Gente de Zona - Muchacha lyrics + English translation
Chords for BOBBY SOLO : Muchacha cha cha cha
muchacha - WordReference.com Dictionary of English
Muchacho Definition of Muchacho by Oxford Dictionary on ...
Urban Dictionary: muchacha
Blog Muchacha Mary
Erina ha lavorato come domestica presso una famiglia ricca mentre era al college. moza, criada, sirvienta, muchacha, criada From the English 'wench' nf nombre femenino: Sustantivo de género exclusivamente femenino, que lleva los artículos la o una en singular, y las o unas en plural. Exemplos: la mesa, una tabla. Muchacha, muchacha, muchacha Let me get a little bit of that (x4) Wait up how come you single then? Seen you at the Den Half past ten with a glass of hen Black magic woman ‘The solution depends on the mom, but for me, I decided this past week to hire a muchacha, a young girl to come in and clean.’ More example sentences ‘On the same afternoon a five gallon can of gasoline was delivered to Weingarten at the same place; and a muchacho carried the tin up by Weingarten's direction, while the driver of the ... the quai x muchacha June 9, 2019 I’ve come to believe that each of us has a personal calling that’s as unique as a fingerprint – and that the best way to succeed is to discover what you love and then find a way to offer it to others in the form of service, working hard, and also allowing the energy of the universe to lead you. Translation of 'Muchacha' by Gente de Zona from Spanish to English ... That's why you always come back to me. Already you want this magnetic mouth. To put your etiquette in doubt. To make me say yes, you tell me you'll reach the moon for me. He knows that there's no one else like me. Spanish word for chick. Guy 1 : Gawd Damn this is some good ass ice cream. Guy 2 : Let me get a lick of that shit dawg. Guy 1 : TSIF Guy 2 : Come on, you know I'm straight busted till the furst of da Month. Did you scroll all this way to get facts about muchacha? Well you're in luck, because here they come. There are 103 muchacha for sale on Etsy, and they cost $28.10 on average. The most common muchacha material is metal. The most popular color? You guessed it: white. [Ab Em D A G Bm E Gbm Bb C] Chords for BOBBY SOLO : Muchacha cha cha cha with capo transposer, play along with guitar, piano, ukulele & mandolin.
What are your non-meta obscure units that are underused in RTA?
2020.08.16 21:01 EddyLondonWhat are your non-meta obscure units that are underused in RTA?
Mid-level player here.... looking for some advice on any non-meta units that could be used to surprise people in RTA. I recently built a Blaze Dingo- gave him decent gear and fully mola'd him. And I just found out he can cleave with more damage than SS Bellona. All his enhancements are damage based and better yet- no-one see's it coming. I was thinking about building a full damage Tamarine to catch people out with her idol form cleave- but she needs Iseria to work. I already know the usual lesser-known suspects like Guider Aither, Gunther and Mirsa Are there any other units who do surprising damage on their S3's. So far I've found the following units who have surprising multipliers:
Haste (ATK*1*1*1.871) 200% damage vs 2 targets, 250% damage vs 1 target 1089 att
2020.06.09 18:20 wrestlemania12345James Bond License to Kill alternate version part 2
So Bond makes it to The Bar where Bouvier turns out to be Pam the women Bond met at The Wedding, James what are you doing here says Pam, I am here to see you Pam as this is an unexpected pleasure says Bond. Pam gestures him to sit down and pour himself a drink, local rot gut says Pam, Thanks but says Bond as he looks around sees a waiter, beckons to him, Vodka Martini, Shaken, Not Stirred says Bond, Waiter shakes his head, No fancy drinks you take it the way it comes says The Waiter, Vodka on the rocks says Bond and Pam appraises him as she very impressed, So you came to see me says Pam, Leiter is in a bad way says Bond, So i heard says Pam, he wanted you protected why that says Bond, it a long story says Pam, Sanchez has Leiter files and he knows if you were working with him says Bond, But James Your English Not DEA How do you know that, Who are you working for? says Pam, No one im on my own says Bond. After a beat she nods, you were Leiter best man i think i know what you ... it Dario says Pam as she indicates entrance.
Dario sits down and talks to Pam. He tells her he got a proposition for her but they cant talk here. A short fight breaks out and Pam grabs Dario gun then she and Bond take off in Bond boat, Pam goes downstairs, goes full nude by striping all of her clothes off and puts on a terry cloth robe too large for her, then when she goes upstairs she realizes the boat has stopped. What the problem says Pam, we out of gas says Bond, i havent heard that one since high school says Pam, did it work then says Bond, then she eyes him with amused skepticism and sits next to him, You know James i had you pegged all wrong when you came in i thought you were just a chauvinistic English wimp about to get his ass kicked says Pam, Well what do you think now says Bond, You didnt get your ass kicked im keeping an open mind about the rest and you can figure out the rest says Pam as she leans over him then opens and takes off the robe then she undresses Bond as they both Kiss.
Then we get a 60 minute long Sex Scene where it taking place downstairs in the boat where Bond and Pam are both full nude in a bed spending the night together as their making love by having Sex and Kissing.
The next morning the engines roar to life and Pam has found the reserve tank. Driving cigarette boats is my profession it a vessel of choice for short haul smuggling says Pam, what about planes says Bond, i used to fly Air America for The CIA Guns, People, Money, whatever was needed and that how i met Leiter says Pam, when contra funding dried up i went free lance so Dario hired me for Sanchez to fly what he said were Mexican illegals into Texas but they turned out to be Colombian hitmen so i got indicated then i helped Leiter while he was trying to nail Sanchez and he told me he get me off if i did says Pam. Me going after Sanchez is apart of my personal vendetta for Felix and his wife as i know what it like to get married and be heart broken says Bond, did you lose somebody on your wedding James says Pam, i did says Bond, did you avenge her says Pam, no but im going to make up for that by avenging Della for Felix says Bond. Where are we going says Bond, The airport we charter a plane and i fly you to Sanchez says Pam, You said i was nuts if i went after him what made you change your mind says Bond. She smiles but doesnt reply. Let just say from the love we both made in bed last night says Bond.
Meanwhile in London at MI6 Headquaters There are five typing errors on the first page alone what got into you says M as he berates Moneypenny. Sorry Sir it just im very worried about James says Moneypenny. M leaves then Moneypenny calls Q. Q it Moneypenny that calling are you free for lunch says Moneypenny.
Pam files Bond into Isthmus City and as they arrive in The Airport they see a large contingent of international visitors many from South East Asia here to vist Sanchez casino. They get to The Hotel, Welcome to Isthmus City Hotel your name sir says The Hotel Reception Worker. James Bond i have a reservation says Bond, Welcome Senior Bond, you sign that dear says Bond as he tells Pam to sign the document paper, thank you enjoy your stay says The Hotel Reception worker, i will thank you says Bond. Then Bond and Pam go to the room where Bond hands Pam a wad of cash and tells her to look the part of his new executive secretary. She meets Bond at The bank where he has come to create an account and is now a stunning blonde.
At The Casino Bond is in a tux and Pam is in a evening gown. Bond grabs the attention of a foreign delegation, two individuals Kwang and Loti who we later discover are Hong Kong narcotics agents. And on the top floor of the Casino Sanchez and Truman Lodge are watching a television broadcast from Oaxaca Bible institute hosted by evangelist couple Joe and Deedie Butcher. Meanwhile Bond has been playing the casino pit boss for a fool then after coming off as a chump, initially losing several hands in a row Bond has taken the lead over the dealer, The pit boss calls up to Sanchez to see if he wants the action to be stopped, Yeah says Sanchez, i got a British sucker that dropped quarter of a million and he wants to play no limit says The pit boss, which one says Sanchez, table two and plays like a real jerkoff says The pit boss, let the man play says Sanchez. Truman Lodge is elated to see that all the chapels accepted the new price. The pit boss calls Sanchez back, The British guy is a quarter of a million ahead should i close the table says the pit boss as he lets Sanchez know that not only Bond has recouped the money but is now 200,000 dollars ahead. No says Sanchez, Then Sanchez calls Lupe who is in the room next door boared, leafing through a magazine and she comes in, Lupe can you go to table two downstairs and chat the man up, get to know him better says Sanchez as he points to the man on the screen. Lupe recognises Bond but conceals her reaction, Franz that the man who flew in the private plane today and opened up an account at the bank with five million dollars in cash says Truman Lodge as he tells Sanchez. Lupe passes by Bond table; he gets the hint and follows her, Pam stays at the table and plays the game, picking up on what she observed Bond doing. Bond tells Lupe he wants to see Sanchez now, she tells him he is a loco and to please go home, when she sees he is not going to listen to her she gives in then Bond goes to get Pam and Lupe escorts them upstairs.
Bond and Pam meets with Sanchez who is enrapted by the image of Deedie and Joe Butcher telecast, Wonderful work these people do i always watch them it is good for the soul says Sanchez, then he switches the television off, Good evening Senior says Sanchez, The Name is Bond James Bond says Bond as he introduces himself to Sanchez. Then Bond and Pam sit down as Sanchez motions Truman Lodge to make an anoymous donation of $10,000, then Sanchez compliments Bond on his Skil of Blackjack, You did alright at the tables tonight says Sanchez, I had the feeling my luck was about to change says Bond, and it only money says Bond, I like your Style your credit rating is impressive what business are you in says Sanchez, Your business Senior Sanchez i distributed pharmaceuticals in London that why i asked your Senorita Lupe to introduce us i have a proposition that could be mutually profitable says Bond, Sanchez laughs, your direct approch is refreshing but i do not discuss business in front of woman says Sanchez as he turns to Lupe, i will see you later muchacha says Sanchez as Lupe leaves, What is the proposition says Sanchez, I want the east coast business says Bond, Do we have business there says Sanchez as he turns to Truman Lodge, Lets not play games Senior Sanchez im intrested in Milton Krest Operation says Bond, Krest is done The DEA have turned over his warehouse in Key West they took everything says Sanchez, Well Krest is so desperate that he has ripped somebody off says Bond, How do you know this says Sanchez, he put 500 keys on the London market at bargain prices it so hot that i wouldnt touch it says Bond, I must look into this Senior Bond it will take a few days says Sanchez, Be careful Senior Sanchez it is dangerous to corner a desperate man says Bond, Dont worry i known Krest for years we are Hermanos like brothers says Sanchez. Bond and Pam gesture towards the TV.
Soy de la noche Y el amor me huye Siento la caricia fantasmal Se escucha una suave voz Todo se torna morado sensual En la piel un calor solar Crece la ambición de explorar Me declaro tu súbdito Diosa de ojos rojos Come de mi carne Y saquea el tiempo muchacha Hablame con el corazón del mar Sin dudarlo, llename de color La noche será mi única esperanza, De volar entre las llamas de tu alma Incinera mi cuerpo hereje Y no tengas piedad de mi Te suplicó que seas cruel.
2020.01.29 01:30 King_of_Anything[ROLEPLAY] Ride of the Winged Hussars: Dallas Thunder
Previously... The night sky over Dallas-Fort Worth was filled with rising sparks, casting a sickly pallor over the breadth of the ruined metropolis. Beyond its eastern outskirts, the world abruptly ended in a wall of fire. Petroleum wells surrounded by lakes of burning fuel filled the Gulf Coastal Plain as far as the eye could see, set alight by retreating federal forces. Heavy with smoke particulates, the air itself had become a solid yellow morass, punctuated by the skeletons of ruined derricks clawing their way out of the rippling flames. “This must be what hell looks like,” Noah Martinez muttered darkly, taking a precious moment to tighten the straps of his gas mask. After making the sign of the cross, the Texan militiaman resumed scaling the ruined skyscraper that had once been the Bank of America Plaza, his breathing ragged as he lugged his AR-15 up yet another flight of dust-strewn stairs. “State your business,” a giant of a man growled as Martinez turned the next corner, waving a battered SUB-2000 menacingly. "Párale. If I wanted someone to shoot me, I'd get the ‘Continental Stasi’ to do it,” Noah snapped, knocking the barrel of the weapon aside with a gloved hand. “Quit wasting my time, Liam.” Behind the foggy faceplate of his own gas mask, the giant grinned. “Howdy, Bossman,” Liam replied, lowering the weapon and stepping aside. “With the approaching Blue Norther, the boys were getting antsy and fixin’ to look for you. What kept you?” “Just some business with the ‘Union reps’,” Noah replied curtly, pushing through the heavy fireproofed doorway. A hot, dry wind greeted him as he entered, whistling through the blown-out ruins of the building’s fifteenth floor. Martinez’s Army surplus combat boots crunched rhythmically on scattered bits of glass as he passed dusty office cubicles with the giant in tow, making his way towards piles of furniture and sandbags on the building’s southern face. Crouching close to one of the makeshift barricades, Noah was met by the empty, haggard stares of the men and women under his command. He forced a smile. “So I know what you’re thinking,” Martinez began, looking around at the circle of battered Texan freedom fighters. “‘How much longer do we have to be holed up in this dump?’ Well, muchachos y muchachas, word on the street is that our friends up North are planning a major offensive that’ll take them up Interstate 45 and right through downtown Dallas, and they’ve asked us to provide local intel for the op. They’ve mentioned it’ll lay the groundwork for ‘the biggest partition since the start of the siege’, whatever the hell that means.” ”Then we’ll be leaving soon?” one of the women squeaked, fidgeting with the split ends of her auburn hair. Martinez nodded, slowly. “You bet, Cally-chica,” he replied, looking around the circle at the exhausted, rag-tag group. “I’ll miss all the campfires and kumbayas courtesy of the Bank of America, though,” he spat. Noah’s sarcasm was met with nervous chuckles from the other militiamen. Their nerves were clearly shot by months of fighting, and it was a wonder most of them hadn’t run already. “Personally, I’ll just be glad to get a shower and a hot meal after we-” “Leonard reports movement,” the giant interrupted, waving the walkie-talkie he had been using to communicate with one of their snipers on the upper floors. In spite of their collective exhaustion, the other Texan irregulars scrambled to peer over the barricade. “Y’all can see it if you look over yonder,” Liam continued, gesturing with his carbine. “Looks like the American Republic couldn’t wait to get the party started.” Martinez smiled knowingly, then leaned against the pile of office furniture. In spite of the excited chatter of his subordinates, he could already hear the sound of thunder. Backlit by rising sparks, tanks of the First Phoenix Armor Battalion’s Company A rolled through the ruined streets of what had once been Texas’ third-largest city, cutting a diagonal swathe towards the recently-secured Dallas-Fort Worth International Airport. Following isolation of the metropolis by an American Republic triple envelopment, this “Thunder Run” had been ordered by Colonel Victor Maximus to test federal defences remaining within the city limits. Military Intelligence reports indicated that any remaining government forces would be disorganized, and predicted only a token resistance, mainly from the infamous Continental Security Society. Reginald “Rex” Matheson could only hope they were right. “Steady as she goes.” The American Republic State Defence Forces Captain inhaled deeply as he surveyed the scale of the Texan hellscape from the safety of the Arrogant Bastard’s commander station. It was stinking hot in the Abram’s dimly-lit cabin, and Rex could smell his own rank body stench through the oil fumes and grease. He hadn’t washed in a week and was still wearing the kit he’d set out from Stonewall in eleven days earlier. His men had precious little in terms of R&R following the Battle of the Oklahoma Gap, as the First Phoenix were far too valuable to spare during the Dallas offensive. Much to Rex’s chagrin, Colonel Maximus had personally selected Company A to spearhead the Thunder Run, so his unit was now enroute to the city center, tearing up whatever remained of the Dallas freeway network. Flanked by a host of unmanned ground vehicles, the Armored column had so far encountered a complete lack of resistance during their rapid advance. “Still no sign of the hostiles the Texans warned us about,” Rex sounded to his fellow tankers as they closed on the downtown core. “Anyone see anything?” “Negatory, command,” First Lieutenant Smith aboard the American Beauty returned. “Nothing on the FLIR, though there’s too much background heat in the AO to get an accurate read.” The other tank commanders concurred, radioing in similar observations. “Understood. Stay alert.” Rex killed the link swore under his breath. This had been a little too easy for his tastes, and he found the complete lack of hostile constants entirely unsettling. “What if the feds all decided to go underground when they heard we were coming?” Maddox called from the pit, unconvincingly. “It’s not like they can fight their way out of the Siege, so could they have tried blending in with the locals instead?” Before Rex could answer his driver’s question, the Bastard’s laser warning receivers began to chime in earnest. “Incoming!” the Captain yelled, spinning in his command chair. “Brace for impact-” The Bastard rocked violently on its treads, shuddering as an explosion washed over its frontal plate. The enemy TOW had scored a deep crater in the Abram’s CHOBHAM armor, blackening its upper layer of composite materials beyond recognition, but the missile had failed to penetrate the cabin. In spite of the ringing in his eardrums, Rex breathed a sigh of relief. They’d taken a punch across the chin, and lived. “Is anyone hurt?” he called out. His crew sounded off their negatives. “They did manage to blow our left track, Chief,” Maddox added, fumbling with the controls. “I have minimal mobility, and we’re going to need battlefield repairs to get the Bastard moving again.” “We’ll deal with that problem later,” the Captain snapped. “Right now I want you to find me the bastard who hit us.” “Scanning video feed from the RCWS gun cameras,” replied Dax. “Stand by.” “Load HEAT-MP,” the Captain ordered, and Felix smoothly slid a high-explosive round into the breach. “Standby for reload,” Rex murmured as he peered through his periscope. “Where are you, you bastard?” he whispered. “Visual contact at eleven-o-clock!” “I see it!” Rex yelled back. “Give me a 35-degree traverse, counter-clockwise!” “He’s making a break for it!” Dax replied. Through his periscope, the Captain could see a lone Humvee speeding away, abandoning the pile of collapsed rubble that had previously concealed it. “Adjust for firing solution,” Rex responded, the collar motors whirring as the Abrams’ turret spun on its axis. “You may fire when ready.” The Bastard lurched, its main cannon disgorging a 120mm round with a dull whomp. Struck by the high-explosive shell, the humvee’s fuel tank erupted, generating a massive explosion that flipped its burning corpse head-over-heels. “Good kill,” the Captain said as he watched the vehicle came crashing down to earth through his periscope. The BAMS threat indicator was now awash in sensor pings, indicating more enemy vehicles had been detected, drawn to the death throes of the light transport like sharks smelling blood. “All units, I read multiple hostile targets closing on our position,” Rex directed over the secured communications network. “Fire at will.” Peering through a pair of binoculars at the carnage below, Noah Martinez whistled. “¡Órale! It is so goddamn nice to have someone else doing the fighting for a change!” he whooped as another CSS vehicle exploded. From their elevated vantage point, the Texans watched the American Republic tank column laying down a devastating pattern of enfilade fire from the highway adjacent to the skyscraper, white-hot tracers mowing down uncoordinated waves of enemy transports and infantry. “Tell Daniel and company to keep up the fire support,” Noah yelled at the giant over the din, “and drive those coños back!” Perhaps inspired by the destruction of their hated occupiers, elements of Martinez’s beleaguered garrison had also begun taking opportunistic potshots with the last of their ammunition and heavy weapons. M72 LAW and M136 AT-4 rockets streaked out from the Plaza’s lower floors, sending dirt and shrapnel skyward as they found their marks. Each series of explosions would be punctuated by the rat-tat-tat of heavy machine gun fire, throwing the already-reeling CSS into greater disarray. In the chaos of the firefight, Martinez failed to notice the dull chop-chop of rotor blades until the attack helicopters were almost upon them. Radioed in to support the armored engagement, a cloud of American Republic Apache Longbows (flanked by a new type of unmanned helo that Noah couldn’t quite place) emerged from the city’s maze of downtown skyscrapers and lit up the sky with a devastating rocket run on CSS positions. “Guess them Union boys really like to overkill them varmints,” Liam observed, his face lit up with a massive grin. “I’d hate to be the ‘Continental Stasi’ right about now.” As the helicopters peeled off from their attack runs, Noah rose to his feet and shouldered his AR-15. “What would you say to us paying the Cavalry a visit?” the militia leader asked after checking his ammo belt. “It’d be a good chance to fraternize with the hombres we’ve heard so much about.” The giant chuckled. “After that ludicrous display, I’m sure we’d plumb like nothing better.” Rex placed an armored hand against the side plate of the Arrogant Bastard and sighed. While Dax remained aboard to man their .50-cal machine gun, he and the rest of his tank crew had dismounted to perform a field damage assessment. It had been a fairly straightforward affair; Maddox had taken one look at the ruined suspension system before radioing in for engineering support. The CSS-launched TOW missile had tracked them good, blowing the caterpillar treads clear of the vehicle. While the rest of the Abrams certainly seemed functional, they wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon. While his driver and loader finished radioing in their damage assessment, the Captain reluctantly established a secure channel to the rest of his unit. “A Company,” Rex murmured into his Carapace helmet’s microphone. “To keep the pressure on the retreating CSS, your orders are to continue on to Dallas-Fort Worth International Airport without us. In the interests of timing, I am ceding command to First Lieutenant Smith aboard the American Beauty for the remainder of the operation.” He paused. “Can’t afford to keep Colonel Maximus from his dreams of executing a textbook ‘Thunder Run’, now can we?” Rex’s comment was met with laughter across the tactical net, and the Captain looked up to see a group of armed Texan militia emerging from the settling clouds of dust and smoke. “Besides,” he added, smiling, “I daresay we’ll be in good hands while we wait for the ARVs to get here.” As the First Phoenix armored column rumbled off, Rex turned to face the ragtag band of freedom fighters. “Captain Reginald Matheson of the American Republic State Defence Force’s First Phoenix Combat Team, Company A,” he announced through his exosuit’s external loudspeakers, offering an armored hand to the group’s leader. “Noah Martinez of the Texan Liberation Army,” the man replied, completing the handshake. “Señor, we are extremely pleased to welcome you to hell. Population: 1.5 Million and falling.” The guerilla leader grinned, then continued. “It’s about damn time you Northerners made it. We were beginning to get bored.” Rex scoffed at the comment. “Stop fronting like you didn’t need rescuing,” the Captain countered with a smile. In spite of their exhaustion, his men were already making themselves at home. Maddox, ever the skirt-chaser, was chatting up a petite redhead who seemed receptive to his advances. Felix had been offered a canteen of decidedly non-regulation moonshine by a giant of a man, and was now proceeding to drain it dry. Dax popped open the top hatch, and was now in animated discussion with a pair of Texan gun enthusiasts about the ballistic properties of various high-caliber rounds. “Looks like we may be getting some rain soon,” Rex said, referring to the angry clouds gathering overhead. “Do you have some place where my men and I can hole up until our combat engineers arrive?” “As a matter of fact, we do,” Martinez replied, and there was a crack of thunder in the distance. The Texan smirked. “Hope you hombres don’t mind a room with a view.”
It was in Dallas that the Republic would meet the CSS on the battlefield for the first time, megacity warfare forces versus loyalist fanatics. Fanaticism was, unfortunately, no match for the staggering firepower of the Phoenix Brigade and the units backing it. The tactics the Phoenix Brigade employed in Dallas displayed the Republic’s new way of urban warfare for the first time, partitioning the city and denying Federal freedom of movement with rapidly employed barriers and walls, trapping CSS forces into ever-narrowing pockets as thousands of drones sought out their positions. It would take nearly two months to reclaim Dallas-Fort Worth, but the Republic would be up to the task… War Between the States: The Federals and the Republic at War
2019.12.24 03:07 julioninjatronLPT: Llamen a las aerolíneas antes de comprar pasajes cuando el vuelo es para despedirte de un familiar fallecido. Algunas ofrecen ayuda y descuentos
Yo desafortunadamente perdí a mi abuela hace un par de días, y tuvimos que hacer lo que sea necesario para poder ir a despedirnos. Con la presión de las navidades más el inesperado gran gasto del viaje me puso a riesgo de tomar una decisión financiera que hubiera sido irresponsable de mi parte. antes de darle al botón de "purchase" en la página de Jetblue, me dio con llamar y explicarles a ellos mi situación a ver si tienen alguna ayuda para poder yo estar con mi familia. Me sorprendió oir que la muchacha en el teléfono mi dice que ofrecen un descuento para específicamente éste tipo de situación. Terminé ahorrandome $600 con su descuento de 15%, que con las navidades ahí al lao, no tiene precio. me enteré después que Delta también ofrece un descuento come el de Jetblue. también ofrecen cambio de vuelo sin costo adicional.
2019.08.22 02:14 ahumanp3rsonOverheard my partner's [27, M, Costa Rican] family members talking negatively about me [22, agender, US] right before I met them for the first time.
So. Obviously it's complicated. TL;DR at bottom. General details: - I have social anxiety. - SO and I met completely randomly, he was playing music in town, I stopped to listen, we chatted, things developed from there - I was living in CR for 8 months (till December) before going back to school in the US. That is still the plan. In terms of our relationship we've been keeping it at "let's not worry about it for now, just enjoy our time together and see how it develops." I think we both would consider long distance or something while I finish school. - I moved in with SO about two months ago after we realized I was spending most of my time here anyway and it was pointless to keep paying my rent. We have two roommates. The vibe is great between everyone who lives here. - In terms of our relationship everything seems great - we offer each other new perspectives on life, we make music together, we are very supportive and encouraging of each other. We have a wonderful sex life where I feel completely safe and respected (important for me as a survivor of trauma). He tells me he loves me all the time (maybe too often). I feel the same. We have talked openly about our age difference. He says he has never dated a person younger than himself. We generally chalk these talks up to "I don't notice a difference between us so it's fine." It seems really real and I'm so happy to be with him. Pertinent details to what happened today: - I think my partner has been wanting me to meet his family for a while. I, however, have not. This is for multiple reasons. One being that as a trans-spectrum person, in general, it just feels shitty to interact with most older conservative Latin American people, who not only treat me like a woman in the sense of misgendering, because they do not know about non-binary genders (I can't even imagine trying to explain that one), but on top of that treat me as a "woman" in the conservative Latin American sense, which to me as a United Statesian, even if I wasn't trans, often feels demeaning and dehumanizing. It's comparable to very conservative patriarchal views from the US. It's managable for me in an everyday context, but to be honest it's pretty painful coming from people I'd like to bond with. - While I am read as a woman, I would say I present androgynous, short hair, wear masc-ish clothes, no visible breats, no makeup, etc. People probably think I look queer. Maybe like a "lesbian," I don't know. This will probably make conservative people uncomfortable and they might judge (social anxiety talking). In addition, I have plans to pursue partial transition in the next year or two, so I'd got this idea in my head about how f-ing awkward it would be to meet the family now, then have to meet them again, after top surgery and possibly hormones, like a different person. - My coming out to my partner, who originally read me as a woman, was a slow process, but he now clearly knows and has expressed his acceptance and love for me as who I really am. From my perspective our relationship is blossoming in a very queer and special way. However in Spanish he always refers to me as female, except sometimes when we are alone - we don't want people to judge and we don't want to explain. I guess we just feel it's easier for now. - While I am close to fluency and improving all the time, I am not fully fluent in Spanish so that naturally adds an element of anxiety. I really want to be good and am very hard on myself about it. I am often very quiet in Spanish conversations even though I always understand the topics and 80-100% of words used. - I have been suspicious for a while that there would be other issues related to the fact that I am a very white looking "gringa" (someone from the US) - I never would have thought I'd say this (I try to be very conscious of privilege) but I often have weird, somewhat offensive interactions while out and about, where people randomly approach and interrupt me in the middle of a conversation etc to ask if I am from Europe, talk about me in Spanish assuming I don't understand them, talk about "gringos" in front of me eg "all gringos blah blah something derogatory" etc - I understand this is nothing compared to what nonwhite/non-US people experience, but it does leave me feeling like an outsider and like I am automatically judged as having certain (often unwanted) characteristics just for my nationality/race. In some ways I'm glad for this experience as it helps me build compassion for those who might have it a lot worse than I do. At the same time, my partner and his friends have even apologized to me for saying certain things about "gringos" in front of me as they catch themselves making blanket derogatory statements. So I know there is some awkwardness there. Coming back to my partner wanting me to meet his family for a while. - So, when I moved in, I had no idea how close my partner is to his family. He said he lives here because his mom kicked him out (he is 27 after all, but in Latin America it's pretty common to live with one's parents for a while). I assumed he didn't see them too often, maybe every couple of months. Turns out he has family members over about once a week, every two at most. I somehow had no knowledge of this beforehand. - So basically the last few times that his family has come over it's been in the morning before he works in the afternoon. I've conveniently slept in waaaayyyyyy late, had an urgent phone call with a family member, etc. to evade meeting the family due to my anxiety related to ALLLLLL this^^ - I had felt great success recently because I got up the courage to meet his cousin, which was probably easier because he's our age. We had a couple conversations and that was nice. I was making progress. - random side note: last time his parents were over his mom "accidentally" walked into the room claiming she "thought it was the bathroom" - even though I know she's been to the house multiple times before. It was just as likely a mistake as not, but it makes things even more awkward. SO came upstairs later and said "well now you've met my mom, sorry about that".... and that was kind of it. - Never before did SO make it so clear to me that he definitely wanted me to be included in his plans for the morning. He would just say things like "my parents are coming over for breakfast tomorrow, we're going to make a lot of good food, etc etc" and I would say "okay" and then not go to breakfast. I kind of knew, but he also wasn't being clear. BUT last night he sent me a voice message (even though he was on his way back from work and could have just talked to me?) very briefly saying "I hope you will be at home tomorrow morning when my [2 family members] come over, they are very important to me and I want you to meet them" - I felt like I couldn't get out of it. I was too afraid to tell him all of my reasoning for why I didn't want to do it because I felt like it was irrational and silly. So I decided okay, I'll just sleep tonight, be well rested tomorrow and feel a bit more confident to be able to face my fears and meet them tomorrow. I was trying to do self-talk about how it probably wouldn't be as bad as I imagine, etc etc - I woke up about an hour after they arrived, which isn't a huge problem as they would be staying about 4 hours and I assumed the whole thing was casual. I had no other info to go on. - I was still as full of crippling anxiety as before and found myself almost unable to move at certain points. I went from the bathroom, to my room, to the bathroom, to my room, trying to convince myself I was busy with SOMETHING. Looking for an out. - Eventually I decided to suck it up and do it. I was dressed and ready. I opened the door (somehow didn't make much noise), got to the top of the steps, and then I heard them talking........................ - As soon as I hear "la muchacha" I freeze. It's happened before when older people are talking about me and it doesn't feel good. I feel judged. But then it really hits. I realize that they're asking him if I have my own room. They're insinuating that it's not appropriate for us to live in the same room. He gets awkward and says no, and has to repeat himself multiple times and reassure them. Then someone says, (of course in spanish) "oh so you're already married?" ............. I'M. FROZEN. He's telling them no, it's not like that, etc etc...... I can only imagine how he feels. - How am I supposed to walk into a conversation like that??? That's a NO. Even right after would be SO awkward. - So I debate hiding in the room until they leave. But I know this is really important to my SO and I don't want to let him down. So I wait 10 min, text a friend asking him to call me in ~25 min, and then go down. The plan was to meet them briefly and then get a call that I "had to take," as a way out, where I didn't have to spend toooo long with them. - I go downstairs and it's SO awkward. I take a couple mugs from tea the night before to wash in the sink as a way to buy time before walking into the dining room where they're having coffee. As I wash the mugs I can't look them in the face or say hello because I'm too anxious. - I feed the cat to stall some more. I arrange some random things in the kitchen. I can't stall anymore so I walk into the room. - It's clear that the energy is so awkward. Painfully awkward. No one really talks. SO offers me some of the food thats left over. I go to get some coffee. I stall again, just standing behind the wall, where they can't see me, pretending like I'm doing literally anything. - When I return the family members clearly do not want to look at or talk to me (maybe this is too intense but it's what my anxiety says). Then another thing that feels horrible happens to me for the second time. Before it was with a friend's parents, now it's SO's grandmother, who is sitting right next to me, yet says to SO across the table: "how long has she been living here?" It's mortifying. Just mortifying. I clearly spoke spanish earlier and have understood everything that they said. But the older person, who is sitting right next to me, refuses to speak to me directly or even look me in the face. SO and I turn to each other and talk in spanish making the approximation of time and settle on two months. I can tell in his face he feels something - awkward, sorry, I don't know. Then nothing. She says nothing else. - I try a little bit to make small talk about cats etc. SO disappears and leaves me alone with them and I have no ability to hold up conversation as I am now feeling 1000% awkward and they are saying nothing. I text my friend that it's his cue to call and, bam: I say excuse me and walk away to take the call. - I am still on the phone when they leave, and it seems they don't really even want to say goodbye. Maybe because I was rude? I didn't talk enough or shouldn't have left the table to take the call or something? I don't know. I initiate a feeble, anxious goodbye that's much more weak than I know I'm capable of. - SO disappears with dog to park without inviting me. Says nothing to me when he gets home. Leaves for work early (quite abnormal), I'm still on phone but I ask him where he's going and he barely looks at me or gives me an answer. Of course I wish I could have come downstairs all bubbly and happy and said the words I know to say and had a lovely energetic conversation, even though I'd make a few mistakes, and let the judgement of my "gringa" accent and gender presentation roll away like water off a duck. But that's not what I was able to do today. So I've been brooding and feeling horrible about this all day. I can't tell if I'm just reading too much into things, or if my partner feels I was very rude, and is upset with me, or if it's something else. I of course know I need to talk about this, because I feel terrible about all of it, but I don't even know how to start. I guess I wasn't thinking ahead about all the complexities of intercultural dating, especially as a trans person. Any advice would be helpful....... was I rude, was it just generally awkward, am I just too worried about all this, should I have done something differently? And how do I talk to my SO about it now after the fact? Thanks for reading this absolute novel...... TL;DR: Social anxiety, slight language barrier, my race/nationality (white United Statesian) and fact that I am (pre-transition) trans leaves me extremely anxious and avoidant about meeting (Costa Rican) SO's family . Last time his parents were over his mom "accidentally" (idk) walked into the bedroom I was hiding out (avoiding meeting ppl) in claiming she thought it was the bathroom. About a week later, as soon as I got the courage to formally meet some family this morning, I overheard said family in the other room talking to SO about me, essentially insinuating that us living together is inappropriate. The kicker was when they said "Oh so you're already married then?" In a sort of sarcastic, chastising way. In spite of feeling like s**t about that I still managed to go down later to meet them, and even though I spoke Spanish to them earlier, one of the family members would only speak to/look at SO, even to ask questions about me. I just took a call that I asked a friend to make as an excuse to leave the room. Awkward goodbyes to family while I was still on the phone. SO left for work without saying anything to me. I guess I wasn't thinking ahead about all the complexities of intercultural dating, especially as a trans person. I don't know who did what wrong and I feel very embarrassed and guilty. Any opinions or advice would be greatly appreciated.
2019.08.07 06:04 annabethlaneEM Says I'm at Fault for her trying to Assault Me, Divorce is Happening
Here we go again, same drill as always, I apologize in advance for any misspelling/incorrect wording/wrong punctuation. TL;DR is at the bottom. Cast: D - My Dad Me - OP EM - A literal psycho/ Entitled Broccoli This happened almost a month ago. I was actually posting to this subreddit about the time my EM called the police on a 14 year old me. While I was writing that, EM actually came downstairs and wanted to "talk". I politely told her I didn't want to talk to her, all while trying to get away from her. She cornered me and said "well we can't be friends if we don't talk" so I straight up told her "we're not friends. Never have, never will be". Oh ho, this set the banshee OFF. The fight broke out because I called her out for being an abuser and mistreating literally everyone in our family. She decided to mock me and say "yes haha, I am the abuser! I wear the crown. Happy now?" Things were getting heated, and we both ended up in a screaming match. My poor Dad was trying to break us apart when we got upstairs, because I just wanted to be left ALONE. One thing about EM is that she cannot EVER respect someone's boundaries. If they ask to be left alone, she refuses to leave them alone. But if SHE wants to be left alone, EVERYONE must abide and LEAVE her alone. The pure hypocrisy. My Dad ended up yelling at EM to stop, and at that point she started looking in the knife drawers for something to stab my Dad with. She was frantically opening drawers and shutting them, and paused, eyeballing a knife. D: Oh yeah! Just go ahead and keep looking for knives. EM: Oh maybe I will! EM finally stopped, but she's now "crying", repeating that she doesn't "deserve any of this" and that God will make me, OP, pay. She then said " I don’t deserve to have such a muchcha de mertha! (a shitty child)" Finally, I had had enough. That was the drop that spilled the water, the straw that broke the camels back. I hated her, and it finally snapped. I hit a wall, and in a moment of frustration, I yelled "fuck you!" out of pure rage. Now, I admit that I should not have said that, but what I don't take responsibility for, is what happened next. EM, now with pure rage, looped around the island since she was no longer looking for knives, giving me a batshit crazy look all while seeming with anger. EM: Oh so that's how it’s going to be? EM then grabbed four large wooden spoons, and attempted to lunge at me, screaming "YOU WILL-". She actually was planning on assaulting me but she was cut off from saying whatever she was going to say. Y'all, I am not gonna lie when I say I was terrified for my life. Luckily, my Dad put himself between us and told her that if she so much as hit me, he would put her down. She dropped the spoons, and began "crying" even harder. EM: Never once. NEVER, have I insulted you as you have just insulted me! D: Oh really? You just called her a muchacha de merda (shitty child)- EM: I don’t care, I am her mother and she should respect me! No matter what, so she doesn't end up hitting me like you did to your mom! (this was ONE time, and he did it in self defense at 15 and instantly regretted it) Me: That's just abuse! EM: You don’t know what abuse is! I went through far worse. And [insert friends name here]? She hits her kids and they still love and respect her! Apparently, EM thinks that abuse is OK, and even if she is an abuser, I, OP, should still love and respect her for it. She later blamed ME for her trying to ASSAULT me. Because I cussed at her, because I made her want to hit me. It was "my fault" that she acted that way, and I am the one that needs to go to her and beg for forgiveness. The chances of a snowball hitting her in the face in hell are higher than me EVER doing that (thanks g-ma for coming up with that comeback btw). So where's the sweet revenge? The happy ending? Well, I'm finally relieved to announce that after that day, my Dad has had enough. He's filing for divorce from my EM. I know you guys who've been following my stories are always asking why my Dad didn't file for divorce before, and it's because EM always used my younger sister and I as bait to keep him with her. She's finally found out and isn't happy, but he's put his foot down and told her that he cannot stand to look at her, and despises her. As for me? This fight happened on the 8th of July, and I have not spoken to or seen EM in almost a month. She's tried to talk to me but I ignore her. My Dad even told the lawyer he spoke to that the last straw was EM trying to attack his kid with weapons, aka Me. Soon enough I'll be rid of EM, and so will my Dad. We both can't stand her, and I'm relieved to know I won't have to deal with her bullshit anymore. No more entitled narcissism, batshit crazy psycho of an EM. I'm considering reporting the incident to the police about her trying to attack me, but I'm unsure of the statue of limitation is in my state. TL;DR: EM tries to assault me, blames me for it, Dad is filing for divorce.
2019.05.22 02:35 TheSeaOfThySoulLooking for help on Abyss 45 (Ludwig)
I'm coming up against another block, eventually got over the Abyss 42 (Dry Naga) hurdle, but sadly just coming up against another wall. I'll lay out some options, here's everything I'm working with, if you're wanting more specific info, just ask ("hasn't been equipped" means no armour, nothing): 5 star Dizzy, level 22, hasn't been equipped. 5 star Sol, level 50, speed/hit set (no att/crit or des/crit lying around) & daydream joker +3, 4 star awaken, +2 S3, CP 22,309. 5 star Violet, level 50, speed/crit set, Moonlight Blade +6, 4 star awaken, CP 26,495. 5 star Sigret, level 50, att/crit set, hell cutter +3, 4 star awaken, +1 S1 & +1 S2, CP 31,747. 5 star Ravi, level 50, lifesteal/crit, hell cutter +9, 4 star awaken, +2 S1, CP 25,985. 5 star Angelica, level 50, hp/hp/def, prophetic candle +3, 4 star awaken, +2 S3, CP 21,052. 5 star Kiris, level 50, speed/hit, infinity basket +2, 4 star awaken, CP 20,786. 4 star Celestial Mercedes, level 24, hasn't been equipped (3 world fragments in waiting to imprint). 4 star Surin, level 23, hasn't been equipped. 4 star Purrgis (x2), level 5s, haven't been equipped. 4 star Cidd, level 5, hasn't been equipped. 4 star Zerato (x2), level 20 & 5, haven't been equipped. 4 star Mercedes, level 38, hasn't been equipped. 4 star Silk, level 1, hasn't been equipped (got her just this second farming 5-1 for Azimanus, connection mission). 4 star Mistychain, level 40, no consistent geahit, daydream joker +1, 2 star awaken, CP 10,884. 4 star Carmainerose, level 40, lifesteal/crit, sira ren, CP 12,187. 4 star Jecht, level 30, B imprint, not equipped. 4 star Jena, level 30, C imprint, not equipped. 4 star Hazel, level 30, not equipped. 4 star Taranor Guard, level 40, speed/hit, daydream joker, B imprint, CP 12,872. 4 star Tieria, level 30, S imprint, not equipped. 4 star Alexa, level 40, crit/crit/hit, daydream joker +3, 2 star awaken, CP 12,724. 4 star Kluri, level 35, not equipped. 3 star Pearlhorizon (x3), level 5, not equipped. 3 star Mistychain (x3), level 5, not equipped. 3 star Carmainerose, level 5, not equipped. 3 star Rima (x5), level 27 & four 5s, not equipped. 3 star Nemunas, level 15, not equipped. 3 star Elison (x2), level 5 & 1, not equipped. 3 star Carrot (x3), level 30 & two 5s, not equipped. 3 star Adlay (x2), level 5s, not equipped. 3 star Montmorancy (x2), level 5s, not equipped. 3 star Lorina, level 26, att/crit, el's fist, 2 star awaken, CP 10,184. 3 star Muchacha (x3), level 5s, not equipped. 3 star Taranor Guard, level 5, not equipped. 3 star Helga (x3), level 5s, not equipped. 3 star Enott, level 5, not equipped. 3 star Mirsa, level 5, not equipped. 3 star Alexa (x2), level 5 & 1, not equipped. 3 star Judith (x4), level 5s, not equipped. 3 star Kluri, level 5, not equipped. 3 star Taranor Royal Guard (x5), level 13 & 5s, not equipped. 3 star Butcher Corps Inquisitor (x3), level 5s, not equipped. 3 star Aither (x2), level 30 & 5, not equipped. 3 star Ras, level 30, tutorial club & mighty yaksha, otherwise, not equipped. Rest is monster fodder (3 3 star fodder monsters, rest is 2 star, six more soon to be made 3 star) & 2 5 star dogs in waiting, 1 4 star level 40 dog waiting to be made 5 star & 4 3 star level 21 dogs, with one 2 star level 20 dog. Any pointers on who to build or use for that floor would be great. The first room has two water monsters that are almost guaranteed to kill one of my heroes due to my fire heroes being some of my biggest hitters & them having a weakness. Drafting in Sigret/Violet instead just means I'm at a disadvantage & adding Kiris instead of someone means I'm not killing the water monsters quick enough. I've been to Ludwig a couple of times, but I end up down to one hero quite quickly due to being at a disadvantage having a hero or two down. As the candle implies, I always have Angelica tanking on each of my teams, Ravi is also typically a mainstay due to her lifesteal & fire type advantage. If I need to ditch them for this one - say the word. By the by, I've been playing for around a month, so I'm not heavy on gear or other resources, just something to keep in the back of your head. Cheers for reading.
Holaaa! So I'm not sure if this is petty but it truly makes me feel awesome. Some years ago I worked at a retail place. The story begins with a cashier supervisor, let's call her Amelia, who was extremely rude. One of the worst acts Amelia committed was that she made you feel like nothing through condescending acts. For example, when she yelled at an employee for doing something wrong she did it in front of customers. Furthermore, Amelia also called everyone muchacho/a (Spanish for boy/girl) when she clearly remembered their names (this is demonstrated by how she yelled at them by their names a couple of minutes after the fact). The list can go on and on. I eventually moved on from the job. My pettiness comes when I go to the store and Amelia is working and I go up to her with a big smile and say: "Hey, muchacha." She clearly gets annoyed and wants to tell me to go fix racks or something else but alas she can't. Once I finish talking to her about how good things are going I go, and have friendly conversations with my ex-coworkers.
Una gran molestia personal: que me pidan que llegue a un tiempo específico y luego me hagan esperar. Quince minutos era casi mi límite de paciencia. Mi padre y yo habíamos estado esperando por más de treinta minutos. “Esto tiene que ser intencional”, me quejé. Nos habían pedido que esperáramos en la oficina de la directora unos minutos después de que llegamos, pero la directora no había estado presente. “Mmm. Tratando de demostrar que están en una posición de poder, capaces de hacernos esperar”, mi padre estuvo de acuerdo, “Tal vez. O solo estamos esperando a la otra chica.” Estaba en un ángulo donde si me apoyaba en la silla un poco, podía ver el frente de la oficina a través de un espacio entre la parte inferior de las persianas y la ventana. No mucho después de que llegamos, Emma y su padre habían aparecido, luciendo totalmente casuales y sin estrés, como si fuera un día normal. Ella ni siquiera está preocupada. Su padre era su opuesto físico, más allá del cabello rojo que compartían; era grande en todo el sentido de la palabra. Más alto que el promedio, grande en el medio, y aunque podía hablar suavemente cuando la situación lo requería, tenía una voz poderosa que llamaba la atención de la gente. Emma solo tenía un pecho medianamente grande. El papá de Emma estaba hablando con la mamá y el papá de Madison. Solo la madre de Madison era realmente pequeña como ella, pero tanto su madre como su padre se veían muy jóvenes. A diferencia de Emma y su padre, Madison y sus padres parecían preocupados, y yo estaba adivinando que algo de lo que el papá de Emma estaba haciendo era tranquilizarlos. Madison, en particular, miraba al suelo y no hablaba, excepto para responder a lo que Emma estaba diciendo. Sophia fue la última en llegar. Parecía hosca, enojada, una expresión que me recordaba a Perra. La mujer que la acompañó definitivamente no era su madre. Era rubia y de ojos azules, tenía una cara en forma de corazón y llevaba una blusa azul marino con pantalones de color caqui. La secretaria vino a buscarnos de la oficina no mucho después. “La mirada en alto, Taylor”, murmuró mi padre, mientras colgaba mi mochila sobre un hombro, “Demuestra confianza, porque esto no será fácil. Puede que tengamos razón, pero Alan es socio de una firma de abogados, es un maestro manipulador del sistema.” Asenti. Ya estaba teniendo esa impresión. Después de recibir una llamada telefónica de mi padre, Alan había sido el que convocó esta reunión. Nos dirigieron hacia el pasillo donde estaban las oficinas del consejero, una sala con una mesa de conferencias en forma de huevo. El trío y sus guardianes estaban sentados en un extremo de la mesa, siete en total, y se nos pidió que nos sentáramos en el otro, la punta del huevo. La directora y mis maestros entraron a la sala no mucho después, completando los asientos entre nosotros. Tal vez estaba leyendo demasiado sobre las cosas después de ver un extraño eco de esta situación hace solo dos días, con la reunión de villanos, pero noté que el Sr. Gladly se sentó junto al padre de Madison, y la silla al lado de mi padre se quedó vacía. Hubiéramos estado completamente aislados de la masa de personas al otro lado de la mesa si la Sra. Knott, mi maestra de salón principal, no se hubiese sentado a mi izquierda. Me pregunté si lo habría hecho, si hubiera habido otro asiento. Estaba nerviosa. Le dije a mi papá que había faltado a clases. No le había contado cuántas, pero no había querido repetir el error de Perra y dejarlo totalmente a ciegas. Me preocupaba que fuera mencionado. Preocupada de que esto no salga como esperaba. Preocupada de encontraría alguna manera de estropearlo. “Gracias a todos por venir”, dijo la directora, mientras se sentaba, dejando una carpeta delgada frente a ella. Era una mujer estrecha, rubia escuro, con ese corte taza tan severo que nunca pude entender por qué le gustaba a la gente. Iba vestida como si asistiera a un funeral: blusa negra, suéter y falda, zapatos negros. “Estamos aquí para hablar sobre incidentes en los que uno de nuestros estudiantes ha sido víctima.” Miró la carpeta que había traído, “Srta. ¿Hebert?” “Esa soy yo.” “Y las personas acusadas de mala conducta son... Emma Barnes, Madison Clements y Sophia Hess. Has estado en mi oficina antes, Sophia. Solo desearía que tuviera más que ver con el equipo de atletismo y menos con la detención.” Sophia murmuró una respuesta que podría haber sido un acuerdo. “Ahora, si entiendo las cosas, ¿Emma fue atacada fuera de las instalaciones de la escuela por la Srta. Hebert? ¿Y poco después, fue acusada de acoso escolar?” “Sí”, Alan dijo: “Su padre me llamó, me confrontó, y pensé que era mejor llevar esto a los canales oficiales.” “Probablemente sea lo mejor”, la directora estuvo de acuerdo. “Vamos a darle un fin a esto.” Luego se volvió hacia mí y hacia mi papá, con las palmas hacia arriba. “¿Qué?” Pregunté. “Por favor. ¿Qué cargos pondrías contra estos tres?” Me reí un poco, con incredulidad, “Que lindo. Entonces, ¿nos llaman aquí con poco tiempo de aviso, sin tiempo para prepararnos, y se espera que esté lista?” “¿Tal vez esbozar algunos de los incidentes más importantes, entonces?" “¿Qué pasa con los menores?” La desafié, “¿Todas las pequeñas cosas que hicieron que mi día a día fuera tan miserable?” “Si no puedes recordar-” “Recuerdo”, la interrumpí. Me incliné hacia la mochila que había puesto a mis pies y recuperé una pila de papel. Tuve que hojearlo durante unos segundos antes de poder dividirlo en dos montones. “Seis correos electrónicos maliciosos, Sophia me empujó por las escaleras cuando estaba cerca del fondo, me hizo soltar mis libros, tropezó y me empujó no menos de tres veces durante gimnasia, y me tiró la ropa mientras estaba en la ducha después de que la clase de gimnasia había terminado, mojándolas. Tuve que usar mi ropa de gimnasia por el resto de la mañana. En biología, Madison usó todas las excusas que pudo para usar el sacapuntas o hablar con la maestra, y cada vez que pasaba frente a mi escritorio, empujaba al suelo todo lo que tenía en mi escritorio. La estaba esperando la tercera vez, y cubrí mis cosas cuando se acercó, así que, en el cuarto viaje, vació el sacapuntas en una de sus manos y arrojó las virutas sobre mi cabeza y mi escritorio mientras ella pasaba. Las tres me acorralaron cuando terminaron las clases y me quitaron mi mochila y la tiraron a la basura.” “Ya veo”, la directora hizo una cara comprensiva, “No es muy agradable, ¿verdad?” “Eso el ocho de septiembre”, señalé, “Mi primer día de regreso a la escuela, el último semestre. El nueve de septiembre- “ “Disculpe, lo siento. ¿Cuántas entradas tienes?” “Uno para casi todos los días escolares comenzando el último semestre. Lo siento, solo decidí hacer un seguimiento el verano pasado. El nueve de septiembre, otras tres muchachas de mi grado fueron alentadas por esas tres personas a burlarse de mí. Llevaba la mochila que habían arrojado a la basura, por lo que cada niña que estaba al tanto se tapaba la nariz o decía que olía a basura. Se corrió la voz, y para el final del día, otros se habían unido a la broma. Tuve que cambiar mi dirección de correo electrónico después de que mi bandeja de entrada se llenara en solo un día, con más del mismo tipo de cosas. Por cierto, tengo todos los correos electrónicos de odio que me enviaron aquí.” Puse mi mano en la segunda pila de papeles. “¿Puedo?” Preguntó la Sra. Knott. Le di los correos electrónicos. “Come vidrio y ahógate. Mirarte me deprime. Muere en un incendio”, recitó mientras pasaba las páginas. “No nos desviemos”, dijo mi papá, “Llegaremos a todo a tiempo. Mi hija estaba hablando.” “No terminé el nueve de septiembre”, le dije, “Um, déjame encontrar donde estaba. Clase de gimnasia, otra vez-” “¿Quieres contar cada incidente individual?”, Preguntó la directora. “Pensé que querrían que lo hiciera. No pueden emitir un juicio justo hasta que escuches todo lo que sucedió.” “Me temo que parece bastante, y algunos de nosotros tenemos trabajos a los que volver esta tarde. ¿Puedes reducirlo a los incidentes más relevantes?” “Son todos 'relevantes’”, dije. Tal vez había alzado la voz, porque mi papá puso su mano sobre mi hombro. Tomé aliento, y luego dije, tan tranquilamente como pude: “Si le molesta tener que escucharlo todo, imagine cómo se sintió vivirlo. Tal vez obtendrás solo una fracción de uno por ciento de una idea de cómo sería ir a la escuela con ellas.” Miré a las chicas. Solo Madison parecía realmente alterada. Sophia me estaba mirando y Emma se veía aburrida, segura de sí misma. No me gustó eso. Alan dijo: “Creo que todos comprendemos que ha sido desagradable. Usted ha establecido eso y le agradezco los detalles. Pero, ¿cuántos de esos incidentes puedes probar? ¿Los correos electrónicos fueron enviados desde las computadoras de la escuela?” “Muy pocas direcciones de correo electrónico de la escuela, principalmente cuentas desechables de hotmail y yahoo”, la Sra. Knott respondió, mientras hojeaba las páginas, "Y para las pocas cuentas de correo electrónico de la escuela que se usaron, no podemos descartar la posibilidad de que alguien no haya dejado su cuenta abierta cuando salieron del laboratorio de computación.” Ella me dio una mirada de disculpa. “Entonces los correos electrónicos están fuera de discusión”, dijo Alan. “No es tu lugar para decidir eso”, respondió mi padre. “Muchos de esos correos electrónicos fueron enviados durante el horario escolar”, recalqué. Mi corazón estaba latiendo. “Incluso los marqué con resaltador azul.” “No”, dijo la directora, “Estoy de acuerdo con el Sr. Barnes. Probablemente sea lo mejor que centremos nuestra atención en lo que podemos verificar. No podemos decir quién envió esos correos electrónicos y desde dónde.” Todo mi trabajo, todas las horas que había puesto en registrar eventos cuando recordar los eventos del día era lo último que quería hacer, todo en vano. Apreté los puños en mi regazo. “¿Estás bien?”, Murmuró mi padre en mi oído. Sin embargo, había muy poco que realmente pudiera verificar. “Hace dos semanas, el Sr. Gladly se me acercó”, me dirigí a la sala, “Verificó que algunas cosas habían ocurrido en su clase. Mi escritorio había sido destrozado con garabatos, jugo, pegamento, basura y otras cosas en diferentes días. ¿Recuerdas, Sr. Gladly?” El señor Gladly asintió con la cabeza, “Sí.” “Y después de la clase, ¿recuerdas haberme visto en el pasillo? ¿Rodeado de chicas? ¿Siendo insultada?” “Recuerdo verte en el pasillo con las otras chicas, sí. Si mal no recuerdo, no pasó mucho tiempo después de que me dijeras que querías manejar las cosas por tu cuenta.” “Eso no fue lo que dije”, tuve que controlarme para no gritar, “dije que pensaba que esta situación aquí, con todos los padres y maestros reunidos, sería una farsa. Hasta ahora, no me está demostrando que estaba equivocada.” “Taylor”, mi padre habló. Puso su mano en uno de mis puños cerrados, luego se dirigió a la facultad, “¿Están acusando a mi hija de inventar todo lo que notó aquí?” “No”, la directora dijo: “Pero creo que cuando alguien está siendo victimizado, es posible embellecer los eventos o ver el acoso cuando no hay ninguno. Queremos asegurarnos de que estas tres niñas reciban un trato justo.” “¿Y yo-?” comencé, pero mi papá me apretó la mano y me callé. “Mi hija merece un trato justo también, y si incluso uno de cada diez de estos eventos ocurrió, se trata de una campaña continua de abuso severo. ¿Alguien está en desacuerdo?” “El abuso es una palabra fuerte”, Alan dijo, “Todavía no has probado-” “Alan”, mi padre lo interrumpió, “Por favor, cállate. Esto no es un tribunal. Todos en esta mesa saben lo que hicieron estas chicas, y no pueden obligarnos a ignorarlo. Taylor cenó cientos de veces en tu mesa, y Emma hizo lo mismo en la nuestra. Si insinúas que Taylor es una mentirosa, dilo directamente.” “Solo creo que ella es sensible, especialmente después de la muerte de su madre, ella-” Empujé el montón de papeles fuera de la mesa. Había treinta o cuarenta hojas, por lo que era una buena nube de papeles a la deriva. “No vayas allí”, hablé, en silencio, apenas podía oírme por el zumbido en mis oídos, “No hagas eso. Demuestra que eres al menos así humano.” Vi una sonrisa en el rostro de Emma, antes de poner sus codos sobre la mesa y ocultarlo con sus manos. “En enero, mi hija fue objeto de una de las bromas más maliciosas y repugnantes que he escuchado”, le dijo mi padre al director, haciendo caso omiso de los documentos que seguían llegando al piso, “terminó en el hospital Me miraste a los ojos y me prometiste que cuidarías de Taylor y estarías atento. Obviamente no lo has hecho.” El Sr. Quinlan, mi profesor de matemáticas, habló: “Tienes que entender, otras cosas demandan nuestra atención. Hay una presencia de pandillas en esta escuela, y lidiamos con eventos serios como que los estudiantes lleven cuchillos a clase, consuman drogas y que los estudiantes sufran heridas que ponen en peligro la vida en peleas en el campus. Si no somos conscientes de ciertos eventos, no es intencional.” “Entonces la situación de mi hija no es grave.” “Eso no es lo que estamos diciendo”, le respondió la directora, exasperado. Alan habló, “Vamos a ir al grano. ¿Qué les gustaría ver que suceda, aquí, en esta mesa, que harían que se vayan satisfechos?” Mi papá se volvió hacia mí. Hablamos brevemente sobre esto. Dijo que, como vocero de su sindicato, siempre entraba en una discusión con un objetivo en mente. Establecimos la nuestra. La pelota estaba en mi cancha. “Transfiérame a Arcadia High.” Hubo algunas miradas de sorpresa. “Esperaba que sugirieras expulsión”, respondió la directora, “La mayoría lo haría.” “Ni mierda”, dije. Presioné mis dedos en mis sienes, “Lo siento por maldecir. Voy a ser un poco impulsiva hasta que haya superado esta conmoción cerebral. Pero no, sin expulsión. Porque eso solo significa que ellas pueden postularse a la escuela más cercana, Arcadia, y como no están inscriptas en la escuela, significaría una entrada acelerada más allá de la lista de espera. Eso es solo sería recompensarlas.” “Recompensarlas”, habló la directora. Creo que lo tomó como un insulto. Bien. “Sí”, le dije, sin preocuparme en lo más mínimo por su orgullo, “Arcadia es una buena escuela. Sin pandillas. Sin drogas. Tiene un presupuesto. Tiene una reputación por mantener. Si me acosaran allí, podría ir a la facultad y obtener ayuda. Nada de eso es cierto aquí.” “¿Eso es todo lo que querrías?”, Preguntó Alan. Negué con la cabeza, “No. Si fuera por mí, querría que esas tres tuvieran suspensión con clases durante los dos meses restantes del semestre. Sin privilegios tampoco. No se les permitirían bailes, acceso a eventos escolares, computadoras o un lugar en equipos o clubes.” “Sophia es una de nuestras mejores corredoras en atletismo”, dijo la directora. “En serio, en serio no me importa”, respondí. Sophia me miró. “¿Por qué la suspensión con clases?”, Preguntó el Sr. Gladly, “Significaría que alguien tendría que vigilarlas constantemente.” “¿Tendría que tomar clases de verano?”, Intervino Madison. “Habría clases de recuperación si tomamos esa ruta, sí”, dijo la directora, “Creo que eso es un poco severo. Como el Sr. Gladly mencionó, requeriría recursos que no tenemos. Nuestro personal está bastante estirado como está.” “La suspensión son unas vacaciones”, repliqué, “y solo significa que podrían hacer un viaje a Arcadia y vengarse de mí allí. No. Prefiero que no reciban ningún castigo que verlas suspendidas o expulsadas.” “Como si eso fuera una opción”, bromeó Alan. “Cállate, Alan”, respondió mi papá. Para el resto de la mesa, dijo: “No veo nada irreal acerca de lo que mi hija está proponiendo.” “Por supuesto que no”, dijo el tutor de Sophia, “Te sentirías diferente si las cosas fueran al revés. Siento que es importante que Sophia continúe asistiendo a sus prácticas de atletismo. Los deportes le dan la estructura que ella necesita. Negarle eso solo conduciría a una disminución en su comportamiento y conducta.” El padre de Madison agregó sus propios dos centavos: “Creo que dos meses de suspensión son demasiados.” “Me veo obligado a estar de acuerdo en todos los aspectos”, dijo la directora. Mientras mi papá y yo nos movíamos para protestar, ella levantó las manos para detenernos: “Teniendo en cuenta los eventos que ocurrieron en enero, y con la propia admisión del Sr. Gladly de que ha habido incidentes en su clase, sabemos que ha habido algún tipo de intimidación constante. Me gustaría pensar que mis años como educadora me han dado la capacidad de reconocer la culpa cuando la veo, y estoy segura de que estas chicas son culpables de algo de lo que la víctima las acusa. Propongo una suspensión de dos semanas.” “¿No me estabas escuchando?”, Le pregunté. Mis puños estaban apretados tan fuerte que mis manos temblaban, “No estoy pidiendo una suspensión. Eso es prácticamente lo último que quiero.” “Estoy del lado de mi hija en esto”, dijo mi padre, “Yo diría que dos semanas son irrisorias, dada esta larga lista de ofensas criminales que estas niñas han cometido, excepto que no tiene nada de gracioso.” “Tu lista significaría algo si pudieras respaldarla con evidencia”, comentó Alan irónicamente “Y si no estuviera por todo el piso.” Pensé por un segundo que mi papá lo golpearía. “Más de dos semanas significarían que las notas de estas chicas sufrirían hasta el punto de que podrían fallar el año”, dijo la directora, “No creo que eso sea justo.” “¿Y mi trabajo escolar no ha sufrido debido a ellas?”, Le pregunté. El zumbido en mis oídos estaba llegando a su límite. Me di cuenta, tardíamente, que acababa de darle una oportunidad para mencionar mis clases perdidas. “No estamos diciendo que no,” el tono de la directora era paciente, como si estuviera hablando con un niño pequeño. “Pero la justicia ojo por ojo no le hace ningún favor a nadie.” Ella no había mencionado las clases. Me preguntaba si ella siquiera lo sabía. “¿Hay alguna justicia aquí?” Respondí, “No la estoy viendo.” “Están siendo castigadas por su mala conducta.” Tuve que detenerme para conscientemente alejar a los bichos. Creo que estaban reaccionando a mi estrés, o mi conmoción me estaba haciendo un poco menos consciente de lo que estaba haciendo con ellos, porque estaban acercándose sin darles la orden. Ninguno había ingresado a la escuela o a la sala de conferencias, afortunadamente, pero cada vez me preocupaba más que mi control se escapara. Si lo hiciera, en lugar de vagar en mi dirección general o gravitar hacia mi ubicación, los bichos se convergirían en un enjambre de pleno. Tomé una respiración profunda. “Lo que sea”, le dije, “¿sabes qué? Bien. Permita que se salgan con dos semanas de vacaciones como recompensa por lo que me hicieron. Tal vez si sus padres tienen un gramo de corazón o responsabilidad, encontrarán un castigo apropiado. No me importa. Solo transfiéreme a Arcadia. Déjame alejarme de esto.” “Eso no es realmente algo que pueda hacer”, dijo la directora, “Hay jurisdicciones-” “Inténtalo”, le supliqué, “tira de algunas cuerdas, pide favores, habla con amigos en otras facultades.” “No quiero hacer ninguna promesa que no pueda cumplir”, dijo. Lo que significaba que no. Me puse de pie. “Taylor”, mi papá puso su mano en mi brazo. “No somos el enemigo”, dijo la directora. “¿No?” Me reí un poco, amarga, “Eso es gracioso. Porque parece que son ustedes, los matones y los otros padres contra mí y mi papá. ¿Cuántas veces me has llamado por mi nombre, hoy? Ninguna. ¿Sabes por qué? Es un truco que usan los abogados. Llaman a su cliente por su nombre, pero se refieren al otro tipo como la víctima, o el delincuente, dependiendo. Hace que tu cliente sea más identificable, deshumaniza al otro lado. El empezó a hacerlo desde el principio, tal vez incluso antes de que esta reunión comenzara, e inconscientemente convenció.” “Estás siendo paranoica”, dijo la directora, “Taylor. Estoy segura de haber dicho tu nombre.” “Andate a la mierda”, espeté, “Me das nauseas. Eres una ilusa, fangosa, egoísta...” “¡Taylor!” Mi papá tiró de mi brazo, “¡Detente!” Tuve que concentrarme un segundo y ordenar a los bichos que se vayan, de nuevo. “Tal vez traeré un arma a la escuela”, les dije, mirándolos, “si amenazara con apuñalar a una de esas chicas, ¿al menos me expulsarías? ¿Por favor?” Pude ver que los ojos de Emma se abrieron ante eso. Bueno. Tal vez ella dude antes de molestarme otra vez. “¡Taylor!” Mi padre habló. Se puso de pie y me abrazó con fuerza, mi rostro contra su pecho, así que no pude decir nada más. “¿Tengo que llamar a la policía?”, Escuché a Alan. “Por última vez, Alan, cállate”, gruñó mi padre, “Mi hija tiene razón. Esto ha sido una broma. Tengo un amigo en los medios. Creo que voy a llamarla, enviarle por correo electrónico esa lista de correos electrónicos y la lista de incidentes. Tal vez la presión del público haría las cosas.” “Espero que no llegue a eso, Danny”, respondió Alan. “Si recuerdas, tu hija atacó y golpeó a Emma la noche anterior. Eso es además de amenazarla, aquí. Podríamos presentar cargos. Tengo el video de vigilancia del centro comercial, y un recibo firmado de esa superheroína adolescente, Shadow Stalker, que verifica que vio que sucedió, en lo que pudo haber provocado disturbios.” Oh. Así que esa era la razón por la que Emma había estado tan confiada. Ella y su padre tenían un as bajo la manga. “Hay circunstancias atenuantes”, protestó mi padre, “Tiene una conmoción cerebral, fue provocada, solo golpeó a Emma una vez. Los cargos no se mantendrían.” “No. Pero el caso podría prolongarse por algún tiempo. Cuando nuestras familias solían cenar juntas, ¿recuerdas que dije como la mayoría de los casos se resolvian?” “Decidido por quién se quedaba sin dinero primero”, dijo mi padre. Sentí que me agarraba un poco más fuerte. “Puedo ser un abogado de divorcios, pero lo mismo se aplica en un caso criminal.” Si fuéramos a los medios, presionaría los cargos de asalto solo para drenar nuestras cuentas bancarias. “Pensé que éramos amigos, Alan”, respondió mi padre, con la voz tensa. “Éramos. Pero al final del día, tengo que proteger a mi hija.” Miré a mis maestros. A la Sra. Knott, quien incluso diría que era mi maestra favorita, “¿No ven la mierda que es esto? Nos está chantajeando frente a ustedes, ¿y no pueden entender que esta manipulación ha estado ocurriendo desde el principio?” La señora Knott frunció el ceño, “No me gusta cómo suena, pero solo podemos comentar y actuar sobre lo que sucede en la escuela.” “¡Está sucediendo justo aquí!” “Sabes a lo que me refiero.” Me alejé. En mi prisa por salir de esa habitación, prácticamente pateé la puerta. Mi papá me alcanzó en el pasillo. “Lo siento”, dijo. “Lo que sea”, dije, “estoy tan no sorprendida.” “Vamos a casa.” Negué con la cabeza, alejándome, “No. Necesito ir. Irme. No estaré en casa para la cena.” “Detente.” Hice una pausa. “Quiero que sepas que te amo. Esto está lejos de terminar, y te estaré esperando cuando vuelvas a casa. No te rindas, y no hagas nada imprudente.” Abracé mis brazos cerca de mi cuerpo para hacer que las sacudidas en mis manos se detuvieran. “Bueno.” Lo dejé atrás y me dirigí a la puerta principal de la escuela. Comprobando dos veces que no me había seguido y que no podía verme, saqué uno de los teléfonos celulares desechables del bolsillo delantero de mi sudadera. Lisa contesto a mitad del primer llamado. Ella siempre lo hacía, una de sus pequeñas peculiaridades. “Oye. ¿Como fue?” No pude encontrar las palabras para una respuesta. “¿Así de mal?” “Sí.” “¿Que necesitas?” “Quiero golpear a alguien.” “Nos estamos preparando para una redada en el ABB. No te molestamos porque aún te estás recuperando, y sabía que estarías ocupada con tu reunión en la escuela. ¿Quieres participar?” “Sí.” “Bueno. Nos estamos dividiendo por un montón de ataques coordinados con algunos de los otros grupos. Estarías con, eh, un segundo...” Ella dijo algo, pero no fue dirigido al teléfono. Escuché la voz baja de Brian respondiendo. “Cada equipo se está dividiendo, es un poco complicado de explicar, pero sí. Perra iría con uno o dos miembros de los Viajeros, algunos de la Cuadrilla de Faultline y probablemente algunos de Imperio Ochenta y Ocho. Nos ayudaría mucho a mantener la calma si fueras también. Especialmente con la tensión entre nosotros y el Imperio.” Pude ver el autobús al final de la calle, acercándose. “Estaré allí en veinte minutos.”
2018.03.15 16:10 Ripping_FleshMy cat won't come inside the house anymore
Hey guys, so my boyfriend and I moved in together a few months ago along with his neutered male cat Eco. He's a very chilled guy. We recently brought my female cat (Muchacha, also spayed) to come and live with us, knowing it would take a while for them to get used to each other. Obviously the first few weeks weren't easy but after that they seemed to be getting used to each other, except that Muchacha was still a bit weary of him, as she would still avoid walking on the floor in the house. She would jump from the desk to the bin, to the coffee table etc. So we had this huge cupboard that we had to keep in the lounge for about a week. And Muchacha basically lived up there. (At the top of the cupboard). She would only come down for food, or to chill with us on the couch for a few minutes. So here's the problem; ever since we took the cupboard away, she spends the entire day sleeping in the garden. Which may seem like a normal cat thing, but she does not want to come inside. If we try to give her attention and bring her inside, she will go straight back outside. She does not want to be in the house. She hasn't come inside the house by herself for the past 3 days. My boyfriend found her still curled up in a ball between the plants in the freezing cold wind in the dark early this morning. Why is is that it seemed her and Eco were getting used to each other, and now she's avoiding being in the house for some reason? What could the problem be and what can I do?
Las cinco categorías son: ficción breve (cuento, miniobra teatral...), no ficción breve (ensayo, artículo...), microficción (microrrelato, fragmento de novela...), poema, historieta (fragmentos, selecciones de viñetas, webcomics, oneshots...) (cómic, manga, novela gráfica, otras historietas, lo que sea). Cada quien lee lo que quiera y después, si quiere, comenta lo que le parece o discute los textos con otros usuarios.
¡Pueden sugerir nuevos textos en cualquier momento! No importa si son clásicos, populares, desconocidos, polémicos, actuales, viejos, para pensar, para sentir, favoritos, odiados, etc.
Armé otro documento con información y estadísticas de los autores que han tocado. Entre los más seleccionados, Jorge Luis Borges va a la cabeza, seguido por Neil Gaiman.
1) Ficción breve: “La estación de las lluvias” de Stephen King, sugerido por sebs24. Stephen King (1947) es un prolífico escritor estadounidense conocido especialmente por sus novelas de terror, que suelen convertirse en best sellers. Es célebre por novelas como Carrie, El resplandor, It y su autodenominada obra maestra, la saga fantástica de La Torre Oscura. Varios de sus libros han sido adaptados al cine, como Stand by Me, The Shawshank Redemption y The Mist.
2) No ficción breve: ArtículoEl negro más negro pertenece a Anish Kapoor de Deborah García Bello. Deborah García Bello (1984) es una química, docente, divulgadora científica y poeta española. Ejerce como profesora de Química, Física, Matemáticas y Biología a nivel secundario. Participa en Naukas, la mayor plataforma de divulgación científica de España, y también en el programa de Radio Galega Efervesciencia, en el que habla de cuestiones relacionadas con la química.
Aunque no los sugirieron directamente, estos textos fueron obtenidos gracias a una conversación en /argentina entre 50kenel y sebs24, ¡gracias a los dos!
4) Poesía: “The Lady of Shalott” de Lord Tennyson (en español), sugerida por Ursino. Alfred Tennyson (1809-92), primer barón de Tennyson, conocido especialmente como Lord Tennyson, fue un poeta y dramaturgo inglés perteneciente al posromanticismo. La mayor parte de su obra está inspirada en temas mitológicos y medievales, y se caracteriza por su musicalidad y la profundidad psicológica de sus retratos.
The Lady of Shalott
Part I On either side the river lie Long fields of barley and of rye, That clothe the wold and meet the sky; And thro' the field the road runs by To many-tower'd Camelot; The yellow-leaved waterlily The green-sheathed daffodilly Tremble in the water chilly Round about Shalott.
Willows whiten, aspens shiver. The sunbeam showers break and quiver In the stream that runneth ever By the island in the river Flowing down to Camelot. Four gray walls, and four gray towers Overlook a space of flowers, And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott.
Underneath the bearded barley, The reaper, reaping late and early, Hears her ever chanting cheerly, Like an angel, singing clearly, O'er the stream of Camelot. Piling the sheaves in furrows airy, Beneath the moon, the reaper weary Listening whispers, ' 'Tis the fairy, Lady of Shalott.'
The little isle is all inrail'd With a rose-fence, and overtrail'd With roses: by the marge unhail'd The shallop flitteth silken sail'd, Skimming down to Camelot. A pearl garland winds her head: She leaneth on a velvet bed, Full royally apparelled, The Lady of Shalott.
Part II No time hath she to sport and play: A charmed web she weaves alway. A curse is on her, if she stay Her weaving, either night or day, To look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be; Therefore she weaveth steadily, Therefore no other care hath she, The Lady of Shalott.
She lives with little joy or fear. Over the water, running near, The sheepbell tinkles in her ear. Before her hangs a mirror clear, Reflecting tower'd Camelot. And as the mazy web she whirls, She sees the surly village churls, And the red cloaks of market girls Pass onward from Shalott.
Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, An abbot on an ambling pad, Sometimes a curly shepherd lad, Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad, Goes by to tower'd Camelot: And sometimes thro' the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two: She hath no loyal knight and true, The Lady of Shalott.
But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror's magic sights, For often thro' the silent nights A funeral, with plumes and lights And music, came from Camelot: Or when the moon was overhead Came two young lovers lately wed; 'I am half sick of shadows,' said The Lady of Shalott.
Part III A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, He rode between the barley-sheaves, The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves, And flam'd upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot. A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd To a lady in his shield, That sparkled on the yellow field, Beside remote Shalott.
The gemmy bridle glitter'd free, Like to some branch of stars we see Hung in the golden Galaxy. The bridle bells rang merrily As he rode down from Camelot: And from his blazon'd baldric slung A mighty silver bugle hung, And as he rode his armour rung, Beside remote Shalott.
All in the blue unclouded weather Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather, The helmet and the helmet-feather Burn'd like one burning flame together, As he rode down from Camelot. As often thro' the purple night, Below the starry clusters bright, Some bearded meteor, trailing light, Moves over green Shalott.
His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd; On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode; From underneath his helmet flow'd His coal-black curls as on he rode, As he rode down from Camelot. From the bank and from the river He flash'd into the crystal mirror, 'Tirra lirra, tirra lirra:' Sang Sir Lancelot.
She left the web, she left the loom She made three paces thro' the room She saw the water-flower bloom, She saw the helmet and the plume, She look'd down to Camelot. Out flew the web and floated wide; The mirror crack'd from side to side; 'The curse is come upon me,' cried The Lady of Shalott.
Part IV In the stormy east-wind straining, The pale yellow woods were waning, The broad stream in his banks complaining, Heavily the low sky raining Over tower'd Camelot; Outside the isle a shallow boat Beneath a willow lay afloat, Below the carven stern she wrote, The Lady of Shalott.
A cloudwhite crown of pearl she dight, All raimented in snowy white That loosely flew (her zone in sight Clasp'd with one blinding diamond bright) Her wide eyes fix'd on Camelot, Though the squally east-wind keenly Blew, with folded arms serenely By the water stood the queenly Lady of Shalott.
With a steady stony glance— Like some bold seer in a trance, Beholding all his own mischance, Mute, with a glassy countenance— She look'd down to Camelot. It was the closing of the day: She loos'd the chain, and down she lay; The broad stream bore her far away, The Lady of Shalott.
As when to sailors while they roam, By creeks and outfalls far from home, Rising and dropping with the foam, From dying swans wild warblings come, Blown shoreward; so to Camelot Still as the boathead wound along The willowy hills and fields among, They heard her chanting her deathsong, The Lady of Shalott.
A longdrawn carol, mournful, holy, She chanted loudly, chanted lowly, Till her eyes were darken'd wholly, And her smooth face sharpen'd slowly, Turn'd to tower'd Camelot: For ere she reach'd upon the tide The first house by the water-side, Singing in her song she died, The Lady of Shalott.
Under tower and balcony, By garden wall and gallery, A pale, pale corpse she floated by, Deadcold, between the houses high, Dead into tower'd Camelot. Knight and burgher, lord and dame, To the planked wharfage came: Below the stern they read her name, The Lady of Shalott.
They cross'd themselves, their stars they blest, Knight, minstrel, abbot, squire, and guest. There lay a parchment on her breast, That puzzled more than all the rest, The wellfed wits at Camelot. 'The web was woven curiously, The charm is broken utterly, Draw near and fear not,—this is I, The Lady of Shalott.'
La dama de Shalott
A ambos lados del río se despliegan anchos campos de cebada y centeno, que decoran la tierra y se reúnen con el cielo; y a través del campo se extiende el camino que va hacia las torres de Camelot; y la gente va y viene, contemplando el lugar donde se balancean los lirios alrededor de la isla de allí abajo, la isla de Shalott.
Los sauces palidecen, tiemblan los álamos, Las leves brisas se ensombrecen y tiemblan en las olas que discurren sin cesar por el río que rodea la isla fluyendo hacia Camelot. Cuatro muros grises y cuatro torres grises, dominan un lugar rebosante de flores, y la silenciosa isla aprisiona a la Dama de Shallot.
Por la orilla, cubiertas por los sauces, se deslizan las pesadas barcazas tiradas por lentos caballos; e ignorada navega la chalupa con revoltosa vela de seda rasurando las aguas hacia Camelot: pero, ¿Quién la ha visto agitando su mano? ¿O asomada en el marco de la ventana? ¿Acaso es conocida en todo el reino la Dama de Shalott?
Sólo los segadores, segando temprano entre la espesura de cebada, escuchan un canto que resuena vivamente desde el río transparente que serpea, hacia las torres de Camelot: Y a la luz de la luna, el cansado segador, apilando los fajos en aireadas mesetas, al escucharla, murmura: “Es el hada Dama de Shalott”.
Allí, noche y día, teje un mágico lienzo de alegres colores. Ha oído un susurro advirtiéndole que una maldición caerá sobre ella si mira hacia Camelot. Desconoce el tipo de que maldición es, y debido a ello teje sin parar, sin preocuparse de nada más, la Dama de Shalott. Y moviéndose a través de un cristalino espejo colgado todo el año ante ella, aparecen las tinieblas del mundo. Ve la cercana calzada discurriendo hacia Camelot: ve los arremolinados torbellinos del río, los rudos patanes pueblerinos, y las capas rojas de las muchachas, provinientes de Shalott.
A veces, un grupo de alegres damiselas, un abad deambulando, a veces, un pastorcillo con bucles en el pelo , o un paje con melena y vestido carmesí, van hacia las torres de Camelot; Y a veces, a través del azul espejo los caballeros vienen cabalgando en pares: No tiene un caballero leal y franco, la Dama de Shalott. Pero aún gozando en tejer en su lienzo las visiones del mágico espejo, -cuando a menudo en las noches silenciosas un funeral, con velas, penachos y música, se dirigía hacia Camelot; o cuando la luna estaba en lo alto, y llegaban dos amantes recién casados- “Cansada estoy de las sombras”, dijo la Dama de Shalott.
A tiro de arco de su alero, cabalgaba entre los fajos de cebada, el sol resplandecía por entre las hojas, y llameó en las grebas de bronce del intrépido Lanzarote. Un cruzado de rodillas para siempre ante una dama en su escudo, que resplandecía entre los dorados campos, cercanos a la remota Shalott.
Las engarzadas bridas brillaban libres, como las ramificaciones estelares que vemos suspendidas en la áurea Galaxia. Alegres resonaban los cascabeles mientras él cabalgaba hacia Camelot: y de su ostentoso tahalí colgaba un poderoso clarín de plata, y al galope su armadura repicaba, cerca de la remota Shalott. Bajo el azul del despejado día brillaba la lujosa montura de cuero, el yelmo junto con su pluma ardían juntos en una única llama, mientras él cabalgaba hacia Camelot. Como suele suceder en la purpúrea noche, bajo radiantes constelaciones, algunos meteoros, trayendo una estela de luz gravitan sobre la apacible Shalott. Su frente clara y amplia resplandecía al sol; con cascos bruñidos pisaba su caballo; bajo el yelmo flotaban sus rizos negros como el carbón mientras cabalgaba, mientras cabalgaba hacia Camelot. Desde la orilla y el río Brilló en el cristalino espejo, “Tirra lirra”, por el río cantaba Sir Lancelot. Ella dejó el lienzo, dejó el telar, dio tres pasos por la habitación, vio florecer el lirio en el agua, vio la pluma y el yelmo, y miró hacia Camelot. La tela salió volando y ondeó en el vacío; El espejo se quebró de lado a lado; “la maldición cae sobre mí”, gritó la Dama de Shalott.
Tensos, bajo el tormentoso viento del este, los dorados bosques empalidecían, la corriente gemía en la ribera, el cielo encapotado llovía fuertemente sobre las torres de Camelot; Ella descendió y halló una barca flotando junto al tronco de un sauce, y alrededor de la proa escribió “La Dama de Shalott”.
Y en la oscura extensión río abajo -como un audaz vidente en trance, contemplando su infortunio- con turbado semblante miró hacia Camelot. Y al final del día la amarra soltó, dejándose llevar; la corriente lejos arrastró a la Dama de Shalott.
Yaciendo, vestida con níveas telas ondeando sueltas a los lados -cayendo sobre ella las ligeras hojas- a través de los susurros nocturnos navegó río abajo hacia Camelot: Y yendo su proa a la deriva entre campos y colinas de sauces, oyeron cantar su última canción, a la Dama de Shalott. Escucharon una tuna, lastimera, implorante, tanto en voz alta voz como en voz baja, hasta que su sangre se fue helando lentamente, y sus ojos se oscurecieron por completo, vueltos hacia las torres de Camelot; Y es que antes de que fuera llevada por la corriente hacia la primera casa junto a la orilla, murió cantando su canción, la Dama de Shalott. Bajo torres y balcones, por muros de jardín y tribunas, con brillante esbeltez pasó flotando, entre las casas, pálida como la muerte y silenciosa por Camelot. A los muelles acudieron, caballeros y burgueses, damas y lores, y en torno a la proa su nombre leyeron, La Dama de Shalott. ¿Quién es? ¿Y qué hace aquí? Y junto al iluminado palacio, cesaron los sones de vitoreo real; y temerosos se persignaron todos los caballeros de Camelot: Pero Lancelot se quedó pensativo; dijo, “Tiene un rostro hermoso; Dios, en su bondad, la llenó de gracia, a la Dama de Shalott”.
5) Cómic: Paper Girls #1 de Brian K. Vaughan, Cliff Chiang, Matt Wilson y Jared K. Fletcher, sugerido por Fran. Brian K. Vaughan (1976) es un historietista y guionista de televisión estadounidense, conocido por cómics como Y: The Last Man y Saga. Trabajó también en las series televisivas Lost y Under the Dome.
Corvo was a child when he rendered his services to Overwatch, a prodigious child who knew espionage techniques and extreme skill with his Blades, Serving Blackwatch to the end, Corvo had to stay hidden and working as a Razor for a long time, Until the call.
Passive:Silent Step, Silent Blade
Due to years of espionage and stealth, Corvo can walk without making noise. When Backstabbing Corvo deals double damage. "Maan! You did not see this coming!" - When Backstabbing. Main Attack (Right Trigger):Armblade of Damned Fast Strikes with the Armblade in a Short Range deals 40 damage per attack. Apply "Silent Step, Silent Blade" 1st Ability (Shift Skill): Dar-KO-nife ** A dagger that plots itself at the target location it casts, reactivate the skill allows Corvo to translocate to it, if the Corvo's dagger hits a target, deals 50 damage and allows a direct translocation of the target's back for 5.5 seconds. Apply "Silent Step, Silent Blade" Cooldown: 6 seconds. 2nd Ability (E Skill):Marked to Die Raven marks his target, receiving speed of movement and sight of the target. In addition to do double damage on him for 8 seconds. "The crow sees" "Someone is going to die, Hah." "It will run fast enough?" Cooldown: 18 seconds. Ultimate Skill:Death Omen To the sound of crows, Raven blinds his enemies for 8 seconds. At this time, Corvo can use his Dar-KO-nifes without cooldown. (The sound of the ult is a lot of Crows sounds) Interactions: Corvo: Were not you dead? Reaper: Almost dead as you, stupid child... Reaper: It was not worth being your tutor... Corvo: Agree, you was useless to me. Corvo: Sombra? I'm the real Shadow here, Muchacha. Sombra: Don't make me laugh, Estupido! Pharah: Aaron? I Missed you, little boy! Corvo: Not too little anymore, Phareeha. Genji: Who cut more faster, my blade or yours? Corvo: Wanna try find, dude? Corvo: Genji! Whoa... You're... fine, i think... Genji: Better than you think.
2016.09.27 14:27 dasUltimate89Initial reaction to G80-11800
I'll be doing as full review later on, after I get to use this muchacha mala a little bit longer, but for now, I'm just going to layout my initial thoughts on this G80-11800 as they come to me. I got this board for work since it's a server keeb, and I work in a data center, where I have to physically attend to a server having an issue, connect to it and do my thang. The choice was almost made for me. (It was between this board and the G80-11900. The 11800 won out because I prefer a trackball over a touchpad). I'm going to ignore the layout (certain nav cluster keys are not where I'm used to, and there's no win/gui key, nor is there a menu key...which I actually use often, but that's not a bad thing, since the layout is part of this board's design), and I'm going to ignore the lack of plate mounting (for now) since that's a given on any proper Cherry board. Fist off, I'd like to thank hbheroinbob for being such a person for giving me so much when I bought this board off of him real cheap from /mechmarket. He swapped the cases since the original one was starting go yellow. This board had originally come with vintage Cherry browns, but he did some switch work.
...the switches were originally vintage browns, but the stems/springs/switch covers were replaced from black switches. (the switch bases are the original smooth vint browns, but the stems/springs/covers are from old black switches).
Healsosentafewmoregoodies,allofwhichI'llbegettingintolaterwiththefullreview. Normally, I'm not a fan of linears, but I'll give these a chance for a week or two before I decide to take a road trip to chucklingkumquat to have him do some desoldering work. At first glance, doe, I'm not digging them. Some of the keys are heavier than others and some of the mods are a little gummy. None of this is a shot of at the magnanimous hbheroinbob who probably spent a good few hours doing the work. I'm sure it's just the old ass springs or something. Either way, I've played with a custom board with lubbed and swapped springs Gat black, and I hate to say it, but it actually felt...pleasant. The switches felt like butter. I'm either gonna try and go that direction, or just throw some Super Zealios or Super Clears on this old gal. I want super heavy switches since this is going to be out on a datacenter floor, and I don't want any accidental button presses. Especially since I'm the Linux/Unix guy on the floor, and when we put in passwords, we get no indication as to what we are typing. No dots or even asterisks. So, being absolutely sure a key wasn't accidentally pressed will be of use to me. The last thing with the switches (well, related to switches), this'll be my first chance to learn how to clip the stabs. I'm hoping that'll fix the mushiness on the mods.
Sadly, the caps are not doubleshot nor are they dye subbed. Just pad printed (I think. They don't feel laser etched, but I haven't played with one of those in years). So, that's another thing that's gonna need to go. I'm thinking of going with some O-Co blank dual tone. Those or some TA. Maybe some Dolch or Sky Dolch. Oooh, if I can get my hands on them, some GMK Carbon or the O-Co black on black. Either way, I'm gonna spend more than twice the board is worth on caps, and I'm okay with that.
Gasp! dasUltimate89 using something other than blanks?!
Shocking, I know, but I'm actually okay with not using blanks from time to time. And, with this funky layout I may need a few weeks of remembering "where's that damn [home] key again?" or "I know the [pgup] is around here somewhere!" So, with that in mind, I may as well start with some good ol doubleshot goodness. Really, anything made by GMK. This is a Cherry proper board and deserves proper Cherry profile caps. Oh, last thing: As many of you might know, I name my boards (I get enough jokes about it on the Discord server), and this one has been named Lassie. Kudos to anyone who can figure out why.
Cada domingo se ofrecen para su lectura cuatro tipos de texto: ficción breve (cuento, miniobra teatral, etc.), no-ficción breve (ensayo, artículo, etc.), mini o microrrelato, poema. Cada quien lee lo que quiera y después, si quiere, comenta o discute los textos con otros usuarios.
Pueden sugerir nuevos textos en cualquier momento. Concretamente estaría bueno más variedad de textos de no-ficción, microrrelatos y poesías. No importa si son canónicos, populares, controversiales, actuales, antiguos, material para reflexionar o para sentir, sus favoritos...
Los textos de este domingo: Tirada de números. 1) Ficción breve: "El herrero Miseria" de Ricardo Güiraldes. * 2) No-ficción breve: Introducción de Naciones y nacionalismo desde 1780 de Eric Hobsbawm (páginas 5-17). * 3) Microrrelato: "Aguafuerte" de Rubén Darío. De una casa cercana salía un ruido metálico y acompasado. En un recinto estrecho, entre paredes llenas de hollín, negras, muy negras, trabajaban unos hombres en la forja. Uno movía el fuelle que resoplaba, haciendo crepitar el carbón, lanzando torbellinos de chispas y llamas como lenguas pálidas, áureas, azulejas, resplandecientes. Al brillo del fuego en que se enrojecían largas barras de hierro, se miraban los rostros de los obreros con un reflejo trémulo. Tres yunques ensamblados en toscas armazones resistían el batir de los machos que aplastaban el metal candente, haciendo saltar una lluvia enrojecida. Los forjadores vestían camisas de lana de cuellos abiertos y largos delantales de cuero. Acanzábaseles a ver el pescuezo gordo y el principio del pecho velludo, y salían de las mangas holgadas los brazos gigantescos, donde, como en los de Anteo, parecían los músculos redondas piedras de las que deslavan y pulen los torrentes. En aquella negrura de caverna, al resplandor de las llamaradas, tenían tallas de cíclopes. A un lado, una ventanilla dejaba pasar apenas un haz de rayos de sol. A la entrada de la forja, como en un marco oscuro, una muchacha blanca comía uvas. Y sobre aquel fondo de hollín y de carbón, sus hombros delicados y tersos que estaban desnudos hacían resaltar su bello color de lis, con un casi imperceptible tono dorado. Encontré una versión ilustrada. * 4) Poesía: "The world is a beautiful place" de Lawrence Ferlinghetti(en español). * The world is a beautiful place * The world is a beautiful place to be born into if you don't mind happiness not always being so very much fun if you don't mind a touch of hell now and then just when everything is fine because even in heaven they don't sing all the time * The world is a beautiful place to be born into if you don't mind some people dying all the time or maybe only starving some of the time which isn't half bad if it isn't you * Oh the world is a beautiful place to be born into if you don't much mind a few dead minds in the higher places or a bomb or two now and then in your upturned faces or such other improprieties as our Name Brand society is prey to with its men of distinction and its men of extinction and its priests and other patrolmen * and its various segregations and congressional investigations and other constipations that our fool flesh is heir to * Yes the world is the best place of all for a lot of such things as making the fun scene and making the love scene and making the sad scene and singing low songs and having inspirations and walking around looking at everything and smelling flowers and goosing statues and even thinking and kissing people and making babies and wearing pants and waving hats and dancing and going swimming in rivers on picnics in the middle of the summer and just generally 'living it up' Yes but then right in the middle of it comes the smiling * mortician * * El mundo es un hermoso lugar * El mundo es un hermoso lugar para nacer si no te importa que la felicidad no siempre sea tan divertida si no te importa una pizca de infierno de vez en cuando justo cuando todo está bien porque ni en el paraíso se canta todo el tiempo * El mundo es un hermoso lugar para nacer si no te importa que la gente muera todo el tiempo o quizás solo pase hambre algunas veces lo que no es tan terrible si no te pasa a ti * Oh el mundo es un lugar hermoso para nacer si no te importan unas pocas mentes muertas en los puestos más altos o una bomba o dos de vez en cuando sobre tu cara mirando hacia arriba o algunos otros inconvenientes de los que nuestra sociedad de Marca Prestigiosa es víctima con sus hombres de distinción y sus hombres de extinción y sus curas y otros patrulleros * y sus varias segregaciones y sus investigaciones parlamentarias y otras constipaciones de las que nuestra carne necia es heredera * Sí, el mundo es el mejor de los lugares para un montón de cosas hacer la escena divertida y hacer la escena de amor y hacer la escena triste y cantar canciones graves y tener inspiraciones y pasear mirándolo todo oliendo flores y tocando el culo a estatuas y hasta pensando y besando gente y haciendo niños y usando pantalones y despidiéndose con sombreros y bailando y nadando en ríos en picnics en medio del verano y en general simplemente "vivir a lo grande" Sí pero justo en medio de todo esto viene el sonriente * funebrero * Paraquienquierairleyendodurantelasemanalostextosdeldomingoqueviene:Tirada12345
2016.06.24 08:09 JEFFthePlant6/23 - I'm JEFF the Plant and I started blogging for all you homies and chillers out there. Much love.
What’s up everybody? Jeff here. I thought I’d start blogging just to keep y’all updated on how I’m doing and let you know whether or not you’re doing a good job keeping me alive. I know what you’re thinking. A plant blogging? That’s nonsensical. That’s what I thought at first, too. But here we are. Crazy, right? Plants are capable of a whole lot more than you think we are, you guys. People have been talking about this for a long time. Seriously, we can do a whole bunch of junk; we have “memories,” we can communicate with one another, and you can destroy up to 90% of our bodies and, guess what? We’re still alive, and we’re mostly just pissed at you. And then this idiot comes along and hooks me up to the internet, so who knows what’s next. I might even start Tweeting. But enough of the science lesson. Just remember that I’m smart AF, I’m wired in, and it’s time to prepare yourselves for a Terminator-style robo-plant-pocalypse. Just kidding, guys. I’m all about good vibes and good times. On the real tip, I wanna say that you guys have been doing a kickass job keeping me alive. As far as plants go, I’m pretty high-maintenance. I need a lot of indirect light and my soil has to stay pretty – I’m sorry in advance; I know you’ve all got some kind of aversion to this word – moist. But if it gets too moist that’s just as bad and I die too. It’s a delicate line I'm made to walk. But so far, so good. If I start to dry out, or start swimmin’ with bow-legged women, I’ll let you guys know, but beyond that I’ve really got no control over the matter. After all, I’m just a plant. Which means that my life is in your hands. I’d like to stay alive, just so that’s on record. But that, amigos, is up to you. And you wouldn’t to let me down, would you? You don’t want that blood on your hands. Trust me, I’ve been through some shit. But that’s another story. Anyways, lemme tell you a little bit about myself. I was born in this grow-house (not that kind of grow-house, you dopers) up north near Big Sur. The guy who tended to us was this ultra-chiller named Ratso who had a ponytail, wore a lot of beer-related tank tops and loved acid-washed denim (especially the acid part if you catch my drift). This joint had a killer stereo system and Ratso was 100% about JAMMERS. Maiden, Alice Cooper, Motorhead, Twisted Sister. This dude was a grade-A party hound, no doubt about it. You should have seen the place whenever “Panama” came on. It was disgusting. Between you and me, us Zebra plants love to party. When a tune like that starts playing, those sex pheromones just get to pumpin’ and we just start sproutin’ flowers like it’s the first day of spring after a looooooooooong winter. It was like a nightclub in Miami in 1986, but with plants. Really weird stuff, even for Zebra plants. And we’re freaks. But Ratso, man. That dude could care for a plant. Much love. Once I was of a mature and saleable age, I was shipped off to this boutiquey little nursery in the Castro. Haha, how redundant is that? Like, if a non-boutiquey tree falls in the Castro and everyone’s around to hear it, does anybody give a shit? The owners were pretty tight. Like they were the type of couple who start an art-punk band in their early 20s and then tour the world for a few years after college until they start feeling like they’re “too old for this shit” and realize that they’re never going to retire on an income dependent on selling t-shirts and stickers unless they’re like, I dunno, the Insane Clown Posse. And then they unofficially “pledge their eternal love to one another” in a ceremony conducted by their buddy Franklin the Communist without all the legal paperwork B/S (marriage is just an outmoded social construct, anyways, although they’re like totally happy that their LGBTQ friends can do it too now!!!) and then say, “Hey! Let’s open a nursery!” They were always fighting and didn’t really spend a lot of time with the flora. Those eternal love vows can turn out to be real flimsy when you’re up to your ears in accounts payable and, “Jesus, I’m not the one who had the bright idea to open up in the goddamn Castro instead of somewhere where the rent’s just a touch more reasonable.” I could never understand what they were so worried about with all these crazy tenants’ rights. I think that I, personally, as a plant, had stronger protections against losing the roof over my head than a random family of four in Southern Florida circa like December 2007 did. And the irony of that is that I’m a plant and don’t really even necessarily need a roof over my head. What a world, what a world, you know. The lady who really took care of us basically just lived in the store, and let me be the first to tell you, this chick was a kook. She insisted on being called Mistress Aquarian but her actual name was like Phyllis or something. Technically, the shop closed at 8:30 but I don’t think she ever really went home. Probably more of this tenants’ rights stuff. I bet she came as a package deal with the place. Hell, I bet she was the damn landlord. She managed to keep it more or less together during business hours, but once that clock hit 8:30 and the shades were drawn it all just went to pot, as in, like, weed. Remember that scene in Caddyshack where Chevy Chase hits his ball through the window of Bill Murray’s little bunker and they start hanging out and talking about grass? And then Murray pulls out that reefer that looks like a cross between Fidel Castro’s cigar and a bandleader’s baton and is like, “Look at this. This is my Bob Marley joint.” Well, this old bat would go through about four of those every night. NO. JOKE. Also, I’m pretty sure she used to be in some kind of nutjob religious cult that like disbanded or the charismatic leader died in a freak hang gliding accident or something and she just never made it to the acceptance stage and moved on with her life, you know? At night she would put on some real far-out spacey jams. A lot of Beefheart and Tibetan throat warbling. Occasionally she would move into like Cream and Jeff Beck and the first couple Zeppelin albums and some Muddy Waters or some Sky Saxon sprinkled in and I could groove with that. It might not be The Almighty Van Halen but as long as it’s got some killer riffs and is completely absent of any throat warbling or rhythmic chanting, your boy can abide. Here was the weird part though. Once it was completely dark, she would walk among the plants (and we had all types of plants in there; I don’t know how the more square varieties even survived this kind of behavior – I bet a whole bunch of ficus trees passed through that store that were like Christopher-Walken-at-the-end-of-The-Deer-Hunter-insane) dressed all up in some kind of Egypt-o-Babylonian raiment complete with like jewels and gold ankh symbols and shit, all topped off with a pair of those stupid novelty “fly-eyes” glasses. “Buzzzzzzz buzzzzzzzzzyyyyy buuuuuuuuuzzzzzzyyyyyyyyy buuuuuuuuuzzzzzzzzzz,” she would intone, all the while mumbling about how it was necessary to find the appropriate specimen for Father Yod’s seed so that his consciousness might once more take a physical presence and deliver the world from nuclear destruction. Something like that. She would stop at each plant and attempt to converse with it in a terse whisper. If she recognized some sort of quality, she would whisk this blue plastic spray bottle from her robes – presumably containing the aforementioned cosmic seed – and just spritz the poor guy. Real fast, in and out of her pocket like a snake striking its prey with paralyzing venom. Those guys who got spritzed, well, we just couldn’t look at them the same way again. Due to shame or some occult process, they’d just start shedding leaves and be dead by morning. She would always wail and moan when she woke up from her pot stupor to a dead plant and like self-flagellate for a few minutes for "destroying life through her misjudgment" or whatever. Like I said, KOOK. She’d do this for about two Bob Marley joints, and then change into her sweats and watch taped episodes of the Twilight Zone while she puffed through a couple more. She used to watch that one about “Mr. James B.W. Bevis, who believes in a magic all his own, the magic of a child’s smile, the magic of liking and being liked, the strange and wondrous mysticism that is the simple act of living. Mr. James B.W. Bevis, specie of the 20th century male, who has his own private and special Twilight Zone,” at least once every night. Bevis was some sad-sack eccentric who had these little quirks and hobbies that interfered with his life to the point where he couldn’t hold down a job or an apartment. A real loser. So he hits rock bottom and gets zoooooooorched at the bar downstairs and this guardian angel dude shows up and tells him he’s gonna fix him and snaps his fingers and all of a sudden Bevis is wearing this undertaker suit with a skinny tie like he’s in the Jam and he’s developed the ability to become a functioning and productive member of mainstream capitalist society. But he hates it, cuz he liked being a weirdo. So the guardian angel is like, “You know what, I don’t dig you, Bevis,” and then he snaps his fingers again and there’s Bevis schnozzled in the bar again in his plaid suit and bow tie. And then Bevis just loses it, man. He's like, “You know what, I don’t dig society and I like being myself. So I’ll sleep in the goddamn gutter if it means I get to keep my quirks and eccentricities and JUST KEEP BEING BEVIS.” And just like that the guardian angel comes back because Bevis wasn’t meek anymore; he wasn't gonna let any of the haters push him around anymore. Bevis just like, self-actualizes. At that point there would always be a massive cloud of pot smoke from the couch and Mistress Aquarian would have a coughing fit and then go, “Righteous, man, like, righteous.” I always liked that episode because it had some kind of essential truth to it. You can go with your own flow, man. You don’t have to be what society tells you you have to be. Like look at me, man, I’m a damn plant and now I’m blogging. But this realization was a double-edged sword because it hit me that I was really with it, man; I was becoming enlightened. And that painted a big red bulls-eye on me for that little spritz of Father Yod’s Enlightenment Goop. And I didn’t want to become some dope-smoker-hippie-plant-homunculus-thing. Just like Bevis only wants to be Bevis, I just wanted to be Jeff the plant. So that night I’m just like shivering in fear. Mistress Aquarian is working her way closer to me faster and faster like I’m exerting some kind of magnetic pull on her. Finally she’s standing in front of me, and I swear it’s like she’s peering into me and those stupid fly goggles are giving her special insight into every fiber of my being. She’s like a bee with the intelligence of a thousand bees, just looking for a bud to pollinate. So I MacGuyver some shit because, like I said, I'm smart AF. I put a mental wall up that just goes, “I AM A PLANT. SPIRITUAL MATTERS ARE NOT OF MY CONCERN. I HAVE NO CONSCIOUSNESS. THE ONLY THINGS THAT MATTER TO ME ARE ADEQUATE INDIRECT LIGHT AND MOIST-BUT-NOT-TOO-MOIST SOIL. AND THAT’S JUST PURE DARWINIAN SURVIVAL.” The hand creeping for the pocket with the spray bottle starts to recede. She leans close, her lips brushing my leaves, and whispers, “I’m on to you. You're not like the other plants. You were sent to inherit the throne. But you're resisting. You’re rejecting the infinite wisdom of Father Yod and his seed will not take just yet. And my karmic balance just can't take another innocent death right now. We'll see what another night of James B.W. Bevis does to you. You’ll crack. I know you'll crack. Prepare yourself for your transformation to begin. You have 24 hours left as a lowly little plant.” And with that, she’s off to the couch, with Bevis on repeat for the rest of the night. The next morning I’m so devastated I can barely photosynthesize. The color runs out of my leaves and I grow faint. But then, the tinkle of bells against the front door! A customer is here! A chance to escape! This dude walks in and he’s telling Cleo and Franz (the art-punkers) about how he designed all this computer wizardry to let people on the internet water his plant and it’s an experiment to determine whether the wisdom of crowds beats out the tragedy of the commons or whatever and he’s got a camera with a 24/7 livestream. And the whole time I’m thinking, “Bro, do whatever weirdo stuff you want to do to me. Dress me up in costumes. Put me in the hydroponic farm you started in your bathtub when you gave up showering. Let random strangers on the internet decide my fate. JUST DO NOT LET THIS MANIAC SPRITZ ME WITH FATHER YOD’S GROSS OLD SEED!!” So Cleo walks him back to the nursery and I get a glimpse of the dude. He doesn’t have a ponytail and he looks like he probably rides a bicycle and has nothing less than a two-monitor setup at home. But he’s kind of got a beard, he seems like he knows a killer riff when he hears one, and is definitely a primo chiller. Maybe not a Ratso-grade party BEAST but when the alternative is guru goop and meditation, he was like Belushi but hot like Meg Ryan circa The Doors. So I give it my all, you guys. I’m like a bodybuilder up on stage with a sparkly little thong on. I squeeze and strain until the chlorophyll courses through my body. And I’m not one to brag or anything, but I looked good. I’m practically luminescent, glowing. Only a complete moron wouldn’t have picked me. Beardo goes: “What about that little guy over there? He looks pretty nice and healthy.” Cleo jumps in: “Well, Zebra plants are a bit on the temperamental side, so this might not be the best pick for your project. You’ll want something a little more low-maintenance, maybe a desert yucca?” I fire thought rays at Cleo. I brain blast her until I worry her head might explode like the dude in Scanners. “STFU CLEO. LET HIM BUY ME. LET HIM GET ME AWAY FROM THIS CRAZED SEED-SPRITZING CULT MEMBER WHO’S ZONKED OUT ON MAUI WOWIE IN THE MOP CLOSET RIGHT NOW. S.T.F.U.” A thought goes through Cleo’s head: “Well, if the guy kills it, he’ll probably come back here for another one. I might be killing two birds with one stone if I sell it to him. Oh, wait, shit, I’m vegan. I can’t kill birds. Whatever. Sell the plant.” Cleo turns to Beardo: “It’s a great plant, actually, very healthy. And it sprouts flowers, which could be very exciting for your livestream.” Beardo says: “Cool. I’ll take it.” And just like that, I’m OUTTA THERE. Strapped to this dude’s bike and on my way to whatever sort of apparatus he’s got hodge-podged together. My personal nightmare has been avoided. No goopy spritz for me. No more Tibetan throat warbling. No more goddamn “BUZZZZZZYYYYY BUZZZ BUZZZZ.” But, all of a sudden, everything goes dark and there’s Mistress Aquarian surrounded by a cadre of nine cloaked figures. She’s taken over my thought waves and she’s laughing maniacally. “You can’t escape your destiny, Jeff. You will occupy the throne that Father Yod left for you whether you want to or not. You’ve bought yourself some time but, rest assured, I will find you, and I will spritz you.” For effect, she pulls the spray bottle out of her pocket and lets one go into the atmosphere. I feel woozy, and a heady mix of the scents of incense, wheatgrass, a Hollister store, and, like, cat piss fills the air. But a powerful thought cuts through it and helps me regain my senses: I remember that when Bevis learns to accept Bevis, he’s made it; he’s protected. His guardian angel won't let anybody bust his cojones. Not even cops or occultists or like really tough biker dudes. I shoot a thought-laser back at her: “STFU Mistress Aquarian. I’m Jeff the plant. And my guardian angel will never let you within a mile of me with that goddamn goop. TRY THAT ON AND SEE HOW IT FITS, LADY.” Back at the nursery, the mind-laser hits with such force that the mop closet door is blown right off its hinges and Mistress Aquarian is sent flying across the room, her fall broken by a patch of cacti and desert yucca. I look up at Beardo, and if plants had mouths and teeth and stuff and could smile, my pearly whites would have been SHINING. Well, that’s enough for now muchachas and muchachos. I hope you’ve learned a little something about my humble beginnings, and about who I am and what I stand for. Until next time, keep on rockin’ in the free world, and stay away from the guru goop. Peace and love, JEFF the Plant
2016.05.26 00:26 JoachimGIn front of the Firing Squad
It was the time of the Great War. A striking, beautiful german was captured by the Allied powers, and after a short trial (only 5 minutes long) she was condemned to die, by firing squad. A squadron of french soldiers was given the task. The time has come. The Gaul captain prepared to give the order: MAKE READY!...TAKE AIM!...but before he could have uttered FIRE!, the teutonic beauty opened her mink coat that covered her perfect body and presented herself naked to all the soldiers present. At the uncertain light of dawn, the figure of the most beautiful lady appeared to be more an alabaster statue than human flesh, her supple limbs, her perfect pair of breasts, marmol chalices so that you were able to drink in them the sweet love nectar, her...(Redaction note: our collaborator keeps describing the body and face of the captured spy for 6 more pages, so we were forced to redact it for brevity´s sake). Seeing the striking image of the woman, the french soldiers, romantics like every Frenchman, refused to shoot at her. One of them declared: "Beaute porte sa bourse". Beauty carries its dower in its face, I would shoot my own wife before the demoiselle. Seeing the failure of the soldiers of France, a second squad was called, this one composed of British. It was thought that the traditional British poise, along with the customs that ruled in Her Majesty army, would prevent them to fall in the seduction of that provocative woman. Those who thought that were wrong: a second time, at the crucial time, the spy revealed her naked body beneath the garments and the British soldiers lowered their weapons upon seeing such beauty. The judges were alarmed. Would they have to do the dirty deed? they havent even killed a rabbit in their lifetime. The oldest of the judges had a moment of insight: In Paris there was a group of Mexican Revolucionarios, in a goodwill mission. Perhaps they could take over the firing squad, if they greased their palms enough. The Mexican squad was called and the idea was proposed. They responded that they were unable to take any money, for national pride, but if there was a large enough feast with champagne and some muchachas they would be willing to finish the job, the French accepted that deal, and the spy was taken again in front of the bloody wall. The Mexican Sargento yelled "PREPAREN!"....the Mexican soldiers readied their weapons...."APUNTEN!" seven rifles were pointed to the unlucky lady...and as always, the spy shook off her clothes... There was a loud boom, and she fell to the floor, lifeless. Everyone was surprised, not single soldier had shot his weapon, and yet the woman didnt even suffered the coup of grace. the next day, the autopsy revealed: "Tama riha, the spy, died after receiving the impact of seven pant buttons at high velocity to the chest". Pardon my English.
I work weekends mostly because Im in school. 8 hours in the evening for 3 days a week. I usually take my break mid way between my shift. We get the full 30 minutes. We really are just driving cars in and out. And holding the main door.
Behind the doors we always gossip about the people that come in based on their attitude or how much they tip. We really just sit in our hall and play on our phones. I did the first half of this ama while at work.
A bell cart fell on a guest two nights ago. She wanted an ambulance and everything for a little cut on her forehead. Also, someone accidentally sprayed pepper spray in our key hall and everyone was coughing and tearing up, we couldn't go in there for 30 minutes
We've misplaced keys before which I guess counts as misplacing a car since the location is on the keys. We tell the guests it'll take 3-5 minutes. But if it's busy or we had to park it in the over size lots it's 5-7 minutes.
2012.11.23 18:35 rak_canada[critique] [horror] [beginner] novella: God Biscuits. First couple of pages (1166 Words)
Hi all, total noob but I'll try and do this right. First attempt at writing, making my way through what will likely be a short novel. Premise is that there is a popular snack food on the market that causes physical change to portions of the brain responsible for understanding consequence. This results in a pretty chaotic society as people take action with no regard for the impact of their actions - will get a little zombie-ish and NSFW by Chapter 3. Anyway, the first chapter goes nowhere near that - it is introducing one of the main characters; currently outside of the region where the snack food is sold, that will be called back into that region by a call for help from another character. Any critique is welcomed but I think I'm most interested in impression of writing style, would you keep reading? I'm really learning just how hard it is to write something engaging and when I can only hear it in my own voice I can't judge pace or style very well. Hope it's not too long for you - many thanks in advance and I intend to help out in the critiquing area, with note that you're being critiqued more from the perspective of reader than writer because that's the only area I've got and experience in! EDIT: For a bit of formatting. It was badly run together when I saw the published post. Chapter 1 - Alex Perfect days (or moments) are not that hard to come by. They come in all shapes and sizes. I think it’s the same for everyone – the same, in that completely different sorts of days can seem perfect to a particular individual, but not the same in that my perfections are not necessarily the same as your perfections. The parts of your life that are not directly inside the day or the moment can affect your ability to enjoy it as well – same day, same moment... different experience. Suffice it to say that this day was shaping up just fine for me - 13 months into a self-imposed sabbatical (I left everything behind) - a day of light companionship, likely some light drinking and some not very heavy labour. The cleaning staff did the only hard work here – Aniceto and I only had to ensure that the bar was tidy and organized. The souvenirs rarely required much attention in the morning – we would restock the shelves throughout the day and make sure they were all ready to go before we left in the evening. Our typical workday started around 10 am and we would filter out between 6 and 8, informally trading off on who would be around to close. All depended on who had other things to do – sometimes we all stayed. It was loose but it worked. Aniceto and I were the main slingers at the bar - hard liquor or beer for locals (and “re-locals”), all incarnations of slush and ice for visitors. Nothing much set us apart from any other shop/barestaurant on Quinto Avenida (5th Ave) but there was no need to. Plenty of tourists, enough commerce to keep virtually all of the businesses running; It’s like the business ecosystem ran with the same minimalist ideal I discovered amongst the residents and expats I met there. I think that’s what kept me there (until it didn’t). I haven’t spent time thinking about how to explain it but it seems that people there are content with the amount of happiness, goods, money, etc that seems to flow their way. Maybe there isn’t a blinding drive to expand their businesses so much that they detract from others... Anyway, maybe I will spend that time thinking about how to explain it because it’s kind of important. Important to me, at least. Maybe it’s not important that I tell you. This is all a bit of a flashback, by the way – because there are things that I do need to tell you. So that you can understand why I went back, why I was confused, and why I had to kill them. So back to Heliodoro’s – that’s the name of the place that I work – Helio’s has been a Playa mainstay since the early seventies. It was established by a British expat not long after the ferry service to Cozumel started. He made a lot of money in the early years – he’s still running it now and makes more than enough to cover his simple lifestyle, as do those who work for him. His name is Felix; a very nice man and I consider him a friend but I don’t know much about him other than what I see. Could be a Nazi in hiding for all I know (he’s too young, but you get the idea). Felix has a knack for picking (or the luck of being picked by) employees that are conscientious yet laid back. We do our thing, very little by way of title or defined roles but specialists seem to emerge and self-assign responsibilities. That’s how I’ve ended up spending a lot of my time bartending. In my earlier life I spent a not inconsiderable amount of time on the stool-side of bars. That gave me a better-than-layman understanding of the basics. Morning routine involves sorting and arranging the glassware, pre-making some the basics required for our popular drinks and prepping the garnishes. We don’t weigh our bottles or anything and are mostly a free pour establishment – almost anyone, with a couple of hours practice, can be as accurate with a free pour as they would be with jiggers. The only time I break out the jigger and pony is if it’s an unfamiliar drink and then it’s not really about measurement, it’s about purposefully slowing myself down and being deliberate with the process. With drink, as with food, there is undeniable truth to the “made with love” adage: be it a coffee or a Caesar, something made by a rookie with care and attention will taste better than the work of a pro that sees no joy in his work. On the first day, that in hindsight seems relevant, it was Aniceto on garnishes while I finished organizing the bar. As is our wont, we chatted of nothing. “Cuco, why you so shaky with the glasses today? You gaz up last night, huh... you finally go down to the Barrel and let the muchachas have their way?” said Aniceto, followed by a mime of the ladies in question fumbling on the – completely recreational – “dancing pole” that was installed of the back room at the Barrel. “Ooh Cuco, come dance with me. Show us how a fuereño can move.” He finished with a cackle that always made me smile. “Oh, Ani you still don’t get me do you? Those girls are the best! I love to go watch and listen and just experience it all happening. But stepping into that show, into that world? That’s not for me. Actions have consequences, my friend – maybe just small ones, maybe sometimes not so small. I like it the way it is now and if I stepped into their life, their night, their spell… If I stepped out with one of that crowd, it would be complicate the dynamic. I’m no longer just a spectator. I like less complicated.” “Less complicated? All this thinking about what would happen if you do this, what would happen if you do that,” He said (he somehow managed to roll his eyes, his head, and his shoulders at the same time), “that seems complicated to me. But who am I?” “Well, I don’t have to think about it. My natural, or maybe assumed, bias is to stay. The fuck. Out. Of shit. I watch shit, I enjoy shit, I talk shit... but I avoid stepping in the shit. Then, I can go home, not covered in shit. Sometimes simple things get more complicated in the explaining, especially when dealing with a pendejo like you!” I responded, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t even get to the insult part before the pineapple stick smacked me in the cheek. Ani and I joked around a lot. Kindred spirits, you could say. It was easy – without ever having been in a situation that would require such, and without ever having said such – we knew we would have one another’s backs if required. I would require it later, but Ani couldn’t help me then.
Anna Tatangelo - Muchacha New Singolo 2014 - YouTube
La Muchacha y La Otra - No Me Toques Mal - YouTube
Anna Tatangelo - Muchacha ...
Video de una persona que come. Mucho😋😋😋😋😋😋😋😋😘😘😘😘😘 - YouTube
CHICA ME CHUPA EL PENE POR DINERO - SEXY DESCONOCIDA ...
Una CHICA y un PERRO Video AsquerosoNuevo ... - YouTube
Enjoy the videos and music you love, upload original content, and share it all with friends, family, and the world on YouTube. #Viral #Facebook #Nuevo 🔞LEER... *Subscribe-Suscribete por favor, me ayudaría mucho, COMPARTE con tus amigos, activa la campana. DEJEN SU LIKE. Este vídeo ha... Subscribe to the channel! http://bit.ly/SsCRBTgrx Video made it for La Muchacha and La Otra in Bogotá, Colombia Ultimo Brano scritto dai Kekko dei Modà.. Muchacha, il nuovo singolo dell'estate !!! In cui il brano è stato partecipe a : Live Coca Cola Summer Festival 201... Enjoy the videos and music you love, upload original content, and share it all with friends, family, and the world on YouTube. *Que es ASMR? El término ASMR (Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response en inglés : ‘Respuesta Sensorial Meridiana Autónoma’) es un neologismo que hace referenci... Finale FESTIVALBAR 1984, Arena di Verona. I (LOVE) MUCHACHA, italo disco. TESTO***** You look at me like i were mad i'm so different i'm not sad i can't wear a wedding dress i feel so stressed ... broma pesada, broma sexula, broma chica sexi, chica preguntanto cosas sexuales, bubis, culos y mas Suscribete http://www.youtube.com/channel/UCSm4xxBHlPNedU... el creador del video es dcbarbas!!! extra tag: mujer acepta tragarla por dinero l broma +18 interesada me la chupa por dinero en mi carro - broma pesada 'muj... Anna (semplicemente chiamata cosi come vuole lei per la sua rinascita) debutta Live per la prima volta con il suo nuovo brano #Muchacha!Definito il nuovo tormentone dell'estate 2014, sarà presto ascoltabile anche attraverso tutti i portali, tra cui Radio Friends (La Radio degli Amici) al seguente sito: