The Thread Where I Post Stuff That I Just Happen To Really Like
 

Every once in awhile, I find little things that put a smile on my face and I like to share them. Some of these things don't really fit into any neat classifications, so I'm just going to chuck them here.

Letter from Sheri
 

This is part of a letter I got from a great friend though, and I wanted to save it, and thought it might make interesting reading for at least the older posters here.

Speaking for myself – as I got close to age 40, I realized that investing in my own identity/ quality of my life and future was an unavoidable priority. That meant putting away my parent’s expectations, putting down other’s (Jim) baggage that I had been carrying, taking the time to fully enjoy my friends and interests – (with or without a partner), and dammit…….just having FUN.
What some people would simplistically label “a mid-life crisis” is the realization that you cannot continue to do things the same way for the rest of your life. It’s simply a life evaluation of where you are at.

Jim tends to position himself as a “victim” going through life….waiting for good things to happen and bemoaning the bad things, and not DOING anything about either.

I started realizing that life isn’t something that you wait to “happen” TO you, i.e. weekends, more money, parties, and vacations. You make life happen, and if it’s fun and you’re comfortable and happy in your own skin, its because you made it happen that way.

And yes, after working on that philosophy for 7-8 years, along came Dave. What an absolute gift. But if I had not been in that “place” [that I had actively worked to practice], my relationship with Dave never would have happened as it did.

In other words, “when life hands you lemons…..ask for Tequila and salt.”

50 Things I Hate

1. Phoney people.
2. Racism., including "reverse".
3. When I forget to spot treat my laundry.
4. "Your call has been dropped."
5. The cost of flying.
6. Crabgrass.
7. Mosquitoes.
8. Whoever stole my bike.
9. Whoever stole my car stereo and music.
10. Lipstick that bleeds.
11. People who don't do their jobs.
12. Screaming whitey "music".
13. Ingrown toenails.
14. Addiction-induced behaviours.
15. Liars.
16. Crumbly wine-corks.
17. Things that grow in shower stalls.
18. People who yell at other drivers.
19. Piss-poor grammar by choice.
20. That teachers aren't paid more.
21. That I'M not paid more.
22. Whiney, needy, boring people.
23. Bush. (GW)
24. That I didn't know who Gavin Rossdale was when I talked to him online.
25. Bad remakes of good songs.
26. Spiders. I don't care that they kill other bugs.
27. That I can't see without corrective lenses.
28. Untimely death.
29. Glitches where I lose a longass PM or post.
30. How fast food spoils.
31. That I lost touch with Kathleen.
32. When they discontinue the perfect shade of lipstick.
33. When people leave their clothes in public laundry machines.
34. Indecision.
35. Being eaten by scarabs.
36. "I did a modified Atkins (that I made up) and it didn't work. Atkins is a scam."
37. That bottled water often costs more than soda.
38. When filmmakers butcher good books.
39. When people dismiss the experience of others.
40. Hornets. What is the point, there??
41. The necessity of drug interaction precautions.
42. Gender-bashers.
43. Pantyhose.
44. Inefficiency.
45. That piano bars have turned into sports bars.
46. Number of channels I can get without cable: 0.
47. When I can't remember something I learned.
48. People who take potshots at celebrities.
49. The flypaper people who try to keep you from cancelling a service.
50. Verbal hiccups.


50 Things I Love
1. Colored pens.
2. The smell of white carnations.
3. High-pressure systems.
4. Terry Gilliam.
5. The gift of someone cooking for me.
6. That my eyes are the same color as my father's.
7. Dry humor.
8. Integrity.
9. When friends call.
10. When my neice wants to talk to Auntie Cindy.
11. Colored glass.
12. Dr Pepper Lipgloss.
13. Maxfield Parrish's art.
14. Thank you cards.
15. Breezy songs in french.
16. amazon.com
17. Talking with intelligent, opinionated people.
18. Stone henges.
19. Old houses.
20. Light perfumes.
21. Arriving on time.
22. Men who can play the piano.
23. The satisfaction of my curiosity.
24. Keeping secrets.
25. Learning new things.
26. Artfully designed utility items.
27. Soft, flowing skirts.
28. Google.
29. Pulled meats and sweet tea.
30. Singing with friends.
31. The luxury of a manicure/pedicure.
32. Sending/recieving packages in the mail.
33. John Stewart.
34. Good writing.
35. Great sex.
36. Home cooking.
37. Mountains.
38. Night swimming.
39. Skilled singing: Fiona Apple, Eva Cassidy, Amalia Rodriguez, Phoebe Snow...
40. How much easier this list is to make.
41. Torani French Vanilla sugar free syrup.
42. When the underdog wins.
43. Sensuality.
44. Wearing sandals in February.
45. Earthquakes.
46. Irony. Which will come in handy when I die in an earthquake.
47. Driving long distances.
48. Figuring out how to do something.
49. Those rare plants that I don't kill immediately.
50. Finishing huge projects.

:up: :)

Potato Soup for One

wash and dice 1 med-lg potato
dice a small onion
put both in a saucepan and cover with water, about 1 cup
add salt and pepper
bring to a boil and cook, covered for 10 min, reduce heat.

in a separate saucepan:
melt 2T butter
stir in 2T flour til smooth
pour in 1/4 half and half
gradually add 1/2 c shredded sharp cheddar cheese
stir in about 1 teaspoon spicy mustard

Once the cheese sauce thickens, stir it into the potatoes without draining off the water. Let the whole mix cook long enough to thicken a little. Enjoy.

Can be topped with bacon bits, chives, cheddar cheese croutons, what have you.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v3...ery/cheese.jpg

bwah!!!

Slovenija
 

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v3...ember20031.jpg

Slovenija

I happened across this photo by way of Google, and have been using it for a desktop wallpaper for a month or so now. I decided, before taking it down, to send it to my friend, Johnny da Priest, because I guessed that the name of the file, "Slovenija" meant "Slovenia" and he is of slovenian descent.

Here, for your coffee break, are the photo and his response.

Yes, that's Slovenia (or Slovenija - j's have a Y sound in Slovenian.) And in fact I was there. They don't allow motor boats out on this lake which is just as blue in person as it is in that picture. So men row you out to this island in boats that look similar to the gondolas in Venice.

The lake is called Lake Bled. Tradition says that a young shepherd boy was treated poorly by the people of the valley and he climbed up on the hill and cried and prayed for the intercession of the Blessed Virgin. Mary, hearing his please began to cry and as the boy slept, her tears filled the valley. Sweet story - but if you think about it, now the kid is trapped on an island and all the people in the valley are dead. Nice. Doesn't pay to think too much.

Anyway, the building is a monastary. (Slovenia is 85% Catholic.) During hte communist era it was turned into a museum (as were many of the Catholic churches confiscated by the communist goverment.) More recently the churches have been given back to the people but this one by and large, though restored, is mostly for tourists still.

While we were visiting the church, a man in a tuxedo walked in, white, sweating, and shaking. He collapsed into a pew. Then a bride came in in full white viel and train looking merry as can be. This was not a good sign for the beginning of a marriage. Well, as it turns out, it was not to be a wedding, there were already married just an hour earlier. However, it is a tradition in these parts that after you marry, you go to this island and the groom (in this case, a little skinny guy) carrys his bride (in this case, a 'healthy' girl) ALL THE WAY up from the shore line, up the hill, to the chapel. Then they ring the chapel bell for good luck. Poor guy.

It's also a tradition that visitors pull the rope for the bell and if it rings, that means you will come back.

Do you see the building up on the hill in the background? That's a castle. It's said that the (Duke? I'll use that term for now) drowned in this lake and that the dutches was so sad she had a bell cast as a gift for the monastary and as it was being shipped across the lake, a storm capsized the boat and the bell was lost. (This lake is sounding like bad news.) She didn't have many resources left and so gave of her jewelry or whatever to have cast into a second bell in memory of her husband. Hence the big connection to marriage and love etc. . .

I was there at night once for a big festival. All the resturaunts saved their egg shells and they put vigil candles in them and the gondolas glided across the lake letting boxes full if these candles out to float about and soon there was little distinction from the lights on the water and the stars in the sky. Then fireworks were set off from the castle. It's one of my favorite memories.

Haha! XD

Regarding Cats

I've always had a way with cats. Once, as a child, I was stampeded by a herd of kittens, giggling my head off the whole time, and it's been a love-affair ever since. I once charmed a feral cat into letting me pet it. Cats who are usually aloof come to me for petting and sit guarding my chair.

Not so, Sophia Loren. I got this cat a year ago January from a shelter. She'd been pretty friendly while we were at the pound, and that first day I brought her home she was very sweet. That must have been panic, combined with the aftereffects of the anesthesia from her spaying that morning. She quickly turned cold and aloof. She would greet me at the door, but not sit on the couch with me. If I picked her up, she'd purr as long as I was walking around, but if I sat down she exited stage left.

She has had rituals where she'll come over and be petted at a distance for a few seconds, but she mainly spent the last year across the room from me, staring as if trying to make me burst into flames. Slowly, she's adjusted. Her little petting rituals have proliferated very gradually. When the weather turned cold in December, she started sleeping on the far side of my queen-sized bed, no nearer.

This has all been in disappointing, stark contrast to my last kitty, who had to be touching me at all times barring the shower. I've felt guilty for comparing them, but at the same time, I really missed having a cat curl up on my lap. Until today, that is. Fifteen months after bringing her home, Sophia curled up on my lap today and purred. So did I.

9/11/01
 

My clock radio went off at 6:00am and I heard Danny Bonaduce sounding absolutely serious and shaken, saying, "this is the worst thing I've ever seen." I fought to wake up, wondering what he was talking about. "Tragedy", "devastation", "plane hit such a huge building..." I was sifting through the words listening for the "where" and they said "a second plane has hit the World Trade Center". My immediate thought was of Kathleen, my friend in Manhattan. I was out of bed, into the living room and turned on the tv to see the footage of the second plane hitting. They were saying it was terrorism... speculating about the number of dead and injured. I sat glued to the tv until they announced the Pentagon hit. My friend (since age 17) Paul is a White House lawyer and I got really scared that he was there. A little while later, they said the White House was being evacuated, admid phrases like " country under attack", "at war" and speculation that these were just the first of many attacks that we could expect across the nation that day.

I was really scared and worried about my friends, but I kept it together until I got a call from my mom. Hearing her frayed nerves in her shaky voice and knowing she was alone for this (Dad had died 5 months earlier) was really upsetting. I called work and canceled the marketing we had planned for that morning. I went in and spent much of the morning watching the big-screen tv in the activities room and crying. We had an emergency meeting to discuss how to keep patients and staff as safe as possible, should there be a loss of power at the nursing home.

I remember ordering middle eastern food that day at lunch, and wondering how much backlash the local transplants could expect.

When I got home that evening, I had email from Paul. He said he had walked out of the White House, seen the Pentagon in flames and took off for home. It took him hours, as he stopped in electronics stores to get updates on what was going on, and he had to walk the whole way. His email asked that someone get a message to his mom in Ohio that he was ok and for his lover to please call him.

It was 5 days before I found out that Kathleen was ok. She had been in Ohio at the time of the attack. By the time I learned this, I had more or less given her up for dead, and called her mom to find out for sure what had happened. Kath answered the phone.

Another friend was in one of the towers, but went out for a smoke before their meeting and it saved his life. He moved to the woods of "New Hampster" and hasn't worked in the city since.

I had to quit the job at the nursing home, and was unemployed for 10 months, after. I could not get a job in marketing, and when I took the job I have now, it was in desperation. I have not recovered financially from the 10 months with no work. But I consider myself pretty lucky. I didn't lose anyone close to me.

The most important change in my life is that I learned that life can end at any moment, and to make sure that those I love know I love them.

Tide
 

I thought this was hilarious, and just want to save it.


Dear Tide:

I am writing to say what an excellent product you have!

I've used it all through my married life, as my Mom always told me it was the best.

Now that I am in my fifties, I find it even better! In fact, about a month ago, I spilled some red wine on my new white blouse. My inconsiderate and uncaring husband started to berate me about how clumsy I was, and generally started becoming a pain in the neck.

One thing led to another and somehow I ended up with a lot of his blood on my white blouse. I tried to get the stain out using a bargain detergent, but it just wouldn't come out. After a quick trip to the supermarket, I purchased a bottle of liquid Tide with bleach alternative, and to my surprise and satisfaction, all of the stains came out!

In fact, the stains came out so well the detectives who came by
yesterday told me that the DNA tests on my blouse were negative and then my attorney called and said that I would no longer be considered a suspect in the disappearance of my husband.

What a relief! Going through menopause is bad enough without being a murder suspect! I thank you, once again, for having such a great product.

Well, gotta go. I have to write a letter to the Hefty bag people . .

Of Time Travel and Dr Pepper Lipgloss
 

from a blog I kept, 9/1/04

So, I went to happy hour last night with Jenny Down the Hall. We've talked of this many times, but this was the first time we actually went. It was nice to be out, had a good conversation and some tastey cocktails - Gary the Bartender is my hero. We get ready to leave and I put on my Dr Pepper lipgloss while we're talking. I say nothing about it, and my hand was covering most of the label. About a minute later, she says "are you wearing Dr Pepper lipgloss"?? This made me laugh, as, if you've ever worn the stuff, you know it has a distinctive aroma - sweet but not too sweet. It was highly cool to have, circa 1982, either a tube of Dr Pepper, or one of those metal boxes with the antique-type label. I had some then, and when I saw it recently in a store, I had to stifle a yelp of pleasant suprise, and bought some immediately. I pull the tube out of my purse and hand it to her and Jenny inhales deeply, and starts singing "Like A Virgin". ha!! Funny, after a conversation about sex and divorce and careers, the bonding moment was over the Dr Pepper lipgloss.

7 Grain Love
 

I've never been much for sweets. They're nice, but after a bite or two, I'm done. And after several bites, I feel sort of nauseated and hectic and I want to melt out of the place.

Even as a child, I never enjoyed Circuis Peanuts or Peeps... all that whipped-up synthetic froth and a taste so overblown that it seemed determined to turn my head inside out, rather than please the palette. Such things made my jaw ache.

I know... I'm weird. My brother used to call me 'Lola Granola', after the Breathed character, because I asked for trail mix in my plastic Easter eggs, rather than candy. I know sugar is supposed to be this amazing thing. I've heard the hype. I have friends who get such cravings for sweets that they'll go out wandering the darkening streets like Lestat on the hunt, until they find the non-pariel of their heart's desire. I'd just as soon not.

When I was a teenager, my idea of the perfect dessert was a slice of bread: 7 grain bread with butter and the merest layer of blackberry jam. Blackberries grew on a single vine that embraced the snowball bush in the front yard of my childhood. They were intrinsic: blackberries knew my most successful disappearances in games of hide and go seek. They were organic: no one fertilized those berries. They grew of their own accord, with no plan and no notion of what a blackberry vine was supposed to be except that pattern buried within the vine itself. Most important to me though: blackberries... taste like blackberries. They're sweet, but they're also tart and sharp, with mellow undertones and they're deep-purple-tasting. Eat one. You will taste the deep purple. All you have to do is pay attention.

My preferencess about love run along similar lines. Oh, I like to taste the pretty confections, the valentines and poetry and all the trimmings. Those whipped up and frothy exchanges are not sustaining for me, though. In short order, the complications cloy and I get that same hectic feeling and I want out.

I want a love like the blackberry vine: not forced, only occasionally pruned, and allowed to grow according to its own internal dictates. I want the love of that person who truly knows and understands me... and loves me anyway. I crave the array of flavors in the deep purple, blackberry, 7-grain love.

Five years later, travel-weary and self-conscious of her own probable irrelevance, the Apology arrived, past a decent hour for visiting, but in such matters, Time holds little sway. Her identity was obscured as she made her way up my path, or I’d likely have sicced the dogs on her.

Along the way, she had acquired small gifts, which she unfolded slowly, over the span of three hours’ conversation. From a dusty scrapbook, she peeled the memory of Tenderness and offered it to me with a tentative hand. My copy had been lost, and hers was from a slightly different angle, but in the familiar lines and bright spots, we shared for the first time our common memories. In a pocket near her breast, she had kept a dog-eared Truth, the cover of which - a hard film of Regret - had worn small calluses on her skin, which she had the Grace to bear not as a blemish, but a battle-scar.

Her most amazing gift was a simple idea she had picked up along the way, compelled by the luminescence of its smooth surface. She’d slid it almost absently into the pocket of her coat, and it had served as a touchstone for her. She couldn’t have known its value to me… how I’d been searching for it and how much it soothed my mind as my fingers ran over the cool surface of the compact Philosophy she passed on to me.

In exchange for these gifts, I offered Admiration for her five years’ journey, but she would accept nothing more than a mention of Gratitude. As we said goodnight though, I slipped a measure of Respect into her bag, and the Hope that her burdens would be lighter for the trouble she took.

The Story About the Horses
 

from 6/13/03.

My step-dad married my mom when I was 2. We did not hit it off. Our relationship was strained at best for most of my life. I used to dread Father's Day, because I'd have to go read all those cards... "thanks for being there for me, Dad", "thanks for all the times you..." and try to find one that just made a joke about some vague thing. I always felt so gypped. For four years in my 20's, we didn't speak at all.

After that, we kind of started over. We still had our issues, and my friend Robin and I had long talks about our crazy parents. She was working on a play about her relationship with her mom and we were planning to do a staged-reading at one of the theaters in Hollywood. The play was called "Lift" and one of the characters was a little girl who dealt with her abusive mother by retreating to her attic room and drawing horses on the walls. The little girl could never get the legs right though, and they always appeared unfinished. I thought this was a brilliant metaphor for that feeling of not being able to move on that can haunt you long after you leave the abusive situation.

In January of '01, my mom had been having serious health problems and finally was diagnosed as having had a fairly impressive heart attack. She was life-flighted from their home in Az to Phoenix for an emergency quadruple bypass. I dropped everything in LA and went to Phoenix. Even after all the crap years, I couldn't stand the thought of Dad sitting there alone while Mom was in surgery, or if something went wrong.

We stayed with 'internet friends' of mine in Phoenix, and had a lot of time to talk during the week after the surgery. One morning in the car, he asked me about my acting and was saying that I needed to get back to that. I told him that as a kid, I had really needed acting, because it was a way of getting approval from people, but that as an adult, I had outgrown some of that, and I just didn't feel the drive to do it anymore. At that point, he said something unlike anything he had ever said to me. He told me that he knew that I didn't get the approval that I probably wanted from him, but that he had always been proud of me. (I ****** near wrecked the car from shock.) I told him about the play that I was in, and that Robin had been gracious enough to let me play 'her' in it. He liked the horse metaphor, too. He was glad to hear I was going to perform, and that 'approval' stuff.. what do you know? It's ok.

Mom got better, they went home, I came back to LA... and 8 weeks later, Dad was fixing the plumbing under their house and died of a ruptured anneurism. I again dropped everything and went back to Az to help my mom get her things together. I called Robin on my way out of town to give her a heads-up, because this was only 3 weeks before the show. She called me mid-week to see how things were and if I thought I'd still be able to do the show. I told her I thought it was the thing to do.

Going through a box of old stuff, I had found, among Dad's things, a painting of running horses, their legs obscured by the dust, looking unfinished.

Nike Ads
 

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v3...nikewomen1.jpg
Copy: My shoulders aren't dainty or proportional to my hips. Some say they are like a man's. I say, leave men out of it. They are mine. I made them in a swimming pool then I went to yoga and made my arms.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v3...nikewomen2.jpg
Copy: My knees are tomboys. They get bruised and cut every time I play soccer. I'm proud of them and wear my dresses short. My mother worries I will never marry with knees like these. But I know there's someone out there who will say to me: I love you and I love your knees. I want the four of us to grow old together.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v3...nikewomen3.jpg
Copy: My butt is big and round like the letter C and then thousand lunges have made it rounder but not smaller. And that's just fine. It's a space heater for my side of the bed. It's my ambassador. To those who walk behind me, it's a border collie that herds skinny women away from the best deals at clothing sales. My butt is big and that's just fine. And those who might scorn it are invited to kiss it.

18. People who yell at other drivers.






I guess U would not like me very much I yell at other "idiot" drivers all the time, but they cannot hear me, so I am not sure why it maters. I only yell at those totally disobeying the law however. Red light runners and people who think the world is an ashtray and throw their butts out the window. The BASTARDS!!!!:mad: :cool: :p ;)

ha! It seems like that item makes more people shift in their seats than any other. I just don't like being trapped in a car with a driver who is coming unhinged over other drivers. :(

It really has nothing to do with other "drivers" so much as it has to do with people who have no reguard for simple respect. I work hard and I know life is too short to let the "little" things bother me, but God do I hate people with "I am the center of the Earth" mentality....bleh...:mad:

I hear ya.
And really, as long as you don't do it when I'm in the car, we'll be fine. ;)

So you are a smoker who throws butts out the window?

Interesting thread Sammy.

I think I've averaged 2 cigs a year in my adult life, but to be honest - probably half of those went out the car window. I had to learn to smoke on my way to rehearsals where I played a chain smoker. :) Think you can forgive me?


gummo thanks woman. :)

My new girlfriend, who I love like ive never loved any one before.

I'm happy

boys....what do you think...need feedback

more in the next post..

btw is there a way that these two particular posts can not be made to the public..only registered users?

heres another one...

She's gorgeous, R. :)

Why thank you thank you. :)

She's beautiful EQ… and Sammy, this thread is really cool… :)

:) thanks Caity! Glad people seem to be enjoying it. I feel like I'm showing around my scrapbook - this is all stuff I had in a blog that I'm leaving behind. Nice to have friends to share it with.

i keep wondering......... what about Jim?

i'm with you!

see, you don't call it Serbocroatia! :p ;)
just imagine..........

and good thread Cindy! i like it when people honestly share what they're made of... whatever it is worth for you knowing it comes from me

love fado...have you heard Mariza by any chance? i actually got to see her live, wonderful.....

chicago~ thanks for commenting. "What about Jim?" I don't understand the question.


adidasss~ I have only lately gotten into fado and A.R. was my intro. I'll see what I can find by Mariza, as I like the style.

i don't like slovenians, and that has nothing to do with anything, just thought i'd say that ...:) oh and Bled really is beautiful, probobly the most beautiful place in Slovenia....

Why don't you like Slovenians?
It's because they can out-polka you, isn't it?

my favourite 2 songs from Mariza ( and among the most beautiful songs i ever heard in my short existance on Earth ) are Cavaleiro Monge and Primavera....

i don't think you want me to start my slovenia rant....

I think you're right, on further thought. What you already said made me kind of sad. It's odd how I've heard people in Europe make statements like that, about not liking people from neighboring countries. It seems much more accepted there among educated people than here.

I'll see if I can find an album by Mariza. What disc are those songs on?

well now you kinda made me want to elaborate further, there is a reson for that you know, we don't just go arround hating people for no reason, i think it's just that it's such a small continent and so many different people on it, so we get a bit touchy when our neighbours start looking across the border to increase their land....

and the tracks are on fado curvo

Ok, but do you have to hate all Slovenians? My friend Johnny da Priest has no land. He lives in a rectory. :) It's the generalization that makes my teeth itch. You know?

I'll have a look when I get home for that album. Thanks for the recommend!

do i have to hate all serbs, probobly not, but i choose to anyway....
and no prob....

He Said / She Said
 

This is a pair of short stories written a couple of years ago, by a friend and I (he did the first one).

Life Lesson #3 - by C. F.
In fifth grade, I spent a significant amount of time with this girl Heidi. I was too young, then, to get erections, so it was mostly for the burgeoning tingling feelings that I felt when I saw her. They were like root beer for the skin.

Her older sister Marjorie didn't cotton to this notion, and spent most of her time harrassing me. I was slight and bookish, and for the most part, unable to muster much of a defense. She was older than I, and sort of burly, and I tried to keep away from her as best I could. She had a bad habit of grabbing me by the arm, and digging her fingernails into my skin until I welped and ran away.

Needless to say, this was embarrassing. She was a girl, if I haven't made that perfectly clear.

That year, they started serving us breakfast at school. Being a hungry sort, I often chose to take advantage of this option. One day, I was in line, and Marjorie was behind me. She started pushing me into the person ahead of me, and saying nasty things. The line was progressing slowly, and she just kept pushing me, and pushing me.

I couldn't take it. I turned around and punched her in the face as hard as I could. It was the first time I'd ever punched someone, and from an objective standpoint, it was a good knock.

I caught her square on the jaw, and her head slammed into the brick wall next to her. Her mouth split open like a microwaved hotdog, and she fell to the floor, crying and bleeding.

I just stared at her, and didn't say anything. Miraculously, no authority figure noticed, and Marjorie, for some reason, was in no hurry to tell. She stood up, and walked to the back of the line. Her friend who stayed behind gave me a deep glare and said, "You know, she just got braces."

Like I was supposed to feel bad.

That afternoon, I was walking home from school, and I cut through this field.

From behind clump of small trees, leapt Marjorie and three of her friends, like they were ninjas or something. "I just got braces!!!" Marjorie yelled, and she ran up to me, but she didn't do anything. I think she was still vaguely scared of me, what with the me punching her and all.

But her friends weren't scared. They cornered me, and one by one, kicked me square in the balls. Lacking the lack of pain in my balls, I was stripped of my ability to make sounds, and just sort of twitched.

The worst was yet to come, however. Marjorie walked over to me, leaned down to my ear, and whispered, "I love you."

Then she ran away with her friends. The next day she fell down some stairs, and I think she interpreted that as a karmic response to the 'Were we meant to be together' question, and we never spoke again.

I learned a lot that day, though, and from my experiences, so should you.

Lesson: Punching chicks gets you chicks--bad chicks. Don't punch chicks unless you can handle chicks that like guys that punch chicks. You heard it here first, folks.
______________

Rebuttle - by SammyD.
When I was in 6th grade, there was this boy I knew. He lived in our same trailer park. He had a crush on me for a little while; kept following me around and telling me my hair was the color of root beer. But he was younger than me, bookish and tired easily and I wasn’t interested. He didn’t take that news well. He got very mean after that. He would wait at the entrance to the Hi-Ho Trailer Park and throw stones at me when I came home from school. And he started telling his friends that I was a Nazi, because I had a German last name.

He was very circumspect with his harassment, always waiting until no one was looking. I think this was because he had decided to cozy up to my sister, Heidi. I tried to warn her that he was a mean little boy, but Heidi’s head was turned by flattery. He was quite the word-worker, that boy. But that Nazi rumor got around school, which was so embarrassing. Even when I got my braces, Dr Wankowiez actually gave me two lollypops and said, “you see, Jews are nice people”. I was too humiliated to tell him that it was all just a rumor.

I didn’t plan to avenge myself, but he pushed just too far one day. We were in line for breakfast and he was right in front of me. He kept holding back, so I couldn’t reach for anything, and slamming his tray back into mine. When he spilled my orange juice, I slipped in it and fell against him. He took the opportunity to haul off and hit me right in the mouth! I sat there, bleeding and crying for a minute, and he just looked down at me and very quietly said with a sneer, “that’s for Anne Frank!!”

At this point, my friends demanded to know what was going on. When I told them, they couldn’t believe their ears. “You even made me that Channukah card last year,” said Ulrike Schmittenstein. Greta Gerschnoodleschmit agreed that I was no Nazi and that he was a little creep to spread such lies. We made a plan to get him, after school, and get him we did. We waited in the field he always cut through, and my friends kicked the crap out of him. I stayed out of the action, as my head was still foggy from the knock he’d given me that morning. But when they stopped, and he was still there on the ground, I walked over to him and made sure he understood what this was all about.

My voice was muffled by my swollen lip as I said, “I love Jews.” Then we all ran away.

I had a slight balance problem after that, and actually fell down some stairs the next day, but that boy never told another lie about me.

Why do you need someone else's opinion? If you're in love, she's beautiful. :)

Nice thread Cinders. :D

Great thread Sammi, sorry it has taken me so long to read it :kiss:

I love this thread Sam, can i add a little thing that made me laugh?

The other night i went to a local club, and was voted designated driver for the eve, so i ahd my wits about me a bit more than most of my other friends. Whilst walking back frmo the toilet, i spotted a little bit of paper stuck to my friends shoe and i bent down a picked it off. Thinking it was just a plane wriggleys chewing gum wrapper i was about to screw it up and throw it away, when i turned it over and saw a little note was written on the back. It simply said...

"To Judey,
Although you smell,
I still think youre great.
Take of your self.
See you Christmas.
Dan."

How sweet. Even though Judey may be hygienically challenged, Dan still thinks she's great. Theres hope for me yet....

i was a little puzzled by this, what did you mean to say? ( seeing those two names together makes me clinch )

ok then, how about Yugoslavia? :p

you're welcome, and i asked to know if he had done better since the time he was "bemoaning things" without taking actions, just curious.

No worse really, but no better. He's got a knack for finding women who want to save/mother him, and he exploits that sort of relationship pretty well. Not much has changed for Jimmy.

:D That's wonderful! ha!
Have you ever seen http://www.foundmagazine.com/? They scan and post little notes like that that people have found. It's fascinating.

oh! sorry for poor Jimmy and the women he exploits. yep, not easy to correct one's penchants...

Very true.

But maybe I'm just showing off?

No offence, but I think that was kind of obvious. :p

lol, shutup.

You're in my upcoming thread "Where Do You Fit In The Heirarchy of Mofo". ;)

you are using strange fonts!

Update on the post about the very talented photog...
Posting his name got me cited by some other fan of his, and I posted their email on page two. Then, since I was basically busted for linking his work... hehe... I figured I might as well be bold and ask his permission. Did NOT think I'd hear from him, but he's written me twice so far. Hoping to work out a way to link one or two of his photos here so I can show what I've been babbling about. :D

Can you not save the pics to your PC then upload them as attachments? Or is the guy now stalking MoFo? :D

The Photography of Benedetto Riba
 

Well, I could have just stolen them, but I think I'd have worried about karma a bit. Have a lot of artist friends and they get really bent out of shape when someone swipes their work. I'm sort of a hardliner about posting things only with permission. As it is though, he sent me three in email - more than I asked, and gave me permission to post them here. :D yay!

The first of Benedetto Riba's work that I saw was all sepia-toned. He has a great eye for warm, living landscapes and charming buildings. This example, The Old Mill is a good representation of that series:
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v5...e_old_mill.jpg

More recently, I discovered at his site that he is also doing portraits. The warmth he found in landscapes is multiplied many times in his portrait work. Here are two brilliant examples:
The Magnetick Look
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v5...etick_look.jpg

and A Face Marked From Time
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v5..._from_time.jpg

Many thanks to Benedetto for graciously allowing me to post his work. His site is here, if you want to see more. He has a show coming up in NYC in March '06, and I hope it brings him a ton of attentive praise. :)

That guy's brilliant Sam :).

Thanks Sammi :D great pictures :yup:

wow, that really IS special....

Great pics Sammy… I love the expression on the elderly women's face…

Sammy they are incredible. I love that last photo, A Face Marked From Time. Its incredible. I love the strength you can see in her face. Brilliant stuff.

yep, real beautiful pics!

When you showed me his website I thought the photos were special, the portraits especially. Thanks Cinders.

I want some on my walls now. :)

The "Stuff I Like" Trifecta
 

I like the woman who wrote this (one of my friends in England), this letter made me laugh til I'mna have to go fix my mascara, and who doesn't like chocolate-peanutbutter confections?

This is a letter by a woman somewhat shy of sanity, but I think it shows just how much we Americans take for granted. ;)



Dear Hershey,

I’m probably writing this to the wrong department, but to be frank, I’ve been all over the shop on that Hershey web page and could only find telephone numbers or addresses. Does anyone even know how to write a letter these days, I don’t think so? In the excitement of finding your email address, I threw caution to the wind and jumped right on it.

Anyway, let me get to the point. My friends recently visited me from America (I’m in England). With them, they brought some sundry items as gifts, usual tat, expensive ornaments, heirlooms, and the likes of. Amongst this debris were some chocolate pumpkins filled with peanut butter. To my shame I let these pumpkins sit on the window ledge for days, not wanting to eat foul foreign sweets (or ‘candy’, as you call it) I’m sure you understand. Anyway, I thought I better show willing and at least eat one of these things. Well, what can I say; Ambrosia is the word that springs to mind. They were divine. Foolishly, I gushed aloud about this most wonderful experience of the taste-bud department and ended up having to share them, gah! I did manage to curb the whole bag being scoffed, by alerting everyone that dinner was almost ready. I then hid the last four on an adjacent window ledge. The next morning, TO MY HORROR, I discovered only two remained, which I ate for breakfast. Obviously, no one owned up to the theft, despite intense interrogation.

The thing is, we can’t get them here, you know, ‘The Mother Land’. It seems the child has flown the nest and abandoned their roots (I know America is made up from many nations, but for the sake of it let’s pretend it’s only England). Back to the point, why don’t we have them here? I know the pumpkins are a seasonal variety but I’ve heard about these peanut butter cups, so don’t try to throw me off course with some yarn about Halloween.

My friends have promised to send me some cups, and are in the process (so they say) of buying up all the pumpkins in their local area. They have been back home for almost two weeks now, and nothing. In the interest of Anglo/American relations, I think you should direct me to the nearest supplier in England (if there is such a place, which I doubt or I’d have felt the vibrations). Failing this, I think you should send me a HUGE box of cups, for free. I’m sure you have damaged ones, cups that never quite ended up looking like cups, they’ll do, I’m not demanding, although not ones that have been on the floor and kicked about the place, I’m funny about germs. I can’t use my credit card as I’m up to the hilt on it already. I’m sure you understand my predicament; I can only imagine what it now feels like to be some crazed drug addict without the funds. I tell you, if people had these cups in their houses I’m sure I’d be getting through their windows, like a rat up a drainpipe, in the dead of night. I’m that much in need. Please help me. Thank you.

Yours in anticipation.

I'm glad I didn't wear any mascara today… :laugh:

:laugh:

If you're croatian then you have my respect

thanks, but what for?( it's croatian )

I like the country

The croatian people are some of the most generous you will ever meet

They're also some of the toughest too, they are prepared to fight for their country

wow, thanks, you seem to know a bit about my country, how so?

He's been reading The Argument Relocation Thread?

My family own a house in Osijek

are they croatians?

The label of Arrogant Bastard Ale:

This is an aggressive beer. You probably won't like it. It is quite doubtful that you have the taste or sophistication to appreciate an ale of this quality and depth. We would suggest that you stick to safer and more familiar territory -- maybe something with a multi-million dollar ad campaign aimed at convincing you it's made in a little brewery, or one that implies that their tasteless fizzy yellow beer will give you more sex appeal. Perhaps you think multi-million dollar ad campaigns make a beer taste better. Perhaps you're mouthing your words as you read this.

Posted this on the shoutbox a couple of days ago but not sure if anyone bothered checking it out so im putting it here as well.

The JCB Song

Have a listen, just click on the book (Its a pretty cool site) then click on listen to the JCB song. Its nice and nostalgic. And quite funny. yet i fear it may become annoying quite soon...

Oh Blibby. You and your JCB love. I've already advertised it in the nothing thread...

That's you that is ;)

Can't rep you on the beer label Sam, but that's awesome.

Also, the letter to Hershey is good enough to be published.

Cute :D

K.....yeah..GJ

That's really good. Did you write that?

This is the best exchange ever. EVER.

Yep. :) Thanks.

That is cute :yup:

This photo... by Gregory Colbert
 

This story:

The House of Asterion

by Jorge Luis Borges

And the queen gave birth to a child who was called Asterion.
Apollodorus: Bilbliotheca, III, I

I know they accuse me of arrogance, and perhaps of misanthropy, and perhaps of madness. Such accusations (for which I shall extract punishment in due time) are derisory. It is true that I never leave my house, but it is also true that its doors (whose number is infinite)[note: The original says fourteen, but there is ample reason to infer that, as used by Asterion, this numeral stands for infinite.] are open day and night to men and to animals as well. Anyone may enter. He will find here no female pomp nor court formality, but he will find quiet and solitude. And he will also find a house like no other on the face of the earth. (There are those who declare there is a similar one in Egypt, but they lie.) Even my detractors admit there is not one single piece of furniture in the house. Another ridiculous falsehood has it that I, Asterion, am a prisoner. Shall I repeat that there are no locked doors, shall I add that there are no locks? Besides, one afternoon I did step into the street, if I returned before night, I did so because of the fear that the faces of the common people inspired in me, faces as discolored and flat as the palm of one's hand. The sun had already set, but the helpless crying of a child and the rude supplications of the faithful told me I had been recognized. The people prayed, fled, prostrated themselves; some climbed onto the stylobate of the temple of the Axes, others gathered stones. One of them, I believe, hid himself beneath the sea. Not for nothing was my mother a queen; I cannot be confused with the populace, though my modesty might so desire.

The fact is that I am unique. I am not interested in what one man may transmit to other men; like the philosopher, I think that nothing is communicable by the art of writing. Bothersome and trivial details have no place in my spirit, which is prepared for all that is vast and grand; I have never retained the difference between one letter and another. A certain generous impatience has not permitted that I learn to read. Sometimes I deplore this, for the nights and days are long.

Of course, I am not without distractions. Like the ram about to charge, I run through the stone galleries until I fall dizzy to the floor. I crouch in the shadow of a pool or around a corner and pretend I am being followed. There are roofs from which I let myself fall until I am bloody. At any time I can pretend to be asleep, with my eyes closed and my breathing heavy. (Sometimes I really sleep, sometimes the color of day has changed when I open my eyes.) But of all the games, I prefer the one about the other Asterion. I pretend that he comes to visit me and that I show him my house. With great obeisance I say to him: Now we shall return to the first intersection or Now we shall come out into another courtyard or I knew you would like the drain or Now you will see a pool that was filled with sand or You will soon see how the cellar branches out. Sometimes I make a mistake and the two of us laugh heartily.

Not only have I imagined these games, I have also meditated on the house. All the parts of the house are repeated many times, any place is another place. There is no one pool, courtyard, drinking trough, manger; the mangers, drinking troughs, courtyards, pools are fourteen (infinite) in number. The house is the same size as the world; or rather, it is the world. However, by dint of exhausting the courtyards with pools and dusty gray stone galleries I have reached the street and seen the temple of the Axes and the sea. I did not understand this until a night vision revealed to me that the seas and temples are also fourteen (infinite) in number. Everything is repeated many times, fourteen times, but two things in the world seem to be only once; above, the intricate sun; below, Asterion. Perhaps I have created the stars and the sun and this enormous house, but I no longer remember.

Every nine years nine men enter the house so that I may deliver them from evil. I hear their steps or their voices in the depths of the stone galleries and I run joyfully to find them. The ceremony lasts a few minutes. They fall one after another without my having to bloody my hands. They remain where they fell and their bodies help distinguish one gallery from another. I do not know who they are, but I know that one of them prophesied, at the moment of his death, that some day my redeemer would come. Since then my loneliness does not pain me, because I know my redeemer lives and he will finally rise above the dust. If my ear could capture all the sounds of the world, I should hear his steps. I hope he will take me to a place with fewer galleries and fewer doors. What will my redeemer be like?, I ask myself. Will he be a bull or a man? Will he perhaps be a bull with the face of a man? Or will he be like me?

The morning sun reverberated from the bronze sword. There was no longer even a vestige of blood.

"Would you believe it, Ariadne?" said Theseus. "The Minotaur scarcely defended himself."

Niiiice.

Borges is such a freaking genius, from what i've read. That's another palpably classy, educated yet sweeping piece of condensed creativity.

This section almost sums up what's so striking about the way he works:

His work somehow manages to communicate on both the broadest and most refined/specific terms. He's a master of wordsmithing and plumbing crazy facts, and yet he lays his little gems out in a way that makes them shine together and illuminate some bigger truth. (In other words - he's both learned and instinctual ;))

I still love the fact that even he doesn't seem to know what his message is - but you feel him sitting there at the centre of his stories, saying 'whatever this is, you know its feel is true' :)

I was talking just yesterday with a mate about The Zahir and The Aleph. If you haven't read 'em you simply must :)

I'll take that advice. :)

does that still count if im yelling with the windows up?

hey, at least im working on it! ;)

wait...what??? how did this happen??
The First Cut Is The Deepest - Sheryl Crow :mad:

i always save my posts other places, or copy them, before i finish, just to avoid this :eek:

didn't he die of a heart attack?

ha!

hehe...thats how i met your colorful personality!


50 Things I Love
i'm afraid i take advantage of this one.

do you pronounce it ANTIE...or AHHNTIE? just curious.

and family. i wish i could make a living off of that!

hmmm. and this isn't on the wrong list?

oh! gotcha!

yeah...im going to go take a shower now! :cool:

Meeeeeee

Seriously though, me yeah?