is that I am thinking about all this less than two hours before hanging out with Young Guy. That poor thing doesn't have a chance. I keep trying to tell him this subtlely, directly, meanly, nicely -- he just doesn't get it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33511989-115724447333545966?l=dallashell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/feeds/115724447333545966/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33511989&amp;postID=115724447333545966' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/115724447333545966'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/115724447333545966'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/2006/09/frickin-frackin-fluck-i-hate-when-this.html' title='Frickin frackin fluck!!! I hate when this happens!'/><author><name>Dallas Hell</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07564110096392688068</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='12' src='http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p263/dallasaggie/dallas3.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33511989.post-115698632191614028</id><published>2006-08-30T19:00:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-01-07T11:01:48.334-06:00</updated><title type='text'>More Hassle</title><content type='html'>On my way home tonight, some idiot rear ended me on I-30. Yea dumbass, not a good idea to try and cut across three lanes of traffic when a line of cars is merging. IDIOT! His insurance better be legit, I am not trying to come off $500 for a deductible!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went and got my books tonight and they were were $80 less than I budgeted for. So that was a bright spot to my day at least.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See, if I didn't live in this hellhole Dallas, and instead lived where I really want to (NYC or Chicago) I wouldn't even have to have a fucking car.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33511989-115698632191614028?l=dallashell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/feeds/115698632191614028/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33511989&amp;postID=115698632191614028' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/115698632191614028'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/115698632191614028'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/2006/08/more-hassle.html' title='More Hassle'/><author><name>Dallas Hell</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07564110096392688068</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='12' src='http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p263/dallasaggie/dallas3.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33511989.post-115694061201364643</id><published>2006-08-30T06:16:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-11-11T17:07:24.917-06:00</updated><title type='text'>So......</title><content type='html'>I decided that I am going to try and be nicer to Young Guy. He does has a lot of other redeeming qualities. As I told D, leave it to me to focus on the one bad quality and not the 10 good ones. I wonder why I do this? Anyway - we are supposed to go to the movies on Saturday night. Hopefully I won't fall asleep!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just know that over the course of my dating years, especially the last couple of years as I have become an "adult" and established a life for myself, I have accused several guys of self sabotage. I wonder if I do the same thing to my own relationships?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33511989-115694061201364643?l=dallashell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/feeds/115694061201364643/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33511989&amp;postID=115694061201364643' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/115694061201364643'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/115694061201364643'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/2006/08/so.html' title='So......'/><author><name>Dallas Hell</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07564110096392688068</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='12' src='http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p263/dallasaggie/dallas3.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33511989.post-115681812723710587</id><published>2006-08-28T20:14:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-11-11T17:07:24.731-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Intimacy problem?</title><content type='html'>Are the men in Dallas tired? Or are we too picky? My friend and I were discussing this today. She was telling me about a guy at her gym who was trying to talk to her, but he had &lt;b&gt;YELLOW TEETH&lt;/b&gt;. To me that's a dealbreaker. I don't blame her for blowing him off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had a date with the Young Guy last night. It was our first date, and today he tells me that he thought about me till he went to sleep last night. Um, what? The only way I would tell a guy that after our first date is if I never wanted to see him again. I told one of my best friends about this (who happens to be a guy) and he thought it was sweet. When I complained about it some more, I was told that I will not allow a man to get close to me, and I have a problem with intimacy. And, what's your point? I don't want to get screwed yet again, nor do I want to deal with some clingy psycho guy yet again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other breaking Dallas news, it rained today. And it wasn't over 100 degrees today. As a matter of fact, it didn't even break 90. For the first time in a couple of months, I didn't feel like I was living in hell.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33511989-115681812723710587?l=dallashell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/feeds/115681812723710587/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33511989&amp;postID=115681812723710587' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/115681812723710587'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33511989/posts/default/115681812723710587'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dallashell.blogspot.com/2006/08/intimacy-problem.html' title='Intimacy problem?'/><author><name>Dallas Hell</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07564110096392688068</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='12' src='http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p263/dallasaggie/dallas3.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
