Tamil Marriage Invite

U.S. futuristic

animation work around one of my routes almost daily here in Houston.

Nz Dresden China Specialist

290/Beltway 8 in Houston Orlando Zapata, martyr

C uba, our country in pain, is another martyr. His name is Orlando Zapata Tamayo, who has died in Havana, just 42 years.

I come home very late from work and I find the sad news. Great sorrow and powerlessness. There is so much impunity in this regime and the world is so intentionally unconcerned about facts like this that we can only wish the same as always, but perhaps more strongly than before, so many years of odious dictatorship. The order and the way it is.

My respects and condolences to the family of the man whose remains rest in less than two feet of earth humble, grateful and most of all: free.

And never forget why we fight, for ideas, for principles, solidarity, love. This is what we mean Orlando Zapata from his silence and eternal. Do not think that is now worth so much sacrifice was, is, in vain. Nothing freezes the blood of a man who knew how to die for what he believes. That

Müller lucid sentence: "When human life is shorter than a dictatorship, that human life has been stolen by the state."

Rest in peace, brother Zapata.

Photo: opposition march in the city of Camaguey, Cuba, in solidarity with Orlando Zapata. Taken from the blog Crossing wire, the Cuban dissident poet and fighter Luis Felipe Rojas.

Occupational Soap Note

Taste in men

not have a relationship to find peace with one of the most mature decision I ever made. I even surprised myself by being faithful to my new philosophy rejecting the proposal of a very attractive man. I stand alone for a while, because the truth I only have complicated family life. I need to understand myself better. I need time for myself. I need to control my neurosis, my paranoia and my obsession-compulsion.

Anyway, this post was meant for Valentine's Day and fantasize for a while is not a crime. A reader and friend I said he is curious about what kind of man I like. What I like in a man? If one is not even a little demanding ends with a moron bastard. My only two couples are completely opposite the truth, a time when I become flexible and stupid when I'm in love. Top

inventory of my perfect man with men who I love. For all we like Brad Pitt, but that says nothing about personal taste, because what would otherwise rare. So then show these men that if they are not so universally handsome show the physical characteristics that usually attract me.

Obviously there are some obvious differences between the subjects of the photographs, but if you look closely most resembles in any way. On issues most important natural division is by the kind of look: The pervasive (1-7) and sweet (8-14).

"N" was the first Christian group in the second. "N" was tall, thin and angular, pale skin, auburn hair and straight, always immaculate. Christian was short, stocky, bronze skin and black hair, wavy and messy. Different as night and day, and yet both seemed lovely. The perfect man for me will have features similar to those of the pictures, but I do not know which of the two groups belong.

And if the photos are not clear enough, here is my list of desirable physical characteristics of the opposite sex:

- teeth. I dental fetish, judging by the teeth, which do not have to be perfect, just harmonics. In this category I include the Hygiene (breath). Without exception. eg "The Rock"

- Boca . Here and I exceptions, is a plus. I like long mouth, thin lips and grin or ladito. Paul Bettany eg

- Nose . The big noses, long, sharp and sometimes strange love me, me More interesting than a small and perfect. Daniel Day Lewis eg

- Eyes. already explained what the looks, the color does not matter. But whatever, you have beautiful eyebrows up, dialed and straight. Ex Trent Reznor

-Face. Lampiño, with some rare exceptions. Sharp, another vice dispensable. Gaspard Ulliel eg

-Skin. Ok, no desire to sound racist or anything, I prefer men my tone or lighter. And the tattoos, the truth, I just want to lick them. Robbie Williams eg

-Marks. I have a strange obsession with scars, burns and scarring. In many cases I find it sexy, do not ask me why. Otherwise I do not notice unless it is a wart or mole continuous allergy to hair. Joaquin Phoenix eg

- Cabello. The only thing I can not stand are the curls, hair ironing and dyes. The color is not relevant. As for the short and long, much depends on each person, although I prefer the hair without any fixative. Ville Valo eg

-Vello. hate the hair on the nose, ears or unibrow. In the rest of the body, in moderation. The only hair on his torso that I like is the one that goes from the navel down and until that is to maintain a prudent long, as the armpits (scissors, gentlemen). Jackson Rathbone
eg
- taller than me. My height is 1.73 and I love to wear heels of 8 cm. It is not discrimination, but are shorter usually complexed. Of course, you walk straight (good posture), tall men have a bad habit of walking as Homo habilis. Vince Vaughn Ex

- Delgado. Marked and muscular is asking too much. I am satisfied with thinness. Matthew Gray Gubler eg

- hands and big feet. Hate stubby fingers like cocktail sausages and downright tiny place between fear and disgust. Although sinewy and bony, I like the hands and feet long. Nick Cave eg

- Back. An inverted triangle: Broad shoulders, narrow hips. Is equivalent to the hourglass that men seek in a woman. I hate to tell them, but yes, women do look at her butt, it narrowly. Robert Pattison eg

-Voice. The included physical as that depends on the body. With that has no squeaky voice is gain. But if you have severe snoring, deep or at least nice to hear, much better. Bre eg Fraser
NDAN
-Mayor que yo. is a fact, men mature slower women, so someone older, at least we are equal.

- Clean . Nails short and clean, smell good (Axe not lie, women are very susceptible to the smell), to monitor their personal hygiene. Do not ask a metrosexual, just a person with good hygiene.

"Good taste. clothing speaks for our tastes, does not have to be expensive (my best clothes are used.) Simply tell me something about it.

"N" was serious, nervous, cold, methodical and obsessively clean. He studied graphic design, loved Escher, electronic music, comfort, speed and expensive clothes and immaculate. Christian was sensitive, gentle, cheerful, patient, hyperactive and disorganized. Bakunin was reading, I wanted to be a sociologist, punk listening, laughing with wrestling, I used old clothes, wrinkled and often dirty and hated the system.

We are the union of body, mind and soul, so here goes most important thing for me: the content. These are the mental and emotional characteristics in a man I adore.

- Love animals. Fundamental. If you prefer to dogs, the better.
-Sense of humor. that make me laugh and laugh with me
-Eloquence. Good rhetoric and diction.
-Intelligence. Logic, common sense sensible.
-Culture. Without being pretentious.
-Spiritual. that values \u200b\u200blife, people and small things.
-Kind. Gentil, grateful, humble.
-Nice. Witty, clever, funny.
-Honest. That is consistent, fair.
-Aware. able to act with courtesy.
-Maturity. Stable, patient, understanding, perseverance.
-moral integrity. self-respect, honesty.
-Nobility. Who knows how to forgive and forget.
-Passionate. Retailer , showing how he feels.
-value. Do not hesitate, do not be afraid to treat.
-Fidelity. to commit and fulfill its promises
-Wisdom. learn from their mistakes, not fear them.

This is what I hate: stubborn, proud, cowardly, insecure, indifferent, authoritarian, insensitive, immature, unfaithful, disloyal, deceitful, cruel, selfish, stupid, untimely, failed, traumatized, irresponsible, egocentric, sensitive, resentful, fickle, narcissistic, and unstable.

I never imagined it would be so hard to make this list and I regret the delay. It seems a tall order, but analizenlo well. Also they are only my preferences. If you decided to love, Life would be simpler, but less interesting.

Placebo Taste in men by

Disneypixarcarsonlinegames

Hispanic Books

A yer Sunday 21 was held in Houston's eighth Hispanic Book Festival in the halls of the Hilton Hotel Southwest. It is a modest event, certainly a low projection advertising, organized by author and entrepreneur Andrew D. Puello, with the collaboration of several members of the Hispanic community in general (and Cuban in particular) in this city.

In just two hours and lasted little more than my visit to the Festival I was struck by several facts. First, the real possibility that this event will grow in scope and participation of authors, publishers, booksellers and promoters of the Hispanic area of \u200b\u200bTexas and a little further. I think the city's Hispanic readers thank you. You could see the articulation of a varied program, although still in its infancy, which exceeded the limits of the city of Houston and extending the participation of writers who came from other cities like San Antonio Texan is the case of Palacios McBride Ani with novel See you in purgatory - and even from Florida, with Cuban Josefina Leyva, and from Argentina, with the poet Grace Bucci.

Festival this year paid tribute to the poet Marie Delgado Travis of Puerto Rican roots and based in Houston, who presented their books The window / The window , Chicken Soup for the Latino Soul and Across the Long Bridge . It can learn more by reading the interview with David Dorantes posted on his blog The armchair in the Houston Chronicle.

Others who participated in the Festival were Fernando Hernandez ( What I learned from my dog \u200b\u200b), Daniel Monreal ( Victoria , novel), María Luisa Garza ( shadows of paradise, poetry), and the very Puello, with its volume Three historical figures.

the book is real Houston Hispanic is not a category of the most flourishing, but neither is doomed to oblivion. Demonstrated by several libraries, some of them present at the Festival, especially the English Library, which devote a later post. There are others who did not participate this time, as the Library Friends of Cuban Celso Alonso, and Ritmo Latino , where you can find good literature in English at good prices.

heard several comments found on the participation of the Pathfinder in this Festival. Several visitors expressed their disgust with the vulgar propaganda maneuver carried out by this publisher, with promotional including the release of five Cuban spies. That is democracy, and one must learn to tolerate even what hurts us, if only for that which "freedom is freedom for those who think differently." The best response will always have the reader did not see anyone buying a book. And so we go.

Olympic Female Camel Toe

Eye of the tiger

February 14, 2010, beginning of year Metal Tigre. Valentine's Day. Historic Center of Mexico City. A crazy red silk dress and eat sour rolls down with a can of Jack Daniels sitting on the dirty steps of a closed in Luis Moya. Planted, again. My plans went to hell because none of my four friends saw fit to appear, or call. Supposedly

would go to Chinatown to celebrate and drink sake to crawl. We would see martial arts presentations and the famous Dragon Dance. For safety I called two friends and if no one came. I decided to go alone and ended up dressed, disheveled and unpleasantly sober in a crowd that thronged about sideshows (very Mexican, of course) and sold by Oriental curiosities that just dominated the English at Dolores Street. There

red and gold lanterns hanging over the people, and everywhere you could see the image of Tigre. The smell of Chinese food and the sound of drums spread to nearby streets and people pushed his way to see the acrobatic stunts performed on various scenarios. I could see from afar, and not without a few scratches, colorful dancing dragons thanks to the agility of the Chinese Dresses Silk jumping over the shoulders of his teammates, moving the huge and beautiful motley. Feline charms bought several for my family and a dish of triple B quality (good, nice and cheap) bittersweet roll and a can of Ginger mixed with Jack, just to console myself by being alone.

Then I met Viridiana and her boyfriend went to the Sun Lounge to drink and catch up with what we did two years since we met. I had a good time. We walked a while, we took photos in front of Fine Arts and went. Later I learned that good milk, then call and tell him where he was, came to fetch me, but forgot the phone and handed like me wandering the downtown streets, alone, on the day "most romantic of the year."

Although I did sit again I had a great time. I enjoyed being alone even swallow and move to wherever I wanted. And not even see your handsome boyfriend Viri red (wow) made me feel bad or want to have someone. My fortune cookie said that bad times are over, the future looks promising. I hope it's true, this metal horse is tired of the bad trot.

castor PD-Note what my pose. It was unintentional but Viri pisses me off saying it's Uma in Kill Bill.

Eye of the tiger by Chiara Mastroianni

Brazillian Waxing In Delhi

Beast in Me

Sorry for the delay in publishing this entry. I was not feeling well.

Boy Interrupted is a documentary made with home videos and interviews about Evan, a boy with bipolar disorder who committed suicide in 2005 at the age of fifteen. It was made by his mother, who recorded their crisis to display the psychiatrist. Evan's story made me relive mine. This entry is my way of documenting life with mental illness. I want people to see the hell that really is and stop thinking about madness as something cool and desirable. This is not the wonderland, Kurt Cobain is not a saint. Life is a confusing and often lonely and those who admire her are ignorant.

So how does it feel to live with something, how is the life of those suffering from madness? When using the word crazy I mean those mental disorders while not as serious to be hospitalized in a psychiatric forever drooling in a straitjacket, nor are mild enough to ignore. I've only dealt with in depth to a person in a condition similar to mine, whom I thank for his vision for this entry, Alejandro , whose blog I recommend to anyone who enjoys me, to know their perspective on regard.

not know much about my condition, as experts believe it would be counterproductive for me to know the diagnosis. Many people do not think you have a real problem and often when I'm fine, I doubt it. Just beginning to think I have trouble managing my emotions, I'm impulsive and immature, but normal. I continue taking my medication, magnesium valproate and sertraline, and pressure by maternal smoking, but it seems unnecessary. At those times I would dream of a perfectly normal life.

Reality always ends up hitting. I can not even blame the hormonal changes of adolescence (I'm getting old!). Date reviewed my next menstrual period, yes, it must be that, but I find that there are still a couple of weeks. Why do I feel this way? Unable to find a satisfactory answer. Nothing has changed around me, is the same as when I'm good. Why, then, I feel my world shrink, which hopes fade, I drown? And when I finally defeated shrug in my bed crying every night to sleep, Henry Jekyll returns. Then I explained that it was all a misunderstanding, there must be an explanation, look for excuses and decide not to think about it. Life smiles at me. Do not you ever wonder, reader, that my posts have these mood swings? Surely you think I am voluble. Sometimes I think so too.

When I started going crazy? I'm not sure. When I was thirteen I became aware that others did not fit. They met my depression from loneliness with my burning desire to be a famous writer. My misfortune was real, but exaggerated. Used it to make me interesting and somehow get attention. I thought only crazy reach the fantastic inspiration of my heroes. Attacks pretended maniacs, exaggerating all my emotions, I even induce depression. Wanted others to believe she was crazy. I wanted to believe it myself and finally reach the pantheon of writers insane. Maybe I was not even like them, but I was always different, strange, rare, non-flammable. I thought there was nothing wrong with taking advantage of my misfortunes.

pretended to believe it so I started. Ridiculously faked suicide attempts for myself. Each visit to the psychologist I was proud. Puberty was a bright, educated and informed that he could manipulate the diagnoses of these chachareros. Still do not know if I actually convinced them or something of unintentional worry. He slept all afternoon, was living in my own fantasy world and only found pathetic love love more than I cared to achieve immortality of fame.

When I had my first boyfriend and I fell in love, I left all my dark and strange pose to devote myself to enjoy my newly-won happiness. Who needs the glory when it is in heaven? Even enjoyed being the rare, but pretend I was not interested bitterness or melancholy. Then it happened. Inside me grew suspicious fatal. Carnivores jealousy, mistrust and paranoia. It was intense dramas to manipulate the beloved, emotional blackmail, verbal violence. Pretended respiratory crisis. The fatality was that my frustration and did not fit into words and physical violence started, first in pushing and slapping perhaps fictional, reaching bites, punches, kicks and other horrors. After each crisis I finished crying, sometimes begging for forgiveness, sometimes manipulating everything so that it seems the culprit, depending on the severity of the beating. But always resorted to my madness fictional (or perhaps not) to justify. He said he did not know what he did, it was not me.

This is the first time that I admit and I hope if he reads it achieves forgive. The truth I knew what he was doing. I was more conscious than ever. Inexplicable sadism invaded me. Every little offense I wanted to pay, make him feel the pain I felt. In my head it made sense. I had to tame it, he owed me obedience. He was naive, I sly. That was our ruin. Apologized many times without noticing. It was for him and the beatings began to see psychiatrists and neurologists. I did research and began to medicate. When he left I realized the gravity of what I did, but it was so bad that I could not act maturely and a last resort I found to get it back was the warning of my suicide. That night I swallowed about 300 pills. I washed the stomach. I spent months on end buried. I hit the knowledge that what I thought it was fake was real crazy and terrible and in the end recognize the value of that boy I felt weak. The regret and guilt hurt more than a stomach wash and its aftermath remain much more time.
I started searching desperately for a way out of the suffering. I drank water I swore never to try. I found the duality that characterized my writing and my life, I met Jekyll and Hyde. For that moment I knew the problem was real and that I had no control over it, no longer was the game of my puberty and I never knew when I got out of hand or perhaps had nothing to do and was an unfortunate coincidence. In my second relationship watched my reactions, I was attentive, respectful and considerate, but could not hold from time to time my demons and anger rose like a funeral pyre. Could suffocate with speed, but this boyfriend did not suffice my apologies and my explanations. The memory of my jealousy were following clear in his memory. He did not trust me.

time I was a Neurotics Anonymous, not put up with, but I learned very important things to those who still resort to when I feel very bad. At present I am single and I intend to go on much longer. If you really love me so important as I say, I grow and enjoy my life alone and so I know the next time will not be out of loneliness, dependence, or idealism. If I have a boyfriend just to have a sure to be someone who is not right for me. To reach Mr. Right must stop looking and let me find it. Plus I've noticed that got the worst of me when I have a relationship and I want peace for a long time, until you learn to control my insecurity.

Many will say that I enjoy being weird, and it may be true, but either I resigned myself it is not something I can change and maybe a lot of my weirdness does not have much to do with my madness. I like being original. And yes, I often say out loud "I'm crazy" like those stupid girls who want to be, but those who know me understand the meaning of these words. If everyone insists on calling you "crazy" or "whore" but have not done anything to deserve it, they say it ruins the fun indifference.

my illness allows me to appreciate things that many take for granted and move me deeply about insignificant things. It causes me pain, makes me doubt all my friends, my family, including myself. It makes me hate, victimization and spend weeks mulling over silly to find hidden meanings. Confuses me and makes me forgetful and careless. I get the feeling that forgetting something, missing something important, that something is not right. I have pangs of panic suddenly hear laughter and sometimes when I make fun of me. I complex with my appearance or I get self-absorbed. My ego is fragile and easily explode into tears. I constantly feel embarrassed and do not tolerate humiliation or disloyalty. I can not stand the frustration and I am methodical, obsessive and impatient. I take it very personally that people do not keep the promises I made. I am inquisitive and mistrustful. Usually I feel alone and afraid I can not help all the time you leave my friends. I'm used to disappointment, but every time I become more fragile. My illness and pain is a big challenge for me.

write to purge demons to find peace, to clear my mind. I write because I feel that my words need a container, to recall past thoughts. I write because many times I have nobody to tell you what I feel. I write to save my soul.

Beast in me Johnny Cash by

How To Make A Request Letter For Disconnection

Big Man with a Gun

Warning: Contents feminist. If you think this is hysterical lesbian seeking supremacy over men, stop reading and go back to your cave.

Macho A: The machismo is the fault of women
Macho B: And gay!

The above conversation could be hilarious if it were not for that he or she heard, and one of those statements made someone I respect very intellectually.

"In a patriarchal society, all are sexist, including women and all were victims of it, including men ..." So begins the cover of "El Machismo Invisible" of Marina Castañeda. This is not a war between the sexes, it is not live among men, masculine women and feminine. These attitudes are so deeply rooted in our society that we are not aware of them. I think this is the second time I recommend a reading and it is curious that the former was "Men are from Mars and women from Venus" , but really think the Invisible Machismo as a must read for understanding the origin and consequences actual gender inequality and distrust.

Feminism is now considered obsolete. Even women consider it shameful to be a feminist, as if to put them at the same level as sexist. They are so used that their rights do not stop to think about how they were achieved. They are so accustomed to social constraints they consider normal. They allegedly sold both the women who believe that is what they want. The campaign to discredit feminism has been a success. It seems to be a feminist is synonymous with hating men. With men like something happens, some deny (even sincerely) to be macho, but often fall into patanescas and even misogynistic attitudes.
patanerías
In all, that I find most disturbing, because it is less obvious is the sexism in communication, the meta-message. Passive-aggressive attacks emotionally draining.

Silence is not a position neutral forces the other to fill the gap of communication. When a person speaks angrily but not shown in gestures or tone of voice, the problem began to be of this ends up back on the second, who asks if this annoying and get no for an answer. Should interpret its true intent if we continue the exchange and is in a position dificles. Is a power dynamic that compels us to "read his mind." Is to leave all the work of communication in one person. The incongruity communication creates uncertainty which usually favors one of the people at the expense of the other. This ambiguity can express power without making it explicit and therefore difficult to give a contraréplica. Men, especially in romantic relationships tend to use silence as an expression of power or as punishment. The prerogative of the strongest.

In a dynamic group who talks more is who has more power, as such men usually talk while women facilitate communication or move to leave them alone with their talks "feminine." The paradox is that in the intimacy of women speak a lot more, but why not have more power. The strongest is not talking more, but you can decide when to do it and when not. The men's reluctance to communicate with women is not a biological failure. If not an unconscious habit most of the time the easy way out, laziness and make an effort if they would in the presence of others. The classic: "I have not got anything to say" is just a cheap excuse. The silence creates a personal abyss can be distressing and is usually she who must try to cross it. For details, review my experience on this .

The same dynamic applies when the dominant person restricts the conditions imposed dialogue with phrases like: "I will not talk about it while you are well," I will not discuss that now "or" I do not want to walk venting our l personal life. "

I also call attention to the macho-management "is that I'm like ..." in response to any claim in a relationship. Involves first: "It's your problem, adapt, secondly, the irrefutable argument:" You can not ask me to change my way of being "and, thirdly, the implicit threat of" If you do not, go. " It may seem very logical, but remember that a relationship requires dialogue and negotiation.

For those who take some time reading my blog will be very clear why these attitudes seem so frightening. But make no mistake, readers, do not say that the fault of men, or that all are sexist, just that many times, both men and women, we are drawn into this social problem is the machismo and hurt us much at all.

Big Man With A Gun by Nine Inch Nails

Taekwondo Demostration Music

Someone laughs from Houston Wreck the

All this time has elapsed without updating the blog things have happened. One of them was meeting Lázaro Guzmán, Cubans resident Houston, who sent me two collaborations for this blog and some proposals on the future of this blog to disclose later. The first of these collaborations is now accompanied by a loud Sia face!

C hen a person dies, his disembodied spirit, becoming part of a nebulous energy that we are constantly involved. A mid-nineteenth century, Alan Kardec in France developed a theory based on the idea of \u200b\u200ba possible communication with these spirits through human beings born with that special gift, called mediumship. Thus began a craze for spiritualism, with Cuba after France and Spain, the country with more associations, newspapers and even radio spots devoted to the subject.

Most espirististas companies based in Havana and Matanzas, but by 1950, my grandmother served as secretary and head of the library of a society of mediumship in Nuevitas, Camagüey. Since childhood he had discovered he had a knack for envisioning the future and the past, or to perceive the behavior of anomalous phenomena, such as when she worked weekends caring for the family's home Perete. I felt how it had opened the kitchen shelves without entering the wind through the window, or how the tables and chairs the room began to levitate.

embroidered

One night while at home, the shadow of a pirate crossed the corridor. My grandmother asked him who he was and what he wanted, but got no response. The next morning he told everyone in his family that although the pirate had not said anything, it was an omen that the court had buried a treasure. Nobody wanted to believe, only Nestor, the husband of his sister, agreed to carry out excavations to see what were. They found the treasure, but it remains, and even bottles full of colonial times, that even today my grandmother saved as vases.

Nestor At that time started a business of freight trucks and got to have enough money, my grandmother always suspected it was because of the treasure, and maybe nobody ever took was in the house, to come with a metal detection equipment and dig more accurately. I never believed the story of the treasure, but I do remember that the best soursop shakes my grandmother made them the fruits of the tree in the courtyard.

In the 60's began the marginalization of spiritualist societies, but in recent years, a resurgence of kardecianismo. I read that in April 2008 was held in Havana Segund0 Spiritist Societies Workshop, attended by academics from more than five countries, including France.

"You're the reencarcación Andrew Caviglia" my grandmother told me one day. "But who was, what he did," he asked insistently. Knew his name and image of a man dressed in mechanic's overalls, grease-stained, and laughing mischievously. I was disappointed, but I never believed in that communication with the beyond, expect me to say that in my previous life had been a famous type, how about one of those early pilots who flew from Havana to Camaguey or a famous writer, and not instead a common mechanic.

Now, while working on the night shift on machines and I am overwhelmed when I can not fix a problem with the controls or any part is locked and finished sweating and smeared with grease, I feel someone laughing from beyond the grave.

However, my mother has written me an email last week and I realized that my grandmother has a message for me: "Tell Andrew Caviglia that never stop writing, literature can only save him."

Photo: Alan Kardec, internet files.