<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4407407193220571875</id><updated>2011-09-14T00:43:36.590-07:00</updated><category term='childhood'/><category term='real'/><category term='dream'/><category term='hippie'/><title type='text'>It's a crazy crazy reality</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Lulutz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12993227944713438178</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>24</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4407407193220571875.post-1046197414558939822</id><published>2011-09-14T00:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-14T00:43:36.599-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I spy with my little eye...</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"  &gt;Okay, so call me paranoid if you will, but since we moved I really get the feeling we’re being spied on. It's a really weird, unconfortable feeling; especially that it's not the kind of &lt;i&gt;strange-man-lurking-in-the-dark&lt;/i&gt; kind of situation. No, it’s a less obvious one, which is a lot more difficult to handle than simply applying a good dosage of pepperspray and a kick in the nuts. Let me explain.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"  &gt;As a matter of fact, I do live on an alley - but it's a bright alley! Well in this alley, there are plenty of small shops: a liquor store, a toy shop, a smoothie bar, a clothes store, a restaurant and a beauty parlour. All crammed on a linear surface that must be equivalent to my flat’s total surface.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"  &gt;When we moved in a while ago, we had a very angry welcome from the toy shop owners, as we had dared block their window shop for an hour on a Tuesday afternoon - as if hordes of parents were supposed to run on the alley at that precise date and time, unable to benefit of their special offers on ugly wooden eco-toys. They were yelling at the movers, all the while eyeing us every time we would go downstairs. They’re a couple in their 50s - judging only on their face – but I’m guessing they’re a lot younger than that. They both have the same shade of grey hair, the same kaki t-shirt, the same height, same jeans, same walk, and of course they are both heavy smokers. I hope they are twins or at least brother and sister, otherwise it’s just weird!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"  &gt;On the other side of the alley, the smoothie bar is unfortunately right in front of our entrance door. I say unfortunately because of the smoothie guy, of course. Now, the smoothie guy is someone I simply don’t trust. There’s just something not right about the way he gathers with all the other shop keepers on the street and chat while looking up to our window from time to time.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"  &gt;He’s trying too hard to play the cool guy who is friends with everyone and helpful to new neighbours like us. I find mistrust in simple things like: “I noticed you got a motorbike, that’s a nice engine you got there!” and two days later we’d get a warning notice from the police saying we’re not supposed to park in the common yard. Probably on the accusation of the Siamese toy-makers. Who were also possibly told by the smoothie guy that it’s ours. See where I’m getting at?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"&gt;So, as a consequence of these small signs of either us being spied on, or me going crazy, I’ve decided to spy back on them! Ha ha, wait until the world knows how many smoothies the smoothie guy makes a day… or, or what brand of cigarettes Santa’s evil helpers so eagerly suck on thirty times a day… oh, wait, that’s not interesting… &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;span&gt;L&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%; "&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;This is only a small part of all the shit we’ve had to put up with since we started the whole move thing. Stay tuned for the rest!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4407407193220571875-1046197414558939822?l=lulutz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/feeds/1046197414558939822/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4407407193220571875&amp;postID=1046197414558939822' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/1046197414558939822'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/1046197414558939822'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/2011/09/i-spy-with-my-little-eye.html' title='I spy with my little eye...'/><author><name>Lulutz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12993227944713438178</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4407407193220571875.post-2109174789345773330</id><published>2011-02-26T10:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-26T11:17:09.719-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The spring of courage</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6jGWmqJ16lI/TWlRpPjh04I/AAAAAAAACb4/StPGXmUG100/s1600/__Revolution___by_Jeevay.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 160px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6jGWmqJ16lI/TWlRpPjh04I/AAAAAAAACb4/StPGXmUG100/s320/__Revolution___by_Jeevay.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578079382467105666" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few things have been swirling around my mind lately, that is in the past few years. I have been trying to find new landmarks in this technology-assisted, culturally brain washed society, and I decided I should start doing something. Something that matters, something that helps others return to the state of being human, caring about another, as opposed to the state we usually tend to be in - egocentric simians on a perpetual search for satisfaction...&lt;div&gt;And I did, I did something, and I still am doing a bunch of things. But, how come I feel so silly with my puny goals and ideals, when I see people facing death - in present and past times - all for freedom, for peace, for us, the others, who remain sheltered...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Well, instead of talking about abstract phenomena, I will tell you what happened...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The first thing that impressed me this week, was a conversation I had over the phone with a 80-year-old man. I was calling him for work, more specifically to invite him to present a very particular cellar to a bunch of kids. The cellar I mentionned was the place he was tortured in, by the Gestapo - you guessed it - during World War II, and this could have been a quite difficult task, given the emotional side of the presentation. To my surprise, the man was actually extremely serene about it, and confirmed his presence, lest he should die until may (that's when the event is supposed to take place)... He then got to talking to me, about the things he experienced, about the fact that he has been living with his wounds and traumatisms for over 65 years, about the fact he is now facing several types of cancer, and above all, that he is very SERENE about it... My one question is: How?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The second thing that touches me, probably because of very early memories of mine (aka december 89), is of course, the revolution in the arab world. What is happening in Lybia - seems to me - by far the most violent outburst and response from all the series of arab revolutions. The face of Kadhafi is haunting me, scares me and I feel I'm not looking at a human being. It's like all dictators and murderers have this kind of dark aura around them that makes them fascinating and scarry as hell at the same time. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But back to the Lybian people - my question, is again: How? I might not know all the details of the story, nor the consequences and effects that the revolution is bound to trigger, but I would like to understand what pushes humans into going out there, where others die, and be a part of it - when hiding in shelter could be so easy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4407407193220571875-2109174789345773330?l=lulutz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/feeds/2109174789345773330/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4407407193220571875&amp;postID=2109174789345773330' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/2109174789345773330'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/2109174789345773330'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/2011/02/spring-of-courage.html' title='The spring of courage'/><author><name>Lulutz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12993227944713438178</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6jGWmqJ16lI/TWlRpPjh04I/AAAAAAAACb4/StPGXmUG100/s72-c/__Revolution___by_Jeevay.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4407407193220571875.post-1849499743173597869</id><published>2010-07-27T12:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-27T14:37:52.066-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My fabulous job</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/TE9L-MW2nNI/AAAAAAAACPo/BTfd4tY4bec/s1600/_KFs___GARBAGE__by_peanutchan.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 147px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/TE9L-MW2nNI/AAAAAAAACPo/BTfd4tY4bec/s200/_KFs___GARBAGE__by_peanutchan.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498697201883716818" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I started work today with a fly swatter in my hand. You see we have so many flies in the office, it became actually a work hasard to choke on one misfortunate flying dot while talking on the phone. &lt;div&gt;These are actually the kind of flies that get stuck into your hair, fly up your nose, bump and buzz in your ear, and they seem to lack common sense since they don´t even flinch out of the way of the swatter. So this is why, at the end of the day there usually rest - legs up - about a houndred of these disgusting little creatures, now that's when I decide it has been a productive day!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Another impressive aspect of my workplace is that it stinks like nothing I have ever smelt before. I work with waste, so you´d might guess it stinks like rotting matter, decomposing carcasses and ssuch. Well, you´re close. Have you ever seen a ´can-o-worms'? Interestingly enough, the first thing that entered my mind when I heard the name was 'cup-a-soup', and I immidiately got hungry. But my apetite disappeared within 2 meters of this round box of rotting green matter, as I had realised that it was no more no less than a feeding apparatus for hundreds of worms. And my colleagues would fill it up every day, worms would grow fatter and bigger, the waste browner and smellier, and so on and so forth. I for one, prefer to take my garbage home and dump it in a regular bin where nothing alive is yet there to feast on it!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But by far the most disgusting thing in my office is attitude, more precisely, 'someone's attitude'. Remember 'the bitch' from my previous blog? Well, this would have to be a super bitch...on her period...on the night she got dumped...no, make that haven't got laid in 6 months. That should get close to what I'm trying to describe here.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;If this woman had the right to do so, she would take the faxes that I messed up in my hurry of trying to cover the work that she's NOT doing and glue them (or more likely staple them) to my eyes. Every little detail is carefully checked and underlined and brought up when and only when the boss is around. And of course, I probably wouldn't care that much if she didn't do little sleezy things like calling me 'ma belle' or offering me some candy. I'll tell you where I'd like to stick that piece of candy! What is it with this girl? Does she somehow think that with 2 words and a piece of candy she can trick me into being her office elf? I have been called Dobby before, but only as a joke. To my recollection, I never applied for that position.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;All in all, when it comes to this girl, I would gladly eat up the entire can-o-worms than spend another day locked up in an office with her...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4407407193220571875-1849499743173597869?l=lulutz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/feeds/1849499743173597869/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4407407193220571875&amp;postID=1849499743173597869' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/1849499743173597869'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/1849499743173597869'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/2010/07/my-fabulous-job.html' title='My fabulous job'/><author><name>Lulutz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12993227944713438178</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/TE9L-MW2nNI/AAAAAAAACPo/BTfd4tY4bec/s72-c/_KFs___GARBAGE__by_peanutchan.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4407407193220571875.post-6185356949431979531</id><published>2009-10-06T14:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-06T15:09:11.677-07:00</updated><title type='text'>People are so funny</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/Ssu__yXqtWI/AAAAAAAAB-A/MVecJck2eoE/s1600-h/FF15_OfficeDrama.png"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 164px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/Ssu__yXqtWI/AAAAAAAAB-A/MVecJck2eoE/s400/FF15_OfficeDrama.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389612481652634978" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have been doing some volunteer work this week for this festival taking place in Besancon - my French hometown, sort of speaking - and I came to realise that when you're a volunteer you can observe people closer and even stare at them and study their behaviour in detail, something I normally wouldn't do. Is it because I know I cannot be fired if I am fascinated with one of the 'boss's' ugliness and can't help showing it? Maybe, but it has occured to me that in any institution/company larger than 6-7 people you'd always get at least one of these caracters:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1) the mongrel&lt;br /&gt;It's that intern that just got here yesterday but thinks he/she knows everything better than anyone.&lt;br /&gt;He keeps telling you on a bossy tone things you explained to him yesterday.&lt;br /&gt;He takes himself very seriously and will always stay 5 minutes longer than you do so that he can take credit for your work.&lt;br /&gt;He comes asking questions about the status of certain actions in progress, just as the boss's mini-me would.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2) the total bitch&lt;br /&gt;She's that assistant that is slightly older than you are and also thinks she knows everything better than anyone.&lt;br /&gt;She looks exhausted from trying too much.&lt;br /&gt;Can't communicate unless she's a total bitch.&lt;br /&gt;Asks you a question then sticks her nose in your clipboard to look for the answer. In her eyes you are nothing but a brainless worm.&lt;br /&gt;In her eyes bosses are gods pouring out golden beams of wisdom through their mouths.&lt;br /&gt;She's a total bitch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3) the lazy boss&lt;br /&gt;He's supposed to be your boss.&lt;br /&gt;He called you early today and you will have to stay late because he needs your help.&lt;br /&gt;He makes you do stuff while he does nothing. (btw that's good management)&lt;br /&gt;He will be nice to you, because he doesn't want you to suspect anything.&lt;br /&gt;When a bigger boss drops a shitty task, he will instantly look extremely busy and tell you: 'I'm sorry, I'm swamped right now, could you do this for me?'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4) the artist (boss)&lt;br /&gt;He's chubby and looks funny.&lt;br /&gt;Is it me or he's always looking at the ceiling?&lt;br /&gt;He gives away important classified documents to anyone who comes asking for them.&lt;br /&gt;He's moving around the office without a clear purpose.&lt;br /&gt;He's been working in the office for 3 years and still doesn't know anyone's name.&lt;br /&gt;He smells funny.&lt;br /&gt;He has a weird voice, like someone who hasn't spoken in a while.&lt;br /&gt;His function is not clear, no one asks him to do anything and he doesn't seem to do anything at any time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5) the big face/big gestures (boss)&lt;br /&gt;She's that boss that will tell you to do something of utter importance right away and will change her mind within the next 5 minutes.&lt;br /&gt;She talks loudly and has big hair.&lt;br /&gt;Her name ends in 'y'.&lt;br /&gt;She has a very short memory span. She is very impulsive.&lt;br /&gt;Her clothes yell 'Look at me'. She loves being called a 'boss'/'manager'/'responsible' etc.&lt;br /&gt;Every single sentence that comes out of her mouth starts with 'I'. Asking her to build a sentence that would start with something different could result in your booting out.&lt;br /&gt;She's always accompanied by a total bitch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6) the hot n' cold (boss)&lt;br /&gt;She's the kind of boss that seems emotionally unstable. One minute she adores you the next you're her worst ennemy.&lt;br /&gt;She can change moods up to 5 times a day.&lt;br /&gt;She checks you out a lot. She's not young anymore and she knows it.&lt;br /&gt;She hates you for being you. She hates you because she can't be you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is what I've got so far. But be reassured, I will probably add some caracters to this list in the next few days. :) So which one(s) of these caracters do you have to stand every day? :))))&lt;br /&gt;Lots of love and promise I'll write more often!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4407407193220571875-6185356949431979531?l=lulutz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/feeds/6185356949431979531/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4407407193220571875&amp;postID=6185356949431979531' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/6185356949431979531'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/6185356949431979531'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/2009/10/people-are-so-funny.html' title='People are so funny'/><author><name>Lulutz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12993227944713438178</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/Ssu__yXqtWI/AAAAAAAAB-A/MVecJck2eoE/s72-c/FF15_OfficeDrama.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4407407193220571875.post-3334877622030906658</id><published>2009-05-03T13:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-03T13:30:27.024-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Tell me Ma when I go home...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/Sf35s8w9z0I/AAAAAAAABqg/GAmH18gLxt0/s1600-h/Irish_by_itsfelicia.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/Sf35s8w9z0I/AAAAAAAABqg/GAmH18gLxt0/s320/Irish_by_itsfelicia.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331692084497600322" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Ever since I set foot in Dublin, I fell in love with this city. That might sound corny, I know, but it's so true. There's something lovely about this hectic, happy yet rainy city. It must be that I love the Irish so much, gosh life is so much easier when people are smiling no matter what.&lt;br /&gt;I think the Irish should win an award for the most polite people in the world. If there were such a thing as a sorrymeter, I think it would catch like 1000 sorrys/mile/minute in here :))&lt;br /&gt;In France it took me two years to find friends and start feeling accepted and integrated. Here it took me less than 2 days :)) At the same time, I guesss there are so many nationalities in here that it's actually very easy to fade the Romanian bad-fame.&lt;br /&gt;Ok, so enough with the good stuff about Dublin, Ireland and all this. Dublin is also the place where I got robbed for the first time. Robbed in the sense that I was left with my clothes and only that :)) It does seem funny now, but believe me, it was most definately not funny. But then the Police came and they were so nice that I forgave the other Irish (junkees probably) for stealing my stuff. You can't stay mad at an Irish. I tried, it's physically impossible :))&lt;br /&gt;Dublin is also the place where I got addicted to 3D movies, and I must say THAT is the future of cinema. I've never been to the cinema so often in my life, and unfortunately it's fairly expensive as well... But when you see a master piece like Coraline in 3D, there is no way you're gonna pay to see a regular movie! The tradition also requires that you go to a Koreean restaurant with friends after the movie :))&lt;br /&gt;Dublin is definately not the place where I started drinking Guiness. As a matter of fact I haven't even had one yet :)) Actually I'm not a very big fan of Guiness (and here I probably angered like half of the world's population), although I live like 1km away from the Guiness factory. Jelous??&lt;br /&gt;Dublin is definately the place where I got professionnal. I just started the internship here and I can think of no better place I could have chosen to do this. I was actually afraid of starting work in an office, considering the fact that I have serious issues with authority aka. someone bossing me around. But again, both my bosses are Irish, and as I said before, you can't stay mad at an Irish (not that that was ever the case) :))&lt;br /&gt;And can you believe that I've only been here for 2 and a half weeks???&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S: ... the boys won't leave the girls alone, la la la la...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4407407193220571875-3334877622030906658?l=lulutz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/feeds/3334877622030906658/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4407407193220571875&amp;postID=3334877622030906658' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/3334877622030906658'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/3334877622030906658'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/2009/05/tell-me-ma-when-i-go-home.html' title='Tell me Ma when I go home...'/><author><name>Lulutz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12993227944713438178</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/Sf35s8w9z0I/AAAAAAAABqg/GAmH18gLxt0/s72-c/Irish_by_itsfelicia.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4407407193220571875.post-921908623883991726</id><published>2009-02-11T09:53:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-11T10:33:58.287-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='childhood'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='real'/><title type='text'>I need something real...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/SZMaC9RvMmI/AAAAAAAABeY/DZonu7ze_4Y/s1600-h/viata_la_tara_2_by_RenaissanceNoire.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/SZMaC9RvMmI/AAAAAAAABeY/DZonu7ze_4Y/s200/viata_la_tara_2_by_RenaissanceNoire.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301609824456225378" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Few weeks back I got my late Christmas present from my parents. I knew what it was and I was so happy I finally got it. It was no fancy technological marvel, no Ipod, no big diamond ring or anything that shallow. I don't even know what people yearn for anymore, cause you see, I don't have a TV and I'm guessing I never will! Anyway, it was the complete collection of my favourite books when I was a child, for those who know them, they're called 'Ciresarii'.&lt;br /&gt;They're this incredibly, surprisingly well written books, that don't contain much trace of the communist era, but which remind me so much of my childhood, of what nostalgics call the 'simpler times'.&lt;br /&gt;From the moment I started reading the first volume, I couldn't stop. I couldn't stop, because it felt more real than life itself. It's about a time long gone but which isn't that far away, about real values, about real things.&lt;br /&gt;I don't know, must be because I had a very happy childhood, full of sunshine and outdoor games, and most of all, full of sensations. The feel of the wet grass on my bare feet on a summer morning, the taste of milk squished right out of the cow's tit, feeling so cold after a bath in the river behind the house, the taste of green chestnuts and wax cherries, walking for miles without feeling tired, the smell of clean sheets after such a long day.&lt;br /&gt;I just get so sad when I see how irrational our lives become, and I will not be surprised at all when the society collapses. It will happen, because we're founding our lives on thin air, on illusions and on needs developped by the marketing department of the multinational corporations (corporation, such an apocalyptic noun!).&lt;br /&gt;Until then I will be enjoying my fantasy real world every night, and will hope it won't end soon (I've already started the 3rd volume  :((... ).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4407407193220571875-921908623883991726?l=lulutz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/feeds/921908623883991726/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4407407193220571875&amp;postID=921908623883991726' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/921908623883991726'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/921908623883991726'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/2009/02/i-need-something-real.html' title='I need something real...'/><author><name>Lulutz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12993227944713438178</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/SZMaC9RvMmI/AAAAAAAABeY/DZonu7ze_4Y/s72-c/viata_la_tara_2_by_RenaissanceNoire.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4407407193220571875.post-7411186237523981035</id><published>2008-11-10T08:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-10T11:59:00.268-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Spinning and moving and running and .... stopping?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/SRiSeXX1JVI/AAAAAAAABQ0/FQkcnWGqBfw/s1600-h/Around_The_World_by_Nickel_Chan.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/SRiSeXX1JVI/AAAAAAAABQ0/FQkcnWGqBfw/s400/Around_The_World_by_Nickel_Chan.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267120814577493330" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sorry if the title seems a little bit depressing. Actually I'm not sorry at all, it was meant to be depressing, I want you to feel the way I do!&lt;br /&gt;I just have to ask: WHAT IS UP WITH THE WORLD? Why do we have to move around like some drunken ants? When did moving around become a 'must-have' for a successful carreer? I am very curious to see who the hell is actually happy about changing countries and places and friends every six months? Sure, it's nice to boast in front of other more 'settled' friends, but in the end who's winning?&lt;br /&gt;All I hear from my friends today is that they're moving. Some travel around the world, some settle in some exotic country they've never even heard of before and some change the European capital every two months. Well, I'm gonna have to tell you that I don't envy you. Not a bit! I like having my little nest where I can come back to, I like seeing the same people for several years in a row, I like developing relationships that go further than 'I know your last name and we got soooo drunk last night!". And I also like giving places a history, you know when you drive by a place and you tell to yourself: omg, this is the place I first set foot in this place, seems so long time ago!&lt;br /&gt;I know most of you won't agree, but I think in time you'll come to my conclusion: moving around is bad: for you, for the planet and for the society. Hack yeah, I'm all for conservatorism! If things were exactly how I wanted them, we'd probably be living in small villages in the mountains and we'd still be wondering what's beyond the next valley.&lt;br /&gt;Don't get me wrong, I'm all about adventure, discovering other cultures, globe-trotters, explorers, discoverers and all that crap, but people, if we go on like this there won't be anything left to discover, we're all going to end up the same: commercial-consumming, MacDonald's-digesting, shopping-addicted morons (who actually think they're pretty smart and that they got it all figured out), and I'm pretty sure we're already there...&lt;br /&gt;Think about what I'm saying, settle down to some place and stop the bullshit with 'working abroad', you most certainly won't impress me!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S: In spite of all this rage against living abroad, I am all for short experiences abroad, on condition you return to a stable point, something people used to call 'home'. (Oh, and I do live abroad, but it's not really abroad since this country has become my new home, those of you who have been following this blog from the beginning must know the complex relationships of hatred and love I've been developping for France ;) anyway I'm here on different reasons :D)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4407407193220571875-7411186237523981035?l=lulutz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/feeds/7411186237523981035/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4407407193220571875&amp;postID=7411186237523981035' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/7411186237523981035'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/7411186237523981035'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/2008/11/spinning-and-moving-and-running-and.html' title='Spinning and moving and running and .... stopping?'/><author><name>Lulutz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12993227944713438178</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/SRiSeXX1JVI/AAAAAAAABQ0/FQkcnWGqBfw/s72-c/Around_The_World_by_Nickel_Chan.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4407407193220571875.post-1093754385797308126</id><published>2008-08-13T05:03:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-13T14:43:04.874-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Talkin' about crazy reality!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/SKLPZX6cajI/AAAAAAAAAFI/AdBuX2h2ae0/s1600-h/the_bank_job02.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/SKLPZX6cajI/AAAAAAAAAFI/AdBuX2h2ae0/s320/the_bank_job02.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233973751780764210" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Went to the movies last week and saw this incredibly MIND blowingly FUN action/police FLICK, one of the best I've seen in YEARS! What started like a boring evening, filled with greasy Chinese food and the perspective of yet another copy of Ocean's Eleven - the history of a robbing that never took place and never could in this manner, turned out to be a discovery night! I love it when this happens, you're bored and then WHOP! the best movie you've seen in years just jumps up and turns your day around :D&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Okay, okay! I won't keep you under pressure any more, the movie is called 'The Bank Job". Well, I know! That's what I said! What? The one with the guy from Transporter?? Get outta here! But you must believe me, it's nothing you'd expect. Besides it's like 100% British, with brit accents (personal fan!), brit humour (hillarious!) and a situation only the Britts could've achieved.... and it all happens in the 70s. What can I say, enjoy! and come back here and tell me what you thought about it ;) Paw waw!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PS: THE SCRIPT IS BASED ON A TRUE STORY!! AMAZING!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4407407193220571875-1093754385797308126?l=lulutz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/feeds/1093754385797308126/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4407407193220571875&amp;postID=1093754385797308126' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/1093754385797308126'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/1093754385797308126'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/2008/08/talkin-about-crazy-reality.html' title='Talkin&apos; about crazy reality!'/><author><name>Lulutz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12993227944713438178</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/SKLPZX6cajI/AAAAAAAAAFI/AdBuX2h2ae0/s72-c/the_bank_job02.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4407407193220571875.post-5369174774021031622</id><published>2008-07-30T14:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T00:47:39.170-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sooooorryy</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/SJDlMquwYHI/AAAAAAAAAE4/sp5MtTHqup0/s1600-h/future_in_the_past_by_ibas.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/SJDlMquwYHI/AAAAAAAAAE4/sp5MtTHqup0/s320/future_in_the_past_by_ibas.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228931173168734322" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm so sorry it's been such a long time since I last wrote in here, it's just that I'm so lazy! I actually hate myself for not being able to keep doing something or sticking to a decision for more than 5 minutes, I don't know if that's a common problem to you people??? buuuut... feel free to make me feel better about myself :))&lt;br /&gt;So, it's the end of july, and a new breeze of sunny thoughts came into my landscape. So, in other words I'm pretty happy :) For the first time in like 2 years I know I'm gonna do something, and it feels nice to have a plan, and not drifting aimlessly, although this drifting aimlessly thing for one year felt quite good, imagine taking a paid vacation for a year, you could do with that, right? :p How about two years? No? That's what I said! Enough is enough! Gotta get off my tooshie and start doing something.&lt;br /&gt;So, I figured, what better way to start doing something then getting ready to do something? Yes, you guessed it, I'm going back to school XD Well, hack ,I loved being a student, and I'm pretty hard-working when I have the carrot right in front of my nose. All bunny-talk aside, I actually can't wait! Meeting colleagues, making friends, having fun, copying classes, passing exams, waiting for grades, all that stuff. I really miss all that. Now I know most of you just got out of all of that like 2 seconds ago, but I'm telling you, you will start missing it in no time at all!&lt;br /&gt;Ok, so I was just passing by, to tell you all that :D And maybe write something, cause it's been so loooong! Last post 12 May... but in my defence, I had a post that accidently got erased and didn't have the patience and the inspiration to re-write it :D&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4407407193220571875-5369174774021031622?l=lulutz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/feeds/5369174774021031622/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4407407193220571875&amp;postID=5369174774021031622' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/5369174774021031622'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/5369174774021031622'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/2008/07/sooooorryy.html' title='Sooooorryy'/><author><name>Lulutz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12993227944713438178</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/SJDlMquwYHI/AAAAAAAAAE4/sp5MtTHqup0/s72-c/future_in_the_past_by_ibas.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4407407193220571875.post-3575918217945846655</id><published>2008-05-12T05:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T00:47:39.575-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hippie'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dream'/><title type='text'>The hippie dream</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/SCg_SVpEJHI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/Pek70KXlFXo/s1600-h/Hippie_by_Avalonis.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/SCg_SVpEJHI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/Pek70KXlFXo/s320/Hippie_by_Avalonis.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5199475354078815346" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The perfect world for me would be the 70's with today's confort, the freedom from prehistoric ages with a twist of middle ages nights' marry-making, an august afternoon, orange and hot, and absolutely and most importantly there would be guitars (preferably pink floydish).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We would be growing our own vegetables, we wouldn't kill and we'd all smoke pot. We wouldn't have banks (now wouldn't that be good!) and there'd be no government. There would be no Bible, no regrets or punishments, cause the only thing we'd do is love each other and smoke pot. There would be no TVs, no rap stars, and no cars. We'd all be skinny, cause we'd eat only veggies and we'd walk a lot... so there'd be no Ana or obesity. We'd be at peace with our passing-by in this world, so there'd be no doctors. And even if we weren't, we'd smoke pot and it'd all be better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We'd sing a lot, we'd talk a lot, we'd get to know each other, we'd touch a lot. We'd be humans, and we wouldn't squeeze our brains to find out what is wrong and what is right. We'd see that the purpose of life is life itself, and that it's most enjoyable in its simplicity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I guess my perfect world is foolish. We all want to live more. We all want to fill our bellies with good stuff that requires endless rows of other forms of life to be executed, we don't want to be in pain and we all want to be different and better then the others. Not only do we want it, but we want it fast! So, instead of spending our time living, loving, touching, talking, singing, we spending it pushing buttons - of machines or our own.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wonder where is that hot orange afternoon? Oh, that's right, it's right here in my head :) and it's sooo nice. Today please, don't disturb, I'm in my perfect world... aaaaaah :) ;) ;) :@&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4407407193220571875-3575918217945846655?l=lulutz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/feeds/3575918217945846655/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4407407193220571875&amp;postID=3575918217945846655' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/3575918217945846655'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/3575918217945846655'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/2008/05/hippie-dream.html' title='The hippie dream'/><author><name>Lulutz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12993227944713438178</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/SCg_SVpEJHI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/Pek70KXlFXo/s72-c/Hippie_by_Avalonis.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4407407193220571875.post-1291946368943062526</id><published>2008-04-08T05:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T00:47:39.705-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The rebels of our society...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/R_tnUSZBWpI/AAAAAAAAADU/otJFC-_hvTY/s1600-h/Rebel_by_PsYcHoTyK.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/R_tnUSZBWpI/AAAAAAAAADU/otJFC-_hvTY/s320/Rebel_by_PsYcHoTyK.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5186852994079087250" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today you'll rebel to anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everybody rebels against anyone and anything that's not according to his/her way of thinking. But just to twist your mind a bit, isn't that the very foundation of conservatorism: following one's rules or, in this case, forcing someone to follow your own?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So what will today's fashionable rebel do? (Gonna go with a 'he' there, cause I know you sickos will think that an obediant rebel girl is so hot!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He's gonna want to be cool, like everyone else.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He's gonna listen to a certain type of music (usually rap, heavy metal, punk or anything that's MEAN and rebellious) and know each and every detail of each person ever to be involved on that music scene.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And he's most probably wearing converse. Now I wonder, when did the converse become the symbol of rebellion in our world? I am positive that it wasn't even a premeditated marketing image. I remember the first time my mother bought me a cheap chinese copy of the oh-so-praised converse, I must have been 8 or 9, and I thought they were soooo ugly! Is that it? Does the rebel wear them because they're so incredibly ugly, but he doesn't care what everyone says?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Coming back to the rebel matrix, which in itself is an absurdity for 'to rebel' means thinking and acting in a different way than everyone else, an attitude that has no pattern for more than one human being, I must say that today's rebel is a fashion icon. No longer the excommunicated member of a society, but a praised one, a role model for all those kids that can't wait to rebel out of their parents' authority...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, as a freshly graduated linguist, I am forced now to find another word to designate the true rebels of our society, and I'll call them 'rationals'. The rationals don't watch Mtv, are not fashion victims and think for themselves. The rationals understand what is really happening in this world, and want to act upon it. The rationals live for the important things in life, and most surely don't have a cool mobile phone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you want to meet one of the true rebels of our society and a fighter, learn about Ingrid Betancourt, now that's food for thought...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4407407193220571875-1291946368943062526?l=lulutz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/feeds/1291946368943062526/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4407407193220571875&amp;postID=1291946368943062526' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/1291946368943062526'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/1291946368943062526'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/2008/04/rebels-of-our-society.html' title='The rebels of our society...'/><author><name>Lulutz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12993227944713438178</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/R_tnUSZBWpI/AAAAAAAAADU/otJFC-_hvTY/s72-c/Rebel_by_PsYcHoTyK.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4407407193220571875.post-8917495783017953027</id><published>2008-04-03T09:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-03T09:28:47.535-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Leapsa de la Vlad :D</title><content type='html'>Vlad, this one is for you, cause I promised :D What's in orange is what I did out of all these things. Whoever feels like it, go on, take it from here ;) Bye!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" &gt;01) Bought everyone in the pub a  drink&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;02) Swam with wild dolphins&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102);" &gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;b&gt;03) Climbed a mountain&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;04) Taken a  Ferrari for a test drive&lt;br /&gt;05) Been inside the Great Pyramid&lt;br /&gt;06) Held a  tarantula.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51); font-weight: bold;"&gt;07) Taken a candlelit bath with  someone&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;&lt;b&gt;08) Said ‘I love you’ and meant  it&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;&lt;span&gt;09) Hugged a  tree&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;10) Done a striptease&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11)  Bungee jumped&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;12)  Visited Paris&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;&lt;span&gt;13)  Watched a lightning storm at sea&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;&lt;b&gt;14) Stayed up  all night long, and watch the sun rise&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;15) Seen the  Northern Lights&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" &gt;16) Gone to a huge sports  game&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17) Walked the stairs to the top of the leaning  Tower of Pisa&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);" &gt;&lt;b&gt;18) Grown and eaten your own  vegetables&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;19) Touched an iceberg&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;b style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;&lt;b&gt;20) Slept under the stars&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 51);" &gt;&lt;span&gt;21) Changed a baby’s  diaper&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;22) Taken a trip in a hot air  balloon&lt;br /&gt;23) Watched a meteor shower&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);" &gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;b&gt;24)  Gotten drunk on champagne&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;25) Given more than you can  afford to charity&lt;br /&gt;26) Looked up at the night sky through a  telescope&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);" &gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;b&gt;27) Had an uncontrollable giggling  fit at the worst possible moment&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;28) Had a food  fight&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;29) Bet on a winning horse&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;30) Taken a  sick day when you’re not ill&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;&lt;b&gt;31) Asked out a  stranger&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;b style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;&lt;b&gt;32) Had a snowball  fight&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;33) Photocopied your bottom on the office  photocopier&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;b style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;&lt;b&gt;34) Screamed as loudly as you  possibly can&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;b style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;&lt;b&gt;35) Held a  lamb&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;36) Enacted a favorite fantasy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;b style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;37) Taken a midnight skinny  dip&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;&lt;span&gt;38) Taken an ice cold  bath&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;39) Had a meaningful conversation with a  beggar&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;b style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;&lt;b&gt;40) Seen a total  eclipse&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;41) Ridden a roller  coaster&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;42) Hit a home run&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51); font-weight: bold;"&gt;43) Fit three weeks  miraculously into three days&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;b style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;&lt;b&gt;44) Danced like  a fool and not cared who was looking&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;45)  Adopted an accent for an entire day &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;(I speak French everyday...does that count???)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51); font-weight: bold;"&gt;46) Visited the  birthplace of your ancestors&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51); font-weight: bold;"&gt;47) Actually felt happy about your life, even  for just a moment&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" &gt;48) Had two hard drives  for your computer&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;49) Visited all 50 states of  USA&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);" &gt;5&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);" &gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span&gt;0) Loved  your job for all accounts&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;51) Taken care of someone  who was shit faced&lt;br /&gt;52) Had enough money to be truly satisfied&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);" &gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;b&gt;53) Had amazing friends&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51); font-weight: bold;"&gt;54) Danced  with a stranger in a foreign country&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;55) Watched wild whales&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;56) Stolen a  sign&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51); font-weight: bold;"&gt;57) Backpacked in Europe (duuuh!)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;b style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;&lt;b&gt;58) Taken a  road-trip&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;59) Rock  climbing&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;60) Lied to foreign government’s official in  that country to avoid notice&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);" &gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;b&gt;61) Midnight  walk on the beach&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;62) Sky diving&lt;br /&gt;63) Visited  Ireland&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51); font-weight: bold;"&gt;64) Been heartbroken longer then you were actually in love&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;65) In  a restaurant, sat at a stranger’s table and had a meal with them&lt;br /&gt;66) Visited  Japan&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;67) Benchpressed your own  weight&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;b style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;&lt;b&gt;68) Milked a cow&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;69)  Alphabetized your records&lt;br /&gt;70) Pretended to be a superhero&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;b style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;&lt;b&gt;71) Sung karaoke&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;&lt;b&gt;72) Lounged  around in bed all day&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;73) Posed nude in front of  strangers (half nude :D don't start looking on the internet for that ;)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;74) Scuba diving&lt;br /&gt;75) Got it on to “Let’s Get It On” by Marvin  Gaye&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);" &gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span&gt;76) Kissed in the  rain&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;b&gt;77) Played in the  mud&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;b&gt;78) Played in the  rain&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;79) Gone to a drive-in theater&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);" &gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;b&gt;80) Done something you should regret, but don’t regret  it&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;81) Visited the Great Wall of  China&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;82) Discovered that someone who’s not supposed to have  known about your blog has discovered your  blog&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span&gt;83) Dropped Windows in favor of  something better&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;84) Started a business&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);" &gt;&lt;b&gt;85) Fallen in love and not had your heart  broken&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;86) Toured ancient sites&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" &gt;&lt;span&gt;87) Taken a martial arts  class&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;88) Sword fought for the honor of a  woman&lt;br /&gt;89) Played D&amp;amp;D for more than 6 hours straight&lt;br /&gt;90) Gotten  engaged&lt;br /&gt;91) Been in a movie&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;b style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;92) Crashed a  party&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;&lt;span&gt;93) Loved someone you shouldn’t  have&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;94) Kissed someone so passionately  it made them dizzy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;95) Gotten married&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;96) Had  sex at the office&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;b style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;97) Gone without  food for 5 days&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;98) Made cookies from  scratch&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;99) Won first prize in a costume contest&lt;br /&gt;100)  Ridden a gondola in Venice&lt;br /&gt;101) Gotten a  tattoo&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;1&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51); font-weight: bold;"&gt;02) Found that the texture of some  materials can turn you on&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;103) Gotten &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;span style="text-decoration: none;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;divorced&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" &gt;104) Been on television news programs as an  “expert”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51); font-weight: bold;"&gt;105) Got flowers for no reason&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;106) Masturbated  in a public place&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;b style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;&lt;b&gt;107) Got so drunk you  don’t remember anything&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;108)  Taken illegal drugs&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;109) Performed on  stage&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;110) Been to Las Vegas&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;111)  Recorded music&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" &gt;112) Eaten  shark&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" &gt;113) Had a one-night  stand&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;114) Gone to Thailand&lt;br /&gt;115) Seen Siouxsie  live&lt;br /&gt;116) Bought a house&lt;br /&gt;117) Been in a combat zone&lt;br /&gt;118) Buried  one/both of your parents&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;119) Shaved or waxed your pubic hair off&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;120)  Been on a cruise ship&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;121) Spoken more than one  language fluently&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;122) Gotten into a fight while attempting  to defend someone&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;123) Bounced a check&lt;br /&gt;124) Performed in  Rocky Horror&lt;br /&gt;125) Read - and understood - your credit report&lt;br /&gt;126) Raised  children.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" &gt;127) Recently bought and played with  a favorite childhood toy.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;128) Followed your favorite  band/singer on tour&lt;br /&gt;129) Created and named your own constellation of  stars&lt;br /&gt;130) Taken an exotic bicycle tour in a foreign country&lt;br /&gt;31) Found out  something significant that your ancestors did&lt;br /&gt;132) Called or written your  Congress person&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);" &gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span&gt;133) Picked up and moved  to another city to just start over&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;134) …more than  once?&lt;br /&gt;135) Walked the Golden Gate Bridge&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);" &gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;b&gt;136) Sang loudly in the car, and didn’t stop when you knew  someone was looking&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span&gt;137) Had an  abortion or your female partner did&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;138) Had plastic  surgery&lt;br /&gt;139) Survived an accident that you shouldn’t have survived.&lt;br /&gt;140)  Wrote articles for a large publication&lt;br /&gt;141) Lost over 100 pounds&lt;br /&gt;142) Held  someone while they were having a flashback&lt;br /&gt;143) Piloted an airplane&lt;br /&gt;144)  Petted a stingray&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);" &gt;&lt;b&gt;145) Broken someone’s  heart&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;146) Helped an animal give birth&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;147)  Been fired or laid off from a job&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;148) Won money on a T.V. game  show&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51); font-weight: bold;"&gt;149) Broken a bone&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;150) Killed a human  being&lt;br /&gt;151) Gone on an African photo safari&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;152) Ridden a motorcycle&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;153) Driven any land  vehicle at a speed of greater than 100 mph&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;154) Had a body  part of yours below the neck pierced&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;155)  Fired a rifle, shotgun, or pistol&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;b style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;&lt;b&gt;156)  Eaten mushrooms that were gathered in the wild&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;157)  Ridden a horse&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;158) Had major surgery&lt;br /&gt;159) Had sex on a  moving train&lt;br /&gt;160) Had a snake as a pet&lt;br /&gt;161) Hiked to the bottom of the  Grand Canyon&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;162) Slept through an entire  flight: takeoff, flight, and landing&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span&gt;163) Slept for  more than 30 hours&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;164) Visited lots of foreign  countries &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;(not lots, but some...)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;165) Visited all 7 continents&lt;br /&gt;166) Taken a  canoe trip that lasted more than 2 days&lt;br /&gt;167) Eaten kangaroo meat&lt;br /&gt;168)  Fallen in love at an ancient Mayan burial ground&lt;br /&gt;169) Been a sperm or egg  donor&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51); font-weight: bold;"&gt;170) Eaten sushi&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;171) Had your picture in the  newspaper&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;172) Had 2 (or more) healthy romantic relationships  for over a year in your lifetime&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);" &gt;173)  Changed someone’s mind about something you care deeply  about&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span&gt;174) Gotten someone fired for their  actions&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;175) Gone back to school&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;176)  Parasailed&lt;br /&gt;177) Changed your name&lt;br /&gt;178) Petted a cockroach&lt;br /&gt;179) Eaten  fried green tomatoes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51); font-weight: bold;"&gt;180) Read The Iliad&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;181)  Selected one “important” author who you missed in school, and  read&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);" &gt;&lt;b&gt;182) Dined in a restaurant and stolen  silverware, plates, cups because your apartment needed  them&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;183) …and gotten 86′ed from the restaurant because you  did it so many times, they figured out it was you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51); font-weight: bold;"&gt;184) Taught yourself an art  from scratch&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;185) Killed and prepared an animal for  eating&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;186) Apologized to someone years after inflicting the  hurt&lt;br /&gt;187) Skipped all your school reunions&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51); font-weight: bold;"&gt;188) Communicated  with someone without sharing a common spoken language&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;189) Been  elected to public office&lt;br /&gt;190) Written your own computer language&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51); font-weight: bold;"&gt;191)  Thought to yourself that you’re living your dream&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;192) Had to put someone you  love into hospice care&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" &gt;193) Built your own  PC from parts&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;194) Sold your own artwork to someone who  didn’t know you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;195) Had a booth at a street  fair&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;196) Dyed your hair&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;197) Been a  DJ&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: normal;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;198) Found  out someone was going to dump you via LiveJournal&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;199)  Written your own role playing game&lt;br /&gt;200) Been arrested&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4407407193220571875-8917495783017953027?l=lulutz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/feeds/8917495783017953027/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4407407193220571875&amp;postID=8917495783017953027' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/8917495783017953027'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/8917495783017953027'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/2008/04/leapsa-de-la-vlad-d.html' title='Leapsa de la Vlad :D'/><author><name>Lulutz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12993227944713438178</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4407407193220571875.post-6560697762147243513</id><published>2008-04-02T14:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T00:47:39.873-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Rage against the Erasmus</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/R_S3VyZBWoI/AAAAAAAAADM/71CYCbYZXsU/s1600-h/Party_Trick_by_delya.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/R_S3VyZBWoI/AAAAAAAAADM/71CYCbYZXsU/s400/Party_Trick_by_delya.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5184970655942138498" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm dedicating this blog to hating Erasmus, and if any of you contradict me, so help me, I will lose it. This is for all the four years in which unknowingly I attended these wonderful parties and when I wasted at least half of my college nights talking to boring ugly people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First of all, why is it that all the Erasmuses look the same? They look the same, they act the same, they speak the same in their different languages, but neither of them has got a clue of what the other is saying. It's like Babel in a room, the Bible happening all over again, the flood, the languages, the naive people beliving everything they're said...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Being Erasmus is almost like being socially promiscuous. You talk to people you're never gonna see again, and they never call back :D You never call back either. During an Erasmus party, which by the way looks more like an exhibition of live statues blabering, you try to be honest and sometimes you really think it: "Let me get your mail, I'll keep in touch, I'll write to you! I will, i swear I won't, oupsy, will I meant will."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And what's with &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;The &lt;/span&gt;guy/chick that's like the heart of everything. Everybody's like: "Oh,  this party sucks, but wait until Brad drops in!" "Well, honey, unless it's Brad Pitt we're talking about, I ain't interested in no Brad. And if the freakin' bitch ain't mother fuckin' Angelina, she ain't worth shit." You know them, they walk around with an undeserved feeling of stardom, and if you don't know their names they start laughing in an almost offended way. That's when I almost feel like saying: "Oh, I didn't realise, you must be the jackass everyone was laughing about earlier"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish they allowed us to carry guns in Erasmus parties. I'd be a more notorious mass-murderer than Charles Manson and P. Diddy combined, should I only shoot a person every time they adressed to me as Soweararyoufro-ohromania!. What's with the astonishment, by the way. Ooooh, Romania, and they look around for a tent, a dozen kids and check if I'm bear-footed. The next question would normally be "So is it true that..." and then we have the options!&lt;br /&gt;NUMBER THREE: ...people in Romania live in huts?&lt;br /&gt;NUMBER TWO: ...you don't have electricity?&lt;br /&gt;NUMBER ONE: ...that you have bears walking around in cities? - it's one! just one city! and it so happens it was the city I lived in - obviously, this here, what I'm saying, I've repeated it for at least 256 times - and they come from the woods... it happens in the US as well, it's not THAT speacial! jeeese.&lt;br /&gt;I could also ask Erasmuses stupid questions like that. To French: So, is it true that you still don't know the world has invented the deodorant, or better yet, the soap?. To Englishmen: So, is it true that if Englishmen are not introduced properly they wouldn't talk to each other? To the German: "So is it true that Germans are actually robots? Can I pinch you? I'm sorry, have to make sure..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll tell what I also hate about Erasmus parties. Pictures. I hate taking pictures. Unless you've been my friend since I was still wearing a diper or at least you learnt how to smoke hidden behind some dumpster with me, get that camera away from me. "But this picture, I will cherish it forever and ever until I'm dead and burried" "Well, if don't step aside, I swear I'll come and dig you up and I'll bitch-slap you until youre dead again!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, thank you very much ladies and gentelmen and good night, have nice trip home, hope you enjoyed the show :))&lt;br /&gt;Mwaaah&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4407407193220571875-6560697762147243513?l=lulutz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/feeds/6560697762147243513/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4407407193220571875&amp;postID=6560697762147243513' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/6560697762147243513'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/6560697762147243513'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/2008/04/rage-against-erasmus.html' title='Rage against the Erasmus'/><author><name>Lulutz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12993227944713438178</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/R_S3VyZBWoI/AAAAAAAAADM/71CYCbYZXsU/s72-c/Party_Trick_by_delya.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4407407193220571875.post-1726928027258002201</id><published>2008-03-05T02:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T00:47:40.183-08:00</updated><title type='text'>France, baby!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/R8530nEfIbI/AAAAAAAAADE/3OofKrwUtZ4/s1600-h/French_Girl_by_Biztec3000.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/R8530nEfIbI/AAAAAAAAADE/3OofKrwUtZ4/s200/French_Girl_by_Biztec3000.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5174204767619981746" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I managed to come back to my French home a couple of days ago, and man I thought France was ugly, but somehow I like it this time. I like this lazyness floating in the air, the cute tingling in your eyes after you had a really big cheap meal at noon, that drousiness and well-being, like a baby after it got its bottle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also like the fact that people smile, even if they don't like you. A few months ago I despised them for that, but see, I had this big surprise: the first French person I saw after I landed - of course the customs agent, what did you think? - was really nice, smiled a lot, although he was going through my stuff. Normally I would want to strangle someone who's messing up my luggage, but how could I? I think the guy would have continued smiling as I'd be choking him. Talking about polite people, huh?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and the best part! The 'secrétaires'!!! Remember how you feared going to the faculty's office to ask for some stupid paper that takes like 30 seconds to do, and yet that damn bitch was 'too busy' - probably playing solitaire, and for some, showing their underpants to some other stupid ho. Well here, well of course, they SMILE, and although they will get on your nerves because of all the paper work you need to do, they really try to help, and sometimes give you good advice! Long live French secretaries, gosh I wish they could breed like bunnies and take over the world, I think we'd all be happy :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are so many more things that I used to hate, and now appreciate, cause I went back home, and I realised that although they seem stupid, they make life more comfortable, and you miss them when they're not there. Like choice, like information and like colourful stuff. We've got to admitt it, Romania is still a quarter communist, it'll take another 20 years to get rid of that - or maybe more...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anywhooo, I started loving France :) But I guess France was the same in december, so it must be that I'm happy :p&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love to all of you that love me back!&lt;br /&gt;Lulutz&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S.: I miss CHEWY :((((((&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4407407193220571875-1726928027258002201?l=lulutz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/feeds/1726928027258002201/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4407407193220571875&amp;postID=1726928027258002201' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/1726928027258002201'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/1726928027258002201'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/2008/03/france-baby.html' title='France, baby!'/><author><name>Lulutz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12993227944713438178</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/R8530nEfIbI/AAAAAAAAADE/3OofKrwUtZ4/s72-c/French_Girl_by_Biztec3000.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4407407193220571875.post-5222914632286255550</id><published>2008-02-04T11:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T00:47:42.016-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Friends and Me</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/R6dv2fC23AI/AAAAAAAAABs/afFP_9MDnZ8/s1600-h/1e49f86e6a7f0bfa.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/R6dv2fC23AI/AAAAAAAAABs/afFP_9MDnZ8/s320/1e49f86e6a7f0bfa.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5163218479640665090" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know those times when you look back on your life, and you realise that you have a little smile showing in the corner of your mouth, but you don't really want to show that you were laughing inside your head, cause you're in a meeting or in the bus? How often does that come for you? For me it's almost everyday, but fortunatelly, since I don't get my butt out of my room, I can laugh as much as I want. And most of those times it's because of things I remember doing with friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Friends come and go they say, and there are only few to stay. And hack, we all know that with todays crave for the unknown, we'd be lucky to be able to keep track of our own deeds! I think that today you have to be a lot more open-minded, more willing to forgive and more faithful than a hundred years ago. Cause today the world is our village, and everything is expanding: our lives, the area we live in, the places we see, the periods of time in between meetings with friends, and that asks for a whole lot more of all of those things I just said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So what are friends? Well to me, they are those people that made me smile in the bus for no reason. If they somehow managed to do something in the past to make me look like a fool in the present, they are time masters! And they sure always be present in my life, I can't help it dudes, they master time!! They can come back whenever they want.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also learnt a valuable lesson a few days ago. I know that many of you would wanna call and congratulate me on my great achievement of finally learning something (which, all joke aside, would be, cause I haven't studied anything for the past 1.5 years), but listen to this. When you have a problem with somebody that you care about, I know that you'd want to poke his eyes out, but please keep your fingers to yourself, don't hurt him/her in anyway, cause it'll come right back at you. This is not taken out from Street Fight for Idiots, I'm talking about less physical arguments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope you all have at least as many bus-smile disorders a day, cause if you do, it means you've had a wonderful life filled by friends, regardless they stayed or not :p&lt;br /&gt;Big smoochies to everybody!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4407407193220571875-5222914632286255550?l=lulutz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/feeds/5222914632286255550/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4407407193220571875&amp;postID=5222914632286255550' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/5222914632286255550'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/5222914632286255550'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/2008/02/friends-and-me.html' title='Friends and Me'/><author><name>Lulutz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12993227944713438178</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/R6dv2fC23AI/AAAAAAAAABs/afFP_9MDnZ8/s72-c/1e49f86e6a7f0bfa.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4407407193220571875.post-3682475607279216429</id><published>2008-01-20T11:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T00:47:42.181-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Chewy's resolutions</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/R5OqtZpKZaI/AAAAAAAAABk/1_jA9XAHhA4/s1600-h/run_run_rabbit__by_thalia_is_crazy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/R5OqtZpKZaI/AAAAAAAAABk/1_jA9XAHhA4/s200/run_run_rabbit__by_thalia_is_crazy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5157653695223719330" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Chewy decided to be fluffy today&lt;/span&gt;. He woke up around 7 o'clock, found out that I was still sleeping and got used to the idea that he wouldn't get out of his cage until later on. So he slept and slept and piled up his energy level that he would later use to run around the room like a numbnutt and to chew on my carpet's fringe.&lt;br /&gt;He's doing it right now. Both of them. It's like Niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiew, chewy up, chewy down, chewy on the carpet, chewy with a cable in his mouth, chewy on the couch, chewy peeing on the pillow, chewy transforming into a little devil...&lt;br /&gt;So what I'm guessing is that when he wakes up he must have a pretty big list of things that he has to do, that's why he's moving so fast...he must have a been a wall street agent in a previous life :))&lt;br /&gt;He's like: &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Okay, today as soon as that big biotch opens the cage I dash out, start in a clockwise motion: cables in the corner, pee on the couch, oh I must not forget eating her plane ticket, I spotted it last night on that small table next to the door, which btw it's a total disaster in terms of interior design - yeah, grooming, eating those delicious balls of stuff coming out of my butt, jump around for some exercice, eating until I burst, and maybe around 15.00 take a 5. I must ignore all the yelling. Apparently she's using some kind of code name...cheweee or something when she's got treats, but get the treat and dash, otherwise I might end up on her lap!!! Oh and btw, I must not forget to keep some pee in case that happens. It's like magic! A little leak and off I go! Gosh, I'm so lucky I'm so cute and small, I get away with everything.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I think I'm gonna hide again under the bathtub today, I just love that expression of dispair and anguish when she's trying to get me out of there! Mwhahahaha! And then, when she's had enough of me, I'll just put my little cute nose in between the bars and ask for a kiss :D She'll let me go in no time!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, seriously, I'm starting to think my rabbit is evil....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4407407193220571875-3682475607279216429?l=lulutz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/feeds/3682475607279216429/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4407407193220571875&amp;postID=3682475607279216429' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/3682475607279216429'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/3682475607279216429'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/2008/01/chewys-resolutions.html' title='Chewy&apos;s resolutions'/><author><name>Lulutz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12993227944713438178</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/R5OqtZpKZaI/AAAAAAAAABk/1_jA9XAHhA4/s72-c/run_run_rabbit__by_thalia_is_crazy.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4407407193220571875.post-6402051358772283444</id><published>2008-01-15T04:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T00:47:42.379-08:00</updated><title type='text'>When you don't feel like working....</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/R4ywrJpKZZI/AAAAAAAAABc/0CUgP14bAQk/s1600-h/Lazy_by_ReallyReallyBigBang.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/R4ywrJpKZZI/AAAAAAAAABc/0CUgP14bAQk/s200/Lazy_by_ReallyReallyBigBang.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5155689928801805714" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's just one of those days when you don't feel like working. Actually for me it's one of those &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;years &lt;/span&gt;when you just can't get your butt out of bed before 11 o'clock! Is my soul lost? Am I going to be forever stygmatised by this sheer lazyness that fills my bones with sleep only one hour after I woke up??&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously people, getting up in the morning has become mission impossible for me! I try! I swear I do...I put the alarm at night, I hear it in the morning and I open my eyes widely. But, but, juuuuust 2 more seconds, I have to see this, I was having the most awesome dream! I was riding on a shark and telling Sarkozy that he had the emotional intelligence of a monkey nipple... Daring!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So let's say I do wake up at 8 o'clock like you people do. Well, I'm gonna be good for nothing. I stare at the screen, I try to keep my eyes open, but most often I fall asleep on the desk...just a couple of minutes, I have to see this! Mmmmiam miam miam.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then I start working. Sort of speaking. I open a document and I remember I haven't checked my mail yet. Spend between 20 and 45 minutes on it - reading news, answering mails, looking at silly ppt presentations, the regular stuff. I go back to my document, look over it for 5 minutes. After all the hard work I deserve a Futurama episode (my new thing :p). After it's done I tell myself that I can afford watching another, they're only 20 minutes long!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I go back to my document, look over it again, maybe change something here and there - no creative conception whatsoever - and then somebody sends me a joke, or a youtube link (and we all know that once you've accessed youtube you're doomed), or some other stupid thing meant to destroy any attempt to work! Oh, by the way, it's been so long since I haven't posted on my blog! I think I have a pretty good idea... And here we are...me and you. Me writing it and you reading it. GET BACK TO WORK LAZYBONES. And turn that Y!M off!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He he he :p Gotcha&lt;br /&gt;Love to all of you that love me back&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/R4ywJZpKZYI/AAAAAAAAABU/dM807Q8fHqw/s1600-h/ff8ml.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/R4ywJZpKZYI/AAAAAAAAABU/dM807Q8fHqw/s200/ff8ml.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5155689348981220738" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4407407193220571875-6402051358772283444?l=lulutz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/feeds/6402051358772283444/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4407407193220571875&amp;postID=6402051358772283444' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/6402051358772283444'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/6402051358772283444'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/2008/01/when-you-dont-feel-like-working.html' title='When you don&apos;t feel like working....'/><author><name>Lulutz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12993227944713438178</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/R4ywrJpKZZI/AAAAAAAAABc/0CUgP14bAQk/s72-c/Lazy_by_ReallyReallyBigBang.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4407407193220571875.post-8844798260055677135</id><published>2008-01-06T02:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T00:47:42.479-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sad little piggies reunite!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/R4Cq8ppKZXI/AAAAAAAAABM/NU5ulp-iTgE/s1600-h/Sad_Wombat_In_Snow_by_ursulav.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/R4Cq8ppKZXI/AAAAAAAAABM/NU5ulp-iTgE/s200/Sad_Wombat_In_Snow_by_ursulav.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5152305932659221874" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is us...during the first week of the year. Why?&lt;br /&gt;Let's analyse the facts. You've probably eaten a lot, and everybody knows that when you eat more than you need you grow pig toes and nose and ears. So, we look like pigs.&lt;br /&gt;Most of the family went back to work/their homes, and you probably find yourself alone. You go skiing by yourself. You fall, and you tell yourself: If only I had eaten less, I would have human hands and legs to get up! And I'm alone, there's no one here to pick me up!&lt;br /&gt;Gosh, I feel empty on the first days of 2008.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4407407193220571875-8844798260055677135?l=lulutz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/feeds/8844798260055677135/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4407407193220571875&amp;postID=8844798260055677135' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/8844798260055677135'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/8844798260055677135'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/2008/01/sad-little-piggies-reunite.html' title='Sad little piggies reunite!'/><author><name>Lulutz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12993227944713438178</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/R4Cq8ppKZXI/AAAAAAAAABM/NU5ulp-iTgE/s72-c/Sad_Wombat_In_Snow_by_ursulav.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4407407193220571875.post-6736715848339153196</id><published>2007-12-26T01:27:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T00:47:42.629-08:00</updated><title type='text'>And it was Christmas!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/R3Ih4ZpKZWI/AAAAAAAAABE/r2BCk_cLsMs/s1600-h/__Merry_Christmas___by_Rimfrost.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/R3Ih4ZpKZWI/AAAAAAAAABE/r2BCk_cLsMs/s200/__Merry_Christmas___by_Rimfrost.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5148214576877823330" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is what I hate about Christmas:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. It's too short.&lt;br /&gt;2. I don't get enough presents.&lt;br /&gt;3. There's too many people in the house.&lt;br /&gt;4. The presents that I get aren't good enough.&lt;br /&gt;5. I'm too hungry in the beginning.&lt;br /&gt;6. I'm too full at the end.&lt;br /&gt;7. I drink too much.&lt;br /&gt;8. I speak too much.&lt;br /&gt;9. I don't get enough presents.&lt;br /&gt;10. Who's that guy in red, and why is his bag empty???&lt;br /&gt;11. I don't get enough presents!&lt;br /&gt;12. People don't say thank you for the presents (cause they come from 'Santa').&lt;br /&gt;13. I spent half of my 2007 savings.&lt;br /&gt;14. I didn't get enough presents to cover that hole in my savings.&lt;br /&gt;15. The next morning we eat leftovers.&lt;br /&gt;16. Everybody is sleepy/having a hang over/sick the next morning.&lt;br /&gt;17. The quota of presents dedicated to me wasn't high enough to make me eat leftovers!&lt;br /&gt;18. I have to pretend I like my presents.&lt;br /&gt;19. EVERYBODY has to sing...&lt;br /&gt;20. I hope you understand that I need more presents!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;:D For a Lousy Christmas and a Crappy New Year!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4407407193220571875-6736715848339153196?l=lulutz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/feeds/6736715848339153196/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4407407193220571875&amp;postID=6736715848339153196' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/6736715848339153196'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/6736715848339153196'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/2007/12/and-it-was-christmas.html' title='And it was Christmas!'/><author><name>Lulutz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12993227944713438178</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/R3Ih4ZpKZWI/AAAAAAAAABE/r2BCk_cLsMs/s72-c/__Merry_Christmas___by_Rimfrost.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4407407193220571875.post-3792074192670695355</id><published>2007-12-17T14:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T00:47:42.801-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hot long weekend, so cold but still long post!</title><content type='html'>Hello everyone!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had the most something weekend. Something as in 'Well, That's Something', with a capital S, yeah!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First of all, I would like to make the public announcement, that we have safely landed home, although with slight changes in airport and such, but safe. Thank god they didn't make us switch planes during the flight...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We didn't sleep much, we left on saturday morning, took the bus, took the train and then another train... arrived in Paris. AAAAAAH, sweet Paris! Paris je t'aime. It was like a fresh breath of air! It smelled a bit like piss - we were still in the train station - but gosh, that smelled good in Paris!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We spent an exquisite evening in Paris...how can one not to??? We slept in this creepy hotel in Chinatown (we avoided staying in it for as long as we could) we ate at a Vietnamese restaurant near the hotel, which, although looked pretty...wrong, had the best food ever! In big dishes too! I swear to god, we both ate what I can only guess were buckets of soup...delicious soup! And they punished us...nooo focks, onli chopsticks, you eat fast, oder customers in line!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then we took a stroll down Champs Elysées, up on Montmartre, and then I landed in Paradise...Place Vendome and the Opera...I swear there were waves of perfume all over the place. It was like fairies had farted on that street! And lights and diamonds and luxury everywhere! This big column made for Napoleon (think he was trying to make up for something less big in his pants), and shops selling stuff that costs like our lifetime sallary...and then we went back to the hotel in chinatown. Had some doubts before getting (half)naked in the bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On Sunday, took the metro, took the bus and arrived at the airport. Cut my finger, yelled at Thom for laughing about it, got checked all over, and crashed exhausted (me, not the plane!). We got on the plane, BlueAir registered trade mark, cause I think they're trade mark for all crap. And worst...the company was exquisite! If you ever took Eurolines buses to come home/to Romania, you know what I'm talking about. You know, those nice guys that think that their music tickles your ears in a pleasent way, and that if they speak loud, you'd say: Waw! he's good! and smart! and he's so rich, look at his phone! Oh, forget the dirty jeans and the rip in the elbow, he's just being filthy rich!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, we finally landed, but a different airport. Yeaaah, Romanian Style! Anyways, in the end it took more to get from the airport home, then it took to get from France to Romania, cause it was snowing, that white shite everywhere...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And somehow this image saves it all! :&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/R2cJk5pKZUI/AAAAAAAAAA0/8B4JxGEdxjg/s1600-h/Paris_at_Night_by_dealived.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/R2cJk5pKZUI/AAAAAAAAAA0/8B4JxGEdxjg/s320/Paris_at_Night_by_dealived.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5145091628847490370" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Love to all of you that love me back :*&lt;br /&gt;Onutz&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4407407193220571875-3792074192670695355?l=lulutz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/feeds/3792074192670695355/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4407407193220571875&amp;postID=3792074192670695355' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/3792074192670695355'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/3792074192670695355'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/2007/12/hot-long-weekend-so-cold-but-still-long.html' title='Hot long weekend, so cold but still long post!'/><author><name>Lulutz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12993227944713438178</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/R2cJk5pKZUI/AAAAAAAAAA0/8B4JxGEdxjg/s72-c/Paris_at_Night_by_dealived.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4407407193220571875.post-775777841700449409</id><published>2007-12-12T04:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T00:47:42.874-08:00</updated><title type='text'>It's all to do with the hair</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/R1_cen2P6yI/AAAAAAAAAAs/ZfJXQwEQbk4/s1600-h/PotC__Jack_s_Hair.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/R1_cen2P6yI/AAAAAAAAAAs/ZfJXQwEQbk4/s320/PotC__Jack_s_Hair.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5143071718131100450" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well hi again!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We're gathered here today to mourn my hair. I tainted my hair yesterday and fuck I thought black looked good on me...but somehow at 23 black looks more like a crow lying on my head. See, I used to be red haired this summer, and I got bored of that, then I went chocolate and now I'm sheer black. You can't get blacker than that. My hair is so black printers are jelous of me :))&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now seriously, what is wrong with us? Why do we change the colour of our hair when we feel bad/bored? How many times, ladies, you told yourself: Hey, I need a change, today I'm gonna get a really crazy hair colour... and few hours later you'd leave the beauty parlor in tears with a magazine over your head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I once had dreadlocks, never gonna do &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;that &lt;/span&gt;again! First of all, well I did them out of a tardive teenage outburst, and regreted it for a whole year afterwards :)) I just wanted my hair to grow so I can cut them off. But what do you know? They're self-regenerating monsters and what's worse is that if you don't take care you can end up with an Amy Whinehouse bee-hive on your head. My friend who did them to me :D (hi Euuuu!) told me that I wasn't supposed to wash them either. You can only imagine what they were like after a few days on the sea-side, sand, beer and everything :)) I quickly decided not to follow that advice :p&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm telling you folks, I did not start this year of my life very well :))&lt;br /&gt;Love to all of you that love me back :*&lt;br /&gt;Onutz&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4407407193220571875-775777841700449409?l=lulutz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/feeds/775777841700449409/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4407407193220571875&amp;postID=775777841700449409' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/775777841700449409'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/775777841700449409'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/2007/12/its-all-to-do-with-hair.html' title='It&apos;s all to do with the hair'/><author><name>Lulutz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12993227944713438178</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/R1_cen2P6yI/AAAAAAAAAAs/ZfJXQwEQbk4/s72-c/PotC__Jack_s_Hair.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4407407193220571875.post-8937548333462473001</id><published>2007-12-10T01:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T00:47:42.985-08:00</updated><title type='text'>It's my B-day!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/R10ZfX2P6wI/AAAAAAAAAAc/IIctjlpTm0k/s1600-h/Gift___Babydwagon_by_Rimfrost.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/R10ZfX2P6wI/AAAAAAAAAAc/IIctjlpTm0k/s400/Gift___Babydwagon_by_Rimfrost.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142294376295164674" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hi everyone!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't want to brag about it, but it is!!! It is my B-day. And for those of you thinking 'Ha haa! She must be an old hag right now', well first of all, up yours, and then I'll tell you I'm only 23. Now that's not old, is it? If only somenone could tell it to my conscience :))&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, screw it! I think we &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;are &lt;/span&gt;old at 23 and all of you above, nieh nieh nieh, you're nothing but even older hags :)) Your getting wrinkles, your skin is melting, your teeth are starting to rot, you're more tired than you used to be, your knees kinda hurt when it's cold outside and all kinds of presents like that. Now here, have a happy birthday! You'll get weaker and weaker, but let's celebrate that :))&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever noticed how b-days are considered to be like some kind of imaginary land marks in one's life? It's like, oh one week ago you were young but today you're old. Really? I've heard people saying that life is short, but never thought it would last only a week! Shit, say it ain't so!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't have much to say about birthdays, cause see, each year I swear that I won't grow older than that year, and somehow everything goes blurry I hear a zapping sound and pof! I'm at my next birthday. This is getting cochmardesque actually. I say we ban birthdays and replace them with regular days. From now on it's gonna be fiesta all year long and no fiesta on b-day. It would actually sound kinda fun: "Hey dude, where do you want to party tonight?" "Oh, no maan, I can't party tonight, it's my birthday. But how about tomorrow?".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, oh! And there should be presents, too, for each and every day when it's NOT you're birthday. I bet marketing would go nuts over &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;this &lt;/span&gt;idea! Sales would go crazy and the world would be a better place. How can you get mad against someone who has a present in his hand?? All you can think of is: oh my god, if only I had Xray vision, I'd know what he got me. I swear to god if it's crap, I'll kick him...oooh, it's a fuzzy bunny! Come here youuuu! Of course I'm not mad at youuuu...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, see, the problem is I already got all my gifts this weekend, so this is probably a non-present b-day rage. So don't mind me, I'm only in for the PRESENTS :))&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love to all of you that love me back :*&lt;br /&gt;Onutz&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4407407193220571875-8937548333462473001?l=lulutz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/feeds/8937548333462473001/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4407407193220571875&amp;postID=8937548333462473001' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/8937548333462473001'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/8937548333462473001'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/2007/12/its-my-b-day.html' title='It&apos;s my B-day!!!'/><author><name>Lulutz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12993227944713438178</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/R10ZfX2P6wI/AAAAAAAAAAc/IIctjlpTm0k/s72-c/Gift___Babydwagon_by_Rimfrost.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4407407193220571875.post-4644352924153434435</id><published>2007-12-05T08:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T00:47:43.147-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/R1be6H2P6uI/AAAAAAAAAAM/MhD0Cpij9WI/s1600-h/CHOCOLATE_by_Krazy_Chibi.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/R1be6H2P6uI/AAAAAAAAAAM/MhD0Cpij9WI/s320/CHOCOLATE_by_Krazy_Chibi.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5140541114810362594" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hi everyone!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First of all, Happy St Nick's! May he fill your shoes with sweets that will make your ass double in size (in my case it's hardcore bbq flavoured chips cause I don't like sweets) :p I went shopping this afternoon and blew off around 30 euros on crap, but at least it's crap that will make me happy!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For me St Nick's is like Christmas, but for two! It's so much better. I got this comic book on Dracula, I'm sure Thom will be just thrilled to laugh about it. It actually has lines written in Romanian (and not invented Romanian, like in those shoe-string-budget films). Poor baby is trying to learn Romanian, and he's sooo very good at it, too! French people usually have a funny way to pronounce Romanian, it's like bunà ziuàà, puine, lamuie , etc etc. But he's doing great. Like we're talking and he calls me 'gargaritza dodoloatza' (he learnt the two words in different days, it means fat ladybug but in a cute way), or he makes up words: oculi, ursuletza. I swear to God, he's so cute I could bang my head against a wall laughing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got him chocolate too, cause it disappears within the hour. He's a chocholate devorator. He's a chovorator :)) I've never seen a person eating so much chocolate at once. But then again I probably haven't met the real chocaholics out there. And this time of the year I'm sure that most of you are just so hooked up on sugar, desperate to get as much as you can as though the very meaning of life lied in those giant chocolate bars. Everywhere I go it's like Chocolate Mania. The entire town seems to be made of chocolate and coats seem to look tighter on everyone this time of the year. But you go ahead being crazy about chocolate. I'll be right here, lying on a giant pillow, feasting on bbq chips that nobody wants and reading  this fantastic Dracula comic. I vill hev a veri meri ST Nick's ;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love to all of you that love me back :*&lt;br /&gt;Lulutz&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4407407193220571875-4644352924153434435?l=lulutz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/feeds/4644352924153434435/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4407407193220571875&amp;postID=4644352924153434435' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/4644352924153434435'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/4644352924153434435'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/2007/12/hi-everyone-first-of-all-happy-st-nicks.html' title=''/><author><name>Lulutz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12993227944713438178</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xLy9TIz2n14/R1be6H2P6uI/AAAAAAAAAAM/MhD0Cpij9WI/s72-c/CHOCOLATE_by_Krazy_Chibi.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4407407193220571875.post-6449815333625779513</id><published>2007-12-04T06:03:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-04T06:23:06.064-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hello to the world!</title><content type='html'>Ha haaa!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So this is for all my friends, regardless of their nation, I'm gonna try to squirt out all of my questions and grievances on this blog. I'm warning you it might get chaotic and I'm not a good writer either. I do translations so most of the time I work like a bug - that is systematically, repetitively, probably controlled by ganglions, cause I probably have no brains. This world shot them out long ago :))&lt;br /&gt;Anyways I'm gonna start by telling you what I've been up to lately. Well nothing much, and you? Seriously, I've been sitting on my ass all day, watching silly youtube videos and generally goofing around the web, sometimes bidding for some translation job that I'll never get eitherway. That was until I found this site: http://www12.alluc.org/alluc/&lt;br /&gt;Some of you might now it, but I'm just crazy about the documentaries they post :D Try it out and let me know what you found interesting :p Psssssst, a tip: they have a Sicko leak!!!!&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and sorry for writing in English, it's not because I want to seem a smart ass, it's just that I'm pretty cool and I have friends all around the world :))&lt;br /&gt;Love to all of you that love me back :*&lt;br /&gt;Onutz&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4407407193220571875-6449815333625779513?l=lulutz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/feeds/6449815333625779513/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4407407193220571875&amp;postID=6449815333625779513' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/6449815333625779513'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4407407193220571875/posts/default/6449815333625779513'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lulutz.blogspot.com/2007/12/hello-to-world.html' title='Hello to the world!'/><author><name>Lulutz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12993227944713438178</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry></feed>
