<?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-8838543590294180292</id><updated>2012-02-09T08:59:10.418-08:00</updated><category term='Letter'/><category term='Haunted Cemetery'/><title type='text'>*Kylie Rose*</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kyliemars.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8838543590294180292/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kyliemars.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>KyLiE rOsE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14506420016986188683</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://i116.photobucket.com/albums/o23/playboo893/a_9fc7ae0b290fd44cf0de0dcc579d58-1.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>10</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8838543590294180292.post-842633905410978314</id><published>2007-06-11T06:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-11T07:23:33.949-07:00</updated><title type='text'>** My so called Brother**</title><content type='html'>Trouble Maker- noun- someone who delibertly stirs up trouble. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  I tell everyone that I am an only child but my close friends know what I have a step brother. Ever since I can remember he has been introuble with the police and with school. Me and him have the same mother but different fathers. His dad lives in Canada and since he was born until about 2 years ago he never even call to see how he was let alone pay for anything for him so he wasnt even really a father. I can remember I was about 4 or 5 and my brother is 9 years older then me and I can remember my mom putting my in the car and chasing my brother while he was hoping fences. He got introuble for some reason and didnt want to come home. I can remember my aunt who was pregnant at the time with my cousin was hoping over fences chasing him. Anything that would get him in trouble he would do. He used to steal and take money from our family members and claim he didnt do it. My brother used to go to this school (cheektowaga central) until he got kicked out for setting off a smoke bomb off in school. He was always nice to me that I can remember. There are pictures of me and him together and he is holding me. About 10 years ago he had his 1st daughter but he wasnt around for almost all of her life because he was in jail for stealing from a gas station at gun point. Yet he claims he didnt have a gun but it was all caught on tape whether I believe him or not I'm not sure. His 2nd daughter was born and he was kind of in her life. When I see him and haylee(2nd daughter) together she seems to pay attention to him more and she always say how much she loves him. But when I see cassidy(1st daughter) together she could careless she will hug him every once in a while but Haylee is always hanging on him. he stayed out of trouble for about the 1st year after getting out of jail but then it seemed to all start again. He stared stealing stuff from me, my mom and my dad. he started asking everyone for money including me and would say he would pay you back on Friday when he got paid but of course never did. He would come to my house crying to my mom about how he didnt have any money and how he needed money for the bus. But yet he worked for a roofing company and made about $600 per week and it would all be gone by the next day. Him and his girlfriend who he has had 3 kids with always get in fights and  she is just as wacko as him we all think she does drugs which doesn't suprise me. She can't hold a job for more then a month. Cassidy has been getting herself out of bed and making her own breakfast since she was about 6 or 7 while her mom just slept the whole time. Haylee has to repeat Kindergarten becase she missed to many days of school. Emmaley ( the youngest) is not in school yet but I bet when she starts going to school she will have to get herself up for it to. me and mom feel so sorry for my nieces they didnt do anything to deserve parents like them 2. I tell them all the time that we should adopt them. My mom and I have been babysitting them every weekend since Cassidy was born which was 10 years ago. And luckly we do because otherwise the would be stuck home and would never of gone half the places we have taken them and seen have the stuff and I know they wouldn't act the way they do if we haden't been watching them. I love these 3 little girls with all my heart and I would do anything to make sure they are safe. And without them I would be a different person.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8838543590294180292-842633905410978314?l=kyliemars.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kyliemars.blogspot.com/feeds/842633905410978314/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8838543590294180292&amp;postID=842633905410978314' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8838543590294180292/posts/default/842633905410978314'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8838543590294180292/posts/default/842633905410978314'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kyliemars.blogspot.com/2007/06/my-so-called-brother.html' title='** My so called Brother**'/><author><name>KyLiE rOsE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14506420016986188683</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://i116.photobucket.com/albums/o23/playboo893/a_9fc7ae0b290fd44cf0de0dcc579d58-1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8838543590294180292.post-497570604507351780</id><published>2007-06-11T06:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-11T06:36:15.114-07:00</updated><title type='text'>*Grandpa*</title><content type='html'>grand·fa·ther     &lt;br /&gt;–noun 1. the father of one's father or mother.  &lt;br /&gt;2. a forefather.  &lt;br /&gt;3. the founder or originator of a family, species, type, etc.; the first of one's or its kind, or the one being longest in existence: the grandfather of all steam locomotives.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    I walk into the funeral parlor and it’s silent.  People are coming in and out.  The sound of light whispering starts to fill the room.  Pictures of him are surrounding the casket.  I walk by and look at all the pictures.  I stop and stare at one of me and him.  It was a picture of me sitting on his lap in his special chair on the front porch.  I wish I could remember that day.  I was way too little to remember.  &lt;br /&gt; My mom and I lived with him for a little while.  I remember playing with all of his marine stuff, these dolls that when u unstack to form other dolls and this rickety old metal tea set which looked like it went through the war with him.  His house was bright blue with white doors and windows.  You couldn’t miss his house.  I remember jumping on his huge bed and doing flips while my mom was getting ready.  Then she would come out of the bathroom and tell me to stop because I was going to break my neck.  But of course as kids we never listen until we do get hurt.  The only time I actually listened and stopped jumping and flipping was when he yelled at me to stop.  I got so scared because I never heard him yell before that I stopped so fast he didn’t even have to finish yelling.  &lt;br /&gt; There was this soldier out in front of the upstairs bathroom.  It was a metal soldier and at the time it was the same height as me.  He was holding this big metal stick.  I remember I would always take the stick out of his hands and pretend I was a soldier.  I would march up and down the hallway and up and down the stairs until the stick got to heavy to hold then my fun was over.  &lt;br /&gt; I glance over at the next picture and it is of my cousin Eleni and me in the bathtub.  Bubbles were everywhere.  We were only about 3 or 4 in the picture.  He was the one giving us a bath.  This picture was different then the rest because he was smiling.  He rarely ever smiled in pictures.  Maybe he was happy or maybe he was so mad at us for getting the bubbles everywhere else but the bathtub that all he could do was smile.&lt;br /&gt; Looking at this picture also made me think of the time he was babysitting me and 4 of my other cousins.  After a long day of playing they were all tired but I couldn’t sleep.  He must have heard me upstairs getting up.  He called my name and I came running down the stairs.  He asked me to sit down in the reclining chair next to him and watch TV with him.  I was so excited that I got to stay up late.  I fell asleep about an hour after I started watching TV.  The next morning I wake up and there is a blanket over me and my head is resting on the softest pillow.  He knew I hated sleeping alone so he slept in the chair next to me instead of his bed.  He did little things like that which meant the most.    &lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wouldn’t go near the casket, it was just too hard to see him laying there lifeless he looked fake.  I sat in the back of the funeral parlor with some of my other cousins.  Our cheeks were tear stained and red.  The night dyed down and people were slowly starting to leave.  The pictures on the wall were slowly being taken down and finally his casket was shut.  At that time I realized that was the last time I was ever going to see him in person.  My eyes start filling up with water.  I am trying to hold them back as best as I can.  &lt;br /&gt; All those times with him are only memories in the back of my mind &lt;br /&gt;“You never get over someone’s death… you just learn to live with it”.  Someone told me this quote and it made me think.  This was definitely true.  It has been almost 2 years since he has passed away.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I still think about my grandfather from time to time and I start to feel the water behind my eyelids waiting to fall down my cheeks.  I start to think about all the good times I had with him while he was here and a smile comes to my face.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8838543590294180292-497570604507351780?l=kyliemars.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kyliemars.blogspot.com/feeds/497570604507351780/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8838543590294180292&amp;postID=497570604507351780' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8838543590294180292/posts/default/497570604507351780'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8838543590294180292/posts/default/497570604507351780'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kyliemars.blogspot.com/2007/06/grandfather-noun-1.html' title='*Grandpa*'/><author><name>KyLiE rOsE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14506420016986188683</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://i116.photobucket.com/albums/o23/playboo893/a_9fc7ae0b290fd44cf0de0dcc579d58-1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8838543590294180292.post-923005033786682142</id><published>2007-06-10T21:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-11T06:26:40.206-07:00</updated><title type='text'>^^ Fish Hill Cemetery^^</title><content type='html'>So some of my friends and I went to this new cemetery that none of us have been to before. Someone read about it in a book but we never knew where it was. There is no real information about the cemetery except it is from the early 1800's. On this one website I found they said that the ghosts there are not afraid to touch you, send a cool breeze past you, show themselves or make noises. It also said it is the most haunted cemetery in WNY and it is almost positive that you will see something. So after reading this I definitely didn't want to go but my loving friends made me. We pull up and park on the side of the road with our flashers on. We see a black cat run into the cemetery and that was just great I am superstitious like that so once again I wanted to chicken out. We start walking through the cemetery and we get about 200 ft back and we hear something. We all be quiet and it sounded like something or someone stepping on branches in the woods. As soon as I head that my 2 friends and I ran for our lives and the 2 guys stayed there laughing at us. We got to the car and jump in as quickly as possible. None one us could make out exactly what we heard but we all knew it wasn't anything good. As we watch the boys from the car all we could see were there flash lights and they were heading towards the car. Right as they were about to cross the street to leave the cemetery they started to run. When they got in the car they said that noise that we heard was following them out of the cemetery. After they told me that story you better believe I was got out of there as fast as I possibly could. No one can really explain what they heard that night but whatever it was it didnt want us in the cemetery. On some website it said that the ghosts are friendly but who knows what could possibly be there.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8838543590294180292-923005033786682142?l=kyliemars.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kyliemars.blogspot.com/feeds/923005033786682142/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8838543590294180292&amp;postID=923005033786682142' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8838543590294180292/posts/default/923005033786682142'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8838543590294180292/posts/default/923005033786682142'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kyliemars.blogspot.com/2007/06/fish-hill-cemetery.html' title='^^ Fish Hill Cemetery^^'/><author><name>KyLiE rOsE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14506420016986188683</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://i116.photobucket.com/albums/o23/playboo893/a_9fc7ae0b290fd44cf0de0dcc579d58-1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8838543590294180292.post-8427516807501782637</id><published>2007-06-10T20:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-11T06:37:42.122-07:00</updated><title type='text'>&gt;&gt;Nyctophobia&gt;&gt;( Fear of the *DARK*)</title><content type='html'>Nyctohylophobia- Fear of dark wooded areas or of forests at night&lt;br /&gt;Nyctophobia- Fear of the dark or of night...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It’s about 11:15pm and I walk in the side door of my house.  I lock the door behind me and take off my wet boots.  As soon as I put my things on the counter I hear the TV.  in the living room.  I walk through the kitchen in to the dining room and then into my living room.  My mom is asleep on the couch like always, she has a huge bed in her room, yet she always sleeps on the couch.  I hit the power button on the remote and then I blow out the candle she has lit the scent of the candle hits my nose as the smoke rises.  Then finally I hit the light switch.  The whole house is dark except for the light above the stove which always stays on.  It’s normal to be scared of the dark when you are a little kid.  But for me it stayed with me ever since. My room is on the second floor so I open the door leading to the steps quickly.  I look up the steps and I see the light from my window reflecting into the darkness.  My heart starts beating fast for some reason I always think I’m going to see something waiting at the top of my stairs.  And that makes me even more scared.  I wait at the bottom and call my dog to come up to bed with me.  “Come on girl” &lt;br /&gt;“Come on”  &lt;br /&gt;Sometimes you have to bribe her with food so she will come.  I hit my light switch on and close the door behind me.  I run up the stairs quickly with my dog as my shadow right behind me all the way up.  I get to the top of my steps and all in one motion I turn the stair light off and my bedroom light on. Then I close my bedroom door behind me.  The reason I shut my bedroom door and the door at the beginning of the steps is because I can hear if someone comes in my room. I turn on the two little touch lamps on each side of my bed and I turn off the bedroom light.  I put on my pajamas and get under my blankets. Then my dog hops onto my bed with me always in the bottom left corner she sleeps like she is waiting for someone to open my door and attack.  Which doesn’t bother me at all I feel safer with her there. As soon as I am in bed I text my boyfriend Nick.  Just to tell him that I am in bed and about to go to sleep. I get a text back saying “Ok baby call me if u need anything I’ll txt u in the morning I love you goodnight princess xoxo *muah*”.  He always says cute things like that to me before I go to sleep it makes me sleep better.  I text him back “ ok baby goodnight I love you to! Xoxo *muah*” I plug my phone into the charger and set it on my nightstand to the right of my bed hit my alarm switch and turn off the one touch lamp.  The one on the left side of my bed stays on all night.  I can’t sleep in the dark.  I hate the feeling of not knowing what else is in the room or the feeling of not seeing anything just scares me so much.  I tried sleeping in the dark a couple of times it wasn’t good.  When you’re scared you start hearing noises like the wall creaking or the floor creaking and it scares you.  Every sound you hear you jump.  And my heart pounds faster and harder and I just can’t take it anymore so I hit the light.  There isn’t really a good reason for me to be scared of the dark nothing bad happened to me in dark.  But I have had really scary dreams of the dark and as soon as I am in the dark all these thought come into my head about the scary movie killers and ghosts.  Finally I fall asleep and prepare to wake up at 6:15am.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8838543590294180292-8427516807501782637?l=kyliemars.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kyliemars.blogspot.com/feeds/8427516807501782637/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8838543590294180292&amp;postID=8427516807501782637' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8838543590294180292/posts/default/8427516807501782637'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8838543590294180292/posts/default/8427516807501782637'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kyliemars.blogspot.com/2007/06/nyctophobia-fear-of-dark.html' title='&gt;&gt;Nyctophobia&gt;&gt;( Fear of the *DARK*)'/><author><name>KyLiE rOsE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14506420016986188683</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://i116.photobucket.com/albums/o23/playboo893/a_9fc7ae0b290fd44cf0de0dcc579d58-1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8838543590294180292.post-5270827858739987763</id><published>2007-06-10T20:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-10T20:18:28.391-07:00</updated><title type='text'>*Memory*</title><content type='html'>mem·o·ry    &lt;br /&gt;–noun, plural -ries.&lt;br /&gt;1. the mental capacity or faculty of retaining and reviving facts, events, impressions, etc., or of recalling or recognizing previous experiences...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I still remember that house as if I still lived there. My bare feet  touching the linoleum floor as I stand in the room where mom used to cook for me .. and him. My eyes glance into the dining room that big wood table that seated 6 people still stands but is all cluttered with all of my stuff, the table where we would have our family get together. My feet start moving as my body follows them into the living room. His old green recliner  chair is still in its same spot this chair had torn material and broken parts yet he refused to get a new one. I turn around and walk down the long hallway. One step at a time I look at all the pictures of me and him on vacation. The looks on our faces like we were the happiest family in the world. There were some of me and mom but way more of me and him. As I stand in front of the door with stickers on it that spelled out “ kylie’s room” that I made when I was little I reach my hand out grab the doorknob and turn it. The door creaks open. I stand there and just look into my room. Me and him painted that room together while mom was at work. Poster of all the “hot” famous people filled the walls. The mirror I had in my room was filled with pictures of me and my friends. White metal poles and little flower painted porcelain hearts made up my bed. I sit on my bed it makes a squeaky noise as I sit down. The light from the sun fills the room and my eyes are attracted to the light. I stare out the window&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8838543590294180292-5270827858739987763?l=kyliemars.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kyliemars.blogspot.com/feeds/5270827858739987763/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8838543590294180292&amp;postID=5270827858739987763' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8838543590294180292/posts/default/5270827858739987763'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8838543590294180292/posts/default/5270827858739987763'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kyliemars.blogspot.com/2007/06/memory.html' title='*Memory*'/><author><name>KyLiE rOsE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14506420016986188683</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://i116.photobucket.com/albums/o23/playboo893/a_9fc7ae0b290fd44cf0de0dcc579d58-1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8838543590294180292.post-190912186324671830</id><published>2007-06-08T07:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-08T08:14:28.256-07:00</updated><title type='text'>* Winchester Mystery House*</title><content type='html'>The Winchester Mystery House is in San Jose California. In 1884 a women named Sarah Winchester widow to the her late husband who invented the Winchester rifle started construction on this huge house. Sarah went to a psychic and the psychic told her that all the people killed by the rifle were going to come back and haunt her. Sarah started construction on this imamaculate mansion. She was intregued by the number 13 all of her windows had 13 window panes of glass, the green house had 13 cupolas, the wooden floors contained 13 sections, some of the rooms had 13 windows and every staircases had 13 steps. There were 160 rooms including 40 bedrooms and 2 ballrooms. It had 47 fireplaces , 10,000 window panes, 17 chimneys, 2 basements and 3 elevators. The construction on this house continued for 38 years 24 hours a day and 7 days a week. This mansion had doors that would lead to a brick wall or doors that would lead to the outside about 50 feet down. Stairways that would lead to the ceilings and hallways that would get smaller as you would walk down them. This house has had my interest since I seen it on T.V. about 4 years ago. My hole interest in ghosts started around then and had continued till now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8838543590294180292-190912186324671830?l=kyliemars.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kyliemars.blogspot.com/feeds/190912186324671830/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8838543590294180292&amp;postID=190912186324671830' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8838543590294180292/posts/default/190912186324671830'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8838543590294180292/posts/default/190912186324671830'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kyliemars.blogspot.com/2007/06/winchester-mystery-house.html' title='* Winchester Mystery House*'/><author><name>KyLiE rOsE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14506420016986188683</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://i116.photobucket.com/albums/o23/playboo893/a_9fc7ae0b290fd44cf0de0dcc579d58-1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8838543590294180292.post-8332658587456940060</id><published>2007-06-07T07:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-07T08:05:33.043-07:00</updated><title type='text'>&gt; sUbToTaLs&lt;</title><content type='html'>Number of pets: 1. Number of cruises I have been on: 14. Number of times I went swimming after eating: 4,562. Number of times I got cramps from doing that: 2. Number f pairs of sneakers I own: 39. Number of them I wear: 10. Number of times I have been in "Love": 3. Number of times it was for real: 1. Number of laptops owned: 1. Number of times I got in a fight: 1. Number of times I in a fight with my dad: 478 with my mom: 278. Number of times I was I was invisible: 524. Number of schools I attended: 1. Number of times I dropped my cell phone: 263. Number of times I dropped it in the toilet: 2. Number of times I have stolen: 10. Number of times I got caught: 0. Number of times I dyed my hair: 28. Number of times I got surgery: 0. Number of times I've had a crush : 26 Teachers: 3 Friends:10 Other: 26. Number of chicken fingers consumed: 4,221. Number of times I have been out of the country: 300 Canada: 299 Italy: 1. Number of times I was driving but didn't know where to: 201. Number of teeth pulled: 1. Number of root canals: 1. Number of x-rays: 3. Number of airplanes I have been on: 35. Number of trees climbed: 1. Number of tree's that I couldn't get out of: 1. Number of boyfriends I have had: 7. Number of times my mom told me to slow down while driving: 3,476. Number of times I listened: 0. Number of Sabres games I have been to: 8. Number of playoff games I have been to: 3. Number of times I told my dad I loved him: 5,673. Number of times I told my mom I loved her: 18, Number of tattoos I have: 9. Number of them I regret: 0. Number of times I wish I could bring someone back: 363. Number of times when I thought I wasn't good enough: 201. Number of things I regret in my life: 0.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8838543590294180292-8332658587456940060?l=kyliemars.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kyliemars.blogspot.com/feeds/8332658587456940060/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8838543590294180292&amp;postID=8332658587456940060' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8838543590294180292/posts/default/8332658587456940060'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8838543590294180292/posts/default/8332658587456940060'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kyliemars.blogspot.com/2007/06/subtotals.html' title='&gt; sUbToTaLs&lt;'/><author><name>KyLiE rOsE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14506420016986188683</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://i116.photobucket.com/albums/o23/playboo893/a_9fc7ae0b290fd44cf0de0dcc579d58-1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8838543590294180292.post-2338989986834908146</id><published>2007-06-05T18:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-05T19:26:10.769-07:00</updated><title type='text'>*Girl*</title><content type='html'>~GIRL~&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; This is how you love. This how you love back. This is how you miss someone you love. This is how they miss you back. This is how you cry. This is how you try and hide when your crying. This is how you hide your problems. This is how you talk about your problems. This is how you become a senior 2 years in a row. This is how you do your work and graduate. This is how you take our your anger. This is how you take out your anger on other people. This is how you dress if you want to fit in. This is how you dress if you are your own person. This is how you eat and look like a model. This is how you don't eat. This is how you be a leader not a follower. This is how you let people tell you how to live your life. This is how you decide how your life is going to go. This is how you talk to someone who you like. This is how you talk to someone you hate. This is how you act in front of your friends. This is how you act in front of people you don't know. This is how you tell your true friends from you fake friends. This is how you tell a secret. This is how you keep a secret. This is how you talk to you mom. This is how you talk to your grandmother. This is how you stick up for yourself. This is how you fake sick. This is how you fake sick and get caught. This is how you make friends. This is how you make enemies. This is how you cook. This is how you burn everything you cook. This is how you dress to be slutty. This is how you learn your lesson. This is how you respect your elders. This is how you get in trouble. This is how you hold a grudge. This is how you learn to forgive and forget.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8838543590294180292-2338989986834908146?l=kyliemars.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kyliemars.blogspot.com/feeds/2338989986834908146/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8838543590294180292&amp;postID=2338989986834908146' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8838543590294180292/posts/default/2338989986834908146'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8838543590294180292/posts/default/2338989986834908146'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kyliemars.blogspot.com/2007/06/girl.html' title='*Girl*'/><author><name>KyLiE rOsE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14506420016986188683</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://i116.photobucket.com/albums/o23/playboo893/a_9fc7ae0b290fd44cf0de0dcc579d58-1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8838543590294180292.post-6633339074455456087</id><published>2007-06-05T18:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-05T18:41:23.935-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Letter'/><title type='text'>~ Letter For My Daddy~</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Daddy,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    You have always been there when I needed you but where have you been lately? You used to cheer me up when I was was upset but where have you been lately? When mommy said no you were always there to tell me yes but all I have been hearing is no. When I didn't get my way and started to cry you made sure you did something to make me feel better but you haven't done that lately. When I was scared at night you were always there to comfort me well daddy I'm scared and your not here. When I was sick you made me feel better but now your again sick and there is nothing I can do to help. You never call me that much anymore Are you to busy for me? You don't seem like you care like you used to.  I am still daddy's little girl. When you used to live with me and mommy I thought nothing would go wrong now look what happened. Me and mommy don't live with you anymore. On the outside it looks like I'm fine and nothing is wrong but deep down I wanna cry when I think about how things used to be with me you and mommy. You taught me so much that without you I would never know. Daddy we are so alike me and you maybe that's why we fight? But we haven't got in a fight lately that would require at least talking to each other and we don't do that. Daddy do you still love me? Because I love you no matter what. Everyone makes mistakes daddy was I yours? Mommy says bad things about you but I try not to listen because I know you daddy. I wanna grow up to be just like you and you are honestly my Hero. I look up to you daddy and I care so much about you do you feel the same about me? You tell me you love me do you mean it or do you just say it because im your daughter? because I mean it. You are my best friend daddy am I yours? If I showed you this would you even read it or would you just put it with the other papers? When I wrote this I couldn't stop crying. Would you even shed a tear? Remember when you were in the hospital and I was to young to come in and you used to wave to me from your hospital room window? Did you even care that I was there? Because I know I prayed for you every night to get better. Well daddy I hope to hear from you soon I love you forever * Your little Angel *&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8838543590294180292-6633339074455456087?l=kyliemars.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kyliemars.blogspot.com/feeds/6633339074455456087/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8838543590294180292&amp;postID=6633339074455456087' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8838543590294180292/posts/default/6633339074455456087'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8838543590294180292/posts/default/6633339074455456087'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kyliemars.blogspot.com/2007/06/letter-for-my-daddy.html' title='~ Letter For My Daddy~'/><author><name>KyLiE rOsE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14506420016986188683</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://i116.photobucket.com/albums/o23/playboo893/a_9fc7ae0b290fd44cf0de0dcc579d58-1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8838543590294180292.post-989132338588326146</id><published>2007-06-04T07:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-05T08:15:06.476-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Haunted Cemetery'/><title type='text'>~ Gootleburg Cemetery ~</title><content type='html'>Ghosts- The spirit of a dead person, especially one believed to appear in bodily likeness to living persons or to haunt former habitats.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;           The thought of ghosts makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up but yet I still go hunting for these unidentified ghosts. Gootleburg Cemetary has to be my favorite places to go and test my fears of not only the dark but the ghostly apparitions that reside there. This cememtary has been there for about 187 + years. The story of Gootleburg is very skechy because no one really know exactly what happened. The story says that a Doctor performed illegal abortions and buried the corpses of the babies and the unlucky mothers about a foot or two underground. The Doctor performed an abortion on his wife and his was tragically dies during the operation. The guilt of his wife's lose led him to hang himself from a huge tree in the cemetery it is the first tree you see when u walk into the cemetery. There over 100 burials and only about 15 gravestones that makes you wonder what happened to them? The graves at Gootleburg are very worn down and broken. And teenagers think it is the cool think to do knock over gravestones and hit the gravestones with empty bottles. There is also a legend that if you take something from the cemetery you are cursed with bad luck until you return it. I heard a story about this guy who decided to test the legend so he took a rock from under the tree where the Dr. hung himself and on the way home he got in a car accident and got sued by the other driver and also lost his job and broke his arm and leg. The guy returnded the rock about 2 months later and after he returned it and he got his job back and the person who was sueing him dropped the charges. Whether that story is true or not no one knows but it still crepped me out.  I have been there about 10 times and everytime I go I still feel the butterflies and the nervous feeling in my stomach. As we park out infront of the the stone steaps leading into the cemetary I glance into the darkness hoping not to see anything. As I shut off my car headlights the light that was reflecting off the moon now seems to have disappeared. You can barely see your hand infront of your face. Even though I went tons of times I still haven't seen anything like a full body apparition and some way I am glad and therer is a part of me who is disappointed. When I see something actually worth posting I will post it with full discription.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8838543590294180292-989132338588326146?l=kyliemars.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kyliemars.blogspot.com/feeds/989132338588326146/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8838543590294180292&amp;postID=989132338588326146' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8838543590294180292/posts/default/989132338588326146'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8838543590294180292/posts/default/989132338588326146'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kyliemars.blogspot.com/2007/06/gootleburg-cemetery.html' title='~ Gootleburg Cemetery ~'/><author><name>KyLiE rOsE</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14506420016986188683</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://i116.photobucket.com/albums/o23/playboo893/a_9fc7ae0b290fd44cf0de0dcc579d58-1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry></feed>
