<?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-5820218188547462241</id><updated>2011-11-27T17:01:30.442-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Oblivious Oxymoron</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5820218188547462241/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Anthony</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03015468712721358635</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>13</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820218188547462241.post-1536716553906351168</id><published>2010-12-30T11:58:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-30T12:01:13.234-08:00</updated><title type='text'>It's funny...</title><content type='html'>It's funny how girls talk constantly about how they just want a gentleman. Someone who holds open doors, respects them, doesn't try to pressure them into sex. A guy who likes them for their entire being, not just the exterior. It's funny. They say that they just want a guy who cares about them, and takes care of them, and smiles every time they enter the room. They pretend that when they find this guy, their lives will be complete. It's funny. Actually, it's hilarious. Isn't it ironic, that in you're life at this very minute ladies, sitting in his room all alone, their is probably that gentleman. And you've already turned him down. "Oh, I just see you as a friend." "You're like a brother to me." "I don't want to ruin our friendship." "You're a great guy, just not for me." "Any other girl would be lucky to have you."&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Are you kidding me ladies? Why? If you say you want the guy who will treat you right, and this guy will, then why? Don't keep lying to yourselves, don't keep lying to us. You fantasize about the romantic guy, but what you really want is the asshole. For some sick twisted reason, that us men will never understand, you want to be with those boys. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I call them boys because that's what they are. You think they are big, strong, tough, men. They aren't. A man treats people, men and women, with respect. A man takes care of those he loves. These "men" you girls really want, are nothing but little boys with cool haircuts and nice clothes.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The real men are waiting. They are the ones on the phone with you at 3 in the morning when the "boy" broke your heart again, even though they have exams at 6:00. They are the ones that bring you soup when your sick, not because they are your boyfriend and it's expected, just because they want you to feel better. They are the ones that call you on your birthday at midnight, just to be the first one to say it. And they are the ones who never get a chance at the girl of their dreams.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;And I swear, the first girl to reply to this post saying that she is different is nothing but a liar... I didn't start getting girls until I joined a band. I'm still that nice guy, but I have to pretend at first that I'm an asshole, then once I've got a girl's interest, show her I'm not. Does this sound normal to you?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Then fix it. The ball's in your court. Go find that boy who has had unrequited love for you for years and give him a chance. Even if you don't really like him at first. You never know, you might actually end up wanting the things you say you want out of a man.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5820218188547462241-1536716553906351168?l=obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com/feeds/1536716553906351168/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5820218188547462241&amp;postID=1536716553906351168' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5820218188547462241/posts/default/1536716553906351168'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5820218188547462241/posts/default/1536716553906351168'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com/2010/12/its-funny.html' title='It&apos;s funny...'/><author><name>Anthony</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03015468712721358635</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820218188547462241.post-6482409493067599744</id><published>2010-02-18T06:53:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-18T07:06:46.264-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Regret and Redemption</title><content type='html'>Regret has proven to be the worst feeling that my body is capable of feeling. And so I make it a point to always follow my heart. I thought this would lead me away from choices that I would regret. Yet I am beginning to realize that regret is simply an unavoidable component of life.&lt;br /&gt;There are always at least two options when you make a choice. But no matter if you follow your heart, your mind, or just flip a coin, you can't always make the right decision. It is humanly impossible.&lt;br /&gt;People say life is about choices. No, life is about how we handle the consequences of our choices. If life is about choices, then we live in a bleak world; no one makes good decisions all of the time. Most of us don't even make good decisions most of the time time. Human nature is self-destructive. We naturally lean towards bad choices. But if life is about how we handle the results, how we cope, then everyone has a chance at redemption.&lt;br /&gt;Redemption. That is what it's really all about when you are looking for happiness. I'm not talking about apologizing to people or paying them back for something you did. That is great, but I'm talking about self-redemption. That is what really can change your view on life. When you make a bad decision redeem yourself to yourself. When we make a bad choice, whether it is to ditch class, walk away from a relationship, from a friendship, whether it is to hurt a family member, to take those drugs, to drink that alcohol, to judge people, to ignore a phone call from a hurting friend, or even to just sleep in and be late to work, we see a chance to make things right here. When you wallow in your regrets, you are losing the game. Find the way to make things right. Things will never go back to the past, that isn't what redemption is about. Make the situation you are in now work just as well, if not better for you than the past.&lt;br /&gt;Redemption isn't about making things the way you wish they were. It's about finding a way to make the consequences of your actions positive. Find the good and concentrate on growing it instead of harping on your regrets. Life will be so much brighter in the end.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5820218188547462241-6482409493067599744?l=obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com/feeds/6482409493067599744/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5820218188547462241&amp;postID=6482409493067599744' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5820218188547462241/posts/default/6482409493067599744'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5820218188547462241/posts/default/6482409493067599744'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com/2010/02/regret-and-redemption.html' title='Regret and Redemption'/><author><name>Anthony</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03015468712721358635</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820218188547462241.post-3875865835021376544</id><published>2010-02-17T16:06:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-17T16:13:47.093-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Limbo</title><content type='html'>I haven't blogged in a long time. Life is changing and I'm not really coping with it at the moment. I constantly feel overwhelmed by everything that is going on. I feel like I have so much on my mind and so much to do, but when I sit down and really try to get anything done, there really isn't that much I can do. It just seems as if life is moving too quickly, but it's completely out of my control. I can't grab hold of much or do anything for myself. I'm just along for the ride. Everyday just seems like another step deeper into a life that is going in a million directions but never getting anywhere.&lt;br /&gt;There is not enough time in a day, yet I just want every day to end quicker. I need more hours to do everything, but I want to just move on to a new stage in my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is no conclusion to this blog post because I haven't yet come to a conclusion about what to do or think. I'm still floating in what feels like limbo to me, so we will see where it takes me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5820218188547462241-3875865835021376544?l=obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com/feeds/3875865835021376544/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5820218188547462241&amp;postID=3875865835021376544' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5820218188547462241/posts/default/3875865835021376544'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5820218188547462241/posts/default/3875865835021376544'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com/2010/02/i-havent-blogged-in-long-time.html' title='Limbo'/><author><name>Anthony</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03015468712721358635</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820218188547462241.post-3919470670510072802</id><published>2009-06-28T01:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-28T01:09:22.054-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dating... For Realisies</title><content type='html'>&lt;a style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" href="http://bulletins.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=bulletin.read&amp;amp;authorID=164623470&amp;amp;messageID=6485228516&amp;amp;hash=MIG%2fBgorBgEEAYI3WAPBoIGwMIGtBgorBgEEAYI3WAMBoIGeMIGbAgMCAAECAmYDAgIAwAQIHALdtDFdbYQEEL1RSxaUhqiJxD6UtNP8jL0EcK1xjq0nr%2bmh0M%2fueHfb8wImBg9yhVGL32eZKva9DTjrRiu4CrnXKyDvsTakCVV7zpnPBXpVRJY3iRKRkRXVzjI3LfOgzeqwDtdVLhn0cO%2f%2fiEJcOBQL3LWEHoCAmWLl8ypSs%2fF6ztLBtpggSck0LVs%3d"&gt;             &lt;span id="ctl00_ctl00_cpMain_cpMain_BulletinList_bulletins_Repeater_ctl01_BulletinTitle" class="bulletinSubjectLink"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;So, normally, I feel like this is just a desperate call for attention, or some way to throw yourself out there for people, but right now, I'm seeing it as a minute of public self-reflection.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Many people like to run out there and post blogs talking about how they wish they had a girlfriend/boyfriend. I think this makes you look desperate and it bugs me usually, but this is different. Why? Because I say so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just got done watching "He's Just Not That Into You" (Yes, I know I'm behind on my movies) and it was actually pretty good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And it got me thinking...about my past relationships. I haven't been known to have the longest lasting, nor most serious relationships in the world, but I've never really wanted that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have always enjoyed casual dating. I have been very much like Alex, (if you've seen the movie) in the fact that I have always distanced myself from people when a relationship was starting. I've always had an attitude where, if thing went south, "NEXT". The whole, "There are other fish in the sea," attitude.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PLOT SPOILER&lt;br /&gt;At the end of the movie, Alex realizes that he can't keep going on like this, that he actually wants a real relationship finally.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was at that moment that I realized the same thing. I'm so sick of flings and casual dating. I actually want to date some one long enough to get comfortable with them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not trying to run out there and scream, "Hey girls! Come and get me!" I'm just publicizing my epiphany that, I need to try to hold on to a relationship.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So from now on, I'm running at every relationship I find at full force. I'm not going to let anything scare me away from what could be a great thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't wait for the day when I'll find someone who can always make me happy, but until then, I'll be looking, and I won't settle for casual dating, and I definitely won't be ending any relationships for no reason as I have in the past.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5820218188547462241-3919470670510072802?l=obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com/feeds/3919470670510072802/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5820218188547462241&amp;postID=3919470670510072802' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5820218188547462241/posts/default/3919470670510072802'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5820218188547462241/posts/default/3919470670510072802'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com/2009/06/dating-for-realisies.html' title='Dating... For Realisies'/><author><name>Anthony</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03015468712721358635</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820218188547462241.post-2765313124194148654</id><published>2009-05-21T23:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-21T23:37:15.184-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Change your socks!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Change&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I'm not talking about that stuff that no body wants but they give you anyways every time you buy something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm talking about change, creating different circumstances in your life.&lt;br /&gt;Yeah that thing. I want some.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some people are afraid of change, in fact most people have a complete and utter hatred of any and all types of change. Not me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I crave it. I love change. I am, in fact, an agent of change. I need a change, often, in everything. Monotony is my worst enemy. I actually enjoy change so much that I have three beds in my bedroom and every couple of weeks I change the bed I sleep in just because I enjoy switching it up a little. And that, my friends, is a true story. No lie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess you could say I am addicted to change...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But recently, I have been stuck in a rut of boring, monotonous, for lack of a better (read: real) word, sameness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the last couple months I've had the same everything. Same schedule, same mood, same friends. I've listened to the same music, eaten the same foods, broken the same string on my guitar. (Which drives me crazy!) I've used the same toothpaste, even worn the same socks. Well, okay, I haven't worn the same socks, but you get the picture.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm just bored with life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want something to happen... right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want someone to surprise me with something life-altering.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want to meet new people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm even willing to break a bone if it will make things more interesting for a little while.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everything is just so predictable. Something needs to change.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know that people are going to say to change something on my own, but that means your totally missing what I'm trying to say. I understand, sure I could change something. I could change my schedule around a little bit, I could change the kind of toothpaste I use, I could change my socks. Sure, but those are just minor changes. I use them as an example, but that's not &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;really&lt;/span&gt; what I'm talking about. I need a change that really and truly alters the way my life works. I want destiny to throw me a curve ball and I want to hit it out of the park.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't really see anyway for me to create this type of change on my own, so for now, I'll be waiting for destiny to go to a party, maybe do some LSD, and say, "Hey! Let's screw things around a little bit!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until that happens, I'll be living moment to moment, always looking for my moment to grab hold of something new.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My song of the moment:&lt;br /&gt;Anything But Ordinary by Avril Lavigne&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dazed and Confused,&lt;br /&gt;Oxy&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5820218188547462241-2765313124194148654?l=obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com/feeds/2765313124194148654/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5820218188547462241&amp;postID=2765313124194148654' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5820218188547462241/posts/default/2765313124194148654'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5820218188547462241/posts/default/2765313124194148654'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com/2009/05/change-your-socks.html' title='Change your socks!'/><author><name>Anthony</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03015468712721358635</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820218188547462241.post-8799391745893963178</id><published>2009-05-20T21:58:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-20T22:49:15.895-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bittersweet Happiness</title><content type='html'>Let me tell you a story, all events are true, all reflections are past or current feelings of mine, all names have been changed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some friends just aren't meant to be friends. Is this the case here? I'm not sure. Something tells me yes, but something else tells me I'm in the wrong here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let's start from the beginning. It is really an interesting tale, at least in my opinion, so I'm going to just tell the entire story. Jenna and Kristie were twins. Well, &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;are&lt;/span&gt; twins. We met at a mutual friends party and I hit it off with both of them quickly. Very cute girls, friendly, outgoing, funny, great people. They were bisexual, which isn't a problem, but it is an important fact for the story I am telling, so I did need to include it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We exchanged phone numbers and after the party we talked. Just as friends. I talked to both girls every day and we become extremely close. After a few months I felt like I could tell them anything. Both Jenna and Kristie were dating other girls at the time, but I soon had a crush on Kristie. She was just a great person. I always could talk to her. We had meaningful conversations. She was extremely gorgeous. I never did tell her out right, but we flirted often and it became obvious that we both liked each other. She was in a relationship. One she was unhappy with. I encouraged her to get out of the relationship, and I can honestly say that it was not for any of my own motives. She was unhappy all the time, and I really did care for her too much to see her hurting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This crush started to become much more than a crush. We got closer each day and I truly fell in love with Kristie. She was the only person I've cried over since I was a little boy, but that comes later. When she finally did break up with her girlfriend, she needed some time to get over things. I didn't want to tell her how I felt just then, but in the end I had waited too long. She started another relationship. That soon failed, and when I did finally decide I couldn't let my chance go by again I let everything out. I poured my heart out and got rejected.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She told me that she had at one point liked me, but she just saw me as an amazing friend now. I later found out the reason for this was that she no longer dated men. We got back to being just friends and, though I always had feelings for her, everything seemed fine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Soon, we grew apart. I talked to her still, but the conversations grew shorter and farther between. It hurt me in so many ways. I had lost an amazing friend. I still was in love with her, but honestly, the loss of such a great person as a friend hurt the most. There was a 6 month period where I would call my friend Isabella and just talk and cry and talk for hours every night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was really and truly my best friend and losing her hurt me more than anything else has since. We still talked, yet very seldom, and about a year after we grew apart, I began to get over her. I can now honestly say I am completely over her, which is a good thing, considering she is a lesbian.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Though I'm not in love with her anymore, I still miss my best friend. The memories were amazing. Just thinking about the times we had together makes me smile. It's not a happy feeling though, it's one of those smiles you get when you have found a small ounce of happiness while in deep pain. The memories kill me, but comfort me at the same time. The times we talked on the phone all night, laughing. Her birthday party, where we had our silly-string war. The party where I met her, when, after ten minutes of talking, we were in a deep conversation about relationships. One moment that, for some reason, has always stuck with me was the day I was in New York City, driving over the Brooklyn Bridge. She sent me a text that made me smile and laugh and I looked out on to the water and, at that moment, I felt like life was perfect. The view, the ocean, talking to the greatest girl I have ever known in my life, everything just seemed to be at peace. These memories give me that bitter sweet happiness that I can't escape.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I look at her myspace page once and a while. Just to check in and see how she is doing. She has a girlfriend, she seems to be happy, which makes me feel a bit better, but for some reason, I feel like I shouldn't try to reach out to her again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It took me until right now, as I was re-living all these memories to realize that I don't want to try to contact her because every time I have in the past, we only talked for a few days, and when we stopped talking, it just hurt more than before.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have come to accept the fact that we will never be as close as we were before, but that doesn't make it hurt any less.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So here I am. I don't know what to do. I know things will never be fixed. So is it even worth trying to talk to her? That's the question I keep asking myself. I don't know how to answer it, but one thing is for sure. Until I &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;do&lt;/span&gt; answer it, I'm not going to reach out to my old best friend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have such different lifestyles. The laws of sociology say that we should never have become friends, but we did. All of that is gone now, and I'm left with bittersweet memories and the emptiness of losing what feels like part of my soul.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes I wonder if it is even worth making friends. It seems as if friendships always end by hurting any parties involved. I know this isn't true, but it is a feeling I've had. Without friends, I wouldn't have gotten through losing the one that I haven't got any more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't really have a solution to this problem, so I would say the best moral I can pull from this story is to cherish every moment you have with your friends, and to never let a friend ship die if you can save it. Not every friendship will be forever, but you can always try your hardest to push for that goal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bittersweet goodbye,&lt;br /&gt;Oxy&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5820218188547462241-8799391745893963178?l=obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com/feeds/8799391745893963178/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5820218188547462241&amp;postID=8799391745893963178' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5820218188547462241/posts/default/8799391745893963178'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5820218188547462241/posts/default/8799391745893963178'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com/2009/05/bittersweet-happiness.html' title='Bittersweet Happiness'/><author><name>Anthony</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03015468712721358635</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820218188547462241.post-3005701666872373054</id><published>2009-05-19T09:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-19T09:50:21.607-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Carpe Diem</title><content type='html'>Sunday was three days short of a year from the day I went to the DMV. Waiting in line that day, I starting talking to the shockingly gorgeous girl behind me in line. Danielle (Not her real name) had brown hair and big brown eyes. Her tan skin and amazing smile left me speechless. I'm not the type to get nervous around women, but I was this time. This Danielle had me feeling butterflies like I was back in 6th grade. We talked for a good while and when I was leaving I waved goodbye and exited the DMV.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I never did ask her for her number, and that was a mistake. Everyone has those situations where they just let one get away. It is normal, but this time I couldn't stop thinking about her. For the next couple days I kept thinking, "&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;What if I had...&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I looked for her on Myspace and Facebook to no avail. I had given up, but for the next year, right up until Sunday, I had thought about the DMV girl on a regular basis. Not everyday, but once and a while. She was one of those random strangers that I would probably never forget.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On Sunday morning, as I arrived at church, I watched a good friend of mine walk into church with a friend of his that I had never met before. I went over to say hello to my friend and he introduced me to his friend Dani.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She looked extremely familiar to me, and I knew right away it was the DMV girl. I shook her hand politely and said, "You look very familiar." She replied that I looked familiar as well. After a few minutes of conversation I told her I remembered where I had met her before. She remembered as well once I jogged her memory.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Turns out Danielle, the DMV girl, was childhood friends with one of my best friends. This was one of the best coincidences I've experienced in 2009 yet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, of course, we will see how things play out. We are talking now, and maybe it will lead to something, maybe it won't. Either way, I get my question of "What if" answered. I was given a second chance on this rare occasion, and I plan to take it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I take this situation as a reminder that second chances are rare, and you never want to have to ask yourself "What if." In the new Matthew McConaughey movie, "Ghosts of Girlfriends Past" McConaughey's character says that &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;"Pain beats regret every day of the week and twice on Sunday.” &lt;/span&gt; Don't live a life full of regrets. Every moment can be taken for all it's worth. Jim Carrey's film, "Yes Man" is an amazing illustration of how incredible life can be when you seize the moment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pain and embarrassment will go away and can be pushed aside, but regret is the worst feeling in the world. I got a second chance in one case, but I have more regrets in my life than I have thoughts in my head. Don't regret anything else, from this day forward.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today, I challenge you to seize every moment possible. Take every second of this day and squeeze it for all it's worth. I challenge you to live your life on a whim. The next time a crazy thought pops into your head, take action on it. I challenge you to push yourself over the edge. I challenge you to never worry about how you will look. I challenge you to make yourself look like a fool.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The challenge has been given. Will you accept? If you can say yes then you are thinking the right things. If you think I'm crazy, think about it a little bit more. If you say no, you may live to regret it, and the pain or embarrassment that comes from seizing the moment can never compare to the feeling the regret can give you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Carpe Diem&lt;/span&gt;,&lt;br /&gt;Oxy&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5820218188547462241-3005701666872373054?l=obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com/feeds/3005701666872373054/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5820218188547462241&amp;postID=3005701666872373054' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5820218188547462241/posts/default/3005701666872373054'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5820218188547462241/posts/default/3005701666872373054'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com/2009/05/carpe-diem.html' title='Carpe Diem'/><author><name>Anthony</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03015468712721358635</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820218188547462241.post-5002481248486302325</id><published>2008-12-17T00:22:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-17T00:22:22.615-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Secrets Of The Mind</title><content type='html'>So many questions,&lt;br /&gt;So much to say,&lt;br /&gt;If every word I thought tonight,&lt;br /&gt;Could see the light of day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The world would be much different then,&lt;br /&gt;My friends would know whats real.&lt;br /&gt;They all would understand me,&lt;br /&gt;Know just how I feel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I open my heart up to you,&lt;br /&gt;For there the truth does lie.&lt;br /&gt;To see through all the shadows,&lt;br /&gt;And you may then know why,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do the things you see me do.&lt;br /&gt;For they are not as random as they seem,&lt;br /&gt;I plan them out constantly,&lt;br /&gt;In my midnight dreams.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I analyze and calculate,&lt;br /&gt;The words that I do say,&lt;br /&gt;Each action that you see me take,&lt;br /&gt;before it sees the light of day&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope you learn to understand,&lt;br /&gt;The wonders of the mind.&lt;br /&gt;For if you unlock this secret,&lt;br /&gt;Of the mysterious mankind,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can change the world around you,&lt;br /&gt;Make it a better place.&lt;br /&gt;For when you know how people think,&lt;br /&gt;You can put a smile on their face.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5820218188547462241-5002481248486302325?l=obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com/feeds/5002481248486302325/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5820218188547462241&amp;postID=5002481248486302325' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5820218188547462241/posts/default/5002481248486302325'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5820218188547462241/posts/default/5002481248486302325'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com/2008/12/secrets-of-mind.html' title='The Secrets Of The Mind'/><author><name>Anthony</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03015468712721358635</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820218188547462241.post-6925790455441451962</id><published>2008-12-11T22:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-12T23:14:23.311-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Chapter 1: Boy Meets Girl</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"&gt;Once upon a time, in a city quite like the one you live in now, there was Boy, and where there is Boy, there must also be Girl. Now, already, I'm sure it is obvious to you that Boy and Girl were meant for each other. This fact had never been a doubt in Boy’s mind. Girl knew it too of course. The problem: Boy didn't know that Girl had seen their destiny, and likewise, Girl was clueless of Boy's infatuation.&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"&gt;Boy was a prep. He wore polo shirts, had long, brown hair, smiled all the time, and was friends with everyone. He was a theater kid. Boy was in all the school plays. Boy’s greatest feature was his ability to get along with everyone. Even though he was a prep and a theater junkie himself, he was friends with the skaters, the punks, the emos, jocks, cheerleaders, you name them, he knew them. Not to say he was extremely popular. He wasn't. Just an average guy, but he broke the barrier of cliques. He was easy to get along wit. It was well known that he did well with the ladies, but Boy had a problem. He never could hold a relationship. Though Boy dated many girls, he always felt like something was missing. He was always searching for a girl to make him truly happy. He had a fear of commitment. He told himself he wasn't afraid, he merely hadn't found the right girl yet.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"&gt;Girl was scene. She had jet black hair with streaks of pink in it. Her pale skin was hidden by a thin layer of cover up. Her bright blue eyes were brought out even more brilliantly by the mascara that thickened her lashes. She wore bright colors. Tight jeans and flashy belts were her style. Her favorite outfit was her red and white striped shirt with her black mini-skirt. She was a happy girl. Girl had a good life for the most part, trustworthy friends (or so she thought), good grades, a roof over her head. Music was her passion. Anything from the Beatles to Black Sabbath could get her going. She knew everything there was to know about every musical artist, living or deceased. It was very easy to get her talking about music, but almost impossible to complete the opposite task. As Boy had an artistic channel in the theater, Girl played guitar. Her cherry red acoustic was the passageway from her heart to the world. More than anything in the world, Girl was a guitarist. When nervous, worried, depressed, or just suffering from a case of insomnia, Girl would play her guitar for hours on end in her bedroom. With the door shut and the rest of the world in dreamland, or so she imagined, she could let all her feelings out. Girl's guitar was her therapy and her lover. Though Girl lived a fulfilling life, there was something missing. Girl's father had left her and her mother when she was young. Shortly after, he had died, but that's a story for another time. Girl never had a man in her life. She told herself she didn't need one, although that hole in her heart never seemed to close up.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"&gt;Boy awoke to the unwelcoming buzz of his alarm clock. Though not exactly the wakeup call he was looking for, Boy jumped out of bed readily. It was the first day of Junior year. An upperclassman, Boy was ready for an exciting year. An hour later, walking through the familiar, and surprisingly missed, hallways of Strenton High School, "Home of the Pegasus," Boy caught up with his old friends. Already, the cliques had seemed to re-form. The jocks all huddled together. He gave a them a nod of his head and continued down the hall. The stoners were in the corner of the C hallway. Giving a few handshakes, Boy passed them up. He walked past a few freshmen. Confused and frightened, they reminded him of his freshman year. Boy walked intently down the hall. He told himself that he was just wandering, catching up with old friends until the bell rang, but subconsciously, he was looking for the scene kids. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;" align="center"&gt;&lt;!--[if mso &amp; !supportInlineShapes &amp; supportFields]&gt;&lt;span style="'mso-element:field-begin;mso-field-lock:yes'"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="'mso-spacerun:yes'"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;SHAPE &lt;span style="'mso-spacerun:yes'"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;\* MERGEFORMAT &lt;span style="'mso-element:field-separator'"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if gte vml 1]&gt;&lt;v:shapetype id="_x0000_t32" coordsize="21600,21600" spt="32" oned="t" path="m,l21600,21600e" filled="f"&gt;  &lt;v:path arrowok="t" fillok="f" connecttype="none"&gt;  &lt;o:lock ext="edit" shapetype="t"&gt; &lt;/v:shapetype&gt;&lt;v:shape id="_x0000_s1027" type="#_x0000_t32" style="'width:2in;" connectortype="straight"&gt;  &lt;w:wrap type="none"&gt;  &lt;w:anchorlock/&gt; &lt;/v:shape&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if !vml]--&gt;&lt;img src="file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/Me/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image001.gif" shapes="_x0000_s1027" height="2" width="194" /&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if gte vml 1]&gt;&lt;v:shapetype id="_x0000_t75" coordsize="21600,21600" spt="75" preferrelative="t" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" filled="f" stroked="f"&gt;  &lt;v:stroke joinstyle="miter"&gt;  &lt;v:formulas&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="sum @10 21600 0"&gt;  &lt;/v:formulas&gt;  &lt;v:path extrusionok="f" gradientshapeok="t" connecttype="rect"&gt;  &lt;o:lock ext="edit" aspectratio="t"&gt; &lt;/v:shapetype&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if mso &amp; !supportInlineShapes &amp; supportFields]&gt;&lt;v:shape id="_x0000_i1025" type="#_x0000_t75" style="'width:2in;height:0'"&gt;  &lt;v:imagedata croptop="-65520f" cropbottom="65520f"&gt; &lt;/v:shape&gt;&lt;span style="'mso-element:field-end'"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"&gt;Rewind to the second week of third quarter the year before. Girl was new. It was her first year at Strenton High. Her mother had forced her into a new town. In search of work, Girl’s mother ventured to this unfamiliar place. She wasn’t really nervous about being new, it was just annoying parting with the familiarity of her former residence. She quickly made friends. Her new group was much like the friends she had back home. The “scene” kids as others called them. She didn’t care what they called her. She had her own style, and if people classified her as scene, that was their choice. Girl fit in with her new group quite quickly, but she was very quiet. Many just assumed she was shy, but Girl just felt like something was missing. It wasn’t a new feeling to her. Girl had felt the same in her old town; however she had anticipated the change of locale to fill the void. This turned out to be a pipe dream, until Boy came along.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"&gt;For Boy, today was no different from any other. &lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;School went by at the same pace as always. The turtle-like speed of the clock drove him mad. As the lunch bell rang, Boy jumped out of his desk and started to walk towards the cafeteria. Normally, Boy didn’t go to the cafeteria for lunch. Most days he would go to lunch at the burger joint down the street. He had planned to head over there today as well. Some may call it fate, others a mere coincidence, but on this day, Boy wasn’t in the mood for burgers. He decided to just grab a snack from the vending machine and catch up with some friends he hadn’t talked to in a few weeks. Walking the cafeteria, he saw a friend from the scene crowd. Boy joined the group and soon they were in a heated debate over their favorite bands. Boy favored My Chemical Romance, but the group admonished this statement, arguing that they were “sell-outs.” Boy started to realize he was on the losing side of the argument, and was about to leave to meet up with some of the cheerleaders who were beckoning him over when a group of girls who had been in the lunch lines joined the group. Girl stood in the back of this group. Though she was hidden behind three other girls, clad in tight tees and skinny jeans, Boy noticed her immediately. Something about her pulled him back to the group. He pretended to listen intently to the jabber of the My Chemical Romance hate club, while trying to sneak a glance at the new girl in the back of their group. Was she new? He didn’t remember seeing her around before, and there was no way he would have missed a girl like her. To him, it seemed as if her skin glowed, like a beacon calling out to him. One more glance over at her. She was looking back at him. Their eyes met for a split second and Boy’s his visual reconnaissance retreated back to the protesters, trying to persuade him to, “stop listening to that garbage.” He was unable to think clearly and made a poorly contrived excuse why he had to go “Get a missed homework assignment from a friend.” Walking away, he didn’t dare to turn back around for another glance.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;" align="center"&gt;&lt;!--[if mso &amp; !supportInlineShapes &amp; supportFields]&gt;&lt;span style="'mso-element:field-begin;mso-field-lock:yes'"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="'mso-spacerun:yes'"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;SHAPE &lt;span style="'mso-spacerun:yes'"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;\* MERGEFORMAT &lt;span style="'mso-element:field-separator'"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if gte vml 1]&gt;&lt;v:shape id="_x0000_s1026" type="#_x0000_t32" style="'width:2in;height:0;flip:y;" connectortype="straight"&gt;  &lt;w:wrap type="none"&gt;  &lt;w:anchorlock/&gt; &lt;/v:shape&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if !vml]--&gt;&lt;img src="file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/Me/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image001.gif" shapes="_x0000_s1026" height="2" width="194" /&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if mso &amp; !supportInlineShapes &amp; supportFields]&gt;&lt;v:shape id="_x0000_i1026" type="#_x0000_t75" style="'width:2in;height:0'"&gt;  &lt;v:imagedata croptop="-65520f" cropbottom="65520f"&gt; &lt;/v:shape&gt;&lt;span style="'mso-element:field-end'"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"&gt;Girl stood in the lunch line with the rest of her new-found friends. In the back of the group, not saying anything, Girl stood, alone in a crowd. It had been this way since she had come to Strenton. Not to say anyone was mean to her, they were more than welcoming. Girl just sort of kept quiet and listened. She liked to observed and only talked when she had something interesting to say, a skill that, as she had noticed, none of the other girls in her group possessed. She zoned out a bit, as her friends began to talk about the concert going on the next Saturday. Girl wasn’t able to go, so she didn’t pay much attention. Girl spent the duration of their conversation pondering her new life. She had hoped that it would be different here. Her dream of a more fulfilling life in Strenton had not been realized. It had only been a couple weeks, but Girl didn’t see anything here different from where she had come from. Before she realized, it was her turn to order. She snapped out of her trance and ordered her lunch quickly. Again, this was the same as where she had come from. She wondered if cafeteria tacos were made in a factory and shipped out to schools around the country, just to make sure they were all equally disgusting. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"&gt;After getting their food, the girls joined the guys, who usually were talking about music, video games, girls, or their favorite topic, food. Today the subject happened to be music. She heard some chatter about My Chemical Romance, but Girl didn’t bother to pay attention. Usually, she jumped at any chance to have a musical conversation, but she had already made that mistake. These people didn’t understand music the way she did, and it was useless talking to them. She had become rather skilled at tuning out the voices around her. She sat down and started to eat her factory made tacos. She heard a voice coming from the group that she didn’t recognize. This was an odd thing to notice, considering she wasn’t even listen to them, but this voice rang out to her, as if beckoning her in. She looked up from her plate in search of the source of this intriguing voice. Immediately she saw Boy. He was looking at her out of the corner of his eye, and she blushed as she turned away. Girl was not one to believe in love at first sight, but at that moment, she felt something change. She could feel the emptiness being filled, as if his voice seeped into her veins and flowed into her heart, sealing the hole shut. She didn’t have the guts to look back up at him. Girl ate the rest of her meal with her head down and her cheeks red. Only did she look up again when boy started to walk away. She glanced at him and turned her head back down. Girl regretted the fact that she didn’t say anything the entire time he had been part of the conversation. She knew that he must think she was an introverted, boring, and probably stuck-up brat already. She wondered what his name was, but wouldn’t ask anyone for fear of being too obvious. As the bell rang, Girl said goodbye to her friends and started to walk to class. She spent the next three periods thinking about the boy who had finally filled her heart.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5820218188547462241-6925790455441451962?l=obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com/feeds/6925790455441451962/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5820218188547462241&amp;postID=6925790455441451962' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5820218188547462241/posts/default/6925790455441451962'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5820218188547462241/posts/default/6925790455441451962'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com/2008/12/chapter-1-boy-meets-girl.html' title='Chapter 1: Boy Meets Girl'/><author><name>Anthony</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03015468712721358635</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820218188547462241.post-7471062779108729815</id><published>2008-12-07T19:59:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-07T20:15:28.926-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I can't escape you...</title><content type='html'>So just moments ago, I found myself looking at my ex-girlfriends Myspace page. We dated years ago, and I haven't seen her in about 6 months, yet I still think about her from time to time. What I don't understand is why I will, every month or so, think about her and let my heart drop into my stomach once again. For some reason I just felt the need to check her page and see if she was single. It's quite sad. I mean, I date other people, I am happy with everything, but she still is in the back of my mind, and just pops up randomly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate to admit this at this point, but I guess you could say she was my first love. She was actually my first girlfriend and we were amazing together. We met at a friend of mine's birthday party, she is his cousin. She asked me for my number at the end of the night and we started talking. We talked for hours on end everyday and started going out soon after. We lived across town from each other and had a tough time finding time to spend together. After a short time I made a mistake that I've regretted for years.I told her that we didn't see each other enough and maybe we should just be friends. I look back at the day now as my equivalent of D-Day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was beautiful, no one could deny that, and though, I'll admit, she didn't have the best figure (not fat, but not supermodel thin, in my opinion, perfect), I didn't care. I had fallen for her. I can't get away from it now, and it will haunt me for the rest of my life possibly. Every time I hear a love song or a breakup song, she pops into my head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every once and a while we will show up at the same party, run into each other at the movie theater, once, she randomly IMed me. Every time we come into contact I just start to hurt more. I tried to make things work again, but it never worked out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once, we were actually talking, which was very rare now, and possibly had a shot at getting back together, then she started talking about some other guy. I got jealous and started asking questions about him. She got annoyed by that. She started acting rude and ignoring me and I said some things that, I admit, probably shouldn't have been said. In the end, she deleted me from her Myspace friend's list, and we haven't talked since.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I still think about her from time to time. I remember how amazing she was. how great we were together, how much she made me smile. Then I remember how much I screwed up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know how to get over her. I have moved on with my life. I date. I have really liked other girls since then, but none like her. I wish there was someway to erase her from my brain so I would never have to hurt over her again, but at the same time, I wouldn't trade my memories of her for anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just want to be able to listen to music without her face popping into my head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yet, I don't really want that the most... what I really want the most is a miracle. I want her and I to start talking again. I want us to put the past behind us. I want her to remember how perfect we are for each other. I want her back.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5820218188547462241-7471062779108729815?l=obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com/feeds/7471062779108729815/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5820218188547462241&amp;postID=7471062779108729815' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5820218188547462241/posts/default/7471062779108729815'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5820218188547462241/posts/default/7471062779108729815'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com/2008/12/i-cant-escape-you.html' title='I can&apos;t escape you...'/><author><name>Anthony</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03015468712721358635</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820218188547462241.post-1938571878890293854</id><published>2008-12-05T10:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-11T21:15:17.007-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Venting</title><content type='html'>The last few days have been extremely hectic. I feel like I'm in a trance. Overworked, tired, nervous, stressing out, irritable. I'm falling apart. I need this semester to end. I apologize in advance, most of today's post is going to be a big complaint, but I need to vent, and this is my blog, so I write what I want.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As the semester comes to a close, classes all get harder at the same time. I've got projects due, papers to write, and no time to do any of it. This is the first bit of free time I've had in days. I am so stressed about all my grades. I've never got less than a B in a class, and it seems like my Spanish 111 class may be my first C. It sucks. I'm trying to get my grade up quickly before the semster ends, but it's tough to improve your grades when you can't read the assignments. I don't speak Spanish as well as I should for the amount of time I've been studying it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The girl I was supposed to go out with this weekend might be bailing on me. Wednesday she got kicked out of her house. Her mom has a short temper and makes rash decisions. So some of my friends had to go pick her up and bring her to our church. Later I drove her home so she could get her things and her dad is going to take her to his house in a few days. Her mom let her stay until Sunday. So, I called her the next day to see how things were going, she said she was okay. The day after that she stopped returning my text messages. I'm assuming her phone got turned off, but I'm not sure what to do now? I kinda need to know if I'm supposed to be meeting her Saturday. What am I supposed to do?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have to work all weekend also. I go to school until five o'clock every day, then on weekends, I work eight hours a day. I don't have any time to actually do the homework that I get on the weekdays. I'm really just in a slump right now. I'll get through it, I just hope my grades survive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really need something to do this weekend after work. I've been so stressed out I feel as if I'll explode if I don't get to do something that doesn't involve work. If this date doesn't happen I'l have to find something to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess I should start praying more, maybe read the Bible. Everyone says it makes you feel better when you're going through tough times, but I feel like I don't even have time to read anymore...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alright, I'm done venting, I'm going to go register for classes for next semster now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At his limit,&lt;br /&gt;Oblivious Oxymoron&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5820218188547462241-1938571878890293854?l=obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com/feeds/1938571878890293854/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5820218188547462241&amp;postID=1938571878890293854' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5820218188547462241/posts/default/1938571878890293854'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5820218188547462241/posts/default/1938571878890293854'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com/2008/12/last-few-days-have-been-extremely.html' title='Venting'/><author><name>Anthony</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03015468712721358635</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820218188547462241.post-986116520692234064</id><published>2008-12-02T18:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-02T18:31:27.424-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Playa's Block</title><content type='html'>So I'm swamped with homework tonight, which I'm probably not going to do, thanks to my new obsession with Twitter, Thanks to my Aunt. (That sentence is much longer than it should have been. I think I use too many commas.) Anyway, I'll live though, I get pretty good grades, despite my excellent procrastination skills.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I'm stressing about where to go this Saturday. I'm going on that date that I talked about yesterday, but I'm not sure where to take her. We could just see a movie, but I want to do something interesting this time. This girl isn't like all the rest. It's like I have writer's block, but it's Playa's Block. (TM) (Yes, I am trademarking Playa's Block. I just made it up.) It's not like I have any readers yet, but if someone does in fact read this, do you have any ideas? I am at a loss.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been addicted to that new All American Reject's song, "Gives You Hell," recently. It is truly great.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, I'm gonna try to go do some of that heaping mound of homework, though I'm sure I'll just find myself on Twitter again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh and just so you know, I'm really not a player, I just like to use the word. I'm going to use a lot of sarcasm around here, so you best get used to it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Buried in homework,&lt;br /&gt;Oblivious Oxymoron&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5820218188547462241-986116520692234064?l=obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com/feeds/986116520692234064/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5820218188547462241&amp;postID=986116520692234064' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5820218188547462241/posts/default/986116520692234064'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5820218188547462241/posts/default/986116520692234064'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com/2008/12/so-im-swamped-with-homework-tonight.html' title='Playa&apos;s Block'/><author><name>Anthony</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03015468712721358635</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820218188547462241.post-5110555999239233357</id><published>2008-12-01T21:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-03T09:46:32.571-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Current Events</title><content type='html'>Well, it took me five years, but I've finally gotten into the trend. It's been sweeping the world, and it finally swept me off my feet. Blogging. I'm Oblivious Oxymoron, Oxy for short. I don't know why it took so long, but I'm starting a blog now. I hope you stay and enjoy the show, and knowing my life, it will be a pretty interesting show.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've got a lot going on in my life already, so it's tough to start blogging now. I've got so many things going on, and it feels like I'm starting half-way through a story. So, i guess I'll have to start by updating you on what is currently going on in my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here we go... I've lived a great 16 years of my life so far. I couldn't ask for much more than I have. I have a great, huge, (annoying) family. My friends are great for the most part. I'm pretty satisfied with life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am a strong Christian. My religion is very important to me. I slip very often, and I'm not embarrassed by this. Everyone makes mistakes, but hopefully I can learn from them and not make them again. My church is a second family. I have relationships there that will never be broken. I live in Las Vegas, the great Sin City, so being a Christian isn't easy, but I get through it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My school is amazing. You'd  be surprised to hear those words out of the average teenagers mouth, I know. My school isn't like those though. I go to College High School. So basically, I go to high school on a college campus. I love it. My friends there are great. There is no drama (most of the time).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, that's the background on my life, let's get into current events.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I recently got a ticket for jaywalking. Not fun, my mother is one of those that think the worst will always happen. You know, always scared of everything. Kidnappings, falling out of trees, poisoned Halloween candy, bear attacks... all things she worries about. (And no, I'm not kidding.) So of course jaywalking is on the list of things that would horrify her if she knew I had done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Great... so, now I have to tell her. This is not going to be fun. I stalled for a week, waiting for the right moment that I knew would never come, but eventually I had to get it out. (She had to drive me to the courthouse after all.) It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. She was very "disappointed" in me. I hate when she says that. I have to pay the $140 fine (Crazy amount for jaywalking right?!) but at least I'm not grounded. This would not be a good week to be grounded.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See, this weekend I'm supposed to be going out on a date. I go on a lot of those, but this one is going to be different. (I hope) I've known this girl for two and a half years, and she's driven me crazy for approximately the same amount of time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I mean literally crazy, everything a girl can do to make you batty, she's done. When you see those girls on TV that are insane, and you think, "That's just TV, those girls don't exists," your looking at Ari. Despite the insane things she's put me through, I can't get over this girl. Each time I just fall for her more, and I finally got her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This week is moving slower than any I've had in my short 16 years. Of course it would, when you are looking forward to the night of your life, things tend to seem longer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, that's most of what's currently occurring in my life. I hope you continue to read my blog. I'll try to keep updating every day or two.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, if you use twitter, follow me, I'll follow back.&lt;br /&gt;Twitter.com/Oxym0r0n&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Waiting for the Weekend,&lt;br /&gt;Oblivious Oxymoron&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5820218188547462241-5110555999239233357?l=obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com/feeds/5110555999239233357/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5820218188547462241&amp;postID=5110555999239233357' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5820218188547462241/posts/default/5110555999239233357'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5820218188547462241/posts/default/5110555999239233357'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://obliviousoxymoron.blogspot.com/2008/12/well-it-took-me-five-years-but-ive.html' title='Current Events'/><author><name>Anthony</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03015468712721358635</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
