What Kind Of Weave Do Myammee Have

I have two moods: the bad, and Paris.

return to Paris that everyone complains delights me.
late August, which some people devote to squander in crossovers of stretch marks on the beaches bottled gives me a clear horizon on the asphalt, a moderate temperature and fauna handpicked.

It is increasingly difficult to appreciate the damn city so it is invaded by infidels, so I will not spit on the few weeks of respite and she pays I offer myself. I was talking out loud before, against the closure of tobacco and the invasion of the Yanks, but I've since learned to keep my pace of life in full estivalier Belleville. It is almost enough to think "vacation" feel to it as such, do not find my tobacconist at the bottom of my home open and not have to push the 150 meters is an act, if any, which differs nothing in the habits of the Parisian sunbathers adopt so easily, and with so great a beatific smile. Consider Sunday as a day dead, dedicated to lord and god Alka Seltzer is tolerable here as well. Since I bought my fish out there on Saturday, in preparation super item closed without Hyper U, why not anticipate my box of nuggets 48 hours in advance here too.? As American citizens, I now know that thanks to them, and their dollars spent anyhow, my city's museums have clean walls. So good.

Quit rail against this city is also decided.
It no longer amuses me, this horde always ready to run my city.
I like it because it deserves to be loved.
I will not let anyone say otherwise.

And summer is not my cam too, must say.
is not to my snobbish, but still.
It was never likely to m'émoustiller, the prospect of having to rub the fat shirtless double the radius of Pastis Carrefour. It makes me not bend more, the obligation of having to share my patch of sand with the 3 new kids that are fun for single than sending sand on my book and in my eyes. I rarely found tantalizing view maps of restaurants increased by 3 € for 2 months their food brought in bad English.
You tell me, if I had my house to me, a little inland, isolated in some ways, with a pool and a small garden, all that, it would be a different story. I want the summer, therefore.
Nay.
one, if I had my house for me in the land a little isolated in some ways, with a pool and a small garden, I almost all seasons, and life in general and people, above the market.
Two, then certainly I would spend most of my time, not to be confused with "the hottest of my time," and I will keep the privilege of V (lines) I (Sole) P (eople) of months of August in Paris. Paris would be my second home. Absolutely.

But I do not have my house for me. Whiners and returning to the fold.

They return with tshirts I ♥ NY , Singapore, Calvi, Maubeuge.
My god.
They say that Paris is dirty, that Paris is expensive, that Paris is a snob. They say that to many, they fall all in agreement for once, they defile a bar in Paris dirty, expensive and snobbish. A bar where they go every day. Do they know that nothing just nothing is happening down here if we should build on the denigration passive? Do they imagine for a second that they dream worlds are filled with people who in the morning, do not take their coffee to support their day but to make it unique? Would they like more than what the world likes to say, rightly, on hygiene, racism, pretentiousness and sense of superiority of Paris ... the world will add that, moreover, the investigation is unable to defend himself and get away because they are supporters of anything ...? The would they?
Like irony, arrogance and alcoholism among Parisians love their beautiful forelock, and immeasurable unconsciousness. Therefore, in my opinion, those of them who complain of Paris from August to October are only small lost pilgrims who must find their mecca and there knees or to heal a thousand Compeed blisters that lead them to their holy jack daniel.

some time ago that I had inquired about the price the cost of making a t-shirt on which was written "And bin go there, dines. I thought that those who understand me I should understand. I liked the idea that crosses them and their T-shirt, and me and mine. ... It would have taken me to remove 'dines' for the joke that is not beyond my means ...



I'm tired, tired tired tired to hear them complain, after the holidays. Support their regret at not staying, to be back, for "when is it you can leave?" and "it's too ugly, anything!". Not to mention the accent with which they nonchalant watery eyes dry, empty soul. Emphasis they have made, "there".
Over there we did not care much where their mouth / focus / city.

The worst, the worst of the worst, is that listening to them in deciding, why not give them the chance to express perhaps a real thought, you realize they are only one regret where they spent two months with Parisians for Parisians. It's crazy. It's completely mad, actually. In truth, no but, wait, if you think about 2 seconds, it's so crazy. That means:

Hi, I'm from Paris, I am going on vacation, I'm too joisse.
Hi I am Parisian, I returned from vacation, I'm too down.
-Oh shit. But why?
-Bin, you see, there, was ... Pfiouh.
-Hmmmm. Yeah. What else?
-Pfiouh.
- "Pfiouh" means nothing, okay? "Pfiouh" can be assimilated in many different ways. For example, me, then I say "pfiouh, what you got shit!"
"No but you're crazy! The Parisian super
reacts quickly when you do not understand his skull. Super, super fast.
-So "pfiouh" what?
-Pfiouh, festival, concerts, friends ...
-Hmmmm. Non-
but even the backstage what. The backstage-
also were "pfiouh? The backstage-
were iiber Pfiouh.
-Basically, what was Pfiouh was living in Paris at the seaside?
-What?
-Pffff .........

From summer camp to the colonization of leisure, there is a slight border as boorish never fails to overtake.

They come back, never mind, I go. Really, their exaggerated tan makes me green with nausea. Besides that conceals their sadness too bad, it reminds me of the foundation too heavy on aging femme fatale.
There are trains every day, some of them are moving to places where even the Parisians are gone. Hi
company.

I'll be back when my fellow-and "congeners," he ay "Generation" - have made the project's future and excitement instead of believing and not yet nostalgic echo no past, no story only boredom. I will return because very quickly, much faster than planned, I will miss Paris. Paris missed my life. In my daily life. When I can bear it again worth more than his cowardly disciples and many traitors.

is the only problem in Paris: it is infested with Parisians. Parisians who do not appreciate it at its fair value. No, because yes, Paris has a value, whatever the skeptics.

as I hate them. I hate them cheerfully. I Conchie, even, to be quite honest. I do not want to be one of them. Rather die.
On my return, invigorated and satiated by iodine of calm, I regularly remind them that they forget a detail, those Parisians who do not is that in return, nobody she likes more. It serves them right.

I'm not far from grumbling against everything and everyone, it seems.

Because I'm Paris, yes sir.
And I like it.




-maispastrop-

Howieco Electric Toronto

When I was little, I was not great.

Summer is over, it seems .
Did he only started one day?, You may object.
Because I'm not Miss weather, I will not answer you. I was referring to was like that, to make nice to start my text, all that is technical, then it passes over my head and beyond the clouds.
And then summer, I do not care a lot.
The weather in general, by the way, I'm neither hot nor cold. I consider myself lucky not to be those who, on waking, knows immediately that their day will be beautiful or not depending on whether the thermometer is up or not.
M'enfin is like that happens in September and with whiners. What some call "recovery" seems to be a period of precisely fitting and tinkering, the lower seam of making hesitant to take a button on a coat, or to hide a hole in a jacket with an old tissue, kept there in the drawer full of widgets that thought unnecessary. Ca recovery
dry, then.
is repeated contact with those we have not seen for three months, it plunges its head in the jobs they had flown, it pushes the pastis to 20h instead of 17h adopted since mid-juin.Et then eventually replaced completely to do that back next year as a holiday romance.
We do as we can with what you have, you can cash as what we have more, we try to accept that with which we will have to live there year round, dragging a little feet. Mend and we got used to it.

In my second home, which is an apartment without a garden or pool but deserves the title as well as your mas-Provence I put my childhood memories. In my second home, I put away my childhood memories. Said like that, it sounds like Delerm, it disgusts me, I am disgusted.
Especially as "Memories of Childhood" is an appellation completely inappropriate here because, well, he has had to face it: no fluff, no puzzles, books, drawings, letters ... not remind me anything of this period disorderly gesticulating and sharpshooter that is the sacrosanct Childhood.

Finally, good.
There was indeed some kind of mammal inform, near the cat, the lion itself, which threw me back and sent me pictures of me, ridiculously small, lovingly attached to this mass of plastic. The kind of bite attacks if, God forbid, someone in their right mind decided to wash and, thereby, to evade my night. Night became so unbearable and, most importantly, absolutely white, without her presence, her smell, shape, short, you see what I mean.

Ca
yes, him, it spoke to me, take it out of the trunk. I even breathed. I made this rash gesture: I breathed. Of course, all it felt was the old straw and cotton locked for 10 years. But I did. While I was in no position to deny that one day I was small. Gesticulating, disorderly, sharpshooter and terribly attached to a stuffed animal in the eyes of a material fact which I swear she is now banned.

There was also a book. Something to the con, but thought, eh. All Walt Disney made in writing accompanied by the real images of cartoons. When I opened it, and god knows I wanted to avoid it, I felt not the memory of the emotion of the time, but pure emotion.
Now I said to myself "Wow , how it's magic, I have the image drawing, there for me!" And I passed my hand over, and I frantically turned the pages, and I decided that Snow White or Cinderella was the prettiest.
Snow White has always been the prettiest, we all agree. Still, the book, it allows to compare directly. With VHS, it was not so easy.
And I wondered if I still had the VHS.
...

I decided to throw the dolls. Most are terribly frightening. No kidding, if I wanted to scare a kid, this is precisely how I would have them, the dolls of doom.
The worst was the one whose eyes were opened or closed depending on whether the bed or the one standing. I shuddered at age 28. No, really, it was not my age.
Yet if we look closer, I saw that here I had makeup machine there, I had cut the hair Trucmuche. And, yes: I totally put my baby dress this loop bursts out of gold!
So I lived with them, I had loved, and if it is, I gave them perhaps even given names and all that stuff.

I wanted to get rid of them. I just kept their heads. I thought there would be something to do with all these heads. Like ... I dunno, I put them in a box and send them to someone you love them. For example. By separating the heads of bodies, I acted like an adult, my concerns were quite pragmatic: how not to damage the neck?, and if it is filled with toxic chemicals?, is that this would head attached to a wire in my toilet? all this stuff. Adult stuff, I tell you. And then, bim. It just happened, my hands have refused to dissect one. My head, too dry, said his authority. My head is supposed to be the one who decides what will each member of the body is the rule, we agreed, if not, where does the world. But nothing worked. My hands were like that prohibited gender rebels who strike and all. It made my head crazy. Every me, except for my hands, was pissed at this refusal to cooperate.

The best thing to do in these cases is to smoke a cigarette. My hands were ok to smoke a cigarette. And my whole body was only waiting for this.

I smoked a cigarette in front of the doll, for perspective, to understand perhaps. For smoking, mainly.

few minutes later, I managed to separate the head from the body. It was built like the Barbies: neck ended in a small round hole where the head was curl. It was not so difficult to remove, and I thought it was also thought that it could recover. Strangely, I felt I was doing something wrong, we need not see me. It was the cake: I who strove to make sense of all this nothingness, that I felt almost guilty.
Life, sometimes, I swear ...

All these heads later, I admired the void I had done in the obscenity that consumerism represents a child's life. What I had to how, then, how it was done, all these toys? And by whom? And where? And their ecological impact? Absolutely nothing, I had nothing to do. I had nothing to do with anything. That's what I do not like children, this pure and innocent nonchalance with which they walk into a life just good to be recycled. The tenacity with which they demand that we replace a toy not used by other toy they will not open. I will never cap 'to tackle this stubborn stupidity, I will never tolerate that sort of my vagina anyway.

I opened the door neighbor, everyone's life, decided to have 7 children. Yes, 7. Seven, seven days a week, which would also certainly not enough to fill them. As the 7 Dwarfs, too, which surely does not amused since we're in 2010 and is the Playstation. As the 7 wonders of the world, too. Quoiqu'ici, the comparison makes me sick at heart: a kidney shot, and presto: a brat. However, the palaces of Babylon hanging, it was a different story as say someone a bit older, a little reaction, and with whom I would absolutely agree as to say that I say.
short, the transponder was ringing.
I accompanied him to the room where the equivalent of 14 kilos of toys waiting for him.

-All this! But ... You do not keep anything?
No, though. Finally. Good.
"You do not keep?
The type must have the habit of repeating things, by force, I guess.
-NONSIENFINBON

He began to open the bags when I felt that the question I wanted to forbid me to ask him was still out of my mouth. It became urgent to discipline certain parts of my body, obviously.

-You really 7 children? The
- dolls ... they ... er ... there is no body? Since
had not bothered, I would not bother me:
-I said you really have 7 children?
-The 7 Wonders of the world, yes! You'd like it. It is imperative that you come see them. Especially after all these gifts!
Arf, I needed air, so I tried to get by me:
Yes, no, I removed the heads. But children do masturbate anyway, right?
Yes, no, finally, without a head, anyway ... I do not know too much.
-Ah. You should begin to have the experience yet. I
smiled anyway.
He smiled, suddenly.
The smile is something quite contagious. As yawning. I could yawn instead of smiling. Over the fact that I was not bored at this point since my tank about philosophy, but I thought the smile more sociable. We smiled, whatever.

puzzles had delighted. I can easily understand. These puzzles were crazy cool. But, honestly, would keep them involved as I do, and someone who has not sent its care sheets for 3 years can we really afford to make a puzzle of 375 pieces of Species Endangered? Besides the cash had actually gone to 75% since.


I accompanied him to the door, helping to move all this bunch of crap when a body has escaped the sack of dead dolls.

-Leave, I'll pick it up.
And he went to pick it up.
Bim, again, it took me back. My hands have dropped everything I was wearing my mouth and said, maybe yelled, " Matilda! "

course, my neighbor was not named Matilda. I imagine there are parents who will declare the names of their children to the State Civil drunk, but not enough to confuse sex. That's why he did not think I called him but I called the doll. Not stupid, the neighbor.

-Her name Matilda? That

after my hands and my mouth, my cheek was who decided to do exactly as their head and red, red, blush until I'm too hot and ashamed to face front an unknown years of memories that I referred in bulk.
I left the kitchen for not talking to him in the face, finally it was almost a stranger. The last person I wanted to share it. Or perhaps the only point.
Since the sink where I m'aspergeais face as much as possible, I let go, in a tone that I wanted absolutely neutral
Yes, her name is Matilda. I'll let you bring the business, I feel woozy. You will leave the body of Matilda starting here, please. Say hello to your wonderful and everything, in short, good evening.

He had said nothing. He was accustomed, he was 7. Yes, Sept.

When I heard the door shut, I rushed to the entrance where lay all that there was at least spiritual Matilda. And then, right after I threw myself on the bag where I stored the intellect. The head was there. She waited for me, almost.
I sat cross-legged and I gave up on the Matilda Matilda bottom. It is possible that I'm excused, but even if it did, I did not confess.

Matilda was right, right into his boots, his head on his shoulders, and this little prying eyes of one who wants you to have forgotten that she had been your confidant for years.

Ca had returned to me at the last minute, like olive oil that was forgotten when we are already at checkout. I told everything to Matilda. Nobody knew me better. I had also lied; preposterous stories, I had served him on various plates. That's what I like children, they say things are impossible to plastic dolls made in China. That's why they are children after all, I guess, and that one day they grow up, they part of some dolls.

It was early September, soon resumed, and before closing my bag for Paris, I made sure not to offend again Matilda lest his neck eventually break completely. And then I knew not sew. At worst, I'll ask mommy to a small spot of tinkering.


-maispastrop-