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FEAST

The story I'm about to tell is all true. But out of respect for people who might find themselves described, I will not use real names and not provide geographical indications. Everything still remains shrouded in thick fog of mystery.
Me and my girlfriend and Stephen F. Tania and in F. Saturday night we went to Marina R. X at the bar to celebrate the birthday of Paul B. Paul B.
The woman we will call F., wanted to organize a surprise party (Which, regarding the suspicious and shrewd Paul B., means to drug the peppered mussels, peppered see him fall face down on this, leave the airway from any pepper soup, running desperately in the bar downstairs, to book the entire bar immoral and also to a figure not negotiable, go home, launch an email to multiple invitations to friends, pay a bribe to the Camorra of servers to automatically delete any evidence of mail and / or Knock down the optical fibers within a radius of 500 km, pray to God not to have made missteps and had erased the fingerprints in the bar handles, see Paul B. recover and ask "Did you sleep, darling," say for the next 15 days all requests to Paul B. with the technique talkative children "Why, because why?").
Paul B. of course he already knew everything.
And he knew I was going too. This is a very important element of our history. Knowing that I'd been there, Paul B. he realized that he would not have been the focus of attention. He could not throw it on the beauty that I am equipped with a thing called 'sex appeal' and which is provided only by God and that the good Lord, the distribution was very park. Could not compete with the sympathy of my famous fake-armpit farts let me hold your hand ever unleashed a riot of laughter and admiration. Nor would the elegance worked: my style (or style) gives me the grace and naturalness of a gazelle, combined with strong roughness of the urban Indian Village People.
Nothing would work. Except for one thing.
The party was great. Rivers of German lager cascade. Bed of radicchio and hammocks of mortadella. Popular ballads and rural songs of wisdom as "Osteria number 20, paraponziponzipo if her pussy had teeth, paraponziponzipo. Greetings to old friends not seen for some time. Jacuzzi and mignottoni Habana and as big as a leg. Then we went outside to smoke and one, called Kk, he rolled a barrel size wursterlesca me as he said that training was the most rewarding experience of his life. A filiform
curl greeted us from the balcony of the house of Paul B. and gave his name as Michael Jackson and had to look after the son of Paul B. and did a moonwalk while the lady waved the kid over the railing waving crowd that, objectively, was not there.
Then we came back. And Paul B. asked to be quiet he wanted to make a speech. And that's where the diabolical plan began.
Paul B. thanked everyone. He admitted that the surprise party he had sensed for months. He cazzeggiano a bit '(the large, admittedly). He described how the relationship with his partner, Paul B. he used to amaze and surprise (of course) and companion who had asked how this evening could (just) surprise. Then he knelt down, opened a box containing a leather square ring with diamond or cubic zirconia or glass or plastic and asked her to marry him.

Everything in life is to be accepted, and each course must be drunk as fresh water and digested at the source (and then pissed, all right). Sometimes life hands you a big slice of that Tortona is the wisdom and cunning negarsene would at the very least a bite. And Paul B. in this parable teaches us many things:
1) if you are going to make a marriage proposal, it is best to do it in the midst of so many people. This is to: a) have eyewitnesses that your partner, even if it does not respond, while he pocketed the ring, b) in case rejection of this proposal, the female audience in tears at the gesture is willing to smutandarsi in the male group.
2) the ritual of marriage proposal involves the sudden kinking which requires nerves of steel, steel ball ends and a long workout to prevent frayed tendon.
3), which is always better to have a doctor in the room (preferably an orthopedic see 2).
4) the ritual of the precise steps of that approach include the German lager-down, the sacrifice of a virgin (unfortunately this stage is not always implemented for some stupid technicality that does not recommend sticking with a girl and, above all for the current shortage of virgin females), do puncture inframuscolare of 1200 cc. Averna his partner, barricade the door, kneel down, open a box, and mutter a supercazzola take the "fuck you say?" delivered by the company for a Yes
5) that the possible date and place of marriage are vague concepts loooong.
6) that between me and Paul B. it was just sex and in the end love triumphs.

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A year ago at 5.45 I had my belly .. Topina Topina a hair full of blacks, all fired Topina a beautiful and clean throughout, ... calm and hot. That feeling, call it so, I think even now, as if I had touched a second ago. When I have leaned on my stomach, I was still, just remember that I have touched on gambina turned to my husband and I said " is hot, touch, feel how hot it is!

A year ago I discovered how much force you can give the person next to you in difficult times, I remember that feeling well, but every so often when the story seems to lose some nuances, unfortunately.

A year ago I became a mother, and every day makes me proare Topina my emotions and new sensations, especially when I did not expect, when coming home at night, I expect two little arms outstretched and eyes full of love!

Many Greetings my love!

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infinite and finite

Monday, March 1, 2010 (or Year 16 of the Age of Berlusconi), at 19.13 I finished reading Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace.
And today I write as if no one listened. What is the biggest dance that one can tell whether you're composing the opera-Basic-Che-L'Umanità-awaited or you may end Bartezzaghi during the daily production of faeces. So, at least, I write for me. To give me a pat on the back before resuming the cycle of 20 flessioni/pausa/30 flexion / pause / 40 flex / fainting. If there is a terrible thing to write about is the thought that what you write is 'trivial', which falls in the too long list of productions onanist in which the author speaks beautifully of their dicks and want to do, consciously or unconsciously, so 'cute', sinking it the poor man who reads in the quicksand of boredom (you know those classic images of Tg when there is an environmental disaster like an oil tanker stuck off the coast and a few are seen the birds that flap their wings tarred and / or impetroliate and it seems the motion of one crying out in anguish "Levatemi this stuff off, fuck, remove it"? So this gives the idea).
DFW is never so. In short stories or essays (please, just read "Come on, Simba" in "Consider the Lobster", a report of the voyage of John McCain in the presidential election U.S. 2000). Even in the shopping list, I suppose. DFW is not reflected in himself. Nor in the readers. This is not reflected anywhere. Start writing something, goes around, you are informed, law, takes pity, angry, try to understand and, eventually, he goes on a planet where the atmosphere is made of and where pietas We feed on fear and love and where you digest everything and defecate in lightness. And the best part is that it is his special planet, we are all invited.
"Infinite Jest" is not an easy book. It is not easy to steal (you try to exit a Feltrinelli 1443 with pages placed under a coat stroking his mustache and saying, "You know, are on the 5th month). It is not easy to use (yes, of course, I suggest you open a page and move forward in a progressive but the thing is that there are 136 pages of notes of the author, ranging from endless cinema absurd to chemical decomposition of substances + or - and lysergic + or - licit). It is not easy to program ( as if you were told "Okay, now you're looking for a film lasting 72 hours, once started, 'want' to keep looking, because it leads to drink, eat and get ready to piss and shit in a pan with plastic). It is not easy to keep up (a synopsis is impossible, as well as a hint of texture as well as get to remember all the characters that I have tried to follow sign on a package but then I broke his balls and I just know that I made game DFW). It is not easy to feel up to (not that far from DFW grazing height but flies with us, walk with us, strip us, but from the infinite sense of sadness / joy that seems to squeeze everything right until did not finish and then leave you look at what drained and say "Look, there was also this").
Epper for me today is the day 1 year 1 DIJ (After Infinite Jest).
I feel confused and tend to have conportamenti which are the summation of various characters in the book. It all makes sense and, seconds later, this feeling disappears. I feel a sense of peace that I believe heralds the war. I'm stopping to talk to people. I look at a brick with blue corners overblown and give myself a pat on my shoulder and say "Come on Simba."