<?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-6005402982591467565</id><updated>2011-07-30T17:00:46.904-03:00</updated><category term='ways in which my life is like a sitcom'/><category term='random acts of happiness'/><title type='text'>I am a sandwich artist</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iamasandwichartist.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6005402982591467565/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iamasandwichartist.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>marebear</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15272646342113538964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d2X8PV8qpMg/SmurXffbPnI/AAAAAAAAAAM/GdgmIaWfda8/S220/DSC00829.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>4</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6005402982591467565.post-2878788838921272109</id><published>2009-12-06T21:05:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2009-12-06T21:22:58.609-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='random acts of happiness'/><title type='text'>Or maybe it's that bottle of rum I had for dinner! *hic* How YOU doin', baby?</title><content type='html'>Sometimes I am happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A lot of the time, I'm not. Most anyone who knows me would tell you I am not a happy person. They'd say I'm moody,  prone to temper tantrums, quick to sulk and form inexplicable grudges, almost psychotically self-deprecating, and that I cry like a little bitch when I'm stressed. And they would be right. Especially about the crying like a little bitch part. Man, if there were one emotional response I could train myself out of, I'm telling you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But sometimes, for no reason at all, or for a lot of little reasons that might not seem to add up to very much at all, I just feel so - content? Glad? I wouldn't say I wouldn't trade lives with anyone - give me someone without student loans or what I shall only refer to as "the monkeyhawk profile" - but, you know, sometimes it isn't so bad, being me. I've got some pretty rad friends, some nifty interests, a little bit of skill and/or talent, and a sense of humour. And even though I have seven papers to do that I should be working on &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;right now,&lt;/span&gt; sometimes, that's enough.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now if I could only stop ordering delivery pizza! Hahahahahaha!&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;ohgodpleasehelpitisanaddiction &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6005402982591467565-2878788838921272109?l=iamasandwichartist.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iamasandwichartist.blogspot.com/feeds/2878788838921272109/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://iamasandwichartist.blogspot.com/2009/12/or-maybe-its-that-bottle-of-rum-i-had.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6005402982591467565/posts/default/2878788838921272109'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6005402982591467565/posts/default/2878788838921272109'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iamasandwichartist.blogspot.com/2009/12/or-maybe-its-that-bottle-of-rum-i-had.html' title='Or maybe it&apos;s that bottle of rum I had for dinner! *hic* How YOU doin&apos;, baby?'/><author><name>marebear</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15272646342113538964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d2X8PV8qpMg/SmurXffbPnI/AAAAAAAAAAM/GdgmIaWfda8/S220/DSC00829.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6005402982591467565.post-5136903917665127130</id><published>2009-09-28T16:30:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2009-09-28T16:44:01.345-03:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ways in which my life is like a sitcom'/><title type='text'>All I can smell are tomatoes.</title><content type='html'>So a couple of days ago I got an email from the campus bookstore telling me I had won a door prize during Student Appreciation Day. Cool, I thought. Maybe I had won a sweater. Or maybe a gift certificate. or, I don't know, if I wanted to get really pathetic, a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;keychain&lt;/span&gt; or a pen. The prospect of this mystery present was enough to drag my exhausted and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;fluish&lt;/span&gt; ass out of bed and ten minutes down the hill today so I could claim my prize. After all, I didn't want them to give away my sweater to someone else.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a five-page pack of specialty printer paper that self-adhesives into a little booklet for presentations.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't even own a printer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I struggled back up the hill - have I mentioned my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;fluish&lt;/span&gt; ass? Complete with aching thigh muscles? - and ducked into the cafeteria for some supper. I decided on pasta with tomato sauce, and a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;popsicle&lt;/span&gt; to sooth my scratchy throat. (&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Fluish&lt;/span&gt; ass? Ringing a bell?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At which point I spill the plate of pasta with tomato sauce into the ice cream cooler.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A scraper from the grill may have been commandeered to chip it out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Needless to say, prying at hunks of frozen pasta with tomato sauce quelled my appetite. I settled on a muffin and some fruit and walked further up the hill to my dorm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The overhead light has burnt out in my room&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I left my umbrella at the bookstore. Which is closed for the day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*headdesk*&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6005402982591467565-5136903917665127130?l=iamasandwichartist.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iamasandwichartist.blogspot.com/feeds/5136903917665127130/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://iamasandwichartist.blogspot.com/2009/09/all-i-can-smell-are-tomatoes.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6005402982591467565/posts/default/5136903917665127130'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6005402982591467565/posts/default/5136903917665127130'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iamasandwichartist.blogspot.com/2009/09/all-i-can-smell-are-tomatoes.html' title='All I can smell are tomatoes.'/><author><name>marebear</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15272646342113538964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d2X8PV8qpMg/SmurXffbPnI/AAAAAAAAAAM/GdgmIaWfda8/S220/DSC00829.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6005402982591467565.post-6934884873734001767</id><published>2009-09-28T08:55:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2009-09-28T09:32:35.039-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Spectacular Spice Rack</title><content type='html'>You know, I don't enjoy suffering from chronic insomnia, mostly because it makes me miss classes and sleep in until four in the afternoon like an unemployed deadbeat (which I guess I am as I don't have a job and am massively in debt), but I do sort of like the feeling after pulling an all-nighter. It's what I imagine being drunk or high or possibly both must be like - you feel disconnected from everything around you, yet at the same time feel greatly amused. Like the world's a joke you have to condescend to without letting it know you're laughing, because then its feelings would be hurt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I'm sorry if that's not making sense, but I watched a &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;lot&lt;/span&gt; of &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Mad Men&lt;/span&gt; yesterday and I think it's affecting my speech patterns. Why was there so much &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Mad Men&lt;/span&gt; on yesterday, anyway? Do they do these marathons every Sunday, or was AMC just like, oh, we've run out of movies, let us show back-to-back hit drama while we cook up another batch?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BTW, according to &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Mad Men,&lt;/span&gt; the 1960s were about:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1) Smoking&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2) Drinking&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3) Adultery&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4) Really pretty dresses&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5) Joan Holloway&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d2X8PV8qpMg/SsCr5rvr_7I/AAAAAAAAAAw/A9lhn93X6JI/s1600-h/joan.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d2X8PV8qpMg/SsCr5rvr_7I/AAAAAAAAAAw/A9lhn93X6JI/s320/joan.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386494161818746802" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Damn, Girl!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SERIOUSLY. I don't easily recognize a person's attractive qualities, but her rack is actually a RACK. Not to objectify a woman based on her breasts, but I'm pretty sure I could use her décolletage to keep spices on as I cook. AND THEY WOULD STAY THERE. It defies physics, it really does.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Plus she has red hair. I miss having red hair. I think I might dye mine again once my Sheer Blonde shampoo runs out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't have sex with her. But I would be very nice about turning her down. And then I would  try balancing something on her spectacular cleavage. Probably a cat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I promise to take pictures! Dude: Cats 'n' Racks.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6005402982591467565-6934884873734001767?l=iamasandwichartist.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iamasandwichartist.blogspot.com/feeds/6934884873734001767/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://iamasandwichartist.blogspot.com/2009/09/spectacular-spice-rack.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6005402982591467565/posts/default/6934884873734001767'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6005402982591467565/posts/default/6934884873734001767'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iamasandwichartist.blogspot.com/2009/09/spectacular-spice-rack.html' title='Spectacular Spice Rack'/><author><name>marebear</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15272646342113538964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d2X8PV8qpMg/SmurXffbPnI/AAAAAAAAAAM/GdgmIaWfda8/S220/DSC00829.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d2X8PV8qpMg/SsCr5rvr_7I/AAAAAAAAAAw/A9lhn93X6JI/s72-c/joan.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6005402982591467565.post-1887908904028183225</id><published>2009-08-14T21:24:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2009-08-14T22:02:19.343-03:00</updated><title type='text'>The Seventeen Essentials</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Last Sunday, I went with my writing group (a) to a writing retreat (b), where I wrote very little (c) because I had writers' block (d) and none of my current plots were interesting me (e). However, I did admire the wild bunnies (f) and ate more than my share of the strawberries in the fruit tray (g). And I talked about crazy internet fandom happenings (h) with some new acquaintances (i). Later that day, I attended a meeting of my knitting group (j) at Reads Newsstand (k). I worked on the beaded scarf (l) that I've been fiddling with since May (m). I also paged through a book of patterns (n) someone had brought with them and made a mental note of several projects (o). Arriving back home three hours later, I watched disc two of season six of The Simpsons (p) instead of going to sleep (q).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This paragraph of events tells you Seventeen Essentials of my character:&lt;br /&gt;a) I have a writing group, comprised of several awesome individuals, each more talented than the last.&lt;br /&gt;b) We often go on adventures together, sometimes even wacky ones.&lt;br /&gt;c) Though I belong to a writing group, I don't write very much at all.&lt;br /&gt;d) This is because I suffer from crippling attacks of writers' block.&lt;br /&gt;e) Which occur whenever my interest fizzles out on a plot (this happens a lot).&lt;br /&gt;f) I am a lover of animals in all shapes and sizes. Except for rodents. (Except for hamsters.)&lt;br /&gt;g) I loves me some sweets - fruit, pie, cake, or cookie. Usually the higher fat content ones.&lt;br /&gt;h) I am a lurker in several online fandoms, most notably Doctor Who and Torchwood. I like to share my stories of batshit fanwank.&lt;br /&gt;i) I have wildly inapproriate conversations about said fanwank. It's fun!&lt;br /&gt;j) I knit and crochet, with more enthusiasm than actual skill.&lt;br /&gt;k) I loves me some coffee.&lt;br /&gt;l) I love projects that are beyond my skill set.&lt;br /&gt;m) My attention span wanders off before most projects are finished, but I'm a stubborn lass who will force herself to knit with the fiddlest mohair if she's got it in her head to do so.&lt;br /&gt;n) My bank account does &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;not&lt;/span&gt; love pattern books, but I most definitely do.&lt;br /&gt;o) I have more ideas than time or money for projects.&lt;br /&gt;p) The Simpsons is my one true love.&lt;br /&gt;q) I am a dedicated insomniac.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and that I am writing about last Sunday on the following Friday is a special bonus Essential: I couldn't be on time to save my life. Hence the first post in this blog appearing nearly three weeks after I registered it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You should probably get used to that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6005402982591467565-1887908904028183225?l=iamasandwichartist.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iamasandwichartist.blogspot.com/feeds/1887908904028183225/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://iamasandwichartist.blogspot.com/2009/08/seventeen-essentials.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6005402982591467565/posts/default/1887908904028183225'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6005402982591467565/posts/default/1887908904028183225'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iamasandwichartist.blogspot.com/2009/08/seventeen-essentials.html' title='The Seventeen Essentials'/><author><name>marebear</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15272646342113538964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d2X8PV8qpMg/SmurXffbPnI/AAAAAAAAAAM/GdgmIaWfda8/S220/DSC00829.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
