Fat Burn Diets

What is that “stacking hay, getting money” song on 102 jamz?

102 jamz has a song i like but i dont no the name some of the words are “i just wanna rock with you”?

No its not micheal jackson

when there talking sometimes the beat just plays

What was the incident that happened between B Daht from 102 Jamz and Young Jeezy?

FAFSA !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!?

HI, what should i do if i put in an email into the fafsa application for last year, that i dont currently have, will they send all of the renewal information to the wrong one? what is the best way to notify them as soon as possible, and have them send it to the right email adresss? i only have a few days till jan 1, and thats when i need to send it in.
thanks

fafsa………?

Okay, I’ve already started my fafsa application. But, I didn’t finish cause I had to wait for them to email me my pins. Now, I have my pin number but, everytime I go back to continue my fafsa application that page takes a super long time to load… (and this is before I enter my pin number)….Right now, I have the page loading and Its been like an hour or soo….

Is fafsa really that busy…or is my computer that slow?? And how am I going to finish my application if the page takes long to load???

Fafsa???????????????

Hi am i eligible for the fafsa If I’m a Canadian student in high school,with divorced parents, pretty poor, and planning to go to the university of Manitoba?

1800flowers?

does any one work for 1800 flowers? and if so- how is it. how does it work exactly?

Does anyone have a discount code I can use for 1800flowers.com?

I want to get a flower centerpiece for my table for Thanksgiving and I’m going to purchase something off of 1800flowers.com. I just wanted to save some $. I had a code a while ago in my E-mail but I must have deleted it. Thanks!

How many birthday floral arrangements are available through 1800Flowers for more than $65?

How many birthday floral arrangements over $65?

Will somebody review my prologue? Thanks!?

It was a cold winter morning and she woke up in a tangle of his sheets. She climbed out just enough to grab her notebook and then hurriedly scrambled back to the warmth of the covers. His eyes opened and gazed at her ever so gently.
“You never put that damn notebook down.” he laughed rubbing his eyes. He pulled the worn book from her hands and playfully kept it out of my reach.
“Give it back!” she shrieked rolling on top of him, grinning.
“Or what?” He challenged. She sat there for a minute, gathering the covers to shield her from the cold.
“Or….or…. I’ll do this…” and as the curiosity sprang into his eyes, she leaned down and kissed him.
“Is that all you got?” he snickered. He loved the thought of provoking her.
“Of course not.” she poked him mischievously and then I stood up. The covers fell from her lap revealing the skin of her bare legs. Shivering, she picked up the pitch black comforter and dragged it off it the bed, but she didn’t stop there. She hauled it all the way across his loft and watched as the surprise took over him.
“Jesus!” he hollered as the cold air drifted over him.
“That’s not my name.” She shook my head and placed my hands on my hips.
“You know what I meant. Now get your ass back over here, and bring the cover.” He looked at her, seriously this time, but she knew better. Suddenly, he was standing, covered only by his underwear. She admired his lean body and perfectly chiseled abs. “Don’t make me come over there.” He shook his head and his shaggy brown hair swayed from side to side. Careful steps he took, as he came toward her, as if he was a hunter and she the deer. When he got close enough he leapt forward, tackling her down onto his couch. They laid there for a minute with his arms around her. She kissed his shoulder and he closed his eyes. Then, just like in a fairytale, he picked her up and carried her back to his bed.
“So you really like writing in that old beat up thing?” He asked as he retrieved the covers. She sat against the headboard, the notebook in front of her.
“Yes.” She tucked a piece of her hair behind my ear, suddenly feeling defensive and vulnerable.
“Have you ever written anything about me?” He made himself comfortable on his side about halfway down the bed.
“Why do you ask?” She picked up the notebook and held it to my chest protectively.
“Well, my brother had a boyfriend, ex-fiancée actually, really sweet kid who loved to draw. And um, when my brother was sleeping the kid used to draw pictures of him. Really detailed pictures… like naked.” He scratched his head as he remembered the sketches.
“I don’t draw pictures of you naked. If that’s what you’re asking.” She giggled.
“I mean, do you write about me? Do I inspire your work?” He put his hand out and she cautiously gave the book over to him.
“Just a little bit of poetry.” She admitted. She smiled down into her lap afraid to see his face. When she looked up, he was watching her, skeptically. “Okay, a lot of poetry.” He continued to watch, as if he knew there was more. “And I tried to write kind of a story or something… That was back when we first met.”
“A story or something? Did you finish it?” His mind jumped at the idea.
“No… I didn’t.” She watched as he flipped through the tattered pages.
“Why not?” He lifted my chin with his finger, staring intimately into her eyes as if she was about to tell him a secret.
“I just wasn’t sure… about where it would go. I wanted something a little bit more solid.” She looked down shamefully, remembering the days in the beginning of their relationship, about what a mess everything was. “Do you want some breakfast? I ‘d love to fix you something to eat.” she changed the subject.
“That would be great.” He touched her hand thoughtfully. “But first, I’d like to ask you a favor.”
“I’d do anything.” She held his hand. She was just so lucky to finally have him.
“I want you to write.”
“That’s simple.”
“Maybe not as simple as you think.”
“I write all the time.”
“This is different. I have a request.”
“What do you want me to write about?”
“Us. I want you to write about us.”
“Us?” She asked. He nodded shyly, almost embarrassed. And with that, she took the notebook from his hand and pulled her favorite pencil from the binding. She glanced over at him and as she did, he leaned in and kissed my jaw. As he settled next to her, his eyes closed and his arm draped over her thighs, words bloomed onto the paper like never before. On his bed, while the world whirled around outside, she began Our Story.
In some parts it’s supposed to say her instead of my. Sorry for that mistake!

Review my story? I had to write a story for english and im wondering if its any good:)?

The project was to take someone who is stereotyped like a cheerleader or a jock and show that their life may not be what it seems.

Release

Life is like a brick wall. As a whole, it’s plain, overlooked, unnoticed – unimportant. But, with the loss of each brick people begin to worry, but no one realizes the true damage until all that’s left is a pile of debris lying on the ground, neglected. Another one of my bricks crumbled to the ground, as their fighting words soaked through the door and into my brain. My body started to shake as I lay on my firm mattress, my head floating on the ice-cold blue pillow like a cloud; just floating, free from everything. Sometimes I wished I could be a cloud and fly away, leaving all my cares and worries down on earth. I rolled over, leaving my dreams on the pillow, and scanned the room for my pom-poms. My bedside table stood there, still not having been cleaned since my mom bought it at a yard sale last month. On it sat the remains of my lunch: a half eaten grilled cheese and an empty glass of water. Yes, I know what you’re thinking. She’s the captain of the cheerleading squad – her closet must be filled with pink Marc Jacobs bags and Burberry dresses. But no, the plastic hangers held my overly worn sweaters and three pairs of $19.99 jeans. Ever since Mom lost her job and Dad started smoking and drinking again, new clothes haven’t really been a priority. Around the corner from my dresser was my door; another crack beginning to form from when Dad slammed it shut this morning. I had asked for a ride home from school tomorrow, since it was suppose to rain. I hadn’t realized he’d been doing shots all morning, and he called me “spoiled”, threw my backpack across the room, and slammed the door shut. I tried to make it seem like these things didn’t bother me, but they did. They were the reason that crisp white letter had been sitting on my desk for nine days.
“Ding…ding…ding,” the bells outside chimed 11:00PM. I leaned over to set my alarm for 4:45 AM. I had a morning shift and if I missed it Dad would freak. I had known for a while that he was taking money out of my account, but with Mom and he out of work I was too nervous to say anything. I continued to scan the room for my pom-poms. I needed to bring them to school to leave in my locker for the big game on Friday night. I looked to my desk, and my stress began to bubble up inside me again. There, sitting next to my pom-poms, was probably the biggest decision I would ever make. On top of the desk lay that spine-chilling letter. That letter – that tiny piece of paper – was the reason tears had been glued to my face for the last two hours. The reason I hadn’t spoken a word to any of my friends for a week, and the reason my homework folder had been lying on the floor for days, untouched. It screamed to me, begging me to be opened. “To the parents and/or guardians of Chloe Svolos,” written smoothly across the center with a thin black line across it jumped out at me, strangled me. But if I did open it, my worst fears would be confirmed. That envelope held Mrs. Kovals recommendation for my involvement in therapy classes, beginning in just a week. A “recommendation” for me to tell a complete stranger about what really went on in my house. A “recommendation” for my family to be ripped apart, word by word. It may have been my change in behavior at school, or my recent appeal to jeans and sweatshirts when it was almost 85 degrees out. Whatever it was, she knew, and today she had told me if she was going to call home if she didn’t hear a response by tomorrow. I pulled my body forward, not sure where the strength was coming from and, like a robot, lifted the letter from its almost two week long resting spot, and walked downstairs to leave it in the kitchen to be signed in the morning. As if leaving a bomb, and sprinted back upstairs, turned off the light, and forced my body into a dreamless sleep.

* * * * *

The ringing of the alarm ran through my head, pulling me back into consciousness. As if in slow motion I pulled myself out of the warmth of the sheets and into the frosty morning air. I wiped the tiredness from my eyes and pulled a sweatshirt and dark jeans on. I arranged my hair into a messy bun and quietly sauntered downstairs, since everyone was still sleeping.
everyone was still sleeping.
“What did you say about me?” His voice, in a soft whisper sent chills down my back and made the hair on my arms pin straight. He was more drunk then I had ever seen him and my letter laid open on the kitchen table next to two empty bottles of vodka and a few cigarette butts. He placed his hand under my chin, and lifted it up until our eyes met. We were so close I could see the tiny lines etched in his skin and each separate eyelash. We had talked about these moments in Health. We had promised if we were ever in danger, wherever it was, we would run to the nearest phone and dial 911. But he was my father, and I loved him more than anyone. “What did you say?” He repeated, his voice getting louder and gaining momentum. I started to shake as his hand slapped across my face. I waited for the blood to drip down my face. I waited for the screams to come out of my mouth. I waited for my feet to take control and run away from him, run anywhere.
But there I stood, pain oozing through my body, into every corner. As his thunderous hand came down onto my cheek again the room began to spin and my eyes went blurry. I watched as his body began to shake too, and he fell to the ground. He lay there, motionless. I walked to the table, took the letter with Mom’s signature across the bottom, and walked out. I couldn’t miss my morning shift.

* * * * *

I stood outside the deep mahogany door tracing the spaces between my fingers. The glare from the sun bounced off the gold name, Laura Janetos, etched on a plaque by the door. Minutes sped by. I took four deep breaths and entered the “sanctuary.” The secretary led me into the office, and invited me to sit on the navy couch. Half a minute later a woman with long sable hair, and a black and white pantsuit came through the doors and sat at the chair opposite me.
“So…what now?” I questioned.
“Well, if you wouldn’t mind, lets begin by just sharing some things about you. Tell me about your friends, your family, school, anything.”
“Okay,” I responded. Was it wrong to tell her about what had happened yesterday morning? Everything that had happened was a blur. No, I couldn’t tell her. He’d find out. “Well, I’m a freshman in high school. But my life’s been pretty normal lately, you know. School, homework, cheerleading. The usual.”
“Mm. What about life at home?
“The same. Things are good.” Shivers fell through my body as a spoke, igniting a flame in my throat and ripping it to pieces. I began to blink, tears quivering around my eyes. She put her notepad down, and lifted her arm around me. Before I knew it, the truth was coming out. I couldn’t hear myself say anything. Why was I even telling all of this to some stranger? I poured out my heart and soul into that meeting and she pulled it all in. After about an hour she stood up and took an iPhone off her desk.
“Chloe, I want you to know that what is happening to you isn’t normal. It doesn’t happen to every teenager, you are not living in a safe environment, and I’d like to ask your permission to call Child Services. I know that idea must scare you, but it’s the best thing right now.”
Remember when you were little and every Saturday morning you would watch those Roadrunner cartoons? The coyote would drop anvils and throw bombs at the Roadrunner, but with every attack he would just jump away and keep running. What if one of those times he couldn’t just hop away? What if it was just one too many explosions and he kept getting hit until eventually it was just too much. Everything that had happened, everything I had said and she had said slammed into me, like an anvil. I stood up off the couch and without a word ran out of the room. I ran across the empty street and with heavy breaths continued towards my house.
The sky was gunmetal grey with a sickly cast of green and the air felt heavy. My clothes felt so sticky and uncomfortable thanks to the unbearable pouring rain; I prayed for the weather to break and relieve it. Now the first rumble of distant thunder came, I turned my head toward the sky as I ran, and wanting to welcome Mother Nature and witness the savage beauty she’d always associated with storms. I scattered towards my house, dripping mascara burning my eyes. It had taken me almost an hour to reach the house, but when I turned the corner and saw the police car outside the same garage door I had walked out of a few hours ago, my ignorance showed its self. Dad was being pulled into the police car, handcuffs over his wrists, and Mom sat on the steps, tears mixing with the pouring rain. She looked up, watched me for 10 seconds, and then looked away; taking everything I had left with that stare. It was a pain stronger than a hundred of Dad’s hits.
I knew I couldn’t stay there, so I went to the only other place I could think of. The football game, that I was suppose to cheer at.
Concord High was only five minutes from my house. I burst through the door into the empty halls and raced to the lockers. I entered my combination and pulled open the doors. Then the morning came back to me, I had never brought my pom-poms or uniform. I slid to the ground and buried my face in my knees. Then I saw it. Someone had left a razor and forgotten to put it in their locker. My mind in an abyss somewhere, I smashed open the top, and three tiny blades fell to the ground. I lifted one, and tore it into my arm, layer-by-layer carving the self-demeaning words that I was, “liar,” “disappointment.” The physical pain released the emotional pain. An adrenaline rush burst through me, making me carve more and more.
The sticky red dripped down my arm, something that would have revolted me a day ago, but that now gave me immense pleasure and calmed me. As more blood poured from my body, my head began to fly, neon lights flashing in my eyes, and suddenly, nothing.

* * * * *
You know that feeling when you run, so far and long you feel like your legs could fall off, and your stomach is being ripped apart? When I think back to that night, or what I can remember, that very same feeling overcomes whatever else I’m feeling and tears at me. When Mom saw the words etched in my skin, and I saw the pain in her eyes, I changed. The desperation and longing for somewhere to release my thoughts and pains was gone. I wasn’t that sick girl I once was. Now, I’m a woman; I’m a strong woman. I’m a survivor; I’m not a victim anymore.
it didnt all fit in the original details so i had to continue it into the additional details. Oh and the paragraph indents didnt show up on here, i have no idea why :/

Would you keep on reading?

“Special delivery.” her voice rung in amusement as she entered the alley way just across from where her truck was parked. Her eyes scanned the scene around her, suspecting a noise, or a shadow, anything that would give her a hint of a presence other than her own. But nothing, nothing happened, nobody came forward. It was just her, Sophie Ester, standing in the alley. The smell was bitter, rotted with cigarette, pot, alcohol, everything. The gravel stirred beneath her feet as she lurked steps forward to exam the darker area of the alley. Her eyes were strong enough that she did’t have to go far in the dark to realize there wasn’t anything there so she turned the other direction to start toward her truck. It wasn’t uncommon for there to be a false sight or just some false information passed down people to her.
At her truck she slipped the key into the lock and propped it open. As she slid into her seat she saw a slight movement in her review mirror. Freezing she focused harder, but the movement that had happened was gone with any sign for where or who it came from. Shaking her head loose she shut her door and started the engine. Looking into her mirror again she saw it, another fast movement. Her hand instantly fell into her lap and down her thigh past her knee, to her boot where a belt wrapped around her leg holding three knives. Looping it between her sly fingers she propped her door back open and hopped down to the gravel.
Giving her entertained grin she strolled down and back up the alley, “So what are you hiding for? Afraid of me, are we?” stepping in circles she gripped the handle of her knife tight. No response or figure appeared to challenge her. “Come out, let’s play.” She urged as her smile began to spread and deepen into her fair cheeks.
There, a footstep crumbled onto the small rocks just behind her. Her head spun to peer over her shoulder but the moment she did it was regretted. Like she was a feather in the strong wind her body fell over collapsing onto the alley floor. When she opened her eyes it was gone. The force that had thrown her down was gone. Forcing herself into a sitting position she searched around her.
“What’s your name Angel?” a lost but bold voice questioned in her ear. She threw her arm up to throw her elbow in their face but another force brought it back so far she gave out a wince. The hold was released and she fell to the floor again.
Fighting through her clinching teeth she sat back up and got to her feet, “I’m no Angel.” Sophie knelt down to her boot to pull another knife free. As she did the force, that she expected was coming, came at her again, but this time was prepared. The knife that she already had ready in her hand jabbed forward coming in contact with a surface. The invisible being slowly started to fill color starting from where she had stabbed. Red, dripping blood, leaked from a black covered body. Becoming more and more seen in the passing seconds Sophie started to see the figure as it leaned over holding it’s stomach tightly in it’s palms, just around where the knife stuck out.

Fedex!!!!!!!!!!!!?

i was supposed to be getting a package from my mom and she mailed it express by fedex……well when she gave me the tracking number and tracked it just fine and everything and it said the package was between the front doors and my house….well when i got home from work there was nothing there…..and i called the 800 number for fedex and they said they r going to investigate it and im supposed to call in tomorrow…..will i get the package back and when will i get it back cause they said there going to call the driver that was supposed to delever the package to my house….so can somebody please tell me if im going to get my package and when do u think

FedEx????????

I ordered an item and FedEx is delivering it to me. I was home all day and online it said that no one was home so they could not deliver the package. This was their second attempt and I am really fed up with FedEx. They left a slip on my door yesterday when they made their forst attempt. It says you may pick-up your package TODAY after 7:00 P.M. Yesterday is the Today in the slip. Can I still go and get my package since they also attempted to deliver it today?

fedex??????

does fedex ground deliver on sundays? i need to know!