Codigo De Activacion De X-fi Mb

tragedy-tinged Theft

my sister and me We had a fun time and at maturity in which we recover the taste of a night out frequently and the truth is that we had a pipe. One year I keep fond memories. That's when she met her husband is now (someday I will present it because it's a guy that deserves separate post, several times I made it, I have it on my earrings) and I went with a friend of his who also deserve separate post, frankly.

We used to go to Tex-Mex four and then they let us in our flat in Moncloa (my pickup had a car) to go each to his home. The case is one of many nights in the middle of January, I took my coat and he took the money and keys. This left us with a coin of five hundred pesetas and a shelter for two, what do you think? Or phones, no money to go to a hotel and, frankly a lot of imagination in such circumstances. We decided to use the money in a single call, it cost us decide. In the cabin there was a sticker of a 24-hour locksmith very kindly told us that until nine o'clock we did not have their services ... finally, the spirits were not to try to explain to the gentleman that misleading advertising is a crime and that there are things that do not play. Frankly. No kidding.

We thought then going to ring a friend of mine who lived nearby and did not believe that we do not hear or was not at home, no. We opened the door because we fear him. How have you left the body? In our download say I do not see us from the warm bed and she heard the ringing sound that nobody thought could be knocking at your door at that hour.

Then we went to the site of our house where we stayed, dying of cold deciding the shift length coat by the tone of the lips of one and the other ("Auntie, you put it a while you have them purple, purple") and dreaming of a warm chocolate until it was day. The keeper of the estate in tracksuits and reminding us that was his day off took pity on us and went to the set of keys to our house but with some indifference, life.

Another day I will tell you the night we managed to go to a party in a College freshman (that's what you live in Moncloa, that one easily dislocations) or when a friend of my brother tried to flirt with me trying on my boots and ended up forgetting his jersey at home that launched by the window is hung from a tree that finally got to reach even risking our physical integrity or poor Fuencisla, or my bf and his friend the Parquetry Arapahoe. The more the more convinced I remember it was one of the funniest and most surreal times of my life.

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Obsession

small already cost me often sleep. Asked my mother if there was any way to invoke it and you drop to your feet as you appear at the corner of my bed and she said: "Try not to think of anything."
The closest thing to what I could imagine was a blank page and remember how I tried but nothing ... was futile desire. And the harder I tried acquired details that damn sheet: if white, off white, off white, ivory, plain paper, striped, checkered ... It ended

angrily crumpling it and throwing it bounced on any corner and once again my mind again bolted and pulled the bridle of my conscience and tried in vain to re-imagine a sheet of paper, that if white color bone-white, ivory, plain paper ... Recovery

failed tactics today. To no avail. Again and again my mind is triggered and I can not reconcile my dream.

Play On The Word Gold

Brussels CATS STOP

Secondly my second career I was an exchange student in Brussels. We left my friend and I Xoubiña. She came before and I got a small apartment in front of you in a building centrally located and very curious in which each tenant enjoyed our room and our bathroom (all very brand new and very cool, small, but very cool). Little to tell of that period unless I felt so lonely, so lonely, so lonely that he frequented the pharmacy under any pretext (do you know what that "if in doubt consult your pharmacist?" Well no one has taken him as far end like me then) just because that man was easy verb, one patient and French. Also worth a comment that you there I fell in love with Magritte, repudiation of Tin-Tin, anorexia was around me, I saved the life of a dachshund and discovered that the skies of the cities are at different heights. The Brussels, frankly, too low for me.

Pimple/wart On Nipple

She always free ... the truth is that as pretty, is the most beautiful ...

do not know why it changed color little eyes, bluer molaban!

Paint Scheme Templates

With Puka impossible to get anything like ...

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Love at first sight more beautiful

The first ever brand, right? A Cas I found it.

At a family dinner my aunt says, "Well, we found a kitten in the street, tiny, tiny. Pobriño. When we saw him this morning and now, there was still poor."

I: Where?

My mother glared at my aunt with her eyes.

My Aunt: Far, far away ...

Me: Well, almost better than me some more precise the data because I'll go looking.

pointed and was practically door of the restaurant, on Paseo de la Castellana. It was sort of scrawny rat quite grumpy and scowling. As soon as they felt safe and protected became the world be more grateful.

I want as any but is a little jealous to me and I think a little scary, so when you do not know is best not to get too close. But it is a piece of bread, to show I will tell you that when we present the ball quickly "adopted" him and nursed him whenever the other asked him. The we left the picture because to me gave me an infinite tenderness. A few days later we noticed that Cas got a bit faded and it had left a kind of fever in the little nose. We took her to the vet and he confirmed that he had a fever caused by infection. The breastfeeding without milk had caused mastitis. Apparently it had to be hurting bad but she did not mu. Indeed as he lay caring despistábamos us offering to Bolli. We had to choose to sell the breasts with strips so it could be cured. And I say that is most appreciative of the MI world Cas.

Today

rest thought of cats as they say in my land "merda lock and Moita, federal polluter" but the desires of Lindoro ...

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Cas

picture is that before (after two days of purchase in the "colo" my sister) did not make him justice and not see his face, nor the sins of the little nose.

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Boli, Bolli, Bola, Bolin, Bolecha ... Don Marcos

avoid unfounded jealousy For today I present to Bolli, the second of the family. I give an awful shame pet shops yet and although I try to avoid it, I can not pass one and not peek to see what bugs offer ... Ever go into one that is very close to my house to see how the animals are not the first time I caught my attention, threats included. Then one summer we approached my beloved and me at the bus station Ponferrada to pick up my sister who came from Madrid. As with a lot of progress and we were a bit in the middle of nowhere we get to Carrefour there right next to take us there for a coffee and we hiciese less long wait. What chic, no? That to give you an idea how nice it seemed the station cafeteria. The fact is that there was a pet store and I as I look out and see me behave, beyond repair, as young children tugging at his sleeve to my holy: "Go Porfirian, go Porfirian ..." until I got out with the damned kitten in her arms. What that you will not miss the fad? It is also the world's kindest and most bueniña. Never, never have heard snorting and is about to confirm that you have nails ... chasing me around the house, loves to accompany me every night when I sit down to read (snuggled to my left until he gets the optimum angle for reading and I grab the arm with the legs). If you put a mew whistle and gives you a nibble, very soft on the arm accompanied by their specialty massage on two legs. A physio delight.

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Puka

my sister and I grew up with parents who lead by example. Two of the cornerstones on which to make our education were respect and solidarity and I think, modesty aside the two have remained firmly one thing to another. The force of will, love of work and healthy diet have less depth in both, honestly.

in my house were always open doors for those who can, as it was, what is there to comfort offered. The expert, my mother. Often discussed my sister and I do not know anyone so selflessly as she prepared to help. Have passed at home, therefore many people looking for someone to talk and my mother has always known how to listen and that, in these times is not so much the order of the day.

Among many memories with a special affection for Don Mark, an excommunicated priest who suffered from schizophrenia. Apparently it had been in prison during the Franco dictatorship to defend not really know what rights they had some neighbors and also it was so breathtakingly attractive women also caused him, some other problem. There were also legends about him one of the most repeated once said, holding a funeral, trying to lift the spirits of the respectable they sang "are your perjúmenes women" hoping to alleviate the sadness of the relatives of the dead. Do not say that it is not tender, history. I do not know what part is real and how much fantasy in this and other stories but I remember him, as if it were yesterday, coming home, where he was waiting for my mother. Asked a cold beer with that before drinking, cooling the face and hands. After the two chatted about the divine and the human and sometimes we did a little theater where he celebrated Mass and my sister, my mother and I struggled to keep up as altar servers. He liked what cantásemos chorus of "together, as brothers ..."

had with my mother a very special and I wanted to remind you today.

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Puka

That was the day I found it. With the eyelet to Virula and pointing ways. Lindoro only get rip a purr. I, as I have reached is to get some rough touch when not yet absorbed the moisturizer. Today has asked me to tell you about yesterday tasted like nectar and ambrosia, and is happy to return. And I know I can not stop beating with jokes obey and please give me the recipe.

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Angelito ... Tales of Paris

Al took this step is becoming a familiar anecdotes. But my family gives to much and I thought why should I pull fiction and tell a story whenever I feel inspired, with real things and fun that we have come to me and mine.

My grandmother always has the same three or four stories. Today I'll tell you my favorite. Main character, of course, my father.

To give a little background, I will tell you that my grandmother is a lady of strong religious convictions (he has had bad luck, the woman and not the example has spread) that educated his children as best he could, no doubt but with little contemplation, for sure. More along the lines of Miss Supernnany Rottenmeier that, for us to understand.

Anyway, as my father has a child that one day she heard him say out loud: "I shit on the bishop of Canterbury."

She would not give more importance and thought that, at certain ages children do not know what they say and sometimes even (in this we all agreed) in childhood rebellion act just doing the opposite of what required. I mean fuckers strategy of "enough that I forbid such a thing for me to do three times a day" that some fixes we are not with age, I notice. Rebellion is what you have, you just hooked us more than others.

However, as I was saying chooses to ignore the lack of respect and as if he had not heard about their business is implementing a strategy well known that every parent needs to know to implement and is not giving any importance to what our cherub just said or done.

But his eldest son insists "hell with the Bishop of Canterbury" as needed to achieve the intended reaction.

Then, when at last his mother reprimands him: "Where you've heard that? As again hear you say you do not know what" victorious he looks and says,

"That is Protestant, huh? "

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I had the other day I came to this city where the truth there were many tribulations that I had to go. As always try to entertain you approach to read me because lately I try to go down this little stick and easy sentimentality that would not get used. I am less of the latter and far more than another, what we're going to cheat.

Case is, as I told you recently, that through a company that is dedicated to managing language courses (and whose name I remember as if it did surely would share, about what others avoid what I suffered), I was assigned a family to live with during those months of learning the language. Since I do not speak French accompanied me to meet my host my parents and my sister the day he was to begin my stay with them. My father worked as a translator and we all made a good impression the site. It was a very elegant house "16e arrondissement, chic neighborhood of Paris and the family belonged to the nobility, some counties, no less. Very educated them, all kindness and refinement showed us their house and the room where I was staying. We had the whole family (four sons and a hamster at the time) and everyone seemed all great.

Once completed the rituals of a farewell to the Galician (ie, tears of those who cry for very way in and hugs all seasoned man of few words) I was there myself. French or potato. I think my mother, the poor, so felt it, it went pretty bad and I could almost secure, even without knowing it, he felt he left me.

Countess then took my hand beckoning me to accompany her with a suitcase. We left the house through the kitchen, "service door" and went up some stairs to the attic area. Then he pulled a small key and unlocked one of those rooms. My room. My "chambre de bonne."

was a small room, very small with a skylight under which they had placed a bed. On the opposite wall a piece of furniture with drawers for clothes and a folding door that served as a desk. On the opposite wall a sink and mirror. As I knew I had to leave the bag there, gave me the key and again asked me to accompany her. We went through all the hallway doors and get a late call. We opened a blonde girl, all smiles. Lively little eyes. Introduced me: Kirsten. An American from Michigan in my situation. We left the two alone. With my first words she spoke and by suffocating her untangled that knot in my throat.

I do not want to leave you with the mistaken impression that they were difficult months for me. Quite the contrary. I lived a thousand and one unforgettable experience and I learned that the attic of the "houses good" neighborhoods "noble" in Paris are inhabited by people better and nobler than they have in property, the floors below. Pesentároslos promise all they deserve and you will see why it was that stage that has shaped my life. Moreover, since that skylight enjoyed every night of the starry sky of Paris, What more could you want?

For the curious:

http://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chambre_de_bonne

At worst I think I have been demagogic today's post, but the whore is really what you have, when you have as it is and no frills.

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A Trip to Paris photo

I like this photo. A lot. The one you see is my mother and that you do not see my sister.

Healing Time Ringworm

After two years trying to stop it I gave up and decided it best to not engage in further destroying the youth (see, do not dramatize, really distance now I laugh too, but not at that time you would have laughed none ) go to El Escorial and think otherwise. The problem is that most people at 19 can be clear about what you do not want to be "more" (Economist, in my case) but in general, and especially after an initial bump, usually very lost as to what you'd like. As soon as you are dreaming of becoming a veterinarian and working at a bookstore, the same one day you wake up in a toga as fantasizing decorating cakes or developing this brilliant idea that nobody had thought before, forradita living up to their eyeballs and revenue from the thirties. We all thought, do not tell me no, that we could mop happen to us. Sure.

Anyway, I've never been a middle ground: they put their pads, I put three pairs, who plays plucking his eyebrows as I leave a thread, which carry Marteens, I put them up in August ... What happen to be lost? Me the most. No cool I am. Since I had no idea really what I wanted to do with my life and gave him more laps than mop admitted no improvement at all (do you see? now I think the H2O mop, again too late ...) because my parents decided to take me a year to think about it and how I've always loved languages \u200b\u200b(and besides I have a facility inversely proportional to the accounts showing costs, for example) for one year I decide to go to France to learn French. Knew what it all: bonjour, Madame , M. and hackneyed voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir? anyone have dared to use in case. Going to be that we say yes and we caught with the English in any way.

The fact is that in a fit of courage and I suppose also to wait to land, much land in between I decide to go to Paris. Thus, with a par. As I tell you.

Since I have, as I say not know French, we decided we'd better enroll in a school first and find a family that can live and so do me a crash course a few months and then, if all went well to joining the University of Rennes, where my father had a friend teaching. I was admitted there for any course with some more content than the language itself, needed a more or less acceptable knowledge of the language. Come on, it makes sense.

With this excuse and that my father, who does speak Paris French leave me more or less located, off we went the family to spend a few days sightseeing, knowing a little town where I would live and the family with whom I was staying. And having left the child in good hands (ahem, ahem, I'll tell you ...) to say goodbye to all live. As my sister is terrified of planes all seemed very romantic us four (my father, my mother, my sister and servant) travel by train. In a super train in which reserve a booth at ultra-luxury class and prepare for the journey to become an unforgettable experience. And it was. I assure you.

We settled and the truth is that what was most chic, decadent aftertaste that fascinates me. Everything was as planned and as the train left late in the afternoon in Madrid and came to Paris the next morning, part of the charm lay in enjoying the cuisine of the restaurant. We were all thrilled with such paraphernalia. But there I was, ready to hitch. And did not disappoint anyone.

I make a point and I tell you that, by then I had a very particular (I have taken much to find my own style, frankly), dressed in riding pants, boots also very horse, shirt embroidered with initials and prince of wales blazer. Do not say that to go to Paris, I was not appropriate.

Not to clash with the whole damn fine smoked a cigarette brand "Cartier" and suddenly I felt like one. My mother warned me "Do not smoke, you're going to be sick." But stubborn me, I left the hall (at that time not to care what was fashionable in the lung could be an alien and fuck the same in almost any corner) and I lit a Cartier ... In the second set, the arch. I panic and hand blocking the natural outlet to throw open the door of the cabin and look where ... I see a kind of sink and head I had a wooden top, I throw me, my father rushes to raise the top, I no longer stand without further throw the lid merely catapult my vomit and I vomit all, father included.

the effect is spread and finish the two would vomit. My mother and sister, less affected by the disaster was going to dinner as usual. My father and I stayed in the bunk, lying and trying to forget ... two separate bring us sandwiches from the cafeteria in case the body is asking us later. I do not remember if we eat them but I can not forget is that piercing the pituitary ambientillo scented ...

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Unusual Collateral Damage

We've all joked once with it that men are mono-task while we masterfully handle multi-function mode, speedily. Well, I, that although I chuckle because I've always been rather clumsy as to make more than one thing at a time now, I think, definitely, I resign female. Resign. Process. And not completely accepted, that is the worst.

've really made an effort and tried unsuccessfully to exercise my creativity, trust me. With a discipline which I thought incapable. But you see, I could not. I have lain fallow and do not even know how much and pretended not to show up here to compose myself but today I decided to step forward and confess that I have overcome hormones. I give up.

I can not think of anything else beyond my altered state, my belly swollen, my sensitivity, my insomnia, these sweats and anxiety. Especially anxiety.

I sought inspiration near, far, in reality, the fiction, truths, lies, but nothing has helped me.

as Gregor Samsa So today I thought maybe I had no choice but to accept my degradation. I hope, though, that the story ends somewhat better, although I can not promise anything. Now that I think we are in March ... I will keep you informed.