Spamming of voice commands has always been my favourite pass time in games. If you can’t annoy the shit out of someone or entertain them while playing a game, then I really don’t see much point in playing it.

This brings me to Left 4 Dead 2 voice commands. If you played the first game and were like me (read: annoying), you probably spammed Zoey’s death scream over and over because she sounded so… special. Not to mention being able to spam the elevator conversation on any map and force your friend’s characters into talking because of it.

I couldn’t go by without having the same pleasure on Left 4 Dead 2, so I looked up the new commands. There is an awesome list right here.

With classics such as:

Ellis: I love you. (Sadly I didn’t get to play Eliss, this would have been awesome to spam)

Ellis: They figured out how to stop going to the bathroom? That’s AMAZING. Ohhhh. No, wait, I just got it. Shit, that’s gross as hell.

Coach: MOTHERF- *snort* (this was awesome to spam)

I’m pretty sure you can even spam the lines for Eliss’ little “car hire” in dead centre, but I haven’t looked properly yet.

If you need to know how to use the commands, enable console in options and bind it to a key. Once in game, open up the console with that binding and type ‘vocalize *command*’, for example:

vocalize C5M3Jets2

Make sure you’re on a character that uses the command you’re inputting too, otherwise you won’t hear any result.

If you want to bind the command to a key, type ‘bind *key* *“command“* in console, for example:

bind v “vocalize C5M3Jets2″

Don’t put any of the *s into the commands.

Fair warning, when I was playing with friends the other day and spamming ‘mother-’, I “miraculously” died on the spot. I wasn’t black and white or near death in anyway, and I was surrounded by other survivors. Death by admin?

Like I said in my last post, still trying to find out if I can keep my number on free SIM cards, google has failed me for once!

Spamming on Diablo 2 is also awesome.

Artist: VA
Title: Mythica: The Collected Works (Part 1)
Label: Mythica Records
Genre: Hardstyle
Store Date: 21.12.2009
Source: Vinyl
# Tracks: 4
# Vinyls: 1
Lenght: 24:14
Quality: 320 kbps
Channels: Joint Stereo / 44 khz
Nonstop mix: no
*.cue: no
Archive size: 53 MB
Recovery record: no

Tracklist:
A1. Degos & Re-Done – The Rifle [6:15]
A2. DJ Norman – Let The Bass Kick [5:25]
B1. Trilok & Chiren – Mythica (Solutio & The I’s Remix) [5:32]
B2. Beat Providers – Near Death Experience [7:02]

Download from Rapidshare
Download from Mediafire

Yet, I know what to type.

For over a week, I’ve wanted to go to the Barnes & Noble that is just past Little Five Points, but every day, something prevented me from fulfilling my desire.  Monday, I had to work late and went to the Buckhead B&N instead.  Tuesday, I could have died.  Wednesday, I went back to the B&N in Buckhead to purchase something that I decided I wanted after all.  Thursday, I went to an office holiday party.  Friday, I watched James Cameron’s bigger-budget-version-of-Delgo-and-FernGully.

Someone didn’t want ming going to the Edgewood B&N.  You may not take stock in this kind of thinking, believing, or assessing, but I do.  The incident from Tuesday is the reason I’m writing this entry.  I left work in time to make it to Edgewood B&N and stay there for up to forty minutes before having to head home.  As I drove down the parking deck, I realized that the back passenger seat window (non-shotgun side) wouldn’t roll down and still wouldn’t go down when I was reaching the West Peachtree intersection on 10th street.  I changed my plans and turned left onto W. Ptree with the intent of going to the Toyota dealership near my house.  When I had gotten to 17th street, though, I tried the window again and it worked.  I didn’t feel like turning back around…so I drove towards Buford Highway.  Very much a windshield wipers experience.

You’re a popular, blond teenager. Your boyfriend is going to be away for four days. Do you:

• (A) Pine after him by listening to your favorite songs that remind you of him, and spend the time hanging out with your girlfriends- it’s fun to have some girl time anyway!
• (B) throw a massive temper tantrum, try to convince said boyfriend to cancel his plans despite it being important to him, practically threaten suicide, and sit on the beach for hours crying and feeling sorry for yourself

Great! You chose (B). Now, while you sit on the beach contemplating how awful your life is, you see a cute guy on the beach. Do you:

• (C) Be faithful to your boyfriend for two fucking seconds. Maybe just admire him.
• (D) Decide that he is the best looking guy you have ever seen and declare yourself in love with him. Of course agree to go out with him because he is instantly in love with you.

Great! You chose (D) You guys spend the whole weekend together. He doesn’t share anything about himself, but spends hours listening to you babble on about yourself.  After that weekend, and after your boyfriend returns, this guy, Christopher calls you incessantly after you ask him not too. Finally, you agree to go out with him one more time, and he threatens to smash into a brick wall with you in the car unless you promise to go out with him. Do you:

• (E) tell your parents and seek help immediately. Maybe even call the police?….
• (F) Decide to go out with him anyway, because you don’t want your boyfriend finding out about him. After all, your boyfriend is getting an award at a dance at the country club, and that will make you and him king and queen of the party, so you don’t want to miss that opportunity and therefore will continue to let Christopher harass you and threaten you. After all, you got a new dress!

You’ve chosen (F). Great! It’s the day of the party. However, Christopher finds out about the party, since he’s been stalking you. He shows up to break the news to your boyfriend, and probably to physically harm you for not choosing to be with him. When he arrives, he sees your identical twin sister and thinks it’s you. He starts talking to her and trying ti win her over. Should your twin sister:

• (G) avoid this psycho, reveal herself to be your twin, alert some security at the party…or get the fuck away from this guy, or
• (H) pretend to be you and agree to take a walk in the deserted woods with Christopher, so he won’t ruin your chances of being queen of the country club dance.

Well you chose…(H). Way to go…I guess? Still thinking your sister is you, he ties her up and shoves her in the trunk of his car in hopes of kidnapping her. This brings up some major issues because this is not the first time your sister was kidnapped. Not long ago, she was held hostage and fed frozen pancakes. Finally, after about an hour of dancing in the spotlight, you begin to feel a TAD BIT worried about your sister. You find her boyfriend and go off to find her. Just your luck! You catch them just as Liz is being thrown in the trunk. Jeffrey punches him out and you free Liz from the ropes. Yay! Does Liz:

• (I) freak out from the incident, go ballistic on you, screaming for the police and have a flashback to her earlier ordeal?
• (J) Hop out of the car, smooth her sensible skirt and laugh the whole thing off.

Great, you chose…..give me a fucking break. You chose (J)? Really? Really? Well, ok. So Christopher gets hauled off by security. Turns out he’s an escaped mental patient who has done this to girls before. Tee hee! Silly you! You probably should have asked more about him and not talked so much about yourself. You all head back to the party. Your boyfriend, A.J., asks you where you’ve been. You:

• (K) Explain that you were cheating on him and because of your selfish actions, almost got your sister raped and/or killed.
• (L) Say that things just aren’t working out, maybe you need time apart, and end up parting amicably so that the break up is NO FAULT of yours and he actually apologizes to you.

of COURSE you chose (L). You’re Jessica Wakefield.

—-

Francine, stop trying to make rape-chic happen. Seriously, were we supposed to think Jessica was dumb? Or that this was funny? What is the lesson learned? That they should just expect it because they are Wakefields, it’s part of life, if this happens it will all work out? That if they just ignore the guy threatening them, they can work it out themselves? That girls are powerless about the men that threaten violence against them? There was no lesson learned….Jessica has NO consequences from cheating on her boyfriend, not telling anyone about the guy threatening her, almost getting Elizabeth killed. She learns nothing. Elizabeth, as usual, enables her by cleaning up her mess.

Meanwhile, Jessica may be an even bigger sociopath than this Christopher guy. I’ve GOTTA transcribe Jessica’s reaction to A.J. having the NERVE to go away for four days. And when her friends wouldn’t wallow in her self-pity with her.

Her friends’ laughter drifted to her, and Jessica felt a surge of loneliness and betrayal. They were acting as if nothing was different, she thought. They weren’t making the least effort to cheer her up, and they were all going to Ken Matthew’s party later and didn’t even care if she went or not. I could disappear off the face of the earth, and they’d never know the difference. Feeling completely rejected, she dove into an oncoming wave and swam a few quick strokes out. She cut through another wave and felt her hair drag out behind her. They’d be really sorry if I drowned, she added silently. Then they’d wish they’d been nicer to me when they had the chance.

I call your bluff, Jessica. Drown yourself.

Today’s entry is brought to you by near-death experience numero trois!

I nearly killed myself on the drive home from work this afternoon.  I had looked over at 85 N for about  five seconds while driving 40mph in a tunnel-ish structure; and when I looked back, there was a car, stopped, with its left blinker on approximately five to seven car lengths in front of me.  I looked in the rearview mirror and the right, side-view mirror to see if there were any cars behind me (slamming on my brakes would’ve achieved nothing).  There were no cars behind me in the right lane, so I braked enough to slow down to 25 mph, got into the right lane, passed the car, and then got back into the left lane.

Oddly, I didn’t experience any physiological changes.  No heartbeat increase, no breathing increase.  There was just an internal acknowledgment of  “oh shite – check mirrors.”   Had I not returned my gaze to the view in front of me when I did, I’m pretty sure I would’ve plowed right into that little, white car waiting to get into the left lane so it could turn onto Sidney Marcus.  If  I were to survive it, it’d be my fault for any damages to the other car and to the other driver.

I then went to Lenox to take a walk and really wanted a milkshake when I was done.  I went to their newly opened Chick-Fil-A in the food court, but the line was too long.  I decided to go to Borders and ordered a milkshsaky beverage.  By the time it was made, however, I was in no mood to consume it.  Yes, I waited a couple minutes longer than I would’ve wanted, given my craving, but it was the sheer amount of ice cream that was scooped which dried up my taste buds’ action.  The serving of ice cream for that medium drink could’ve easily substituted a three-course meal.  When it was finally ready, I took a lick/bite of the top and decided there was no wayI was going to consume all, half, or even a third of it.

Moving to the title of this post, I’ve had close-calls before in terms of avoiding collisions, where there would just be car damage (fender, hood, doors).  Today’s event, however, brought me some fifteen seconds away from driving 40mph into a non-moving car.  Who can calculate the Force with which I would’ve hit that car?  Anyone?

I took a few good self-portraits by the Noel tree when I got home.

~!~ Read about near-death experience deux and un. ~!~

Our assumptions may be all wrong

If high profile psychic authors are right, death doesn’t really, truly kill us, and that changes everything. It means that many paradigms driving our material culture are as dead wrong as when everyone thought Earth was pancake flat.

As a media culture, we dote on graphic details of fatal car wrecks, plane crashes, and murders, but ironically we seldom publicly ponder what happens next to the victims who died. The news media assume they hit flatline oblivion and reporters then focus mostly on the gore of the exit scenes.

Our country spends billions of tax dollars to send robots to Mars to see if that planet could have supported life. We send other devices crashing into the moon for much the same purpose. We spent billions more on orbiting the Hubble telescope to study the origins of the Universe from a scientific perspective.

But we won’t seriously investigate—despite growing anecdotal evidence that we should—whether or not souls survive death, and if they do, what that means to our bottom line. The ruling media culture generally defines those who seriously ponder the afterlife as escapists trying to avoid a harsh reality by making up stories of gossamer-winged froufrou.

According to the International Association of Near-Death Studies (IANDS), over 23 million Americans have experienced life while out of the body. They were close to death; some were even clinically dead before being resuscitated. Still, mainstream society thinks it’s more okay to scientifically fantasize about the origin of life on Mars than to fantasize similarly about life after so-called death here at home. And reincarnation? Phooey!

I like wondering about the huge social impact that would occur if someone ever proved beyond that proverbial shadow of doubt that souls survive death, and that, in fact, rather than being chaotic, the universe is highly organized. A whole paradigm shift in news and entertainment would likely await us.

It would be harder to feel the wrenching impact of crime shows if murder, instead of someone’s end, actually meant a ticket to paradise. If villains and heroes became conscious of creating their next-life futures through their current-life actions, they might all choose to be more heroic. Win-win.

Our news and most social institutions portray death as tragic. Clearly, anyone in grief knows the depth of personal loss. However, anyone who has emerged from a near-death experience or received intimate personal proof of soul survival doesn’t buy the death myth anymore. Suddenly they embrace a different reality and set themselves apart from the crowd who fiercely clings to the paradigm that death is the end of life.

Many people think that speculating on an afterlife is a religious issue. I think of it as studying nature—human nature. If there’s more to human nature than termination for whom the final bell tolls, I want to know about it. I want to see the big screen HDTV picture.

Check it out. One of the best ever documentaries on near-death experiences. (It’s an hour long and the link is to part one of six.)

The memory of my death experience is something I chose to hide for years due to the circumstances surrounding it.  It is a painful memory that is hard to bear.  But, it is the unbelievable joy that came after my death that led me to write this. You don’t have to believe me.  I only ask that you hear me.  Hear my story and then do with it what you will.  There is only one thing I hope you will accept after reading this.  Once a child stands before the edge of forever, there is no desire to come back into this world.  No matter how much you love your parents.  No matter what hopes of the life you had left to live.  No matter what the world had in store for you.  There simply is no desire to come back!  Once you reach the edge of forever there is a love beyond comparison.  I once stood before this edge and I will tell you one thing is for sure – - I loved my mother more than anything in the world.  She was my light, my comfort, my everything!  And despite all of this, it took a whole lot of convincing for me to come back to her.

You can read entire blog … “Pope urges prayer, action to comfort AIDS patients” and the ensuing comments, at: http://thegreatone22.wordpress.com/2009/11/30/pope-urges-prayer-action-to-comfort-aids-patients/#comment-178

Some small excerpts from TGO’s Blog directed at me: 

“…In response to GhostRider’s commentary. No, the reason I do not believe in prayer is not a result of praying for something and not receiving it. I don’t believe in prayer because I do not believe that there is a God, much less a God who “listens” to our wishes. If there was a God it would be quite clear to the objective observer that he/she/it could care less about humans on this small rock we call Earth; not when one considers the suffering mankind has endured since the beginning of time. This is certainly something which an all-good, all-loving, all-powerful Being could no doubt have prevented…

…as to the “energy” or “force” that supposedly helped GhostRider recover from his near-fatal (not fatal since he’s obviously alive) accident…

 …During difficult times, as far as I’m concerned, I’ll take my chances with people; family, friends, doctors, etc., and leave God and invisible “forces” to others…”

 TGO, beloved yet naïve, friend of mine. You know very well that Webster and I had a fallout decades ago and we are rarely on the same page when it comes to definitions, but when writing, “fatal accident”, I was using my poetic license. I did experience “clinical death” – Check with Webster on what that is since you and Webster are like married or something – and that’s as fatal as I would have wanted it to be. Obviously, I am alive as you point out and if I chose the scientifically correct description of my experience, instead of the dramatic, “fatal accident”, I would have written that I had a near death experience – defined as a phenomenon in which a person clinically dies or comes very close to death only to be revived and then can recall in great detail stories of spiritual worlds and other supernatural events (since you are a stickler for using the definitions as chosen by the “flock”).

As you stated about, “…taking my chances with people; family, friends, etc. during difficult times…”, and as I recall, that’s exactly what I did – not a hard choice to make, or not a conscious choice at all being that I was in a coma – and as I also recall, it was those very people, the ones that you state you would, during difficult times take your chances with, the friends, family members, that were doing all the “praying”.  I myself was not doing any praying, unless you would construe the mantra that was repeating deep inside me, “I’ve got to get the hell out of this freakin place”, a prayer in and of itself – which it was – and as far as I’m concerned, being that I am not a religious person, I myself was not directing that “prayer” at God. BTW, I find it funny how you group God in with things like, microwaves, gamma radiation, the wind, and even love and hate, when you state, “I’ll leave God and invisible forces to others”. As for the prayers of family and friends and where they were being directed to, is insignificant and not of my concern. For all I care, they could have been praying to, “the man on the moon”, the results were that I did come back to life and recovered and I appreciate and love them dearly for having prayed and creating some sort of “energy” that was not only experienced as reality by me but kept sustaining my struggle during that entire time and I suspect, that even you TGO, being the friend that you are, and against your radicalized atheistic nature, in some sub-conscious way that went undetected by your “self”, prayed for me too.

TGO, I understand that to a radical atheist as yourself, just as to many others, anything with the word prayer in it, is of a religious context and I’d like to point out that my interest in “prayer” does not lie in the religious or spiritual realms but in our actual and concrete reality. If we want to examine what prayer might be, we have to turn to an unlikely ally. No, not to God, or The Bible, not to the spiritual, not to any religion nor to anything in the supernatural or metaphysical realms, but to one of our own sciences: quantum physics. TGO, since I have known you, you have always thrown the supernatural, the metaphysical, and anything that you cannot grasp or comprehend, into a group with “ghosts”, “goblins”, etc. or just labeled it “Mumbo-Jumbo”.  Let me take a quick moment for definitions here. BTW, these are not definitions according to me. There are as defined by the “flock”.

Metaphysics: A division of philosophy that is concerned with the fundamental nature of reality and being and that includes ontology, cosmology, and often epistemology… Metaphysics investigates principles of reality transcending those of any particular science… It is abstract philosophical studies: a study of what is outside objective experience… The philosophical study of being and knowing.

Supernatural: Of or relating to an order of existence beyond the visible observable universe; especially: of or relating to God or a god, demigod, spirit, or devil… Attributed to an invisible agent (as a ghost or spirit).

Quantum physics: The study of matter and energy at the deepest and most subtle levels possible… The branch of physics based on quantum theory which is a theoretical basis of modern physics – it’s been with us since the late 1800’s and in 1900, physicist Max Planck presented his quantum theory to the German Physical Society – that explains the nature and behavior of matter and energy on the atomic and subatomic level.

As you can see, Quantum physics is not related to, nor has anything to do with the metaphysical or the supernatural. It isn’t Mumbo Jumbo although for a man as my own father and many from his generation and educational background, it might as well be. Is it spooky? I guess you could say it is. It freaked the hell out of one of the most brilliant minds to have ever existed: Albert Einstein. As brilliant as he was, I suspect Einstein was a bit of a skeptic. (At least in the way my Doctor describes a skeptic. In the field of medicine she sees a skeptic being, “A doctor who looks at the data – what is – and doesn’t believe it.” ). But to his credit he continued “tinkering” with these sciences and till his death, kept trying to discover what was missing that would unify, not disregard, quantum and classical physics. I am sure when the existence of a round instead of flat world was discovered, it was spooky as hell thinking you’d fall off when you rotated and were facing “down”.

First of all, prayer has to be one of the oldest pursuits of mankind. We can only assume that it has been with us as long as humans have been around. Prayer, even before language existed, was probably right on the tip of the tongue of the first caveman who heard thunder or saw lightning strike a tree.

I am not going to get into neither the metaphysical nor the supernatural realms to examine what prayer might be, nor does my interest in prayer lie in any of man’s religions. We will turn to quantum physics, one of the most rigorous and challenging sciences in existence. In the last twenty years, this science has been shaken to its very foundation by a series of startling discoveries.

Quantum physicists keep finding that certain kinds of feelings affect their own experiments. It is of course, known and accepted by quantum physicists that the observer of the experiment affects the experiment. This is a basic law of Quantum Mechanics. Researchers in microbiology have found, for example, that human feeling either tightens or loosens the stranding of human DNA on a microscopic slide outside the body. In other words, researchers would be looking through a microscope at DNA, and the quality of the feeling in the room, the observers’ feelings, would wind that DNA tighter, or would unwind it to a looser state.

Quantum science is beginning to bear out, through study and experimentation, this relationship between human emotion and feelings and the outer world. For example, recent research says the magnetic nature of human emotion is directly linked to weather patterns and the barometric pressure.

TGO, the material world may, at some level, lie beyond comprehension, and, hey, there is nothing in my tiny, feeble, broken up and informal academic background preparing me for these kinds of relationships, on the other hand, they are showing up and are being recorded in our world today. Examples like the studies by Roger D. Nelson at Princeton Universe in his paper called, “Wishing for Good Weather: A Natural Experiment in Group Consciousness,” and also Lauri J. Robinson’s work at Franklin Pierce College, showing that human interaction with cloud formation/dissipation indicated results that were “significantly greater” than those predicted by chance.

Quantum physics seem very esoteric, as when a scientist explains how, on a subatomic level, it’s possible for a particle to be in two places at the same time, or to disappear into or appear from what could be an infinity of invisible dimensions. Or how, according to certain aspects of quantum physics, there’s really no reason why we shouldn’t be able to envision the future just as easily as we remember the past, since the past, present and future are all part of the same continuum.

According to Anton Zeilinger, professor of physics at the University of Vienna, physicists have merely scratched the surface of something much bigger. Zeilinger specializes in quantum experiments that demonstrate the apparent influence of observers in the shaping of reality. “Maybe the real breakthrough will come when we start to realize the connections between reality, knowledge and our actions,” he says. The concept is mind-bending, but it is well established in practice. Zeilinger and others have shown that particles that are widely separated can somehow have quantum states that are linked, so that observing one affects the outcome of the other. No one has yet fathomed how the universe seems to know when it is being watched.

Somewhat easier to grasp is the scientists’ consensus that the observable world is a kind of “matrix of energy,” in which our consciousness is a powerful force, and what we see internally is as “real” as what we view externally, and capable of altering that outer reality. So, maybe that is where the dynamics of prayer take place.

If Quantum physics shows us that we change the basic nature of matter just by thinking about it, maybe it’s the human mind that releases some sort of energy radiation that is capable of interacting directly with matter. And maybe, just maybe, “prayer” releases that energy that emanates from the human mind that has a direct effect on the environment.

Dr. Bryd, a cardiologist with San Francisco General Medical Center completed a research study involving 393 patients between August 1982 and May 1983. He divided the group into 192 patients who were prayed for, and 201 who were not prayed for. He reported that among other things, the people who were prayed for were five times less likely to develop pulmonary edema, pneumonia, or other post-surgical complications. They also died five times less often than the patients in the control group. http://www.godandscience.org/apologetics/smj1.html

Maybe that energy comes directly from our own “heart and soul” and is filtered through various parts of the mind. Or maybe that energy is what some call the, “divine creative force”.

TGO, if you want to be narrow minded, so be it. It really won’t make a difference or change reality. This whole area that we discuss periodically is not simply based on “beliefs” to me. I have lived it. Experienced it firsthand. It is as much reality as the reality of your experience reading this, or having spoken to me earlier today. I have been in that a kind of “matrix of energy”. Bathed in it. Soaked it in.

And ever since, I can’t shake a “feeling” that life here on Earth is a gift, not a test. It has purpose and meaning unique to each of us. We each have a “mission” to bring a sort of energy that is unique in each of us, to life. And we each chose to experience this human life in order to grow, evolve, and expand who we really are.

Happy Holidays to All

GhostRider / OneLove

Allegations have recently resurfaced regarding my relationship with one Andy Dick of Los Angeles, California. I just want to set the record straight right here and right now. Once and for all.

Basehead.

Sometime in 2006, or possibly 2007 (I don’t even remember – nor care), I traveled to LA with my esteemed colleague Bartholomeu Pleskotch and his band “We Are Handsome” to appear on Andy Dick’s (then) radio show “Andy Dick’s Shit Show”, on Sirius satellite radio.

His studio was approximately 4×3 (12 square feet), so I did not join the band during the taping of the program. I instead chose to drink free beer outside the studio with some bitches.

After the show ended (approximately 10pm), Andy and his driver/assistant (some hot, blonde cougar) told me to get into the car with them. So I followed orders. I sat in the backseat of Andy’s Jaguar (or possibly Porsche… I don’t even remember) convertible with Andy. The broad drove. Andy then proceeded to give me six (6) footballs of xanax, which rendered my mind and body completely useless. Alarmed at my comatose state, Andy made the friendly gesture of giving me cocaine. He poured it on the outside of his hand between his index finger and thumb, and had me snort it off. It was fucking amazing cocaine. What can I say? I was now awake. And in the car snorting cocaine on Sunset Blvd. I thought it was marginally cool, despite who I was chillin’ with.

The band was behind us in what I believe to be a ‘98 Saturn, but I can’t be sure. I also, to this day, have no idea why Andy had me drive with him and his assistant (I assume it’s because he wanted to rape me.)

We entered several bars in the Hollywood area, eventually getting kicked out of each and every one for reasons varying from: Andy getting into a physical altercation with John Lovitz over the death of Phil Hartman, Andy picking up a random patron’s wine at a swank restaurant, drinking it, setting it down, telling the man and his date to “suck my faggot cock, fucker!”, as well as Andy attempting to steal a bottle of whiskey from behind the bar, as the bartender watched.

We eventually ended up at some shithole in Los Feliz that apparently enjoyed Andy’s presence. He was welcome here, so I didn’t ask questions. It was here that I met Ron Jeremy for the first time. He was shorter than me, but his cock was bigger, so he won. We took a picture together on my blackberry (it didn’t come out.) I should mention that I ran into Ron the following weekend at the Hard Rock Hotel & Casino in Las Vegas. He did not remember me. Nor did he remember me when I bought him a shot of Kessler whiskey at the Rainbow Room in April of 2008. I do not blame him.

Anyway, I skipped a lot of shit, but that’s because I want to get to the point. The “action.” Around 2am, I was the walking dead. I had at least 10-12 drinks in me, a teener of cocaine, 6 footballs of xanax and could barely stand. I attempted to pull my dick out in a bathroom stall of the barto urinate, when Andy decided to join me. The interaction went something like this:

(Andy grabs my cock while I’m pissing)

Me: “Wwwwhaaat the ffffuck are are arrree youuu doiing?” (I will only type that one line of dialogue in drunken stupor for effect. All other sentences of dialogue will be in plain English.)

Andy: “Let’s fuck.”

Me: “Go to hell. Let go of my penis, fag.”

Andy: “Don’t call me a fag! I’m not gay!”

Me: “Then why are you trying to fuck me?”

Andy: “Because I like pretty things. C’mon, let’s fuck!”

Me: “Are you fucking kidding me? I am NOT going to fuck you. Get your hand off my cock.”

(At this point Andy attempted to French kiss me, with his hand still tightly grasped around my cock.)

Losing consciousness and barely aware of the severity of the situation at hand, I somehow simultaneously pulled Andy’s hand off my cock, and his tongue off my face, open-hand punched him, and told him to “Go fuck Makai, asshole!”

(I should note that “Makai” was a member of the band I was hanging out with that night, who Andy had casually made out with whilst rubbing his abs earlier in the evening.)

Andy then tried kissing me again, at which point I said, “Stop trying to fucking fuck me, you fucking queer!”

Andy: “Come on! Just a taste.. Let’s fuck! FINE! If we’re not going to fuck, can I at least suck you off?”

Me (losing consciousness): “FUCK NO ASSHOLE!”

I then pushed him off me, put my dick back in my pants, and walked out of the bathroom. I heard a very drunken and dejected Mr. Dick whimpering something along the lines of “Why do all of the good ones always get away?” as I walked off.

I think I blacked out at the bar shortly thereafter. Andy didn’t try to fuck me again that night. I woke up around 5am at Andy’s apartment. All I can recall were Andy’s two children wide awake on MySpace and X-Box, respectively, with Steve-O from MTV’s Jackass sitting next to me shooting heroin into his penis.

I hate Los Angeles for a lot of reasons, and this is certainly one of them.

I understand why my friends tell people that I “fucked” Andy Dick (they think it’s fucking hilarious.) It is not. The only “good” that came from that evening is that Andy slipped his phone number into the back pocket of my jeans, and I would routinely call Andy every couple of months to check up on him and his career. Our conversations usually went like this:

(3am)

Ring… Ring…

Andy: “Hello?”

Me: “What’s up Andy?”

Andy: “Who’s this?”

Me: “It’s Matt’s friend. Why haven’t I seen you on Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew yet?”

Andy: “Fuck off, prick!”

[CLICK]

I should note that the one time he didn’t hang up on me immediately, was because he wanted to explain that, and I quote, “The only reason I haven’t done ‘The Surreal Life’ is because I still have a fucking career. I have projects in development right now you prick. I am making a comeback!”

Several days after that conversation, Andy was arrested in Columbus, Ohio for molesting several male students from the Ohio State University after a long night of cocaine, xanax and boozing.

From what I hear, he entered rehab and is now “clean.” Bullshit.

Andy Dick is a bi-sexual asshole. He is probably also a pedophile. He’s probably not the type of pederast that fucks small children, though. Just the type that fucks 17 year old Hollister models.

I hope I have cleared up any confusion. Thank you.

+x+

She had finally found the courage to leave him, again; the step-father.

And we had reason to celebrate.

+x+

She told me not to swim that day, that it was too cold and too dangerous, but didn’t explain why. She never told me about the rip-currents, and I didn’t know any better for it. I loved swimming in the ocean, but had never experienced the rip-tides. I would soon discover what that meant.

It was to become a most memorable day.

Everyone was happy and laughing. It was so nice to see my mother smile and be relaxed, for once. The kids were poking at kelp, searching for sea-shells, yipping and giggling and running around, and me – always the creatrix; I was building my castles made of sand.

Mom and Aunt V were having their ‘adult beverages’ and enjoying them immensely. ~shaking head and smiling~ I can still hear their raucous and girlish laughter; it was the sound of my mother’s pure and unadulterated freedom from oppression. If I listen carefully, I can still hear the sound of the waves crashing on the shore, in the background. It’s astounding the way those echoes have never quite dissipated after all these many years.

Anyway, while they sipped and reminisced their way into semi-oblivion, I entertained my brothers and sister with the ‘hows to’s’ of building castles in the sand. After awhile, they were soon ensconced in their own little worlds, along with their own little creations. I pressed them to make theirs bigger and better than mine, than each other’s, and that now that they knew -how- to build them, they would no longer need my help. So, with a little encouragement and some persuasion, they were content to excitedly and enthusiastically compete amongst themselves, while I snuck away.

I didn’t have the heart to tell them that come sunset, the tide would wash in, carrying their castles away and into the sea.

I needed solitude and could feel the pull.

I wanted quiet. And I wanted to swim in my beloved ocean.

The sea is the one place which has always felt like home to me. The place I feel most like myself. So, needless to say, as much time as was possible was spent in, or on the ocean, herself, not just sitting on the beach, watching and listening to it. I wanted to be ‘in it’ … be a part of it, so into the waters I went.

And this was a day, not unlike any other, until I looked back at the shore. Everyone looked like ants; just small specks on the beach. At that exact moment, I knew it was likely that I would not make it back. I had drifted; been carried out too far by the current. That’s when my head began to rush and my heart jumped into my throat, registering a few skipped beats. I was terrified and in serious trouble. While my mind raced, the thing I recall thinking was, ‘She told me not to swim today, and now I’m going to drown out here, alone and …’ I started to panic …

… then I began to pray …

I remember that prayer, to this very day, “God, please help me make it back. Please give me the strength to make it back, so my mother won’t have to cry. Please, God, I’ll never do it again … I promise … Please help me … Please, God …” The prayer of a 12 year old girl who’s biggest concern was that she might cause her mother to cry – more. It was like that all my life.

Before coming to on the cold sand, the only memory I have of the time spent trying to swim back to shore was my jaw becoming frozen in place, my limbs growing stiff and heavy, and then numb – and my ears; so much pain in my ears from the freezing water. Then there was a stillness; a strange sort of silence and the sensation of sinking and weightlessness. After that point, there is no memory of how I made it back.

But I made it back.

+x+

Chicago – Wishing You Were Here

This is in continuation of and also connecting a thread from my post – My breakfast has changed for the last month…

How many of you remember – how you learnt to walk?; how do learnt to write? I do. How many of you need to make an effort to stand at the same place? I do. How many of you have felt the movement of your legs and feet to take you forward? I do it with every step I take.

For someone who could walk 10/20Kms without a hitch; who could jump off walls without thinking twice; who could float in air to catch a basketball, this is a huge change. But then that is life for you.

Recently I was at home for over a month suffering from TB. This is when I read ‘Many Lives Many Masters’ – where people have past life experiences. It was undoubtedly a fascinating read. But what hit me while I was reading the book was something that maybe only I can relate to…what hit me was the fact that I was indeed living a second life within the same lifetime. The book transcends the boundaries of life and death, as it is believed that there is no end, you just move from one life to another to another…

That is how I felt one June morning in 1992. My life moved on from being perfect to a near death experience. I was affected by Polyneuritis [Inflammation of several nerves at one time, marked by paralysis, pain, and muscle wasting. Also called multiple neuritis.] Now that I know what was happening inside my body, I can see the motor powers of the nerves of my limbs degenerating within 2Hrs. Now I can feel the importance of the ears, not only to hear but to balance; I have lost that piece nearly 50%. My balance is more-or-less like that of a 3/4 year old; I noticed this as I could feel my body do the exact things as what my son did to balance.

What this illness took away from me is my youth, my freedom. But what it gave was – a lust for life; a never ending push to go on.

I know that death can come anytime, but then that is true for all of us, just that I might have a better chance of winning that race! The steroids that I had to have left me with a ‘weighty’ problem.

What this illness also gave me was a very clear understanding of life. In the two years that I spent on the bed, I understood the hardships that my parents went through, I understood the relationship that I had developed with people I called friends, I understood who I was and what life had become; I understood that this couldn’t be undone!

Why I write about it today is … I do not know… maybe this is a gratitude note of a kind (for being alive) … I do not know… All that I know is that the loss is huge, it takes a lot of effort just to be normal and some more to perform.

Keep Smiling!

To the old man with balding white hair, glasses, wearing the black windbreaker and drinking his coffee while he was barreling down Cliff Drive in Newport Beach this morning while you drove an oversized, raised Ford F150 that screeched before it almost hit me in the crosswalk I would like to say a few words to you… I REALLY DON’T LIKE YOU and THANK YOU.

I REALLY DON’T LIKE YOU because  you put me into fear of paralysis and wheelchair aerobics to the tune of Richard Simons for the rest of my existence and THANK YOU because you gave me one of the 3rd biggest wake up calls of my life……

How much time have I spent past and present obsessing over the imperfections of my body? Way too much. How much time have I argued that if only I ran 6 miles a day and not just 3, my life would be so much better? Insanely too much. How often have I been thankful that all of my limbs work and are fully functioning? Not enough. How often do I thank God for making me a healthy, beautiful woman who can go get any job and travel anywhere in the world without physical hesitations? Never…until today.

When I saw the crosswalk sign flash the little blue person walking I didn’t look both ways I simply, arrogantly ran. Taking for granted that not only could I walk, but I could run and that given the present space and time I was fully desrving of running and not getting hit by a car or a truck for that matter. But, that truck came so close to me that I just froze as it halted just a foot away from my whole body. I was smack dab in front of it. How lucky am I that I wasn’t hit? How lucky am I that I writing this blog without a scratch on my body. So lucky. Sooo sooo sooo lucky!

Today, I am grateful that that truck almost hit me because it has put my body into a new perspective to me. All day I have seen my hands typing, making art, picking up a child, hugging a friend, I have seen my feet walk to my car to go buy my favorite Pumpkin Spice Latte and hold the arm of a little girl while her Dad and I swing her in the air on 1…2….3!!!!! I’m grateful for my body just the way it is today…healthy. It’s my goal to accept my body just the way it is….beautiful, healthy and perfect in this very moment.

Thank you again little old man with “Big Truck Syndrome” you gave me a gift by almost mauling me into Dover Drive….the gift of “Gratitude for the moment.” Thank you..thank you…thank you…

xoxo

HonestChitChat

Words, I have none.

Care of Dangerous Minds.

I Don’t Know why most wait for death to make peace with God and man.

I do know, it is far more pleasant to Rest In Peace today.

I am enjoying the smell of dinner cooking.

I never said more than 6 words to Angel. Our interaction didn’t exceed 4 minutes. But Angel is the reason I’m writing. The reason that I’m walking. The reason that I’m breathing.

Earlier this week – Wednesday, to be exact – my school hosted a blood drive. Looking back on the entire affair, I wonder why a law school would try to take on such a liability, but that’s quite beside the point.

If any of you have tried to donate blood, you know how frustrating the process is. The private, personal questions you must answer knowing that the centimeter thick cardboard separating you from the rest of the world barely qualifies as creating the safe space required to answer such questions. After you’ve answered questions most deem peculiar for the purpose of blood donation, you wait. You wait for someone to interview you; to ask you prying questions about answers that were unsatisfactory on your written application. Questions about your sex life and questions about travel. Questions about medications and questions about prison. All within 5 measly feet from other potential donors – strangers if you are lucky; classmates if you’re not.

Then they test you. Pulse. Blood Pressure. Temperature. Hardly considered invasive. And then the final test; the last hurdle you’re required to overcome before donating; Hemoglobin count. Time after time I am turned away due to vegetarianism-caused iron deficiency. Time after time my blood isn’t worthy. Time after time, I pass the written form; I pass the prying questions; I pass the basic tests; and then the prick of my finger is the needle with which my hope of saving the lives of three children is deflated. 12.5; a number I know too well. The number I always fall short of. Not this time. 12.7 and I’m allowed to donate. It has been years since I’ve been eligible and I can barely contain my excitement.

My veins are small. Add to that my circulation problems due to diabetes and I’m lucky to even make the minimum donation needed to allow the use of my blood by the authorities in an emergency. This concern was only confirmed by the nurse in charge of my donation. Luckily, he was a great nurse, and succeeded inserting the needle on his first try. He was nice, talking to me, and asking if I was comfortable – as comfortable as I could be with a large needle sticking out of my barely visible vein.

There is a regulation putting a cap on the time you are allowed to sit in the chair with the needle in your arm when donating blood. If the donor can’t reach the minimum units of blood within 20 minutes, the needle is removed and the blood is disposed of. At the 20 minute mark, I was barely above the minimum and my hand was turning blue. He took out the needle and helped me to the area with the snacks. Unfortunately, the snacks were not diabetic friendly – sugary juices and chocolate chip cookies. Fortunately for me, my friend Christina was nearby and saw my predicament. She offered me half of her bagel and I ate it right away.

I left school and walked to a falafel shop about a block away. Though they have great food, like most NY quick food stops they have little to no seating, so I decided to make my way home and eat on arrival. I walked the two avenues to the F train and got off at Herald Square to make my transfer to the D. As I stood at the platform, listening to A Fine Frenzy’s new album, I started to feel dizzy. My entire body felt weak and my eyes lost focus. What little I could see was orange. As I tried to focus on the lyrics of the music playing on my ipod, panic set in and I reached out to steady myself on a pillar. Then, as suddenly as it set in, the panic was gone, and relaxed peacefulness took its place.

When I opened my eyes, I heard voices. Male, panicked voices yelling at each other. “Put her down!”, “Take off her backpack!” I wondered what the commotion was about, and as the haze started to clear I realized I was lying on the floor. As I started to stand, I heard the men yell “Don’t try to get up!” It was only then I realized that the commotion was about me. I was on the floor, with no recollection of the past few moments of my life.

I scrambled up, steadied myself and noticed a group of about six men, standing over me with worried facial expressions. I was instructed to sit down. I walked slowly to the closest seat and lowered myself shakily onto it. A man whose face I first saw upon waking hurried over to check on me. As he asked if I was okay, I tried to hide the shock and confusion from my eyes. I told him I was alright and asked him with extreme hesitance to explain to me what had happened. He seemed worried that I couldn’t remember and told me that I had fallen. I thought quickly about the last few moments that I could remember and deduced I must have lost consciousness due to my donation and fallen down on the platform. I then asked where I had fallen, trying to piece together those moments of my life I could not recall.

“You fell over the line”

“Onto the tracks?”

“Yes, onto the tracks”

As I sat reeling from this new information, a train entered the station, its wheels screeching to a halt exactly where my limp body had been a mere minute ago. When the man realized that I needed the train that was in the station, he cleared the path for me, made sure I made it on board, and claimed a seat for me before standing against a wall a few feet away. As he stood, watching over me, I was surprised to realize that still grasped in my hand was the bag in which my lunch had been packed. As I tried to eat, my stomach grew increasingly agitated and I was forced to put away the sandwich after 4 bites.

The man walked over to me again and asked how I was feeling. I answered I was feeling alright and thanked him profusely for his help. As the train sped uptown, I started feeling like I had before losing consciousness on the platform. My eyes started to lose focus and my entire body started to shake. My face broke out in a cold sweat and I leaned back against the wall in my seat, willing my body to stay conscious. This time it worked and I stayed awake for the rest of my ride.

At some point between Columbus Circle and 125^th street, the man came over one last time. He handed me a scrap of paper with a string of numbers and a name scrawled on it. A phone number. And the name Angel. He told me to contact him if I needed more help and minutes later, we arrived at 145^th. As I exited the train he watched me with concern. I silently nodded one last thanks as the train doors closed behind me and made my way up the two steep flights of stairs to the station exit.

What happened after that is more or less irrelevant for the point of this post (though stay tuned for a future post with updates regarding this incident). I’m alive and thankful to still be a part of the living world. I’ve not broken any bones and the majority of my injury lies within the boundless confines of my mind.

The world thinks of New Yorkers in a very specific way. They are labeled unfriendly and unapproachable. They are presented to the world as self-centered to the point of self-obsessed narcissism. They are uncaring and oblivious to their surroundings. However, in this subway station, at 2:30 pm on a Wednesday afternoon, Angel, and five men of different ages and backgrounds came together to help a stranger. They put aside their differences and risked their lives to help me live to see another day. If there is any reason someone should change their preconceived notion about humanity and real life guardian angels, this is it. This is absolutely it.

After an incident like this, the “what if?” statements can’t make more frequent appearances. What if I had fallen in 30 seconds later and the train was unable to stop in time? What if Angel had not seen me fall silently onto the tracks and not solicited help while he jumped in after me? What if it had been another platform? Another time? What if there hadn’t been anyone on the platform to see me fall?

All I know is that Angel saved my life.

Angel is the reason I’m writing. The reason that I’m walking. The reason that I’m breathing… And the reason I now believe in the existence of (guardian) Angels everywhere…

I’m headed back to California this weekend, to the very neighborhood I just lived in for a year. I’m taking 93 of my closest friends to Magic Mountain for the day, and then over to Huntington Beach the next day. The purpose of the trip is twofold: 1. It’s a sweet bonding trip for students that are already a part of my youth group, and 2. It’s a perfect onramp for a student to come hang with us who isn’t already plugged in.

There’s only one problem with this trip: I personally don’t like roller coasters! I have a good reason.

A few years ago I rode Goliath without my lap bar/seatbelt in place! True story, dozens of witnesses. If you watch the video of someone’s Goliath ride at the top, you should know that I was saying, “Well Jesus, I’ll see you in a minute” at the :49 mark, and then I floated up and out of my seat at the 1:02 mark.

As the little seatbelt checker guy was doing his final walk-thru, he came to my seat and noticed that I had shoved the lap bar between my legs (instead of locking it OVER them). He said, “Oh that’s not good” and looked around for someone to help him fix the problem. But then the girl who hits the GO button hit the GO button and we lunged forward. Everyone started panicking/giggling and I sat there confident that someone would hit the STOP button.

Nope.

“That’s gonna have to do!” the little guy says to me as we clickity-click out of the loading area.

Lesson #1: Magic Mountain needs to do a much better job at screening potential employees.

Lesson #2: It should be impossible to shove that stupid bar between your legs, rendering it useless. Sometimes an idiot will actually do it. I’m the idiot.

Lesson #3: My students saw that day that I’m willing to lay my life down for them… sort of.

So here we go, off to a nauseating, life threatening, roller coaster of a weekend.

Because I’m a youth pastor, and that’s what we do.

Because I love these guys

I can’t believe at only book #19 the ghostwriters went downhill so quickly. Also, I was kind of saving this one for a bit because I thought it would be one of the more fun ones. Why do I continue to have expectations?

What this book could have been:

• Lila and Jessica both have an interest in the same guy.
• The guy seems mysterious and too good to be true.
• Lila and Jessica both try antics that result in hijinks to compete for the guy
• They both realize the guy is not worth it and decide to remain friends (frenemies)
• OR the guy realizes the girls are mean-spirited and dumps them both, both teaching them a lesson

What we get is:

• Jack is a LOWLY construction worker that Lila meets, and everyone is all judgmental and disgusted by that. However, Lila’s digging it and declares him her new man. Everyone is convinced that Jack is really hiding some secret identity, like he’s the prince of some tiny nation, because no one can REALLY be just a construction worker. Ugh, the working class!
• Jessica proves her insane sociopath personality and hits on Jack at Lila’s party while Lila is not looking and gives Jack her phone number. Really Jess? You are a disgusting, mentally ill manipulator.
• Jack begins to date both the women, but only Jessica knows. Jack convinces Jessica that he went out with Lila because he felt bad for her. After one, date, Jack and Jessica are walking on the beach and Jessica declares she is in love. From what? He smells her hair and he talks about how hot she is. Furthermore, Jack, who is older and has his own apartment, doesn’t even try to tap that ass. yea right.
• After one weekend together, Jack tells Lila he wants to marry her. Because…why? All we see is them making lovey talk over lunch. Francine, can you please show the normal steps of attraction? Even with teenagers?
• Coincidentally, Nicholas Morrow sees Jack out with Jessica and recognizes him as someone he used to go to prep school with in Connecticut. What are the odds? Also, Francine, did you know that there are other states on the east coast besides Connecticut? Nicholas remembers that Jack had an evil side and held a girl at knifepoint at school and was kicked out. Also he had violent mood swings that made him like “Dr. Jeckyl and Mr. Hyde.” In other words, he was probably bipolar. But god forbid these books are medically correct.
• Nicholas uses this an excuse to go impress Liz by being the hero and saving Jessica. Nicholas, Liz, and Nicholas’ unimportant friend go to Jack’s apartment to save Jessica. Well, good! They are just in time! Jessica, determined to find Jack’s real identity, rifles around in his bathroom and finds a shoebox of pills and marijuana. Oooooo nooo, teh drugs! If having a shoebox full of pills and a pinch of skunk is a crime, than put me away forever. When Jessica confronts Jack, he holds her at knife point. Good judgment on guys, Jess! Well, this wouldn’t have happened if Jack worked at, say,  his father’s company, but he was a construction worker, for god’s sake.
• The Scooby squad bursts in and saves Jessica at the last minute! Boy was that lucky! They all laugh about Jessica’s shenanigans with boys and then go out for a triple bacon cheesburgers at the Dairi Burger. You know, normal reactions when your life is threatned by the man you thought you loved. Deb Morgan would agree.
• There is never a g-damn SHOWDOWN between Lila and Jessica, so wtf? Liz calls Lila to find out Jack’s address, Liz tells her that Jess has been seeing Jack and now Jack is probably trying to kill Jessica, Lila responds with “thank Jess for saving me the trouble!”. Ok.
• Oh? And the subplot? Penny Ayala has mono (what? I thought guys didn’t want to kiss her? ZING!) so Liz of course is taking over as editor and she’s a fucking martyr about it. Turns out there’s a fantastic photographer at SVH who leaves their photos under the Oracle door. Liz wants to find out who it is, and it turns out that it’s Tina Ayala, Penny’s sister, who doesn’t want Penny to know its her because Penny never takes her seriously. Liz, always happy to tell families what to do, and convinces Tina to tell Penny. Well, this happens “offscreen” and all is well. Way to build up tension and suspense, ghostwriters. NOT.

Wow, what. an. absolute. stinker. The plot made no sense, had no purposeful plot turns and devices, and none of the conflicts were ever resolved thoroughly. Why was Jack even manipulating the two girls/ just because he was crazy and on drugs? Well, the one thing we got was a great cover, loving Lila’s pearls and general hotness, where Jess looks like an anorexic soccer mom.

Jack has got some game! Here’s how we wooed the ladies:

The ocean wind blew softly as they strolled down to the water’s edge. “It’s so vast, so wild,” Jack reflected as he stared out at the seemingly boundless sea. “It makes you feel like nothing more than one of these tiny grains of sand. Know what I mean?”

and here’s the deal sealer:

“I think I’ll name a star after you.” He and Jessica looked upward. Every star in the sky sparkled like a cut diamond. “That one,” Jack proclaimed, reaching his finger out to point towards the star. “Because it shines more brightly than all the rest.” Jessica followed his outstretched arm with her eyes. “But, Jack, that’s the North Star!” “Not to me, it’s not. Not any longer.” Jack carewssed Jessica’s cheek with his fingertips. “From now on that star is called Jessica, and every time I look at it, I’ll tink of this wonderful evening.”

Wow, it was great seeing my lunch again.

If you ever meet a copper-skinned, tall, amazingly muscular guy with a smile like the rising sun, who’s running around in shorts only, your first question should be: “What’s your age, sweetie??”

Uhh, dirrrrty....

Because the thing about those rare guys is, that they tend to be tempting but to our collective misfortune untouchable, because in our “oh-so-modern world” kiddies of “just” 17 years of age are apparently not mature enough to decide for their own if they want to hang out (or whatever….^^) with gorgeous girls like us!! No one ever considers the oddity of the fact that they would actually be able to buy a gun by law, or to go and smash daddy’s precious 50.000$ car, but the responsibility of a relationship…. not to be considered!! What a brave new world….^^

Well anyway, if we ever meet a guy like that, either it’s worth the penalty and we take the chance then and there (no judgement there, we all know, it IS tempting), or we do it smart…. means to keep him on the back burner for later and meanwhile to emotionally bind him to us in an unbreakable way so he will never even think of someone else, not just till the blessed day he turns 18, but for the entire rest of his life!!!

So, if you’re lucky enough to ever meet your “personal brand of Taylor”, you should definitely follow these rules, and we promise – he will be dazzled past comprehension, and so inescapably result in being “yours forever”:

Taylor Lautner binge drinking^^

1. Talk to him about stuff “kids” his age do: For example binge drinking. Or drugs. Always an interesting issue.
2. Let him know that you’re on the same wavelength with him: Maybe kill a bottle of Jaeger together. Might possibly even result in fun actions definitely against the law (he’s 17, remember?) but honestly, how bad could THAT be?
3. Talk with him about cars. Or motorcycles. Or anything else that’s got tyres and runs fast, and bores you to death. The “don’t-talk-much-just-smile-and-look-impressed”-tactic is proved to lead to success, as e.g. successfully shown in New Moon.
4. You should definitely get yourself in some cruelly dangerous situations. Try jumping off a skyscraper. Or if u don’t have a skyscraper at hand, try jumping out of a driving car. Around 100 mph should be the appropriate speed to get your target’s guardian instinct drawn out of its reserve.
   

   Sexy near death experiences....

   Guarantees you more-than-good near death experiences – if you know what I mean…. oh, and if it actually stays NEAR death.

So, if you follow all these rules, you should definitely be able to get yourself in lots of trouble win him for you!! Congratulations and take care have fun….

a

Off to look out for shirtless hot Indian guys around town,

ZeldaTheTwilightPrincess

a

If you maybe tried some of our awesome tips, leave a comment and feel free to tell us about the (natural) success you had with them, or anything good you’d like to add!!

Todays reflections are about: Departure. In the moment of death what happens? For the Zen Buddhists it is an utmost important event, when the spiritual body separates from the physical one. Can we imagine it like an out-of-body experience, with the exception that the spirit wont re-unite with the body again? Post Lectum: Imagine a prayer being an offering of energy from the material world to the spiritual one, which includes a picture of the desired future. Daily Thoughts by Mon Rasz 07/2009

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4hX9BDJVEmo

http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x9woem_dt017-departure-daily-thoughts-by-m

Tags: Buddhism, daily, death, departure, discussion, NDE, near death experience, OOBE, out of body experience, reflections, spiritual, thoughts, world, Zen