Leigh-d/xtreme Curves

new year "gamut"

admire the delicate colors,
the soft light ...
and inspire them to germinate ideas.

by Ditte Isager , Danish photographer.

(via nouschineandsons )

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Mission "Red Cross" Dear Captain

A term used by Italian girlfriend and described so well this cause I'm single with my personality ... but I realize more and more, and to my surprise, common to all the girls I know.

Yes, this mission to save life, to change, to reveal, behind a grumpy and selfish character, background and pure altruism.

This arrogance of power to influence, change, alter, release ... This desire to be the engine of a metamorphosis, the analogue of beautiful things, the rationale of a being, the muse of an individual previously imbued with the ruse.

All the girls want to ca. And all the girls think. They could for their beautiful eyes, their attention, the dance of the hips, angelic smile, their difference and their mere existence change this bad boy so far. And they try their luck.

Driven by an instinct perhaps by a mother and probably somewhat carnal desire, they have eyes only for those who only destroy his way, whatever his age, heart girls.

They say, with a haughty and chin slightly raised, glass in hand and smile malignant, for them, this guy wants to cross oceans insolent.

Then they will put the necessary effort, they consider different approaches, as Machiavellian as sincere, much more to gain than to please him.

Because they want to be the first. The first to be dug in the permanent transience. Bad Boy and converted is the dream of every girl.

The Red Cross mission ... what a beautiful expression. A mission under the banner of love, perhaps. Surely the arrogance. Can we change someone ... really?
Is it love each other? I know. Is it a personal challenge? Surely.

But is it worth? I do not really believe.

Why change the world ... when there are at every street corner, in every bar in every subway station, and on every street and many sincere people who do not require all this way.

This would be too easy, they tell me. And I debate.

But even me ... even I wanted once, with all the conviction that goes with it and perfect abstraction of failure, transforming an offender into a prince.

And in our usual coffee, about a late lunch after a Friday evening abusive, three, we talk with laughs and frights this nonsense tough.

The conclusion is uncertain. The conversation I hurt. Because I did not realize until then that this game was not clean to me.

And I decide, in my heart, eyes that shine have suddenly understood everything, the bad boys ... put a cross. Red. And then I move.

Prior to realize that it's my heart that decides ... often. And it has never been intelligent.

Rouge. Anger this time.

Definitely. Nothing depends on me.

A Marianna and Julia ...

©

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days *

Odalisque, Matisse -1923 -

few days of calm with Mary " Mouse ",

opportunity to submit Lille (and the blue sky for one day only)
discuss, do even aware
laughing, drinking tea
,
to dream ...
what fun really! *

with a little advance, that my summertime pretty Mouse!
some colors in the image of these few days together.

*
and then schedule "tree coloring" butterfly , arrived in the mail yesterday and immediately hooked! Thanks again
Sibyl, I like it a lot ... *

and then a nice meeting this week with a tea Mulot, poppy and blabla .
a joyful moment to repeat soon!

Jthm Johnny The Homicidal Maniac

is an article I read on the site of L'Orient Le Jour. As every morning, and before anything else as urgent as it is, I cross diagonally and Lebanese news bed with depth and precision page "views".
The item I want to talk, did not fail to attract my attention.

Entitled "Christian in my country, I soon felt concerned. Being Christian and being (unfortunately ...) of his country. Mr.

felt called to counsel women. As if he had any idea what it means to be a woman. Lebanese woman and a fortiori.

After reading his article, let me very clumsy, I could not help but dive into a new confusion, that of not knowing if I feel the urge to laugh or cry. And normally, my reactions are spontaneous.

I wanted to record a comment directly responsive, passionate, violent ... but I recently learned that to be heard must be controlled. So I chose the nice words. But now on my personal site, I would like to share with you, Mr. "Captain", impressions of a Lebanese woman. And Christian.

You say that the family should be governed by a single head. And this idea is not completely stupid. Even dictatorships (" enlightened" to quote one of my professors in law) proved to work well.

You say that Lebanese Christian women are becoming more liberated (I did not quite understand the need to specify the religion ... but nevermind).

You say it takes only one master is on the edge of the boat (the man) and that the woman would then play the role of co-pilot (I admit I found the words "cute").

you consider that the emancipation of women, access to a status equal to man, his ambition, his success are the causes of the failure of some marriages (the number of "growing" as you say although the term "crescent" seems more elegant my dear captain).

Also, you accuse the wave of liberalization as a primary source of the decline of family values and a negative impact on education children.

short, I'm not going to summarize your article well detailed as those who have not read have understood the message.

Let me now present to you my opinion on the subject.

I'm young. And I'm single. I can not pretend like you know what a life together and that requires a marriage (are you married?) But I will try from the top of my 24 years, to share with you my analysis .

Dare argued that women should only be mother and wife and abandon his status as a woman short and second career woman, would assume the following points:

- The success of man (so it has the luxury of not contributing to the financial needs of the household) because you have completely forgotten that the living conditions and the Lebanese economy dictate, often combined efforts of both parents. And yet ...
- The lack of ambition of the woman (for the latter to rejoice in his idleness)
- The folly of man (so he could hear a woman with a little more s'abêtissant every day) with all the consequences would be visited a couple stupid kids
- Archaic vision of man, his lack of confidence, etc.

I could go on for pages and list pages. But I hurry to reach my conclusion that will prove you wrong swimming.

I could tell you about my mother, a successful career, marriage and flawless four children do not suffer from lack of affection or complex, but you do not know to be guaranteed.

I could talk to my director at the office, beautiful woman who hangs pictures of her husband around and comes back in time to get his daughter out of school, to cook for her small her husband and spend the evening with family. This woman has something to tell her husband returning home, and not be restricted to trivial and irrelevant stories of neighbors and neighbors. This woman is a role model to her 8 year old daughter. Who taught him, without saying but the living image of a woman model carried.

I could tell you about the mother of a friend. A woman I admire and I respect that. A woman with impeccable values and faith untouchable who has educated two children (now adults) who succeed in life. Who lack neither love nor attention nor support financial or moral support or emotional support. These children who have excelled in their studies and also stand out in the workforce. I can tell you, Mr. Captain, and I want to assure you that their mother had breached no duty towards his home, and is now head of a court Lebanon.

Yes, these women make me dream.

Children make me dream too.

And a successful marriage.

But I can not allow myself to read an article written by a man, and daring to give advice to women.

What do you know her?

There is no recipe for a successful family.

Ultimately, the woman can work or not, man can also stay at home, why not?

One head ... I will. But it is at least ... Well done!

Please do not talk about Lebanese woman, Christian released. Talk about women at all.

And better yet, do not talk.

Excuse my arrogance. It must be my age. But Captain, you seem to know the water and want only the crossing, I end with a verse from a poem that inspires me Marbeuf:

"And the sea and love to have the bitter division,
He who fears the water, it remains to shore. "
Hi Marin.

Note: To access the article, visit www.lorientlejour.com Click "Debates" and "Opinions" and then "Christian in my country."

©

Well Wishes - In The Time Of Death - Says

I'm here to tell you that I'm

I came to tell you I'm
Yeah I'm sorry to tell you that
OF I'm
Because you told me too much.

Serge Gainsbourg. I wanted to meet you. ... And yet you're ugly.

I wanted you to know. Because you belonged to a future time, and you dared do and say in public what the others thought immodest. I love your face, your messy hair, nonchalant your approach, your singing voice, your definition of love and your words plainly.

I specially sensitive to a particular song: "I'm here to tell you I'm going. "Paradoxical

Words that make me almost ill. Because at your farewell, Serge, I believe only half. Why would you go to confront the woman you love ... if you really left her?

And I find myself in these words. Because that's what I do. Every time. I may be crazy.

Yes, I'll find him. I'll see when my skin rejects it, while my heart hates him, while my reason it is more reason.

I'll find him. And as I am ashamed of what I do, I shall advance this excuse as low as pathetic, I can not find that to say that I leave.

I give him an appointment as for the injury. But it hurts me that I first.

I mistaken my pride and my pride, and I treat myself to a moment at his side, convincing me that it is better for me to go. This time for good. This deserves a final insult.

I find myself facing him, and I offer him a face cleansed by tears, I told him it's over, and this time I succumbed to its charm. He nods

as I knew. He smiled as I feared. And I swear to myself never to return.

And yet ... and yet ... I will return. I know. But still ... just to tell him I'm going.

game unhealthy and destructive. From an impossible love but so predictable. Because I resource at his side. And I did that kiss for release.

Yes, I leave. And I'll go see it to tell him. Thousand times if necessary. To make sure he understood my words.

So I walk. I walk without looking back. A little to do as Gainsbourg. ... Who loved him that long.

I'll go see it. One last time. This time is the charm. I'll go see it and I'll tell him out loud. I will not answer the phone. I met another man. And it's over now.

But like the song, I remember the happy days and I cry. So I'm going to check, in cons heart, there is really no hope of saving the past.

And then a smile. A casual caress. A look pushy. An endearing memory. A fragile promise. A passionate kiss. Make me forget everything. These wounds that I'm inked forever. These betrayals I thought insurmountable. These mood swings that broke my heart.

Yes, I forget everything. And I just tell you ... I tried. Really. I tried all my life. But I can not really leave.

And when I go ... only for better return.

Beirut. ©

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colored light as a ...

range of pen
an idea that gradually comes to life ..
*
behind my window, warm, I see the blue sky makes me believe that spring is here ..
a little patience.

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Liberal

To Mr.

My parents always seemed to be the best. When I was a kid at school, I was plagued by a fear unreasonable and disproportionate, that of coming home and not find them. Quick, quick, too fast, I hunted the idea in my head for fear of having ignored the power to transform thoughts into reality.

I spoke, I spoke a lot. I always speak the same. At breakfast I told them everything from clothes to the teacher's comment no more of the class. I did not finish my meal and never j'agaçais my brothers, my sister and my parents by my chatter exaggerated. I appreciated especially

car trips with my mother. Enclosed dans sa caisse, elle n’avait d’autre choix que de m’écouter.

Avec le recul, et l’âge, j’ai réalisé que derrière ce rôle qu’ils se devaient de prendre, ils restaient un homme, une femme, comme tous les autres, avec leurs peurs, leurs blessures, leurs efforts, leurs faiblesses, leurs ambitions, leurs rêves. Et je m’en voulus d’être souvent passée à coté.

Mais s’il y a une chose que je leur reconnais, c’est de nous avoir offert, dès notre plus tendre enfance, la liberté.

La liberté de jouer dans la boue, avec les chats et les souris. La liberté de marcher seul to the cinema, when our neighbors were our age go to bed at 18 hours. For us, the evening was only beginning. Freedom later to studies of our choice. I chose the Law. In a family that has a head for science. Freedom, much later, to fall in love with the boy for whom my heart was pounding. It is nice, stupid, dirty or ugly.

And this freedom, I could not shake them.

She especially when amplified alone in a foreign city, I was able to experience it in its more elaborate version. Because even the eyes of parents, then walked away. And my freedom, I am soaked. I devoured as to explore its limits. And especially mine. I boasted, I abused, I sang it ... and I even wept often. When alone in a dark street, when the cold slap me, when my courage and escaped me when loneliness overcame me, I hoped, so deeply, be protected.

And yet ... and yet, even if I have it, although I've always had, I realized why she had been granted. This dangerous weapon which often requires beware. This prerogative intangible and priceless enjoyed the powerful and dreamed of states, individuals and children .... This natural and inalienable right which is the focus of international talks, wars, revolutions. Yes, I understood why my parents have always considered worthy of this blessing ...

I understood too late perhaps. Or have I understood too soon. I understand and I smiled. I understand and I blushed. My parents knew that on a solid foundation on well established principles, freedom could not hurt us. Because she had inked on her as a contradiction, its own limitations.

Yes, I'm liberal. I'm as liberal a single Lebanese woman living in London can be. Because I choose my friends, I live alone, I dance, I cry, I drink ... and I make my own choices. I love the light dresses, walks at night, yellow shoes, the music at any time of day and night, loves senseless debates daring, obstacles, too ambitious ambitions and challenges. Life. Life. Life.

And during a dinner with a man who looks like me, a man who comes from my country, living in the same city and who has in the eyes the same desires, I replied that yes, I love Beirut. But unfortunately I do not like him more. Because I am indeed very liberal. But I have a lot of principles. While Beirut is conservative. But has more often, and unfortunately, principles. ©

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A kiss to my mother

This year, the Easter holidays will be long and very festive. In London, taking three days off, we get to link two long weekends of four days each. Because the Easter weekend is followed by the marriage of Prince. And of course this deserves a holiday. Congratulations William and Kate. And thank you! The result? Eleven days in Beirut, of course!

That said ... The formula is not as simple and joyful than it pretends. Because there are two obstacles to overcome.

The first obstacle lies in the office. It is time to ask his boss (and firmly) to be granted 3 days of leave that bind the two weekends. He must convince his colleagues, most of which (all in fact ...) are more senior, they should remain to cover my absence and I, deep in the hierarchy, I deserve this luxury. I would not hesitate one second to play that manages to turn every time to charm my audience, run out of tears and the words powerful, passionate, touching my attachment to my land, my painful separation from my family, my expatriation to London. And I'm leaving in a speech ending, patriotic and determined, which will be interrupted by my boss, who, tired of my ride, resolves to let me go.

happy with my victory, I'll sit my butt in front of my screen, and send some emails to my friends who ecstatic, like me, plan the lavish celebration. I would file a few tips that work every time: my cousin got married (if you listened we really had understood that it was only 7 years old and she can not marry 7 times in a year ...), my brother finished university (in April?) and my best friend passed the bar (So what?).

short. Now it's done. I smiled stupidly but wisely not to irritate the prisoners in April.

Needless to say, the few hours after this announcement are lightweight, head in the air and very distracted. But the words here and there in the Lebanese newspapers that I read online and in the international press, take me back to reality quickly. And I remember the second obstacle, which my still applies to repress consciousness.

Danger. Revolution. Indictment. Regime crisis. Big words that sound strong but are actually impregnations of cowardice.

The voice of my father on the phone sounds calm and rested. He said he had lunch with my mother in their big empty house with their four children. He told me that there's falafel. He said he is heartened by the fact that we all live abroad.

me it does not comfort me at all. Because already they are. And if the country is really in danger, I'd rather be with them there, my house, how to look through my TV screen, some clue that would resolve the uncertainty. The uncertainty of the existence of a government, its lack of impact on peace, the uncertainty of the return of an indictment, the uncertainty if it is eventually published.

My phone rings and me away from my thoughts. My friend, I feel quite optimistic, which already buys its tickets online, wonder if he takes BMI or MEA, and if we go on April 22 or 23.

Frankly, I can only hope that during a rest interval between a crisis and a war, I can go for a kiss to my mother. ©

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1871: The Commune in images and music

In pictures ...

The Paris Commune has resulted in the destruction of several monuments of the capital. The Palais des Tuileries royal residence which was at the end of the Louvre has been burned by the Communards May 23, 1871, during the "Bloody Week." What he was still, after many debates, razed in 1883 (the cons a painting done in 1880 ). See on the map above its exact location. To learn more about this event, see this article on the blog of my colleague, "Camille Desmoulins" . See also some representations on the site by the image history. Some would even rebuild the Palace in the same, but that seems unlikely ...



Another monument damaged, column of the Place Vendome , atop which stood a statue of Napoleon . Column calving is May 8, 1870 by the Communards as a symbol of the Empire (Napoleon III was in fact dismissed after the defeat of Sedan September 2, 1870). The painter Gustave Courbet, a prominent representative of realism in painting and close to the socialists, was later charged with having been, at best, complicit in the decision. He was sentenced to six months in prison.

At the time of the Paris Commune, photographs are taken. You can see by looking this link.

As for songs ...

Jean-René Caussimon a song written in 1975: "La Commune is struggling." With this song, reminds us Julien Blottière histgeobox on the various events of the "Terrible Year" (Victor Hugo): Franco-Prussian War, Siege of Paris, Paris Commune and repression by the "Versailles".

Another song is a direct part in the history of the Commune is " The cherry season ," whose lyrics were written by Jean-Baptiste Clement in 1866. The latter, very committed to the left, asks Antoine Renard to his poem to music. The song becomes a sort of anthem of the labor movement and the Commune. Jean-Baptiste Clément is also present on the barricades with Louise Michel, a key figure in the insurgency. The lyrics are full of metaphors suggesting a bright future, that of workers, so poetic.

The success of the song has not waned thereafter, even if those who were thinking probably hummed little to its political dimension. Many singers have interpreted, Yves Montand Dassary, I've prepared a playlist up to you designated your favorite version ....

Discover Playlist Time cherries with Nao Wadayama

Recently, the group Black Desire completed version. The political dimension is evident to them, especially since the other title on line wants to be very explicit: "Winners and losers." Below, "Time of the Cherries.

Learn more about "Le Temps des Cerises" on this site

Let's talk to end the BD Tardi after the novel of Vautrin, The Cry of the People , which the Commune is the "character" principal.

Curising Places Central New Jersey

* * not having foot

weightless feel lighter, swim, float
let go, listen ... *

Where Are All The Papers In Poptropica

A walk alone


choose is to give up. Me Will they say.

Choose the music and give to the heavy silence of my four walls. Choose and renounce the secret words and many displaced futile. Choose the bank and waive the right. Choose life without you, and abandon the false security that you wanted to get. Choose freedom, with his wounds, his pains, its dangers ... and give up our past dinners, watching TV. Choose

is a luxury. Select is a bold cry. Choose, still, there is always a choice, beyond the hesitation, fear of the unknown, the attachment to comfort, the certainty of this and get into the void of the delicious possibility of tomorrow, perhaps the of life.

A woman is given any choice. At any man too. Maybe. But I do not know.

Because women often make a choice or another in love. That stable relations and logical, mature and promises safeguards on natural progression and constructive, family ... or that of adventure, passion, excess, body, instant happiness. The choice of

reason or choice of madness. The reason

haughty and easy. Or folly and arrogant teenager. Stability. Or evenings alone in a city that hustles and sings. The habit that has a very tough side. Or the perennial prelude. Information. Or the perpetual abandonment.

I chose. I think. Without really choose because the choice was obvious to me. That of living. Love, cool water. Shoes and champagne. Living carefree about what will come, enjoying the moment that will soon end, with gray mornings and evenings already parties, background music and messages charming, intoxicating fears and girlfriends always starters, nights and days that combine to exist only two and form a whole and vulnerable yet durable. Living with the stability of the unstable, which installs as never to retire, smiling and bowing his victory, by far, hope.
A choice that comes alone. Which is no longer a choice for that very reason. Since we do not always decides his path. When one has in his heart an insatiable desire to go further.

And then one day, while walking alone so far from the sea, we realize we can not love when you do not know enough. And the dance of waves, the heat of the sand on my feet, the size of the horizon I win. In the mountains. Because I realize that I could not really love. Without discovering who I was.

choice, you have offered me. And among your gifts, that is dearest to me. ©

Plan Lekcjido ściągnięcia

Chapter 3: London. Saturday night after midnight. I'm hungry.

Below, Chapter 3 of a missed book, never published.
I decided not to dine. The bag of madeleines Happy Mother's day should be eaten cancels pronto. Especially since I planned to go to Beirut soon, and my weight accumulated can not be tolerated by the look strict and perfectionist Lebanese people for whom nothing comes before the body. The slim and tan. In London, in loose black clothes, comfort is paramount. It was already after midnight. I'm hungry.

In my fridge, a bag of lettuce could not do the trick. I decide to go out and buy something to eat. Everything is closed. Because the busy and crowded city still finds time to rest. And I envy her organization pushed to the extreme. I have not taken the time to dress. In my pajamas and my orange socks that I am more committed than my last love me Louboutin shoes cost a month's rent, I watch a supermarket open.

I do not think a Mc whose light is calling me and I can not ignore. I yield to the temptation. Inside, a bunch of friends dressed in evening dress see me. I can not drive out of my head orange heinous of my socks. And it is too late for me to hide myself. Then I remember the advice of my mother: "Look people straight in the eye when you talk to them. The light interferes at a point they may notice your clothes." And I do. The trick works. I buy my chips to two pounds and I get home I eat 600 calories disgusted, plagued by guilt and has met once. It is far

the time for romantic dinners I cooked every night without getting bored eager to please ... Eager to share. And I can not help thinking that in a city that does not care that it is shod with orange or Louboutin, there is a limit as that one creates. The city agrees. Everything. Even the orange. Yes gone are the days of "find me nineteen hours. But it is here that the two chips in the morning. And I do not care of Louboutin. ©

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Chapter 6: It was all inclusive

Below, Chapter 6 of a missed book, never published.

Eight o'clock in the morning. I go out as usual. But not quite. Because a sense of freedom never felt before came over me and fills me. A sense of lightness gives me the impression of floating. Arriving at the subway station, I have not wanted to go. Because once the train, bored and sleepy heads will bring me back to earth. And this morning ... I fly.

Eight o'clock. I sit on a bench and I chose the sunny corner. I wish the sky is blue. It would have been nice in history. But the sky was white.

Eight o'clock. On my bed I look at people passing by, busy people, couples kissing on quickly mouth to wish a good day and from each of its side, legs lurking and that disturbs the dust, the hands holding the cafés who smoke cigarettes crashing to the ground, passing the costumes, heels needles, ties, pale faces cleansed ... I look at everyone as a stupid inexplicable happiness.

Eight o'clock. I am anonymously pass that crosses the lives of everyone touching it. I touches because I do not fit into any. I love my role of spectator. Especially after playing so long the role of lead actress in a drama that lasted longer than necessary. And that has annoyed everyone. You know ... the kind of film that compel the audience to immerse their heads in bags of popcorn, kissing in search of any passion to sleep or just leave ...

Eight o'clock in the morning London. On a bench. In front of the station. I look at people with a beatific smile that means nothing. A smile that has no rationale, no logic and no purpose. A simple smile that I can not control and which required that I do not have provoked. People go by quickly. But I ask myself. For once, I did not want to move. I want to feel each passing second. I want to take time to digest. I ask myself a moment to experience the morning. To accommodate a new day of my life. To see what I go too fast often. These moments do not return. These 26 degrees so rare in England. I do not ... you'll get him.

Eight o'clock. A man passes me smile too. Yes it has it all. ©

Panasonic Lumix Dmcfx10k

This is a party song

I set my alarm at eleven o'clock to be on time at dance classes. This is a course of Zumba, Latin and African dance ... I do not know. I go every Saturday morning, even when the night before was white, even when the day has been watered, even when my head weighs a ton in the morning. Nothing in the world I will not be at the rendezvous.

The first few times were tough. Because the aggressive movements, daring, sudden and intense personality conflict with my quiet and reserved and my body tired and lazy.

That said, I quickly became addicted. Drum music makes me heart beat, I like the sensual movements and energy that is released makes me happy all weekend. There is also Marco. Gay prof who became a good friend.

all started with an error. I supposed to be in a yoga class. But of course I was wrong studio. And it took me a good thirty minutes to understand (until then, I was fully convinced that it was a kind of yoga I did not know).

Marco had started the course with a statement that I liked illico: "This is not a dance class. This is a party. "

And every week, actually looked like during the evenings wildest. Until she made her entrance. I would have guessed, I would have felt I could have sworn without even looking back. This woman who for some time sharing your day. And ask me how to focus ...

My eyes were fixed on her, my legs refused to move and the voice Marco crying so I could not react to wake up.

His blond hair and silky on his back, his ability to remember the steps in a split second, his legs two feet, his blue eyes, his bronzed skin clean and yes ... I hated it. And worst of all ... I was sure, his attitude completely relaxed, she did not even know who I was.

I imagined everywhere. In your kitchen, sipping tea in the cups I bought in your living room on the couch that I myself have tried wine, then hidden with a pillow, on your terrace and I have long decorated in your bed ... traitor.

I had a thousand reasons to hate her, to convince Marco to allocate it for some reason ... maybe because she dances too well.

And I can not describe to you the effort which I have proof to support it, to see her, to accept it, to convince me that you are not an object and I'm not allowed of you claim.

But I ended up loving it. Crime I promised myself not to commit. That may be because of our movements in sync. Our shared laughter. Marco. The false-yoga. Our love of the drum. His natural kindness that I ended up accepting. Our emotional release in dancing. Punctuality of our common Saturday morning. And I confess my love I do not wish him the same fate.

©

Water Retention Causes More Condition_symptoms

24 hours in 24 years I

8: 00 - J'marche alone along the line of iron ch'min
In my head there are no cases
J'donne shots to walk in a 'lil' iron box
In my head there's nothing ` I'm
do evil and evil campaign in town
Maybe a little bit too fragile

11: 00 - I wanted to be a singer
To shout who I am I wanted to be a
author
To invent my life

14: 00 - 25 Years and My Life Is Still Trying to get
Up That great big hill of hope For a destination
.
[...] I Said hey, what's going on?
Ooh, ooh ooh

16: 00 - I'm gonna make you, make you, make you notice!

18: 00 - I got a feeling tonight That's gonna be a good night tonight
That's gonna be a good night tonight That's
gonna be a good good night wooh hoo

21:00 - Girls just want to have fun ... ...

1: 00 - It's gettin 'late goal I do not mind.

3:00 - ... It's gettin 'late goal I do not mind.

4:00 - Men who spend
Have Mom smiles that are a little
As Mom faces

8: 00 - I dragging its feet, I dragged my pans
yet i love the © School ...

Acronis Installation Interrupted

feathers, ribbons, chiffon ...

inspirations-January-

(above) on Etsy Batcakes

(bottom from left to right) Sarah Seven (stylist)
Amber Gray (photographer)
50's vintage dress on Etsy


* You Marry you soon?

P.a.n.d.a.s More Condition_symptoms

Discovering Rap New Orleans

In Samarra, we continue to "stay" to " Nawlins," the metropolis of Louisiana. We invite you to discover the rap scene in the city, often little known outside of a few headliners. We asked an expert, Jean-Pierre Labarthe , to guide us. He agreed to answer our questions and proposes a selection of titles you can see video at the end of the article.

Visit Samarra

[Photo: The first rap album of New Orleans]

Herpes 1 More Condition_symptoms

In the subway, a thousand shots, a thousand ideas and miles to do. I write in my notebook. The law had to give me a purpose. Since the lists, I'm still obsessed. I feel mastering the situation just because I have it on paper makes me laugh to myself. Silently of course.

I think especially of the evening tonight. It's the birthday of my girlfriend. I'll wear my newly purchased black dress on sale. And the shoes are not like me. But I want to anyway. A bit out of me. I create another character for a night to dance, to play comedy ... to maybe see it. I am 24 years

past few months. But I still do not know who I am. On the dance floor, my movements are sometimes too daring, or too timid. I came close to hand my best girlfriend. With it, two, it goes better.

I look subtly in the glass. Am I too skinny, too big ... my hair well are smooth, silky ... The well can people read through accessories and makeup that somewhere, deep down, I still hesitate? And a lot?

This morning at the office, before my client, and through my crestfallen from the previous day, I wanted to betray my lack of experience, my hesitation and timidity through my words seriously large and well I still do not. I put heels too, occupational requirement that complicates things further. Because I'm too big.

the phone, my parents ask me. They worry about my silence led by London, its sounds, its rushing clocks, bus, encounters ... and especially its "de-meetings." I make up words now. Why not? I have 24 years.

By late evening, outside in the cold and rain, waiting for a taxi, I have the phone. This man I met recently, the man who a decade older than me, and who has known ... of women, true. He says he loves my honesty. I am woman 24 years? Am I still a child?

He told me that I am beautiful. But it's a song.

He says I am a woman. And through his words, his eyes when he looks at me, his actions when he approached and his affection when he approaches me, I tamed ... I let myself go. And even if I want him to protect me, I'm more of a child at all. But a woman seeking a man. On true. And I may have found. ©

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The hymns have a story (III) "You'll Never Walk Alone" anthem of Liverpool Football Club

"This ticket will to discover the long, tortuous and rich history of a hymn. Not a national anthem (though), but played a hymn, claimed, contested in the large green rectangle of a huge assembly that worships a strange object, a round ball. With many fans around the world, it is particularly strong in Britain. This is also where the hymn in question is coveted and attempted appropriation of conflict. "

VServat tells this story about histgeobox. Directorate Liverpool!

[Photo vservat. Emblem of Liverpool Football Club placed above the staircase on which people players to the lawn. The feel lucky. Dessus red, white and liverbird]

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I fly My angel

The New Year's resolutions exasperate me. Because the fact of waiting a year ending twelve months and heavy weight material, for weeks, full of lonely nights and gloomy Sundays, Mondays morning sleepy and not grandiose, Saturdays where the party is defeated to change what we do pleases me seems ridiculous.

Why not change today, at this precise moment, slipping into his jeans, brushing her hair, calling her mother, looking in the mirror? Why not say that here this morning, stepping outside, I'll smile like a moron at all who pass, even those I hate, hate to drive my heart, disgust, fatigue, pass my favorite songs in my head when my ipod dies, dancing, walking and attack life with a positivism which inspires, with an audacity that kills, with a confidence that is perplexing.

Easy to say. Because the seasons must pass. The nights may have to be white. Injuries have hurt. And the effects should remain. The scars show that they existed.

Man (unfortunately) needs to watch, laws, benchmarks, dates, numbers, time. A new year is displayed and the reason (need) to remix his life arises. An opportunity not to be missed. Yes, 2011 I adopted you, I already tame, I'm a snob, I hold you, I kiss you, I pity you, I'll drink, I eat you.

The holiday is over, I'll have a drink in the bar beside the street. This bar is nothing special except the fact that now we know .... A glass of wine, and then another one too. Vulgar laughter that come to disturb the serene atmosphere Monday night when people are wise and disciplined. Not us. Not you nor her. And especially not me.

No resolution. Because everything is natural. In fact, though. One. A single, big and fat, which includes all other small resolutions unnecessary and too detailed to be met. That of being happy. Happy in the full sense of the word. Better yet. That of being free. Free

in his body. In thought. In its projects. In his gestures. In his words. And especially in his dreams. Who can control them?

And freedom tonight, in our words without artifice and without restraint, in your long black hair that you drop in the ring too flashy in our desires that go beyond, in our adventures of the ink to flow For years, our own sense of South Ken, London, and the world, I felt. I felt in my blood, on my skin and deep within my heart. Because between the mojito and vodka, we had the impression that it's going. By the way ... that ca could not be better.

It was enough to decide. And smile at a stranger can sometimes fly.

Yes. I fly. ©

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a week between parenthesis,
I leave you with this bit of sweetness that I discovered thanks to Madeleine and Ernestine .

Alicia Rhodes And Retired

New for 2011?

Some questions I ask myself at the entrance to this year 2011 ...

• The Ivory Coast Will she finally come out with more than fifteen years of political instability and confrontation? The best analysis is probably that of Tiken Jah Fakoly in "My Côte d'Ivoire" .
• The Belgium Will it have a government by the end of the year? Not necessarily more than 200 days after the election. The country still awaits the formation of a government. The negotiations are ongoing since June. As in 2007 , parties to regional basis, do not agree. In any case, there is one thing that the Belgians have not lost is the sense of humor and self-deprecating humor as evidenced by this "Belge Side Story"

Belgian side story

• The Republican majority in the House of Representatives in the U.S. , inducted this week, she will succeed in agreeing with the Senate Democratic majority and President Obama? Nothing is less certain. The session began with the full ead of the Constitution and its 27 amendments . The Republican majority has put the agenda aside from the health reform so laboriously obtained by Obama.
• The Sudan exist there again next month? A self-determination referendum in the south to take place next week. a civil war pitted the central government (dominated by mainly Muslim northerners) south (mostly animist and Christian) from 1983 to 2005. The score seemed to settle but still gained some tough questions like oil. The majority of the oil produced by the country in the South but is exported by pipeline through the North to rejoin the Red Sea at Port Sudan. This could complicate relations between North and South, but why not also require them to deal with each other.
• The Greece and Turkey will they be separated by a wall three meters high? Their land border is less of a problem that the delimitation of maritime areas (EEZ) of the two countries, but Greece is seriously looking to build a wall to prevent migrants from entering in the Schengen Area and the European Union. The place has indeed become one of the first crossing points for illegal immigrants from the Middle East, Asia and even Africa . Another problem
• border perspective between Israel and Lebanon and another question: After fighting on land, Israel and Lebanon will they clash at sea? A wide oil and gas field has actually been discovered in the Mediterranean . It is largely in the Exclusive Economic Zone of Israel but to the extent that there is no agreement with Lebanon on delimitation of the EEZ, a portion of the deposit is also claimed by the latter.
• The Hungary Will it stifle freedom of expression ? You probably think I'm exaggerating, but the recent law, passed at the instigation of Prime Minister Viktor Orban's right, seriously calls into question the freedom of expression by placing more stringent conditions to the press and media. Even the European commission cares.

You may have the impression that I'm pessimistic after reading these questions ... It is true that I could ask questions lighter or optimistic as: PSG will he champion of France? The summer will be there nice and sunny? 2Pac Will he make a comeback? Michael Jordan Will he go back to playing basketball? Music Will she finally soften manners? My Terminals will they have their bin? Johnny Will he be able to do a concert at the Stade de France? Will I manage to finish the program? The population of the Vosges Will it increase? "People" will they stop being racist, even a little? The chameleon Will it regain its original color? .....

What is certain is that I wish you all, loyal users, an excellent year 2011. My best wishes!

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exchanges ..

-Mulot treasures that tinker-
-notebook-Miss Moustache
frost-flowers of lady weasel-

* White Christmas *
is the theme we were given our first exchange with Mulot.
I present here a small excerpt from the mountain of treasures she sent me! Roll on the next exchange
!!!!!

* thank you for your wishes!

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new year

A year Colourful,
magic
brilliant
dazzling
sparkling
breathtaking ..

* Close your eyes, let yourself go, DREAMING, follow your instincts, move, change (if you want), do not be afraid to love, enjoy every moment, laugh, do what you like, have the will, travel ...
(you can continue the list)