<?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-5521052947444505370</id><updated>2012-02-16T22:15:44.856-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Dating the Army</title><subtitle type='html'>trading my pearls for his dog tags</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Stacey</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16803930828209820282</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SI8WH89ct6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/5nTMdWrfI0U/S220/Copy+of+IMG_0999_edited-2.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>39</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521052947444505370.post-187588550833794355</id><published>2008-11-07T17:39:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-07T17:53:06.397-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Death before Dishonor</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SRTDyL7gbiI/AAAAAAAAAF4/NPsbbwnK5aU/s1600-h/DSC04674.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SRTDyL7gbiI/AAAAAAAAAF4/NPsbbwnK5aU/s320/DSC04674.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5266049131266207266" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;So, I'm sitting here, worried. Mike told me 2 days ago that he would be heading into Iraq by helicopter. I haven't heard from him in what seems like forever. I know it's only been two days since he's called but, I'm worried.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's different now that he is actually overseas. I no longer count on a text message in the morning. I'm trying to get used to not talking to him. I've been trying to keep busy but subconsciously I'm really worried.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm trying to stay positive but there are a lot of things hindering me from feeling okay. I just want to be happy.  I just want Mike to come home.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5521052947444505370-187588550833794355?l=datingthearmy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/feeds/187588550833794355/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5521052947444505370&amp;postID=187588550833794355' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/187588550833794355'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/187588550833794355'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/2008/11/death-before-dishonor.html' title='Death before Dishonor'/><author><name>Stacey</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16803930828209820282</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SI8WH89ct6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/5nTMdWrfI0U/S220/Copy+of+IMG_0999_edited-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SRTDyL7gbiI/AAAAAAAAAF4/NPsbbwnK5aU/s72-c/DSC04674.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521052947444505370.post-3275739130330210535</id><published>2008-11-04T07:30:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-04T07:34:05.277-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Half My Heart</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SRBBK457IqI/AAAAAAAAAFw/mIMLd5OKtZk/s1600-h/DSC04951-1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SRBBK457IqI/AAAAAAAAAFw/mIMLd5OKtZk/s320/DSC04951-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264779619725943458" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is in Iraq. Mike left from his post yesterday to Kuwait. He called me from Maine to tell me he's alright but i haven't heard from him yet. He still might be on the flight to Germany. I miss him terribly. Being in the states is one thing, but being across the world is another.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I already started freaking out yesterday and now I'm just waiting for him to call.  He got a nice Nikon digital camera and a lap top so he can send me photos. He also has a webcam installed in his computer so we can talk!! I need to get a webcam and then I'm all set!! I hope everything will be ok, I know it will be. I'm just trying to be strong right now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5521052947444505370-3275739130330210535?l=datingthearmy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/feeds/3275739130330210535/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5521052947444505370&amp;postID=3275739130330210535' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/3275739130330210535'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/3275739130330210535'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/2008/11/half-my-heart.html' title='Half My Heart'/><author><name>Stacey</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16803930828209820282</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SI8WH89ct6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/5nTMdWrfI0U/S220/Copy+of+IMG_0999_edited-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SRBBK457IqI/AAAAAAAAAFw/mIMLd5OKtZk/s72-c/DSC04951-1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521052947444505370.post-3954439060819816504</id><published>2008-10-18T09:44:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-18T09:57:00.691-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Diamonds and Pearls</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SPnpCehQkrI/AAAAAAAAAFo/LqLSJYNF1P0/s1600-h/IMG_2034.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SPnpCehQkrI/AAAAAAAAAFo/LqLSJYNF1P0/s320/IMG_2034.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5258490268693336754" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I miss him so much. I cannot even begin to explain how I feel right now. I'm a mixture of all emotions. He leaves for 'the sandbox' in about 2 weeks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish he could just come home and take me away to Charleston. Our big plan for when he comes home on his leave is to pack up and get on a plane to South Carolina. We are going to spend a week in the Holy City (Charleston). We will be looking for apartments there for when he comes home for good. That's right, we're moving together to South Carolina. My parents are fine with it and I'm so excited to start my own life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just want him to come home to me. I'm being a good girl for him and I want him home so badly. I want all of his to be over with and I want him to be safe. I need him here... This deployment has been so hard and he hasn't even gone overseas yet. Not only will I be lonely this time, I'll be worried as well. I'm really not sure how I am going to react to him being SO far away, but I think we will make it. Mike really knows what he is doing, he's going to be fine. I miss him so much...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5521052947444505370-3954439060819816504?l=datingthearmy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/feeds/3954439060819816504/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5521052947444505370&amp;postID=3954439060819816504' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/3954439060819816504'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/3954439060819816504'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/2008/10/diamonds-and-pearls.html' title='Diamonds and Pearls'/><author><name>Stacey</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16803930828209820282</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SI8WH89ct6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/5nTMdWrfI0U/S220/Copy+of+IMG_0999_edited-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SPnpCehQkrI/AAAAAAAAAFo/LqLSJYNF1P0/s72-c/IMG_2034.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521052947444505370.post-4251767145798439426</id><published>2008-10-03T16:42:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-03T17:00:29.723-04:00</updated><title type='text'>And He's Gone....</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SOaEWJYa3lI/AAAAAAAAAFY/qbua4UEJoxM/s1600-h/IMG_3744.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SOaEWJYa3lI/AAAAAAAAAFY/qbua4UEJoxM/s320/IMG_3744.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253031531384594002" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Just like that. Wow, I'm all sorts of confused. It was so weird having him around for a few days and now it feels like it was all a dream. I feel like his visit never even happened. Now, he's gone for 6 months. He will have his mid-tour leave in the Spring, and will be home for good, come next September.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We both became emotional, when we talked about the day we leave Florida. We will load up my car, say goodbye to our families and goodbye to this city. When we arrive in Charleston, South Carolina, I know I will begin to cry. I imagine myself saying, "I can't believe we did it, we're actually here." I can't wait for that day. This dream will remain in my mind until Mike finally comes home. I feel like my life is made up of day dreams now, they keep me sane, they keep me moving.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mike wined and dined me the past few days. He brought me presents from TX and took me out to lunch and dinner. He also brought me flowers and a Get Well card (I've been really sick lately with Strep Throat).  We had long talks about the future while we drank frappuccinos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When he left today, we both cried. We knew we wouldn't be seeing each other for a very long time. He's flying back to TX then overseas in a few weeks. When he leaves, I'm going to be so scared. I know he's going to be completely safe, but I just want him to come home. Please, please keep my soldier safe.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5521052947444505370-4251767145798439426?l=datingthearmy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/feeds/4251767145798439426/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5521052947444505370&amp;postID=4251767145798439426' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/4251767145798439426'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/4251767145798439426'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/2008/10/and-hes-gone.html' title='And He&apos;s Gone....'/><author><name>Stacey</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16803930828209820282</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SI8WH89ct6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/5nTMdWrfI0U/S220/Copy+of+IMG_0999_edited-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SOaEWJYa3lI/AAAAAAAAAFY/qbua4UEJoxM/s72-c/IMG_3744.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521052947444505370.post-5539166150621859628</id><published>2008-10-02T18:51:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-02T19:00:11.684-04:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm Coming Home</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SOVQqwzwS4I/AAAAAAAAAFI/1vi3oZaioec/s1600-h/IMG_3740.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SOVQqwzwS4I/AAAAAAAAAFI/1vi3oZaioec/s320/IMG_3740.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252693235984255874" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;HE'S HOME!!!! Tuesday was the best day in a long time!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mike left from Texas at 12 and landed in Atlanta. He had to wait an hour to get on the plane but as he was waiting, about 20 people shook his hand and thanked him. Incredible. When he boarded, he had a seat in coach.. a man came up to Mike and told him to take his seat in first class. Crazy!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mike told me he should travel in uniform more often! hahaha&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had a long talk last night about the future. He has it all planned out. I really want to stay with him. This separation has made us both realize how much we can take each other for granted. He leaves tomorrow at 3:30 PM... although I'm sad these past couple of days have flown by, I love him and I'm so happy right now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5521052947444505370-5539166150621859628?l=datingthearmy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/feeds/5539166150621859628/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5521052947444505370&amp;postID=5539166150621859628' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/5539166150621859628'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/5539166150621859628'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/2008/10/im-coming-home.html' title='I&apos;m Coming Home'/><author><name>Stacey</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16803930828209820282</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SI8WH89ct6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/5nTMdWrfI0U/S220/Copy+of+IMG_0999_edited-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SOVQqwzwS4I/AAAAAAAAAFI/1vi3oZaioec/s72-c/IMG_3740.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521052947444505370.post-253952859387876645</id><published>2008-09-29T15:31:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-29T15:43:20.054-04:00</updated><title type='text'>He's Coming Home</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SOEtmy1GcdI/AAAAAAAAAFA/pmRqYhNqZ4k/s1600-h/IMG_8932_edited-1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SOEtmy1GcdI/AAAAAAAAAFA/pmRqYhNqZ4k/s320/IMG_8932_edited-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251528784993481170" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GUESS WHO COMES HOME TOMORROW!!!!! Mike's flight gets in at 12:30 PM tomorrow afternoon! I am so excited. I already know what I'm going to wear tomorrow and that never happens.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Although I am completely excited and ready for his arrival, I know we will have to talk about our future. When he leaves, he's going to be deploying to Iraq. Mistakes have already been made with him gone thus far, so we will be having a long talk about what is to come.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been feeling lonely this past month and it's getting harder. I am able to talk to him every day right now but when he's overseas, I know I will barely be able to talk to him. So, how do I stay in a relationship with a guy who is never around? I know what he's doing is a great thing, but I do have to think about myself sometimes. Everything emotional about our relationship is still there, but that physical part is gone. I want to go on dates, get kisses and hugs all the time, be able to talk to him face to face. I want to be held when I cry and take walks in the city. This has been a huge struggle lately. But, I love him. I feel trapped in some way but once I see him in the terminal... I'm setting myself free. Running, jumping, tackling, kissing, hugging and crying will be involved, for sure.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5521052947444505370-253952859387876645?l=datingthearmy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/feeds/253952859387876645/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5521052947444505370&amp;postID=253952859387876645' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/253952859387876645'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/253952859387876645'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/2008/09/hes-coming-home.html' title='He&apos;s Coming Home'/><author><name>Stacey</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16803930828209820282</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SI8WH89ct6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/5nTMdWrfI0U/S220/Copy+of+IMG_0999_edited-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SOEtmy1GcdI/AAAAAAAAAFA/pmRqYhNqZ4k/s72-c/IMG_8932_edited-1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521052947444505370.post-2601925297628319728</id><published>2008-09-21T19:49:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-21T19:58:50.586-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Tie The Rope</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SNbdykz0P7I/AAAAAAAAAE4/XtyfZQWIxfk/s1600-h/party2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SNbdykz0P7I/AAAAAAAAAE4/XtyfZQWIxfk/s320/party2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248626276691099570" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The girl 3rd from the left is me, Stacey. The girl to the far right with the short brown hair is my best friend. The other two are my new friends. Together, we have had so much fun these past two weekends. For the first time in a LONG time, I am enjoying myself in the town in which I live. I honestly believe I am having more fun here at home, than I would be at a university. We'll see how long this lasts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been pretty busy lately with the new social life. I've found a great group of friends who are drama free and just want to have fun. I can't feel guilty anymore for my mistakes, I can't feel hurt or disappointed anymore. I can't sit at home crying every day and waiting around. I need to live, I need to make these mistakes, knowing that I will pull through.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mike comes home in 8 days. While he is on leave, we are going to have a serious talk about our future together. I'm not sure if I can handle having a boyfriend overseas anymore... I love him, but I feel like I'm putting all of my feelings on hold. I met a girl at a named Karissa who is in the same situation. Her boyfriend is in the Marines and is coming home on Tuesday. I told her I completely understand what she's feeling. We are young, we need to have fun...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5521052947444505370-2601925297628319728?l=datingthearmy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/feeds/2601925297628319728/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5521052947444505370&amp;postID=2601925297628319728' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/2601925297628319728'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/2601925297628319728'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/2008/09/tie-rope.html' title='Tie The Rope'/><author><name>Stacey</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16803930828209820282</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SI8WH89ct6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/5nTMdWrfI0U/S220/Copy+of+IMG_0999_edited-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SNbdykz0P7I/AAAAAAAAAE4/XtyfZQWIxfk/s72-c/party2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521052947444505370.post-1577956714002806637</id><published>2008-09-11T13:47:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-11T14:11:05.453-04:00</updated><title type='text'>United We Stand</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SMlaBcXU0LI/AAAAAAAAAEw/FhVDW-Pe2eY/s1600-h/061116-F-2034C-011.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SMlaBcXU0LI/AAAAAAAAAEw/FhVDW-Pe2eY/s320/061116-F-2034C-011.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244822221890048178" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I'd like to take a moment to remember the day of September 11th. I was in my sixth-grade Reading class in Ripley, West Virginia. When the planes hit, I had no idea what the World Trade Centers were or what city they were in. I looked at my teacher to see the look of shock and horror on her face. She was trying to keep her composure to reassure her students that there was nothing to worry about... but we knew.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That day, the world came to a halt. Many students were pulled out of class as most of us peeled our eyes to the television screen. A news anchor, terrified, gave her report in the middle of the attack. I was very confused, I had no idea what this meant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;September 11th , seven years later, I am not so confused. The images of the attack are ones that will never leave my mind. There is always anger but, moreover, a feeling of sadness on this day. We remember what we are fighting for.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We take our freedom for granted more than we know... and sometimes we forget that freedom can be taken away from us, just as easily as it was given. I want to say thank you to the fallen Police Officers, Firemen, and Volunteers who died that morning. And to all those who know what the possible outcomes are, and still pursue those jobs anyway, thank you. The Police and Firemen protect us at home, and our troops are still fighting for us overseas. These brave men and women are willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for our country. They protect you,  me, our families, and friends. The protect our freedom and ensure that we are safe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Too many people forget about what these men and women endure. We look past the families they leave behind, subconsciously knowing that they might not return. More of us really need to simply say, "thank you." It's reminders like 9/11, that keep our country together. "United we stand, divided we fall."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5521052947444505370-1577956714002806637?l=datingthearmy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/feeds/1577956714002806637/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5521052947444505370&amp;postID=1577956714002806637' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/1577956714002806637'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/1577956714002806637'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/2008/09/united-we-stand.html' title='United We Stand'/><author><name>Stacey</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16803930828209820282</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SI8WH89ct6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/5nTMdWrfI0U/S220/Copy+of+IMG_0999_edited-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SMlaBcXU0LI/AAAAAAAAAEw/FhVDW-Pe2eY/s72-c/061116-F-2034C-011.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521052947444505370.post-3923893996806053776</id><published>2008-09-08T16:11:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-08T16:23:22.680-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Semper Fidelis</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SMWHu79SvGI/AAAAAAAAAEo/gI-ttOhhuuc/s1600-h/Copy+of+IMG_1379.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SMWHu79SvGI/AAAAAAAAAEo/gI-ttOhhuuc/s320/Copy+of+IMG_1379.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243746581581315170" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;So, my brother is becoming a Marine. We went down to the recruiters office today and talked with Ssgt. Ashley. He was really cool and almost convinced me to join, ha ha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Keith, my brother, is still in high school and needs parental consent. This is a challenge. My parents are very narrow minded about the military and want my brother to, "finish college and go in as an officer." Today, we found out that he will have a very hard time becoming an officer if he doesn't go in as enlisted. There are so many applicants and only so many slots available. It's all very selective. My brother wants to enlist into the Infantry while he attends college. His education will be paid 100% by the Marines.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I cannot stress how proud I am of my brother. He has wanted this his entire life and will soon have that opportunity.  I really wish my parents would take a second and really listen to what Ssgt. Ashley has to say. My parents need to understand that enlisting is not a death sentence. Keith will be a great Marine, and Always Faithful.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5521052947444505370-3923893996806053776?l=datingthearmy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/feeds/3923893996806053776/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5521052947444505370&amp;postID=3923893996806053776' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/3923893996806053776'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/3923893996806053776'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/2008/09/semper-fidelis.html' title='Semper Fidelis'/><author><name>Stacey</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16803930828209820282</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SI8WH89ct6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/5nTMdWrfI0U/S220/Copy+of+IMG_0999_edited-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SMWHu79SvGI/AAAAAAAAAEo/gI-ttOhhuuc/s72-c/Copy+of+IMG_1379.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521052947444505370.post-4453053656937718027</id><published>2008-09-05T12:59:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-05T13:12:55.205-04:00</updated><title type='text'>It's Only Skin</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SMFlyX9iqKI/AAAAAAAAAEg/l6wfqAvKCbg/s1600-h/mikenogard+013.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SMFlyX9iqKI/AAAAAAAAAEg/l6wfqAvKCbg/s320/mikenogard+013.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242583357335972002" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I need to know if this is all worth it. All of this sadness, struggle and heartache, is it worth it? When Mike comes home "for good," I need to know there will be a plan for us. I want him to go back to the Citadel, and I'll follow him to Charleston. I've always wanted to live there anyway. I want to be happy with him and stay with him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been hurting so much lately, my eyes are dull and half open. They burn when I cry and I've been crying a lot lately. I need to get away from Florida, and inhale the Charleston air. I don't care if I go alone, I just need to get away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I cannot tell you how confused I am. The sadness is affecting my health and well-being in general. Something needs to change. I need a change.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5521052947444505370-4453053656937718027?l=datingthearmy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/feeds/4453053656937718027/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5521052947444505370&amp;postID=4453053656937718027' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/4453053656937718027'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/4453053656937718027'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/2008/09/its-only-skin.html' title='It&apos;s Only Skin'/><author><name>Stacey</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16803930828209820282</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SI8WH89ct6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/5nTMdWrfI0U/S220/Copy+of+IMG_0999_edited-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SMFlyX9iqKI/AAAAAAAAAEg/l6wfqAvKCbg/s72-c/mikenogard+013.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521052947444505370.post-5248786737315951398</id><published>2008-09-03T07:07:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-03T07:15:31.014-04:00</updated><title type='text'>No Other Way</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SL5wIGbWJcI/AAAAAAAAAEY/K4T7QDjmXjY/s1600-h/mikenogard+019.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SL5wIGbWJcI/AAAAAAAAAEY/K4T7QDjmXjY/s320/mikenogard+019.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241750300772410818" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I thought I would write and early morning post at 7AM. I had another bad day yesterday. I think it's all dragging on to today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mike called me as I was leaving practice with Brian. I told him where I was but he didn't seem too happy about it. He asked me if I remembered what Brian said about Mike before he left for training. Mike reminded me, "he said, I'm glad your boyfriends going to Iraq, now I can hit on you."   I really didn't remember any of that until Mike told me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I understand where Mike is coming from, I really do, but I've actually been getting out of the house and doing something I love to do. Yes, Brian has been giving me major signals to something more than just being part of his band but... he knows the boundaries.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I miss Mike so much. Just the fact I can't have him around tears me up inside. I only get to see him for ONE DAY in October but I guess we'll have to make that day amazing. It's all just been so hard. I don't know what my rules are as far as being Mikes girlfriend. I really need to think about this some more. I've been hurting so much. Last night I cried more than I have in quite a while and now my eyes are puffy burning.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5521052947444505370-5248786737315951398?l=datingthearmy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/feeds/5248786737315951398/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5521052947444505370&amp;postID=5248786737315951398' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/5248786737315951398'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/5248786737315951398'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/2008/09/no-other-way.html' title='No Other Way'/><author><name>Stacey</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16803930828209820282</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SI8WH89ct6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/5nTMdWrfI0U/S220/Copy+of+IMG_0999_edited-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SL5wIGbWJcI/AAAAAAAAAEY/K4T7QDjmXjY/s72-c/mikenogard+019.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521052947444505370.post-3518879650036616480</id><published>2008-08-30T10:07:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-30T10:31:15.108-04:00</updated><title type='text'>All My Loving</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SLlUoS9_1CI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/-egYR8z5GB8/s1600-h/IMG_8425_edited-1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SLlUoS9_1CI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/-egYR8z5GB8/s320/IMG_8425_edited-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5240312692685657122" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;These past few days have been getting a little easier for me. I've been getting out of the house and writing music with a good friend of mine, Brian Fortner.He's a very accomplished musician and you should definitely check him out. We've gone to the beach and a really nice park overlooking the Gulf. Although I'm not able to write as well as he can, I'm able to sing harmonies and melodies with him. I try to thank him every time I see him for getting me out of the house, haha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This weekend, I am going to try and have some fun. My friend Chelseas's birthday dinner is tonight and I want to make sure she has a good one. You only turn 18 once and for my 18th, I went to Charleston, SC... it was the best trip I've ever been on. Also, my best friend, Allie, is coming home from college. I will definitely be hanging out with her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another project of mine is making my own website for Photography. All the pictures you see on my blog were taken by me (and the ones of me, were taken by Mike.) I've been told countless times that I should start charging for my work. Even a very established Photographer noticed me and said if I can learn how to do people's make-up, I'm set. So, my thoughts are &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;why not?&lt;/span&gt;, Why not start my own business? If it's something I love to do, I should persue it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thankyou again, to those of you who have given me words of advice. You have really helped me out. I know that I am going to need a few more encouraging words but for now, your advice has really helped me to move along. Also, thankyou to anyone who reads this blog. I know my writing can be disorganized and messy but.. that is my life. I write whatever comes to mind and that is what makes me feel better. I hope you all continue to read about my messy life. Even if you stop reading, I will continue to write.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;"We are the support that every soldier needs. We are the foundation and roots of every brave man and woman fighting. I love my soldier, I fight for my soldier, and hope one day, I can be just like my soldier."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5521052947444505370-3518879650036616480?l=datingthearmy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/feeds/3518879650036616480/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5521052947444505370&amp;postID=3518879650036616480' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/3518879650036616480'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/3518879650036616480'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/2008/08/all-my-loving.html' title='All My Loving'/><author><name>Stacey</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16803930828209820282</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SI8WH89ct6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/5nTMdWrfI0U/S220/Copy+of+IMG_0999_edited-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SLlUoS9_1CI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/-egYR8z5GB8/s72-c/IMG_8425_edited-1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521052947444505370.post-3503633128274290462</id><published>2008-08-28T20:12:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-28T20:18:13.091-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Ruthless</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SLc_QVdm6OI/AAAAAAAAAEI/aA7tnYT8Vbo/s1600-h/IMG_7477.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SLc_QVdm6OI/AAAAAAAAAEI/aA7tnYT8Vbo/s320/IMG_7477.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5239726241340647650" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I found out when Mike comes home!! He wanted to surprise me but I couldn't take it anymore. I'm going to pick him up from the airport around October 19th. I'm very very very excited. I've been able to talk to him a lot more these past two days. We are actually able to have a conversation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night I went out to the sunset at the beach and played guitar with one of my friends. We had a pretty good time but I missed Mike. I remember our summer nights out on the beach, just getting away. I miss those nights.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This weekend will be very busy for me. A close friend of mine is coming home from college tomorrow night and I haven't seen him for 2 years. It'll be good to see a familiar yet strange face around these parts.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5521052947444505370-3503633128274290462?l=datingthearmy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/feeds/3503633128274290462/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5521052947444505370&amp;postID=3503633128274290462' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/3503633128274290462'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/3503633128274290462'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/2008/08/ruthless.html' title='Ruthless'/><author><name>Stacey</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16803930828209820282</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SI8WH89ct6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/5nTMdWrfI0U/S220/Copy+of+IMG_0999_edited-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SLc_QVdm6OI/AAAAAAAAAEI/aA7tnYT8Vbo/s72-c/IMG_7477.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521052947444505370.post-5309470886690494876</id><published>2008-08-26T15:22:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-26T15:31:37.002-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Low Country</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SLRYrIYBX-I/AAAAAAAAAEA/KfB2A56i7QI/s1600-h/Copy+of+IMG_1374.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SLRYrIYBX-I/AAAAAAAAAEA/KfB2A56i7QI/s320/Copy+of+IMG_1374.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238909764544585698" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I need another trip up to South Carolina. I know I feel like I'm at home there, after all, I was born there. I think if I spent some time up in Charleston, I could come back refreshed and happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been discouraged lately but I'm trying really hard to feel better. Mike has told me he comes home in October. He wants to surprise me but I think I want to pick him up from the airport and show him off to everyone! I'm very happy he gets to come home for a little while.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For now, I'm just taking what life throws at me. I'm very tired, and a little hungry. I am ust looking forward to the day when I pick my love up from the airport. I can't wait to tackle him!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5521052947444505370-5309470886690494876?l=datingthearmy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/feeds/5309470886690494876/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5521052947444505370&amp;postID=5309470886690494876' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/5309470886690494876'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/5309470886690494876'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/2008/08/low-country.html' title='The Low Country'/><author><name>Stacey</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16803930828209820282</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SI8WH89ct6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/5nTMdWrfI0U/S220/Copy+of+IMG_0999_edited-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SLRYrIYBX-I/AAAAAAAAAEA/KfB2A56i7QI/s72-c/Copy+of+IMG_1374.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521052947444505370.post-6199573411183997207</id><published>2008-08-24T14:51:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-24T15:10:25.361-04:00</updated><title type='text'>These Swollen Faces</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SLGuGMWwPYI/AAAAAAAAAD4/bmfGNPDHsY4/s1600-h/IMG_9949_edited-1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SLGuGMWwPYI/AAAAAAAAAD4/bmfGNPDHsY4/s320/IMG_9949_edited-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238159263027707266" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I'm sure that if I went to a doctor right now, he would diagnose me with depression. I've been dealing with depression for a long time, since I was 13 but never like this. I've never felt so sincerely sad in my life. I've dealt with anger and anxiety mixed with sadness but now, I just am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life is what you make of it, but right now, I don't know what to make of anything. I have been consumed with worry and heartache. I just can't get rid of these feelings. I try to find something to smile about but most of the time, I'm crying over something. I feel annoying to my friends and like I'm a burden to my family sometimes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have yet to find my place in the world. Something is terribly wrong with my thought process lately. Mike told me that his time training has made everyone's mentality different. Just as Mike is changing, I am changing as well. I didn't know I was going to be so unhappy. I wasn't expecting this. I need a drastic change. Life is so fragile, I've always known this. I should be happy and having fun while I'm young and living. I need to get out of this box and find my castle.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5521052947444505370-6199573411183997207?l=datingthearmy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/feeds/6199573411183997207/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5521052947444505370&amp;postID=6199573411183997207' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/6199573411183997207'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/6199573411183997207'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/2008/08/these-swollen-faces.html' title='These Swollen Faces'/><author><name>Stacey</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16803930828209820282</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SI8WH89ct6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/5nTMdWrfI0U/S220/Copy+of+IMG_0999_edited-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SLGuGMWwPYI/AAAAAAAAAD4/bmfGNPDHsY4/s72-c/IMG_9949_edited-1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521052947444505370.post-377574890284674492</id><published>2008-08-22T18:41:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-22T18:58:03.221-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Mind Over Matter</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SK9BG_x5UtI/AAAAAAAAADw/zhnp8sgWgcc/s1600-h/IMG_1480.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SK9BG_x5UtI/AAAAAAAAADw/zhnp8sgWgcc/s320/IMG_1480.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237476480110908114" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I really don't know if I can handle all of this. I'm stressed from school and I'm missing Mike terribly. It feels almost too hard to cope with because as i said before: I feel like I'm dating someone invisible. He calls when he can but other than that, I'm on my own. I can't tell him what I'm feeling because I'm scared that I'm going to bring him down. I've attempted sharing my feelings but he usually tells me to suck it up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know I'm not going through what he is going through. We have different lives and the levels of everyday stress are different. Right now I just don't know if I am strong enough to handle this kind of lonliness. No matter what I do though, I'm still going to be alone. There is no getting around it. My friends have all left for college and I am stuck here, living at home with little to no friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As you can see, college is also wearing me down. I just feel like I'm missing out on a real college experience.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know what it is about me always wanting a companion. I need just one person to listen and give me attention. I don't have that anymore and I'm scared that if that attention comes from someone out of the blue, I won't be able stop myself from accepting it. I feel sad, and so so tired. I've been trying to catch up on some sleep but my body is just wearing down. Tomorrow I have a full day of photography, children portraits for Dillards.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope things start to look up, until then I'm losing faith and strength. It's only been about a month and I'm feeling this way. I can only wonder what I'm going to feel like later on.  A year is a  long time....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5521052947444505370-377574890284674492?l=datingthearmy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/feeds/377574890284674492/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5521052947444505370&amp;postID=377574890284674492' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/377574890284674492'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/377574890284674492'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/2008/08/mind-over-matter.html' title='Mind Over Matter'/><author><name>Stacey</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16803930828209820282</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SI8WH89ct6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/5nTMdWrfI0U/S220/Copy+of+IMG_0999_edited-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SK9BG_x5UtI/AAAAAAAAADw/zhnp8sgWgcc/s72-c/IMG_1480.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521052947444505370.post-476967245772374825</id><published>2008-08-21T14:01:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-21T14:24:43.737-04:00</updated><title type='text'>My Only One</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SK2uF_h4ZBI/AAAAAAAAADo/9qiy6-BbKWw/s1600-h/IMG_5717_edited-1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SK2uF_h4ZBI/AAAAAAAAADo/9qiy6-BbKWw/s320/IMG_5717_edited-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237033359677875218" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I am so unhappy today. I had my first sociology class today and enjoyed it a little bit. However, my day was turned upside down when my ex-boyfriend, who's name also happens to be Mike, showed up at my door. He was picking up some cd's of our friends and I was fine with it. We started talking and I became very sad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess I was just overwhelmed by the fact that he was in my house and talking with my dad. I was starting to realize how badly I hurt him when I left him for my boyfriend. He seemed happy though. He moved on, lost a lot of weight and is doing very well for himself. Me, on the other hand, well, I am not so happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I definitely need some support right now. I feel like I'm dating someone invisible to me now. I'm dating someone who is never there for me, but I know that if he could be, he would be. I mean if you think about all the negative things about being away from a soldier and put them with an average guy, I'm sure a girl would not stay with them. I'll elaborate more on that later...but right now I am just so sad.  I am just........so sad.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5521052947444505370-476967245772374825?l=datingthearmy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/feeds/476967245772374825/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5521052947444505370&amp;postID=476967245772374825' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/476967245772374825'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/476967245772374825'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/2008/08/my-only-one.html' title='My Only One'/><author><name>Stacey</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16803930828209820282</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SI8WH89ct6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/5nTMdWrfI0U/S220/Copy+of+IMG_0999_edited-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SK2uF_h4ZBI/AAAAAAAAADo/9qiy6-BbKWw/s72-c/IMG_5717_edited-1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521052947444505370.post-2847158443858519637</id><published>2008-08-19T18:09:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-19T18:11:39.621-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Thanks, Fay!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SKtExEMCCkI/AAAAAAAAADg/06S2gQRxmlQ/s1600-h/map_tropprjpath06_ltst_5nhato_enus_600x405.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SKtExEMCCkI/AAAAAAAAADg/06S2gQRxmlQ/s320/map_tropprjpath06_ltst_5nhato_enus_600x405.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5236354601476819522" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Uh Oh! Looks like Fay is going to come back for more!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's sunny skies here for now!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5521052947444505370-2847158443858519637?l=datingthearmy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/feeds/2847158443858519637/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5521052947444505370&amp;postID=2847158443858519637' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/2847158443858519637'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/2847158443858519637'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/2008/08/thanks-fay.html' title='Thanks, Fay!'/><author><name>Stacey</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16803930828209820282</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SI8WH89ct6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/5nTMdWrfI0U/S220/Copy+of+IMG_0999_edited-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SKtExEMCCkI/AAAAAAAAADg/06S2gQRxmlQ/s72-c/map_tropprjpath06_ltst_5nhato_enus_600x405.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521052947444505370.post-6097135730521024556</id><published>2008-08-19T10:22:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-19T10:37:31.242-04:00</updated><title type='text'>It's Fay Day</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SKrXP86LceI/AAAAAAAAADY/55DsE1zg6Xc/s1600-h/sunset.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SKrXP86LceI/AAAAAAAAADY/55DsE1zg6Xc/s320/sunset.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5236234185819779554" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;So, Hurricane Fay made landfall in Florida today. Actually, it's a tropical storm but I have yet to see any rain. Just clouds and a lot of wind. I must say it's a nice break from the scorching summer heat we are used to having.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Honestly, the summer storms we get everyday are way worse than than Fay.  Our Florida skies become a dark shade of purple and brings along the lightening and thunder. I'm a little disappointed. The Weather Channel gives us all this hype about a hurricane, and once again, my city sees nothing. I hope I'm not jinxing myself for the next storm that rolls through. Oh well, it's only morning, the forcast calls for some heavy rain later in the afternoon. Most people around here don't even wake up unless it's a catagory 3.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These are just my opinions, I am still anticipating some rain and I am a little worried about the possible threat of tornadoes toward the afternoon. I hope whoever is getting hit hard right now on the east coast is staying safe. Bring some of those storms over here!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5521052947444505370-6097135730521024556?l=datingthearmy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/feeds/6097135730521024556/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5521052947444505370&amp;postID=6097135730521024556' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/6097135730521024556'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/6097135730521024556'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/2008/08/its-fay-day.html' title='It&apos;s Fay Day'/><author><name>Stacey</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16803930828209820282</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SI8WH89ct6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/5nTMdWrfI0U/S220/Copy+of+IMG_0999_edited-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SKrXP86LceI/AAAAAAAAADY/55DsE1zg6Xc/s72-c/sunset.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521052947444505370.post-702864164091251013</id><published>2008-08-17T22:51:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-17T23:01:47.147-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Victim of Love</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SKjj9B3wv6I/AAAAAAAAADA/TxXPg4AhX9o/s1600-h/IMG_9936_edited-1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SKjj9B3wv6I/AAAAAAAAADA/TxXPg4AhX9o/s320/IMG_9936_edited-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235685204432043938" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I'm sorry, I just had to make a late night entry. I'm watching Army Wives and one of the husbands said, "it seems like soldiers are worth more dead than alive." He was talking about the money a family gets when their loved one dies in war. I can't even think about Mike.... I can't even imagine it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I waited all day for him to call or to get online but the phone didn't ring and my computer didn't sound. I've just been sitting here, all day, waiting. I miss him. I'm missing him so badly right now. I need him here to help me get through my first day of college, tomorrow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been frustrated with myself and my situation with school. I am not where I want to be in life. I was made to accomplish bigger things. I just need Mike to help me out. No one understands me like he does. I feel so alone right now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5521052947444505370-702864164091251013?l=datingthearmy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/feeds/702864164091251013/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5521052947444505370&amp;postID=702864164091251013' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/702864164091251013'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/702864164091251013'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/2008/08/victim-of-love.html' title='Victim of Love'/><author><name>Stacey</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16803930828209820282</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SI8WH89ct6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/5nTMdWrfI0U/S220/Copy+of+IMG_0999_edited-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SKjj9B3wv6I/AAAAAAAAADA/TxXPg4AhX9o/s72-c/IMG_9936_edited-1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521052947444505370.post-4716533594927486620</id><published>2008-08-17T13:56:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-17T14:13:45.090-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Jack and Sally</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SKhnMEYcpcI/AAAAAAAAACw/_8iGP-3l8Bo/s1600-h/IMG_9863.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SKhnMEYcpcI/AAAAAAAAACw/_8iGP-3l8Bo/s320/IMG_9863.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235548023850575298" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;This weekend, Mike was able to call me from a friends phone. It was Friday night so all the men went out to party. Mike stayed in the barracks and I was surprised to hear a lot of laughter and rowdiness in the background. He's made friends with a lot of the guys, and as we were talking a truck pulled up with a friend of his slumped over, drunk. He had to get off the phone to help them out but everyone thought it was really funny. I even thought it was funny; it's great that the guys get some time off every weekend to just be themselves and relax.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I finally got Mikes address and I'm sending him his first letter tomorrow. It's so great that we get to talk on the phone and Facebook but to the both of us, letters are just more personal. They are more heartfelt and it's nice to see the others handwriting (mine is really sloppy..and his is in all caps, very military-like.)  I'm going to wait until he leaves for the Sandbox to send him nice care packages. When I find out where to send things, I'll give the address to anyone who'd like to send a letter or a little something. Care packages will be my projects on the weekends (I'm making sure I get weekends off of work.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By the way, I quit my new job... retail is not what I thought it was going to be and my hat goes off to anyone who works in that business. I just wasn't happy, and I'm young... I should be working at a place that I'll enjoy giving my time and energy to... and making more money!! Plus, the place that I am applying to is closer to my school. Now all I have to do is move up there!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope things start to change for the better. This weekend has been a little rough for me. Hearing Mikes voice last night made me cry. I feel bad for crying on the phone but before he left he said, "If you ever feel like crying, just cry, it's okay."  I know we'll be okay. I just know it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, I added another song called "I Miss You" by Blink 182. Music gets me through everything and is truely my best friend. Thanks for the support again. You guys are great!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5521052947444505370-4716533594927486620?l=datingthearmy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/feeds/4716533594927486620/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5521052947444505370&amp;postID=4716533594927486620' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/4716533594927486620'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/4716533594927486620'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/2008/08/jack-and-sally.html' title='Jack and Sally'/><author><name>Stacey</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16803930828209820282</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SI8WH89ct6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/5nTMdWrfI0U/S220/Copy+of+IMG_0999_edited-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SKhnMEYcpcI/AAAAAAAAACw/_8iGP-3l8Bo/s72-c/IMG_9863.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521052947444505370.post-5109716555830844038</id><published>2008-08-12T22:08:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-12T22:19:49.805-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Shine Over Shadow</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SKJCwScHcxI/AAAAAAAAACo/927rVGVNQKc/s1600-h/IMG_8482_edited-1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SKJCwScHcxI/AAAAAAAAACo/927rVGVNQKc/s320/IMG_8482_edited-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233819114308858642" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I've been taking the advice of those who have left my comments and I must say I've been feeling better. I have not cried for a week and have kept busy. My second day on the job was much better than the first so I really think I'm going to like it there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My best friend and I had a girls night. She always helps me to get my mind off of sad things. We seem like complete idiots to other people but, we really do enjoy eachother's company.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight I went out to dinner with my best friend (Allie), her boyfriend Justin and our friend Corey. We had a great time and also went for ice cream afterward. I had a really good night but now I am tired and am wishing I could talk to Mike. I know I missed that opportunity tonight since I was out. He knows I love him though and I'm sure he's happy for me that I'm doing things on my own.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks again to everyone who has responded and offered their kind words and advice.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5521052947444505370-5109716555830844038?l=datingthearmy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/feeds/5109716555830844038/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5521052947444505370&amp;postID=5109716555830844038' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/5109716555830844038'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/5109716555830844038'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/2008/08/shine-over-shadow.html' title='Shine Over Shadow'/><author><name>Stacey</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16803930828209820282</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SI8WH89ct6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/5nTMdWrfI0U/S220/Copy+of+IMG_0999_edited-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SKJCwScHcxI/AAAAAAAAACo/927rVGVNQKc/s72-c/IMG_8482_edited-1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521052947444505370.post-1085764280422617076</id><published>2008-08-11T09:40:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-11T09:59:37.849-04:00</updated><title type='text'>It's Only Life</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SKBBgK3UdBI/AAAAAAAAACg/1ncZ5Snu1_4/s1600-h/DSC00025_edited-1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SKBBgK3UdBI/AAAAAAAAACg/1ncZ5Snu1_4/s320/DSC00025_edited-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233254787932517394" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I want to be faithful. I want to be strong for him. I need to put my priorities in order. It's so hard with him gone, though I'm starting to find my friends again. I have people to keep me occupied but I can never cross those lines. My mom said not to put my life on hold but I made a promise to Mike that I would be here when he comes home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm very mischievous when my best friend is around. We dare eachother to do  things just for fun. Sometimes they can get out of hand and leaves me feeling like I'm not faithful. I just want to be a better girlfriend. Mike is going through so much and will be going through so much more. I feel so selfish and dirty when I hang out with friends. I'm trying to trust myself. Mike is fighting to keep my right to relax and drink starbucks and cause trouble. I don't want to take advantage of him by doing all of the things that I do. I'm sorry if this all sounds random, these are just my thoughts right now. I miss him... If he were home everything would be all straightened out and I wouldn't be feeling all of these things. He would be holding me now and nothing would be wrong with me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps its that I can't be alone for very long. I always need a companion or someone with me to share experiences. I love that my best friend is here but she's leaving in a week. The friends that are left with me; they either won't call or they are bad news. I need a friend base and family doesn't count. Maybe work will get my mind off of these things, but I can't run away from my problems forever.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5521052947444505370-1085764280422617076?l=datingthearmy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/feeds/1085764280422617076/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5521052947444505370&amp;postID=1085764280422617076' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/1085764280422617076'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/1085764280422617076'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/2008/08/its-only-life.html' title='It&apos;s Only Life'/><author><name>Stacey</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16803930828209820282</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SI8WH89ct6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/5nTMdWrfI0U/S220/Copy+of+IMG_0999_edited-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SKBBgK3UdBI/AAAAAAAAACg/1ncZ5Snu1_4/s72-c/DSC00025_edited-1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521052947444505370.post-1669762502035572384</id><published>2008-08-10T10:15:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-10T10:26:47.257-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Living Room</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SJ74dKjpVJI/AAAAAAAAACY/7JQ5Gzk6vXI/s1600-h/DSC00050_edited-1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SJ74dKjpVJI/AAAAAAAAACY/7JQ5Gzk6vXI/s320/DSC00050_edited-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5232892996984853650" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Yesterday was so long. I arrived at my first day of work on time however, the other girl who was supposed to train with me couldn't make it until 2. So, my manager put me to work since I was already there. I ended up being there until 6. I have a lot to learn. I never knew there were so many types of jeans. I'll be fine even though it'll be a challenge.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was able to talk to Mike for the longest time I have in a while. We were able to talk about normal things rather than military things. Of course we would have the, "I miss you's" but I meant every single one of them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I added a song to my playlist, by the way, which makes me cry every time I hear it. It's called, "Where'd You Go." The music video makes me cry too. The song is for anyone who is missing someone of feels alone. There is also a part where he says that, he waits by the phone and goes to work to pass the time but when that person calls he doesn't have much to say. It breaks my heart because that is exactly my problem. I don't let my phone leave my sight and I have so much on my mind but when he calls, I can't think of anything. I have to condense all of my thoughts into a few sentenses and pick which ones are the most important to talk about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's hard, it's really hard but I'm glad I was able to talk with Mike for a long time. I was able to get everything in.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5521052947444505370-1669762502035572384?l=datingthearmy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/feeds/1669762502035572384/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5521052947444505370&amp;postID=1669762502035572384' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/1669762502035572384'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/1669762502035572384'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/2008/08/living-room.html' title='The Living Room'/><author><name>Stacey</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16803930828209820282</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SI8WH89ct6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/5nTMdWrfI0U/S220/Copy+of+IMG_0999_edited-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SJ74dKjpVJI/AAAAAAAAACY/7JQ5Gzk6vXI/s72-c/DSC00050_edited-1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521052947444505370.post-7314108627840842155</id><published>2008-08-08T22:00:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-08T22:10:42.181-04:00</updated><title type='text'>In My Head</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SJz6QKzaOMI/AAAAAAAAACQ/D8udO7Pmv9s/s1600-h/Copy+of+IMG_8468_edited-1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SJz6QKzaOMI/AAAAAAAAACQ/D8udO7Pmv9s/s320/Copy+of+IMG_8468_edited-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5232332022782507202" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Haha, a little bit of eye candy for the readers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today was actually a very good day. I was able to talk to Mike via Facebook this morning. I was very happy to talk to him, even though it was through instant messaging. I really need to keep it together over here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had to go to the store I was hired at and buy some jeans. (the only jeans I'm allowed to wear are from that store only).... $63 later, I'm now set to start working tomorrow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My best friend came over today and we went to Starbucks (a much needed trip). We talked and reminisced about our high school days (wow I sound old), we had a great time and went to the mall. She made me forget about all of my worries and sadness. That's what best friends are for I guess, ha ha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a more political note, can someone please explain to me the issue going on with Georgia and Russia? What role is the US going to play?... It's kind of scaring me to think we could get involved in this somehow. I don't want Mike over that way. I really want to hear from him and what's going on.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5521052947444505370-7314108627840842155?l=datingthearmy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/feeds/7314108627840842155/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5521052947444505370&amp;postID=7314108627840842155' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/7314108627840842155'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/7314108627840842155'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/2008/08/in-my-head.html' title='In My Head'/><author><name>Stacey</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16803930828209820282</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SI8WH89ct6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/5nTMdWrfI0U/S220/Copy+of+IMG_0999_edited-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SJz6QKzaOMI/AAAAAAAAACQ/D8udO7Pmv9s/s72-c/Copy+of+IMG_8468_edited-1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521052947444505370.post-5291780632810614797</id><published>2008-08-07T13:25:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-07T13:39:04.054-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Come On Home</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SJswW3Kvk6I/AAAAAAAAACI/k_128xeKSBc/s1600-h/IMG_8421_edited-1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SJswW3Kvk6I/AAAAAAAAACI/k_128xeKSBc/s320/IMG_8421_edited-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231828561445229474" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I just want to take a minute to thank the people who have been supporting me and praying for me. It's very hard being not having anyone in person to support me. No one really gets it here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My brother wants to become a Marine after he graduates HS this year. My parents are flipping out. They blame Mike for my brothers decision; actually, they try to blame Mike for every problem my family has. As if he needs more pressure on his shoulders. It's okay though, Mike knows he has more important things to worry about and in my opinon, I'm very proud of my brothers decision. He's wanted to be a Marine his whole life, it's really not a new development.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mike was able to call me last night from a friends phone. I wasn't sure I'd be hearing from him for a while but I'm so happy he called. He told me where his unit is going to be training for a month and then in October they are heading overseas. It makes me feel better that he'll be stateside, but once I get the phone call from him, telling me he's heading out, I don't know what I'm going to do. He's not in any danger here, but when leaves to go across the world.. panic is going to set in. If I'm worried about him right now, I can't even imagine how worried I'll be when he's in the land of sand. This is all so scary. I can't lose him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...... I need some Starbucks.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5521052947444505370-5291780632810614797?l=datingthearmy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/feeds/5291780632810614797/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5521052947444505370&amp;postID=5291780632810614797' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/5291780632810614797'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/5291780632810614797'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/2008/08/come-on-home.html' title='Come On Home'/><author><name>Stacey</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16803930828209820282</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SI8WH89ct6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/5nTMdWrfI0U/S220/Copy+of+IMG_0999_edited-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SJswW3Kvk6I/AAAAAAAAACI/k_128xeKSBc/s72-c/IMG_8421_edited-1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521052947444505370.post-8418122074967187949</id><published>2008-08-06T21:20:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-06T21:28:39.410-04:00</updated><title type='text'>No Air</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SJpOD71ce9I/AAAAAAAAACA/crd0xNh3itc/s1600-h/IMG_9712_edited-1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SJpOD71ce9I/AAAAAAAAACA/crd0xNh3itc/s320/IMG_9712_edited-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231579746652683218" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I need him home. This is becoming to unbearable and he's only been gone a few days. I can't stand this. Why do we have to solve things with war? Why does everyone hate everyone else? I don't want political answers, it's all crap to me. I just wish we lived in a world where we could just share what we have and stop being so selfish. I know I'll probably contradict myself a million times but I just want my man home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He wants to be in Iraq because his job isn't done, he wants to serve his country. I guess by being home and waiting, I'm serving too. I'm just hurting inside. I need to cry but I haven't in a while. He won't be able to call me for a while. I hate not being able to hear his voice. He's always so reassuring even though I don't always take his advice. He has nothing but kind words for me. I can't handle this  for too much longer... I don't know what else to do.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5521052947444505370-8418122074967187949?l=datingthearmy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/feeds/8418122074967187949/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5521052947444505370&amp;postID=8418122074967187949' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/8418122074967187949'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/8418122074967187949'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/2008/08/no-air.html' title='No Air'/><author><name>Stacey</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16803930828209820282</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SI8WH89ct6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/5nTMdWrfI0U/S220/Copy+of+IMG_0999_edited-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SJpOD71ce9I/AAAAAAAAACA/crd0xNh3itc/s72-c/IMG_9712_edited-1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521052947444505370.post-217713340326805965</id><published>2008-08-05T21:55:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-05T22:07:50.066-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Tonight Not Again</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SJkFRctmyMI/AAAAAAAAAB4/lh8AqsDNnso/s1600-h/IMG_8097_edited-1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SJkFRctmyMI/AAAAAAAAAB4/lh8AqsDNnso/s320/IMG_8097_edited-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231218239490934978" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;A visit from my best friend helped me break up my day. She just came home from college and was nice enough to pick up a belated birthday present for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I haven't talked to Mike all day. He send a text earlier, but.. after that, nothing. I tried calling him twice but... again nothing. I know he's busy, I know he's been busy all day but I just need to talk to him. Just for a few minutes to tell him about my uneventful day.  Ugh, this sucks.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5521052947444505370-217713340326805965?l=datingthearmy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/feeds/217713340326805965/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5521052947444505370&amp;postID=217713340326805965' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/217713340326805965'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/217713340326805965'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/2008/08/tonight-not-again.html' title='Tonight Not Again'/><author><name>Stacey</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16803930828209820282</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SI8WH89ct6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/5nTMdWrfI0U/S220/Copy+of+IMG_0999_edited-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SJkFRctmyMI/AAAAAAAAAB4/lh8AqsDNnso/s72-c/IMG_8097_edited-1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521052947444505370.post-5301036544549892785</id><published>2008-08-05T10:08:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-05T10:26:25.629-04:00</updated><title type='text'>I Miss You</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SJhfEA_XjGI/AAAAAAAAABw/_T7GsQjALAA/s1600-h/IMG_2102.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SJhfEA_XjGI/AAAAAAAAABw/_T7GsQjALAA/s320/IMG_2102.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231035489780730978" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I am missing him so much. Most of the time, I'm okay with him being away but when he finally calls me at night, just hearing his voice makes my eyes water.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes the loneliness gets too unbearable and I make the phone call. He doesn't answer but I've found that I like to hear his voicemail. He called me back and was breathing very heavily. He had just finished some grueling PT. He said, "It's mean here, I forgot how mean it was."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He figured out that most of the guys who arrived when he did are probably going to be together overseas. He's getting acquainted with them and is a little relieved to know he's not alone. They'll be getting their uniforms at the end of the week but he still doesn't know how long he'll be staying. I'm not sure if it's worth it to get his address just yet, it may take a week just to get a package delivered and I don't want to miss him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other news, I landed the job I was interviewed for. It was challenging but I start training this weekend. I am pretty excited but a little nervous. I just want something to take up my time instead of being sad all day. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Getting off the phone when mike calls, hurts so much. He has a pre-paid phone and the minutes are running low. I can't help but cry when we're about to hang up. I hope he knows I still support him though. I don't want to make him feel bad for leaving me, because I'm not mad at him for it. I just miss him so much, I miss him.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5521052947444505370-5301036544549892785?l=datingthearmy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/feeds/5301036544549892785/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5521052947444505370&amp;postID=5301036544549892785' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/5301036544549892785'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/5301036544549892785'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/2008/08/i-miss-you.html' title='I Miss You'/><author><name>Stacey</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16803930828209820282</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SI8WH89ct6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/5nTMdWrfI0U/S220/Copy+of+IMG_0999_edited-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SJhfEA_XjGI/AAAAAAAAABw/_T7GsQjALAA/s72-c/IMG_2102.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521052947444505370.post-4641649901731105491</id><published>2008-08-04T09:42:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-04T09:57:48.567-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Day Number Two</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SJcHl3LhkvI/AAAAAAAAABo/EG_B2sl0zcs/s1600-h/IMG_2151.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SJcHl3LhkvI/AAAAAAAAABo/EG_B2sl0zcs/s320/IMG_2151.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5230657839262962418" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;It's my second day without him. He called me around dinner to let me know he was all settled in. It was such a relief to hear his voice. He told me he made some friends with Marines who were there for Airborne school.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After we talked I had dinner with the family and watched Generation Kill along with Army Wives. Luckily I have my brother to accompany me in watching military shows so he can teach me all the jargon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had to take my puppy out after the shows. Just being alone in my own thoughts made me cry. I didn't want him to leave and I hate that he's gone. I stayed up half the night thinking about what he could be doing and wondering if he's lonely. I just want to rub my hands around his neck, kiss his forehead and tell him to not be scared... but maybe that's what I need. I don't think he needs the reassurance at all. This is his job, and it's not done yet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning, he sent me a text message saying he forgot how the army likes to start things early. He must have gotten up around 4:30 for PT. It was great to have a message to wake up to in the morning. I know he won't be able to do that for me everyday but I know he's going to try. I want to know if he got his uniforms, his assignments or if there are any new plans for state-side training. I would mainly like to know how long he is going to be training, and his address. I want to start getting my list of goodies together to send him. I miss him so much, I want this transition to be good and easy for him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just want him to come home.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5521052947444505370-4641649901731105491?l=datingthearmy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/feeds/4641649901731105491/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5521052947444505370&amp;postID=4641649901731105491' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/4641649901731105491'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/4641649901731105491'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/2008/08/day-number-two.html' title='Day Number Two'/><author><name>Stacey</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16803930828209820282</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SI8WH89ct6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/5nTMdWrfI0U/S220/Copy+of+IMG_0999_edited-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SJcHl3LhkvI/AAAAAAAAABo/EG_B2sl0zcs/s72-c/IMG_2151.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521052947444505370.post-7737532383456399952</id><published>2008-08-03T11:06:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-03T11:24:54.576-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Be Strong, Believe</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SJXKqT6X6hI/AAAAAAAAABg/y4tAtPAq4eo/s1600-h/IMG_8384_edited-1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SJXKqT6X6hI/AAAAAAAAABg/y4tAtPAq4eo/s320/IMG_8384_edited-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5230309370509126162" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I really don't know what to do with myself. Mike called me this morning from the airport in Georgia. He told me he misses me and he has another flight soon. As of this moment he is probably getting off of his second flight and possibly on his way to Ft. Benning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I decided to get dressed and go apply for a job. I can't sit on my ass all day, crying. I've cried enough; my eyes are puffy and I need a second cup of coffee. It might be good to take a day for myself but, I want to get started on the list of goals I've made for myself. I need a job, I need to do well in school and get an apartment. Hopefully I can transfer to the College of Charleston next year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My head is killing me, I can try to be all smiles but, I miss him. I miss him so much right now. After today I think it'll really set in that I won't be seeing him for a very long time. I've got to focus on the good things though, like sending him packages, letters, and pictures. I'm having mixed emotions I guess...I don't know whether to be sad or not. I've got worry, anxiety, sadness and love in my heart. I'm dating the army though, I guess it comes with the territory.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5521052947444505370-7737532383456399952?l=datingthearmy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/feeds/7737532383456399952/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5521052947444505370&amp;postID=7737532383456399952' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/7737532383456399952'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/7737532383456399952'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/2008/08/be-strong-believe.html' title='Be Strong, Believe'/><author><name>Stacey</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16803930828209820282</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SI8WH89ct6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/5nTMdWrfI0U/S220/Copy+of+IMG_0999_edited-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SJXKqT6X6hI/AAAAAAAAABg/y4tAtPAq4eo/s72-c/IMG_8384_edited-1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521052947444505370.post-7905056359084978514</id><published>2008-08-02T22:18:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-02T22:32:34.518-04:00</updated><title type='text'>And He's Gone</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SJUVyKWZjuI/AAAAAAAAABY/NeO_9TdGAqI/s1600-h/Copy+%282%29+of+IMG_1450.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SJUVyKWZjuI/AAAAAAAAABY/NeO_9TdGAqI/s320/Copy+%282%29+of+IMG_1450.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5230110493776645858" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Just like that. The last hour we spent together was in my room, he was on the phone with one of his Citadel buddies. Many people called him and wished him luck and thanked him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning, I woke up sad. I remembered that Mike had a few things of his scattered around my room so I decided to collect them and put them in a hollister bag. As I was doing this, he walked in the door. He saw me crying a little, so we sat down and talked.  We went to Starbucks, where he told me he was anxious and nervous about what is to come. We spent the whole day just trying to relax but I could tell he was nervous.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Towards the end of our last day we decided to go watch the sunset and talk. He didn't sit with me... he paced the sand and when he did sit, he couldn't sit still. I've never seen him so tensed up before. I took some photos of him, and I can see the worry in his eyes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our last few moments together were outside my house. I held him tight as he told me to just do well in college, get a job and I'll be fine. Just like that. I'll be fine, just like that. He's trying to build up my strength while he's the one going to war... I love him for that. I'm so incredibly scared and frustrated. I'm holding back my tears so my family does not see. Tomorrow will be my first day alone and away from him. I have to be strong for myself and for Mike.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5521052947444505370-7905056359084978514?l=datingthearmy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/feeds/7905056359084978514/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5521052947444505370&amp;postID=7905056359084978514' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/7905056359084978514'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/7905056359084978514'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/2008/08/and-hes-gone.html' title='And He&apos;s Gone'/><author><name>Stacey</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16803930828209820282</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SI8WH89ct6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/5nTMdWrfI0U/S220/Copy+of+IMG_0999_edited-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SJUVyKWZjuI/AAAAAAAAABY/NeO_9TdGAqI/s72-c/Copy+%282%29+of+IMG_1450.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521052947444505370.post-8803416491873898580</id><published>2008-08-02T09:23:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-02T09:47:13.110-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Can't Stop Us</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SJRhkYAIjFI/AAAAAAAAABQ/yZF2cRDoHHU/s1600-h/IMG_9875_edited-1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SJRhkYAIjFI/AAAAAAAAABQ/yZF2cRDoHHU/s320/IMG_9875_edited-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229912344830184530" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;So, he's leaving tomorrow bright and early. His flight is at 6 AM. I really don't know what we're going to do today but let's talk about yesterday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went to Mikes house yesterday for dinner, he made me spaghetti (incase you were wondering). After dinner we laid in his room...and I began my waterworks. I could't even look at him without crying. He just held me, and I asked him if he were scared. He said, ".. um, I'm just going to miss a lot of people, I'm going to miss you."  I'll never forget what he said after that. As I was crying he talked in my ear and told me, "I'm going to miss making you laugh, and making you roll your eyes, like, 'not again,'...I'm going to miss all of that, I love you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These are the things I'm going to miss about him: His eyes light up everytime he finds something funny. He put his distaste for sushi aside for my birthday and took me out to dinner. (while he was stationed in SKorea, he told me he ate too much sushi). I'm going to miss being held by him and kissed by him. I'm going to miss talking about politics, life, problems, our past and present. We know our future.  I'm just goint to miss everything about him. I'm going to send him so much stuff from home. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate this war...and all the people that put us there.  I know the job isn't done yet, I know we still need to be there.... I just want them to come home safe. Please come home to me; Alive, Happy and in one piece.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5521052947444505370-8803416491873898580?l=datingthearmy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/feeds/8803416491873898580/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5521052947444505370&amp;postID=8803416491873898580' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/8803416491873898580'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/8803416491873898580'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/2008/08/cant-stop-us.html' title='Can&apos;t Stop Us'/><author><name>Stacey</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16803930828209820282</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SI8WH89ct6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/5nTMdWrfI0U/S220/Copy+of+IMG_0999_edited-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SJRhkYAIjFI/AAAAAAAAABQ/yZF2cRDoHHU/s72-c/IMG_9875_edited-1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521052947444505370.post-5250210163158479972</id><published>2008-08-01T10:57:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-01T11:18:19.067-04:00</updated><title type='text'>All We Are</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SJMkwpSUo9I/AAAAAAAAABI/afTRmAAaA_c/s1600-h/IMG_8394_edited-1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SJMkwpSUo9I/AAAAAAAAABI/afTRmAAaA_c/s320/IMG_8394_edited-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229564010442302418" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Good morning all. I was pretty sad yesterday when mike invited me then uninvited me to his "last dinner," with his family. But I guess his mom just wanted family only and family friends to come over and pray for him. Mike wasn't sure if I'd be too comfortable with the prayer session, and he's right. I'm not very religious. I have faith but I'm not the kind of person you'd find in church every Sunday morning.  I respect his families wishes, I just wish I would've been able to see him for more than one hour last night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tomorrow will be our last day together for a long time. I honestly don't know what to plan for that day. I think we should make a trip to starbucks and have a nice long chat about... everything. Starbucks is our place, even though it costs $4.69 a drink. After coffee I want to go to the beach and watch our Siesta Key sunset. We met at the beach, by the way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One February night, my best friend Allie and I were looking for something to do. We decided to go park my car at the beach and call some people to meet up with us. My ex-boyfriend, Kyle ended taking the call and asked if he could bring his friend, Mike. I said, "sure, more the marrier!" When they showed up I really didn't think anything of Mike, I was in a different state of mind. I just wanted to hang out with good company. Mike was funny and made a very good impression. Allie had to use the restroom (squat), and Mike went with her. When the night was over, Allie told me that Mike had been to Iraq. We really didn't know what to think of it.  He seemed too young, I thought he was still in High School or first year in college.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After all of that... I turned to him for a lot of help. He didn't judge me like everyone else did. He was new to me and we could start a blank slate. I told him about my past and what was going on with me at the time but, he didn't care. He was friends with all the people that would ridicule me but he said he wanted to see for himself. I liked that about him. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;If it wasn't for him, I'm not sure I would've made it to graduation day.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5521052947444505370-5250210163158479972?l=datingthearmy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/feeds/5250210163158479972/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5521052947444505370&amp;postID=5250210163158479972' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/5250210163158479972'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/5250210163158479972'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/2008/08/all-we-are.html' title='All We Are'/><author><name>Stacey</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16803930828209820282</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SI8WH89ct6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/5nTMdWrfI0U/S220/Copy+of+IMG_0999_edited-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SJMkwpSUo9I/AAAAAAAAABI/afTRmAAaA_c/s72-c/IMG_8394_edited-1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521052947444505370.post-1629327212214735987</id><published>2008-07-31T12:05:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-31T12:27:21.075-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Please Don't Leave</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SJHk3iUS5BI/AAAAAAAAABA/oGmZHvWMCF4/s1600-h/l_276dc6e86bb1bcd69ac3800e69ec60aa.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SJHk3iUS5BI/AAAAAAAAABA/oGmZHvWMCF4/s320/l_276dc6e86bb1bcd69ac3800e69ec60aa.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229212285109724178" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I did it. I traded my pearls for his dog tags.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday, I told Mike that I really wanted some Starbucks. (we used to go all the time and talk for hours) He surprised me by taking me to the ArmyNavy store to pick up a set of new dog tags. I didn't know he was going to give them to me, since he needed a set for himself. He told me he can get his for free when he goes back but wants me to have my own set while he's gone. I almost cried. I haven't taken them off yet and I don't plan on it any time soon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is all going too fast for me. I need him here. I am going to be basically alone this year. Working and school with little time to socialize or take a break. I'm worried I won't even have time to take a phone call from Mike. I'm going to send him my schedule but I know that he can't work around my schedule, he's going to call me when &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;he&lt;/span&gt; gets time. I can't call him. I wish I could call and check up on him but I know that I can't. Hopefully I'll be getting a macbook so I can talk to him on Skype. I am so anxious, nervous and scared out of my mind. I have some hope, but what I really need is strength and for someone to listen.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5521052947444505370-1629327212214735987?l=datingthearmy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/feeds/1629327212214735987/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5521052947444505370&amp;postID=1629327212214735987' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/1629327212214735987'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/1629327212214735987'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/2008/07/please-dont-leave.html' title='Please Don&apos;t Leave'/><author><name>Stacey</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16803930828209820282</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SI8WH89ct6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/5nTMdWrfI0U/S220/Copy+of+IMG_0999_edited-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SJHk3iUS5BI/AAAAAAAAABA/oGmZHvWMCF4/s72-c/l_276dc6e86bb1bcd69ac3800e69ec60aa.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521052947444505370.post-8791566358141955014</id><published>2008-07-30T07:12:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-30T07:36:27.805-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Half My Heart</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SJBMylJM7iI/AAAAAAAAAAo/rScJmbFsKsI/s1600-h/Copy+of+IMG_1969.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SJBMylJM7iI/AAAAAAAAAAo/rScJmbFsKsI/s320/Copy+of+IMG_1969.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228763599225024034" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I can't get his deployment out of my mind. He hasn't even left yet! Sunday is approaching too quickly for my liking. It's going to be hard going from seeing him everyday, all day, to seeing him for 14 days on leave. If there are any more experienced girlfriends or wives reading this, I'm sorry if I sound like I'm whining. I know you've been through all of this before.  I know I have to be strong and keep my chin up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm making a list of what I should send him in a care package overseas. I know he likes black liquorish and chewing tobacco. Both are disgusting in my opinion but if that's what he wants, then I'll send him some Copenhagen and Skoal. I'm sending lotion, batteries, and eye drops as well. I know he can get a lot of this stuff by himself but, I think sending things to remind him of home will help make life a little easier on him. I'm picking up some nice stationary to write letters, I think they are more personable than writing emails (we'll still send email though). Mike has wonderful handwriting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thinking about things I'm going to do for him makes me feel so much better. I want him to remember that people are really pulling for him back home and miss him. I want to give him my best because I know he's giving his. I'm going to be there for him no matter what happens and hope for the best. This is a  huge test for our relationship and I know we can make it. He won't have a problem being strong, it's going to be my problem. I've got to keep my composure and fill the gaps.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have a feeling that I will not see him on Sunday before he leaves. We will have to say our goodbyes late on Saturday night, probably in my car as he drops me off at home. Sunday will be my "depressed day." I will sulk and lay around... or atleast try to. My parents don't want me ,"moping around," the house. That, in itself, is not very incouraging and is not going to make my sadness go away.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5521052947444505370-8791566358141955014?l=datingthearmy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/feeds/8791566358141955014/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5521052947444505370&amp;postID=8791566358141955014' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/8791566358141955014'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/8791566358141955014'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/2008/07/half-my-heart.html' title='Half My Heart'/><author><name>Stacey</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16803930828209820282</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SI8WH89ct6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/5nTMdWrfI0U/S220/Copy+of+IMG_0999_edited-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SJBMylJM7iI/AAAAAAAAAAo/rScJmbFsKsI/s72-c/Copy+of+IMG_1969.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521052947444505370.post-3916510679280071039</id><published>2008-07-30T06:05:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-30T06:21:47.960-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Cranky Old Woman</title><content type='html'>I'm up at 6 AM taking care of my puppy. I have been somewhat sleep deprived,  getting only a few hours of sleep  unitl I have to  take her outside.   She isn't doing well with house training and my parents blame me for that. I'm doing my best, but it's kind of hard to see Mischa leaving me a surprise when I'm passed out. Now my mother is whispering, "fuck it," under her breath and putting away dishes...at 6 AM.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not sure as to why she is so mad. She's told me why she is frustrated in little spouts, however,  it's usually at my expense. I don't know what I do to her. She's never been fond of Mike, from the start she thought he was shady and too old for her pristine daughter.  He is 22  and I was 17. I have constantly been on the defensive with my mother when she mentions Mike. She doesn't have to like him, but she could at least show some respect towards my feelings as a young adult.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now that I am 18, my friends tell me I should do what I want, and I plan to, but it's hard being stuck at home. I can't wait to start working and get out of this house. It's toxic to me now and no good can come from staying here any longer. All I need is the money, and I'll out of my parents way in no time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5521052947444505370-3916510679280071039?l=datingthearmy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/feeds/3916510679280071039/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5521052947444505370&amp;postID=3916510679280071039' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/3916510679280071039'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/3916510679280071039'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/2008/07/cranky-old-woman.html' title='Cranky Old Woman'/><author><name>Stacey</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16803930828209820282</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SI8WH89ct6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/5nTMdWrfI0U/S220/Copy+of+IMG_0999_edited-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521052947444505370.post-3501133810325869130</id><published>2008-07-29T09:15:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-29T09:34:59.690-04:00</updated><title type='text'>When You're Gone</title><content type='html'>I came into this relationship, knowing he was going to leave me. In a way, it might be considered self-sabotage, but I honestly think Mike is worth it. A while back I let him know that when he goes away, I will be here waiting for him to return.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We met back in February of this year and I was going through a very hard time in school. My reputation as a nice girl had been tarnished by a few immature boys and a couple of catty girls. I held my frustrations inside as I began to slip away into my own perfect world. Mike made me feel like I was whole again, only if it were for a few minuets. We would meet at Starbucks or Applebee's and talk for hours on end. Every time we talked, I felt like I was learning something that most people don't take time to learn about. I was learning about war and all the aspects of it. Mike would talk about his time in Iraq, Korea and his cadet life at The Citadel.  This was all new to me. I had no idea what he was talking about half the time, but I learned and I learned quickly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mike gave me support and strength. I was falling and tumbling down as graduation was approaching. Kids can be mean. I was realizing that my life was not changing after graduation. I would be attending community college while all of my friends were heading off to a university. I would be working, going to school, then living at home. I would be stuck in high school mode for another year. I am still trying to cope with these feelings, along with Mike leaving on Sunday for training. He tells me that he can see my sadness on my face everyday. It actually kind of amazes me that he loves me anyways.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not sure how I'm feeling about the future now, specifically this coming year. I will be working close to a full time job along while being a full time student to stay busy. When I have time to myself I will be writing, working out, or playing with my dog. I am working towards getting an apartment close to my school since gas prices are ridiculous. When Mike leaves on Sunday, I will be alone. I will have no one to talk to as far as the military goes. I will have this blog, and any viewers who wish to share their stories.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5521052947444505370-3501133810325869130?l=datingthearmy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/feeds/3501133810325869130/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5521052947444505370&amp;postID=3501133810325869130' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/3501133810325869130'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/3501133810325869130'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/2008/07/when-youre-gone.html' title='When You&apos;re Gone'/><author><name>Stacey</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16803930828209820282</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SI8WH89ct6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/5nTMdWrfI0U/S220/Copy+of+IMG_0999_edited-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521052947444505370.post-1983873229729918859</id><published>2008-07-29T08:55:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-29T09:03:11.340-04:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm With You</title><content type='html'>I've decided to start a blog to express my feelings the best way that I can. I'm the type of person to bottle my feelings up and save them for later. I need an escape from everyday life and it's hard for me to do that so... why not start a blog, right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Moreover, this blog is dedicated to those of us who are left behind. My boyfriend is about to deploy to Iraq. I've read the message boards, the books, the magazine articles, and nothing seems to get through to me but my own story. I've never dealt with deployment before, so I want to put my story out there for anyone to read at any time. You may not like what I have to say sometimes and I apologize for that in advance. I won't be leaving anything out, these are my feelings and frustrations about deployment and the aloneness that will be coming along for the ride.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5521052947444505370-1983873229729918859?l=datingthearmy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/feeds/1983873229729918859/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5521052947444505370&amp;postID=1983873229729918859' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/1983873229729918859'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5521052947444505370/posts/default/1983873229729918859'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://datingthearmy.blogspot.com/2008/07/im-with-you.html' title='I&apos;m With You'/><author><name>Stacey</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16803930828209820282</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_B4MEZqncfic/SI8WH89ct6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/5nTMdWrfI0U/S220/Copy+of+IMG_0999_edited-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
