Where To Buy Charriol Bracelet, Ring Philippines

Very simple and very

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QXA_IXAL3jk&feature=player_embedded
eye does not tear. Write

Cruising Places In Mumbai

dismantling of the state - clearly

from Prague:
colleague Ondrej yesterday talked to Czech ambassador in Egypt. Those are hysterical. The police not only came to guard the embassy, but took with them their booths.

Incidentally, the Egyptian police booth - whether it is healthy.
But - have claimed ...

Does Brithcontrol Shot Cause Bv

Cairo Yauza

much time to paint there, but the question to ask would be desirable. So
I - very briefly, without examples, detailed argumentation.

In connection with the events in Egypt, naturally the question arose about what the analogy of the current Egyptian situation and the current Russian.
Relatively speaking, there are three groups of friends (mostly with their nuances, of course, there may be more, and at all other estt - But I've not noticed):

1. Some rejoice in the Egyptian mass movement toward democracy, and welcome the birth of a free brewing Egypt. For these no no contradiction. They hope that we will sooner or later something like this happens.

2. Another category - the principal guardians of the opponents any revolutions, because "the government - the only European", that in Egypt, in Russia, and "your Slav, Teuton and Anglo-Saxon" - do not create, destroy Wizard. "They have again no problems in the current rhetoric is not - they are predicting to Egypt in case of overthrow Mubarak's a terrible Islamism, war with Israel, the destruction of economy, unemployment, hunger and hyperinflation, and Russia in the case of the overthrow of the tandem - a terrible Russian nationalism, the terrible massacre, the bloody breakup of the country, destruction of the economy, unemployment, hunger and hyperinflation.

3. Interesting situation with the third group. We are talking about those very gloomy estimates overthrow Mubarak, for the fate of Egypt, Israel, Middle East and the world, but insists beneficial for Russia and surrounding the elimination of Putin's regime.

Own the main question for them:
Why do you think that a similar scenario, the revolutionary dismantling of the authoritarian regime in Egypt is likely to shitty end to the country and the world, and in Russia - with benefit and pleasure?
What's the deal:
- a difference of mentality, culture and religion of people - what it is this case is this difference?
- a better educated the majority of Russian citizens in comparison with the Egyptian?
- the difference in political and other stories - again, why this difference is so radically changes the prognosis?
- in a different scenario, existing and potential political power?
- more responsibility of the Russian elite (hmmm. ...)?
- more accountability, relevance and professionalism of the Russian political opposition (eeee. ...)?
etc.

Ftv Midnight Hot Streaming

first impression of Vaenga (Ultra-subjective)

This is such a singer, if anyone knows.
So, on my first glance, it's somewhere between Arbenina any of the Assumption.
That is, if I previously gave here a definition of the style of some singers, I would have hung small, trying to present it.
But there is.

Pimped Mobility Scooter

Egyptian Theme From

I'm here in a comment to one post on the events in Egypt, wrote about his concerns over developments in the Islamist alternative.
In response, some optimistic recommended that I read an article some Said Gafurova (to my shame, I do not know who it is, but I was assured that a prominent specialist on the Middle East)
"Egypt: The Caliphate will not be"
http://www.rus-obr.ru/day-comment/ 9433

Reading.
I read:
"... ... Parliament can play a role, played by the Russian Duma in February 1917 - ie the institution legitimizing the Provisional Government , which will undoubtedly be a coalition.
Then Milyukova will play the role of Al-Baradei, and the role of Kerensky - the leaders of the Muslim Brotherhood , very reasonable, In fact, the organization, its political and especially socio-economic program before the unbearable, reminiscent of the Right SRs until 1917. "

Now think how adequately in the article, designed to calm the panic-mongers, give an analogy of the February Revolution. In my opinion, the readers, not yet forgotten school history course, quite definite ideas about the most probable future developments should be against their will.

How Is The Ph In The Small Intestine Maintained

All about my father

Bes-Ottsovschina.

first memories.

difficult to distinguish from the diffuseness of the images of my first memories of their parents. Mom was something soft, flexible, and smelling sleep and peace of mind. Dad was something joyful and boisterous, a little prickly because of their beards and wool sweaters. Dad rolled me on an amazing red bike: it permitted to hold the handle of the gas and move down with him with a steep hill leading to our house. Dad taught me how to play chess when I was only three. He brought work with huge rolls of paper, dotted with small numbers, but on the reverse side suitable for an infinite drawing. Dad rolled me on the neck and never not to say that he is tired. It's funny fingered feet, vtaskivaya me on a snowy hill, and not at all offended when I asked why he walks like a duck. Dad like when I made him massages, and just quietly cried when I mercilessly tore the hairs on his broad back. Dad was asleep, hugging a pillow, and I love to come to bed after him to sleep on a small downed roller, which kept him warm and smell. Dad loved to eat mustard adjika, halva, and onions. Onions he ate big chunks, with a sweep of dipping it in salt and sending in your mouth. Dad wore me, wrapped in a terry-sheet, from the bath house and watched TV with me until all domyvalis, and the dinner came to the plate. Dad gave me clumps on the head table, because I was talkative. My dad hated the slowness and sluggishness. But still only the Pope would agree for me to hang the rope swing in the garden and ride until they get tired hands. That pope, however, lived for a brief period in my memory is more a fabulous hero than a living person.

first offense.

I was terribly clumsy child. Movable and noisy, but awkward. Mom was afraid that I hurt myself. To improve coordination, learn to control a little chubby body, she gave me a dance-gymnastics club. Like any occupation involving with the ability to perform before an audience, dancing mesmerized my childish mind. Neither the tedium of training, nor worn ballet flats teachers could not destroy my delight.
three times a week my father came to the end of the workday to take me to the dance, and then come back in the smoke-filled apartment, which proudly was called the office. And once he did not come. In the house, as he often did at that time, there was no light. I sat in a dark corridor on the floor with a strap on the bag with Czech and waited. Mom comforted me, they say, once you miss dancing, do not worry. But I believed until recently that the pope arrives. He arrived when the end my lesson was 15 minutes. And only then did I burst into tears in his voice, accusing the father of all sins of the world. He knew what was wrong, stroked my head and promised that this is the first and last time. Farmed served as a box of chocolates - pieces of kiwi fruit in chocolate. Unprecedented delicacy in a grand on my five-year view box. As a sign his promises and in honor of the special beauty that box placed on a shelf in the kitchen, it is gathering dust there for a long time and it seems that not even left the hallowed place, when I no longer was in the old house. After this incident my father more often late or miss my workout. A few months later I stopped going to dances. I have remained alarmingly clumsy and can ill-fated sketch box in detail.

False.

How many people in the mid-nineties, his father suddenly become an entrepreneur. Terribly busy man with a collection of neckties and invariably blue circles around the eyes. And the endless trips. His there was three or four days at home. The father came suddenly, as if to say, the code it will return no mother, nor my aunt for some reason could not.
One morning I sleepily brushed their teeth in the bathroom and suddenly heard the sound of a car drove up to the house. I ran into the kitchen where my mother and grandmother cooked breakfast, screamed with joy: "Daddy, Daddy come." Rushed home to meet his father in the hallway, and I stayed in the kitchen, scrape off the floor toothpaste, which had dropped and smeared on the tile. So, collecting the sticky mint mush, I scolded herself. I was terribly ashamed. Because I'm actually not happy arrival of his father. But I knew that I was supposed to be happy and because jumping and screaming, and now because of this, kneeling on the cold floor and gather nasty paste. I was so ashamed that I hid in the bathroom until his father hugged his mother and sat down to lunch, hungry from the road. And then I decided I should drive these thoughts in his head from, it's my favorite dad. And came out cheerful, Ready to celebrate its emergence. A minute later I had forgotten about shame. Because really happy, looking at how he eats - avidly, widely elbows on the table. This lie to myself I remembered after a long time.
And on the day when my mother put me on the bed and solemnly through her tears said, that they were with my father divorced. He fell in love with another woman and wants to marry her, and her mother will not interfere with him. She's just going to begin to mitigate the traditional part of that, if the father goes away, it does not mean that he throws me, as I said, I do not care, because "it is me still not engaged." I jumped out of bed and went, and mom cried for a long time in the nursery. But I forgive myself my shame. Forgive myself that I loved him enough. I felt better.
But mom tears, the pain drove me to despair. I could do nothing. While knowing this, still trying. Father still drove me to school every morning, coming from somewhere rumpled and not enough sleep. Once I decided to talk to him. I timidly asked: "Daddy, you know what mom is engaged in the evenings?". Not feeling the trick, he with a half smile asked: "What?". And then I, choking with tears, she whispered: "waiting for you." I tried not to cry very hard. But he turned to me with a driver seats and a fury in the eyes hissed at me: "You know what I do in the evenings? You know? I work like hell to feed you. Work, you know? ". And I knew he was lying. Even without the mother's tearful confession, I knew he was lying. I checked how many neckties hanging in his closet. Every day, tested, and once found that there were only old suspenders and a horrible tie on elastic. I knew he was gone forever. Why was it necessary to lie? I jumped out of the car and slipping, wandered into a school, fell, dropping a heavy briefcase over his head, got up, tears smeared the evil in the face again was again declined. He left immediately. I knew he was not see how I fall. But this only increased my anger and my despair. I called him a heartless coward. I thought I had was taken from my shame before him. He never deserved my shame. And promised myself that never again will succumb to it. Never think about it. But he had a hidden weapon. Weapons, he has destroyed all of my protective walls.

Laughter

father always laughed. It is insulting and inappropriate.
I was ten when I went to the hospital with appendicitis. Father took me from my mother's apartment and drove to the operation. After it, I woke up too early, but slow-witted nurse forgot to make a cauterized. I mumbled something and moaning from the feeling of hot pokers, they are pressed into my stomach. Mom held my hand and quietly crying, and my father sat beside him and giggled. At first he just uttered an incomprehensible sniff, then began to spread out into a smile. Mom kicked him gently, making the bed was shaking, bringing me more pain. I groaned louder he laughed more and more openly. I gain strength, and asked my father why he was laughing, because I was hurt. He apologized and said that I publish the same sounds as publishing my great-grandmother, which has often sore foot. I smiled back. What else could I do? My poor grandmother, fairy of my childhood, fabulous woman in the Kuban bright dresses with white hair and a soft smile, died in an empty house on a sofa bed. The nurse that his father had hired for her that day was the weekend.
father laughed, when at thirteen I showed pictures of a trip and proudly thrusting his finger in the boy next to me to provide him "my first boyfriend." The father chuckled when my mother in my fourteenth whispered in his ear that I "was the girl" this year. The father grunted giggling when I showed him the ideal school diploma and gratitude. He strained groaned, though he told the pun, when I told him that I go to the first practice in a regional newspaper. He arrogantly smiled, looking through a file of my articles, slip during his next visit, caring mother.
Mom always said that it was his method of psychological protection. And, in my opinion, it was a weapon. Arms destruction of my emotions, feelings and my life, which seemed to him too small and unnecessary for a man like him.

Daddy women.

After the divorce, the father for some time kept a solemn ritual of "off with his daughter." He took me all day, fed the fruit in the winter and ice in the summer, drove to his beloved granny, rolled through the city on the expensive car, carried away into the woods to play with his huge hunting dog. And once he put me in a car, said that we eat to get acquainted with his new wife. That's because without warning, and some sort of superfluous conversations he put I face the fact that I should be friendly and polite to a woman, because of which my mother was treated for six months from depression. What could I do? Just smile and nod. Translucent white woman with mousy hair and revealing-urbane I tried to inspire conversation and chocolate. She is a psychologist on profession, offered me to draw animals and colored squares, and then told me to what I'm psycho. I answered all the questions, telling about the school and gradually ate chocolate. The same day, left for a few minutes alone, I found among some rubbish on the windowsill heavy metal bulb, as used in old mice. It smelled amazing Dad's cologne and a fantastically pleasant to the touch. Dad explained me what it is, and, lo and behold, he gave it to me in perpetuity. I wore a few months, the ball everywhere, until the smell is not dissolved in a school pencil case. When boys jokingly picked my strange talisman, I had a fight with two, mercilessly Loupian their books and a backpack. For this ball, I forgave my father, pale woman and her chocolate. For this ball, I forgive even a small transparent boy to chill on the back like me and my mother mouse.

Next, his wife, almost my age, a large and cheerful woman, waving a bag "Chanel" and the dashingly steering jeep, forgiveness is not required. By the time she had I smile politely, I became overgrown with impressive armor and perceives it as just another person whose company I would have to endure. To her credit, it is necessary noted that it was natural and open, genuinely trying to befriend me. Its only drawback was that she chimed furiously to his father, when he tried to show an unnecessary concern for me. Dad suddenly in my seventeen discovered that I did not even look fit for the title of his daughter. I wear long skirts, collect hair under a thin rope on his forehead, I prefer heels and ballet flats can not stand gold. He bought me a dozen mini-skirts, did not listen to me when I tried to to convince him that will not wear patent leather boots, knee-deep, led to a better cabin and forced to make a ragged fringe. Looking at me, cropped, with a plucked under the lace eyebrows at unimaginable heels, he's pretty smacked and stepmother urged that I should reduce further the tanning salon and buy some poyasochkov with badge bigger. She enthusiastically clapped her hands and was taken to call his personal beautician to do my permanent makeup. I betrayed melted inside, this is all taking care of me, let the unskilled, but caring, albeit totally abhorrent to my inner needs, but caring.
arriving home, I maliciously shove in a closet case unnecessary obnovok. A mother sat on a chair, hunched and tired, and all the whispering that she did not return her daughter. She was wrong, of these executions I became only more "it".

Holidays

In my childhood holidays were loud and long. In our house, people gathered. We drank, ate, laughed and joker. Mom was always an excellent hostess. She cooked food in enormous amounts, decorated table, as if in a restaurant. She put on home Holidays and best dresses were charmingly sarcastic lady, and a contented life. His father was always like a visitor. He sometimes comes to the point where all were already in the collection, burst like a whirlwind, joked, quickly drank, smoked cigars and drank again, but slowly and in style, though zapravsky sir, from the movie. They were good pair. They held great parties.
And then dad would come only under the new year in our apartment with a huge basket of fruit and something festive wrapped. He always brought artificially shiny apples and grapes of incredible proportions. On the eve of New Year's night, I read somewhere about the Italian tradition: that in the new year is the desire to think of it and eat twelve grapes before the clock strikes midnight. But the grapes were either road or podmorozhen, and despite my pleas, my mother did not buy it. And in the evening was the father, with the same basket, which to my delight of discovery of large watery grapes, which is winter in the supermarkets. My father was the savior of my desire. And at midnight, cherished by chiming clock, I make a wish and started a grapes. But he was such a huge and tough, that no matter how I stuffed grape into his mouth, nothing came of it. I davilas, tears streaming from her eyes, but I've furiously pushed grapes in his mouth. Until they beat the chimes, I could eat a whole dozen, but solemnly declared the people that I have been enclosed by all the twelve and the wish will come true. I lied, I was disgusted by this. And suddenly it seemed to me that his father was specifically brought me the grapes. Specifically to tease me wish fulfillment, and then substitute me to get to choke this filth. Of course, it was my imagination. Of course, then for me it was true.
I never knew what to give father's birthday. He's such a rich and glossy. What he may need? Somehow, becoming high enough to reach to the entire kitchen utensils, I baked him a cake with apricots. The last remnants of our mom with a trip to the south. Pie left a lush, beautiful golden color. I sprinkled it top with powdered sugar and solemnly handed. Father ate his tea, snorting white powder and kept repeating: "Good pie, but a bit too much powder." "Nothing, nothing, just right "- saying to his little wife transparent, invisible finger flicking sugar on the saucer. And I smiled. And ate it was very tasty.
Almost ten years on the birthday of my father I was traveling. My friends and I scoured the hitchhiker hot spaces nearest the coast - the Crimea. I was proud of themselves - their own, with an excellent company to travel, as the heroine of a fashionable film. I live my summers on the road adventures. I like to congratulate my father and both boast of being who I am - Hobbies wonderful life. I wrote him a congratulatory message and his words: "By the way, greetings to you from the road Yalta-Sevastopol". What was the line in response: "Daughter, thou that leaned to earn money by dishonest ho? "and three smileys. I blushed and immediately replied that I was just traveling. In response - silence. That silence lasted until now. The next my birthday he did not call. And it is not written. And do not do this until now.

PS

A psychologist friend of mine (they persecute me), accidentally saw my signature noticed that I was probably "papa's daughter." Like, five letters in my stroke three are from the middle name, which means if I brought up my father and he provided greatest influence on me. "You must be very similar to his father in appearance and, more importantly, in character?". I smiled in response to the hereditary duty smile, and thought to himself: "God forbid ... forbid, God."

What If I Mix Red Clay With Concrete

comments: why the terrorists have called razdobudko?

Monday After dinner
happen to attack at Domodedovo.
bomb exploded there shahid
obscure genus and species.

began to think Prime Minister with the President:
- Recognizing the seriousness of moment,
spiteful critics not to give odds,
must somehow be called flayer.

call an Arab terrorist.
Let it be navrode Khattab -
with a beard and a green bandanna,
with bin Laden in the head and the Koran.

- No, - the president said dejectedly, -
I'm just out of Jericho,
No, I do not need an Arab to bandanna -
not understand boys with Jordan.

call-ka Caucasians shahid.
Let it be a big-nosed, unshaven,
on the chest with a machine-gun belts
And with the notable Chechen accent.

- None - Prime he says - so do not come out,
So in fact you can offend Ramzan -
He still gets angry at the Manege.
Let shahid is Russian Nazi!

Let it be a fan-made sweater,
And with a swastika on the balalaika.
President meets the Prime Minister:
- Oh, would not become a model ...

Let it be anyone or all at once -
Wahhabi and - as though Caucasus,
And not Russian - and Russian as if -
named Razdobudko ...

4th Stage Ovarian Cancer

character for a children's anti-extremist transfer

scabby Jews Bolshevik Cossack - abbreviated, Parhabolka .

PS
who wants to take away the people of the kindest Pusechku (Putin, Sechin, Kadyrov).
(comments tritopora )

Linear Optocoupler Cost

Domodedovo

condolences to the victims and bereaved families.

Gay Cruising In Mobile

Skolkovo: horror, science fiction, thriller

first building Skolkovo - hypercube.
via m_yu_sokolov

worried:
«Cube 2: Hypercube» (born Cube 2: Hypercube) - fantastic film, sequel to "Cube".

Eight strangers people wake up in the rooms, having the shape of a cube. Rooms are located within a four-cube. Rooms are constantly on the move by "quantum teleportation" and if you climb to the next room, then return to the former is unlikely. In the overlap hypercube parallel worlds, while in some rooms flowing differently, and some rooms are deadly traps.

Stomach Flu Throwing Up

"This music will be eternal" (c) (cross-post Frome daunload Sidi)




"What's Going On" - feast of soul, the highest point of style, "Sergeant Pepper" and "Pet Sounds " black music, if you want. And besides, the child of two cross-flow of blood and open wounds - The Marvin Gaye, quietly going crazy from depression (in the spring of 1970, died of cancer on his permanent duet partner, Tammy Terrel, and Marvin tried to get away from the music playing soccer), and his country, just waking from a drunken sleep Summer of Love. The result of a nervous breakdown on a background singer was blushing seventieth conceptual suite of nine songs, which collected from newspapers tragic urgency (sixteenth year of the Vietnam War, the beginning of the environmental nightmare, the epidemic of poverty and drug addiction, degradation, and the criminalization of the ghetto) resulted in an emotional manifesto incredible mental strength and aesthetic power. Each song of the nine is an absolute masterpiece and the gold standard for soul music - all pets-Perepetui million times in all genres (from the most recent examples: "Save The Children" from Bono, "What's Going On" of Perfect Circle, "Mercy Mercy Me" (The Ecology) of The Strokes). Say what you like, but nothing as compelling message of combining social and melodic triumph since not fall into the charts in Billboard - modern political troubadours on the background of Marvin Gaye, unwittingly, look American Idiot. (L. Alexander, RS - Russian version)

Artist: Marvin Gaye
Title: What's Going On
Year: 1971
Label: Motown
Bitrate: 320

Yandex
Rapidshare

1.What 's Going On
2.What' s Happening Brother
3.Flyin 'High (In The Friendly Sky)
4.Save The Children
5.God Is Love
6.Mercy, Mercy Me (The Ecology)
7.Right On
8.Wholy Holy
9. Inner City Blues (Make Me Wanna Holler)

Usb Superpro/ultrapro

Well, let's play!

Enough eat up salads and watch the lights!)))

I want in the comments of photos taken directly Now when kommentonapisaniya!

click on my picture and make your site, then comment!



Getting started!