Sommer left me a big printed photo, one of the beautiful she has in her profile. I’m going to “sacrifice” one of my pillows, attach the photo to it, and make out with it later on.
It's not pathetic, it's all (physical contact) I have now.
I’ve found this pygmy tribe who make one mean refreshing drink There’s nothing like a Bollywood flick I listen mostly to Indonesian rap I watch this soap from Malawi about a goat herder which I pick up on a stream through Internet And I never wear a baseball cap, I always wear a Fez
Remember them school days, during summer break, them joyous days when catching a tan while sat under sun down by the local corner shop with your mates, sipping your soda and laughing at a new joke one of them mates came up with, or the nights with only stars and moon observing when you’d all go ahead with the plan to steal as many apples from that grumpy old farts only tree a couple of streets down, simply because he was a grumpy old fart and the prank was comedy genius to you?
Remember when every day served a new adventure, where early teenage years was what summers was invented for?
Then, one day, a new visitor to the neighbourhood, a cousin to one of the girls from your class, one who lives only a few houses down your road. You’re 13, she is as well. And you instantly fall in love. With each day you find more excuses to not be with your friends but instead hang down on your street and talk to your classmates visiting cousin over the hedge separating you from her, and then you grow bold, you invite her to an evening on your own, at the outdoor movie over by the football field. You remain alone in the seats while the lights go out after the movie’s finished and everybody around you leaves for home, a stolen kiss, your heart beating fast and happy, almost wanting to jump out of your chest. She leans her head on your shoulder and you just sit there, amazed and totally satisfied.
Then, the day for her to leave is there, she must head back to the town where she lives, her summer visit is over. It’s a good feeling to have spent all the time with her, a not as good to see her go, and those hours, those right after she has left are…. bitter and sweet at the same time.
Have you ever experienced this? The mix of utmost happiness just been had, and the sense of great loss, a feeling of bland nothingness, emptiness, because it’s back to a in comparison grey reality.
Sommer headed home three and a half hour ago, and that’s what it feels like.
You only "need" your friends for company there and back. Once inside the theater you really want them to be quiet and stop offering you popcorn or candy all the time so you can watch the film in peace.
One of the best things I know is to go watch a film in the middle of the, with the whole place almost to myself.
Can we omit the laugh and smile emoticons, and even the jokes in this one? It doesn’t tell whether you think it’s funny when a woman slaps a man, whether you’re joking, whether you’re serious but cover it conveniently with smiley.
But I have to say, as much as I wonder why people greet in threads, I also wonder why people feel the urge to write in all bold, or change colours, or write with letters high as a tall man on a pogo stick. We see you, there's no need to toy around with crayons and magnifying glasses to get noticed.
This is the first forum I've come across where people feel the urge to greet one another like they were meeting in a Sunday park. All we need is men in bowler hats tipping them to ladies in 1870's fashion dresses, wide flowery hats and tiny little pink umbrellas giving shade from the sun.
It's not bothering, simply amusing. It's a bit like walking into an elevator at work where you say hi to one another and then everybody stares down into the floor or straight ahead, waiting for that ride to reach your floor.
You should see what I invented for backrubs. It involves a kitten with bars of soap tied to its feet and the head and tail tied to rubberbands, each end attached to the back of her head and the other to her knickers
Two hours is no problem. It's very rare I watch the telly between 4-6AM.
As for foot massage, I've figured this out a long time ago. (this is for all the men)
Take a pillow case. To be on the safe side, go steal one from the neighbour when they’re hanging out laundry. You would want to ruin one of her favourite ones and get slapped all over the house.
Then, get a blow dryer, one of those small ones that you can get from the “Everything for £1” store. Make sure it’s possible to set the level of heat to a very low, preferably to luke-warm
Get a dozen ping-pong balls, a bag with those cotton balls that women use for god knows what, throw in a small empty aluminium beer can and two hard boiled egg dipped in glue or epoxy then dried so as to not have them crack open out of the shell.
First, in the lower corner of the pillow case, you cut open a hole large enough to fit around the end of the blow dryer. Insert the “mouth” into the hole, attach the cloth to the side of the mouth of the blow dryer (I don’t care how you do it! Staple it, hammer and nails, glue it, use your damn skills)
Then you fill the pillow case with all the material I listed in the ping-pong paragraph.
Then insert her feet into the pillow case, tie it with rope around her feet, insert the chord to the wall, turn it on, and she’ll have the foot massage of her life, without you even having to be near the buzzing noise.
I’ve seen these on the telly, where filthy rich people have a personal shopper who goes out and does the shopping for them. I mean, that’s a status symbol if any, to have your personal shopper in the household, isn’t it? That’s a sign of you living like a Monte Carlo or a Beverly Hills kind of life.
So, do you reckon when living together with someone, you could ask them to pop out and get some more beer, and pull that thing? Tell them: - Honey, look at it us having a personal shopper, doesn’t that make you feel wealthy.
Yeah, yeah, you’re as predictable some of you as an itch on your face after you’ve held your head inside an astronaut’s helmet filled with a thousand mosquitoes, like I don’t know you’ll be saying, in a Marge Simpson kind of voice: - Why don’t you go buy things for her!?
In which case you’re missing the point entirely, it’s not about I shopping for her, it’s about finding an easy way to get her to buy beer for me when needed, without any hassle. So work with me at least once, for Christ sake!
CaptainBeirutIII Forum Posts (1,186)
Summer’s end
Sommer left me a big printed photo, one of the beautiful she has in her profile. I’m going to “sacrifice” one of my pillows, attach the photo to it, and make out with it later on.It's not pathetic, it's all (physical contact) I have now.