tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72746504672795943872024-03-13T21:25:28.249-07:00sarah's lame blogThe inane ramblings of a would be author/artist and full time lay about.Sarahs_Lamehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12428226350314161777noreply@blogger.comBlogger45125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274650467279594387.post-60904548096806388112013-01-06T14:36:00.000-08:002013-01-06T14:36:14.996-08:00at risk Have you been paying attention to this Stuebenville rape case going on? Well I'm behind the times 'cause I just found out about it today and it's been going on for months. I'll leave it for you to google on your own and make your own conclusions, of course, but what the hell is going on in our culture in general here? All the conjecture, taking things out of context and snarly opinions aside, this story is terrifying.<br />
Beyond the small town mentalities, the antiquated cry wolf theories and the general fucked-up-ness of the situation, what might bother me the most is the term "at risk behavior" that's being bandied about. I'm sure this isn't the only time the term has been used, it's just that this is the first time I've ever noticed it. What blows my mind isn't the suggestion that she might have been making the wrong choices (we're all guilty of making them) but the implication that in making those choices she should have expected whatever horrible treatment was given her. That by putting up suggestive tweets in the past, by having a healthy sex drive, and then getting intoxicated at a party she put herself at risk of being abused sexually. <br />
And they made a term for it. To authenticate the fucked up idea behind it. <br />
How do I even live in a time when this is possible? Sarahs_Lamehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12428226350314161777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274650467279594387.post-41951046463190751222013-01-06T02:11:00.000-08:002013-01-06T02:11:14.596-08:00this cartoon life So here I am, trying to to write three (possibly four if there's outcry) books, right? All three main characters are based on different aspects of myself (what? Sush- write what you know) and I'm having issues pulling sentence after painful sentence out of my head and today it finally dawned on me why. With all the upheaval going on recently I have little to no idea who I am. <br />
For the past few months I've been in stasis- I'm here in this tiny house too afraid to leave unless I'm in desperate need of food (a little agoraphobic with heavy anthropophobic overtones) or paying a bill. I might dash out to get the mail some days if I'm feeling particularly brave. I sleep in, I stay up, I read horrid books that I'm ashamed to even own, I wear a lot of comfy clothes and I make bargains with myself in order to shower daily. I really like video games. Sometimes I trick myself into working out but most of the time I'm far too wily for that old trap and see it coming a mile away. <br />
There's no way I'd answer the door if someone knocked. <br />
These aren't at all new developments and, in fact, I've been struggling most of my life with these issues and it's just recently that I've allowed myself to give in. After mom died everything seemed to get harder to deal with. The move, homelessness, my flaky roommate, this whole vegan thing I just started but mostly my continued disuse of my talents- it's killing me that I'm still not happily ensconced in a career that uses my abilities as an artist to their fullest while simultaneously failing to suck my soul dry.<br />
These issues I have... well I know they'll always be part of who I am and I used to float on top of it all. But now I'm drowning in it and I feel like I've reached the point where I either go full fledged hermit or slap myself out of it. Possibly with heavy doses of drug and/or alcohol therapy. <br />
I'll keep you posted. Unless I turn hermit. Then I'll send you scrawled messages on bark.Sarahs_Lamehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12428226350314161777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274650467279594387.post-29884521704839368112012-12-29T17:33:00.001-08:002012-12-29T17:33:37.690-08:00magically thought-provoking internets #1I recently submitted one of my tattoos to <a href="http://fyeahtattoos.com/" target="_blank">fuckyeahtattoos</a> on tumblr and today it was posted. No big deal, just sharing my skin with the world. Gulp.<br />
Out of the hundreds of likes and reblogs there's this:<br />
<br />
<span class="action">(CENSORED) said:
<span class="answer_content">
good job covering your hand like a
~*~*~badass~*~*~ when from what i can see you don’t have any visible
coverage close to your hand. you look like a dumbass, have fun
regretting that later on in life trying to catch up on your~*sleevez*~
ugh </span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="action"><span class="answer_content">Luckily I don't take this kind of trolling serious but it did cause a few threads of thought including but not limited to- why would I scramble to cover my skin?</span> I've only made it half way through this life and part of that was spent shitting in my pants- how could I imagine that I know with absolute certainty what I want on my skin for the rest of my life without living it all? </span><br />
<span class="action">I plan on getting tattooed regularly throughout my life, not all at once. To do otherwise is akin to assuming I know everything, have felt everything. That I'll never change my views, likes or dislikes. My body would be locked in a sort of color book stasis. Arrested tattoo development.</span><br />
<span class="action">How closed minded. How small.</span><br />
<span class="action"> Thanks, internet, for reminding me why I'm not in any hurry to sleeve myself up. You're the best.</span><br />
<span class="action"><br /></span>Sarahs_Lamehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12428226350314161777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274650467279594387.post-29863488701309936502012-12-15T00:29:00.001-08:002012-12-15T00:29:04.518-08:00Peace<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/DiXjbI3kRus?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />Sarahs_Lamehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12428226350314161777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274650467279594387.post-30124257325558442632012-10-27T18:27:00.004-07:002012-10-27T18:27:50.714-07:00Uhm, sorry to bother...maybe this is a bad time but...<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Yes. Absolutely. Rape is horrible and vile.
Yes, absolutely, victims of near all-consuming hate such as that have every right to abort a child produced from it. I'll back you up completely on that one- I'll wave signs, walk parades, wear buttons, reblog repost retweet- anything to fight for a woman's right to govern her own body in any way she sees fit.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> Anything... but think outside your pain and outrage for just a few minutes.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> Before you start carelessly throwing around words like "monster spawn" or "rape baby" I want you to consider another angle. Because these children are worth your consideration.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> I'm not saying that, if raped, you should keep the child. That's a decision that should always be up to the woman faced with it, no one else. But I <i>am</i> saying that sometimes, if you can look past the horrific conception, you might see <i>your</i> daughter or son, worthy of your love. Not just a product of "damaged DNA".</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> If we truly are to be in control of our own bodies then we need to acknowledge that the child, <i>any</i> child, growing inside belongs to <i>us</i>- or would you allow the man who raped you take that as well?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
I didn't used to feel this way. After I found out about my conception I went through a long period of self loathing. For years (long, gothy years full of black eyeliner and -possibly- too much Morrissey) I wished my mother had decided to have an abortion. Sometimes I wondered if I might turn out like him; twisted, broken, hurtful. I knew I looked like him because I didn't look like my mother. I hated the very idea.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
Mother never allowed it to color how she felt about me. She was strong enough to love me unconditionally. When she looked at me she saw her daughter- even when I was a horrible, selfish, spiteful teenager I was <i>her</i> horrible, selfish, spiteful teenager. Behaving like a teenager, not a teenager going through early warning rapist personality issues. I wasn't a constant reminder of a terrible act but a source of love and joy as are all children, no matter the origin.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
In time I learned to share her views on the matter...mostly.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> But it's still a sensitive issue for me. I understand that some people can't get past the ugliness of rape, that it's something you carry with you for the rest of your life and that they feel a child born of such is a nightmarish souvenir. That the casual way some politicians bandy back and forth rape labeling and women's rights is atrocious, insensitive, caustic to our nation's basic freedom. I can't argue with that. I wouldn't.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> But as you rage your defiance against the violations our government tries to lay upon your body please remember that there are those of us out here that feel the bite of your words.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> Strongly.</span>Sarahs_Lamehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12428226350314161777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274650467279594387.post-60051663208960789962012-10-16T18:52:00.003-07:002012-10-16T18:52:52.405-07:00so far so mediocre So how have I been since mom died? I'm going through the motions. Making up daily/sometimes hourly reasons to keep busy, to keep moving. At first it was the after death details- what to do with her remains, planning out her potluck farewell, dealing with her possessions, her bills, her friends. Most of that is all past me now so I come up with new reasons, new plans to keep motivated. Moved into a new place after two months of searching now I need to unpack, buy household items, nest. I'm running out of boxes to unpack which worries me. I also quit the soul-sucking job so that also takes away from my schedule considerably. Maybe I could take up jogging...But surely that would be a sign of losing myself entirely.
Bruce Campbell (in his infinite chin-y wisdom) once told me to make stuff and never stop. Once you stop creating, once you lose momentum, you fail... Of course I'm paraphrasing here; like I'm going to remember what ANYONE said to me in the 90s?
So then the next step is creation... Sarahs_Lamehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12428226350314161777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274650467279594387.post-18773961032434237462012-05-30T17:16:00.001-07:002012-05-30T17:16:57.637-07:00not waiting anymoreOn the eleventh of May, 2012, around a month and a half after she was diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer, Mary Peters (otherwise known as my momma) died. I'll probably go into detail after I pick up a few more pieces.Sarahs_Lamehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12428226350314161777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274650467279594387.post-57709092347262635112012-04-22T00:39:00.003-07:002012-04-22T00:56:19.693-07:00yup, you guessed it-would you believe we're still waiting for the now <span style="font-style:italic;">group</span> of doctors to, at the very least, find out whether or not the cancer is treatable? And mom is wasting away, unable to eat, getting more alarmingly yellow day by day.<br />I'm not even angry that she has cancer. I'm angry that I live in a world where it's necessary to be a squeaky wheel just to get attention that every person alive should be able to take for granted. <br />She fell down the other day as she was getting out of the shower. <br />She's not even strong enough to climb stairs without taking a break ON EVERY STEP. <br />She wrote a grocery list for me and her normally perfect writing was illegible when it wasn't scratched out, scribbled. Shaky. Her attempt at drawing a simple smiley face at the end was heartbreaking. It took her two tries.<br />You've got to realize that this is a woman who raised three children on her own at a time when that was frowned upon. She was a volunteer fire fighter while she was pregnant. She drove taxi in the 60s. In Seattle. At night. She worked at the post office for more than 30 years and didn't shoot anyone. She's fucking Superwoman for god's sake.<br />This doesn't happen to Superwoman.Sarahs_Lamehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12428226350314161777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274650467279594387.post-7889952812687058562012-04-03T21:47:00.004-07:002012-04-03T21:58:07.724-07:00...Wating...Waiting.<br /> Waiting waiting waiting waiting. And then some more. Also, there's waiting, in case I failed to mention it. Waiting.<br /> Look, I don't care who else you're treating/helping/saving/bandaging/medicating/killing with kindness/preforming surgery on/putting an i.v. in/giving staff infections to/breathing horrid breath on/sedating/draining of precious fluids/or euthanizing. She has limited time left on this planet and it's fucking killing me that she's spending it waiting for you to let her know lab results! FUCKING GET ON THE FUCKING JOB, PEOPLE!!!Sarahs_Lamehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12428226350314161777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274650467279594387.post-60854165669727095642012-03-28T23:14:00.002-07:002012-03-29T00:01:10.622-07:00So, well, this sucks.For what it's worth I never really thought much about cancer outside of how it must be sucky and thank god I don't have it. Yet.<br />Shallow? Self centered? Yes, I agree. And this after watching my grandmother die of it when I was much shorter. It didn't enter into my thoughts, but hovered on the edge as a nasty possibility. <br />But that's normal, right? Living in a family with cancer in its history is like that. You don't go around with a giant black cloud over your head, waiting for the inevitable lump to form, do you? You go on you live you breathe you move, love, feel and take life as it comes.<br /><br />And then you go to the doctor with your mom one day and he tells you that she has a 95 percent chance of having only 6 more months to live. And your initial response still isn't as dramatic as, say, anyone else. Ever, if the doc is to be believed. <br /><br />It has me rethinking my mental state in general.<br /><br />I'm shaken, but not thrown. It helps that she and I believe that we'll see each other in the next life. That this is change, transition. There's a certain amount of melancholy but we're keeping it in check.<br />It's certainly possible that I'm dealing with this through a haze of shock but I don't think so. I'm either very well adjusted or emotionally malformed. <br />Because I guess it's not normal to joke about burying your dead mother in the back yard and bringing her out for special occasions right after you find out her shelf life is about to run out. It's not normal to refer to the last few months of your mothers earthly existence as shelf life. It's certainly not something you want to pass around online like an emo trading card.<br /><br />As we go through the stages of this I'll be laying it out here. It's past time I use this blog-thingie as a sounding board. Just understand that I'm doing this for my own edification, to help dissect my thoughts and find justification, purpose, sense in the senseless.Sarahs_Lamehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12428226350314161777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274650467279594387.post-47383109235984354132012-03-12T00:32:00.002-07:002012-03-12T00:43:06.348-07:00more on that, actually...-Now that you mention it (ok, I mentioned it, whatever) a blog seems to be exactly how it sounds when you say it out loud. It's a blurb in an otherwise lengthy & bustling life. It's a side note, an "oh by the way", a burp, a hick up, a sneaky way of passing literary gas. It's silent but potentially deadly boring. (case in point. Ahem.)<br /><br />No, really. Say it now out loud to see what I mean. <br /><br />Weird how different it sounds when you think it, huh? Almost like your brain recognizes ir for the seriously throwy-upy word it is so it kinda breezes over it. Glosses over the crudeness of it. Like shellacking a rabbit pellet.<br /><br />...in other news, I'm writing again...Sarahs_Lamehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12428226350314161777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274650467279594387.post-8372788002876112512012-03-10T11:45:00.002-08:002012-03-10T11:55:22.875-08:00where were we?You know, the more I look around at other blogs the more I realize I don't have the time or patience for it. I see all these people with something to say. Some of it actually sounds most profound. But as I check out these blogs, profound or not, my inherent feeling of irrelevance deepens- who cares what the hell I have to say, think, or feel? Aren't there more important issues at stake here? I should go look into that...Sarahs_Lamehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12428226350314161777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274650467279594387.post-49767072826639878202011-12-07T02:56:00.000-08:002011-12-07T03:25:48.799-08:00Between My Legs #1<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNrUNDyHXuZ5c-Hammg9itPOl5w2L-38Gz4GttPn4Kgiee3kyz2_IYDc5OxTpMw0uOTV3kjK1eZMOYPDQMopF0uWYuRm_oLIchfdjma0IB1jGz3iBZdIUL1bjbXMjcmraUaMYTwxdl9-su/s1600/shot_1316744819791.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNrUNDyHXuZ5c-Hammg9itPOl5w2L-38Gz4GttPn4Kgiee3kyz2_IYDc5OxTpMw0uOTV3kjK1eZMOYPDQMopF0uWYuRm_oLIchfdjma0IB1jGz3iBZdIUL1bjbXMjcmraUaMYTwxdl9-su/s320/shot_1316744819791.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5683339337396429890" /></a><br /><br /> Remember how I mentioned MONTHS ago that I'd start blogging regularly about all the stuff I have and then promptly stopped blogging entirely? Well this is my way-too-early-in-the-morning attempt to remedy that. Or possibly I've been drinking and all that follows will be the typing equivalent of staggering and occasional drool. <br /> Either way, good times.<br /> And so...<br /> <br /> This is Snoopy. He's been with me for a very long time- I'd say at least 35 years, give or take an embarrassingly-telling year. My older brother Aaron tried to keep him from me after I attempted to use my water colors to kinda tart him up a bit. Told me that Snoopy was a boy and didn't wear makeup. Much crying ensued.<br /><br /> I was the one crying, me, not Aaron. The unfeeling Snoopy stealing bastard.<br /><br /> He usually hangs out next to my bed on my nightstand (again, not Aaron- that would be weird. And creepy.) unless I'm feeling particularly lonely or sad and then he might spend some time cuddling in bed with me. The cheeky bitch. <br /> I'm sure there's more to be said but like I mentioned it's late/early and I'm tired (and there's always that possibility that I've been drinking- always keep people guessing) and I'm pretty sure anything else that I come up with will be outlandish just to brighten up this blog- say a story about how how I've had to smuggle him across international borders firmly ensconced in my anal cavity or maybe something equally ridiculous about how he whispers dark secrets to me at night, words that smell like blood and fear, that reach into my heart and pull out the black pictures of dea- but like I said, I'm tired. <br /> Heh.Sarahs_Lamehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12428226350314161777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274650467279594387.post-38212209152781350642011-09-30T02:11:00.000-07:002011-09-30T02:12:04.019-07:00For Cruz:<iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/B2v-AkSj260" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Sarahs_Lamehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12428226350314161777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274650467279594387.post-21625403573208326952011-09-07T22:27:00.000-07:002011-09-07T22:34:05.887-07:00This is for you:<iframe width="420" height="345" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/IqaOp7sIy0w" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Sarahs_Lamehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12428226350314161777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274650467279594387.post-2982764134262893162011-07-13T10:54:00.000-07:002011-07-13T11:20:44.806-07:00Wrote a song about it-like to hear it? Here it goes-Moving. Again.<br />As of August 1st I will no longer be living in the space-scrunchy apartment I've stayed in for the past year but in a slightly less scrunchy two floor house. (Insert sigh of relief here)<br />The thing is, this would make it the 27th time I've shuffled my stuff about since I moved out of my mom's house (the first time) over twenty years ago. Wish I was exaggerating.<br />"Wow." you say? "How can that be?" you ask? "What's wrong with me?" you wonder? (how rude, by the way...)<br />And then you come up with the best (and less insulting) question- How many roommates is that? Well I'm sooo glad you asked- I've amassed over 40 (now mostly ex) roommates over the years. Again, wish I was exaggerating.<br />But your nosy questions aside, the point is that I'm moving. Again. And we've come full circle.<br />I'm glad I'm moving, please don't get me wrong, I just want to stop doing it after this one for a while. Preferably a long while. I'd like to see what it's like to stay in a place for a couple years. Maybe memorize my address for once. Get to know my neighbors instead of referring to them as "The Ones on the Corner" or "That Guy With The Dog".<br />*sigh* It's a beautiful dream.<br />The reason behind this blog isn't to beg for sympathy from those of you with that thing you people call stability, but to announce an idea I've had brewing in the back of my skull for a little while now about my stuff. 'Cause boy howdy do I have stuff. So much stuff. I like stuff. And I figure I should put that stuff to use & write about it some.<br />So, instead of the usual crap video that I slap up on here I'm actually going to do some (gasp!) writing. Yup, that's right, about stuff.<br />...I'll try to be less vague next post...Sarahs_Lamehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12428226350314161777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274650467279594387.post-4242751298396359762011-06-02T00:47:00.000-07:002011-06-02T00:52:13.277-07:00This is for you:<iframe width="425" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/UVHk4dc7yaE" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Sarahs_Lamehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12428226350314161777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274650467279594387.post-61824208912066043872011-05-31T00:00:00.000-07:002011-05-31T00:07:23.771-07:00for drewi miss you<br /><iframe width="425" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/8fyr0zbaFyE" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Sarahs_Lamehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12428226350314161777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274650467279594387.post-2900514477428457762011-05-26T23:22:00.000-07:002011-05-26T23:25:20.344-07:00Is This Thing On?Been a while. Let's start off my return wiiiiith this: <br /><iframe width="425" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/j1-xRk6llh4" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br />...I'll be back shortly. Honest.Sarahs_Lamehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12428226350314161777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274650467279594387.post-12359083535179669882011-03-08T01:08:00.000-08:002011-03-08T01:10:07.306-08:00Having one of those...<iframe title="YouTube video player" width="480" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/tIdIqbv7SPo" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Sarahs_Lamehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12428226350314161777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274650467279594387.post-4163890776482346822011-01-07T22:30:00.000-08:002011-01-07T22:31:09.235-08:00Having one of those...<object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/EokAXyxfQlw?fs=1&hl=en_US&color1=0x5d1719&color2=0xcd311b"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/EokAXyxfQlw?fs=1&hl=en_US&color1=0x5d1719&color2=0xcd311b" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object>Sarahs_Lamehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12428226350314161777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274650467279594387.post-82846048265185561462010-12-01T06:09:00.000-08:002010-12-01T06:10:04.565-08:00I miss you, Polly.<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/NAbZzdalZh4?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/NAbZzdalZh4?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Sarahs_Lamehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12428226350314161777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274650467279594387.post-12107734727489079972010-11-26T05:58:00.001-08:002010-11-26T05:58:50.008-08:00This is familiar:<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/KxWgPKf_mVg?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/KxWgPKf_mVg?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Sarahs_Lamehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12428226350314161777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274650467279594387.post-77827287172769163602010-11-25T04:46:00.001-08:002010-11-25T04:46:16.321-08:00This is for you:<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/UFLJFl7ws_0?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/UFLJFl7ws_0?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Sarahs_Lamehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12428226350314161777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274650467279594387.post-43021598249472454842010-11-23T04:58:00.000-08:002010-11-23T05:04:27.221-08:00This is a good way to feel before bed:<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/yPTyNDqOzpM?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/yPTyNDqOzpM?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Sarahs_Lamehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12428226350314161777noreply@blogger.com0