I may faint now

Flickr, MySpace, MSNing, those were good Internet stuff I used to make use of. Time passed by and I got really tired of them. Last week, when I was gmail-chatting with Fernando - an ex-college mate who actually became journalist - I found out last.fm. He knew I was going to like it. He knows me well. That is exactly what I needed to see on the www. At last.fm I can listen to anything I want or don't want or musicians I like and dislike. Plus, anyone is able to learn more about any unknown artist which is unbelievable. Along with that web-radio, I've been taking advantage of this site www.music-map.com by searching related artists and from there I create my own playlist at last.fm. I am so enjoying these two webspots. The cool thing about last.fm is that you don't need to create those glittery profiles like some girly MySpaceS or write those stupid things about yourself such as "I am nice. write poor poetry. study literature. dance to music, sometimes drink red wine. tall, thin, charming, sometimes eloquent... iada" coz the music we listen to can widely say a lot about ourselves. I am delighted for having found that radio network site. I may faint now coz I am logging on right where I've always wanted to.

Extra extra SIDE MENU

Extra extra

My blogging life is extra busy. I own a mysterious number of blogs. However, I like this one much better. This blog is my oldest and my dearest one for sure.

I decided to start this blogspot in October, 2004, because I needed a special webplace to practice my English writings, copy and paste my favorite web reads, and vent every now and then about everyday matters. English language isn't my mother tongue.

No, it is not. I speak Portuguese on a daily basis. Brazil is the country where I live and in here people speak only this language. Really, there aren't any Spanish speakers in this territory. Or better saying, there are some but they are either tourists that can't speak the local language or foreigners who live next door. Some Bolivian, Uruguayan, and Argentinean do move to Brazil in order to start up a more financially successful life. Luckily, most of them are able to make it.

And ironically, Brazilians do move out to start up a better life in European countries or they go to the USA, Canada, or even Australia.

I myself lived in Florida for a while though my trip was part of an exchange program. I went to the US to achieve a college degree. And I did. I studied Liberal Arts in a community college in Saint Petersburg, Pinellas County (Tampa Bay area). I had also taken another college degree course in Brazil before moving to Uncle Sam's land. I hold a bachelor's degree in Journalism from UEL (Universidade Estadual de Londrina).

Another interesting fact of my life is that my present occupation is not actually based on writing or arts per se. I teach ESL for a living (English as a Second Language). Never would I imagine becoming a teacher in this life. Well, maybe I should have since my both parents are ESL teachers. My husband manages an ESL school and teaches English as well. We live along with a Siamese cat called Tibby. Hubby is called Roberto and my first name is Laila. We have been non officially married for almost 10 years and we have been officially dating since September 1991. Btw, I'm in my early thirties.

Hubby and I have been going through gizillions of ups and downs in this life and yet we keep on moving. We work hard to pay facilities including the broad band Internet wireless connection which allows me blog on.

We do struggle. We do love what we do. I love my writings, my husband, my kitty, my occupation, my blogs. I love being me.
Ms Burden

Good

I'll never have anything published in this country. This is a fact. Well, man... it feels ridiculous to write in Portuguese. Seriously. Although I have not gone that deep in terms of significance with English language, I find it way much easier to bring about any word I need in this language. Every usable word, which has to show up in the back of mind, vanishes in Portuguese. And while I'm writing in English, they are simply there. That may seem stupid since I am a Portuguese speaker, but hey, life is stupid every now and then. I've got an explanation: maybe that is "because extended vocabulary hardly has its place in Brazilian Portuguese modern writing", according to Simone Campos (a Brazilian writer who writes in English just like I do. Better saying, she does not write like I do because her writings are way better than mine. That was a joke and I hope you got that.)

I come from a family whose parents are ESL teachers. By the age of seven I started taking my English as a Second Language course (in Brazil, foreign languages aren't widely required in regular Elementary School curricula). At the age of fourteen I graduated and started helping my parents tutor some of their beginer students. That is when I took a Portuguese language composition course and I acquired interest in writing. I became mesmerized by the mere power of words. And I have been still. I had discovered them even way before that! I wrote my very first poem by the age of 10.

A few years later, in High School (when I was 14 and had been taking that comp course), I would read mature writers for mature readers... Gee! Then I became moved by literature. Hence, I decided to major in Journalism. I innocently believed that that major would make me a real writer. But there, I was not learning all the usable words in their depth. I am pretty sure I learned how to write as a journalist should. Whatever others may have thought of me producing as a journO, it was all stale to me. I lost interest. I wanted to do something different. I wanted to write beyond my own capacity. That's when the other languages come in. "To replenish thy cup of thirstiness for writing." In 1998, I took a plane to the USA and started taking a creative writing college major in St Pete, Florida. That means that I won't ever publish a book in Brazil (period).

Nowadays, I find it really hard to write in my first language. I feel the need to come up with words and shapes. Yes, even shapes. "I have to develop new syntaxes." I many times notice in me a strange habit of writing in Portuguese words as they were mistranslated English ones. Or Japanese. Or Spanish. Or French. Or even German. For I had the chance to interact with Native Speakers of all the above languages cited while living in the USA. I used to feel at ease in that American-Floridian-English world. It's easy to write here on this blog, for example. It's breezy to have "sentences popping out one after another." In Portuguese, "I have to sit and wait. A lot." And the worst part is the final result, which seems so much lame, at least in some ways.

Yesterday, I came across this paragraph on Simone's writing: "Now you're gonna ask me why I detest my poor mother-tongue. Well I love my language. But I can get enough of it. I'm a slut, that is. I'm prostituting with all other tongues. In fact, I write in all of them at the same time, same line. It feels so good." These words had to be in THE PAWNSHOP blog. I could not let them slip through my fingers. Oh Simone...

I haven't given up on my Portuguese writings. As a matter of fact, I still get some really good shit in my language, especially when I deconstruct what may seem not right. It is for sure my coolest (not BEST) way of writing. But when the subject is book publishing, I do believe that my first novel, that very first Laila's fiction book, will come out in English. But the second book will be released in Portuguese(?), Spanish(?), Chinese(?). Who will read me in this country? Oh, man, I am so confusing. I wish I were simpler. There are moments I wish I were a fly or a silver fish. But I was made to be complicated. Or even better, I wish I were a multilingual dictionary. I wish I were also a vintage book. That very book that "exposes today's challenges in an old-fashioned way." I wish I were a pun. I wish I were all words, at least, as many words as can be written and said.

There are days I wake up not feeling well. There are days I get up and wander around my house thinking - 'One more day without making a difference in the universe of words, clauses, exclamations, cited sentences, idiomatic expressions, phrases and so on. One more day without locating my own odd style.' "Variety. That's the word for my style. I'm always playing around. I develop ways. I'm a carver. You can't go and tell me I abandoned my previous style – you just hadn't seen all of it, love. If I wanted to bestsell, it was easy. I'd just have to write in English, then translate. But until now I had been tied up by the language "of my own" - I write around it." Oh, Simone! I'm in love with your words.

My waking life feels as though it's all fiction. I can't believe that I am able to exist outside my mind. Many lives do exist inside our collective minds. People do not realize that somehow. I create and recreate characters in me because many times I am not capable to carve them into words. I act as if I were somebody else. Trouble is, I think I'm dreaming too much and living too little. When I come across difficulties in life, I usually say: 'God, just leave me out of this bad dream!'

I find myself in actual dreams in which I am still dreaming but I clearly feel as if I am awake. Then I see myself through the eyes of someone else in those dreams. I tell myself then: 'You're sleeping and soon we'll have to wake up, so enjoy this moment to the fullest. Then the dream is almost over and I feel like waking up, but I force to put me into that dream again. And now I'm working still in the dream. I'd like to wake up. Difficult thing. I have been mastering a weird technique of traveling into the dreams I normally have since I was a little kid. I am very much afraid that, one day, this technique won't work anymore. I want to hold this particular ability of placing and replacing me into good and bad dreams forever.

Simone has also put these words on the dreaming subject which I think it is so worthy reading: "I had always had the theory that the line between my conscious and subconscious mind was not that thick. I could always remember what I dreamed with an amazing amount of detail. When I dreamt I knew it was a dream and I had a real life to get back to - and I'd even learn to tell the difference, within time. But that was only the you're-not-that-postal part. Sometimes I could see places I had dreamt of repeat themselves in real life, sometimes I'd write fiction and tiny details of it subsequently came real in a quite haunting way. Things were escaping into life and I'm sorry that they do. But now apparently what I want is to escape life, because somehow, I'm not really sure that I woke up today."

"I had always had the theory that the line between my conscious and subconscious mind was not that thick," THIS READS SO RIGHT. But there is one tiny little thing that I can't agree with Simone and it starts from here: The subjects and matters of my writings (Laila's writings) do not mostly come from dreams I've had though. They are built in my awareness. The reveries which I sense in my waking like are molded as words, my own words, my multilingual dictionaries, puns, clauses, exclamations and phrases. My characters, poems, settings, and plots are originated in the deepest of my traumas which emerge in real life, in the eye of the swirl of my observational fluids. My literature is born and killed on blank sheets of paper or blank computer screens. Yeah. But in English. Sure that I won't ever publish anything in this lame country. Damn Portuguese!

Ms Burden

PS: Whatever is between "", it means those words were borrowed from SIMONE CAMPOS.

Extra extra

My blogging life is extra busy. I own a mysterious number of blogs. However, I like this one much better. This blog is my oldest and my dearest one for sure. I decided to start this blogspot in October, 2004, because I needed a special webplace to practice my English writings, copy and paste my favorite web reads, and vent every now and then about everyday matters. English language isn't my mother tongue. No, it is not. I speak Portuguese on a daily basis. Brazil is the country where I live and in here people speak only this language. Really, there aren't any Spanish speakers in this territory. Or better saying, there are some but they are either tourists that can't speak the local language or foreigners who live next door. Some Bolivian, Uruguayan, and Argentinean do move to Brazil in order to start up a more financially successful life. Luckily, most of them are able to make it. And ironically, Brazilians do move out to start up a better life in European countries or they go to the USA, Canada, or even Australia. I myself lived in Florida for a while though my trip was part of an exchange program. I went to the US to achieve a college degree. And I did. I studied Liberal Arts in a community college in Saint Petersburg, Pinellas County (Tampa Bay area). I had also taken another college degree course in Brazil before moving to Uncle Sam's land. I hold a bachelor's degree in Journalism from UEL (Universidade Estadual de Londrina). Another interesting fact of my life is that my present occupation is not actually based on writing or arts per se. I teach ESL for a living (English as a Second Language). Never would I imagine becoming a teacher in this life. Well, maybe I should have since my both parents are ESL teachers. My husband manages an ESL school and teaches English as well. We live along with a Siamese cat called Tibby. Hubby is called Roberto and my first name is Laila. We have been non officially married for almost 10 years and we have been officially dating since September 1991. Btw, I'm in my early thirties. Hubby and I have been going through gizillions of ups and downs in this life and yet we keep on moving. We work hard to pay facilities including the broad band Internet wireless connection which allows me blog on. We do struggle. We do love what we do. I love my writings, my husband, my kitty, my occupation, my blogs. I love being me.

Ms Burden

PS: I haven't checked the news on the latest airplane crash in Brazil but I can assure you that that flying in this country has never EVER been that scary before.

On a Brazilian airplane crash which happened on 17/07/2007

Last Updated: Wednesday, 18 July 2007, 13:14 GMT 14:14 UK

E-mail this to a friend Printable version

Brazilian plane crash 'kills 200'

The plane skidded across a main road before hitting a fuel depot
A passenger plane has crashed and burst into flames at Brazil's busiest airport, in the heart of Sao Paulo, killing up to 200 people.
Rescue crews said none of the 186 people on board the Airbus A320 could have survived, while more people were killed on the ground.

The TAM airliner skidded off the runway as it landed in wet weather, shot over a busy road and hit a fuel depot.

Concerns had been raised about the safety of the runway during heavy rain.

There had been persistent, heavy downpours in the two hours before the accident.


See where and how crash unfolded
TAM Express flight 3054 was carrying 186 passengers and crew when it attempted to land at Congonhas airport, which is mainly used for regional flights from other parts of Brazil and South America.


All of a sudden I heard a loud explosion, and the ground beneath my feet shook

Elias Rodrigues Jesus
TAM employee


In pictures: Brazil crash
'Everything exploded'
Symbol of air chaos
Crash resonates

The plane was travelling to Sao Paulo, Brazil's financial capital, from Porto Alegre in the south of the country.

After touching down on the main runway at 1850 (2150 GMT) on Tuesday, the jet began to skid and then dropped down a steep slope at the end of the runway.

It then shot over a major road and crashed into a four-storey building used for storing cargo and fuel.

The warehouse was busy with airport workers, some of whom had to jump out of windows.

The plane's tail could later be seen sticking out from the building in flames.

Fires were still burning hours after the crash, with black smoke trailing off into the night sky.

An eyewitness, TAM employee Elias Rodrigues Jesus, said the plane exploded after slamming into the depot.

"All of a sudden I heard a loud explosion, and the ground beneath my feet shook," he told the Associated Press news agency.

"I looked up and I saw a huge ball of fire, and then I smelled the stench of kerosene and sulphur."

A doctor at Sao Paulo's mortuary said 30 badly charred bodies had been brought in.

Sao Paulo State Governor Jose Serra said: "I was told that the temperature inside the plane was 1,000C [1,830F], so the chances of there being any survivors are practically nil."

President Luiz Inacio Lula da Silva declared three days of national mourning for the victims.

Safety concerns

The weather had been bad for much of the day and there has been concern for some time about safety at Congonhas during heavy rain.

On Monday, a smaller plane skidded off the runway onto the nearby grass in similar conditions.

In February, a judge briefly banned three types of large passenger jet from using the runway because it was too short to accommodate them, and because of concerns over the airport's drainage system

Pilots had complained that water was pooling on the surface of the landing strip, making braking difficult and occasionally causing planes to skid out of control.

Remedial work, including laying a new surface, has been carried out in recent months.

Air safety in Brazil has been a major issue since a crash last year when a passenger plane collided with an executive jet over the Amazon, killing some 154 people.

DOIS

Good day. How now. Lives shit. Bit lippy. Me sir. All mouth. No sir. Wonderful teeth. Think so. All black. What say. Black decay. Say again. Death rattle. No drugs. Fine coquette. What the. Silence now. No trouble. None given. Queer sort. Could be. Think so. Lovely pins. Look see. Higher higher. Like them. Fine pair. Legs fool. I was. Cheeky bugger. Maybe later. You devil. How much. Ten pound. Bloody hell. Heaven inside. Heaven say. Cozy warm. Cozy vacuum. Tight me. I bet. You bet. I bet. Feel feel. Later later. Pay taste. How much. Twelve pound. Piss take. Come come. Thats it. Pluck me. I intend. You do. I do. Fancy that. Fancy that. Not here. Not here. No eyes. The police. The pimps. Around nearby. Dirty agora. What now. Fancy Greek. Clever once. Was once. Lets go. Go where. Just follow. A second. Come come. Where again. Over there. Behind here. Follow me. Follow you. Hurry hurry. All feet. Right here. Nice pair. Thank you. Very nice. Touch them. Love to. Well well. Very nice. Real babies. No lie. The truth. Bloody spectacular. Too hard. Sorry love. Thats fine. Next time. Go again. Of course. Lovely doxy. Thank you. Nice bristols. Again thanks. Little stiff. Keep playing. Red cherries. Thats it. Lovely nips. Keep playing. Hard soon. I feel. Keep going. My wrist. Feels good. Lovely tits. Hard now. Rock hard. Lovely cock. Thank you. Bag it. You do. Like this. No mouth. Kinky bugger. Thats it. Extra tenner. Bloody thief. Like this. Dont stop. Twenty pound. Feels wonderful. Dirty boy. Keep saying. Bad boy. Berate me. Berate you. Berate more. Stinky pipe. More more. Cheesy tube. O yes. Big cock. More more. Lovely cock. Repeat repeat. Lovely cock. In mouth. Yes deep. Bloody bitch. Dirty bitch. what now. Good shag. Not Standing. Of course. Bad back. No lying. The truth. Lie down. Ill ride. Dirty cowgirl. Love it. Remove underwear. I will. Nice draws. Thank you. Close shave. Only way. No crabs. Don’t jest. Just laved. Clean me. Hope so. You also. Clean whistle. Hard blower. Love it. Big hard. Can’t wait. Get down. Touch first. Cheeky bugger. Real deal. No man. See that. Lovely jewel. Not battered. Nice tight. Waiting waiting. Slow down. Moneys time. Bloody capitalist. What what. Fifty pound. Thank you. Lovely crack. The dawn. The night. All clammy. For you. Been busy. Your touch. Many cocks. Your finger. Slips in. I’m waiting. I tell. Down there. A puddle. Shag yes. Of course. Well then. Ok ok. Thats it. Lovely cock. Hold it. I am. Sit down. Slow slow. O tease. Love it. I do. I know. I do. I know. I do. Ready now. Inside you. It will. Lips closing. Bloody beautiful. Sixty pound. Seventy pound. Here goes. An oven. All yours. On fire. Best cunt. The best. The best. Ever had. Up down. Down up. Too fast. Too slow. O god. Love it. I do. Dirty bastard. And Again. Filthy shit. Slap me. I will. That hurt. Again again. Yes yes. Here goes. Closer closer. Deeper deeper. Big cock. My hetaera. What say. You are. I am. My bitch. Yes yes. Love cock. Thick big. Dirt box. More more. Thousand cocks. Million cocks. Semen rivers. Pouring out. Big bucket. Your bucket. Filthy cave. Fill me. Come me. Yes come. Inside you. Inside me. Feel them. I will. Touch them. Love to. Well well. Very nice. Real babies. No lie. The truth. Bloody fabulous. Too hard. Sorry love. Thats fine. Next time. Go again. Of course. Lovely doxy. Thank you. Nice bristols. Again thanks. Little stiff. Keep playing. Red cherries. That’s it. Lovely nips. Keep playing. Come soon. I feel. Keep going. My money. Soon promise. Lovely tits. Lovely cock. Kiss me. No chance. No kiss. No way. Why not. Don’t do. What what. Can’t do. Tongue fight. No no. Bloody hell. Going soft. It cant. I feel. Keep up. Like this. Hard again. It is. Told you. You did. Never fail. I feel. Beautiful beautiful. Like this. Yes yes. And this. Yes yes. Close you. Yes yes. I feel. Spit spit. On you. Me face. Dirty phlegm. Cough up. Like this. Deeper deeper. What like. The gut. The gut. The bile. Me bile. Your puke. Me puke. Your turds. Me turds. Sick fuck. O yes. Bloody hell. I know. You ready. Spit away. Another one. More snot. Ill try. Hurry hurry. Close now. So close. Here comes. Come here. More spit. Ok ok. Bloody hell. Feel it. Shooting up. Deep inside. Warm inside. Extremely warm. Belly bloated. To bursting. A fart. What say. So good. You were. Thank you. Thank you. So money. O yes. Twenty pound. You said. Yes but. No but. Fifteen now. Fifteen no. Think so. Here take. Bloody bastard. Hope not. What say. No bastard. Tubes tied. Thank god.
By Paul Kavanagh

On Mayakovsky-kind of Love

Past one o’clock. You must have gone to bed.
The Milky Way streams silver through the night.
I’m in no hurry; with lightning telegrams
I have no cause to wake or trouble you.
And, as they say, the incident is closed.
Love’s boat has smashed against the daily grind.
Now you and I are quits. Why bother then
To balance mutual sorrows, pains, and hurts.
Behold what quiet settles on the world.
Night wraps the sky in tribute from the stars.
In hours like these, one rises to address
The ages, history, and all creation.

 

TRIAL #1

Some poets are really good at saying about love... like Mayakovsky did.

I ain't that good at writing, however I will give it a try here.

Love is a damn weird feeling

Sometimes I doubt its existence

It is not visible

No one can truly reach it

It is only felt and even those who feel it cannot be sure if that is what it is supposed to be

It is uncertain and rich

It is constructive and overwhelming

It is just needed to be accepted when it is meant to be

 

TRIAL #2
Last night, I dreamed of you
You came and took a piece of me
You came and could step on the same floor I was on
Your face was vague though, but I knew it was you
I barely talked to you
All I did was stare at your back
You even invited me for dinner
It was time for the real me to get up then
There was no dinner but you had that special piece of me
You carried along and kept
Can't wait to shut my eyes again
Can't wait to share the same floor and twilight room
I'll be sitting at a table, talking to a waiter:
"Bring me black coffee and a brunch skillet... Ah! And don't wake me up till I say so!"

What makes me think I'm special?

I am over thirty and still can crack up about it.
I am beyond bounderies within me
I am able to chew gum and yet I get words out right
I am powerful and I can prove it
I can be whoever I want to in my night and daydreams
I can meet whoever I want to as well
I am not sophisticated though
Sophistication kills any type of magic
I delete anger and do not hold grudges
I would pull the trigger but I am not so sure I'd hit the bull's eye
I am such a complicated earthling that not even I restrain me
I can spit or swallow as long as it won't poison me
I am aware of my potential of editing and putting together only the worthwhile of this life
I am an euphemism for dissection
I am barbaric in the bathroom
I gulp vodka as if it were water
I fold clothes like monkeys and humanize like any mammal could do
I copy creatively. I cry non-...
I am not a weirdo - "Believe me" - I just suffer from overcast delusions
I am pretty normal if you really get to know me inside out.

Time Does Fly

It super flies... Well, just yesterday was I reading this post by Amanda Palmer and once again I located some words that I could connect a great deal. It is weird and feels weird the fact the I now can download Dead Kennedys and Toy Dolls entire discography without leaving my place. Hubby was just saying that a couple of minutes ago while I was reading Amanda's post on wrinkling. Before internet came along, we had to order CDs or Long Plays through magazine catalogs. Then, we'd make zillions of K7 copies and give out to friends. Besides, It was almost impossible to get those band's merchandise too. Therefore, we used to come up with crafty band T-shirts, pins, or even stickers.

I am aware that Amanda vented on 'beauty loss' that shows up attached to the aging fact and he, Roberto, was retrieving how hard it was to get underground music and all the extras such as stickers, shirts, and taped concerts prior internet. I myself add these two issues and form only one subject: we are all a bunch of BIG OLD THIRTIES and we shouldn't be prouder of that. Now, right at this fine moment, here I am typing on a digital diary while my Husband is sitting at the other corner playing Counter Strike and listening to Jello Biafra. And Amanda? She's probably somewhere else up in Europe eating some pasta and checking out teenagers having fun on the streets.

I can't desguise that aging is a hell of an issue to me. Although, I get really really scared when the idea of having babies crosses my mind. Having babies would validate my personal aging process. I do not feel ready at all, even though I am 31 already. Yeah! I am a 31-year-old "healthy" lady that could make a good mother. Iada, iada, iada... Today's world is too screwed up to add more human beings on it... Don't know... really... I am very doubtful on that matter. And besides that, would I be able to parent well after all? Everyone says that women naturally take over this thing but it is pretty uncertain, mysterious, and creepy though. I can't even say where all this scary feeling comes from anyway... Maybe it is coming from Hubby's speakers... LOL

You know you're getting old... We all are and there is nothing better than laughter to get over the wrinklish faces we see on our pictures. I am turning into a senior and I am so sure that there won't ever be such a sexy lady like me... LOL that is how I sense my elderly figure: an old woman wearing mini-skirt, showing off thousands of 'deformed' tattoos, riding on a Harley Davidson, and her hair up dyed in several funky colors.

Here's a list to check and see if you're getting too old:

1. You and your teeth don't sleep together.
2. You try to straighten out the wrinkles in your socks and discover you aren't wearing any.
3. At the breakfast table you hear snap, crackle, pop and you're not eating cereal.
4. Your back goes out but you stay home.
5. When you wake up looking like your driver's license picture.
6. It takes two tries to get up from the couch.
7. When your idea of a night out is sitting on the patio.
8. When happy hour is a nap.
9. When you're on vacation and your ENERGY runs out before your money does.
10. When you say something to your kids that your mother said to You, and you always hated it.
11. When all you want for your birthday is to not be reminded of your age.
12. When you step off a curb and look down one more time to make sure the street is still there.
13. Your idea of weight lifting is standing up.
14. It takes longer to rest than it did to get tired.
15. Your memory is shorter and your complaining lasts longer.
16. Your address book has mostly names that start with Dr.
17. You sit in a rocking chair and can't get it going.
18. The pharmacist has become your new best friend.
19. Getting "lucky" means you found your car in the parking lot.
20. The twinkle in your eye is merely a reflection from the sun on your bifocals.
21. It takes twice as long - to look half as good.
22. Everything hurts, and what doesn't hurt - doesn't work.
23. You look for your glasses for half an hour and they were on your head the whole time.
24. You sink your teeth into a steak and they stay there.
25. You give up all your bad habits and still don't feel good.
26. You have more patience, but it is actually that you just don't care anymore.
27. You finally get your head together and your body starts falling apart.
28. You wonder how you could be over the hill when you don't even remember being on top of it.

I got this list from this site: http://www.electricscotland.com/. The reason that has made me log on this site is that I pretty much dream of visiting Scotland someday and... I was wondering... Does that dream make me look old too? Ha!

Well... coming back from the supermarket this afternoon (grocery shopping on a Sunday is definitely oldies' fun... DO I CARE? Guess not). So, as I was saying, while coming back from the supermarket I could notice that we aren't that old yet. We had in our shopping kart 3 packs of cookies, 1 Dulce de Leche, 2 bottles of cheap Cabernet wine, 12 cans of beer, 9 packs of 3 condoms each, a pocketbook copy of Kafka's 'The Metamorphosis', and a pot of coffee ice cream. That was our grocery for the week...

Yeah, we are definitely not old yet.