Tuesday, January 31, 2006
What I liked most about this meme is that the questions will sound a bit "macabre". They are all related to death. I never understood why our western culture has issues with this topic. It is never discussed over family suppers. It is never mentioned when people play pocker. It is the kind of subject that people don't normally use to strike up conversations in elevators: "Nice day, isn't it?" "Yeah, it is just perfect for drowning in any Caribbean beach." A taboo is what it is. Although, I grew up in a family that we would widely talk about death without prude or hypocrisy. We even sort of celebrated when we got to pay off for all of our family future funeral expenses which inevitably one of us would have to cash out when "lady death" arrives. Weird? I think this is called "planning ahead".
I sometimes wonder what and how people would feel about reading a blog of someone who has already passed away. I don't mean a posthumous blog. No. That is not my point. I actually thought of my friends, former students, or relatives of mine reading my words and seeing my faces in random posts here, at this spot, after my death. Would they laugh at my nonsense entries even though I'd be gone and not being able to post anything new? Would they laugh just once? Or maybe they would crack over and over by reading the same old things just because it is stamped in each of my writings that LIFE IS NOTHING BUT A JOKE.
Do I fear death? I am quite sure that I don't. However, I am a little reluctant with this 'stuff' just because of the fact that death normally comes with pain and suffering of the others who survive. Our western civilization does not allow us to see this process (so-called DEATH) as being something positive which, to my humble opinion, it is. Why? How come that could be positive? Simple answer: it is not fully pleasurable being alive. It is not wholesome having to work 14 hours a day to pay for facilities, afford transportation, canned food, health insurance, hair stylist, bottox, birth control pills, and Neutrogena exfoliating masks. No no no. It is no damn big deal being alive if we insist in not caring about self-awareness. It is just a simple thing, and yet we can't accept its plainness.
The Death Quiz
Seven things you plan to do before you die:
1. Travel, travel, travel a lot;
2. Publish a book;
3. Spit on my ex-boss' misso soup :)
4. Have two kids;
5. Try to repay my parents for everything they've given me (including the already-paid funeral services);
6. See my favorite bands live;
7. Teach my kids to stand up for what they believe;
Seven things you would like to have at your funeral:
1. A bus - to help everybody commute from the church to the cemitery (Hope passangers remember to sing and clap "Oh Happy Day!" on their way). This way, everyone would behave ecologically correct by using only one transportation instead of creating those large lines of cars polluting the city and blocking the flow of the traffic (some people have the talent to bug even after being dead);
2. Good food, good drinks, and good music (pleeeeease);
3. Hope my relatives can afford to hire stand-up comedians to entertain the services;
4. If not, they can just let some of their DVDs run in private rooms;
5. No cries, no regrets, no enemies must pop up there either;
6. Lap-dancers or go-go girls can be hired too (no prejudices);
7. I am gonna steal that from Saucy - 'a pipe of laughing gas would work fine next to the keg of brew' LOL;
Seven celebrities that deserve to die:
1. Paris Hilton;
2. Cher (yew - all of her fans can kiss my ass);
3. Carrot Top (is he still alive?);
4. Britney Spears;
5. Ben Afleck;
6. All those who have ever participated at the Oscars;
7. And those who deny being part of this mega event;
Seven words you'll probably say seconds prior the moment your soul departures:
2. One beer before I go;
3. hey, you go first;
5. Does anyone have some stash???
6. Fuck everybody;
7. I love everybody;
Seven reasons not to die:
1. Smile of a child;
2. Some people just don't look good in black;
3. Not being able to see lady bugs, spiders, and dragonflies after it;
4. Visine profits too much over that;
5. Good and tasteful sense of humor people should not leave;
6. Death's never scheduled - how rude!
7. Having to empty wardrobes and box of letters of the gone souls - just not fair;
Everyone will die sooner or later. So given a choice to decide your deathplace, where will you choose?
Any place on this planet is worth living and dying. I'd only rather not have a distressful trip to only-God-knows-where.
Since this is a very delicate topic, I don't feel like taggin' anyone for this "meme" because that would make me a murderer-wannabe, wouldn't it?
Saturday, January 28, 2006
into something huger
From grey to blue sky
From spoiled to kind
Make over me my years
into something clearer
From worn-out to worthy
From weak to mighty
Change me my years
into something better
From pitiable to influential
From raw to bearable
Ripe me my years
and turn me into something valid
Friday, January 27, 2006
by Sandra Cisneros
from book: "Loose Woman"
Your poem thinks it's bad
Because it farts in the bath.
Cracks its knuckles in class.
Grabs its balls in public
the the other---
back and forth like a Slinky. No,
more like the motion
of a lava lamp.
You follow me?
Your poem thinks it's
cool to pee in the pool.
Waits for the moment
someone's watching before
it sticks a finger up
its nose and licks
it. Your poem's weird.
The kind that swaggers in like Wayne
or struts its stuff like Rambo.
The kind that learned
to spit at 13 and still is doing it.
It blames its bad habits
on the Catholic school.
Picked up words that
snapped like bra straps.
Learned words that ignite
of their own gas
like a butt hole flower.
Fell in love with words
that thudded like stones and sticks.
Or stung like fists.
Or stank like shit
gorillas throw at zoos.
Your poem never washes
its hands after using the can.
Stands around rolling
toilet paper into wet balls
it can toss up to the ceiiling
just to watch them stick.
Your poem is a used rubber
sticky on the floor
the next morning,
the black elephant
skin of the testicles
hairy as kiwi fruit
and silly, the shaving
stubble against the purity
one black pubic
hair on the sexy
lip of toilet seat,
the swirl of spit
with a cream of celery
center, a cigarette
stub sent hissing
to the piss pot,
bottles of beer reeking
their yeast incense,
the miscellany of maleness:
nail clippers and keys,
tobacco and ashes,
pennies quarters nickels dimes and
dollars folded into complicated origami,
stub of ticket and pencil and cigarette, and
the crumb of the pockets
all scattered on the Irish
linen of the bedside table.
Oh my little booger,
Because someone once
said 'Don't do that!'
you like to do it.
Baby, I'd like to mention
the Tampax you pulled with your teeth
once in a Playboy poem
and found it, darling, not so bloody.
Not so bloody at all, in fact.
Hardly blood cousin
except for an unfortunate
association of color
that makes you want to swoon.
I want to talk at length about Menstruation. Or my period.
Or the rag as you so lovingly put it.
All right then.
I'd like to mention my rag time.
and lovely to the light to look at
like a good glass of burgundy.
Suddenly, I'm artist each month.
The star inside this like a ruby.
Fascinating bits of sticky
The afterbirth without the birth.
The gobs of a strawberry jam.
Membrane stretchy like
saliva in your hand.
It's important you feel its slickness,
understand the texture isn't bloody at all.
That you don't gush between the legs.
Rather, it unravels itself like string
from some deep deep center---
like a Russian subatomic submarine,
or better, like a mad Karlov cackling
behind beakers and blooping spirals.
Still with me?
Oh I know, darling,
I'm indulging, but indulge
me if you please.
I find the subject charming.
I'd like to dab my fingers in my inkwell
and write a poem across the wall.
"A Poem of Womanhood"
Now wouldn't that be something?
Words written in blood.
But no, not blood at all, I told you.
If blood is thicker than water, then
menstruation is thicker than brotherhood.
And the way it metamorphosizes! Dazzles.
Changing daily like startlight.
From the first transparent drop of light
to the fifth day chocolate paste.
I haven't mentioned smell. Think
Persian rug. But thicker.
Think cello. But richer.
A sweet exotic snuff
from an ancient prehistoric center.
Monday, January 23, 2006
It's about time for you all - fellow bloggers, students, friendly readers - to know some truths about me... Embrace yourself and don't ever tell me that I have never warned you about these things.
1. If I stay more than 32 hours with empty stomach, I'll faint. I've also had this peculiar habit of shutting my eyes really tight every time I sneeze. My husband thinks this is kinda cute, though.
2. I've been trained by skillful disciples of an Indian guru called Paramahansa Yogananda to obtain the power of resurrecting living creatures. Since I'm in my early studies, so far, my power has only worked on recovering lizards' tails.
3. Some of the products that I can't live without are: adult diapers, dandruff shampoos, sleeping pills, holy water, concealer, and self-help books.
4. If I touch hot boiling water or heat up iron, I get burnt skin and blisters come out after that. And this is hard to say... but... my farts and belches aren't fragrant.
5. Some of the things you'll find in my bedroom are a butterfly knife, lithium, rat poison, pepper spray, a pile of old "O" magazines, and a box with all Mariah Carrey's best singles - anything for self-defense and protection.
6. Had I been born in Malaysia, I would have been born a toothless illiterate bald baby.
7. Some cars aren't made for me. They have got three pedals and I was born with only two legs.
8. Satan has found a way to control my technology devices. Many times while typing unsaved posts for blogs, e-mails for supplier, or working on translations, these texts manage to completely disappear from the computer system. And that normally happens after a computer screen window is closed. Where do these files go? Ask Satan. I almost forgot to mention some weird schemes that lie beneath some commands such as control-V, control-C, control-Z, control-N, and control-A. These are all devilish tools. I must exorcise this machine.
9. I don't want to shock any of you guys but I can't stand roaches so I do kill them in coldbloodedness when they come across.
10. Finally, I am very much ashamed of this, but... I have decided to let out some of my truths, so here it is: I have no power to control my heart beats. This is doggone true. Besides, I've got no eating disorders either. I've got no phobias, mental disturbance, or traumas. I'm free from depression or any sort of stress. Actually, I am not quite sure if I'm alive.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Although I write texts here in English (never apologized formally for my possible 'sad' mistakes and awkwardnesses with the language - forgimme Lord too for that! (LOL)), I am Brazilian and have lived back in Brazil for the last 3 years. Portuguese is the official language of this country. There are other spoken languages here too. Different from what many of you might think, all the other languages found in Brazil are unknown, and only spoken ones. They belong to the Brazilian native indians. Some of them are even taught at universities to anthropologists and scholars of Brazilian culture. Brazil is one of the richest nations when it comes to cultural diversity and that makes me really proud of being Brazilian.
There are now more than 180 million people residing in this land. That is a huge amount. There aren't many countries where Portuguese is spoken (7), but when I see that number of population only in Brazil, then I realize that there are many speakers of this language. That is why I never understood that many times the Portuguese language is often forgotten when one thinks of South American cultural facts. I speak neither Spanish nor Brazilian. Brazilian isn't nearly a nationality, to my opinion. It is the name of a group of victims that live together in a country which is 15 times the size of France.
The thing which scares me is the negative rates and statistics around that number of population. Now, my friend bloggers, I get to my point... Once, while reading Marcele's blog (Marcele is an old friend of mine), she's made me learn that 30% of Brazilian population live under poverty standards. That is, it is known that these folks have to survive throughout a month by making less than 50 American dollars. How can a family be supported for a month with US$50??? I really don't know the answer to that question. It is no wonder that in "poor" countries you have the highest rates of urban violence.
I should now mention Michael Moore's fuss in the US. Apart of political views or beliefs, I kind of admire his work, specially his well written documentaries. By watching that "Bowling for Columbine", I got to know that Michael was scared at the high number of deaths caused by bullets in his nation. I then got scared at our own crazy rates here; I quite don't see the same alert work being done which it should since there are over 40,000 deaths a year caused by fire guns in Brazil. The confusing thing lies on having the sensation that I live in a paradisiac place with beautiful beaches and women, good sounding music, the best soccer in the world, etc: A Bloody Paradise.
Living in a place like that, where we are to believe that 'everything is gonna be all right' in the end, can be pretty dreadful. Everyone I know knows at least one person who has already been robbed, stolen, shot, kidnapped, carjacked, or had his or her house broken into by stupid burglers, or even lost a loved one. Once reading a blog written by an American lady, she described her closest experience with urban crimes - she had her car radio taken because she'd left the passanger's door unlocked. I thought how lucky she was for having a car and a radio to be taken, unlike those Brazilian families that have to make it through the month with $50 in their pockets. Neverthless, while speaking to a Sudanese refugee here in Brazil, he told me about the same: "how lucky you Brazilian are because you can trust in your kids. A young person can approach you on the streets and you can be sure he won't stick out a machine gun and point it to your face." I could contradict him right there, but I'd rather have not said anything to him.
The thing is that I have already been robbed by having a young kid pointing his gun to my face here in Brazil. He was probably as old as I was. I was 15 at that time. I was walking to my uncle's house when he showed up from the back of a big car which was parked on a busy avenue at around 5 o'clock in the afternoon. He seemed altered by drugs. He was nervous and scared - he didn't want to get caught. He threatened me with that weapon by saying: "Gimme what you got - wallet, wristwatch, jewelry, sneakers, fancy jacket... everything - or I'll shoot you!!!" How lucky I was to have all those material gains to be taken... right? (now with an ironic tone in my speech) How lucky I was to be able to trust the kids down here because they are never gonna point a gun to my face... right??? Yet, I am still proud of being Brazilian and speak and write in PORTUGUESE.
Saturday, January 21, 2006
4 Places I’ve lived
1. São Paulo City, São Paulo state - Brazil
2. Londrina, Paraná State - Brazil
3. Saint Petersburg, Florida - USA
4. Caxias do Sul, Rio Grande do Sul State - Brazil
4 Jobs I've had
1. Newsradio Reporter;
3. Japanese Restaurant Cashier;
4. International Marketeer for this company.
4 Movies I can watch over and over
1. Donnie Darko;
2. Clockwork Orange;
3. Ed Gein;
4. Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.
4 TV shows that make me happy
1. Seinfeld (I've got all seasons on DVD);
2. MAD TV;
3. Martha Stewart Living (it used to be "a wonderful thing"... LOL);
4. Jerry Springer Show (miss Steve). Or John Edwards or/and Minister Popoff rulez!!!
1. Miami, FL;
2. New York City, NY;
3. Chicago, IL;
4. Florianópolis, Santa Catarina state - Brazil.
4 Websites I Visit Daily
1. My school site;
2. My blog;
4 Favorite Foods
1. All Italian dishes (Carbonara Angel hair, Zitti with Marinara sauce, Fettuccini Alfredo, etc);
2. Outback rack of lamb with loaded baked potato;
3. Mexican dishes (nachos and salsa, Mole Poblano, releños, fajitas, etc);
4. Vietnamese soups, egg rolls, and rice paper wraps.
4 Places I'd Rather Be
3. São Paulo
4 Albums I Can't Live Without
1. The Beatles - Revolvers
2. Led Zeppelin - Led Zepellin 3
3. Joy Division - Closer
4. Smashing Pumpkins - Siamese Dream
Thursday, January 19, 2006
This was stolen from Bulb and Lori who stole it from Cheryl, and she stole it from Steve who lifted it from Le Laquet who copied it from I-don't-know-who who died of heart condition.
- California is the biggest exporter of Laila in the world.
- Human beings are the only animals that copulate while facing Laila!
- The Eskimos have over fifty words for Laila!
- The only planet that rotates on its side is Laila.
- When Laila is swallowed, she will enter the blood stream within twenty minutes!
- If you cut Laila in half and count the number of seeds inside, you will know how many children you are going to have.
- Carnivorous animals will not eat another animal that has been hit by Laila.
- During World War II, Americans tried to train Laila to drop bombs.
- If you kiss Laila for one minute you will burn six or seven calories.
- The first Laila was made in 1853, and had no pedals.
Saturday, January 14, 2006
Thursday, January 12, 2006
by Laila Chris
I hold you in between my teeth
and to calm you down, my beast,
I'd rather compose romances for you
but I'd have more profit by chanting
chanting spells, witchcrafting, voodooing
to keep you asleep in my throat,
so that you can't scratch, scrape,
tear my gums 'til they bleed...
But I subdued myself,
setting my kindness in a song.
Dedicate to your primal soul.
It's made of voiceless timbers,
breakbeats of a warm swollen heart,
without tempo or cadence.
The piece is being played as I free you.
Soundlessly, I let you go...
Right. No point on mutual pain and sorrow.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Before I get started on that, I owe some explanations why I have been a little away. Firstly, I was enjoying my last days of vacation. I had to do it. I have been taking 15-day vacations yearly since 1998. 15 days are never enough to me. I'm a type B person. I am a confessed lazy-ass kind of individual so, to me vacation means a lot. Workaholic? Are there workaholic folks around? You sick people! Excuuuuuuse me. I'd rather lay on a hammock under the shade of palm trees drinking some cocktail listening to birds chirping... You, Angeline, can consider that my number 1 thing that makes me happy: it is called life. And this little thing called LIFE goes by as fast as a whip.
Another reason why I took a break from blogging came from Bulb's assignment. He'd tagged some of his fellow bloggers to write a sad and shocking story so that Sassy would get a little cheered up. The cause is fair. I've been working on my textS for days. TextS??? Yeah. I came up with two unfinished posts. I may publish both of them. Yet, I've been having a great deal of difficulty at the conclusion part. That is because it's utterly troublesome to write about depressing things - at least for me! I take writing seriously. I may not be keen on it but I often exercise it and hope to achieve a high level on this practice. And this is the thing number 2 that makes me very happy: GOOD WRITING.
I miss vacation already. During those days I had nothing else to do besides resting my wounded toe, petting Tibby, having hot breakfast served while I was still in bed (thanks Roberto), and other good stuff... I also watched movies, many movies, mainly psycho-thrillers. I like other genres too. I am very fond of documentaries, biographical, and silent flicks - especially burlesque comedies. (Speaking of "silent movies", I haven't forgotten that Saucy also assigned me to post something about this topic: "I WILL, SAuCY"). Actually, I love comedies in general. I love jokes, sarcasm, funny events, hilarious posts, t-shirts, stickers - but I peel them after reading... The bottom line is I care for laughing. I laugh, giggle, crack up for any single reason. I laugh at flat tires. I laugh when I'm drunk, and when I'm sober too. I laugh at the pope's preaching. I laugh at Britney Spears's voice. I laugh at meals that end up saulty. I laugh at my own face. I laugh at snobish and pretentious people. I laugh at losers. I laugh when I lose. I laugh at this. I laugh not only because laughing is the third thing that makes me happy, but also because LAUGHTER (3) is the best tool to intelligent reasoning.
I had been away from my own spot, but I've been reading all my favorite blogs. I know that I don't sometimes leave a comment but I read them regularly. Rain or Lori once said that reading a post and not typing a comment is the same as reaching an aswering machine and not recording a message. Excellent comparison! I just don't like being repetitive and I often run into opinions and suggestions which I share and they were previously posted by other reader. Nah! There is no need to rewrite thoughts. I praise originality. Don't like copies. I don't like manufactured ideas. I respect archetypes but I hate stereotypes. I hate fashion for instance. It is not necessary to own a 2006 Escalade just because a celebrity so and so has it. Buying Nike sneakers is lacking individuality. Being unique is a hard task these days. When I get to meet one-of-a-kind folks like my blogger friends... wow, that makes me happy. Simply see for yourselves that one blog is just not like the other one. Number 4 thing is right there: all my FRIENDS: blogger ones, msn ones, orkut ones, real life ones - ALL OF THEM. They are true and original people. All of them are special and very much peculiar.
Sad that my vacation is over. I am back to teaching and running this school that I really love. My 15-day break was quite short but I can't complain. I had the best time although the toe accident. 2005 is also over. It was an interesting year. It's hard to define it but the word 'interesting' pretty much says it all. That was the year when I got a pet for the first time in my life. I admit that I love Tibby to the bones. Last year, I lost my grandpa; I couldn't visit my parents again; I returned to my German language studies. Love love love languages. I got the best students. I taught the best and the worst classes. Serious teaching is based on love. Teachers who don't love what they do are just fooling everyone. In 2005, I also went through depression (Lori gave me great support on that during those times! Bulb helped too!) I almost got divorced (some readers will be surprised, especially my students, since nothing was ever mentioned about this issue). I had even thought of changing my life completely. Thanks to I-don't-know-what, this is all over. Now I know that taking the chance of "changes" would have been the worst decision. I would have lost the number 5 thing that makes me the happiest person ever. I would have given up LOVE. "What 'love' are you talking about, Laila?". L-O-V-E! I could have wasted this love: love for being a fullfilled professional; love for treasuring living things; love for knowing creative and inventive minds; love for being who I am; love for the place I come from; love for making good use of technology... I would have killed the love that lives in and with me.
Monday, January 2, 2006
I was tagged by Lori and Angeline to write about 5 weird habits I have. Unlike Krissy, I'm not all perfect (loved that comment) so I should confess that I've got more... many more than only 5 weird manias. I'm the human form of weirdness. Everything in me is strange as far as I'm concerned. Take my own blog for instance, its template, photos, its title, my profile, my posts... I write in a language that isn't my mother tongue for crying out loud. These are signs that I am not... let's say... so common.
There are other evidences too. I am weird because even my name is weird. My first name has an Islamic origin, my second one means "Christian" and I've come to believe I have Jewish blood. Just weird. I'm also a total relaxed person and that is very weird for a teacher who lives in the 2000's. I'm so chilled and spaced out that I often forget to breath. I know that forgetting to breath is one of the symptoms of stress but you have got to believe me, in my case, it is fully incapacity to stress over nothing, not even to breath in. I'm strange because I've never seen movies that no one believes I haven't: "E.T.", none of all three "Lord of the Rings", "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" (none of both versions), none of those modern Disney or Pixar animations -- some of my students get even mad at me because of that. Well, at least I have seen "Shrek 1" and I hated it - it is getting worse. I know it.
However, I am here to talk about my 5 weirdest habits. 5? Cinq, Fünf, Hamsa, Go, Chamesch, Fem, Five, Cinco... Only 5? This is really tough, Lori and Angeline, but I am gonna get to the bottom of this. Ok, so here they are:
I. I talk to myself. In other words, "call a doctor". Yeah. I speak alone. I've thought of this habit just being an "aloud thinking process" but the truth is that I do speak to myself. I inquire, I wonder, I reply, and I even get to disagree with my own points (of course, I'm a woman!). I mostly do this in bathrooms. I need to be completely secluded for that so people don't see me as a freak, which I am, but no one needs to notice it.
II. I enjoy, love, lust removing labels of all products I see: shampoo bottles, detergents, parfums, deodorants, beer bottles, even vitamins and food suplements. The plastic labels are my favorite because they were made to be taken off. It's a fact. It is so good to unstick them gently and slowly. I just can't stand products that actually come with their labels painted or printed directly on the bottles. I avoid buying them because they are so not fun.
III. I'm fascinated by cats as most of you already know. So, I decided to get my own last year. Tibby arrived home last March and since then, she has given me brighter days (oh!). I love her so much that I can stare at her for hours while she sleeps. You all may be asking yourselves: "what's the matter there?" I'll answer. The weirdest thing is that I stare at her singing songs that I write for her. The lyrics are mostly about her, of course, like this one:
- Axe Murderers in Cincinnatti;
- Melanomas in Pigmies;
- How Come Barbie Dolls Have no Nipples;
- Dr. Phil is Stupid;
- Reproductive Organs of Penguins;
- and several others...
And the best hits, I save them in weird folders under My Favorites titled: Criminology, Out-of-the-Body Experiences, The History of Exorcism , etc.
V. My last weird habit is that I don't appreciate watching movie previews. I can't explain exactly why, but maybe because I'm crazy about psycho-thrillers and I think previews of these genre give out way much to the audience, so I refuse seeing them. As soon as I get the DVD into the player, I skip the menu options and I straight hit "play the movie". It is true that I seem not to have a choice when I'm at theaters, so I am never embarrassed to shut my eyes during the preview presentation. Weird? A little, I guess.
Many bloggers I know have already been tagged. So... lemme see..., I'll tag Bulb (I know Lori has already tagged you and you said "NO", but we insist), Gabe, Saucy Monk, Carol Loly Haze, and Gabriel. Some of them may reply in Portuguese.
Sunday, January 1, 2006
II. "Why is your blog called THE PAWNSHOP?" I get this question many times. Why is Laila my name? Why was God named Jehova by the Christians and Jahue by the Jews? Why there have to be reasons for names all the time? Naming anything is very complicated, especially kids. I read once in a celebrity magazine (yeah, right! I read celebrity magazines every now and then... who cares?) So, I was saying that I read once about a Brazilian model who named her baby boy Zion. Wait a minute... Zion??? Was she for real? Why??? OK, now I wanna know why? Some may think it is a pretty name, however in Brazil this name Zion sounds a bit weird and it gets me concerned... No... Not because of the obvious teasing this kid is gonna get at Brazilian schools, but because one day, this boy will meet another boy by the same age with the same name. ...And the model's child will certainly ask "why did your parents name you Zion, just like me?". And his homonymous friend will go, "because that was the name of a drag queen who happened to be performing on a late show on TV at the moment I was being conceived." Now that's worrisome.
III. Why are there still human beings that do not call before dropping by at their friend's? Don't they know that telephones have been invented? Helloooo... It is not science fiction. It is true that nowadays we find paid phones, cordless ones (wow, I even got impressed myself), and cell phones! Maybe those folks don't know how to dial. Let's just face it, OK? How can a person not call ahead to announce they're coming over? Don't they fix breakfast barenaked having only the apron on so that they don't get their tummies burned by drops of hot oil? Don't they get their houses "decorated" with dirty socks, stained underwears, and air balloons made out of condoms? ...or is that just with me? (pause for a deep breath)
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