Monday, March 22, 2010

Fotos De Mulheres Nuas Lésbicas

I always wanted to be an astronaut






Small, had a specific career plan in mind.
- ''You want to do what my great later?
''-'' astronaut or president of the world, or so exploratory, as the facilitator who toured the world with his backpack, but before astronaut. ''


A carnival, summer 1998, flying chairs, a dark adventure that was finished with green beans on the ground. And I wept, not for making my dinner not. It was my first tears of despair, helplessness. Because if my stomach could not tolerate the flying chairs in Agadir, it was better not to think about testing at NASA. A great sorrow, I refused to go to the beach for a week, inconsolable, put my books on space, drawing a definitive line on my career as an astronaut (cosmonaut and not at age 7, I chosen my camp). To change my mind, my father dug up the magazines at the souk, and I think that is the starting point of my story with fashion, because there were samples of fabric and patterns in these magazines 1980s, and there was even Vogue. This episode is pretty painful, and he traces remain, I have long avoided the pictures because my parents felt compelled to capture my run of terrible chairs, my first disappointment, and include them in our albums Holiday .

June 2008. 17. I thought I had digested the story of an astronaut. My career was a blur, still, I loved just as much tissue, and more books. Then my cousin, who is certainly a hero superstellaire, accompanied by his dog Goldorak, gave me these shoes. His way of congratulating me for having survived three years in a school deemed unsafe. I have nothing of a future president of the world, not so much exploratory, or just in my head when I walk into this shop. I was a sailor
unintentionally (I can not swim, and I get seasick), but I pitched, literally and figuratively, my white jacket with a blue border, the anchor on the chest and I, we tried to stay the course. When the package was recovered cosmic, I felt that these sellers of sneakers that were doing too much on me for their own cam. It is true that these shining Freestyle. Silver and gold, not easy to carry. Dubious at first when I stretched them. ''gift''.
And then, once at my feet, my ambitions, my dreams of space returned. I was suddenly a hero intergalactic. These sneakers give me some kind of power when I wear them, they mean'' look like I'm fierce, I wear the silver and gold on a pair of sneakers, which are, moreover, largely connoted 80's, and it is not even ridiculous.'' That same evening, with my sneakers, boots astronaut, I found myself facing the fountain, Place Monge. I read Summercrossing, Truman Capote. In hindsight, everything was set as clockwork. The book as a premonition. A desire irrepressible put my sneakers wise, and get my Freestyle. That's what I did.

And I began my journey into space this evening. The takeoff was brief, time to pull the tabs. Once tight scratching, I discovered a lunar landscape. My approach was clumsy, unsteady, weightless, and everything was deserted and silent. In the middle of this desert, there was a moon man. That evening, the silence was heavy with meaning, and I knew I had to, I decided to stay in space. I was out of time, getting closer to that alien. My approach was less left, and now I seemed to float. Everything was really set like clockwork.
-tata-tata Talalalalalala.

I could see better and better eyes. They were huge, long eyelashes, curled. All of those silences between us, considering, opened the way for a long interstellar expedition. I got started, although not conversant equipment, and lunar life was pretty special, I just freestyle my feet. Without the need to exchange words, everything was reflected in our actions and through our globes eye. Also my boots cosmic feet. Still in space. We explored the moon in two, he showed me some remote areas, sublime, the affected areas as well, we had set out to rehabilitate them, and it was close to my heart. He insisted to understand my language, I did not want, but this man of the moon was above all, he persisted, and increasingly well understood. He left the stage floor. I did not, I asked him, I begged, I even threatened. Know all the intricacies of his iris, banal black, brown, but in fact, appreciate the poetry of his actions, which are the simplest, of smiles, plenty enough for me, I do not want him to speak my language.
One day, I was inter-planetary expeditions, it had become usual, I loved making short jumps on other planets, the better to come back, find my moon, and this valuable extra-terrestrial. But I heard his voice. Not only does he understand my language, but also spoke to this.
And then I started having problems with equipment. I do very well mastered my oxygen supply, too, sometimes not enough. I did not, I was on the moon, my moon man. He became a landlubber. I did not, but something had changed. The Earth began to send signals to alert me, I could not believe it, I calculated my time, everything was supposed to be regulated like clockwork, I could manage my reservations on oxygen Moon, I knew it. But no, it was not enough, my days were numbered. I had to push the button on my suit.
HOUSTON, WE HAVE A PROBLEM.

They recovered the combination, I have moon rocks, and three rings, and most importantly, they left me my boots Astronaut. My Freestyle is in a corner of my living room. They have a beautiful patina, it probably means that I made a little way with, although I'm back on earth.

Monday, March 1, 2010

How To Communicate Born Baby

Chapter 2. Flying is great! (FlipBloc A5)