<?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-7328610897800125583</id><updated>2011-04-21T15:55:39.686-05:00</updated><title type='text'>ChefChiTown's Page</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>ChefChiTown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04332036954319510353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZG3M1YTs0W0/SLz2tl4p1mI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/qzH-DNJJYbE/S220/Jack_O_Lantern_01.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>26</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7328610897800125583.post-6920885920274934150</id><published>2009-02-13T12:47:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-13T13:11:17.128-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Change...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;Recently, I have decided that I am going to move back home to Cleveland. I have been living here in Chicago for the past few years and, although I have loved my time here, I just don't want to be alone right now. So, I'm becoming more of a loser than I already am and I'm moving back in with my parents. It's not just about money, although that is part of it, but I just can't be alone right now.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;I have been going through a weird phase of my life for some reason and it has played a lot of head games with me. My life is going nowhere. After I graduated culinary school, I started working in restaurants right away. I know that it is "tradition" to earn your keeps, so to speak, so I was well aware that I would be putting in a lot of hard work for little to no money. Well, here I am, 2 and half years later and I am still going nowhere. I quit my job very recently, but before I did, I was working 6 days a week and 80-90 hours a week for a joke of a paycheck. I'm 27 fucking years old and I am worse off than what I was in high school. How in the fuck does that happen?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;Everytime I do things that other people tell me that I'm supposed to do, it ends up making my life worse than what it was. "Go to school", they told me. "After you graduate, get a good job", they told me. "Everything will be better", they told me. Umm, all of that was a fucking lie. I did all of that and it has done nothing but make my life more complicated and worse off than what it was before. AWESOME!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;So, I am packing up and getting the fuck out of here. If I don't, I'm going to lose my fucking mind and probably end up "calling it quits", if you know what I mean.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;I feel really bad, as I have been somewhat mean to people who don't deserve it. I'm not the kind of person who likes to talk about their feelings, as people are never of any help to me when I do. I usually get mocked or told to "shake it off", even though the feelings I express aren't something I can just brush off and forget about right away. So, to avoid furthering my despair, I usually just keep everything pent up on the inside and try to deal with it myself. Well, when I do that, I will sometimes lash out at people for no reason, as I use it as an avenue to release some sort of frustration. I have yelled at friends and family members for things that I shouldn't even raise my voice about. I don't get it, I really don't. I'm usually the most laid back person there is, but I've been a total dick recently and I feel horrible about it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;My lease here, at my current apartment, ends in April. I have to move out by May 1st of this year, so I will be doing so. I don't exactly when I will be moving back in with my parents, but it will be within the next few weeks. I sent a lengthy letter, telling them about my current state of life, and asked them if I could move back in with them. They fully understand that it's more than just money problems that are causing me to ask for such a thing, so they are more than happy to take me back in. They understand that I'm on a downward spiral, yet again, so they are going to be there for me so I don't reach the point of another suicide attempt. If I don't do something about my life, I will get there again. Since I don't want that, I threw myself at the mercy of the court, so to speak, and asked my parents for help.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;When I move back in with good old Mom and Dad, I will be staying in my old room. That will be really weird at first, but hopefully, it will be the comfort that I need to get my head back on straight. I have already made a schedule of life for myself and I plan on sticking to it. I will continue to practice guitar each and every day. I will continue to work on writing my books each and every day (yeah, I have two of them that I'm working on now). I also plan on getting myself back into shape. I have become a sloppy, fat piece of crap and I hate it. I'm not a shallow or superficial person, so I honestly don't care what other people look like, but it's obvious that I'm being judged for my appearance and I want to change that.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;I'm sick and tired of being told the following by numerous women...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;"ANY girl would be lucky to have you"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;Really, if ANY girl would be lucky to have me, then why won't you ever go out with me? Oooooh, that's right...because I'm fat. Thanks, I get it now. Awesome.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;So, to avoid my appearance getting in the way of love, I am going to lose a bunch of weight and get myself a good body. I am going to put myself on a strict diet and workout routine. One of my best friends is getting married in September, so I plan on losing at least 50 lbs before his wedding day. It will be hard, but I know I can do it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;I don't know if all of this will ultimately solve all of my problems and make me genuinely happy inside, but I know that it can't hurt. I hate leaving the city of Chicago behind, but I need this. I feel pathetic, useless and utterly worthless as a human being. Sure, it's embarassing to be 27 years old and asking to move back in with my parents...but I need it. Without it, I'd be putting a fucking bullet in my skull. So, I'll suck it up, deal with the embarassment that comes along with it and try to save my life.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7328610897800125583-6920885920274934150?l=chefchitown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/feeds/6920885920274934150/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7328610897800125583&amp;postID=6920885920274934150' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/6920885920274934150'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/6920885920274934150'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/2009/02/recently-i-have-decided-that-i-am-going.html' title='Change...'/><author><name>ChefChiTown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04332036954319510353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZG3M1YTs0W0/SLz2tl4p1mI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/qzH-DNJJYbE/S220/Jack_O_Lantern_01.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7328610897800125583.post-2467604223276641493</id><published>2008-12-18T20:06:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-18T20:16:45.481-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Does It Really Matter What I Type Here?...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I really shouldn't be alone right now.  I'm feeling extremely unstable and I'm not in a good place.  I know that I don't have a choice and that I'll be alone whether I like it or not, but I guess that typing on this pointless blog somehow makes me feel like someone is listening, even though nobody is.  I don't know...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I'm beginning to &lt;em&gt;hate&lt;/em&gt; again and I don't like it.  I don't hate in the sense of anger of disapproval; I hate because I don't want to do this.  I don't want to have to go through life, busting my ass and getting &lt;em&gt;absolutely nothing&lt;/em&gt; in return.  No money, no support, no warmth, no comfort, no friendship, no love...&lt;strong&gt;nothing&lt;/strong&gt;.  Seriously, why wake up?  Why go to work?  Why bother?  Because I'm "&lt;em&gt;supposed to&lt;/em&gt;"...because "&lt;em&gt;that's life&lt;/em&gt;"...???  What kind of &lt;em&gt;bullshit&lt;/em&gt; reasoning is that?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;The last few days have been bad; &lt;em&gt;really&lt;/em&gt; bad.  I don't know where this all came from, but I've been trying to fight it away, only to fail.  &lt;em&gt;Fail&lt;/em&gt;...that's a word I'm used to.  I fail at everything I do.  I make no money.  I have no friends.  I have no girlfriend.  Fuck...if I was 16 again and somebody told me that my life would be like this when I was 27, I wouldn't believe it.  Well, &lt;em&gt;believe it little old me; &lt;/em&gt;your life fucking sucks and everything you &lt;strong&gt;could've&lt;/strong&gt; been doesn't mean a fucking thing now.  Sure, you &lt;strong&gt;could've&lt;/strong&gt; been something great, &lt;em&gt;but you're not&lt;/em&gt;.  You're a poor, lonely, beat down 27 year old loser who doesn't really give a shit about anything.  Way to go.  Way to put all of that so-called "potential" to use, you loser.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7328610897800125583-2467604223276641493?l=chefchitown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/feeds/2467604223276641493/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7328610897800125583&amp;postID=2467604223276641493' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/2467604223276641493'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/2467604223276641493'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/2008/12/does-it-really-matter-what-i-type-here.html' title='Does It Really Matter What I Type Here?...'/><author><name>ChefChiTown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04332036954319510353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZG3M1YTs0W0/SLz2tl4p1mI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/qzH-DNJJYbE/S220/Jack_O_Lantern_01.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7328610897800125583.post-4264284124173820259</id><published>2008-12-05T20:51:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-05T20:53:01.452-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Guitaring...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I just got done practicing guitar for a while and I thought to myself...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;"Hmm, my fingers hurt..."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;Then, it made me think of Happy Gilmore, when the old lady complains that her fingers hurt and Ben Stiller makes her pull landscaping duty.  Ahh, good times.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7328610897800125583-4264284124173820259?l=chefchitown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/feeds/4264284124173820259/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7328610897800125583&amp;postID=4264284124173820259' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/4264284124173820259'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/4264284124173820259'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/2008/12/guitaring.html' title='Guitaring...'/><author><name>ChefChiTown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04332036954319510353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZG3M1YTs0W0/SLz2tl4p1mI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/qzH-DNJJYbE/S220/Jack_O_Lantern_01.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7328610897800125583.post-4005685588346141748</id><published>2008-11-21T14:53:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-21T14:55:38.006-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Until I Come Undone...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;Until I Come Undone&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;Every tear I cry leaves a painful trail of unwanted nightmares that stain my innocent skin&lt;br /&gt;Wiping them away only delays the inevitable, as the trail will return the next time I think of you&lt;br /&gt;You consume my every thought and spread an unrelenting illness which owns my subconscious&lt;br /&gt;Even if there was a cure that could rid me of your memory, I would choose to live with your infection&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;Day after day, the sickness will stay with me&lt;br /&gt;Day after day, I inch closer to death&lt;br /&gt;Day after day, this disease feels like fire&lt;br /&gt;Day after day, I will continue to offer myself, piece by piece, until I have nothing left&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;And when I am gone, when my life is no more&lt;br /&gt;Remember these words when you're in need of a smile...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I will unravel myself for you&lt;br /&gt;May my thread hold you together in your times of need&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7328610897800125583-4005685588346141748?l=chefchitown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/feeds/4005685588346141748/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7328610897800125583&amp;postID=4005685588346141748' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/4005685588346141748'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/4005685588346141748'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/2008/11/until-i-come-undone_21.html' title='Until I Come Undone...'/><author><name>ChefChiTown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04332036954319510353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZG3M1YTs0W0/SLz2tl4p1mI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/qzH-DNJJYbE/S220/Jack_O_Lantern_01.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7328610897800125583.post-4047384892017162842</id><published>2008-11-21T11:17:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-21T14:47:30.795-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Follow The Leader...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;"Fear is the greatest educator, for only in terror do we learn of our true selves."&lt;br /&gt;- Me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think it's sad how the human race can walk this earth not even knowing who they are. Your minds are a slave to the trends while society acts as your mother, raising you to blindfully follow the fad you call "&lt;em&gt;cool&lt;/em&gt;". Society molds the way you act; keyword, &lt;strong&gt;ACT&lt;/strong&gt;, for who you &lt;em&gt;really&lt;/em&gt; are, &lt;em&gt;nobody knows&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The way you present yourself is an insult to your &lt;em&gt;true&lt;/em&gt; personality, as you are doing nothing but putting on a show in order to fit in with the other sheep. The clothes you wear, the music you listen to, the stores you shop at, the cars you drive, the food you eat; you lazily copy everyone around you, preventing yourselves from developing a mind of your own.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quit worshipping what you think others want you to be and &lt;em&gt;think for yourself&lt;/em&gt; for once. Stop being afraid of yourself. Society doesn't give a &lt;strong&gt;fuck&lt;/strong&gt; about you, yet, you'll do &lt;em&gt;just about anything&lt;/em&gt; to please it. Why are you so willing to trade in your individuality for a false sense of belonging? All of the people you are trying to impress don't really like &lt;strong&gt;you&lt;/strong&gt;, they like who they &lt;strong&gt;think&lt;/strong&gt; you are; &lt;em&gt;the character you portray&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your &lt;em&gt;whole life&lt;/em&gt; is a trend. In fact, you probably haven't had an original thought or emotional impulse in years. You do nothing but morph yourself to blend into the forefront of society, providing yourself with daily makeovers in order to fit in with the ever changing crowd...but, that's not &lt;strong&gt;you&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Behind closed doors, &lt;strong&gt;you&lt;/strong&gt; are the hardass thug who cries at a sad movie. &lt;strong&gt;You&lt;/strong&gt; are the demonizing bully who writes sappy poems of love and romance. &lt;strong&gt;You&lt;/strong&gt; are the weekend whore who regrets every fling. &lt;strong&gt;You&lt;/strong&gt; are the depressing emo kid who paints pictures of sunny meadows and glistening rainbows. Sadly, &lt;strong&gt;you&lt;/strong&gt; are also &lt;em&gt;the only one who knows this&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why do so many people wait until they are looking death in the face to unveil their true colors? It isn't until you experience darkness that you decide to reveal your light. Time is precious, so hear my message before it's too late...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;YOU&lt;/strong&gt; are beautiful; &lt;em&gt;shine on&lt;/em&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/7328610897800125583-4047384892017162842?l=chefchitown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/feeds/4047384892017162842/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7328610897800125583&amp;postID=4047384892017162842' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/4047384892017162842'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/4047384892017162842'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/2008/11/fear-is-greatest-educator-for-only-in.html' title='Follow The Leader...'/><author><name>ChefChiTown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04332036954319510353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZG3M1YTs0W0/SLz2tl4p1mI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/qzH-DNJJYbE/S220/Jack_O_Lantern_01.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7328610897800125583.post-8454025719365699853</id><published>2008-11-19T21:09:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-19T21:41:37.377-06:00</updated><title type='text'>New Year, New Life...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I haven't posted anything in a while, so I felt like I should. I have just been so occupied with some things and writing has honestly slipped my mind for the past few weeks. I haven't been super busy with "doing" things; rather, I've been been occupied by "thinking about" things.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;Lately, I have come to the conclusion of what I am going to do with my life. I've been battling with myself on what I should do and what would be best for me. Well, I found the answer...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I am going to quit my job at the end of the year. Earlier last night, I booked a bus ticket to go back to Cleveland for a Christmas visit, which will begin on Christmas Eve, so I will be quitting my job before then. Once I quit my job and enjoy some time with my family back in Cleveland, I will return to Chicago and look for a job that pays me an &lt;em&gt;adequate&lt;/em&gt; weekly salary. I honestly don't care what that job will be, I just need money. I am &lt;em&gt;sick&lt;/em&gt; of getting my ass kicked at work for 80+ hours a week and bringing home a &lt;em&gt;joke of a paycheck&lt;/em&gt;. Money doesn't make me happy. Work doesn't really make happy either. So, &lt;strong&gt;fuck it&lt;/strong&gt;. I'm going to get a job that pays me enough money to pay my rent and hopefully a little more, so I can save up a bit. Once I establish what job I will be working at, I am going to put myself on a strict daily routine in order to achieve my main goal as quickly as possible. That goal...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;MUSIC&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I am going to practice my guitar playing for a &lt;em&gt;minimum&lt;/em&gt; of 2 hours a day. I don't care how tired I am and I don't care what else I have to do that day; &lt;em&gt;I will be playing guitar and practicing for at least 2 hours every single day&lt;/em&gt;. While I am practicing and continuing to get better, I will study and perfect the art of writing and reading music. I will study harder than I ever have before and I won't give up, no matter how grueling and mentally exhausting the process may be.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;(I also plan on working out again. I'm uh, a little, &lt;em&gt;how do you say&lt;/em&gt;, "out of shape"...??? So, I'm going to get back into my baseball workout routine and reclaim my health.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I have a 3-year plan which I have set for myself and at the conclusion of those 3 years, I plan to have a band put together that will hopefully be good enough to begin touring. I don't care about money and I don't care about fame, groupies or TV appearances. I just want to play some fucking &lt;em&gt;good music&lt;/em&gt;, entertain people all over the world and help them escape from their shitty lives for a few hours each night. In turn, they'll be helping &lt;strong&gt;me&lt;/strong&gt; escape &lt;strong&gt;my&lt;/strong&gt; shitty life, as I'll be playing &lt;strong&gt;my songs&lt;/strong&gt; in front of people who &lt;em&gt;want&lt;/em&gt; to hear them. That's all I want. I just want to be able to reach out to just one person and put a smile on their face. Even if it's just &lt;em&gt;one person&lt;/em&gt; and that smile is just for &lt;em&gt;one moment&lt;/em&gt;, I'll know that &lt;em&gt;my music&lt;/em&gt; was what put it there. That's all I want from this.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I'm tired of living for &lt;em&gt;other people&lt;/em&gt; and as of January 1, 2009 I will be living my life for &lt;strong&gt;ME&lt;/strong&gt; and &lt;strong&gt;nobody else&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;On a slightly different note:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;My mom has been really upset lately, because this will be the first Christmas my family will go through without my grandmother; my mom's mom. My grandma died not too long ago and Christmas was always her favorite time of year, so my mom has been taking it kind of hard recently. She has been crying &lt;em&gt;everytime&lt;/em&gt; that I've talked to her on the phone because she feels like Christmas will be really lonely, as my grandma won't be there and I'll be here in Chicago...or, &lt;em&gt;so she thinks&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;As I mentioned before, earlier last night, I booked a bus ticket to go back home to Cleveland. I surprised my mom last year by going home for Christmas, but this year will be a bit different. This year, I'm not going to tell my dad either. He was the only person who knew I was coming home for Christmas last year, &lt;em&gt;but not this year&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I am leaving on Christmas Eve (day) and I will be arriving in Cleveland around 4:30PM that night. My dad has the day off and my mom works until 6PM that night. But, by the time my bus arrives, I transfer to the local train and get onto the "Circulator" (which is a neighborhood bus), it will be well after 6PM, so my mom will be home from work and both of my parents will be sitting there...all alone. So, I plan on walking from the last bus stop to my parent's house, which is only a few blocks away. Then, I'll knock on the door (hopefully when they're eating dinner, because I want to be "that guy"), my parents will come to the door and...&lt;strong&gt;SURPRISE&lt;/strong&gt;!!! &lt;strong&gt;MERRY CHRISTMAS&lt;/strong&gt;!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I don't know why, but I'm &lt;em&gt;really&lt;/em&gt; excited to surprise my mom. I'm even excited to surprise my dad because, well, he's kind of hard to surprise. He always seems to &lt;em&gt;know everything&lt;/em&gt;, which makes it hard to surprise him. But, &lt;strong&gt;NOT THIS YEAR&lt;/strong&gt;!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;Christmas has &lt;em&gt;always&lt;/em&gt; been a very enjoyable time of year, but I've noticed that ever since I moved away from home, I enjoy it &lt;em&gt;even more&lt;/em&gt;. I guess it makes you appreciate your family when you don't get to see them but once or twice a year.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Happy Holidays&lt;/strong&gt;!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7328610897800125583-8454025719365699853?l=chefchitown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/feeds/8454025719365699853/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7328610897800125583&amp;postID=8454025719365699853' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/8454025719365699853'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/8454025719365699853'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/2008/11/new-year-new-life.html' title='New Year, New Life...'/><author><name>ChefChiTown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04332036954319510353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZG3M1YTs0W0/SLz2tl4p1mI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/qzH-DNJJYbE/S220/Jack_O_Lantern_01.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7328610897800125583.post-5118718762538486883</id><published>2008-10-30T22:21:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-30T22:56:28.743-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Giving Up...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I don't know if it's common to feel like this, but for the past 5 or 6 years of my life, I have felt absolutely &lt;strong&gt;worthless&lt;/strong&gt;.  Since I've graduated high school, I have accomplished absolutely nothing and have contributed nothing to life.  Sure, I went to culinary school and graduated, but...where did &lt;em&gt;that&lt;/em&gt; get me?  The answer: nowhere.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I've spent the past two years of my life slaving in professional kitchens for, &lt;em&gt;what equals out to be&lt;/em&gt;, &lt;strong&gt;way less than minimum wage&lt;/strong&gt;.  I toughed my way through it at first, but I can't do it anymore.  I am sick and tired of working 80+ hour weeks, which leaves me with &lt;em&gt;barely&lt;/em&gt; any time to myself, and coming home with a mere $300/week before taxes.  I made more than this when I was 18 years old, working 20 hours a week.  So...why am I doing this?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;The &lt;strong&gt;only thing&lt;/strong&gt; I've ever wanted and needed in life is a wife and a daughter.  I want to find a woman who is worth giving everything to.  My love, my time, my money, my body, my life...&lt;strong&gt;everything&lt;/strong&gt;.  I want to have a daughter with that woman so I can raise a little girl to grow up to be just like her mommy.  Any woman who is willing to be with me is a pretty amazing woman, and I want my daughter to grow up to be &lt;em&gt;exactly&lt;/em&gt; like that woman.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;Well, with the way my life is now...I'll &lt;strong&gt;never&lt;/strong&gt; have that.  I'll &lt;strong&gt;never&lt;/strong&gt; have what I &lt;em&gt;want and need&lt;/em&gt;.  It's crushing me inside just thinking about it.  I &lt;strong&gt;have&lt;/strong&gt; to have that.  I'm afraid that it's going to pass me by if I don't do something.  I'm scared.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;Tomorrow is my 27th birthday and, &lt;em&gt;for some reason&lt;/em&gt;, it is rattling me pretty hard.  I am going to be 27 years old.  I have a job that requires me to work 14 hour days, 6 days a week and pays me shit for money.  I have no friends.  I have no girlfriend.  I have no time to make friends.  I have no time to meet a girlfriend.  I hate it.  I fucking hate it.  I know that it's no "fault" of my own, but...&lt;strong&gt;what the fuck am I doing with my life&lt;/strong&gt;?  Seriously, what the fuck?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I know that people are supposed to do what they want in life, but I haven't been doing that.  I've been doing what &lt;strong&gt;everybody else&lt;/strong&gt; wants me to do and it's causing me nothing but aggravation and heartache.  I didn't care about going to culinary school.  I didn't care about going to college.  I didn't care about &lt;em&gt;any of that&lt;/em&gt;.  My parents, friends and family members bugged the shit of me for so long, telling me to go to school.  It was like they weren't proud of me and wanted me to do what they wanted.  So, they pushed and pushed and pushed until I gave in and they got what they wanted.  When I enrolled in culinary school, they were thrilled.  When I graduated, they were thrilled.  But, the day after I graduated, the negativity started all over again.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;"When are you going to get a job?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;"Why don't you have a job yet?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;"Get a job already!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;It's like &lt;em&gt;nothing&lt;/em&gt; I do pleases people and I'm fucking sick of it.  My &lt;em&gt;whole entire life&lt;/em&gt;, I've done nothing but try and make people happy.  I sacrifice &lt;strong&gt;everything&lt;/strong&gt; I have to in order to put a smile on their face, even if it means risking my own happiness.  But, now I'm starting to realize that nobody gives a fuck if &lt;strong&gt;I'm&lt;/strong&gt; happy.  So, if that's the case, why should I give a fuck if &lt;em&gt;they're&lt;/em&gt; happy?  Fuck them.  It seems selfish, but seriously, FUCK THEM.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I've cried way too many tears trying to make people happy.  I don't want to cry anymore.  I'm tired of the hurt that is festering inside of my body and I want it to go away.  I've been thinking, for quite a while, and I've come to the conclusion that there are only 2 things I can do that will make it go away...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;1) Start playing music, as I've always wanted to do.  Get a band together, record some songs and go with the flow.  I don't care about being rich and famous, I just want to play music.  It makes me happy and helps me escape from "reality", making life somewhat tolerable for a while.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;or&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;2) Kill myself.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I've already been down the road of suicide and I don't want to travel down it's path once again.  But, if I don't start doing &lt;strong&gt;what I want to do&lt;/strong&gt;, I know that's where my life will take me.  I hate to say this, but...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;Fuck my mom&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;Fuck my dad&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;Fuck my friends&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;Fuck everybody&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I'm done.  If you don't like what I'm doing with my life, &lt;strong&gt;fuck you&lt;/strong&gt;.  I'm not doing this for you.  I'm doing this for &lt;strong&gt;ME&lt;/strong&gt;.  I am going to play music.  I am going to find the woman of my dreams, someone I will love forever and someone who will love me forever.  I am going to marry her.  I am going to have a daughter.  I am going to raise that little girl to be whatever she wants to be.  Librarian, horseback rider, airplane pilot, gas station attendant, it doesn't matter.  I am going to love her and support her no matter what.  &lt;strong&gt;I am going to be the support that I've never gotten and raise the most amazing little girl in the world&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;Maybe, &lt;em&gt;just maybe&lt;/em&gt;...you'll be proud of me then.  Maybe.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7328610897800125583-5118718762538486883?l=chefchitown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/feeds/5118718762538486883/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7328610897800125583&amp;postID=5118718762538486883' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/5118718762538486883'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/5118718762538486883'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/2008/10/giving-up.html' title='Giving Up...'/><author><name>ChefChiTown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04332036954319510353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZG3M1YTs0W0/SLz2tl4p1mI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/qzH-DNJJYbE/S220/Jack_O_Lantern_01.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7328610897800125583.post-5193699293420898622</id><published>2008-10-07T00:35:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-07T00:58:54.649-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Dear Hypocrite...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;Dear Hypocrite,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;You say one thing, mean another. The words you speak and morals you &lt;em&gt;try&lt;/em&gt; to portray are nothing but lies. It's obvious to everyone, so why deny it? I'm tired of going along with your charade. You claim that you want true love. If that is true in itself, then all you have to do is open your eyes. I've been right in front of your face for years. I know you see me, so why do you ignore?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;Here are the facts:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;- You &lt;strong&gt;KNOW&lt;/strong&gt; that you will never find someone who loves you more than I do&lt;br /&gt;- You &lt;strong&gt;KNOW&lt;/strong&gt; that you will never find someone who is willing to do what I am for you&lt;br /&gt;- You &lt;strong&gt;KNOW&lt;/strong&gt; that you will never find someone who will sacrifice more than I would for you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I would end my life for you without hesitation &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I would &lt;strong&gt;DIE&lt;/strong&gt; for you...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;Yet, that means &lt;em&gt;nothing&lt;/em&gt; to you. Even though you have waited your whole life for someone to love you &lt;em&gt;exactly&lt;/em&gt; as I do, you want nothing to do with me. Why? Bottom line, because you don't want to fuck me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;Just because I'm not sexually attractive in your eyes, you refuse to give me a chance. Since when does a persons appearance outweigh the importance of their thoughts, morals, emotions and acts of love? You want to be loved for &lt;em&gt;you&lt;/em&gt;; for who you are, for what you stand for, for your personality, for your heart and soul. You want to be loved unconditionally for what you possess on the inside, &lt;em&gt;not&lt;/em&gt; for your appearance; the clothes you wear, the size of your chest, your height, your weight...you don't want to be judged, yet...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;That is &lt;strong&gt;EXACTLY&lt;/strong&gt; what you're doing to me!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;You are willing to let the best opportunity of your life just slip away, &lt;em&gt;without&lt;/em&gt; regret, just because the thought of having sex with me isn't something that makes your pussy wet. Well, you know what?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I hope you &lt;em&gt;do&lt;/em&gt; regret me someday...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;You fucking hypocrite&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;All my best,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;The best thing that will ever happen to you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;For my entire life, I have been nothing more than "just a friend" to every single girl that I have ever met. At first, I laughed about it, making jokes about myself. As time went by, my laughter went away as my sense of humor about the whole topic was turned into pure anger and confusion. I'm not perfect by anyone's standards but I definitely don't deserve to be pushed to the curb by every girl that walks the face of this earth. I've grown sick and tired of being alone, especially when it's through no fault of my own.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;As I pondered this whole issue, my mind raced as I thought of my own experiences and the experiences of others. I began to think of how every girl out there has a guy in her life who is absolutely perfect for her. He loves her no matter what, he provides her with whatever she needs, he says exactly what he needs to say and he never asks for anything in return; perfect. I wondered why these guys, the "just a friend" types, seem to never get to boyfriend status. Then, it hit me. The reason, the &lt;strong&gt;only&lt;/strong&gt; reason that guys get stuck in the "friend zone" is because the girl who views him as "just a friend" doesn't ever want to have sex with him. Yes, it is &lt;em&gt;that&lt;/em&gt; simple. I am "just a friend" because I'm not the hot frat dude with gleaming muscles and highlighted, spikey gelled hair. Just because my physical &lt;em&gt;image&lt;/em&gt; doesn't cause sexual excitement with the opposite sex, I get thrown to the curb and automatically eliminated from contention.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I thought about this for a while and I began to get more angry as every second ticked away. I couldn't quite figure out why, but then I realized what was causing my increasing anger. Most of, hell, if not &lt;strong&gt;all&lt;/strong&gt; of the girls who punish their own personal Mr. Perfects by never giving them a chance just because they're not hot enough for them...are the &lt;strong&gt;SAME FUCKING GIRLS WHO ALWAYS BITCH ABOUT HOW THEY DON'T WANT TO BE JUDGED FOR THEIR LOOKS!!!&lt;/strong&gt; It makes me fucking furious to even think about the amount of hypocrisy that is thrown around by these fucking idiot bitches. If they would take the time to step off of their superficial and shallow ivory towers for just one fucking second, they would see just how dumb they are. They never practice what they preach, but yet, they want to be treated like queens, no matter how they look. They are fucking themselves by not giving their "just a friends" a chance because of their not-good-enough-for-me appearance They would much rather be with a guy who is sexy and treats them like shit instead of a guy who maybe isn't so good looking, but will literally go to the lengths of laying down his own life for her? Yeah, good choice you superficial morons.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;As you can see, this subject pisses me off. I have been beaten down by these hypocritical bitches for my whole entire life and to be honest, I'm fucking sick of it. When I first started writing this, I attempted to create a poem. I was so angry at the time that nothing poetic was being conjured up by my upset conscience. So, I ended up turning my anger into words in the form of a letter. I wrote this letter to a hypothetical girl but it is inspired by all of the girls who have, and who will continue to never give me a chance. This letter is dedicated to every single guy out there who is damned to a fate just like mine.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;Ladies, there will come a day where you truly need your "just a friend" for comfort or support and he won't be there anymore. Grow the fuck up, get over yourself and give him a chance while he's still around. You're only doing yourself a favor if you do.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;PS - Your shit don't stink, huh? I don't fucking think so bitch.&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/7328610897800125583-5193699293420898622?l=chefchitown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/feeds/5193699293420898622/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7328610897800125583&amp;postID=5193699293420898622' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/5193699293420898622'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/5193699293420898622'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/2008/10/dear-hypocrite.html' title='Dear Hypocrite...'/><author><name>ChefChiTown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04332036954319510353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZG3M1YTs0W0/SLz2tl4p1mI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/qzH-DNJJYbE/S220/Jack_O_Lantern_01.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7328610897800125583.post-3214738500039984307</id><published>2008-10-04T01:11:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-05T02:38:19.110-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I'm not going to lie, I hate living. The only thing that keeps me going is the fact that there are a very few people in my life that actually, truly &lt;em&gt;NEED&lt;/em&gt; me. Other than that, I am not needed what-so-ever.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I am one of those men who is always going to be overlooked and forgotten, and...I think I'm ok with that. I don't need to be someone important in society's eyes....fuck it. That doesn't mean a fucking thing. Society is my worst enemy.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;Society makes girls believe that stupid, superficial bullshit is important and I fucking hate it more than anything. I don't solely blame society for my loneliness, but I definitely want to punch it in the stomach.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;FUCK SOCIETY. Everything that society has taught you is fucking wrong. The notion of "belonging" only seperates people in the long run. Fuck doing what "everyone else is" doing...do what YOU want to do. Live how YOU want to live. Do the things that YOU want to do.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I'm sick and tired of meeting people (women in particular) that are fucking clones and don't even know who they are. Fuck it...it's fucking stupid.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I could go on and on and on and on, etc...for hours...but I won't.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;Grow up...be yourself...be who YOU want to be...live your own life.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;Goodnight.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7328610897800125583-3214738500039984307?l=chefchitown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/feeds/3214738500039984307/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7328610897800125583&amp;postID=3214738500039984307' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/3214738500039984307'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/3214738500039984307'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/2008/10/im-not-going-to-lie-i-hate-living.html' title=''/><author><name>ChefChiTown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04332036954319510353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZG3M1YTs0W0/SLz2tl4p1mI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/qzH-DNJJYbE/S220/Jack_O_Lantern_01.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7328610897800125583.post-8650369347836904988</id><published>2008-10-02T20:44:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-02T20:46:16.308-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Go Cubs Go!!!...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I'm sitting here watching Game 2 of the NLDS on TBS.  It's the Cubs playing against the Dodgers, here at home, in Wrigley Field.  It's making me miss the days when I used to live a mere 5 minute walk away from Wrigley Field, so I'm drinking Old Style beer (which is the official beer of the Cubs, oh yeah) and cheering for the CUBBIES!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;That uh, that's all I have to say about that (Forrest Gump).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7328610897800125583-8650369347836904988?l=chefchitown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/feeds/8650369347836904988/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7328610897800125583&amp;postID=8650369347836904988' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/8650369347836904988'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/8650369347836904988'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/2008/10/go-cubs-go.html' title='Go Cubs Go!!!...'/><author><name>ChefChiTown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04332036954319510353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZG3M1YTs0W0/SLz2tl4p1mI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/qzH-DNJJYbE/S220/Jack_O_Lantern_01.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7328610897800125583.post-8859363897512231835</id><published>2008-09-28T03:22:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-28T03:36:01.605-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Again?...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I mentioned it once before, but I tried to kill myself a few years back. I was in a really, really bad place in life and I didn't know how to deal with it. So, I thought that ending my life was the best place to go. I was wrong. I didn't know it at first, but there &lt;em&gt;are&lt;/em&gt; some things in my life that I don't want to let go of, no matter how bad it hurts. Well, today, that feeling of "letting go" came rushing back into me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I don't know where it came from, and I can't blame it on one thing in particular, it just all came back to me like a really bad memory. Unfortunately, memories &lt;strong&gt;never&lt;/strong&gt; go away, no matter how hard you try to get rid of them. I've never been the type of guy who "needs" to have someone (in a relationship sense), but I've been all alone for the past number of years and...I think it's catching up to me. I'm not a bad guy, I'm not. But, I'm not the "hottest" dude ever, I don't make a lot of money, I don't drive a sweet car (or a car at all, actually), I don't have the nicest clothes, I live in a shitty ass studio apartment...I'm not want girls want. I don't care...but...I do. I don't get it. I really, really don't get it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;Every girl I will tell this to will completely disagree with me, but that's just because they are telling me what I "want" to hear. I am a good guy. I am an awesome boyfriend. I would make a girl happier than she has ever been. BUT...I'm not "sexy" or "hot" or any of that superficial fucking bullshit that society makes out to be so fucking important. It isn't until you call a girl out on her judgmental ways that she will tell you that you're wrong. Well, I don't believe it. Sorry bitches, you're all fucking superficial liars and I can see right through your bullshit. If you honestly wanted NOTHING BUT a good guy to love you, take care of you and dedicate his life to you and didn't care how he looked...&lt;strong&gt;I wouldn't be alone right now&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;Seriously, what gives? Who in the fuck decided that meaningless, superficial, shallow, vain bullshit was somehow the most important thing when it comes to loving somebody? Nobody can act like that's not true, because it is. The people with the best morals, values, senses of humor, romance, etc...they NEVER get anywhere in relationships if they're not "sexy". Why? Because, in all reality, being sexually attractive is the ONLY THING THAT MATTERS to most people. If it wasn't, I would be happily married with kids and a house and a dog and a white picket fence and all that cliche crap. But, here I am...sitting my studio apartment, dead fucking lonely, typing on a BLOG (for fuck's sake) about how pathetic I am. Yeah, this "good guy" thing is really getting me somewhere.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;Thanks mom. You always said I was special. Well, apparently, you're a liar because I've been sleeping in my bed, alone, for the past 6 years. Awesome.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;Time to drink one last beer, eat some crappy food that's bad for me and then fall asleep. Tomorrow's a big day. I have to get my rest so I can be all by myself...again. YIPPIE!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;Goodnight bitches.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7328610897800125583-8859363897512231835?l=chefchitown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/feeds/8859363897512231835/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7328610897800125583&amp;postID=8859363897512231835' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/8859363897512231835'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/8859363897512231835'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/2008/09/again.html' title='Again?...'/><author><name>ChefChiTown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04332036954319510353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZG3M1YTs0W0/SLz2tl4p1mI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/qzH-DNJJYbE/S220/Jack_O_Lantern_01.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7328610897800125583.post-1612210967879291461</id><published>2008-09-24T22:18:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-24T22:25:52.700-05:00</updated><title type='text'>David Blaine's Dive Of Disappointment...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I just got done watching David Blaine's two hour &lt;strong&gt;crap fest&lt;/strong&gt;, otherwise known as "Dive of Death".  Ok, so I will admit that David Blaine does some things that are pretty cool, but this was just complete and utter disappointment.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I watched this crap for two hours, waiting for some sweet ass ending, which hopefully would involve a true leap of death, but, instead, I had the pleasure to watch him jump off of scaffolding &lt;strong&gt;ATTACHED TO A WIRE&lt;/strong&gt; and then get lifted into the air.  WHAT?  Are you &lt;em&gt;serious&lt;/em&gt;?  Playing with Legos is more entertaining.  Actually...I like Legos, so that was a bad comparison.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;Anyway...then, they tried to pull it off like he "disappeared into the air" which was obviously nothing but camera tricks and well placed shadowing.  There's nothing &lt;em&gt;magic&lt;/em&gt; about that.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;The only thing that was magic about David Blaine's performance was the fact that he actually got me to watch this shit.  So, maybe I'm wrong about him.  Maybe, just maybe, he &lt;em&gt;is&lt;/em&gt; magic.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;David Blaine...you are the &lt;strong&gt;greatest magician in the world&lt;/strong&gt;.  You have the mystic wizardry that allows you to magically get people to watch your bullshit.  You are some kind of sorcerer David Blaine, sooooome kiiiind of sorcerer.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7328610897800125583-1612210967879291461?l=chefchitown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/feeds/1612210967879291461/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7328610897800125583&amp;postID=1612210967879291461' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/1612210967879291461'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/1612210967879291461'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/2008/09/david-blaines-dive-of-disappointment.html' title='David Blaine&apos;s Dive Of Disappointment...'/><author><name>ChefChiTown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04332036954319510353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZG3M1YTs0W0/SLz2tl4p1mI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/qzH-DNJJYbE/S220/Jack_O_Lantern_01.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7328610897800125583.post-3875151203694065590</id><published>2008-09-23T22:46:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-23T22:51:01.850-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Oops...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I was really bored earlier tonight, so I thought to myself...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;"What can I do that would be fun?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;So, since I was hungry, as well as bored, I decided to order a pizza that I've never tried before.  I looked through the phone book and found a place that seemed pretty decent and was close to where I live.  I ordered a large "Chef's Choice" pizza (which is literally whatever the chef wants to make that day) and some garlic breadsticks.  The total came to $50 and some change.  Yes, $50 for a pizza and some breadsticks.  Obviously, I'm expecting the best pizza ever.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;It wasn't.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;It was literally the &lt;strong&gt;worst&lt;/strong&gt; pizza I have &lt;em&gt;ever&lt;/em&gt; eaten.  First of all, the chef's choice was apparently crappy pizza sauce, mild tasting cheese, soggy pepperoni, dry sausage, limp green peppers, overcooked mushrooms and soggy ass asparagus with some sort of "cream" sauce mixed in.  It...fucking...SUCKED!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;The breadsticks were good though.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7328610897800125583-3875151203694065590?l=chefchitown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/feeds/3875151203694065590/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7328610897800125583&amp;postID=3875151203694065590' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/3875151203694065590'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/3875151203694065590'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/2008/09/oops.html' title='Oops...'/><author><name>ChefChiTown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04332036954319510353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZG3M1YTs0W0/SLz2tl4p1mI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/qzH-DNJJYbE/S220/Jack_O_Lantern_01.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7328610897800125583.post-2929614618576625751</id><published>2008-09-22T22:50:00.007-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-22T22:55:00.308-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Home Is Where The Heart Is...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;"Home is where the heart is."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If that saying is true, then my home is a million miles away right now. I don't even know why I'm writing this, because I only like to write if it's "from the heart"...and my heart is &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;so far away&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; right now, I don't even know where to &lt;em&gt;begin&lt;/em&gt; looking for it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dealing with life is the most difficult problem that any one person will ever have.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life...right now, I wish I didn't have one.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7328610897800125583-2929614618576625751?l=chefchitown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/feeds/2929614618576625751/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7328610897800125583&amp;postID=2929614618576625751' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/2929614618576625751'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/2929614618576625751'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/2008/09/home-is-where-heart-is.html' title='Home Is Where The Heart Is...'/><author><name>ChefChiTown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04332036954319510353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZG3M1YTs0W0/SLz2tl4p1mI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/qzH-DNJJYbE/S220/Jack_O_Lantern_01.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7328610897800125583.post-8826880403882753065</id><published>2008-09-20T12:25:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-20T12:35:09.633-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Worried...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;My ex-girlfriend is overseas right now doing some charity work and she is pretty much cut off from all technology that we, here in the US, are used to having; cell phones, TV, internet, etc. Only on Saturday mornings (my time) does she get to use the internet, so we have been e-mailing eachother back and forth ever since she left.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I checked my e-mail this morning and I don't have an e-mail from her. At first, I figured she might not have gotten a chance to send one, but...then I started to worry. She is in a place which, for lack of a more appropriate term, isn't safe for women to be in. When she originally told me that she was going overseas, I was terrified. When I found out exactly where she was going, I got even more scared. She is in a really, really bad part of Africa and it sickens me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I've known people that have gone overseas to Africa and most of the females that have gone have ended up getting raped, on more than one occassion, while they were there. Rape fucking sickens me to death and the thought of my ex-girlfriend having to go through it makes me physically sick to my stomach and puts tears in my eyes every time I even think about it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I'm scared. I know I shouldn't "assume", but I can't help it. I'm doing my best to relax and calm down, but it's hard. I hope that she is ok and this is just a "time constraint" issue, where she couldn't get to the computers on time, but what if it's not? Aaaaah, this sucks.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I hope you're okay angel. If you're not, I wish I could be there with you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7328610897800125583-8826880403882753065?l=chefchitown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/feeds/8826880403882753065/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7328610897800125583&amp;postID=8826880403882753065' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/8826880403882753065'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/8826880403882753065'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/2008/09/worried.html' title='Worried...'/><author><name>ChefChiTown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04332036954319510353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZG3M1YTs0W0/SLz2tl4p1mI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/qzH-DNJJYbE/S220/Jack_O_Lantern_01.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7328610897800125583.post-1099848016966723941</id><published>2008-09-18T20:53:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-18T21:09:41.045-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Past, Present, Future...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;When I was a senior in high school, I met a girl. We quickly became close with one another and soon began dating. Looooooong story short, after 3 years of dating (which included me sacrificing all of my dreams to be with her; going to LSU for college, my baseball career) she broke up with me out of nowhere. I came to find out that she broke up with me because she was gay.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;My girlfriend had been gay the entire time we were together. She knew she was gay ever since she was in middle school and had just never made it public. She started dating me because, and I quote, I "wasn't like other guys". We dated and she found herself to feel "normal" when she was with me, as she didn't have to deal with constant ridicule. So, she stayed with me for 3 years and for some reason, reached the point where she knew she had to "move on" and tell the truth.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;My life was forever changed because of her. Parts of it for the better, more parts of it for the worse. I didn't know how to handle the heartache that I was feeling so I turned to my mistress...alcohol. I drank and drank and drank my life away. My life became complete and utter shit when she left me. It got so bad that I actually tried to kill myself on one occassion. All because I lost her...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;Now, she wants me back. It has been about 6 years since we were last together. Sure, we have been friends for a relatively short time now, as we have both made amends with one another about what happened, but, it's still hard. It's hard because I still love her. I always have and I always will.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;She is currently overseas doing some charity work and we have been e-mailing one another every Saturday (as that is her only "internet" time). I got an e-mail this past Saturday from her, in which she clearly stated that she wanted to get back together with me. She said that leaving me was the stupidest thing she had ever done and that she wish she never went through her "lesbian phase". She claims that she still loves me and will do anything to be with me again.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I don't know if I'm stupid, lonely, desperate or a combination of all three, but...I'm tempted. Even though she ruined my fucking life by tearing away every shred of happiness that I ever had, I still want her here with me. I know that I'm supposed to "move on" and find someone else, but...I'm not that type of person. I don't tell someone I love them unless I LOVE them. Well, I love her...and I need her for some reason.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I know that getting back together would her might not be the best decision to make, but...SIGH, I don't even know. My mind and heart are racing right now and every single thought and emotion that I am capable of having are spinning so fast that it's honestly killing me. My body physically hurts because of this, which, quite frankly, scares the shit out of me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;She will be overseas until the end of the year, so only time will tell what will happen. I don't know what I'm going to say to her, as I haven't responded yet, but I know that whatever happens is just going to make it hurt more than it already does. With or without her, my life will continue to find ways to make me suffer.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I guess all I can do is fight. But, I know I won't have the energy to fight forever...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7328610897800125583-1099848016966723941?l=chefchitown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/feeds/1099848016966723941/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7328610897800125583&amp;postID=1099848016966723941' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/1099848016966723941'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/1099848016966723941'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/2008/09/past-present-future.html' title='Past, Present, Future...'/><author><name>ChefChiTown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04332036954319510353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZG3M1YTs0W0/SLz2tl4p1mI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/qzH-DNJJYbE/S220/Jack_O_Lantern_01.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7328610897800125583.post-9058022352440023651</id><published>2008-09-17T20:14:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-17T20:25:12.524-05:00</updated><title type='text'>If You Play With Fire...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I burnt my hand at work the other day and this is, quite possibly, the worst burn I've ever gotten.  While working on the line, one of the interns at the restaurant decided to move a hot pan full of reducing (aka - boiling) sauce without letting me know about it.  I was standing right next to him and when he turned around with the pan, he hit me and sauce went all over my right hand.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;Currently, I have a huge burn blister that covers about 40% of my hand.  I'm burnt from my pointer finger (on my palm side) all the way to my thumb.  My entire middle finger is burnt as well, including a lot of my palm and my ring finger.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;It hurts like hell but I don't have insurance and I can't afford to go to the hospital.  I've been using burn cream (which helps a lot) and have been soaking my hand in cold water as often as possible.  The blister is pretty big and I plan on draining it soon, to help quicken the process of healing so I can get back to work.  I can't even hold a knife, which is pissing me off.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I've been burned plenty of times before, but this time is killing me.  Not only does it hurt physically, it hurts emotionally, as I can't go to work.  I'm stuck here in my apartment for, what seems to be, quite a while.  I have no food in my refrigerator and I can't go to the grocery store because I wouldn't be able to carry anything with my right hand.  I've been ordering in for the past few days and I'm sick of it.  Sure, it's nice to not have to cook for myself, but it sucks.  I love cooking and this God damned burn is keeping me from that.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7328610897800125583-9058022352440023651?l=chefchitown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/feeds/9058022352440023651/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7328610897800125583&amp;postID=9058022352440023651' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/9058022352440023651'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/9058022352440023651'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/2008/09/if-you-play-with-fire.html' title='If You Play With Fire...'/><author><name>ChefChiTown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04332036954319510353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZG3M1YTs0W0/SLz2tl4p1mI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/qzH-DNJJYbE/S220/Jack_O_Lantern_01.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7328610897800125583.post-5975398681627192016</id><published>2008-09-07T16:54:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-07T17:10:38.741-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Dating Game...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;"I'm 36 and if I met a woman of my own age and married her, &lt;strong&gt;I'd also be marrying her former life, her past&lt;/strong&gt;. It might be OK for some people - I don't want to judge it or anything - but it's not for me. It would destroy my creativity."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;- Henry Rollins&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I 100% agree with what Henry Rollins says. I know that a lot of people have the mentality of "it doesn't matter what he/she did before we got together" when it comes to relationships, but I don't see it that way. If a girl I'm dating reveals to me that she had sex with 50+ guys before she met me, I wouldn't be able to just ignore that as try and pass it off as some sort of "previous personality" that she had. The fact is, no matter how I would try and look at it, she still would've slept with 50+ guys! Once a slut, always a slut...it doesn't just "go away" when you meet someone new.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I believe that when you start a relationship with a person, you are also getting a side dish of bullshit from their past. Some people can find themselves to be "ok" with their partners past, no matter how gutwrenching it may be, and there is nothing wrong with that...I just can't do it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I'm not going to "look past" a drug addiction, or promiscuous sex life or some other personality trait, that I personally, find to be unattractive and wouldn't do myself. It matters to me. It's funny, but a lot of people who have the mentality of "it doesn't matter what he/she did before we got together" don't follow that reasoning with &lt;em&gt;every&lt;/em&gt; issue. They usually draw the line at sex, which, in my opinion, is fucking stupid. If I murdered someone 10 years before I met them, would they be able to look past it? If I raped and abused my last girlfriend, would they be able to look past it? NO, FUCK NO. Why? Because no matter how hard you try and deny it, the past MATTERS.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7328610897800125583-5975398681627192016?l=chefchitown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/feeds/5975398681627192016/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7328610897800125583&amp;postID=5975398681627192016' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/5975398681627192016'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/5975398681627192016'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/2008/09/dating-game.html' title='The Dating Game...'/><author><name>ChefChiTown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04332036954319510353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZG3M1YTs0W0/SLz2tl4p1mI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/qzH-DNJJYbE/S220/Jack_O_Lantern_01.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7328610897800125583.post-6701883756484205227</id><published>2008-09-06T02:00:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-06T02:07:00.215-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Write Off...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;Why do people pay large sums of money just so they can own something that some celebrity autographed?  Don't get me wrong, I have a few autographs myself and I think they're cool to have, but...seriously?  Are we &lt;em&gt;that&lt;/em&gt; stupid?  If some baseball player signs a baseball, people will pay hundreds of dollars to own it.  Why?  It's just a fucking baseball that some dude scribbled his initials on.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;It just seems like we (as a people) have this sick fetish with trying to "connect" with famous people that we don't know and never will.  I guess having an autograph of someone makes us feel like "wow, they signed this, JUST FOR ME!!!", when, in all reality, it's probably a stamped signature that was created by a computer.  Even when the autograph is real, it's still just something that person wrote...that's it, no more.  I have a baseball bat autographed by my favorite baseball player, Frank Thomas, and as cool as I think it is...it's still just a bat that Frank Thomas wrote his name on.  How do we "connect" with that?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;Personally, I'd rather have a thimble of spit, a used condom or a ziploc bag full of shit from somebody famous.  Instead of their name being written down on something, I'd have a genuine, real life part of their body.  Now &lt;em&gt;that's&lt;/em&gt; "connecting" with them.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7328610897800125583-6701883756484205227?l=chefchitown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/feeds/6701883756484205227/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7328610897800125583&amp;postID=6701883756484205227' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/6701883756484205227'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/6701883756484205227'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/2008/09/write-off.html' title='Write Off...'/><author><name>ChefChiTown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04332036954319510353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZG3M1YTs0W0/SLz2tl4p1mI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/qzH-DNJJYbE/S220/Jack_O_Lantern_01.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7328610897800125583.post-7451288039697193551</id><published>2008-09-05T17:19:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-05T17:24:40.899-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Going Bananas...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I'm sick and tired of watching TV shows/commercials that show bananas that have brown markings on the peel and then claim they're &lt;em&gt;rotten &lt;/em&gt;and then show bright yellow bananas and claim they're ripe.  No.  NO NO NO.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;Bananas are &lt;em&gt;supposed&lt;/em&gt; to have brown spots on them because that means they're &lt;em&gt;perfectly ripe&lt;/em&gt;.  Bright yellow bananas are more firm and need to be "left out" to ripen so the meat gets sweeter and more tender.  You're supposed to leave your bananas out on the counter (in a paper bag is actually better) until they get brown spots on the peel.  They'll be the best bananas you've ever had if you do that.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;People are so stupid.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;PS - I apologize for the terrible title I used, but, let's be honest...I &lt;em&gt;had&lt;/em&gt; to.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7328610897800125583-7451288039697193551?l=chefchitown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/feeds/7451288039697193551/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7328610897800125583&amp;postID=7451288039697193551' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/7451288039697193551'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/7451288039697193551'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/2008/09/going-bananas.html' title='Going Bananas...'/><author><name>ChefChiTown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04332036954319510353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZG3M1YTs0W0/SLz2tl4p1mI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/qzH-DNJJYbE/S220/Jack_O_Lantern_01.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7328610897800125583.post-2986147361339626313</id><published>2008-09-05T15:55:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-05T16:12:44.816-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Beat The Odds...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;Somebody in a forum that I belong to posted some thoughts on heartbreak and suicide today and it got me thinking about how there are so many people in this world that think that their life is over the instant something bad happens. That's not true. Yes, life is hard, but it does get easier if you work at it. I know, from unfortunate personal experience, that suicide isn't the right choice.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;There was a point in my life where I honestly believed that my existence was meaningless and that I would do nothing but suffer forever. So, suicidal thoughts consumed my emotions and lead me to actually try...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I took a knife, jumped into the shower and began to slit my wrist. As soon as I cut myself open and started to bleed everywhere, I immediately regreted what I had done. I was crying so hard and I was so scared that I was going to die...but I was lucky. I was too embarassed to call 911 so I just grabbed some towels and wrapped them around my wrist to hopefully prevent the bleeding. I curled up into a ball and laid in my bathtub crying all night long. Yes, I eventually fell asleep and when I woke up I was amazed that I was still alive. I didn't deserve a second chance, yet, I was lucky enough to get one.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I wrote these lyrics to hopefully send a message to people out there, who have had thoughts like myself, that it does get better. Just be patient and don't give up.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;Beat The Odds&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;The clock is turning slow today&lt;br /&gt;This moment wants to pass&lt;br /&gt;No one wants to feel this way&lt;br /&gt;As my saliva turns to glass&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;The pain is burning up inside&lt;br /&gt;I don't know if I can see it through&lt;br /&gt;But it's time to swallow all my pride&lt;br /&gt;And do what I have to do, so I can...&lt;br /&gt;Beats the odds&lt;br /&gt;We can beat the odds&lt;br /&gt;I think heaven left us standing here for a reason&lt;br /&gt;We can beat the odds&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;If patience is a virtue&lt;br /&gt;A poster child you are&lt;br /&gt;But you think they're out to hurt you&lt;br /&gt;And the sunrise seems too far away&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I haven't seen you cry in a while&lt;br /&gt;So I know that something's wrong&lt;br /&gt;You carry on without a smile&lt;br /&gt;Not knowing all along, that you can&lt;br /&gt;Beat the odds&lt;br /&gt;We can beat the odds&lt;br /&gt;I think heaven left us standing here for a reason&lt;br /&gt;We can beat the odds&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I've been up and I've been down&lt;br /&gt;And everywhere between&lt;br /&gt;You wouldn't feel so lonely now&lt;br /&gt;If you could see the things I've seen&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I've been left alone before, with my sweet breath of suicide&lt;br /&gt;I tried, I tried, I tried once more, I let my conscience be my guide&lt;br /&gt;So I cut into what I once thought of as insignifcant man&lt;br /&gt;My life began to feel like water as the blood ran through my hands&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;Then I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror, and I could see that my eyes were disguised by the fear&lt;br /&gt;And I knew right then that I was much too afraid, to go through with my decision but I already made it&lt;br /&gt;So I threw myself against the shower door, while the blood rained down as it continued to pour&lt;br /&gt;And I cried so hard, I thought I'd die that night and I couldn't believe when I survived till the morning light&lt;br /&gt;I survived till the morning light&lt;br /&gt;And here I am&lt;br /&gt;And here I am today&lt;br /&gt;And here I am today&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;(Breakdown)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I hope you know how important this is to me&lt;br /&gt;To help you send the pain below&lt;br /&gt;And now that you know my history&lt;br /&gt;When you see me you should know, that we can...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;Beats the odds&lt;br /&gt;We can beat the odds&lt;br /&gt;I think heaven left us standing here for a reason&lt;br /&gt;We can beat the odds&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;Beats the odds&lt;br /&gt;We can beat the odds&lt;br /&gt;I think heaven left us standing here for a reason&lt;br /&gt;We can beat the odds&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;We can beat the odds (repeating...)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7328610897800125583-2986147361339626313?l=chefchitown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/feeds/2986147361339626313/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7328610897800125583&amp;postID=2986147361339626313' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/2986147361339626313'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/2986147361339626313'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/2008/09/beat-odds.html' title='Beat The Odds...'/><author><name>ChefChiTown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04332036954319510353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZG3M1YTs0W0/SLz2tl4p1mI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/qzH-DNJJYbE/S220/Jack_O_Lantern_01.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7328610897800125583.post-9157762445756536295</id><published>2008-09-03T23:48:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-04T00:03:08.115-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Stake Out...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;I'm not in a band at the moment as I am currently working on bettering my guitar work and composing song structures.  I plan on waiting about a year before I get a band together to record songs, but until then, I have been working on building a lyrical database.  I find it easier to compose lyrics and build the music from there, as it serves as inspiration to me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;I'm sick and tired of how there are so many stupid and unnecessary crimes that are committed each and every day. I'm even more sick and tired of how many people out there aren't willing to lend a helping hand when someone is in need, especially when one of these crimes is being committed. The crime I hate the most is rape and there have been far too many people in my life that have, unfortunately, suffered this disgusting act of inhumanity. I wrote this song as a message to those who feel like no one out there is on their side. Even if I have to do it all by myself, I will, one day, make a difference when it comes to preventing rape and other unforgivable crimes.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;Stake Out&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;This world wasn't made to cater, to the young and the innocent&lt;br /&gt;We're supposed to live in silence, and be happy with what we get&lt;br /&gt;But I still have one question, where do we go from here?&lt;br /&gt;When everyone around you, wants you to live in fear?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;It's an overbearing pressure, when you know you've done nothing wrong&lt;br /&gt;But still they try to harm you, as if your sense of insecurity's running strong&lt;br /&gt;You live your life in hiding, to escape from the unavoidable fight&lt;br /&gt;When the war is never ending, how are you supposed to sleep at night?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;So I'm gonna take a stand&lt;br /&gt;And fight for the rights of the innocent today&lt;br /&gt;Even though I'm just one man&lt;br /&gt;When you see my face, you'd better turn and run away&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;I'm going on a stake out, stake out&lt;br /&gt;Before those mother fuckers break out, break out&lt;br /&gt;I'm letting anger that's inside me, guide me&lt;br /&gt;You'd better enjoy it will you can because this shit won't last&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;(Short breakdown/solo)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;Who are you to defy a man&lt;br /&gt;Who struggles to reach for a helping hand of yours&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;You claim you're doing everything that you can&lt;br /&gt;But when I see you in hell, my friend, I wouldn't be so sure&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;I'm going on a stake out, stake out&lt;br /&gt;Before those mother fuckers break out, break out&lt;br /&gt;I'm letting anger that's inside me, guide me&lt;br /&gt;You'd better enjoy it will you can because this shit won't last&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;I'm coming for you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;(Solo)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;The nights have never been so cold, her body shakes with every breath&lt;br /&gt;You tore away at her innocence until her soul was empty and she had nothing left to give&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;How could you? (whisper)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;She has the face of an angel, her eyes could melt the sun&lt;br /&gt;And I hope they burn right through you, when you think about what you have done to her&lt;br /&gt;You'll never be forgiven, no, she'll never understand&lt;br /&gt;You'd better pray I never find you, I'd love to know how it feels to have your blood on my hands&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;She's just a innocent child&lt;br /&gt;Forced to live her life in fear, that what she's suffered will further&lt;br /&gt;I'll kill that mother fucker who's stolen her smile&lt;br /&gt;And I'd lay down my own life to make sure you never hurt her again&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;So I'm gonna take a stand&lt;br /&gt;And fight for the rights of the innocent today&lt;br /&gt;Even though I'm just one man&lt;br /&gt;When you see my face, you'd better turn and run away&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;I'm going on a stake out, stake out&lt;br /&gt;Before those mother fuckers break out, break out&lt;br /&gt;I'm letting anger that's inside me, guide me&lt;br /&gt;You'd better enjoy it will you can because this shit won't last&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;I'm on a stake out, stake out&lt;br /&gt;How many guilty can I take out, take out?&lt;br /&gt;All of those who have defied, try me&lt;br /&gt;My patience is gone, now everybody feel the shotgun blast&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;Step to me mother fucker&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7328610897800125583-9157762445756536295?l=chefchitown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/feeds/9157762445756536295/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7328610897800125583&amp;postID=9157762445756536295' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/9157762445756536295'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/9157762445756536295'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/2008/09/stake-out.html' title='Stake Out...'/><author><name>ChefChiTown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04332036954319510353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZG3M1YTs0W0/SLz2tl4p1mI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/qzH-DNJJYbE/S220/Jack_O_Lantern_01.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7328610897800125583.post-275145414286463520</id><published>2008-09-03T17:11:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-03T15:13:16.588-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Ex Marks The Spot?...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;Right now, my ex-girlfriend is overseas, doing some volunteer work for people who are in need of help. She is going to be there for a few months, until the end of the year or so. For the past few nights, I have been completely unable to sleep and it's killing me. I don't know why, but I have this resonating worry and genuine concern for her that keeps spinning loops through my head and I can't let it go. I haven't been with her for a few years, but this trip overseas that she has taken has somehow rekindled everything I felt for her, which, I &lt;em&gt;thought&lt;/em&gt; I had let go of.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I still love her, yes, and there is nothing wrong with that, but I'm feeling extremely confused at the moment. She was the one who broke up with me, so I don't know if she is 100% over me or not, but I know that I'm not really over her. I thought I was...but I'm not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She is the only person in my life who has actually made me cry from happiness. I remember one night, we were sitting on my living room floor watching TV and I just started crying. She looked at me and asked what was wrong and I said...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Nothing. For the first time in my life, &lt;em&gt;nothing&lt;/em&gt; is wrong."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I miss how that feels. Even though it will never happen, I hope I feel that way again someday.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7328610897800125583-275145414286463520?l=chefchitown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/feeds/275145414286463520/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7328610897800125583&amp;postID=275145414286463520' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/275145414286463520'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/275145414286463520'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/2008/09/right-now-my-ex-girlfriend-is-overseas.html' title='Ex Marks The Spot?...'/><author><name>ChefChiTown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04332036954319510353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZG3M1YTs0W0/SLz2tl4p1mI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/qzH-DNJJYbE/S220/Jack_O_Lantern_01.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7328610897800125583.post-580749845250112735</id><published>2008-09-02T16:57:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-02T17:04:06.987-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Sooooo Hot...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;It's 93 degrees here in Chicago right now and although there have been hotter days, today feels like fire in my apartment. I don't know why, but today feels like it's 110 degrees in here. I'm on the 3rd (top) floor and my building is all brick and concrete so it has excellent insulation, making this apartment get insanely hot when it's warm outside. My air conditioner is almost 10 years old so it doesn't have the "kick" that it used to. So...I'm sweating and hating every second of my life right now. I've already taken 4 cold showers today, but that only helps a liiiiiittle. Sucks for me, I guess.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7328610897800125583-580749845250112735?l=chefchitown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/feeds/580749845250112735/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7328610897800125583&amp;postID=580749845250112735' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/580749845250112735'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/580749845250112735'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/2008/09/sooooo-hot.html' title='Sooooo Hot...'/><author><name>ChefChiTown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04332036954319510353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZG3M1YTs0W0/SLz2tl4p1mI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/qzH-DNJJYbE/S220/Jack_O_Lantern_01.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7328610897800125583.post-230616131474843731</id><published>2008-09-02T04:47:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-02T02:56:15.763-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Every Scar Tells A Story...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;I'm a chef and throughout my time of employment in professional kitchens I've acquired some pretty cruel looking scars. Some of them are actually pretty disturbing. Cuts, burns...once they scar, they all look the same. Some of my wounds were so bad at times that when I was out in public, I would get "looks" from people. I can remember one time when I went into a sandwich shop that I frequent and the guy working behind the counter saw some burns on my hand that I had gotten a few days prior. They were pretty bad looking. I was taking some pasta out of the pot of boiling water we use and I hadn't noticed that one of the line cooks had moved a cast iron skillet full of hot oil right next to it. Well, water splashing into hot oil = fire. Fire = burns. The fire shot up and burnt my hand up pretty bad. I was holding a pan of sauce in one hand and the pasta in the other. I couldn't set them down anywhere because there wasn't any room and I couldn't drop them because, well, the customers probably wouldn't be too happy. So, I got pretty bad burns.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, the guy behind the counter thought I got into a fight because of how bad the wounds looked. I told him what happened and he didn't seem to believe me. Even though I had nothing to hide, my scars were misinterpreted and made me, in the eyes of another, a different person than who I really was. I've been thinking about this tonight, as I've been eyeing my scars for some reason. While I was looking at my scars, I realized that every single one of them tells a story. Some good, some bad, some funny, some sad. Either way, our scars are definitely a huge part of our being. No matter what, we are going to show our scars for the rest of our lives. We can hide them all we want so no one sees them, but when we strip away the layers of falsity they'll reappear. Our scars, in a sense, make us who we are.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do I like scars? No. Am I glad I have them? Yes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Without them, I wouldn't be "me".&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7328610897800125583-230616131474843731?l=chefchitown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/feeds/230616131474843731/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7328610897800125583&amp;postID=230616131474843731' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/230616131474843731'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/230616131474843731'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/2008/09/every-scar-tells-story.html' title='Every Scar Tells A Story...'/><author><name>ChefChiTown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04332036954319510353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZG3M1YTs0W0/SLz2tl4p1mI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/qzH-DNJJYbE/S220/Jack_O_Lantern_01.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7328610897800125583.post-1547225108455327914</id><published>2008-09-02T00:31:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-02T02:54:14.567-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Beginning...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#000000;"&gt;The reason why I'm starting a blog: I have nothing better to do, that's why. I guess I felt like starting a "journal" of sorts, documenting certain events and happenings that occur in my life (along with random quotes and words, penned by yours truly, that I feel like posting). That way, as time goes by, I can look back on what I've written and try to learn from my own words. It's a lot easier and faster to type, so I'm not keeping a hand-written "journal" and just using the internet. Well, I guess we'll see what happens.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7328610897800125583-1547225108455327914?l=chefchitown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/feeds/1547225108455327914/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7328610897800125583&amp;postID=1547225108455327914' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/1547225108455327914'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7328610897800125583/posts/default/1547225108455327914'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chefchitown.blogspot.com/2008/09/beginning.html' title='The Beginning...'/><author><name>ChefChiTown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04332036954319510353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZG3M1YTs0W0/SLz2tl4p1mI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/qzH-DNJJYbE/S220/Jack_O_Lantern_01.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
