<?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'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22108770</id><updated>2009-02-21T10:36:55.529-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Life of a Brunette</title><subtitle type='html'>Brunette: adj : marked by dark or relatively dark pigmentation of hair or skin or eyes. n : a person with dark (brown) hair; See Also: Me.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brunettecombustion.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22108770/posts/default'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brunettecombustion.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Kirie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07279094392090275492</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>9</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22108770.post-114369320697285508</id><published>2006-03-29T23:32:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-03-29T23:33:26.986-05:00</updated><title type='text'>No music, just the sounds of 1940's Italian Mafia</title><content type='html'>I.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Game.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Godfather. &lt;3&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Best line evah.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Leave the gun........grab the canolies."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/22108770-114369320697285508?l=brunettecombustion.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brunettecombustion.blogspot.com/feeds/114369320697285508/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=22108770&amp;postID=114369320697285508' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22108770/posts/default/114369320697285508'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22108770/posts/default/114369320697285508'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brunettecombustion.blogspot.com/2006/03/no-music-just-sounds-of-1940s-italian.html' title='No music, just the sounds of 1940&apos;s Italian Mafia'/><author><name>Kirie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07279094392090275492</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='13667832633680248297'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22108770.post-114307910114748793</id><published>2006-03-22T20:52:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-03-22T20:58:21.160-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Cake: The Distance</title><content type='html'>So, its been about a month since I posted in this. Hmm. Guess I could update more considering that no one really reads this. Outside of like...five people. Meh. I've been reading this one webcomic called "Candi". Its...actually pretty good. Considering it has a telekinetic ferret, its still good. Anime style drawing, bright colors, pink. Lots of pink. I like pink.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I knew any more about HTML outside of the basic scripts, I'd revamp this website and make it totally...me. Lots of colors. Lots of MATCHING colors. Like my MySpace. My MySpace is nifty. But I have no reason for having a MySpace. Other than making it pretty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hmm...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wonder if I could transfer my MySpace background and stuff to this and make it all sparkly and nifty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm going the distance.&lt;br /&gt;I'm going for speed.&lt;br /&gt;I'm all alone, all alone in a time of need.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Note: Kirsten is not insane.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SO! People need to call me more. I have a cell phone people, the number has not changed. *HUFF*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...I still need to kill you Hannah to obtain your amazingness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Watch your back at school the next few weeks. *flex*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;....I may have to tackle you again like I did the last time I surprised you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.....That was a fun day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/22108770-114307910114748793?l=brunettecombustion.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brunettecombustion.blogspot.com/feeds/114307910114748793/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=22108770&amp;postID=114307910114748793' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22108770/posts/default/114307910114748793'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22108770/posts/default/114307910114748793'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brunettecombustion.blogspot.com/2006/03/cake-distance.html' title='Cake: The Distance'/><author><name>Kirie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07279094392090275492</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='13667832633680248297'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22108770.post-114088688547536975</id><published>2006-02-25T11:56:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-02-25T12:01:25.486-05:00</updated><title type='text'>CAKE: Short Skirt, Long Jacket</title><content type='html'>Mmm....CAKE is yummy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I do mean the band.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hannah equals amazingness. I'm somewhat jealous of her amazingness. The lucky bitch. Perhaps I shall kill her to obtain this amazingness. But then it wouldn't be Hannah-amazingness. It would be Kirsten-amazingness. And Kirsten-amazingness isn't all that amazing as Hannah-amazingness. Then again, I don't believe that Hannah does in fact have amazingness all to herself. She's a sharer. She likes to share her amazingness and give to the people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;....Vote Hannah?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.........wait....I need to kill Hannah in order to obtain her full amazingness. Hannah, how would you like to die? Poison? Knife? Chainsaw attached to what -would- be my hand but I chopped it off to prevent ~~~~~~~EVIL~~~~~~~ eating me alive? That so happened to me. I swear. No lie. I lurv you a little, Hannah. But one day....ONE DAY! Your amazingness will be mine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Note: See why I like CAKE so much? They give me crazy ideas.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/22108770-114088688547536975?l=brunettecombustion.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brunettecombustion.blogspot.com/feeds/114088688547536975/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=22108770&amp;postID=114088688547536975' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22108770/posts/default/114088688547536975'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22108770/posts/default/114088688547536975'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brunettecombustion.blogspot.com/2006/02/cake-short-skirt-long-jacket.html' title='CAKE: Short Skirt, Long Jacket'/><author><name>Kirie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07279094392090275492</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='13667832633680248297'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22108770.post-114057865556543634</id><published>2006-02-21T22:22:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-02-21T22:24:15.576-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Smashing Pumpkins: Tonight, Tonight</title><content type='html'>I'm...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;happy.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm actually...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;happy.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm actually really...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;happy!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/22108770-114057865556543634?l=brunettecombustion.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brunettecombustion.blogspot.com/feeds/114057865556543634/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=22108770&amp;postID=114057865556543634' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22108770/posts/default/114057865556543634'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22108770/posts/default/114057865556543634'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brunettecombustion.blogspot.com/2006/02/smashing-pumpkins-tonight-tonight.html' title='Smashing Pumpkins: Tonight, Tonight'/><author><name>Kirie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07279094392090275492</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='13667832633680248297'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22108770.post-113993305092585789</id><published>2006-02-14T11:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-02-14T11:04:10.933-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Maroon 5: Sunday Morning</title><content type='html'>Valentine's Day, Part One.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Still hate the damn day. Got no plans, got nothing to do, bored out of my mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm ok. I got a couple IM's already and a few emails wishing me a Happy Valentine's day from my friends. Felt kinda good reading them...especially since a few of them are from happy couples and others are from singles and they all seem honest and legit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll probably update this a bit later in the day, hence the "Part One". Other than that...lets hope the day gets better!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/22108770-113993305092585789?l=brunettecombustion.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brunettecombustion.blogspot.com/feeds/113993305092585789/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=22108770&amp;postID=113993305092585789' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22108770/posts/default/113993305092585789'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22108770/posts/default/113993305092585789'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brunettecombustion.blogspot.com/2006/02/maroon-5-sunday-morning.html' title='Maroon 5: Sunday Morning'/><author><name>Kirie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07279094392090275492</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='13667832633680248297'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22108770.post-113987656555226147</id><published>2006-02-13T19:13:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-02-13T19:23:41.370-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Alicia Keys: If I ain't got you</title><content type='html'>Pre-Valentine's day, aka: February the 13th.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate Valentine's day with a passion unknown to any fathomable form of intelligence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Its prolly because I have no Valentine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember, all during Elementary school and everything, I never had a Valentine. Oh I got cards from my friends, the select few that could remember how to spell my name got special treats while everryone else in the class got a big "Fuck you" style of card. But, I never actually -had- a Valentine. Then Jr. High came...still didn't really have one. There was that stupid "Send some candy to your crush!" bullshit, but whatever...I never got any. Then High School came and those gay carnations and singing telegrams. 10th grade, I got one or two from two seperate friends out of pity. 11th grade, I told no one my class room so I recieved zero. 12th grade, got a few and a singing telegram.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And throughout all the time, whether I had a date or not, I absolutely HATED the day. It was so commercial. Why does there need to be a day to profess your love to someone? Why do you need chocolate and roses and cards to say it? If you truly love someone, its ten times more romantic to say it on any given day, just at random and complete surprise to a girl. "I love you," sounds so much more real while taking a walk down to the park, or waiting for the train/subway/cab/trolley to arive, or just appearing at her door to tell her that. When you say "I love you," on Valentine's day, it just...seems so forced like: "Fuck, its that special romantic day that every girl loves so I'm gonna have to say I love you to her and give her shit. Damn..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unless its from the heart, and girls know, its worthless.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then again, I am dateless, I am bitter, and I am in such a horrible mood cause I've been ditched twice now in the past week by the same guy, a guy whom I care a lot about cause we've been through so much and I can't get mad at him...and I don't know why, cause if it was me who ditched him, he'd be having a shit fit right about now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really doubt he'd even say "Happy Valentine's Day!" tomorrow to me...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/22108770-113987656555226147?l=brunettecombustion.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brunettecombustion.blogspot.com/feeds/113987656555226147/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=22108770&amp;postID=113987656555226147' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22108770/posts/default/113987656555226147'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22108770/posts/default/113987656555226147'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brunettecombustion.blogspot.com/2006/02/alicia-keys-if-i-aint-got-you.html' title='Alicia Keys: If I ain&apos;t got you'/><author><name>Kirie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07279094392090275492</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='13667832633680248297'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22108770.post-113977245308408666</id><published>2006-02-12T14:25:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-02-12T14:27:33.093-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Fray: Over My Head</title><content type='html'>So there's a lot of snow on the ground around here. Like...about a foot or so. Its kinda crazy. I forgot how much I -loved- snow. I mean, it would be so much better if there was someone by my side to have some fun with me. But ya know, we can't always get what we want. That's ok though. Cause, I'm ok. I've kinda come to terms with not being with anyone. I'm happy, for the most part. I've got some great friends that are by my side and there to make sure I'm ok. I've got a great personality that I know someone will fall in love with.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just, kinda hope it happens sooner than later.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/22108770-113977245308408666?l=brunettecombustion.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brunettecombustion.blogspot.com/feeds/113977245308408666/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=22108770&amp;postID=113977245308408666' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22108770/posts/default/113977245308408666'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22108770/posts/default/113977245308408666'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brunettecombustion.blogspot.com/2006/02/fray-over-my-head.html' title='The Fray: Over My Head'/><author><name>Kirie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07279094392090275492</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='13667832633680248297'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22108770.post-113941905605307151</id><published>2006-02-08T12:14:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-02-08T12:18:14.870-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Arctic Monkeys: Bigger Boys and Stolen Sweethearts</title><content type='html'>I've really become attached to this band. They're pretty cool, outside of the fact that half the lyrics I can barely understand cause they're from England and have the very thick accent. Its sexy, very much so. And the lyrics that I &lt;strong&gt;can&lt;/strong&gt; understand, really hit home hard. Anyways...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I miss all my friends down from Abington. Half tempted to get an apartment down there, but then I think about that and then I'll realize that I'll hate it even more than being far away. 'Cause its like...when you're there, you see all the problems that the town has and everything like that, but when you're not there, you think about all the good things about being there and not the problems.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's how a lot of life is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you have something, you think about all the wonderful things of not having that thing. Yet, when you don't have it, you clearly see all the problems.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why is life like that?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who knows...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/22108770-113941905605307151?l=brunettecombustion.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brunettecombustion.blogspot.com/feeds/113941905605307151/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=22108770&amp;postID=113941905605307151' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22108770/posts/default/113941905605307151'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22108770/posts/default/113941905605307151'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brunettecombustion.blogspot.com/2006/02/arctic-monkeys-bigger-boys-and-stolen.html' title='Arctic Monkeys: Bigger Boys and Stolen Sweethearts'/><author><name>Kirie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07279094392090275492</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='13667832633680248297'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22108770.post-113935073642192967</id><published>2006-02-07T17:13:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-02-07T17:18:56.423-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Arctic Monkeys: Fake Tales of San Francisco</title><content type='html'>I have come to the acceptance that if someone wants to be my friend, they easily can. I have no reason what-so-ever to try and impress anyone to be my friend. Now, I just need to come to terms about the males that are in my life. And by males, I mean those that seem interested, but obviously don't have the god damn balls to say anything other wise. By saying anything other wise, of course, I mean them just releasing their feelings and telling me how they &lt;strong&gt;really&lt;/strong&gt; feel about me. And by how they &lt;strong&gt;really &lt;/strong&gt;feel about me, I mean if they like me or not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love, truly and honestly, does not exist in this world until you've found it. All what's there is pure lust. After the lust, there is a small, and I mean small, maybe a 2% to 5% chance, that the person will fall in love with you. Until then, I need to learn to sit back and enjoy the ride. And by ride, I mean sex.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Does that sum up me in a nut shell? No...not by a long shot.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/22108770-113935073642192967?l=brunettecombustion.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brunettecombustion.blogspot.com/feeds/113935073642192967/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=22108770&amp;postID=113935073642192967' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22108770/posts/default/113935073642192967'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22108770/posts/default/113935073642192967'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brunettecombustion.blogspot.com/2006/02/arctic-monkeys-fake-tales-of-san.html' title='Arctic Monkeys: Fake Tales of San Francisco'/><author><name>Kirie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07279094392090275492</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='13667832633680248297'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry></feed>