tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80590007761647019452024-02-19T05:01:19.763-08:00Just Some Words And StuffMy name is Kelsey Jean and these are my ideas.Kelsey Jeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00347102874544307619noreply@blogger.comBlogger13125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059000776164701945.post-91875364439177896952011-10-03T17:21:00.000-07:002011-10-03T17:21:42.650-07:00Happy Take Your Clothes Off Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8v9A6yNBUfeXAMj_X9eiGHeBjGT44VTTPOR1Owa1TQVuUijC4jybjBxauWXKfdJtlw5fiNQ9_CSa08t-6UrwH7mLFQuDR0dt63kjAY-Rp066xDZQbTgE0HdxiwljrJBERPGzVhdNWdzQ2/s1600/Barack+Pumpkin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8v9A6yNBUfeXAMj_X9eiGHeBjGT44VTTPOR1Owa1TQVuUijC4jybjBxauWXKfdJtlw5fiNQ9_CSa08t-6UrwH7mLFQuDR0dt63kjAY-Rp066xDZQbTgE0HdxiwljrJBERPGzVhdNWdzQ2/s1600/Barack+Pumpkin.jpg" /></a></div>As the cotton cobwebs and ironically happy ghosts begin to spring up among the residential neighborhoods surrounding my religious university in my happy, little town, students' spidey senses are tingling: Hallow's Eve is but just around the corner!<br />
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Particularly from the female population, "What are you going to be for Halloween?" Is now the new standard question you ask your gal friends/classmates/acquaintances/girl(s)-randomly-in-your-dorm-room.<br />
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I've begun to explore the intention behind the question. Are you all being polite and making conversation with what is seasonally at hand? Are you trying to gain an edge on what everyone else is being so you can decide juuust before the holiday in order to have the BEST COSTUMER EVER?! OR. Are you gauging your female counterpart's answer on the slutty meter? For me, that's been a point of interest as of late: this whole promiscuous costume ritual that begins somewhere between being awkward in high school and masking that awkward with exposed flesh in college.<br />
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Back in High School (look at me I'm so old) I always made a point to make some sort of ironic statement come Halloween time because that was the kind of pretentious radical I was. My first Halloween with cancer as a sophomore I was Goldilocks....get it?? BECAUSE I WAS BALD. Jesus I crack myself up. Come junior year, I was just barely declared 'on the road to recovery' and dressed as a doctor. Good one, high school Me.<br />
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I recall even back then girls used the holiday as an excuse to show a little skin; as <i>Mean Girls</i> so beautifully lays out plain an' simple.<br />
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I used to be so adamantly against the assumed fleshy shit-show come every October but I've recently thought about the holiday a bit more in-depth.<br />
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Is dressing scantily for a holiday not what's been shoved down our throats as females since we were but wee lasses? Look what happened to Cady! She wore a really well thought out, modest costume and she was considered the #uglygirlattheball. I'm not saying that whatever the media tells us is absolutely valid, but it gives a pretty hearty excuse as to why young women dress the way they do on Halloween. I think the outfits of choice are a statement of American culture. This is just what we do; this is our ritual once we come of age (hopefully).<br />
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And I full-heartedly believe that intention is everything. Girls are taught that if they put on a low-cut blouse they're a slut. Well. If a girl puts on a low-cut blouse with the intention of being looked at like a sex symbol and hoping for 0 eye-contact from the men in the room, then yeah maybe that statement holds true. But if a lady wears a dress that shows a little curvage with the intention of celebrating her femininity then YOU GO OUT THERE AND CELEBRATE!<br />
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Yeah, a good amount of my wardrobe could be mistaken for little boy clothing, and yeah I'm super into the whole baggy trend, but occasionally (upon interacting with larger masses of college students in say a "recreational setting") I'll swap my baggy shirt for a little dress or torn "boyfriend-styled" jeans for a little skirt so I can say: BAM! I'm not just moderately quirky and happen to be well spoken and read-I can be cute too sometimes! I get it ladies, I get it.<br />
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So attention females of America! I was wrong in being a judgmental beezy every Halloween and I ha-pologize. Go into that Halloween party and you show that skin! But show yo goodies knowing that you are a smart, talented, special, snowflake of a girl who deserves respect despite the mouse ears. Kelsey Jeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00347102874544307619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059000776164701945.post-65118725374056235052011-07-26T19:35:00.000-07:002011-07-26T19:35:55.319-07:003rd Grade Abduction<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr2bS9xTAd9Zqum3rKqnkiCwNQ0GjYqNZHiIeJaJ5e_xjt3dons478OvTEPqdEp_jxe-90egNXE-nZz_7LXjD0i7a_BFvYm4ewHdifHaemZcPiGZHNZM7GxM9A-IrCPAqmp_A-NRpUqGgl/s1600/930074_theyre_here.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr2bS9xTAd9Zqum3rKqnkiCwNQ0GjYqNZHiIeJaJ5e_xjt3dons478OvTEPqdEp_jxe-90egNXE-nZz_7LXjD0i7a_BFvYm4ewHdifHaemZcPiGZHNZM7GxM9A-IrCPAqmp_A-NRpUqGgl/s1600/930074_theyre_here.jpg" /></a></div>Being at an internship where a good majority of the work I produce is dependent on my creativity level for the day, my boss, fellow intern and I always have wonderful, thought-proviking conversations. We speak about anything from current events to our favorite cult films (<i>The Room, </i>anyone?) to politics to (a big one as of late) our childhoods.<br />
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Thinking back to my younger days now at the age of adulthood I realize just how friggen' weird I was as a kid- straight up obscure. But then I think, maybe we all start out super strange and get it out of our systems prior to actually needing to function in our higher education and work systems...well most of us do anyway. So my childhood weird isn't really bizarre at all, it's simply unique to me and made me into the neat, little, peculiar adult package I am today.<br />
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I have one particular incident that lasted the duration of my grammar school 3rd grade that I believe takes the cake for my abnormal childhood behavior.<br />
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It started off as a simple fib to my best friend at the time: I was actually the descendant of a royal alien family and was sent down to Earth to check the place out because I was the princess of my planet and that's just what needed to happen at that time. Surprise! I'm not quite sure at which point my pal became my accomplice but she just did. It was eventually assumed that we were both actually aliens and had similar missions. No wonder we were bffs. I still wonder if she knew in her 3rd grade mind that I was pretending and wanted to play along and we just kind of had this unspoken agreement that for now this was real life and we could hoot and holler about it when we were old and boring or if she actually thought I was a princess and wanted to get on my good side so I wouldn't smite her with my alien powers. Who knows.<br />
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So this little role playing game we had taken a liking to soon grew into a venture that included all of our 3rd grade class. Yup, all of 3rd grade knew my bud and I were aliens- we had them eating out of the palms of our alien tentacle hands.<br />
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I went so far as to come up with this little trick of rubbing an especially lead-y pencil all over the under-side of my desk then would proceed to rub my arms along the then pencil-stricken desk bottom. The result would leave me with shiny, silver skin condition-y looking arms.<br />
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Gasp! Oh dear me there must be a glitch in my human form device!! I'm morphing back into my alien form!!!!<br />
Oh excuse me Mrs. Francisco, may I please use the restroom facilities?? It's urgent.<br />
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Cue me running out of the classroom half-heartedly trying to cover my hideous alien arms and sniffling back a few hurriedly whipped up tears to show just how distraught my situation was.<br />
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The classroom would break out into whispers:<br />
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Shmmmhhmmmshhh thatsthealiengirl shmmsh hushhhh she'sturningbacktohertrueform shmmhhh<br />
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NONE OF THEM UNDERSTOOD!!!<br />
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Another trick up the ol' sleeve I had involved a wee blue alien stuffed animal dubbed Comet that my father had won for me at the local arcade. I somehow figured out how to pass off make-shift magic tricks as alien magic- making Comet disappear (usually just under my armpit hidden in my shirt sleeve). So everyone knew Comet as my little alien friend from home that was paralyzed but that I cared very much about and that I would periodically send back to our home planet for check-ups (poor, ill thing).<br />
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Between my human form transmitter acting up and my little friend being able to disappear whenever I wanted, the 3rd grade was convinced of my alien status. I eventually pushed the limit wondering how far I could take this whole alien royalty thang. I told every friend I had- including my band mates (my fellow Glitter Girls) needless to say we scored some major song writing inspiration from my adventures abroad the solar systems. Until one day I told the wrong friend. I told one of my rather religious friends who happened to be uber close with her earthling mom. She told her mom and the mom got all concerned that I was messing with the devil. Oh come now party poop mom, let me have my fun. But my fun was not had and my alien escapade was no more. Summer between 3rd and 4rth grade came and people either forgot that I was an alien or all of them gained a hand-full of collective brain cells and realized that their classmate was actually not from another planet. Whichever one no one ever asked me about it so who knows. I WAS YOUNG AND IN THIRD GRADE- I WAS RECKLESS.<br />
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I learned a lot about acting, specifically character development, that year. I know, I'm just as shocked as you that I didn't turn out to be a pathological liar or that weird 20-year-old who still has imaginary friends, but here I am just moderately quirky- nothing more.<br />
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<!--StartFragment--> <!--EndFragment--> <!--StartFragment--> <!--EndFragment--> <!--StartFragment--> <!--EndFragment--> <!--StartFragment--> <!--EndFragment-->Kelsey Jeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00347102874544307619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059000776164701945.post-89712677822368556202011-06-08T17:36:00.000-07:002011-06-08T17:37:28.721-07:00Ugly Love and Other Drugs<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">My boyfriend (bless his soul) and I have a particular method for watching new movies. I have some "issues" with seeing medical images on the big screen, so prior to going to the movies, my darling boy will google an in-depth synopsis of the proposed film in order to check out if there are any lurking hospital scenes or surprise Oh-hey-my-dad-dies-of-cancer surprise endings. No one wants to have to waste an ungodly amount of $10 ($12 if 3-D) by walking out of a theatre early. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDM8nfRcHNcLZr4FsYrmufEGdP80ziGrRa1pFndIrJeDlk69jY6GeIf3IrzuJXv5vY_snVYillz3ou3M6mNoDHj0cHy7QqLXe0BqESKxUhoHcF5sN8CEe04KVxOLZ3GTF2C_ko9gNl2Xn6/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDM8nfRcHNcLZr4FsYrmufEGdP80ziGrRa1pFndIrJeDlk69jY6GeIf3IrzuJXv5vY_snVYillz3ou3M6mNoDHj0cHy7QqLXe0BqESKxUhoHcF5sN8CEe04KVxOLZ3GTF2C_ko9gNl2Xn6/s200/images.jpeg" width="132" /></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Anywho, now that I've put the prologue aside, I so desperately wanted to see "Love And Other Drugs" due to my great admiration of Miss Hathaway- what a gem she is! Well, the pre-movie viewing process was performed and dang-nabit Anne's character has Parkinson's. So we did not see it, I was heart broken, blah blah. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">WELL. A few months later when the film had gone to Redbox, a dear friend informed me that the "doctor scenes" were very minimal and that I could absolutely watch the film worry-free. And watch I did.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Of course Anne's performance was beautiful, I believed her throughout the entire duration of the 113 minutes. Though, I regret to inform that I cannot give one smidge of feedback on </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Jake Gyllenhaal's character due to my heavy concentration on Anne.</span></span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5fzNZ2puUSWGdp201FaH_86pkDh0a8JKjU6B1IB_2KTnIzCzNoq22p6T_QO5ZzwOpcHnNfqXWiJFnovy_li_TpHh3Kimnygvdl14zY5E-4eoYx0YXneqRgU7evLJaIR_xCk9jetXyH_P0/s1600/love-and-other-drugs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5fzNZ2puUSWGdp201FaH_86pkDh0a8JKjU6B1IB_2KTnIzCzNoq22p6T_QO5ZzwOpcHnNfqXWiJFnovy_li_TpHh3Kimnygvdl14zY5E-4eoYx0YXneqRgU7evLJaIR_xCk9jetXyH_P0/s200/love-and-other-drugs.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">No, there were not any horrible hospital scenes, but the concept of the film was horrifyingly saddening. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I despise the thought of sick people coming off as disgusting. You know what really bothers me even more? Is that Anne Hathaway's character is beautiful. She is such a pretty lady with such an honest spirit, and even then it is challenging for her to find someone out of the 6.92 billion people inhabiting this Earth because of the huge "SICK GIRL" banner slapped across her forehead.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Due to my illness in the good ol' days of adolescence my supposed "blossoming bod" was undergoing the exact opposite of natural teenage growth: deterioration. I wasn't exactly the prettiest girl at the ball. With this in mind, my 14-year-old self thought it best to shut down ALL interest in the opposite sex. I was a rational teenager and knew that people my age had hormones just a-ragen' and that I was not one to lust for.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">WOW KELSEY YOU'RE SO OPTIMISTIC.</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">My point is, that if a pretty sick girl has trouble finding a soul-mate, where is the hope for the sick people who lose their more appealing features due to disease? Obviously </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> know that (cliché alert heed with caution) beauty is literally skin deep, I know that the other cancer patients I have encountered also know this. But I fear that until you experience your physical body slipping away from you, no one will quite fully grasp the unimportance of an outer-body. </span></span></span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL3HoUukwq9PQL4Va7IC37ioFPWP3bXa5JSusXGrFoSQHy77B88TLHfyOfslkfIoY8S-Nu-U_AA2V3HHhcFBLDKrGiH-cyWk6YsjqrEXHK166gkfTSNNrdxNbTiINuWQQOwR5pMmtOLBGu/s1600/Love-and-Other-Drugs_02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><img border="0" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL3HoUukwq9PQL4Va7IC37ioFPWP3bXa5JSusXGrFoSQHy77B88TLHfyOfslkfIoY8S-Nu-U_AA2V3HHhcFBLDKrGiH-cyWk6YsjqrEXHK166gkfTSNNrdxNbTiINuWQQOwR5pMmtOLBGu/s320/Love-and-Other-Drugs_02.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Maybe all of us sickies and former sickies will just marry each other and live in our own non-media driven society of beauty.</span></span></span>Kelsey Jeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00347102874544307619noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059000776164701945.post-2996901567272925532011-05-31T21:19:00.000-07:002011-05-31T21:19:23.531-07:00Hipsta' Ramen<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Introducing: HIPSTER NOODLES</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">(Now available at <a href="http://www.urbanoutfitters.com/urban/catalog/productdetail.jsp?id=20646824&navAction=jump&navCount=0">Urban Outfitters</a>)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM5dUqQRwE1G5zy5-WqniuMTv1dAJYJ6a_H6XiP_MSEaGHFMK8BVGS7LYocGtc489mW8IHegLBu6I-iuWrP4otY8-3qmLFsXdKYWHifiSsIv_UKCTn0i473Iohq5YVdRlEIgtEfGAfJUYK/s1600/urban-outfitters-tellin-it-like-it-is-ramen-noodle-package.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM5dUqQRwE1G5zy5-WqniuMTv1dAJYJ6a_H6XiP_MSEaGHFMK8BVGS7LYocGtc489mW8IHegLBu6I-iuWrP4otY8-3qmLFsXdKYWHifiSsIv_UKCTn0i473Iohq5YVdRlEIgtEfGAfJUYK/s1600/urban-outfitters-tellin-it-like-it-is-ramen-noodle-package.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Thank gawd, a suitable person can now buy one package of good 'ol Ramen noodles (regularly $1 for six) with some profanity slapped on the packaging and 'edgy' cooking directions for <s>$5.00</s> $1.99. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I thought the day would never come.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</span></span>Kelsey Jeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00347102874544307619noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059000776164701945.post-30243919351588240572011-05-31T21:00:00.000-07:002011-06-02T12:38:31.823-07:00Now You Gone An Done Made Me NostalgicReferring to my "5 Things To Do This Summer" Post, thinking of being in Paris made me miss the city TERRIBLY. My father took me after I graduated high school as a congratulatory present and we just tore up that town!<br />
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So in somber remembrance here are some tid-bits from the trip:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmE20rpprKubys0VF-Ad7ltO0B59YULfBZbr_gdvzB1ZUgZj8cOdz3DfxN9guXjDlRNxAkTzFEy_Zs9QxxtpG5pU2qIUq_ByZjiL1Hg4TqQwN44FVeZ6PtoJVTYUig2_IQAcwboHGtmQ8w/s1600/Paris%2521+423.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmE20rpprKubys0VF-Ad7ltO0B59YULfBZbr_gdvzB1ZUgZj8cOdz3DfxN9guXjDlRNxAkTzFEy_Zs9QxxtpG5pU2qIUq_ByZjiL1Hg4TqQwN44FVeZ6PtoJVTYUig2_IQAcwboHGtmQ8w/s320/Paris%2521+423.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A beautiful Frenchie giving me free CDs! I don't care what anybody says about the French, they are a lovely group of people.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTB1UQcWy8SF8_1MWrm7CW82ZuFjPGxfRlnpJVpNE8_eRPwBp-nL_z4-ya4Qalk_ix6n0tQHhh9wk40ZC-LoTyaL3SgH5w5K3vH7-K31s-TCMtMmSS34QhSvX618n2ZnB-pDncXS0VqGU-/s1600/Paris%2521+005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTB1UQcWy8SF8_1MWrm7CW82ZuFjPGxfRlnpJVpNE8_eRPwBp-nL_z4-ya4Qalk_ix6n0tQHhh9wk40ZC-LoTyaL3SgH5w5K3vH7-K31s-TCMtMmSS34QhSvX618n2ZnB-pDncXS0VqGU-/s320/Paris%2521+005.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYCzzDSlclOsqrh0Wwga27vgvojxq-in1llJ1YXm9oWs79q6Y8wzM7SWOgXDp0S_x2JmlLZsl46zWfhY4D-HOGdVwdtWRpsZgyPJ6oVv75lkYeFkBC6KkVCTlKmRHokJD7rtkmmqyGqP36/s1600/Paris%2521+463.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYCzzDSlclOsqrh0Wwga27vgvojxq-in1llJ1YXm9oWs79q6Y8wzM7SWOgXDp0S_x2JmlLZsl46zWfhY4D-HOGdVwdtWRpsZgyPJ6oVv75lkYeFkBC6KkVCTlKmRHokJD7rtkmmqyGqP36/s320/Paris%2521+463.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Father looking dapper.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMo6MjYwwpxnm5xZ4oTnidzzAZvwGysyJxmyjP6i7C-QpvXzThVF4bYrwJSQLpEgbuh4rXW0hcicf4UzMAINwjgtWoyq9FIVPxLSrWntVJOKo-aFh9R594tJL1sdaC6SkEAFEHh3ly3drb/s1600/Paris%2521+458.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMo6MjYwwpxnm5xZ4oTnidzzAZvwGysyJxmyjP6i7C-QpvXzThVF4bYrwJSQLpEgbuh4rXW0hcicf4UzMAINwjgtWoyq9FIVPxLSrWntVJOKo-aFh9R594tJL1sdaC6SkEAFEHh3ly3drb/s320/Paris%2521+458.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbLm8IxP-SlvrfQC3EWrgpAwSUAKYOJXE44mPS8OFRvz72JKoPZ52S7ayiWna0_uZK5GuwDNQhASNhSQEL8TGN-KGABLwbzRSSFw1I1aaAiNbUnMKSxASKwPOcN8RZkY64qCiKP9uDAcUE/s1600/Paris%2521+054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbLm8IxP-SlvrfQC3EWrgpAwSUAKYOJXE44mPS8OFRvz72JKoPZ52S7ayiWna0_uZK5GuwDNQhASNhSQEL8TGN-KGABLwbzRSSFw1I1aaAiNbUnMKSxASKwPOcN8RZkY64qCiKP9uDAcUE/s320/Paris%2521+054.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixS4ukKgFNOIDJpy7pHJiF2sZLZSmOkiZ3JlzOoYpRmKjEACCdssnsAmTJJorEdvt_IZaE-_E_xstU93nXO5JGOK7OA0vpziFxMD8ZR3ISEAqL7z4DRLKmzLCuFg60YIq5QJzSimfXH0fd/s1600/Paris%2521+578.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixS4ukKgFNOIDJpy7pHJiF2sZLZSmOkiZ3JlzOoYpRmKjEACCdssnsAmTJJorEdvt_IZaE-_E_xstU93nXO5JGOK7OA0vpziFxMD8ZR3ISEAqL7z4DRLKmzLCuFg60YIq5QJzSimfXH0fd/s320/Paris%2521+578.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">All this man wanted in life was to play his accordion on that train forever. I've never seen such happiness.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTUkLjpxiHApBZfaw9EZfnvzCGtA7m-kvfEyQ92HMuq5TTzGgH5hGPDxoGRx0HoAkHFkEAkaNnzCiWj6FpM35O0IySor_wakO5Syt1JI3jklCb_CWRqqHBhNQQuL_bWObR9POVTcCoCOwF/s1600/Paris%2521+060.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTUkLjpxiHApBZfaw9EZfnvzCGtA7m-kvfEyQ92HMuq5TTzGgH5hGPDxoGRx0HoAkHFkEAkaNnzCiWj6FpM35O0IySor_wakO5Syt1JI3jklCb_CWRqqHBhNQQuL_bWObR9POVTcCoCOwF/s320/Paris%2521+060.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">FIN</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Kelsey Jeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00347102874544307619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059000776164701945.post-67209400140631257622011-05-19T18:12:00.000-07:002011-06-23T14:55:00.630-07:00Hopped On And Felt The Summertime<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Lets just sit back for a second and think about the supposed impending months of sunshine (according to the view from my window...tut-tut, looks like rain). The lack of class and classmates, the probable summer job, and (for the unfortunate handful) the move back in with the rents. Now for the good stuff: the evenings dedicated to sunset-strolling, sun dresses with your flower of choice slapped h'all up on em', and sugar-dunked strawberries.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwkDUpTZYd5Hn52OCP_bj8k_wl3it5C24dTnB2reiDLLTC283H3LnfoohKIJCsh-z0kclw-zlGDBeLyCQRJxHqaCA0BF2W0GG4tKw1XmcYMdRoSGai-u8b-3xMBVzDHCIyJSNiF1Qd1KAI/s1600/1290991_strawberries_in_sugar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwkDUpTZYd5Hn52OCP_bj8k_wl3it5C24dTnB2reiDLLTC283H3LnfoohKIJCsh-z0kclw-zlGDBeLyCQRJxHqaCA0BF2W0GG4tKw1XmcYMdRoSGai-u8b-3xMBVzDHCIyJSNiF1Qd1KAI/s200/1290991_strawberries_in_sugar.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
So with my new internship (that makes me way too exceedingly happy to wake up to every morning), my newly attained online newspaper writing gig, and being in the lovely Southern California all summer long, I figured I should map out some off-time musts to do this summer.<br />
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Of course there are always the typicals: catching up on some good literate, reading the plays for the up-coming audition season, watching television shows I've missed during the year full seasons at a time, aaand go to the pool and eat a lot (dur).<br />
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But I digress. This summer, I, Kelsey Jean, will complete these five items, and I invite you to join me.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd6TrQw86q297SVX5A0fhUQ3SAz3V5aOR9PLbCjEjkOV1N_k4nJQnTmfSqSTnCfTimCA-MlAgJ6eWnn4vl9GiUstk8qZ5Mbe4CECDN-WtAZsypI_HGyZjPYzPToYri90ae5hcwjSVa0_Md/s1600/blog.monet.thames.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd6TrQw86q297SVX5A0fhUQ3SAz3V5aOR9PLbCjEjkOV1N_k4nJQnTmfSqSTnCfTimCA-MlAgJ6eWnn4vl9GiUstk8qZ5Mbe4CECDN-WtAZsypI_HGyZjPYzPToYri90ae5hcwjSVa0_Md/s1600/blog.monet.thames.jpg" /></a></div>1) Re-visit one of my favorite locations, <a href="http://www.getty.edu/museum/"><b>The Getty</b></a>. Every time I frequent this lovely institution I walk away with a better understanding of art and its history, like Monet himself is whispering sweet nothings of the late 1800s into my ear. Plus, I have never been in the summertime. Art looks and feels better when I'm sweat stricken and in a pretty dress, brings me back to my elementary field-trip days when we were told to dress up when visiting a museum. My favorite "special" dress was navy and velvet...field-trips took place in May...you do the math. I was a sweaty little girl come art museum day.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS90bEERXqQTICDioH3btcPNv_XDVnQgHYLiaqcNOQ1LNcOCNK3NisYow9iFqvedeEINoWtN_tuOhlGM5-B1qv2-1qlYJU18j_Ig1_KGCuoeFKhKee0ks7Sb-cSYaLAqcNQhiKF6zpkHLc/s1600/1276388_large_plastic_ice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS90bEERXqQTICDioH3btcPNv_XDVnQgHYLiaqcNOQ1LNcOCNK3NisYow9iFqvedeEINoWtN_tuOhlGM5-B1qv2-1qlYJU18j_Ig1_KGCuoeFKhKee0ks7Sb-cSYaLAqcNQhiKF6zpkHLc/s200/1276388_large_plastic_ice.jpg" width="149" /></a></div>2) Go to <b>Santa Barbara Art Sunda</b>y! I think the last time I had the pleasure of strolling the shores <i>while </i>delighting my eyes to some beautiful art treats <i>while </i>munching on an ice-cream cone was LAST summer. Far too long. I love galleries and outdoor displays, it's like a free museum <i>and</i> you get to learn about all of the up-and-coming artists in your area. <br />
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3) <b>Go Mansion Huntin'.</b><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqPI-P78e-Dgz1H3_kp9UQ3BEg50PUIUqU9wJOhA24dLRVQkOnb2WVUfCsfNUVkh-MHnjGcK6Z0HMQoFJ-HTGUuJRZs8VmmJ05QNB00HsUZDuH5FHHFr_X4aeNPREcEo1g5qMQ_61qNAzR/s1600/1344846_charleston_mansion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqPI-P78e-Dgz1H3_kp9UQ3BEg50PUIUqU9wJOhA24dLRVQkOnb2WVUfCsfNUVkh-MHnjGcK6Z0HMQoFJ-HTGUuJRZs8VmmJ05QNB00HsUZDuH5FHHFr_X4aeNPREcEo1g5qMQ_61qNAzR/s320/1344846_charleston_mansion.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Hah, I kid you. No, i am not looking for a mansion to inhabit, but I do looove to look. I'd say some good architecture and radically antique or radically modern furniture can fully brighten my day alone (hey, art is art is art). So I would like to drive to an embarrassingly wealthy neighborhood (perhaps Malibu?) and just poke around, see how the fabulous live. If there's an open house- even better! Better pack my heels...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRxJY9a5dSJhw6dR8V3-th0lj4cnPvQzwzgg1LMxJx5KzO9VtRz1ged1eYKByYqmpu84c9FJIUkEHdgQ-cINJd1PqNWrqOVw0SLTmMlyYpx4I4QDnzuWxzw7NkO9xTQ0zyeVU5SEc5CtOu/s1600/1330576_dandelions_and_soccer_ball.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRxJY9a5dSJhw6dR8V3-th0lj4cnPvQzwzgg1LMxJx5KzO9VtRz1ged1eYKByYqmpu84c9FJIUkEHdgQ-cINJd1PqNWrqOVw0SLTmMlyYpx4I4QDnzuWxzw7NkO9xTQ0zyeVU5SEc5CtOu/s200/1330576_dandelions_and_soccer_ball.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
4) This next activity may seem strikingly out of left field (is that how that saying goes? Why is left field so rare?) but here is my stab at attempting to be a little more active...or at least move more.<br />
<b>Play soccer in the park</b>! Normally this is so not my cup of tea, I hung up my cleats along with the ol' nick-name "crazy legs," right after I was diagnosed. It just never appealed to me after that. However, this past school year I have played a few casual games of 'futball' in my school park and they were shockingly entertaining! I was thoroughly exhausted, but the interaction between everyone, the camaraderie of the two teams, it was just too fun! The whole thing is simple to organize: send out a mass text, slap down a few backpacks as goals, grab a ball, and you're good to go!<br />
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5) I'm going to wake up one morning and decide to board a plane to Europe. From there I will <b>backpack from London to Paris to Amsterdam and back</b>. Yup, that's it. If you haven't caught on yet <i>I </i>am obviously not that cool. But do you know who is? My boyfriend, that's who. Yes this terribly spontaneous soul woke up one morning and decided he needed to see Europe at this time in his life. A week later a ticket was purchased and he leaves at the end of the month. I'm terribly jealous but bubbling over with excitement for him as well. Paris is the city for me, smelling of rain and cigarettes and reeking of culture, it's everything I could ever want in a location. I predict he'll find Amsterdam quite amusing.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJcWvBZjsb28dXc7XCGlAy0xTRalGTLNPklgjtJGa9DbXacA2jGKZn8R5hZwFqmL9bSpq37oaYoc5G-AjYW7PRPHvIM2hLsuZ9UvKDswab8bbWz64aw58HKebVH-q2XzYdqISis7rIsKVW/s1600/Paris%2521+636.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJcWvBZjsb28dXc7XCGlAy0xTRalGTLNPklgjtJGa9DbXacA2jGKZn8R5hZwFqmL9bSpq37oaYoc5G-AjYW7PRPHvIM2hLsuZ9UvKDswab8bbWz64aw58HKebVH-q2XzYdqISis7rIsKVW/s320/Paris%2521+636.JPG" width="212" /></a></div><br />
Happy Summer,<br />
Kelsey Jean<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/BpqOWO6ctsg?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Kelsey Jeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00347102874544307619noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059000776164701945.post-85574824893434834302011-05-09T20:37:00.000-07:002011-06-08T12:41:57.119-07:00So... How Do I Look?This life is so, so surprising. As of late, I have felt like someone or something of higher importance than myself has felt the need to randomly push me from my layout-pool-chair-of-teenagedom into the deep-end-of-adulthood. And guess what? The water's foine. I have successfully managed 19 credits of college education, professionally maintained an internship, taken part in various dramatic pieces of art on campus, and had one hoot of a time socially, all in this past spring semester!<br />
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It is currently finals week and I can already smell the sunscreen and bb q charcoal just beckoning me towards a summertime of dipping in a (non metaphorical) pool.<br />
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Well today I received the pleasant news of further summer plans. I will be interning with a new company doing some blogging and social networking! YES. Oh the learning possibilities. Because of this news, because I was reminded of how fortunate I am that I will [hopefully] someday get to write as a means of occupation, I am here at my laptop blogging as a means of celebration.<br />
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And today I will celebrate with something I have been wanting to write about since my existence as a "blogger." Ready ladies (<s>and Jacob</s>)...Fashion!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5QhaKJs3vOg-t-L_iooN1GLvxivXVR3Cqlns5fCzQ0ilntmsx_vAEVBKVtUS0Qfav1ByxwRw6aMQ6HQ-9jZG4MOQ_MbWPv9qsh2MeFXHuXp4y9evzabqRusW8HKTkgYwz9TphfMwSrKco/s1600/Fair_Fashion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5QhaKJs3vOg-t-L_iooN1GLvxivXVR3Cqlns5fCzQ0ilntmsx_vAEVBKVtUS0Qfav1ByxwRw6aMQ6HQ-9jZG4MOQ_MbWPv9qsh2MeFXHuXp4y9evzabqRusW8HKTkgYwz9TphfMwSrKco/s200/Fair_Fashion.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">treehugger.com</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></div>Now, before you go and get your hopes up, no, I am not going to regurgitate "fashion tips" from <i>Vogue </i>or <i>Seventeen</i>. I will not tell you "what's hot now" or tell you what your "color" is.<br />
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I think the Best thing about fashion is that it is an utter reflection of the person wearing the clothes. Again with the <a href="http://justsomewordsandstuff.blogspot.com/2010/08/frivolous-body-art.html">human canvas theory</a>- a body is a canvas. What a person puts on said canvas should be a statement about the truth of the person. <br />
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For this reason, no one should ever feel the need to ask a friend, "Does this look good/hot/trampy/horrendous/dear-god-take-it-off-bad on me?"<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbBjNFdl2UB_xu2aLOlNH6_P6ztiNqoy1NlhHoIf7qojPMeqMm8Z0EjwEjkqJubp1unJ0FybhyDmQFso2Ke_j_4BvbWO1QueYF1nwzTGVCAy53yP3-AWbpj6YHRXhb5E-Jgei_CabmW7th/s1600/z209242272.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbBjNFdl2UB_xu2aLOlNH6_P6ztiNqoy1NlhHoIf7qojPMeqMm8Z0EjwEjkqJubp1unJ0FybhyDmQFso2Ke_j_4BvbWO1QueYF1nwzTGVCAy53yP3-AWbpj6YHRXhb5E-Jgei_CabmW7th/s320/z209242272.jpg" width="233" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">lovelyish.com</td></tr>
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">If you feel a piece of clothing is beautiful, just a work of art by itself, then WEAR IT! Put things on your body that make YOU feel pretty and YOU feel sexy and YOU feel radiant! </div><br />
Art is composed to be judged- that's just part of the process. As <a href="http://justsomewordsandstuff.blogspot.com/2010/10/meisnerd.html">Markus</a> has stated, every person has a right to an opinion about art- be it good or bad. If everyone liked the dress you wore to Formal then it's not art.<br />
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Fashion is a personal opinion. Rock what says the most about who you are as a person, not a brand an advertisement says looks fabulous on you.<br />
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Fashionably, Originally,<br />
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Kelsey JeanKelsey Jeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00347102874544307619noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059000776164701945.post-27148335374546844062011-01-03T14:07:00.000-08:002011-01-03T14:07:47.603-08:00Medina Jewelry RobbedMedina Jewelry was robbed today around 1:20 PM at the Broadway Pavilion.<br />
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At least four police cars were seen at the scene of the crime with approximately two officers per squad car. Cars of shoppers were being blocked from exiting as there were squad cars parked in front of them, surrounding the area.<br />
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The suspect is so far unknown and was still thought to be in the area shortly after the incident occurred, said officials.<br />
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The premise was being patrolled by a number of officers. Passerby's were encouraged to not enter the crime scene.<br />
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"I need yellow tape, yellow tape," said one official.Kelsey Jeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00347102874544307619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059000776164701945.post-9473700269149514492010-12-17T17:44:00.000-08:002011-05-19T18:31:42.858-07:00R.I.P. ...Tadpoles?<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSTg4miK6tgvI4yhST4grXLWJSRVLkg_8eSZOV-fxIUiI6RIMDrPwxhqAdqENFe0pR_ffxmkNFJHeHDnaLQBL5AVSaUxv9aWTue9kpcjfcT4x0Qc8J1wkh0Fd3KooJNHk1rNKt3-swPcAj/s1600/1033030_tadpoles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="152" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSTg4miK6tgvI4yhST4grXLWJSRVLkg_8eSZOV-fxIUiI6RIMDrPwxhqAdqENFe0pR_ffxmkNFJHeHDnaLQBL5AVSaUxv9aWTue9kpcjfcT4x0Qc8J1wkh0Fd3KooJNHk1rNKt3-swPcAj/s200/1033030_tadpoles.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
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</tbody></table>This past summer my dear companion, John-Carlo, and I went to our local park to catch tadpoles. Our master plan was to catch the little darlings, transport them to the make-shift Costco fountain in my backyard, and raise them as our own. Every few days we would go back to the park to get more. We were addicted. What a wonderful plan! We were in charge of these little babies, and we treated them appropriately. So much love went into our poles. We transported them ever-so lovingly from scummy pond, to McDonalds beverage cup, to the fountain. I researched online how to care for my poles--what to feed them, what kind of environment they should live in. I fed them a CVS brand of fish food...they just ATE THAT UP. I even gave them the occasional treat of lettuce, a supposed tadpole favorite, however, they didn't take to that very thrillingly.<br />
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I fed them religiously, every single day. I checked them day and night, just to make sure their well being was was well...well. The various websites I read concerning tadpole care said they would be full fledge frogs in about six weeks.<br />
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Week four came about. No legs, just bigger bodies. I thought, "Oh my little darlings, you're all late bloomers, but do not fret. Your mother does not discriminate, I will care for you!" And care I did.<br />
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Week five came. Still no legs, but sadly my time had come to return to school, two hours away from my now somewhat plumper poles. I put the reins in the hands of my father. He too, fed them carefully and diligently. Until the day came when our now green Costco fountain became just a bit too green for Paw's liking.<br />
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He later told me it was just a bit of chlorine he put in--which even in small amounts may be lethal to poles according to the websites. <br />
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My poles--our poles, were dead. I was heartbroken. Though, my paw is a smart fellow. At the time of death it was about week eight into the lives of the poles. Still no legs, in fact, no frog-like features at all. Paw concluded that my dear poles were indeed not poles at all, but impostors!...MINNOWS! A small, dumb fish that is also commonly found in the ponds of the park.<br />
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Stupid Minnows.Kelsey Jeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00347102874544307619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059000776164701945.post-43838551786769615242010-10-27T11:40:00.000-07:002011-05-19T18:32:43.568-07:00Art is taking the chaos of life and imposing order on itIn high school I had a wonderful-nay, beautiful AP English teacher. How I write today is a manifestation of my personality and her technique (and all the good parts I attribute to her technique). Religiously, almost daily, she would remind us as a class that "art is taking the chaos of life and imposing order on it." Never in my entire life will I forget that saying, I don't think it possible if I put forth my greatest efforts. It's permanence within the depths of my skull are not entirely due to the pounding repetition of the phrase, but also because I have not encountered such a combination of words that resonates such a truth about the world until hearing this one. We as humans don't have many orderly things. Sure, we take a stab at democracy and religion and running corporations, but those don't always work out; nothing ever does certainly. Art on the other hand, art is honest and truthful and therefore orderly. What better way to explain and interpret the world than taking something from within yourself to offer up to the rest of humankind. If more people participated in some art form and presented it, I bet we wouldn't feel so alone as a race.<br />
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The world being so large, and me being so wee, I haven't seen as much art as I would like, but I'm hungry for more. I've been fortunate enough to have gazed upon a handful of gorgeous art museums in Paris. Thankfully, the Getty is within my grasp as well; I'm there quite often. And besides that, every time I enter a new city my goal is to find the nearest and best (based on my taste and opinion) art galleries and exhibits. <br />
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Currently, my favorite artist is Mick Lestrade. I stumbled upon this creative genius at the weekly display of art among the beach at the lovely Santa Barbara. The first glimpse of Mick's work had my eyes begging for more. So I find myself in Santa Barbara whenever feasible just to flip through his beautiful interpretations of this world.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQT_DLMumrLkqS9dO-NnxbP2caTEE11muo2DvBhf0yNoh4RAhZKGKOzcEZm5UqqmEdHFrt-DtXnH_wwnxg-QI0Fjpcxuoy6NcGVQgeGzSwS8cIPRBr9EAp1X9r63DI8ED__t3Gfrjhtx_r/s1600/100_0394.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQT_DLMumrLkqS9dO-NnxbP2caTEE11muo2DvBhf0yNoh4RAhZKGKOzcEZm5UqqmEdHFrt-DtXnH_wwnxg-QI0Fjpcxuoy6NcGVQgeGzSwS8cIPRBr9EAp1X9r63DI8ED__t3Gfrjhtx_r/s320/100_0394.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My darling boyfriend of mine purchased me one of Mick's paintings for my last birthday. I wake up every morning just titillated at the sight of it. As you can see, one of Mick's techniques is to simpley thrust paint splatters among a canvas and then he finds the picture from the splatter...GENIUS! I adore the man (the most charming little French man you'll ever meet) and all of his work.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Now, in the past I haven't been a large fan of exposing my paintings to the general public, for the plain reason of I felt it too exposing. My paintings are the chaos of my life and my attempt to impose order, so I thought the process of sharing to be all too revealing. But then in Meisner class last week I had a revelation (hard to believe, I know). Markus was talking about how the point of art is to share, to help other people learn and to grow (hence my statement made concerning the world being a better place if more art were to be swapped around) and that it was even selfish to keep one's art to himself. So here I go Markus! These are a few of my paintings...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt7M32veRtXYORLIoFs1IgckX0rpfC6gN9h2KERYz1gHCbl7GKc98jGYo02ae5iWS_18XN0IV79lgAZjq4u3Nxjh7sfcRh33ZRVk2_Xak2Ys9_AuLzAIKPdWbz3c8c1wAxk_XzcYjvY6nt/s1600/100_0396.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt7M32veRtXYORLIoFs1IgckX0rpfC6gN9h2KERYz1gHCbl7GKc98jGYo02ae5iWS_18XN0IV79lgAZjq4u3Nxjh7sfcRh33ZRVk2_Xak2Ys9_AuLzAIKPdWbz3c8c1wAxk_XzcYjvY6nt/s320/100_0396.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPfUAwVuZLshYYXbxNEajM_4K8azyI1b2HmqiCV8Lsgd-1dNHloX6SoBSYDS_brknwdWf0MrT1ctMAtFcrW_bsDfjlQ3IuQ3uZ2sT5sFR8lqCOfLv9_o-s6frzlY7FJ_ddSL1IaIvNsIlo/s1600/100_0401.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPfUAwVuZLshYYXbxNEajM_4K8azyI1b2HmqiCV8Lsgd-1dNHloX6SoBSYDS_brknwdWf0MrT1ctMAtFcrW_bsDfjlQ3IuQ3uZ2sT5sFR8lqCOfLv9_o-s6frzlY7FJ_ddSL1IaIvNsIlo/s320/100_0401.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHMQrIfaj2z0r_o_EUtY0pbh8rjwsS33O8gpVi8vNbQG3Xzt3fhmMUCVshHq43Ussz0VcN4xbC0W_itsDFqxUF3C3gAAAAcU6cdUv1-Q_BTLuePUfkwnbjk2DZgTogoIYznKJoQGWZsLpi/s1600/100_0398.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHMQrIfaj2z0r_o_EUtY0pbh8rjwsS33O8gpVi8vNbQG3Xzt3fhmMUCVshHq43Ussz0VcN4xbC0W_itsDFqxUF3C3gAAAAcU6cdUv1-Q_BTLuePUfkwnbjk2DZgTogoIYznKJoQGWZsLpi/s320/100_0398.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggBDZRXn9w-kcA76jngD7mYFwz-NwwBJZWZ_7GZwZsWdKbZFNqIxB6-iKpHujwk6PmwAFFEmSHAjsD_0Cxd1IW5qWZJ33Gk2fz-QrelL8pGKcHH8WFDQNPgET3d-S21EFIZNUzVaXRu9bd/s1600/100_0313.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggBDZRXn9w-kcA76jngD7mYFwz-NwwBJZWZ_7GZwZsWdKbZFNqIxB6-iKpHujwk6PmwAFFEmSHAjsD_0Cxd1IW5qWZJ33Gk2fz-QrelL8pGKcHH8WFDQNPgET3d-S21EFIZNUzVaXRu9bd/s320/100_0313.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This one is an ode to Mick. He has a similar one, but instead with a caucasian person holding an ice-cream cone (mine is cotton candy).</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Kelsey Jeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00347102874544307619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059000776164701945.post-87340201810626236222010-10-26T15:47:00.000-07:002011-05-19T18:33:40.641-07:00Meisner(d)First off I apologize for my lack of blogging. Being back in the strange and mysterious land of Thousand Oaks has taken a wee more time adjusting, to get back into the swing of things, than I anticipated. But I digress, and here I appear once again.<br />
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As a student and enthusiastic learner in general, I absolutely adore most all of my classes this semester-with the exception of Geology of course, what would an aspiring journalist/actor need that for? One class in particular that is having an immense impact on me is Meisner. Ironically, the class that has had the most impact is worth the least amount of credits (none at all). But that right there shows just how appealing this experience is. Every Friday for three hours about 20 or so actors congregate to listen and learn and awe at everything our professor, Markus Flanagan, has to say.<br />
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Markus is such a fascinating human-err, excuse me, God. Markus knows everything, it even says so on his resume, don't believe me Google him. Sure, he may have been born with this gift of all-knowing wisdom, but most likely he picked it up from Mr. Meisner himself (Markus' teacher of the technique back in the day).<br />
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Meisner deals with the concept of repetition. Without giving everything away, basically repetition is a process in which two people start out repeating petty words to each other based off of convenient observations. The point is to match the sound of the person and to explore the word for something never recognized in a single word before. The next step involves diving into the person's soul, exploring them as a person and the meaning behind the words they present to you, all while repeating. After that, it becomes about listening to every tinge in your partner's voice, picking up on subtle cues about their person...that's about where I'm at. I don't fully and completely understand the big picture, but that in itself is so thrilling to me. Every class I feel I experience an epiphany, only to have that epiphany be morphed into something new by the next.<br />
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This class, this concept, this way of life, or cult has slowly begun to take over the theatre department at the school I attend. The 20 or so in the class are obsessed (and rightly so-it's truly fascinating) and the remaining participants in the department, I assume, are sick of hearing about it. Whenever we can repeat, we do it, no matter campus placement, no matter the people present. <br />
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I'm terribly excited for this phenomenon. I feel extremely fortunate to have stumbled into this technique and I simply cannot wait to learn more, gobble up more Meisner. I'm in love, I'm obsessed, I'm in a cult.<br />
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Until the next unanticipated moment,<br />
Kelsey JeanKelsey Jeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00347102874544307619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059000776164701945.post-74379107113762972702010-08-17T19:58:00.000-07:002011-05-19T18:35:28.283-07:00Frivolous Body Art<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Just the other evening my dear, old (in reference to the friendship itself not her age), gal pal and I were chit-chatting about tattoos while in my family jacuzzi-- where I find a lot of good conversation is born. Throughout the talk we giggled at girls we knew that got meaningless hearts or butterflies, among other nonsensical, pointless doodles thrown upon their very skin. And their reasoning? Because it's cute. Well Duh. I stand opposed. </span></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> I believe in art and I believe in beauty and I believe in poetry, and absolutely the intermingling of the three. I also strongly believe tattoos are one of this culture's neatest, most intense, (supposedly) passionate forms of art. For a person to take a statement, whether it be a portrait, or symbol, or phrase, or what-have-you, and ink it-- with some assistance from a trained professional-- onto their very being is such an immense artistic move. People are walking around everyday with their bodies' as canvases. Beautiful! And just as Monet had a thing or two to say about each of his paintings, tattoos have (or should have) essays upon novels upon numerous factoids of information just about bursting to be told about the art's model. Art has meaning, art is not "just cute". So if you get a lame tattoo at least make-up some meaning for it and slap it on at your earliest convenience. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> I, myself have a little piece of art on my body, and no I promise I didn't make-up a false meaning for the thing.</span></span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM-vLyoeb1KvmNF_Kvl_wgxgGEOpKXF22MOV2EamUtic1bowPjq7yjYtsNDIQwTIlu1YtRnZLTiVuPG5OYyPHPVHVjTrWVO1DtgaZZ3RYSyXUYa_UUPh4a1RUH0E_oZvy6bGSeilg-wicB/s1600/100_0316.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM-vLyoeb1KvmNF_Kvl_wgxgGEOpKXF22MOV2EamUtic1bowPjq7yjYtsNDIQwTIlu1YtRnZLTiVuPG5OYyPHPVHVjTrWVO1DtgaZZ3RYSyXUYa_UUPh4a1RUH0E_oZvy6bGSeilg-wicB/s320/100_0316.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I could potentially write a thesis paper on this bit of ink gracing my lower, right back...but I'll spare you and provide just a nice overview. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> I was diagnosed with cancer in my freshman year of high school, which consisted of a four pound cancerous tumor commandeering one of my kidneys-- the right side, hence the location. Now at the age of 18, I can obviously say I was "saved" (get it? A life preserver? eeh? eeeeh?), from my disease. I was saved by so many people, good people. The entire oncology team I worked with, at both UCLA hospital and Cottage hospital were so good to me; including every nurse and surgeon involved. My community was just darling and helped my family out immensely what with meals and nice wishes and cards and gifts and love, love, love! I was saved by other fellow cancer patients I met that shared their journey with me absolutely filling me to the brim with hope and passion for this world. Mostly, the tattoo is a constant reminder to have faith in humanity, especially in a world where all the bad may at times seem to completely devour the good. Though, I am living proof that there </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">are </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">indeed good, swell folks out there that will save you if given the chance. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Passionately,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Kelsey Jean</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"> </span></span>Kelsey Jeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00347102874544307619noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059000776164701945.post-36664948172913073282010-08-15T15:50:00.000-07:002011-05-18T21:57:58.855-07:00The Beginning I have had many a mentor insist I start a blog for quite some time now. I'm occupationally passionate about two things in this life; drama and journalism, so a person can see why blogging may assist me on my road to vocational success. Though there's always been something nagging in my ear, tugging at my sleeve, whining all about the premise of blogging.<br />
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My former opinion of "blogging" was that it seemed all too pretentious for my taste. Just the premise of writing one's ideas and opinions down for others to read seemed simply preposterous. Who would actually read what I have to say (a small, almost 19-year-old female) other than close friends and/or family? Though, I suppose that's the conditioned society we live in talking.<br />
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But then I got to thinking on it, and is that not how books begin? And newspapers? And magazines? And (preferably) informative television? All concepts, forms of entertainment, begin with a person jotting down his ideas. And I think that's swell-- that the human population has such a thirst for knowledge that we read books and engage in other mediums of knowledge so that we may hear about others' ideas and opinions, and hopefully learn a thing or two from it, or at least walk away with a better understanding of humans themselves just by reading one's words.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKiGLJ3RS7NqumJ9H8AYtKvkbwZrMsTCza7o59LKaCgti4D4_4VRAkw7ZxQg0ygJX5Q1wkPNzAAh_OuxQgucaaEdHLNc9lapJH91CyMRMCTZUP0Ka06tINyjQkfVU6K33NGt2L2tsXcAP2/s1600/Spring+08+131.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKiGLJ3RS7NqumJ9H8AYtKvkbwZrMsTCza7o59LKaCgti4D4_4VRAkw7ZxQg0ygJX5Q1wkPNzAAh_OuxQgucaaEdHLNc9lapJH91CyMRMCTZUP0Ka06tINyjQkfVU6K33NGt2L2tsXcAP2/s320/Spring+08+131.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>So here I am, diving into the swimming pool of blogging. I may have floaties, but at least I'm in the water now.<br />
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For Now,<br />
Kelsey JeanKelsey Jeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00347102874544307619noreply@blogger.com0