Herpes Look Like Stomach

History mushrooms

We learned this week (sorry, no link to cyberpresse to insert here, so no credibility - never mind!) finally: I heard this week on the radio that he had died this week following the ingestion of poisonous mushrooms. Two girls were also allegedly intoxicated, and had to be treated in hospital.

short, in addition to the crows that abound in the city (see previous entry in this blog), it appears that sprout like mushrooms ... mushrooms (phew!), a consequence of heavy rains this summer. And it also seems that people saw these mushrooms growing on their residential lawn, have the reflex to swallow. Because we are not talking about mushrooms here and there gleaned during a bucolic walk in the woods, but mushroom dwellers ...

Good. I could dwell long on the fact that I find it strange to have the idea, spent 8 years of eating mushrooms growing outside his bungalow in St. Bruno de Montarville ...
But I remember something else instead of this incident: the revenge of nature. The return of good old things, you know those days of yore, where men once had to fight to survive, picking berries (good, not poisonous) chasing buffalo (well. ..) to fight against the elements.
I do not want to mention natural disasters caused by global warming, or drift food industry and chickens in cages. I do not want to return to earth. I do not even want to bring a little awareness. I do not want to be Waridel.

No, I remember another thing from this incident: the revenge of nature. As a clenched fist in his mouth. In your teeth, man. We are anxious about everything and nothing, we are afraid of being raped in an alley, being bitten his contract by a young self-employed or to be opportunistic steal his identity on the internets.

It has forgotten the good old law of nature, one that says we should be afraid of certain species of poisonous mushrooms. Death.

And you know what? It was the most reassuring news of the week.

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It was only a dream ...


You dream of being a beauty?
Hold a suitcase?
To say "Hi Julie"?



That's how the production of Banker wants to lure individuals to stand for 2 hours, VAT.
Am I the only one who does not dream of holding a suitcase and greet Julie Snyder?

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So long, Paris! Ze

Ay. Finally, Ay, I'm on vacation. And I do not say it to mock those who have none, but simply to share the pleasure of those moments of calm, and totally uncontrolled pace. I like it. Yes, absolutely, I love the holidays. It's crazy, right? I'm super original and everything. I know.

To those who wonder, scratching his head, "she tells us why platitudes worthy of Helvetia" * I say, because during the holidays say, will take place an event relating to the collection. Yeah, do not believe when I start writing a paper for the blog, I think vaguely.

So the morning of August 7 (it is Friday of next week), from 10:30 to 12:30, like, I will be in dedication to the library "the pen", in St Malo St Servan district, 78 rue Georges Clemenceau.

This morning's market in this area is highly frequented. So it's your chance to make a stone 3 Shots: strolling through the neighborhood and the market, take a trip to the bookstore, and eat a pancake-sausage starting again (there are excellent in this market).

I am particularly touched to announce the signing session. St Malo, is my "home" to heart, and it is not just a formula. Those who know me closely know that.
It is also a living collection. This is particularly evident in "the sand" is more implicit in other news.
Finally, when I lived there, I knew and practiced from time to time this library, as anonymous, and I know so good.

So I wait to be with Patricia Meri (I only know by phone for now is whether he should remedy that), next Friday in his bookstore. And I hope to see you there, but not!


* should have read "Asterix in Switzerland" to understand this allusion fine and subtle.

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Neighbors

Since I moved into this neighborhood that I love without love, I spend all day in front of an apartment that looks like MA-LADE. At a street corner, a kind of loft but different levels, full of plants, large frosted windows that seem to hide furniture incredible, but simply where he would live.
I'm jealous of this apartment since the day after my move. Everything looks so clean in there.
Today I saw Stefie Shock rummaging through his pockets at the corner of the street. To unlock the door of his loft. Who
seemed suddenly less pure, less fitted. I really do not know why.

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been done for the play

That's it: summer is really happened.

Jocelyne Blouin we predicted the weather until September, the festivals rife, the terraces are full, the corridors outside swimming pools too.

It's time to live. It was a month, maybe two to be truly human. Out without putting the combination qu'étrenne Julie Payette in Endeavour. Not take advantage of our skin chapped by the cold. Pina colada drink in very large glasses. Take vacation at the same time as everyone else, although it is not all construction workers. Gargle entertainment outdoors, going to see Dominic and Martin St-Denis, contribute to smog through the effluvia of our barbecues.

Ok, agree. But once you saw Father and fli c twelve times at Cine-Parc, we have tried crying every day since the summer solstice this triangle bikini, we drank pastis to have focus Marseille, which has been trampled on toes in a crowd of neighborhood Pestacles without seeing the promised event of the century by Laurent Saulnier, what are we doing?

It appropriates the green square in front of us and planted in grasses to beautify our city so pretty? It updates every two minutes of our what to do now suddenly we are offered something other than summer theater? We invent a personality on Facebook and we made false friends into thinking they were going to school with them? It's pathetic.

But you're young, we have time and the will is there.

But really tripper our summer, he would probably return to the same gang of thirty sides of Mile End (according to Sandra) who therefore seem to enjoy their lives to the fullest. They mount exhibitions, developing projects and Tripp really underground, will see all the shows of hipsters and lie down on their forty years and say they really lived their youth. Yeah.

During that time, it scours the woodwork of our rented apartment, writing a blog that nobody will ever read (it was a cat burglar than really exist, must exist virtually ...) and we pretend find a job.

Oh! I. J'm'en will move to the thirty faces the same concept to installation / performance. I'll get the stripes tapestry of different periods found during the stripping of my walls. I'll explain in a blank space, something trendy, sleek. I will develop an artistic / conceptual / post-modernist. I will demonstrate, within a staging eclectic with music mixed by a DJ electro Austria, that the past follows us always, but in the multiple layers of this applied by our Fellows Humans. Maybe it could be done in a loft disused Park Extension. We could do that in a gang, naked and in the fetal position. One could make posters for a graphic artist in vogue. We could film everything and put it on youtube.

Sick. My summer is going to be guts, finally. I finished my stripping, I water my bad I'll grasses. Promised.

- Housewife -

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The difficulty of trying to become the cycling sport

To those who, while wearing "buttocks of iron and abs of steel" (as promised in the course title on Monday night), boast the merit of the conditioning room ("But how Can people do without physical activity? "," If I did not like it, I could not survive the stress of work, "" That's how I met Alain, machinery for back "," If I want to continue to spoil me on Saturday night with a piece of cake DiStasio, I have my training on Monday and Wednesday), I invariably answer: "The training at the gym, I can not ". Before the eyes horrified, so I hasten to reply: "... while I can do sports in the fresh air."
Phew! close call (and no, I do not speak of the song Beautiful Too bad, but because I just get by in the eyes of my interlocutors: they do not see me automatically placed on "Biggest Loser" in a few years). The problem remains
yet complete because I still have not solved the conundrum: how to combine sport, pride, vanity and sweating? When it happens

the bold idea of making the bike (and I do not move me from point A to point B, go to the subway or more daily direct me to a drinking place), I am rarely excited about the fact that I Lululemon dress from head to foot. The issue is quickly resolved, because even if I wanted, I did not wear Lululemon. In my wardrobe, no lycra. No, God knows why I'm always attracted to held more misguided.
result there this time when, after 2 km painful to keep my hand handlebar, while the other tried to prevent my gorgeous little tunic Nümph flying in the wind, I found myself on Saint-Urbain, wearing my panties in a series of cars stopped at red lights, while a gust came along ... There's this other time my earrings too long and massive enough (I always wondered: so as to earrings, why settle for tiny beads?) Swirled in the wind at a point as I thought my lobes split. There are times that, for a plump little legs, so I put my boots pretty green at the base so smooth after a series of "slides" elegant on the pedals, the unthinkable happens: Collision pubis / bar bicycle. And so on, and best: the classic "skirt pogne chain", the painful "small gladiator sandals with strings boudinent until the calf blood, "humiliating" little tube dress that goes down just a bit too much. "
For such is the dilemma: to be" appropriate "and grotesque OR be unproductive (sportingly speaking), even dangerous .. . and flirtatious.
I persist and sign: you will not see lululemon in my wardrobe ...

except perhaps one day, if you see me at the weigh-weekly "Biggest Loser".

- Nana -

Breakthrough Bleeding More Condition_symptoms

I suspect people of lying.

When they say "I'll buy a pint of milk" is false.

When they shout "I go to work", it is a lie shameless.

When they provide "no, no, I can not see you, I replay the funeral of Michael Jackson on the net," Supreme fib.

They all put on their combination of lycra, helmets Louis Garneau, their weird shoes and malleable padded panty girdles. All they check tire pressure, test the speed of response from their brakes.

They all go riding on bike paths in Montreal.

In less than two, they stormed the circuit rider. Whether it's a Wednesday afternoon off the holiday construction does not make them fearless. They will eat the road.

They emerge from the shadows, they come together in hellish crew.

You, you do not want to feel the wind in your hair, do a little exercise to walk away from the thighs, reach a friend somewhere, protecting the planet by standing on your bécyk . But this is impossible.

front position themselves freaks, those who do cross the Circuit Gilles Villeneuve because they damage the asphalt to force run at the speed of sound. And all around you who do nothing but go from point A to point B, there are others. Those that roll quietly, just at the limit of the unbearable, those who place themselves in the middle of the track, preventing anyone from exceeding safe, stopping for no reason, sticking ass normal people who feel immediately forced to make involuntary tandem with Guy, Chantal and brats. The ride which promised much yet becomes a nightmare when you try somehow to zigzag between uncles without getting hit by Lance Armstrong and his testicular cancer. Can you say that you are not currently enjoy the scenic beauty and pleasure brought by the discharge of serotonin in your brain sedentary?

I hate bike lanes.

They make me want to ride on the Turcot interchange, to overthrow the pedestrians on the sidewalks, which pose a fire engine at the rear of my bike to burn Guy, Chantal and brats. They make me want to buy a car designed in 1981, far, far away from the current environmental standards. They make me want to boycott all the brilliant recommendations of the Ministry of Health suggest that loves Quebecers a walk of 15 minutes twice a day to prevent obesity. They make me want to buy a scooter, put a fluorescent triangle back and piss off everyone, both on the street, on sidewalks and on bike paths.

- Shrew -

Where To Get Pikachu In Silver

Cornelius

We are not talking about the singer Arènbi, but the bird.
According to reliable sources, it seems we're close to an invasion in Montreal. "How do we maintain a balance between us and other life forms?" (Leveille, expert and author of several books on birds and crows).

One wonders though.

see a disturbing video of crow

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comeback

In the event (unlikely, I admit) that there would still, from time to time, people who pass through this blog, here's great news: He's not dead. No no, not at all, he is well, thank you for him, the pulse is good, although it has a voltage of young ab and concrete. Let's just say it went through a period where the chick who keeps (me, in this case) was a bit full of things to manage. It happens.

But now, here is the new month of July, its barbecues, his day-ranked black-in-the-valley-du-Rhone, and especially her vacation. Not for me, in this case, but for many people with whom I work. This greatly reduces my schedule and allows me to put some records straight.

Okay, so I'm back (all that was to arrive there). And I behind. Houlàààààà, I delayed and not laugh. Then catch history quick, I'll pass on the details and focus on the essentials.

Much, then, boils down to two things.

First: The evening of June, with Patrick Dupuis, bookstore almond Puteaux.
I've already said, Patrick is a highly sympathetic type. This is one of the founders of Quadrature , and as such, it is my publisher. It is also a story writer, published Wilquin Luce (his beautiful book called "cloudy to calm"). This means if the news in general, it is concerned and they're interested.
I told you so, Julie and Thomas, the "tenants" of the almond, are species of barjos, love what they do, super cute and super dynamic, which have neither time nor their passion.
So it was surprising that putting all these people there in the same bag, it does not have a great evening. And in fact, excellent, it was the evening.
The opportunity to meet people already glimpsed through the net, and faithful of the bookstore. Exchanges on literature in general, and particularly new. On the publishing side author editor and side. A few glasses of wine and bread rolls with olives, and bacon. Smiles and laughter. Arguments and explanations. Discussion a little shy, or significantly less. Patrick and I left at 21:30. There was still the world with Julie, who did not seem particularly eager to close shop. We really had a great time that evening, all together in Almond. To think back, to write this post, I am also resonate very sweet to the ears. And for being a little "pimp" in preparation for this evening, I had even more fun to live it. Allow people we love to meet and to please is always something valuable.


Second: the day Friday in Bourg Les Valence.
I do not even have words, because I do not know yet "for real" (although I did not have much doubt about the matter), but Martine Galati is astounding kindness. I was received with open arms. The library staff is as welcoming as possible to be, that is splendid library, the cook of the hotel is Brittany, daughter of Martine dream of a Gibson Les Paul and a Marshall (there is this in my living room compared to the man of the house that plays well the guitar) ... No but really, I felt like my home in Bourg les Valence!
Weekend of July 14 forces, there was not a crazy world to our little chat. But whatever, it has very spontaneous exchanges, where everyone participated. Perhaps it would have been less straightforward if there were more people. I do not know. In any case it was very nice like that. Rediscover your text through the comment that you made, especially when it is vibrant and pasted that it meant, emotions that we wanted to transmit, record chills ... really!
short, the day is spent at full speed. It was already tomorrow before I knew it! That's when we waited impatiently events: we do not see them go!


I explained to you some time ago I wrote to meet people, that's how I served, these days ...

One last thing. It seems that the book is approaching its 300th copy fired. Guillaume Musso that do not laugh: me, it delights me!

Oh no, actually it was not quite the thing. The last true is it