Een debiel woordspelletje waar natuurlijk elke malloot met een telefoon zich direct voor leent. Ze klinkt als de vrouwelijke Giel Beelen. Vraag me af waarom ik naar dit achterlijke geklets nog blijf luisteren. Jij wint het album van TheWeeknd! Waar gaat dit inhoudelijk over? Dus een uurlang kutmuziek, slap geklets en veel prijzen.
Prop als 3FM-jock zoveel mogelijk prijzen in een uur. In dit forum zijn we sowieso vrijer. En beller 69 uitgebreid aan het woord laten is belangrijker dan het wekelijks draaien van 69 uit de Single Top ? De Single Top hoort een creatief programma te zijn op een publieke zender die qua invulling superieur is aan dit soort onzin debiterende tijdwegkwekkers. Radio Veronica terug op de zee en schaf dit soort debielenradio af - In Godsnaam! Koning Willem-Alexander, onderneem hiertegen actie! Wel lekker toeven op Sail maar dit soort kulradio tolereren?
Doe iets van tederheid, achterlijk staatshoofd! Het roer moet om!
- Diskussionsforum.
- .
- theranchhands.com: Sitemap.
Er wordt niet meer nagedacht, er wordt meegewaaid met elke debiele zooi bellers, ook al weet het van toeten noch blazen. Wat krijgen we in ? Waarom snapt een eencellige dit wel en blijft hier maar ons staatshoofd niet en moet daar met een Argentijnse naartoe? En in de tussentijd vooral niet gaan eten met Japanse 'hoogwaardigheidbekleders' die over Fukushima kritische schrijvers daar voor 5 jaar de cel insmijten terwijl u hier -gemaakt plechtig- op 5 mei onze vrijheid staat te vieren.
En jullie maar bidden: Hier is The Scene met Blauw. Daarna een zogenaamde dj die beschrijft wat luisteraars dit weekend hebben gedaan. Weer meteen een overdreven link tussen vlot babbelende dj en publiek. Gaat helemaal nergens over. Dan volgt een plaatje. Ik heb het 2 uur en 17 minuten uitgehouden. Bij Budapest gooi ik 3FM uit. Anders was ik knettergek van het eindeloze geouwehoer geworden.
Dus er zit al een ongelooflijk verschil tussen wat ik met muziek doe en wat 3FM met muziek doet. Er komt een plaatje en daarna moet er weer een opgelegde interactie tussen dj en massa plaatsvinden. Tijd voor een dj om zelf met iets te komen lijkt helemaal verdwenen. Hij moet constant tegen een publiek aanleuteren en mag er zelf geen originele individuele gedachten op nahouden, lijkt het wel. Maar het geouwehoer van de massa aan de telefoon heeft 3FM heilig verklaard.
En na 2 uur en 17 minuten heb ik daar behoorlijk m'n buik van vol. Het vleien van elke debiel die opbelt boekt een overwinning op de inhoud van een programma. Dit is duidelijk een de dj's opgelegd iets. De luisteraar is binnen een uur te vaak aan het woord maar heeft in feite helemaal niks origineels te melden. Hij wint een prijs en iedereen moet dan zogenaamd weer blij zijn. Maar de programmamaker zit gewoon uit z'n nek te lullen en probeert om de haverklap "1" te worden met de opbellende luisteraar. Dus het is meteen al: Wie gaat zoiets 24 uur per dag zonder koppijn aan zitten horen?
Na 2 uur en 17 minuten zit je hoofd vol onzin van een ander en als je de radio dan niet uitgooit word je knettergek. Maar eigenlijk kwam er een interactie tussen dj en luisteraar waaraan het hele programma ondergeschikt werd gemaakt. Alsof zijn invloed belangrijker was dan de inhoud van het programma en de rode draad alleen de idioten die opbelden waren. Ik heb weleens betere nachtprogramma's gehoord. Waarin het ook nog om nieuwe muziek ging.. Maar hier trof ik een jarig huppelkutje aan dat graag met alle winden meewaait maar mij helemaal niks zinnigs over muziek vertelt en voor wie de constant te paaien luisteraar heilig is.
Diverse Radio Veronica-deejays die in het verleden voor de publieke jongerenzender werkten, weigeren aan het jubileum mee te werken. Hilversum 3 is ooit bedacht als alternatief voor de toenmalige zeezender Radio Veronica. Nog steeds zit er bijna elk uur een andere club, met een andere kleur en een andere mening.
De publieke omroep zegt graag te willen verbinden, nou, in mijn ogen is het eerder een splijtzwam.
Forum - iTunes genrelijsten (General [nl]) - theranchhands.com
De helft van Nederland is vijftigplus. Een aantal hoofdrolspelers haken net als Erik De Zwart dus af qua medewerking aan de reeks 50jaar3fm. Toch dook ie 2 september in de aflevering over in uur 2 even op in de Tipparade op Hilversum III: Dat mag van mij morgen opgeheven worden. Ze doen namelijk niks publieks; draaien oude hits net als wij bij Veronica.
Wat ik veel belangrijker vind: Die motie is aangenomen, maar ik hoor er niks meer over. Ze mogen blijkbaar doen wat ze willen. Terwijl de nummers die wij draaien vijf jaar uit de Top40 verdwenen moeten zijn. En zoals altijd verzandt een topic van S: Ik schreef vannacht wat kwade woorden over 3FM, maar dat betrof een invalster voor Mark van der Molen.
Zal het goedmaken door hier later nog aandacht aan Mark zelf te besteden zodra ie weer terug is. En ik heb tot dusver maar 1 lijst gekopieerd en dat is die van de genres. Maar daar zal de 3FM Playlist nog naast gehouden worden. Dat is de komende maand niet van belang om 'ns goed naar te kijken? Waarom zouden we daar uit gewoonte onze ogen voor moeten sluiten? Het stukje over politiek Den Haag en Koningshuis is ook legitiem als je je beseft dat er in Japan een celstraf staat zodra je je daar vrij uit over Fukushima en Nederland in daar 'serieus' voor een sportevenement naartoe wil.
Daar mag ik tussendoor m'n ongenoegen toch gewoon over uiten? Dan kun jij de vloer er weer mee aanvegen en zeggen dat het niks toevoegt terwijl ik jou nog niet een topic heb zien openen.. In het verlengde daarvan is het ook interessant om te kijken of 3voor12 dit nummer ooit op 3FM heeft gedraaid. En de kijk van Erik de Zwart op 3FM is ook hoogst actueel want die plukte ik vanmiddag net uit het nieuws terwijl ik het hier juist over 3FM had.
De Zwart horen we trouwens rond 1 uur 43 in uur 2. Ook leuk om te horen uit de mond van Vincent van Engelen: Het interesseerde 'm niet wat anderen van 'm dachten. Wat heeft Veronica voor toegevoegde waarde eigenlijk! De meest waardeloze radiozender die er is! Ik luister ook niet continu naar alle zenders. Het is inmiddels 1 grote wirwar van allerlei omroepstations die er allemaal hun eigen wetten op nahouden.
Maar Patrick Kicken zou ik op Veronica volgens mij nog wel kunnen aanhoren. Alleen door het publiek daar op 1 te zetten krijg je te maken met 3X dezelfde track van Guns 'n Roses binnen 3 uur. Hoorde op de radio maanden terug ook dat ze op Veronica elke zondag 80's-zondag doen. Weet iemand of dat nog een succes is geworden? Want ik haakte al na een week af. Na Patrick Kicken moet ik ook denken aan Jeroen Soer. En de Scherpe Rand Top 30 hield ermee op die op zich ook okay was. En nu heb je nog de Pinguin Top 30 en de Mania 30 maar die volg ik amper. Tipparade heb ik ook laten vallen.
Dus blijft voor mij nog iTunes over. Dat geeft per genre wel aan waar al die zenders in Nederland door elkaar mee aankomen. Dus als dat goed wordt gevolgd heb je ook genoeg leuke nieuwe muziek bij elkaar. En als je het goed doet meteen ook uit andere landen. Bij de NPO is het publiek de eigenaar. Dat hoor je goed terug in de programma's voor wie het wil horen. Gaat het om de inhoud van een programma of om om de 5 minuten de luisteraar op een voetstuk te plaatsen d.
Dus worden je kritische vermogens danig aangetast als je daar gaat zitten presenteren. En het komt ook niet in ze op om weer met een Mega Tip 30 te komen, wat ik ook een goed programma vond. Kan trouwens een topic openen voor de Mania 30 en die op DutchCharts elke week updaten en van een Spotify-linkje voorzien - ter compensatie van de door 3FM afgestoten Scherpe Rand van Platenland die op Kink FM misschien nog steeds had bestaan als Arjen Grolleman niet plotseling was weggevallen waardoor Kink FM later werd opgedoekt.
Dus ik ben zeer benieuwd naar het 3FM-programma van Mark van der Molen die door deze radiofreak de kneepjes van het radiovak zou zijn bijgebracht. Want op 1 staat daar nu: En die werd voor ie maandag bij iTunes met downloads van 11 naar 1 steeg op 3FM gedraaid. Our audience is everyone, basically. Because drag queens have also always been trans women. Okay, stop using the word. At the end of the day, the show is about drag.
Ru retracted a statement he made about trans contestants after seeing the backlash. I think they just thought they were going to have to rethink the whole formula. Sometimes I win, and sometimes they win. But the drag pageant is a pageant about drag, not about who has real boobs and who has foam boobs. Because no one thing should ever have to speak for everyone. It is telling a story from the trans perspective, and my friend Lady J is a writer on that. I exist in the in-between.
I go through TS A scanners several times a week. I was just dumbfounded that this happened. The TSA agent thought that I was female bodied, so she scanned me as a female. I came out and saw the screen, and there was a big yellow blob at my crotch. And then she said to me: I have a penis. Ifyou would have asked me howl should be scanned, I wouldhavebeen forthright about that. The gall of having a penis. I give RuPaul all the credit for what she has done for the drag community, and I always make sure my fan base knows that. And it goes both ways. Ru has always been gracious about promoting my albums.
My career at large, anyway. Before that, I was content with where my career was going in Seattle. Jerick Hoffer the theater actor was having success, and Jinkx Monsoon the dragperformerwas having success. Obviously, I love performing and I love being onstage. A New Spelling of My Name. The writing about the sexual assault is brief, candid, and strangely calm—far, far away from the fear festering in my chest.
In the book, I was seeing someone who had been in similar dark corners as I had. I was afraid that my own darkness was leaking through my eyes. I was afraid that if I let go of the book, I would fall apart with it. Lorde had brought me back two years in time, to the summer after my first year of college. My truth was a burden then, and it was being carried by a dazed, sad, empty-eyed shell.
I was volatile, impulsive, scared, and desperate. They only wanted to hear my diagnoses, not the traumas.
When I turned to the hospital counselor at my bedside after my second rape, and told her what had happened, her face changed into a smug smile. The clatter ended my flashback episode, but I still did not blink. As the clock ticked toward the final moments of class, I saw, fully and clearly, what Lorde had just done.
Lorde had told a story of her trauma with Zami, but it was not the end of that story, or even that chapter. It was a portion of an ongoing truth that did not stop with, and was not only about, her pain. Lorde was a self-defined woman who lived by her truth, as she wished to tell it. Her legacy as a lesbian, and her love of women, is undeniable. However, for much of her life, Lorde struggled with her identity. She was closeted because of fear, shame, and circumstances.
She was a lesbian who was married to a man—Edwin Rollins, a white gay lawyer—and had two children with him before their separation in Lorde then had a relationship with Frances Clayton, a white academic woman with whom Lorde co-parented her children. Their non- monogamous relationship enabled her to live openly as a lesbian for the first time. I had experienced similar fears about being open about it, and have mostly dated cisgender, heterosexual men because of it. In reading about Lorde's life, I saw myself again.
I was still who I knew I was. Because she had survived, I could survive. My life was not hindered by, but actually informed and inspired by, my experiences. Suddenly I could see no good reason to be ashamed for telling my truth and allowing it space in my life. Biomythographies are a form of storytelling, a way of telling a truth that is accompanied by the mythologies of the self. For Lorde, the truth was an open invitation, a vehicle that welcomed inter- sectionality, that welcomed invention, that welcomed art.
Very few people can transform pain into love, hope, and healing. Even fewer can transform it into art. Her art invites others in. For the first time, I realized that telling my truth, and telling it the way that I not only wanted to, but needed to, was possible. Not only was it possible: It had already been done. I was no longer afraid of being caught in my own pain, of having my classmates see how hard I was holding onto that poor book.
I was going to embrace my pain, and transform it into something useful. I was going to be a writer. I was going to construct a biomythography of my own, my way, and bring others with me. Zami was the first stone of many on that path, a path of rebirth through writing that ultimately saved my life. I have been told it has saved other people, too. I openly discuss my journey with mental health on my social media, and to those who have come forward to tell me how my openness inspired them to get help, to let others in, I say: Agnes de Garron taught me not to be normal.
I had a great job as a dental assistant, but I was miserable. On top of all that, I was going through a nasty breakup. Afriend told me he was moving to New Orleans and asked if I wanted to go with him. I wanted to get out. So I said yes. I planned on being in New Orleans for a month. Then I met Agnes. Agnes de Garron was about 75 years old when I met her. The Sisters were atrailblazing group of drag performers who played with themes of gender and morality back in the s.
They were dressed as nuns, but they also had full beards. The Radical Faeries had just started to form in San Francisco, too, and Agnes was a Faerie from the very first gathering. The Faeries play with gender or nongender, too, but they also incorporate pagan traditions into their gatherings, which often happen in the woods or at clubs and involve a lot of sex and eating and long conversations. You know the Cockettes? Agnes was very into the Cockettes. She was also in the air force during Vietnam. When she talked about Vietnam, she mainly talked about gay sex.
She had a boyfriend who was also in the military, and they were both in Vietnam. She got a lot of backlash from the queer community at the time for being white and dating a black man. But Agnes has always been a radical who thinks outside the box. The first time I met Agnes, I was filming her at my apartment for a short video my friend wanted to make. She survived the AIDS crisis. I moved into her place in the Bywater the queer, artsy neighborhood , and she took me under her wing.
She could see I was vulnerable. I was crying all the time. I was in such a cool place, but I was lost. Even though she was 75 and I was 27, Agnes was the perfect person to show me around the art world, the drag world, and the world world.
5225. Artisti/Bändi-Cetju - KOOSTE
Her house is full of tutus, headpieces, and dress forms wearing ridiculous outfits. Before she leaves the house, she puts six more things on. I loved her style because I am not like that, but to see someone do it so effortlessly was very moving to me. Being normal is so boring. But honestly, abig portion of us being friends was just us walking her little dog Poopette along the Mississippi River. It was a very normal life.
Or else it taught me that a normal life is not the thing you should strive for.
Hookah hookup roswell rd
Striving for normal is all about what other people think. Agnes really stuck to the idea of not caring about what people think. She would do weird things like grow a small patch of beard on her cheek and dye it green. But she laughed at grouchy younger people, too. She did things her way. If you want to call her a she, you can call her a she. Whatever you want to call her is cool. At one point, my mom saw pictures of me on Facebook hanging out with Agnes and she got suspicious.
Plus, families have a way of trying to enforce normalcy. After I met and started dating someone who lived in Seattle, I decided I was going to leave New Orleans, and the hardest part by far was leaving Agnes. Having lived into her 70s, having survived the AIDS crisis, Agnes has seen a lot of people disappear in her life. I asked if she had anything to say. She gave me her weight, age, height, current hair color—her stats!
That was all she wanted to give me. It was the perfect response. Choose from 40 different classes each week The best teachers. Op en to all levels, all bodies. It would be five years before gay marriage was legal in any US state. A gay college student named Matthew Shepard had recently been beaten, tied to a Wyoming fence, and left to die.
I graduated from college in New York, came back home to Seattle, began letting people know I was gay, and listened to a lot of music by the Magnetic Fields. In short, my kind of jam. Everyone I knew was listening to 69 Love Songs, having sex to it, talking about the music, arguing over which of the 69 songs were the best. I now know about the history of coded, subtle, and occasionally overt references to gay love and lust in pop music, references that date back to a time long before being out was culturally acceptable.
On side two of that album: The songs were funny but also cynical, sexual and emotional in equal measure, bitter for good reason, bonkers for good reason, besotted for good reason. They were gay, and at the same time they were universal—which was an incredibly tough-minded and optimistic statement to make in I was feeling, groping, finding my way.
When I listen today, I realize Merritt was also trying to warn me of something difficult and true: Desire is fuel and fire, and it is also, unavoidably, in a dance with dissatisfaction. You learn a lot along the way. A few years after 69 Loves Songs came out, Merritt, the indie love idol, was involved in one of the earliest iterations of an internet-based fight over whether someone in this case, rock critic Sasha Frere-Jones was correct to call someone else in this case, Merritt a racist.
If you missed that one, try Google. The fight began in , faded sometime after that, and was thenresurrectedby Merritt lastyear when he released his 25th album, 50 Song Memoir. Everyone gets it ridiculously, terribly wrong sometimes. Be a supporter by becoming a patient, 0 Planned Parenthood' Quality care. With or without insurance. COM I ink and pa i nttattoo. But worse was yet to come. My most vivid memory from freshman year of high school is standing at the front of a drugstore reading the Chicago Sun-Times. It was the winter of , and I was 14 years old.
Day after day after day, pictures of boys shared the front page with a mug shot of a heavyset middle-aged man with a bad haircut. The boys looked like classmates I had crushes on. They were all dead. My parents subscribed to the Chicago Sun-Times and the Chicago Tribune, and both papers were spread out across our kitchen table every morning. So I left early for school every morning and read the papers at the drugstore.
John Wayne Gacy murdered at least 33 young men and boys. Over the next two summers, as the excavations gave way to the trial, I would ride my bike through Bughouse Square, not far from my Catholic high school. Sometimes I would stop and watch as men walked out of certain bars with much younger guys. After memorizing the time and place of the meeting, I threw the paper in the trash, miles away from home. I went to one meeting, where I met some boys I had nothing in common with but gayness.
Back then, that was enough. My new friends and I spent a lot of time talking about Gacy. Not just about the Gacy sitting in prison waiting to die, but the odds that there were other Gacys out there. And if they did somehow find themselves alone with a Gacy, they said, they would fight him.
They fought him, but they lost. Other boys were runaways living on the streets of Chicago, turning tricks to survive; Gacy would get them alone in his car, chloroform them, and then take them to his home and murder them. And the boys turning tricks on the streets were homeless because their families found out they were gay and threw them out. What would happen to us if our parents found out where their sons had been going? What their sons had been doing? Who their sons were? Gacys were old and gross, and we were young and hot and not living on the streets—so not desperate enough, at least not now, to go home with a Gacy.
We snuck into gay bars—well, snuok is the wrong word. We walked into gay bars. Contrary to the stereotype, most ofthe men in the bars were looking for other men, not teenage boys, but there were guys who were interested in us. My friends wanted older guys to validate them, to initiate them. It was what I wanted, too. So if something seemed off, if someone seemed odd, I would get on my bike and ride home as fast as I could.
A good-looking blond guy in his early 30s picked me up in a bar when I was We were making out on his couch when the door opened and another man, older and bearded, came inside. He said hello, looked me up and down, and then went upstairs. I got up and ran out the door. They could be Gacy. A friend, Tony Hughes, had gone missing months before. His family got in touch with some of his friends, but no one knew where Tony had gone. A rumor went around that he had moved to Florida because he was sick of Wisconsin winters or sickofhis friends or sick of his job or all of the above.
Dahmer killed 17 men and boys. But I knew that some of them were dead, too. While I was running from hot blond guys with creepy roommates, the virus was moving among and through us, undetected and, at that time, before the test, undetectable. He was tall, blond, and attractive. Tony went home with him. We all would have. Not even Gacy could scare us the way he once did. Not now, in I knelt in front of the box, read what I could through the cloudy plastic window, and cried.
This was 30 years ago. The guy who ran the schoolresembled Louis XIV with long, dark ringlets of hair. He was also quite brilliant. It was an odd place to work. I was the assistant to a neurotic teacher who used to have me rearrange tables, chairs, and rugs all day long. It had something to do with the light pouring through the windows, and her focus and mood. Back then, I chose jobs for their narrative appeal. I lacked life experience and insight.
She thought I was on the verge of a terrible mistake.
Browsing Artists Name
I had announced to the mostly gay staff that I was falling in love with a woman. It was a friend who came to Seattle for a visit while my husband was away on a business trip. I prefer lesbo or lezzie or lesbetarian. I told Gail that I was going to confess to my husband when he returned home that I had romantic feelings for a woman. I was pretty sure he wouldbe understanding. Gail shook her head and said: Gail and Jess explained that the film was a cautionary tale to wake me up. Lianna was married to a college professor. She tended toward naive idealism. She was just like me.
In the movie, Lianna blurts out to her husband that she loves a woman, and things go to hell. Her husband kicks her out. He threatens to undermine the career of her lover. Lianna loses everything, including her homophobic best friend. Lianna grieves, and cries, and comes apart. Then she gets a job as a checker in a grocery store. I nixed the idea of confessing. I started strategizing other escapes. I consulted with a lawyer. I established a separation agreement. I got my husband to sign it while he was still destabilized by the announcement that I wanted a break from the marriage.
Due to my airtight planning, I averted all dangers, except for one. I watched Lianna for a second time recently. But the thing that surprised me, the thing that made me uncomfortable this time, was realizing that Lianna had made a better choice than I did by telling the truth and facing the consequences. Sometimes people try to save us from impending pain but their interventions complicate things. I repeated duplicitous patterns until I finally arrived at a happy long-term relationship. Specializing in unique barware, Italian bedding, and home decor.
He had started to grow his hair out. He was doing it for charity, but then he left it that way. He shaved his beard off without me asking and had kept it shaved for several months. These changes over the course of a summer are not significant. Armed with a hunch and my observations, I asked my significant other, the person who I had signed up to share my life with, if there was meaning in these arbitrary events. I believe fundamentally in the goodness of people. Sitting on the couch as we both cried, both of us completely unsure how to move forward, the only thing I could think to say was that, despite my inability to see into our future, I knew we had to do whatever was necessary to make my spouse, now my wife, She had lived 32 years in darkness, in the shadow of borrowed ideas about masculinity.
The next steps in her journey were very clear. She had lived 32 years in darkness, in the shadow built by borrowed ideas of how masculinity should be represented. Now that she was out, I knew not another day could pass without us being serious about how she could live her best life, how she could live in the lightness that comes with confidence in who you are. Without hesitation and through the good fortune of medical benefits, she, I, and we started therapy.
That said, I know enough to believe that no two marriages or people are alike. There is no one-size-fits-all set of solutions for this journey. We have spent the past eight months unraveling the complicated fabric of ouridentities as individuals, and as acouple, with our families and friends. Preparation for each conversation was doused with substantial amounts of anxiety and fear of rejection. One at a time, we have told those we love that my husband is now my wife. Some people still cannot fathom that sex and gender are separate social constructions. This is a painful part of our journey, but we press on.
I know with all my being that this is the right path. Last month, we announced on Facebook that Kyle is now Katie. No one did a double take. No one even looked surprised. It was really liberating not to be worried about how to tell people that the male body form in front of them identifies as Katie.
Now we are about to celebrate Seattle Pride in a way that we never have before: Attending the parade and the events around it is one of my favorite annual Seattle traditions. There is an unparalleled energy of love, inclusion, and support. That said, my experience of Pride this year will be a new one: This year, I will participate in Pride as the proud spouse of my wife. What a wonderful and well-earned celebration it will be. He lived in a mother-in-law cottage which is now gone that was near the Harvard Exit theater now gone right behind an apartment building also now gone that my cousins lived in.
He is now married to Rob Green, a nurse he met during a visit to HarborviewMedical Center their union happened three years before gay marriage was legalized in this state in One, Variety Mix , is on air on Mondays at 9 p. The first cool club I discovered in Seattle was Re-bar which, amazingly, is not gone. Opened in , it was not only a dance club, but also abar and atheater, with deep roots in the gay performance community. Riz was a DJ at the club in the mids. His sets would transform Re-bar into a cultural laboratory for the creation of abrand-newrace of Seattleites.
The city was between the recession and the dot-com boom that began in , a boom that initiated the first With his idiosyncratic queer spirituality, D J Riz transformed the dance floor. The dance floor was not a meat market; if you wanted to hook up with someone, you could do so at the bar. Riz did not stick to tunes that kept the floor packed, but followed an extemporaneous course that could only be appreciated globally, as a whole, at the end of the night.
To explain this as clearly as possible, two things have to be separated: Humans are social, but I think this is a deeper and older side of our animality. We always need others. That is the kind of body we have. A body that moves and works with other bodies. But culture, on the other hand, can change rapidly. This is its glorious plasticity. This has caused a lot of misery in the world.
Social engineering sounds like eugenics, or something that happens in an operating theater. Cultural engineering has a different ring. It can happen on a dance floor. Deloitte full schedules at: ASL on main stage. COM This product has intoxicating effects and may be habit forming. Marijuana can impair concentration, coordination, and judgment. There may be health risks associated with the consumption of this product. Keep out of the reach of children. Marijuana products may be purchased or possessed only by persons twenty-one years of age or older.
Ktefinfv sed d la' bs: Some people go to priests, others to poetry, I to my friends, to my own heart, and to my budtender. I wander among fragments for something unbroken—yet cannot grasp even that. Alexander the Great All I can say is that when I had smoked the last bud of the crazy high-CBD strain called Dancehall and felt the breadth of my intoxication, I wept, for there was no more weed to smoke. As with people, it is absurd to divide cannabis into good and bad. The guys in prison love it.
Charles Nelson Reilly XJ is sooooo strong Socrates Worthless people live only to eat and drink. A Diiy of Kinky Ltplonrlon! She had a particular aversion to oral sex—both giving and receiving. Which brings me to why I am writing: I was glad to get some and had no hang-ups about a guy sucking me. Since then, Sam has blown me three more times. My problem is I am starting to feel guilty and worry I am using Sam.
Zooming out for a second: Since you were clearly too afraid to ask Sam yourself most likely for fear the blowjobs would stop , I offered to ask Sam on your behalf. My first question for Sam: We even started joking about it right away. I have sucked him off four more times since then. He has a really nice dick! I know—now—that he thinks it is a bit unfair to me.
- Full moon, at our house, Jan 30, 2010.
- Rebecca Curtis–“The Toast” (Harper’s, March 2014)?
- And Always Me The Stranger.
We may be able to help to remove that requirement. As all experienced cocksuckers know, a person can suck at getting their cock sucked: He really gets into it, he moans, he talks about how good it feels, and he lasts along time. We recently had a threesome with a bi male acquaintance. He said he was fine with this. A little bit into us hooking up, he said he wanted to suck my dick. A bit later, while my girlfriend was sucking his dick, he said he wanted me to join her.
I said no, he kept badgering me to doit, I kept saying no, and then he physically tried to shove my head down toward his crotch. My girlfriend and I both got pissed and said he had to leave. According to my analysis of the astrological omens, you have cosmic permission to enjoy extra helpings of waffles, crepes, pancakes, and blintzes. Eating additional pastries and doughnuts is also encouraged. Because it's high time for you to acquire more ballast. You need more gravitas and greater stability. You can't afford to be top-heavy; you must be hard to knock over.
If you would prefer not to accomplish this noble goal by adding girth to your butt and gut, find an alternate way. Maybe you could put weights on your shoes and think very deep thoughts. You're slipping into the wild heart of the season of discovery. Your curiosity is mounting. Your listening skills are growing more robust. I was just tickled with the nasty nature of this story. Then I had to stop reading for the night. She spent most of her time with her best friend, Haven. The stories about Haven seem to be touching with their mom always excited when she gets a Christmas card from her , but we slowly see that the feeling may not go both ways.
Especially when their mom was so insistent that they both look perfect for Haven when she comes for a visit.
Both girls hated getting their hair brushed. But Leala would sit through the whole thing of course , tears streaming down her face, absorbing all of the abuse. But Sonya would simply scream and run away with her hair in a tangled mess. And we slowly learn that while Sonya has resented Leala all of her life and exhibited it in many different ways , Sonya is in no way the victim in the relationship.
And we learn just how sad things have always been for Leala, the overachiever. The story was quite moving and the end was pretty much devastating. The way Curtis went from a very funny dark opening to a simply dark ending was really masterful. That was a story I hated, then as I went to blog it, decided I truly admired it when I discovered some really interesting little twists in it that got buried in the chaos of murdered cats, weird diseases, and general family dysfunction.
Hi Karen, welcome back to your site and to mine. Which can be offputting or funny depending on your point of view. You are commenting using your WordPress.