Csilla e o fetita mica, deocamdata, si vrea stapan! A plecat in cautarea lui pe soseaua inspre Boga, pe linia alba, cand a zarit-o Melinda si s-a uitat la ea atat de frumos incat prietena mea n-a avut de ales si a luat-o in masina. Din pacate Meli nu o mai poate tine… Cine vrea o fetita asa de frumoasa, cu sange de ciobanesc mioritic sa lase un comment, sau mesaj la gabici77@gmail.com.
Povestea ei o puteti citi pe meluska.wordpress.com.
Cu un mic efort, poti face un bine mare. Binele asta poate fi mic si el, dar pentru ca suntem multi, pana la urma pot sa se adune sume mari. Nu lasati ca banutii astia sa nu fie folositi acolo unde este nevoie de ei. Particica mea, atata cat ii, o voi dona pentru SOS DOGS Oradea, care face o treaba minunata. Am citit recent, ca din 2003, de cand activeaza SOS DOGS, in Romania a scazut numarul cainilor vagabonzi de la 4.000 la 400. Eu nu stiu daca e asa, pentru ca mai sunt multi caini pe strada, dar adevarul e ca a scazut foarte mult numarul lor, si asta se vede. Am fost la adapost de mai multe ori, doar in vizita, sau ducand caini gasiti pe strada, in stare disperata. Acolo intotdeauna am gasit sprijin si ajutor si i-am lasat cu inima impacata.
Detaliile pentru donarea celor 2% pentru SOS DOGS le gasiti aici. Cine doreste formulare precompletate pe fax sau e-mail sa ma anunte. Ce trebuie facut? Completat formularul, atasata fisa fiscala (pe care trebuie sa o primiti de la firma angajatoare) si trimisa prin posta la finante. Atat. Doar ca trebuie sa ne miscam repede… termenul limita este 15 mai.
De plictisealaaaa…. am inceput un photo-blog. WordPress a lansat un layout foarte dragut, special pentru postat fotografii. Fiecare post e o pagina separata si trebuie musai sa contina o poza. In functie de culorile predominante din poza va fi si backgroundul postului. Noah… e ca la gradi, dar e cool! Deci, linkul e gabici.wordpress.com. Have fun!
PS: Pe aceasta cale doresc sa ii informez pe cei care se simt cu musca pe caciula, ca nu voi publica nici o fotografie compromitatoare pentru cariera, viata de familie sau sociala a lor. I’m a good girl, you know, so your dark secrets are safe with me 
Primavara asta vad ca nu prieste de loc blogaritului. Cam toata lumea someaza, inclusiv eu, si restul prietenilor care erau mult mai activi ca mine, si scriau mai multe posturi pe zi. Lumea e ocupata ba cu lucru, ba cu dragostea, ba cu ‘vanat himere’ (vorba unui filosof amator contemporan in viata). Altii se distreaza, sunt in concediu, sau pur si simplu isi baga picioarele. E bine si e rau, in acelasi timp. E bine, pentru ca, pe undeva blogareala mi se pare o pierdere de timp, o unealta de omorat plictisul (asta fac si eu acum… ma plictisesc la servici). Daca privim asa, inseamna ca oamenii nu scriu pentru ca nu sunt plictisiti - si asta e bine: se intampla lucruri, viata ‘curge’ inainte. E rau pentru ca, pe de alta parte, e fun sa citesti aberatiile unora. Te mai mira unele chestii, te revolta, te fac sa razi, si pe undeva, daca bloggerul te lasa, poti sa il cunosti mai bine. Eu nu pot sa ma laud ca se intampla lucruri foarte importante cu mine acum - nu de asta nu scriu. Sunt bine. Am o stare de bine, din aia care imi sufoca inspiratia din faza embrionara. Un bine, care ma imbie la un fel de hibernare defazata, nepasare si autism fata de majoritatea lucrurilor din jurul meu. Chestiile vin si pleaca, trec prin fata mea… cateodata mai intand mana, si prind ceva din zbor, dar de multe ori stau cuminte (cu minte) in banca mea. Nimic nu ma deranjeaza, nimic nu ma intriga. Oare-s zen? Zen is sweet and nice but boring…
Mă urmăreşte. De puţină vreme, dar e acolo, peste tot şi oriunde, în toate şi în orice, tot timpul şi oricând. Deobicei se ascunde sub reverul unui palton, între filele unei cărţi, în bobocul unei lalele neînflorite, în foşnetul aripilor porumbeilor care mai poposesc pe geamul meu. Ştiu că e acolo, îşi face prezenţa simţită prin diferite metode cu efect imediat, tactici pe termen scurt şi mediu, chiar strategii pe termen lung.
În mod paradoxal mă simt bine, mult mai bine decât atunci când alţii credeau că sunt bine, dar de fapt nu eram. Treptat devin sau masochistă sau superficială, nu pot să îmi dau seama exact ce. Nu ştiu care ar fi varianta mai convenabilă pentru mine - shallow or freak?
Nu mă lasă în pace… şi îmi place.
One hour I stayed today with no electricity whatsoever, and, look! I’m still alive! I didn’t use any electricity but a tiny bit to take these photos, and on my mobile, searching desperately for a compatible version of ‘dope wars’ for my k610 (i have failed).
And… this is me, I swear!
I feel better now, having done this ‘earth hour thing’.
Sitting at my desk, I’m thinking about things I’ve done, and haven’t, things I’ve done and didn’t like, and things I would’ve died for, but never managed to get or do. The latter ones, some of them could be considered my sweet&sour taboos. The strange thing is that these have nothing to do (at least not directly) with sexuality, however the word taboo is mostly related to it, as far as I have noticed so far. A taboo for me would be something like… phoning a person I often meet, or talk to on the internet, or going to a pub/café on my own with no company whatsoever, or eating a full box of chocolate, etc. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, all these things must have some ‘kinkyness’. I just can’t figure out exactly what, I guess I do not know my self well enough. Even this is a taboo from me: to know myself better, it’s something I am somewhat afraid of, scared of finding out things I (the sane Gabi) wouldn’t like.
So what are taboos? I don’t understand comprehend exactly, are taboos:
- things we’d like to do but we aren’t able to?
- things that are forbidden, but we’d sell our souls to be able to do, touch, say, feel?
- forbidden things that we do? forbidden things that we rarely/often do?
- things we (like to) do, but other people don’t?
- things our mums, or their priests taught us that are making us go blind or sick?
- things we are ashamed of, but still (would) do?
- all of the above?
- N/A ?
She looked at him. She couldn’t believe what her ears were transmitting to her brain. She could not believe, not the words, but the tone of his voice. There was a slight hint, a faint touch of blackmail. She often told people that they thought she was stupid; it was a joke, more or less. But she wasn’t. She could listen very well, and figure out what the drill is. This time it was a threatening. He didn’t use any expressions like: ‘do this’, ‘don’t do that’, ‘or else’… No, he was much more diplomatic and cunning than that. The honest truth was that, deep within her bowels, she felt somewhat guilty. Yet… his voice hit her like an icy thunder. Yet… he managed to bring her to this state, where from there was no easy way out. So far, she thought he was a trustworthy person, a person she could leave her ’secret’ with. Actually there was no secret whatsoever. It was just her, the way she was. No extraordinary disclosures to be done, no lives ruined after people would learn about what she did (or rather how she lived, or what she lived with). No, people would stop, maybe for a sec, then carry on with their own lives. Nobody would bother anyway. Still, she was kind of dumbstruck. ‘You know, one would expect some sort of an intimacy from somebody that pretends to be the protector of a woman.’ - these were her thoughts cast into spoken words. The menacing grin on his face explained her clearly that there was no place, nor time for any negotiation.
She slowly stood up. The old chair made a crackling noise while she pushed it under the heavy table. She stepped to the half opened door that led to the garden. The sight was more than pleasing. The children were playing under the old walnut tree. Their faces were lit by joy, there was no sign of pain, sorrow, fear. The dog they were fiercely bullying seemed to be laughing along with them. They’ve noticed her standing in the door and started to wave madly at her, to come an play with them, but not letting the dog rest for a second. She waved back. Instead of going out, she turned around to him. Her expression was so different now. During those few seconds she was gazing throughout the door, she got something from the kids, something that he has long forgotten, since he considered himself, and behaved like the most mature person in the neighbourhood.
Whatever got into her, it made her step in front of him, slap him in the face so hard that he fell off the chair, and said: ‘Listen well, you bastard! Get your bloody act together, or else…!!!!!’
He never ever in his life used that certain tone of voice again.
I stumbled upon this great web-site with a huge collection of interesting photos. It reminded me how…
… I miss watching clouds from an airplane
… I miss watching clouds while lying on a beach and listening to the sea
… I miss watching the stars on a summer night, while crickets singing in my ears
… I miss watching a thunderstorm from my tiny balcony
Summer’s sneaking closer, so I live with the hope…
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