Halloween Coffin Plans Free

San Bartolomeo, find me one day Breakfast

Recently, I realized that I have two main problems:

1. more than five years ago that I have a boyfriend.
2. I have severe plumbing problems.

First off, I'll admit it publicly, I would find someone to spend Sunday empiernada . This does not mean I've stopped being critical fervent women whose sole purpose in life is to find a boyfriend. No, these women still consider myself as a loser. But I admit I would just pretend that losing philosophy satisfies me as a woman. In fact, if anything ever bothers me that there is philosophy. So much so that since I started the Masters, I relapsed in psychotherapy. So, I admit, I want a boyfriend (inter alia).

few days ago I was discussing this with Elena, and we could not help wondering why I have not had a boyfriend from 5 years ago? Those who do not know me are thinking, " surely this dame is horrendous" . But no, it turns out that there are people much uglier than me going around holding hands. Those who know me know the answer, " ardi hates the world" . Yes Gentlemen, it is. It turns out that it is difficult to get a boyfriend when all your suitors you think pathetic. "Pedro is very stupid, John is married with daughters, Lucas writes me too, Max did not pay enough attention, etc., Etc., Etc." When you hate the world, nobody seems to be a good candidate for " groom's madness. "

Apart all, something very strange happened to me last week. It was raining in Paris, was walking with Oto, a friend. She was wearing a hooded coat and a scarf over his eyes. All you could see my face were my glasses. From nowhere, a car stopped and asked Oto, " Hey, What do you call it?" In French, this question made us think that she referred to the street. So my friend replied, Rue Lafayette . The buddies in the car responded, " No, no street, how's your friend?" What the hell? What the hell wants these human beings my number? Because they believe that I am a prostitute and that my friend is my pimp. Magnificent. Mamahuevos we get rid of those and we went. Ended up in a bar talking about Venezuela and after a couple of hours, we leave. I put on my coat, my hood and my scarf as before. On the way to the bus stop, Oto left behind watching something and I came to a stop. Out of nowhere, again, is for a car in front of me. Type low the glass and asks me "Where you going?" In one night, I mistook a prostitute twice.

You see that all my "pretenders" are imbeciles ? It can not, or take me for a bitch or take me by the hair. Definitely, the only possible solution is to stop being so picky. Moreover, I'm going to my expectations so low that I'm going to tie the next plumber that comes to my door. Likewise gentlemen, I am going to marry a plumber.

water definitely is not my element. In Lyon, the water heater had her own life. In the first studio I had in Paris, the toilet did not go down well. Now in my current apartment, the pipeline is possessed by the devil. Since I live here, the plumbers had to intervene my house three times . Once a month, the plumbers are in my house. Fortunately, my lease states that the owner is responsible for everything related to plumbing. Unfortunately, the owner is not responsible for changing the tires on the taps, it's my turn. These rubbers prevent leaking faucets. Obviously, my flat tires are all fucked. A month ago the sound of dripping water echoes through the apartment, tac tac tac tac tac. As I am on vacation, I said 'I'll fix the shit. " To avoid going too much into detail, trying to fix shit drip ended up with a broken pipe. Without even having begun, he had screwed up everything. Closing hot water with a wrench, a pipe started leaking. So now instead of having two leaks that drive me crazy, I have three.

If I marry a plumber, solve all future problems with the plumbing and I'll have my empierne weekends. All I have to teach the belly as bathing, brushing and eating with utensils. So forget what I asked for San Antonio, for the groom, best ask of San Bartolomeo, find me a plumber.

Sims 2 Patch Bon Voyage Mac

Plumber

Those who know me know that I am absurdly clueless. I think it has to do with the fact that always I want to finish it fast. My patience is reduced to zero. I remember in second grade when I was learning to read, the teacher put me in a reading course for "special children". Not that I was "special" like the others behind who could not read. I read fast to finish fast and not paying attention to detail. The others were the usual morons who take more than half an hour to read ga-ga-gaaa-to cat. In my case, I ignored the content and concentrating only on translating the symbols into words. The problem is that when it came time to answer the questions I had not the slightest fucking idea of \u200b\u200bthe details such as "In the first paragraph, how many chicks had mother hen? "Inventive as I am, I thought" my mom always said that the neighbor's daughter is fucking a chicken. So I guess the bitch hens must have all the chicks in the world. "In a hurry, not paying attention to details, I had second degree surrounded by Mongols who put names to their nose.

Today I'm still just as fast and awkward than ever. No, I have matured, that's a fact. Luckily studied philosophy. If you do not pay attention to detail, no one gets hurt. On the other hand if medical insurance would kill my patients in operations. "Sorry sir, I left a scalpel in his esophagus." If I were an engineer, the buildings would fall, and if an architect, I would forget to design the bathrooms. In philosophy, if I forget a detail, no one gets hurt. Incredibly, in addition, the philosophy is the only thing that slows me. When you have to read philosophers corduroy (Platon God forgive me for falling into this type of stereotypes) is a lumpia and also smoked the shit is in French, not you have another to read as slow as the second grade mongoloid: de-de_delai_laisse_delaisse_delaisseme : delaissement. (Lumpia: very fat marijuana joint)

For example today.

Incredibly, even when studying at the Sorbonne, I know very well in college. It turns out that the building had not been maintained since the nineteenth century. So this year are reshaping the building. Just when I come to study at the Sorbonne to fulfill my dreams, shut the fuck. Consequently, I had classes in music conservatories, concert halls and even in cinemas. Pasdar week, the teachers finally announced that we would move to the "Building of France" in a new development located in Paris. To get to school today, I did invent, as usual.

I left my house without checking the temperature on the Internet. I felt cold just knew there was a good day to get the bike. Since that bloody bastard stole my blanket on the bike leg TWICE, I have a rule that does not go out on a scooter unless you are over 4 ° C. For when I came to France he felt blessed Building legs. (I was in 2 ° C, thanks). That's the beauty of hypothermia, there comes a point where it may not feel the cold. I asked at reception about the room, nobody knew anything. (Typical of the Sorbonne, total disorganization.) Finally, someone recommended me to get on the first floor and ask around. When I got to the floor one that was empty. I give up and call the Secretariat: " Mademoiselle, we exam week, no classes." mother's pussy!

Enjoy!

Toilet Closet Flange Installation

recently is so cold in Paris. In December the difference where you live burn caused to offset the chill of -4 ° C, for 10 ° C and you can even see the blue sky. It makes you think that spring is approaching, which will flower plants, and the city comes alive. Dreaming of spring. But then, some people within the city remind you that not everything is rosy in the spring.

I admit, I'm obsessed with the bad smells. I know you already spent a post on the subject, but I have not finished saying what I have to say. Above all I realize I'm talking about the subject compulsively when I say things like " shit, yes the French smell bad" in front of the French. It's like a Frenchman to come and tell me, " shit, Venezuelans themselves are uncivilized" , and let's face it, people in Caracas he pees on the subway, the streets smell of sewage and no part of Venezuela get a quiet place, nice and polite. But that does not mean that all Venezuelans are uncivilized (only 70%), in the same way that does not mean that all the French smell extremely bad (only 50%).

I'm not a saint. This month has been hell. I have not stopped studying. I only take breaks to write on the blog because I liberates the mind. My diet consisted of crackers in the morning, sandwich for lunch and dinner Chinese soups. Not to mention the harmful amounts of coffee, which do not make good mix with my gastritis-pre-examinis . And as for me personal hygiene, even when I shower every day, has not been the same. Yesterday when I finally gave the two research papers, I felt liberated. Even I have the final exam ahead of the keynote, but not the same three tests have outstanding written, oral examination and two research papers, only a test. On Wednesday January 19th is the day of liberation.

yesterday to get home after so many sleepless nights, I swam for half an hour. I let the water fall, get lost, and all my muscles relaxed. Took the opportunity to test all the soaps I have and I even felt like a shampoo commercial. When I left I felt fresh, clean, clean. I wore clean clothes, fresh, clean.

When I arrived at the lecture, I sat where I always stop in the second row attached to the left. Suddenly, I feel an indescribable mixture of odors. When I turn, was a Arabic. (Point to the French, applause) Stinkhjid sat right at the time the teacher began the class. I could not shift, had two hours of classes ahead. FUCK! I feel like Patrick Suskind describing Perfume of Paris. To start this man had a breath like shit, literally. It was as if his bowels were full and the smell come out of his mouth. Later that sour smell, horrible, the stench accompanied by lack of hygiene in general, a smell that I describe as "sweaty ass." Finally, to the feet. I think that this man had not changed the mean since 1987. The smell of his feet pierced his shoes. To make matters worse, Stinkhjid had the flu and could not stop sneezing over.

And here is my version of the resistance of Paris. I felt the stench of this man to attack at all levels of my being. The moral and psychological damage I have suffered is evident. Having it so close, knowing that the smell sticks, it was like fighting the battle of my life. I did not want the same thing happen as with the homeless. I had to take defensive position, and to attack position, to avoid that hit me STINK. First of all I tried to get away as possible from Stinkhjid. As the arena where he was least I could not but 20 inches of additional distance. Besides this son of a bitch the more I am away, plus it was coming. At one point I turned to him and just told me je suis Desolé and followed. Damn, do not apologize, STAY AWAY!! I closed my arms as ever, was tense from head to toe. Time passed slowly. I asked God to make me get used the smell. But no, every second was so intense as before, and were 7200 seconds: hell! When I left school, went out. I met a friend and the first thing I asked was: "Tell me the truth, please, can I smell bad?" Even though she insisted that no, as always laughed my eccentricities.

I go out with a pressure hose and wash people. Type a fireman who puts out the fire of a city. It can not be. Because it also will become an epidemic. If the smell is stuck, and there is 1 damn stinky for every 20 inhabitants of Paris, is only a matter of time before all hell Olam. What gives me more panic is that nobody seems to be worried. WHY THIS DOES NOT COME IN THE NEWS? Do they not realize the seriousness of the matter?

Able is I have a hormonal problem, or am just crazy like the other 100% of cases. But my god, it smells bad, and all because of the 14 degrees which have risen in the last month.

Converting An Outboard To Electric Start

Resistance in Paris Paris Commune Council Criollo

First of all, I want to apologize to the Lady in Pink, this story belongs to her ...

When Mercury came Miss to Paris, had the same problem that all people who come to Paris, find an apartment. When I finally got it, I stayed open mouth of the location of the new that was all and did not cost an eye on the face. A tiny apartment, perfect, overlooking the Arc de Triomphe. A Room of her Own. Nothing would have made us think she would win the prize "I have the neighbors of All Evil."

The pod has reached a point so extreme that the poor Mercury had to call the police. In short, this would not stop fucking her corduroy Venezolana, he had assembled a racist mobbing. Every day I wondered when it would go to France,. (Damn racist bastard. Vestiges of Vichy .) But the truth of the matter is that when you have a neighbor that leads to these limits, the last thing that is causing you call the French police. What causes it to call a Venezuelan thug type Maca'e'barrio to split her ass to the mamahuevo. In Caracas, does not require much effort to get someone capable of giving you a pain in the ass to another. First call your friends and invite them a bottle of rum in your home if you fall on coñazo help your neighbor. If your boys can not, then you talk to the watchman of the building. And if your building is not vigilant, then talk to the crack heads that "takes care of the cars on the street." Whenever someone comes to help you take the law into your hands.

"But in Paris? Who are you calling? The Bolivarian Circle in Paris.

One of the things I discovered with my work on the civil war in Venezuela (which is not) was that in Paris there is a Bolivarian Circle. And let's be clear, these people are ready for anything. Mercury told him to go to the CBP and read:

" Fellow! Compatriots! Imperialism threatens us again. One of my neighbors is a French imperialist and not let me sleep. Yesterday when I was listening to my routine of "Alo Presidente" Mr went crazy, CRAZY. (start to mourn) I just wanted to hear my president, but he said he could not, that Chavez was ... ... (mourn deeper) ... "In that comrades when you answer " Sister, say no more! Come on by bats! "

Now that I think the Venezuelans should do a kind of Common Council here in Paris . A place where we can all gather to eat arepas, drinking beers and talking crap, as the true community councils in the Cloaca. But our Community Council in Paris would allow us to meet all our bats in a 4x4 truck to reggaeton at full speed to drop you a pain in the ass to all those French xenophobes.

Venezuela pa 'Fuck the whole world! Mommy, this is for you, so you know you're not alone in this city. The Parisian native community council begins with me.

Pokemon Heartgold/soulsilver (u) Antifreeze

The sticks Tufo

remember once on the bus with my sister that someone was mounted smell [Tufo: mal underarm odor] . From the moment that man set foot on the truck, all the faces have changed. People squeezed their arms and everyone stopped talking. The change was radical and fast. I did not understand was what was happening and as good poop girl asked: "WHAT HAPPENED?" Poo just saw that I was not in defensive position yelled "Protect the armpits ". Even without understanding I turned to see the people around me and found a woman who beckoned me to close the arms. That day I learned that according to popular science Venezuela the stink sticks .

Here I learned that some of these scientific data Creoles are not all true. For example, it turns out that the gum itself is able to swallow. When I was little, my mom told me that if you swallow the gum stayed in your stomach for 7 years. According to native lore, the human digestive system is unable to digest the gum, so they chewed but not swallowed. One day I'm walking with a French friend, and offer him gum. After a while I see her swallow the gum. I went in crisis, "WHAT DID YOU DO? WHY ¿¿¿¡¡¡ ????!!!" In my mind, this was not the first time my friend swallowed gum and surely this would be the last of his life. She is frightened by my reaction and then used to the vagaries Latin, I wonder what the hell is wrong with me. I explain that one can not swallow gum because otherwise you die. She laughs, the same way as the Virgin River Valley and the Sayona. "Do not you think if that were true the packs of gum would bring a warning?" Damn the mother, it is true, the gum does not kill.

Gradually, I questioned those made from native lore. Is it true that if you open an umbrella indoors is bad luck? Is it true that if you sweep someone's feet never marry? " it true that the smell sticks ?

The other day I was on the bus. She sat beside the window and held the position of the free side. Suddenly, the foul smell of homeless that has not bathed in months entered the bus. It is an older man, but does not look homeless. Rather it looks like a sick. He had a neck hanging device and a bit of gauze on all sides. Mr. and can barely walk, but no one stops, no one gives his post. At that moment I realize that the Lord comes to me. Please Jesus Christ, NOOOOOOOOOO !!!!!!!!!!!! The son of a bitch sits next. Never, NEVER, had smelled something so strong and come from a disgusting human being. Paris had to be the son of a bitch. What kind of hospital was this man who doused the nurses? In a French hospital! I closed my arms as ever, so I felt squeezed one of my Silicon prosthesis I was going out. I could not breathe, I felt I was going to vomit. Even though he was wearing a long sleeve shirt, jacket and coat felt the stench of this man stick.

When the bus was finally getting to my stop, I asked the Lord permit. This buddy could barely walk, glared at me. I also would have hated to be him. I apologized and explained, "I was low on the next one." It is not my fault that he is on a bus where people ride and get off at each stop. Again I watched as saying "if I could fuck you."

I left as threw bottles of a bitch bus and ran toward the house. She was desperate to swim. I felt dirty, smelly. When I got home and I took off my coat, it was like the plague. THE FUCK YOUR MOTHER!

Confirmed: The stench if it sticks.

Watch An Insomniac's Nightmare

Venezuela is a Joke

First of all, I notice: if you are Venezuelan citizens and belong to a political party, this post will offend you.

Venezuela is definitely a joke. I say this both in a positive sense, as in the negative. On the positive side, I am absolutely convinced that Venezuela is the funniest person and there fucker. We laugh at everything. No respect or funerals, everything is a joke. It is no secret that in the 90's "Welcome" and "Radio Rochela" was an international hit. Someone once told me he had seen "Welcome" in Arabic, GIVE YOUR balls. The sheath is that we are so comical that Presidential Island record-breaking walk around and leaving it clear to other Latinos who are the kings of comedy. But on the other hand, the sheath not so funny when the Count of Guacharo been released for the presidency, or when Chavez national chain account how he was shitting before opening a train tunnel. The truth of the matter is that when it comes to politics, suddenly not a bad idea that we took the sheath a little more seriously. But , as I am Venezuelan, I do not think anyone, and I laugh at everything, I leave here.

Lame Paper:

turns out that the PSUV pulled a Red Book. For those who do not know, and it is sure that almost no Venezuelan know because education in Venezuela is shit, during the revolution of Mao Zedong in China, published a Little Red Book . Basically it was the code of conduct for the Chinese, and now understand why so inmame. Finally, look for it in Wikipedia as I had to do myself. My education was also shit.

First of all, Read the Red Book of the PSUV is almost torture. It's like a chain of Chávez but without the charisma. I only got half, then fell asleep. In summary, the basic principle of the Bolivarian Revolution is to counteract the effects fatal of capitalism. According to them, if capitalism continues, there will be life on the planet. According to them, industry savage neoliberalism exploits, pollutes and destroys the socialist motherland. In some ways they are right, capitalism is ecologically a little expired. But I can not help but wonder, "oil is it organic?" I do not know, but among many pods, when these Mongols were writing criticism, never occur to them that Bolivarian Government Himself is the gasoline of capitalism? Must be that PSUV-Landia oil extraction does not harm in any way the ecosystem and that refiners do not pollute. Geniuses them.

An Old Time

God, really? "Manuel Rosales? Really, someone at some point was truly convinced that this man was the "right" to move the country forward? I had no other to get into the site of his political party. I was surprised when I saw they had a section on "Ideology" and had to download PDF. Of course, I did not read me the 76 full pages to know that a new time should die. Here's my favorite part, where I can simply not contain the laughter. " social democracy is founded on the basis of religious ethics, the oldest source of freedom and justice. Political liberalism, promoter of European and American revolutions. The legacy of Social Democratic workers and popular struggles of the XIX - XX. "Rice with mango. First of all, what religious ethics? "Catholic? "Jewish? "Hare Krishna? "Scientology? No? Nobody? It is also a contradiction to refer to European and American revolutions (largely secular country) and at the same time make reference to a religious ethic. "Liberalism and workers' struggles and popular? What Is It Going To Be Friend? I can imagine Manuel Rosales with a shirt that says "Jesus loves Walmart"

First Fustiscia

already this was the last straw. At least on the websites of the PSUV and A New Time can read and disposed of nonsensical ideologies. But Primero Justicia not even have a PDF version. All they need is a part of "values" which are six school type concepts of freedom, progress, equality, solidarity, justice and participation. And if someone comes to refute "Did not you read the part of" our doctrine?? ", I replied: Do not read it because the link never opened. You have to install a plugin that is not available for Mac, what can I say about equality?

-

Surely now that the National Assembly joined the new geniuses the country will change. And please I'm begging someone to tell me, "you can not say because you left." Bring it mother fucker. Here I am, thinking and saying that all political parties in Venezuela are a joke. Of course, attended by 69 political parties in National Assembly elections. Already that number is like to mourn. Are not they supposed that the Opposition would be wiser to "Chavez gorilla? Laughter final.

Free Standing Horse Feeders

the devil take me ... far from the Sorbonne. Merry Fucking Christmas

As some of You know, I'm in finals. I'm sure more than one of you must be sick of my quejadera. The truth of the matter is that I'm CA-GA-DA . At night I have trouble sleeping because I keep thinking, "no I'm done, I have not finished, not finished. " Then in the morning when the alarm rings, I'm so exhausted, so petrified, I end up throwing out the window time. As my best therapist is this blog, I'll see if complaining as God intended, with profanity, insults and suddenly to a full-throated cry, I get out of my state of petrification.

First of all, WHY VENEZUELA CARAJO I chose one of my subjects of research? For those arriving late to the madness, I'm doing a Masters in Political Philosophy. For those living in Venezuela, it is clear that Venezuela needs a political exorcism shit out of the pit where it is submerged. One of the seminars that signed up is called "Civil Wars." Throughout the semester I heard a guy jerk to the sound of his voice. This corduroy is a typical cocky philosopher who thinks he knows everything plus. One of the pods Professor Musiú demanded was that hand over original research. While other French are going crazy trying to find an unknown for him Musiú Lame-Cock, I got my arepa under my sleeve. "Venezuela pa 'around the world." So my final paper is called "Can we talk about a Civil War in Venezuela?"

The idea came to me when I remembered an opinion article he had read in the Universal, a moron said that Venezuela was going through a Civil War on account of all homicides. I thought from the beginning that many deaths was not sufficient cause to suggest a Civil War. But then, what the fuck is a Civil War? At first the idea seemed great. On the one hand would shut his snout to Musiú and the other part was going to shut his mug all mamahuevos who walk around repeating "we are at war" when referring to the Cloaca.

AS I was wrong. First of all, get literature on Venezuela is currently impossible. All the books that there are losers who do nothing but take advantage of one of the sides. Or Chavez is the devil, Chavez is a saint. The only hope I had was Manuel Caballero, but left the show not present any book before leaving. What the hell is what is happening in Venezuela? That's the first I have to explain my work. Good question. On the other hand, is very difficult to talk about Venezuela in French!! In French fuckin tits and I have bad . I'm sick of French. A pod is to be in French classes with a bit of Chinese who can not even pronounce the R, and a sheath is to be with pure French all day to see you hurt when you speak.

I'm not saying I hate the French, at all. The more the better I know fall. FRENCH But I'm tired! Tired of not knowing how they say do not know what the hell, or something. Today I finished exploding, and here I am. Susy went home, one of the world's most adorable French. I took advantage and took up his sleeve some of the pages that I have written about Venezuela fucking shit. Susy I figured that I put two accents that I missed and I suggest to change one word for another. Ardi's naive deserve death. Susy just started reading, started to cross. The pages that were once white with black words ended up red, bloody. In every prayer I have a thousand mistakes. Sometimes the sentences are so poorly made that the poor had to delete the entire sentence and rewrite it from scratch. Can you imagine? Being in Master and not know or write. Let the devil take me! Let me take Satan!

No joke, what the fuck what the fuck master or mother-fucking thing. Should return to Caracas, buy a shotgun and go out killing people just for fun. Total, with impunity there, it's like playing Nintendo. It would be much more productive than a mastery of shit. Tomorrow morning I begin to collect cartons, as is a beggar, and begin to pick up my clutter of shit.