<?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-7853406968489288061</id><updated>2011-04-21T20:12:33.272-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ciaraaa&lt;3</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7853406968489288061/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Ciaraaa&amp;lt;3</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06913259219864515050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_M2qIPao8P1o/SgCZhZSoAHI/AAAAAAAAACQ/PsO1Yk8DafE/S220/mendkatrina.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>14</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7853406968489288061.post-4637308570011364809</id><published>2009-05-13T12:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-13T13:07:01.862-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Katrina Burrell</title><content type='html'>I never thought that Katrina and I would become best friends. Katrina has a lot of good qualities about her that make her fun to be around. She is a very trusting and worthy friend. I know I can tell her anything, and she won't tell anyone, not even when she gets super mad at me! When I need help, or feel like I need to talk to someone she is the first person that comes to mind. She is a very funny and outgoing person. Whenever I'm at her house there's never a dull moment. She always knows what to do or say to make me laugh. When I'm sad she knows exactly what to say to put me in a better mood. And when I feel like blowing up out of anger she's there to calm me down. I love it when she tries to teach me some dance moves. I try really hard and I can never get it right, but it is fun trying to learn. Whenever I have a serious problem that I need to talk with someone about I talk to her, and I feel like when I do it brings us even closer as best friends. She's a very responsible person. she's always texting me making sure that I go to school, and get what I need to get done finished. People have tried saying untrue things making it to where we stopped being friends, but we trusted each other enough to know that what they were saying was not true, and we would remain friends. I see myself being friends with her for a long time. We are pretty different on the outside, but on the inside we're just the same. I love her a lot, and always want to be friends.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7853406968489288061-4637308570011364809?l=ciara92.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/feeds/4637308570011364809/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/2009/05/katrina-burrell.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7853406968489288061/posts/default/4637308570011364809'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7853406968489288061/posts/default/4637308570011364809'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/2009/05/katrina-burrell.html' title='Katrina Burrell'/><author><name>Ciaraaa&amp;lt;3</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06913259219864515050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_M2qIPao8P1o/SgCZhZSoAHI/AAAAAAAAACQ/PsO1Yk8DafE/S220/mendkatrina.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7853406968489288061.post-6639461944997601208</id><published>2009-05-06T12:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-06T12:47:46.353-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sue Monk Kidd</title><content type='html'>Sue Monk Kidd was born and raised in Sylvester, Georgia. She discovered that she wanted to be a writer as a child, while listening to her fathers imaginative stories. She began a career as a freelancer, writing personal experience articles. Her first novel that she had published was &lt;em&gt;The Secret Life Of Bees&lt;/em&gt;, in 2002. That novel has sold over 5 million copies, and spent over two years on the New York Times bestseller. Today Sue lives beside a salt marsh near Charleston, South Carolina with her husband Sandy and their black lab, Lily.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7853406968489288061-6639461944997601208?l=ciara92.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/feeds/6639461944997601208/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/2009/05/sue-monk-kidd.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7853406968489288061/posts/default/6639461944997601208'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7853406968489288061/posts/default/6639461944997601208'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/2009/05/sue-monk-kidd.html' title='Sue Monk Kidd'/><author><name>Ciaraaa&amp;lt;3</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06913259219864515050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_M2qIPao8P1o/SgCZhZSoAHI/AAAAAAAAACQ/PsO1Yk8DafE/S220/mendkatrina.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7853406968489288061.post-8845635967917129468</id><published>2009-05-05T12:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-05T13:12:52.997-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Civil Rights</title><content type='html'>Civil Rights Movement was to try and get rid of racism towards black people. Some of the people who were involved were Martin Luther King Jr., Rosa Parks, and Malcom X. Some things happened such as Rosa Parks sat at the front of the bus and refused to move to the back, since that was the rule for black people. Also, the Supreme Court ordered that black and white students could be in the same school.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7853406968489288061-8845635967917129468?l=ciara92.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/feeds/8845635967917129468/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/2009/05/civil-rights.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7853406968489288061/posts/default/8845635967917129468'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7853406968489288061/posts/default/8845635967917129468'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/2009/05/civil-rights.html' title='Civil Rights'/><author><name>Ciaraaa&amp;lt;3</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06913259219864515050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_M2qIPao8P1o/SgCZhZSoAHI/AAAAAAAAACQ/PsO1Yk8DafE/S220/mendkatrina.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7853406968489288061.post-8655738642825340835</id><published>2009-05-01T12:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-01T12:54:33.933-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Imaginative story</title><content type='html'>It was the middle of the night and suddenly I remembered that I left my child in my car! &lt;br /&gt;It was about 8:00P.M. and I was driving home from the grocery store. My daughter Miley was fast asleep in the back, so it wasn't even noticeable that she was with me. Once I got home I brought in the groceries that were sitting in the front seat. Once I got those unpacked and put away I sat down on the couch because I was exhausted. I turned on the television and ended up falling asleep on the couch. A few hours later I awoke and was uncomfortable, so I moved to my bedroom to sleep in my bed. As I was laying down getting comfortable my eyes shot open because I had realized that I left Miley in the car! So I raced outside and grabbed her. Luckily she was still there, and still sleeping. I brought her inside, and put her in her room and she slept so peacefully for the rest of the night. As for me I couldn't stop thinking about how could I just leave my child in the car! That was a lesson well learned, and something I will never forget.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7853406968489288061-8655738642825340835?l=ciara92.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/feeds/8655738642825340835/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/2009/05/imaginative-story.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7853406968489288061/posts/default/8655738642825340835'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7853406968489288061/posts/default/8655738642825340835'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/2009/05/imaginative-story.html' title='Imaginative story'/><author><name>Ciaraaa&amp;lt;3</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06913259219864515050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_M2qIPao8P1o/SgCZhZSoAHI/AAAAAAAAACQ/PsO1Yk8DafE/S220/mendkatrina.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7853406968489288061.post-9129423704727199943</id><published>2009-04-30T12:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-30T12:57:20.794-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>"If your magic wand could change one thing about your mother, father, or a sibling...what would you change? Write about it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I had a magic wand I would erase my father completely. Not just one thing about him, just him being gone forever. He was never there when I was a baby, let alone he's never even been there. He's never put forth effort to even try and call me to see how I was doing. He disgusts me. He is a registered sex offender and served 6 years in jail. Just recently he hurt me even more. He called my DHS worker and asked if it was possible that I go and live with him! That hurt me so bad. After all these years he never tried to talk to me, and then as soon as he's out he tried to bribe me to live with him. He told my caseworker that he would get me a new bed, new computer, new phone, he would get me anything I wanted. Nothing like bribing his "daughter" just to get her to semi like him. I hate him for what he's done. I hate him for what he's said. I just hate him in general. I would erase my father completely.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7853406968489288061-9129423704727199943?l=ciara92.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/feeds/9129423704727199943/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/2009/04/if-your-magic-wand-could-change-one.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7853406968489288061/posts/default/9129423704727199943'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7853406968489288061/posts/default/9129423704727199943'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/2009/04/if-your-magic-wand-could-change-one.html' title=''/><author><name>Ciaraaa&amp;lt;3</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06913259219864515050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_M2qIPao8P1o/SgCZhZSoAHI/AAAAAAAAACQ/PsO1Yk8DafE/S220/mendkatrina.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7853406968489288061.post-957684200413344218</id><published>2009-04-29T12:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-29T12:44:52.822-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Compound word practice.</title><content type='html'>-Showcased&lt;br /&gt;My moms books were showcased at the fair.&lt;br /&gt;-Everything&lt;br /&gt;Everything in my room belongs to me.&lt;br /&gt;-Livestock&lt;br /&gt;The farm had livestock.&lt;br /&gt;-Skateboard&lt;br /&gt;My friend likes to skateboard.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7853406968489288061-957684200413344218?l=ciara92.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/feeds/957684200413344218/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/2009/04/compound-word-practice.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7853406968489288061/posts/default/957684200413344218'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7853406968489288061/posts/default/957684200413344218'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/2009/04/compound-word-practice.html' title='Compound word practice.'/><author><name>Ciaraaa&amp;lt;3</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06913259219864515050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_M2qIPao8P1o/SgCZhZSoAHI/AAAAAAAAACQ/PsO1Yk8DafE/S220/mendkatrina.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7853406968489288061.post-1295931421916378814</id><published>2009-04-28T12:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-28T12:46:00.371-07:00</updated><title type='text'>In 20 years..</title><content type='html'>My name is Ciara, and I am 36 years old. I live in a 1 story house with my husband Josh, and my 2 kids, a boy and a girl. I work as a professional body piercer at Rockabilly Tattoo, with my sister Brittney, while she resumes her job as a Tattoo Artist. Miley is 17, and going to school planning on moving out soon, and Jordan is 16 also going to school, and doesn't have any plans on moving out. We own a red 2008 Chrysler 300, that we absolutely love. My best friend is Katrina Burrell, we go way back to 2009 times. We were best friends then and still are! I live an amazing life, and I love everyone in it. I love my career, my family, my friends, and my husband. I couldn't ask for anything better!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7853406968489288061-1295931421916378814?l=ciara92.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/feeds/1295931421916378814/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/2009/04/in-20-years.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7853406968489288061/posts/default/1295931421916378814'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7853406968489288061/posts/default/1295931421916378814'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/2009/04/in-20-years.html' title='In 20 years..'/><author><name>Ciaraaa&amp;lt;3</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06913259219864515050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_M2qIPao8P1o/SgCZhZSoAHI/AAAAAAAAACQ/PsO1Yk8DafE/S220/mendkatrina.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7853406968489288061.post-5262681765090799175</id><published>2009-04-21T12:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-22T13:26:51.025-07:00</updated><title type='text'>This I Believe.</title><content type='html'>I believe in Karma. I believe in it not only cause I've seen things happen to other people before, but with my own personal experiences too. I believe everyone will get their Karma sooner or later. Whether it happens within a month, or 20 years, it will catch up to you. Just trust me when I say this, because this is how I know...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I was 12 I was not a very good person. All throughout grade school I was a good kid, rarely did anything wrong, my grades were good, and so on. But as soon as I hit the 6th grade things changed, not only with school but behaviors at home also. &lt;br /&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;I started off the year keeping up with my homework, and being a good student, but a couple months later things were not the same at all. I didn't like hanging out with the people in my own grade, so I started hanging out with the 8th graders, who I thought were the coolest people ever. I realize now that a lot of them were nothing but bad influences, but I didn't have the brains to realize it back then. But of course I felt like I had to do what I had to do to fit in. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Most of them were making poor choices, so I thought if I did the things that they were doing it would make me cool too. It was towards the end of the day, and I was in gym class. I went back in the locker room, and I saw someones backpack, so I opened it and there was an I-pod and a cell phone. I just took the cell phone and left the I-pod so that it wasn't so suspicious. Then I went out to my locker and put the phone in there, and headed back to gym class. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After the class was over, the girl didn't seem to notice anything was missing. That was the last period of the day, so after that class was out I bolted to my locker and grabbed my things and that phone. When I met up with the "cool kids" I told them what I did, and they were proud of me. I know that sounds kind of cheesy, but its the truth. Eventually I felt bad though, because how would I like it if someone stole my phone? I would not like it at all. I didn't know the girl on a personal level, but I was sort of acquaintances with her. She came to school sad and angry because obviously her phone was stolen. Eventually the fun was over because her mom called and had it shut off. It also made me feel bad because she got into a lot of trouble by her mom for "losing" her phone. So all in all I regretted taking her phone. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then Karma struck me in the butt this weekend. The whole weekend I was staying with my friend Katrina. On Friday night we had plans to go to a dance. We were there for a good amount of time. Then when we got back to her house we just hung out and relaxed cause we were tired. Eventually I passed out on her floor cause I was extremely tired. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then early the next morning I was woken up from loud noises, so I went into Katrina's room and slept some more on her bed. A couple hours later she had her friend come over to pick something up that she had left there. I woke up and went back out to the living room. When I went to bed I had my phone charging on a little table out in her living room. But when I went back out there the phone was gone, along with the charger. I automatically assumed that one of her kids could have accidentally put it somewhere, so it wasn't that big of a deal to me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then as time passed we looked through her entire house, and it was nowhere to be found. Katrina realized that one of her spray bottles was missing, and my Paris Hilton perfume was also gone. We came to the conclusion that the babysitter that she trusted and thought was a friend had stolen my phone, perfume, and her spray. And if you think about it, what I did to that girl in the 6th grade was happening to me. That was well over 5 years ago, but it still caught up to me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And that is why I strongly believe in Karma.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7853406968489288061-5262681765090799175?l=ciara92.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/feeds/5262681765090799175/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/2009/04/rough-drafts.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7853406968489288061/posts/default/5262681765090799175'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7853406968489288061/posts/default/5262681765090799175'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/2009/04/rough-drafts.html' title='This I Believe.'/><author><name>Ciaraaa&amp;lt;3</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06913259219864515050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_M2qIPao8P1o/SgCZhZSoAHI/AAAAAAAAACQ/PsO1Yk8DafE/S220/mendkatrina.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7853406968489288061.post-958962429032087336</id><published>2009-04-20T12:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-20T13:24:49.189-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pre-writing</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;1.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I believe in Karma.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;2.I believe this because of a personal experience. And I've seen it happen to other people too. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;3. When I was 12 I was not a very good person. All throughout grade school I was a good kid, didn't rarely do anything wrong, my grades were good, and so on. But as soon as I hit the 6Th grade things changed. Not only with school but behaviors at home also. I started off the year keeping up with my homework, and being a good student. But a couple months later things were not the same at all. I didn't like hanging out with the people in my own grade, so I started hanging out with the 8Th graders, who I thought were the coolest people ever. But I realise now that a lot of them were nothing but bad influences, but I didn't have the brains to realise it back then. But of course I felt like I had to do what I had to do to fit in. Most of them were making poor choices. So I thought if I did the things that they were doing it would make me cool to. So it was towards the end of the day, and I was in gym class. And I went back in the locker room, and I saw someones backpack. So I opened it and there was an I-pod and a cell phone. So I just took the cell phone and left the I-pod so that it wasn't so suspicious. Then I went out to my locker and put the phone in there, and headed back to gym class. After the class was over, the girl didn't seem to notice anything was missing. That was the last period of the day, so after that class was out I bolted to my locker and grabbed my things and that phone. When I met up with the "cool kids" I told them what I did, and they were proud of me. I know that sounds kind of cheesy but its the truth. Eventually I felt bad though, because how would I like it if someone stole my phone? I would not like it at all. I didn't know the girl on a personal level, but I was sort of acquaintances  with her. And she came to school sad and angry because obviously her phone was stolen. And eventually the fun was over because her mom called and had it shut off. It also made me feel bad because she got into a lot of trouble by her mom for "losing" her phone. So all in all I regretted taking her phone. And then Karma struck me in the butt this weekend. The whole weekend I was staying with my friend Katrina. On Friday night we had plans to go to a dance at the Flamingo, and so we did. We were there until about 3 A.M. Then when we got back to her house we just hung out and relaxed cause we were tired. She had her friend over because she was babysitting her kids for her, but they were sleeping in her room. And eventually I passed out on her floor cause I was extremely tired. And then early the next morning I got woke up from people being loud, so I went into &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Katrinas&lt;/span&gt; room and slept some more on her bed. A couple hours later I woke up and went back out to the living room. When I went to bed I had my phone charging on a little table out in her living room. But when I went back out there the phone was gone, along with the charger. So I automatically thought that one of her kids could have accidentally put it somewhere, so it wasn't that big of a deal to me. But as time passed we looked through her entire house, and it was no where to be found. Then Katrina realised that one of her spray bottles were missing, and my Paris Hilton  perfume was also gone. So we came to the conclusion that the person that she trusted, thought was a friend stole my phone and perfume, and her spray. That is where the Karma stepped in. I did it to a girl in the 6Th grade, now its happening to me, and that is why I strongly believe in Karma.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7853406968489288061-958962429032087336?l=ciara92.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/feeds/958962429032087336/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/2009/04/pre-writing.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7853406968489288061/posts/default/958962429032087336'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7853406968489288061/posts/default/958962429032087336'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/2009/04/pre-writing.html' title='Pre-writing'/><author><name>Ciaraaa&amp;lt;3</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06913259219864515050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_M2qIPao8P1o/SgCZhZSoAHI/AAAAAAAAACQ/PsO1Yk8DafE/S220/mendkatrina.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7853406968489288061.post-8810944795912206439</id><published>2009-04-17T12:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-17T12:44:51.150-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I believe in...</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;1. I believe in God.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;2. I believe in spirits/afterlife.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;3. I believe in love.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;4. I believe in karma.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;5. I believe that first impressions make a lasting effect.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;6. I believe that every "mistake" is a lesson learned.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;7. I believe in anti-abortion.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;8. I believe everything happens for a reason.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7853406968489288061-8810944795912206439?l=ciara92.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/feeds/8810944795912206439/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/2009/04/i-believe-in.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7853406968489288061/posts/default/8810944795912206439'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7853406968489288061/posts/default/8810944795912206439'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/2009/04/i-believe-in.html' title='I believe in...'/><author><name>Ciaraaa&amp;lt;3</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06913259219864515050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_M2qIPao8P1o/SgCZhZSoAHI/AAAAAAAAACQ/PsO1Yk8DafE/S220/mendkatrina.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7853406968489288061.post-8623984258086546401</id><published>2009-04-16T12:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-16T12:49:06.268-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sentence correcting</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;Lorenzo wants to be on the &lt;em&gt;swimming&lt;/em&gt; team.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The car stopped at the &lt;em&gt;red&lt;/em&gt; light.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Is the &lt;em&gt;beginning&lt;/em&gt; of the story hard to believe?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Dante &lt;em&gt;flipped&lt;/em&gt; a coin to decide who would kick off.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The pirates were&lt;em&gt; digging&lt;/em&gt; for buried treasure.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The police &lt;em&gt;permitted &lt;/em&gt;only one car to pass.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Krista &lt;em&gt;tripped&lt;/em&gt; because she didn't tie her shoelaces.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Jose is good at&lt;em&gt; outrunning&lt;/em&gt; everyone.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"I could have done better," Patrick &lt;em&gt;admitted.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Thierry&lt;/span&gt; was happy to be getting the soccer trophy.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7853406968489288061-8623984258086546401?l=ciara92.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/feeds/8623984258086546401/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/2009/04/sentence-correcting.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7853406968489288061/posts/default/8623984258086546401'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7853406968489288061/posts/default/8623984258086546401'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/2009/04/sentence-correcting.html' title='Sentence correcting'/><author><name>Ciaraaa&amp;lt;3</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06913259219864515050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_M2qIPao8P1o/SgCZhZSoAHI/AAAAAAAAACQ/PsO1Yk8DafE/S220/mendkatrina.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7853406968489288061.post-2233946644004910773</id><published>2009-04-13T12:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-13T12:39:58.843-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I believe...</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;I do believe it is important to stand up for friends and family. With friends there's a line drawn though. Such as I will stand up for them when they are being picked on, or they really need my help, but not fighting their battles for them, or entering their drama. Family is a must though. I will always stand up for my family, no matter what the situation is. I have stood up for friends and family numerous times, and in some occasions it has got me into trouble. In the long run it was worth it. I know my family and friends will always have my back, just as I will theirs!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7853406968489288061-2233946644004910773?l=ciara92.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/feeds/2233946644004910773/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/2009/04/i-believe.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7853406968489288061/posts/default/2233946644004910773'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7853406968489288061/posts/default/2233946644004910773'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/2009/04/i-believe.html' title='I believe...'/><author><name>Ciaraaa&amp;lt;3</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06913259219864515050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_M2qIPao8P1o/SgCZhZSoAHI/AAAAAAAAACQ/PsO1Yk8DafE/S220/mendkatrina.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7853406968489288061.post-2025769882019226771</id><published>2009-04-10T12:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-10T12:50:30.374-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"What is Genocide.?"</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;Genocide is a group of people who try to take out one race and or a certain group of people. I believe it has to do with gangs, hatred, jealousy, and personal opinions.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7853406968489288061-2025769882019226771?l=ciara92.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/feeds/2025769882019226771/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/2009/04/what-is-genocide.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7853406968489288061/posts/default/2025769882019226771'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7853406968489288061/posts/default/2025769882019226771'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/2009/04/what-is-genocide.html' title='&quot;What is Genocide.?&quot;'/><author><name>Ciaraaa&amp;lt;3</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06913259219864515050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_M2qIPao8P1o/SgCZhZSoAHI/AAAAAAAAACQ/PsO1Yk8DafE/S220/mendkatrina.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7853406968489288061.post-2108667255663642753</id><published>2009-04-09T12:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-09T12:54:55.482-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Being locked up.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;Recently I was locked up in Douglas County &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Juvenile&lt;/span&gt; Detention. I was charged with &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;assault&lt;/span&gt;. Being there taught me a lot about being grateful for everything I have in life. I met a lot of crazy people. I was in there for 3 and a half months. I have no intentions of going back there. I learned my lesson. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7853406968489288061-2108667255663642753?l=ciara92.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/feeds/2108667255663642753/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/2009/04/being-locked-up.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7853406968489288061/posts/default/2108667255663642753'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7853406968489288061/posts/default/2108667255663642753'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ciara92.blogspot.com/2009/04/being-locked-up.html' title='Being locked up.'/><author><name>Ciaraaa&amp;lt;3</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06913259219864515050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_M2qIPao8P1o/SgCZhZSoAHI/AAAAAAAAACQ/PsO1Yk8DafE/S220/mendkatrina.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
