<?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-31520927</id><updated>2011-04-21T18:37:44.523-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Women are Evil</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wrevil.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31520927/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wrevil.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Dawn Treader</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12888454101395558648</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='14' height='32' src='http://static.flickr.com/31/59323198_36668d45ef_m.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>15</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31520927.post-5854682824644354348</id><published>2008-01-25T07:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-25T07:19:54.903-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Since, Sins</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;I was looking through some of the past comments and realized that I did not even get to evaluate them and think about doing something for their part. Most of those that did comment were, as I browsed, women.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of them, a lady named faye, tries to convince her peers not to ever get caught into the idiocy that is loving a man that is undeserving. I say thank you for her big stride in reaching out. However, we do believe that it is a rather, big, big world out there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are to continually see that women seem to be at a disadvantage when they become very emotional about their experiences in relationships. Top it off with the fact that men, in their silliness and arrogance, fail to see this and end up with a commonly misunderstood state - hurt. For both sides, though they may not know it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I say that there are two things that a woman should do: 1) Be proud. Being a woman is all there is to make men the way they should be - lovers, sincere partners. It is only when your pride begins to crumble that the men end up treading on you and never again see you for who you really are; and 2) Be accepting. Men always say, in cases where we do feel the hurt - that there are a lot of fish in the sea. Women should also accept that men can come and go out of your lives as well, and there's that much that you can do about it. Bitterness doesn't take that away, everyone already knows.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So here's to women - beauty, bitterness, but nothing less. Feel free. Live free. Be free. (Sounding like a sanitary napkin commercial).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31520927-5854682824644354348?l=wrevil.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wrevil.blogspot.com/feeds/5854682824644354348/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31520927&amp;postID=5854682824644354348' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31520927/posts/default/5854682824644354348'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31520927/posts/default/5854682824644354348'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wrevil.blogspot.com/2008/01/since-sins.html' title='Since, Sins'/><author><name>Dawn Treader</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12888454101395558648</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='14' height='32' src='http://static.flickr.com/31/59323198_36668d45ef_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31520927.post-8157085899330822299</id><published>2007-04-21T08:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-24T05:05:28.375-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Smart Women are Stupid in Love</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I remember talking to one of my woman friends and ended up recalling other friends who are of mental caliber, yet have fallen into the pit of stupidity.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Women friends who are really smart with the textbooks and the principles behind each written word, and yet I would hear about them getting dumped, ending up dumping, or duped into pregnancy by their men counterparts (or stupider men counterparts).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I asked this friend of mine, "So does that trend show us that women who may be at the top of their game in geekhood tend to be susceptible to, say, getting the crash in love?" I do remember she responded with the affirmative.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I have no explanation for this phenomenon. Neither do I have anything that can reverse it. All I know is that the other side of the fence shows women who are overtly naive, or are wild in the outside, and yet they end up being able to manage hitching up with marriage without getting pregnant and getting with a guy who is the darling of the world.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;There is no self-righteousness behind this though. At some point, everybody, especially men, can make mistakes. But why the smart women? Why do we term them, SMART women?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I need help.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31520927-8157085899330822299?l=wrevil.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wrevil.blogspot.com/feeds/8157085899330822299/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31520927&amp;postID=8157085899330822299' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31520927/posts/default/8157085899330822299'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31520927/posts/default/8157085899330822299'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wrevil.blogspot.com/2007/04/smart-women-are-stupid-in-love.html' title='Smart Women are Stupid in Love'/><author><name>Dawn Treader</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12888454101395558648</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='14' height='32' src='http://static.flickr.com/31/59323198_36668d45ef_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31520927.post-7210935795269487986</id><published>2007-04-19T06:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-19T07:05:12.687-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Stomach This</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Real women are a dying breed. If I were a believer of evolution (which I am not), I'd say they have reached a pinnacle that should not have been ventured to. They have arrested themselves to a point of irrelevance. I prove this by coming to one point - women have abandoned fine cooking.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;My generation's women seem to have nothing else in their mind except for careers and the ladder to success. I feel appalled by this because they seem to think that competing with men and the world is all there is to bring them to recognition. Not that the past had nothing to teach us about obscuring the role of women in our life's game. It just seems ridiculous now that women tend to want to prove themselves more and more. What they miss is that they are taking themselves into prominence less and less.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;How has this age "refined" our women? The fast track. The microwave. The pizza dinners. For what? A taste of the ol' "if men can do it, so can we." Motherhood can wait. My husband's dinner doesn't have to be special. "I have to work." Work like a man. Talk like a man. Beat the crap out of the man. Cooking is for the oppressed. "I can think for myself."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;What is wrong with being able to feed your husband and family a decent, delectable meal? Why do you have to go into corporate careers when you can be loved just the way you are? Is there no fulfillment in being able to supply your family with love through homemade desserts? Where have the women who KNOW how to cook gone?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;The real woman would know that it is best to tell a man that dinner is ready rather than that the paycheck has already wasted over. A real man would know that it is easier to tell the real woman how delicious this evening's dinner is than it is to tell her about the hard day at work.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Stop spreading the falsity that men want women who are their equals. We want women who can cook, and can cook real good. Because in that, we can never, ever beat you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31520927-7210935795269487986?l=wrevil.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wrevil.blogspot.com/feeds/7210935795269487986/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31520927&amp;postID=7210935795269487986' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31520927/posts/default/7210935795269487986'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31520927/posts/default/7210935795269487986'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wrevil.blogspot.com/2007/04/stomach-this.html' title='Stomach This'/><author><name>Dawn Treader</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12888454101395558648</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='14' height='32' src='http://static.flickr.com/31/59323198_36668d45ef_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31520927.post-411705508033277759</id><published>2007-02-12T06:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-12T06:22:52.577-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Valentines is Dead</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Women, or those who claim to be, love February 14th. Although a small number do end up loathing it, many are still trapped in its trance and subject themselves to the big lie that is love for one day.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Interestingly, this seeming "love" day is undetectly coated with so much selfish intentions and wanton disregard for other people's feelings that it proceeds to become one of my topmost hated, how to put it, "special days"?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Take for example, the following scenario:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;"Where are we going today?" says the lady.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;"Where do you want to go?" says the gentleman.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;"You should think about something special. It's Valentines."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;"I can't think of anything."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;"You should have."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;"Well, I'll stay with you today. I'll just skip work and I'll cook you your favorite dinner."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;"No, you should have thought of something special. Why didn't you get reservations for a restaurant or something? Did you even get me flowers?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;"I didn't think it was such a big deal."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;"Of course its a big deal. I know Tanya and her boyfriend are going to watch that lovely concert today. Now that's special."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;"Well, I'm not Tanya's boyfriend OK? Isn't being with you today enough."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;"You can't just slack off like that. You were supposed to do something special for me."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;"I could try..."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;"Too late."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;"But..."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;"You've ruined my day. I don't want to see you."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;"Fine..."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;"I wish some other guy would ask me out."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;"Happy Valentines then!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Of course, this might happen with over the course of a bratty girl movie with all-loving guy next door. But then again, wouldn't it happen to you?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Here's a flower. And yeah, I sent you the bill. @)--&gt;----- &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31520927-411705508033277759?l=wrevil.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wrevil.blogspot.com/feeds/411705508033277759/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31520927&amp;postID=411705508033277759' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31520927/posts/default/411705508033277759'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31520927/posts/default/411705508033277759'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wrevil.blogspot.com/2007/02/valentines-is-dead.html' title='Valentines is Dead'/><author><name>Dawn Treader</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12888454101395558648</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='14' height='32' src='http://static.flickr.com/31/59323198_36668d45ef_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31520927.post-116238853816750470</id><published>2006-11-01T05:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-01T05:42:19.410-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"I want to have Children"</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;I've heard this from some friends before, women of course, and they say it with so much enthusiasm as if they can say that during their labor pains. (Of course people will easily say that I myself have not been into labor and have no right to speak of it, but I did have physiological pains of my own for which none of you women will ever understand.) Painful wanderings aside, I get confused as to whether or not wanting to have children was a noble aim or a blind alternative to reality.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;I would not hear this from men though. Is this some kind of gender divide, or is the thought of fostering another life within one's own body such a great experience that women will be willing to sacrifice their physique, career, and sometimes, sanity to want to get pregnant or want to have children? Is it the joy of having some little gentleman or lady tug at your skirt as they ask for something so innocent that you could easily give them a hug of delight for? Or maybe its the words that you can tell them while they sleep, knowing that in the morning they'll tell you that they had a dream and you were in it speaking to them?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;I may never understand it, but I guess those words should not be taken lightly. Women and children have always been together, in literature, in films, and in evacuations. Whatever strikes the bond, men might just have to learn to follow suit.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31520927-116238853816750470?l=wrevil.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wrevil.blogspot.com/feeds/116238853816750470/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31520927&amp;postID=116238853816750470' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31520927/posts/default/116238853816750470'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31520927/posts/default/116238853816750470'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wrevil.blogspot.com/2006/11/i-want-to-have-children.html' title='&quot;I want to have Children&quot;'/><author><name>Dawn Treader</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12888454101395558648</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='14' height='32' src='http://static.flickr.com/31/59323198_36668d45ef_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31520927.post-116109140579364464</id><published>2006-10-17T06:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-17T06:25:05.566-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Woman to Fall For is Always Taken . . .</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:85%;" &gt;Chatting online brings up a lot of weird things, including a weird thought. But not all weird things are untrue. Suddenly we got to a couple of sentences that led me to this idea - that when a guy sees a woman, someone he could fall in love with, more often than not, she's taken.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There may be some reasons for this, and I can only outline a few.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. She's way too gorgeous. Men are known to be attracted primarily with a woman's appearance. A woman who has her way with grooming, her physique, her styles. You know what I mean. And since men are generalized this way, there can be only one that can sweep her off of her feet (and usually, it ain't you, my main man).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. She's way too sophisticated. Another attraction-factor that men fall for is when they find a woman who does not get intimidated immediately by a man's, uhm, charms? She is independent, responsible, intelligent, and introspective. Only guys who can rise above her challenges can persuade her to take his hand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. She's way too enigmatic. In the words of Shrek, "Women, are like onions..." They stink. Or they have layers. Lots of it. And if you don't understand them, well, you're out of the league for now. But there are many a man who will be able to penetrate like knives, to the deepest core of the woman's psyche until suddenly they break through thick walls. And women, I guess by mere intuition, let such guys in. And if you weren't the type, that woman will remain a stinky onion in your dreams.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess you can still add to this list, though it does depress me that it has to be like this. There are a lot of women out there, hopefully single, who can be for the men longing for a partner. Or there could be women, who, suddenly reach out their hand to touch somebody else's. Good luck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31520927-116109140579364464?l=wrevil.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wrevil.blogspot.com/feeds/116109140579364464/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31520927&amp;postID=116109140579364464' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31520927/posts/default/116109140579364464'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31520927/posts/default/116109140579364464'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wrevil.blogspot.com/2006/10/woman-to-fall-for-is-always-taken.html' title='The Woman to Fall For is Always Taken . . .'/><author><name>Dawn Treader</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12888454101395558648</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='14' height='32' src='http://static.flickr.com/31/59323198_36668d45ef_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31520927.post-116100404667091997</id><published>2006-10-16T05:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-16T06:07:26.690-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Women are From As Ifs, Men are As Ifs</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;"Why don't you eat more? You're so skinny!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;"It's ok to be skinny. I'm a woman so it's ok to be skinny."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;That hurt, really, because I, a man of 27 years, is skinny.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;I was trying to get what she meant in a straighter face, but I had to blurt out that she just concluded what women are supposed to be - skinny. I just typed the word three times, and it still hurts.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;And in a subtle way somehow she implied what men are supposed to be - not skinny. I guess men are meant to be buff, big, and brawny. And I guess women of this type (big, buff, AND brawny) are bound to be, if not horribly stereotyped, not in the league of those who are blessed with amazingly precise vital statistics and petite contours.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;As if men are all born into this world with the same physique, with the same appetites, with the same outlooks. As if women were supposed be angry with their natural inclination to keep more fat and water in their bodies (thus have more weight compared to the men of the same build probably). As if women don't have the right to indulge in an appetite that they think society implies as gluttonous when it is merely a partaking of blessings. As if there will always be something wrong with size and build that nature itself has bestowed upon you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;I guess I don't need to rub it in. As if.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31520927-116100404667091997?l=wrevil.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wrevil.blogspot.com/feeds/116100404667091997/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31520927&amp;postID=116100404667091997' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31520927/posts/default/116100404667091997'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31520927/posts/default/116100404667091997'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wrevil.blogspot.com/2006/10/women-are-from-as-ifs-men-are-as-ifs.html' title='Women are From As Ifs, Men are As Ifs'/><author><name>Dawn Treader</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12888454101395558648</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='14' height='32' src='http://static.flickr.com/31/59323198_36668d45ef_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31520927.post-116065595859225080</id><published>2006-10-12T05:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-12T05:25:58.606-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Nice</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;"Why didn't your past relationships work out when you seem like a very nice guy?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;"I don't think women dig good guys anymore."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;She went on to say that somehow it was true. Women tend to look for a challenge, something that can go wrong with a relationship. Something that needs a tremendous amount of effort to solve. Something that to a point, gets them out of the boredom that is their "nice guy."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;She said that somehow when women get bored they at least want their guy to become like a werewolf of some sorts (this, my interpretation). Change into someone, or something. A bad guy. A real, bad, a** of a guy. And then they're not bored anymore. So you'd hope.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;But then I had to smile when suddenly she says, "But *** is a nice guy. And I like him just the way he is."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Men, we have not lived our lives in vain. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31520927-116065595859225080?l=wrevil.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wrevil.blogspot.com/feeds/116065595859225080/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31520927&amp;postID=116065595859225080' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31520927/posts/default/116065595859225080'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31520927/posts/default/116065595859225080'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wrevil.blogspot.com/2006/10/nice.html' title='Nice'/><author><name>Dawn Treader</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12888454101395558648</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='14' height='32' src='http://static.flickr.com/31/59323198_36668d45ef_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31520927.post-115769658889673764</id><published>2006-09-07T23:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-07T23:23:08.910-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pick Up</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;I was going to quote this but as for the word "censorship" in this series, I opted not to. This is not for the faint of heart, but I laughed so hard with this I could die.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.kolumbus.fi/antti.brax/FUN/SEX.html"&gt;Click me&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31520927-115769658889673764?l=wrevil.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wrevil.blogspot.com/feeds/115769658889673764/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31520927&amp;postID=115769658889673764' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31520927/posts/default/115769658889673764'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31520927/posts/default/115769658889673764'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wrevil.blogspot.com/2006/09/pick-up.html' title='Pick Up'/><author><name>Dawn Treader</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12888454101395558648</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='14' height='32' src='http://static.flickr.com/31/59323198_36668d45ef_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31520927.post-115709521480183388</id><published>2006-09-01T00:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-01T00:20:14.936-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Midnight Mad</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;It was almost twelve o'clock. I was in a state of numbness, but I was kept awake but a very interesting conversation with a friend. A local in these islands who goes to school in my homeland. He just broke up with a long-time relationship. And right now I can hardly believe how much we had in common in thoughts about them, the women.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;"Women don't know what they want." A statement, I must admit, that did not affect me, until now. I asked inside my head, "What about Mel Gibson's movie?"  I was dead wrong.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;"Women don't know what they want. They have ideals, especially about guys that they want to have a relationship with. But when they get that exact guy that'll fit their mindset, they end up wanting something, or someone else."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;He proceeded to tell me that he asked one of his lady-friends about whether his hypothesis was true. Apparently she told him that women did know what they want. Every girl wanted security, good looks, time, care, and all of that. She broke down the list and told him that women will know what they want, it seemed. He said she paused a minute, and then told him: "Wait. Women don't actually know what they want." Case closed.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;I have been in that situation. Being tugged from one garment and shoe store to the next. I was being honest. It was a boring experience. The only thing that kept me going was that she assured me that we were going to go to the toy store to check out the new Gundam models after her "window" shops. Sometimes she did buy something, and she'd ask me if they would look great on her. I would tell her it was perfect. She ends up putting it back on the shelf or rack, and we were off to new store adventures.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Some of my lady friends would spend so much time looking at the mirror, checking if their clothes would match their shoes, or nails, or hairstyles. They would ask our opinion, but they end up not liking it. Women don't know what they want. How can they know what they need?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;What women want: the ability to not show that they are completely clueless in this Earth.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31520927-115709521480183388?l=wrevil.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wrevil.blogspot.com/feeds/115709521480183388/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31520927&amp;postID=115709521480183388' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31520927/posts/default/115709521480183388'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31520927/posts/default/115709521480183388'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wrevil.blogspot.com/2006/09/midnight-mad.html' title='Midnight Mad'/><author><name>Dawn Treader</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12888454101395558648</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='14' height='32' src='http://static.flickr.com/31/59323198_36668d45ef_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31520927.post-115625216254618139</id><published>2006-08-22T05:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-22T06:09:22.560-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Rule One</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:85%;" &gt;A friend and I developed what was soon to be called: Rule One. The only provision to it was to never assume anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Women, in my opinion do not understand Rule One. I say this because I have met a lot of them who seem to make it a habit to assume a lot of things, especially things about guys. For example, a guy treats you like a princess. What's the first thing you assume? He likes you. Buzz. Nope. A lot of guys (trust me on this one) are just trying to preserve the gentleman's genes. So, yes, he does like you as a friend. Nothing more than that. Your reaction: He should die.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another example: your best friend is going out with this absolutely impossible-to-be-your-friend type of guy. You tell her that he's not the man for her. She tells you, he's perfect. You assume she's insane. Dear, she is not. She is merely exercising her right to be happy, not just with you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guy at work is a pig. That's what you assume. What you don't know is that he is the most caring, honest, and sincere person in your whole office. Also goes with the other girl you hate the most.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You assume that men are ALL pigs. My advice - Rule One.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31520927-115625216254618139?l=wrevil.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wrevil.blogspot.com/feeds/115625216254618139/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31520927&amp;postID=115625216254618139' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31520927/posts/default/115625216254618139'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31520927/posts/default/115625216254618139'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wrevil.blogspot.com/2006/08/rule-one.html' title='Rule One'/><author><name>Dawn Treader</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12888454101395558648</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='14' height='32' src='http://static.flickr.com/31/59323198_36668d45ef_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31520927.post-115547828264997794</id><published>2006-08-13T06:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-13T07:11:22.673-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Epidermal Outgrowths and Such</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;There is only ONE thing that women have in common - their vanity towards hair.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;For a woman, there is no such thing as a bad hair day. It will never be counted as just a day. Most of the time it's just bad hair, that is, in her own perspective. And as long as there is a mirror around, those loathsome locks would never go away.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;I have to be honest. A lot of times I would not notice whether there was a change in some woman's hair (even if she did made it obvious for me to see), especially those who have longer-than-above-the-shoulder types. They'd say, "Doesn't it look great?" I'd say, "Where've you been?" No, my eyes don't fail me. It's just that men can't possibly spend more than $10 to have a "trim."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Rebonding. Hot oil treatments. Shampoo? Sometimes women do all of these. And I still can't tell the difference. But what ticks me more is the fact that a lot of times, these same women will get frustrated that they don't have "that look" to boot, for their dress or shoes, or sometimes, even for their partner. Invite a guy to wait for you while you get that perm, and we'll be able to find out all the celebrities and their beauty secrets simply by reading those worthless fashion magazines that're only available in your local hair salon. And when the "tadaaa" finally comes up, all we can say will be, "that looks great honey," with a grin. I might be lying, I might not. Who could tell. You won't like what we'll say anyway because you'll still want more done on those black, blonde, or brunette glory of yours.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Your man will never think ill of you because of your hair. Face it, we don't care. You can even go for that G.I. Jane look. Personally one who can do that will certainly be at the top of my book, as long as this woman can be confident enough to feel that it will never be how those dead cells in your head are twined and twisted. It will always be you, who you are to the guy you think you love.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Eventually it will all be done and over and in a couple of days that hair treatment (expensive ones too) will be washed out into the drain. And your man will simply say the same thing. "You look great honey."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31520927-115547828264997794?l=wrevil.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wrevil.blogspot.com/feeds/115547828264997794/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31520927&amp;postID=115547828264997794' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31520927/posts/default/115547828264997794'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31520927/posts/default/115547828264997794'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wrevil.blogspot.com/2006/08/epidermal-outgrowths-and-such.html' title='Epidermal Outgrowths and Such'/><author><name>Dawn Treader</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12888454101395558648</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='14' height='32' src='http://static.flickr.com/31/59323198_36668d45ef_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31520927.post-115521985501937017</id><published>2006-08-10T07:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-10T07:26:19.663-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Conversations</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Having come from a recent breakup herself, she asked me: "What's wrong with you guys? Why are men so neglectful?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;I thought about that deeply. Hers was a sincere point, something that seemed to have been spawned by so many a generalizations. To top it off, she gets the idea from my ex-significant other. I've heard that before pertaining to me: "You were neglectful, that is why you two fell apart." Regrettably, I guess it was true.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;And then this thought came to mind: "Men are neglectful, in many cases, but women," I thought. "Women have always been distrustful."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;I told my friend this and she was looking at me like I was joking. "Women don't trust men when we tell them we love them so much." I gave her examples. Women, in my opinion, will always think that forgetting a special occasion in the relationship is an unpardonable sin. Men who commit this are not only neglectful, they also do not deserve the woman's trust. They will never believe that there is such a thing as an honest mistake. They will never believe that the men still love them.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;The conditions will always be set with women. "This and this and this will prove to me that you love me." I say it is a show of lack of faith towards your man. The consequence of neglect is the withdrawal of trust.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Finally my friend told me that I had a fine point with that argument. So she asked next, "What do we do to solve that then?" I told her, "Men should stop being neglectful, and the women have to trust them."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31520927-115521985501937017?l=wrevil.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wrevil.blogspot.com/feeds/115521985501937017/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31520927&amp;postID=115521985501937017' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31520927/posts/default/115521985501937017'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31520927/posts/default/115521985501937017'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wrevil.blogspot.com/2006/08/conversations.html' title='Conversations'/><author><name>Dawn Treader</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12888454101395558648</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='14' height='32' src='http://static.flickr.com/31/59323198_36668d45ef_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31520927.post-115521876880307189</id><published>2006-08-10T07:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-10T07:06:08.816-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Brief . . . Intro</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;A couple from the US comes to visit us over here at the islands, and I learned that his wife was trueblood the same as my ethnic background. I have become fond of westerners after about more than three years working with them, and so I struck gold with our conversations.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;The couple ended up telling us how they met, what they thought of each other, how they parted ways the first time, and ended up marrying each other. It was a great story, but a concept just kept popping up that made me think: What are women and why do men so foolishly love them? He replies: "Because women are evil."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;I promised everybody that I was going to write a book about it. Of course, all this publishing hassle just wouldn't cut it. So why not start now? My thoughts are yours. Let the bashing begin.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31520927-115521876880307189?l=wrevil.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wrevil.blogspot.com/feeds/115521876880307189/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31520927&amp;postID=115521876880307189' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31520927/posts/default/115521876880307189'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31520927/posts/default/115521876880307189'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wrevil.blogspot.com/2006/08/brief-intro.html' title='A Brief . . . Intro'/><author><name>Dawn Treader</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12888454101395558648</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='14' height='32' src='http://static.flickr.com/31/59323198_36668d45ef_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31520927.post-115361904627425739</id><published>2006-07-22T18:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-22T18:44:06.283-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What You're Gonna Get</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Brace yourselves. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31520927-115361904627425739?l=wrevil.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wrevil.blogspot.com/feeds/115361904627425739/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31520927&amp;postID=115361904627425739' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31520927/posts/default/115361904627425739'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31520927/posts/default/115361904627425739'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wrevil.blogspot.com/2006/07/what-youre-gonna-get.html' title='What You&apos;re Gonna Get'/><author><name>Dawn Treader</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12888454101395558648</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='14' height='32' src='http://static.flickr.com/31/59323198_36668d45ef_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
