fans.wwe.com/adoman.wwe.com

I just love it...Tina Fey...mmmmmm.

So this dress that I am making for the Ren faire is the first ever dress that I have sewn.  So I am uncertain on a lot of things and keep redoing a couple of things.  But I am getting better with it as I go.  When I was packing the important things and things that meant a lot to me, I made the decision not to pack my dress.  I didnt think we had room in our suburban for it among the kids and million other things I wanted to bring.  But Hubby told me "No I was bringing because I had waited over 10 years to either make the dress or have someone make it for me.  And I wasnt about to loose it in the storm."  So I packed it up and brought it, along with all the things I bought to go with it and stuff to finish sewing it.  Althought the sewing machine stayed at home.  So while we were staying at my in-laws waiting for a sign that we could come back home, either we got electric or a generator of our own, I decided to bring my dress out and start hand sewing it.  Which I forgot how slow it can be.  So my mother-in-law asked me what I was sewing.  Hubby got a lot more excited about her asking than me.  She has been sewing for about 60 yrs, if I had to guess.  So I have it set in my mind she can sew a lot better than me.  So I show her what I have completed already on the dress and she thinks it is just wonderful.  And even tells me that I can out sew her.  So over the next couple of days my sister-in-law comes over, she also has been sewing longer than I have been here on Earth.  So my Mother-in-law gets really excited and has me bring out the dress.  And my sister-in-law, who does sew some garb for her son, starts looking at it.  And she starts telling me how wonderful it looks, how good of a job I'm doing, and that she thinks I can even out sew her.  Those two comments just made me feel over 100 ft tall.  I lack confidence in things that I do.  So to be told that I was doing a wonderful job and that these two women who have been sewing longer than I have been alive tell me I can out sew them made me feel wonderful.  Now I just need to figure out how exactly this stupid zipper goes and I will be almost finished with the dress.  I will put more pics of it up soon.  But I just had to share the warm praises that I got.

TU CRISTO RESUCITADO
Déjame entrar
a tu místico mundo religioso
mundo de rezos, plegarias, oraciones
o como quieras llamarles.
Déjame entrar
a tu tierra de fe
y profanarte con besos.
Déjame ser tu relicario
ser tu creencia
tu sacrificio.
Déjame integrarme
a la cadena de tu rosario
y recibir tus caricias.
déjame ser el campanario
que te llama.
La cruz que te sigue.
El símbolo divino de tu religión
tu misticismo absoluto
el santo que veneras


el que te hará milagros.
Déjame ser la luz del cirio que te guía
en tu mundo de sombras...
Déjame ser el cáliz de fuego
y bebas el vino
para tocar tus labios.
Déjame ser parte de tu alegría.
Déjame ser para ti la homilía
e impregnar tu frente
con agua bendita
ser vino y pan
alimento de tu esperanza.
Déjame ser manto sagrado
para darte cobijo.
Ser retablo para que puedas mirarme!
Ser el escapulario en tu cuello
y mas que protección sea para regalarte una caricia.
Déjame bendecir siempre tu nombre
DEJAME SER TU CRISTO RESUCITADO.AMEN

I dnt care wat pple thnk of me. So I use my quote Fu** tha haters.

Sólo quien ama vuela. Pero, ¿quién ama tanto
que sea como el pájaro más leve y fugitivo?
Hundiendo va este odio reinante todo cuanto
quisiera remontarse directamente vivo.

Amar ... Pero, ¿quién ama? Volar ... Pero, ¿quién vuela?
Conquistaré el azul ávido de plumaje,
pero el amor, abajo siempre, se desconsuela
de no encontrar las alas que da cierto coraje.

Un ser ardiente, claro de deseos, alado,
quiso ascender, tener la libertad por nido.
Quiso olvidar que el hombre se aleja encadenado.
Donde faltaban plumas puso valor y olvido.

Iba tan alto a veces, que le resplandecía
sobre la piel el cielo, bajo la piel el ave.
Ser que te confundiste con una alondra un día,
te desplomaste otro como el granizo grave.

Ya sabes que las vidas de los demás son losas
con que tapiarte: cárceles con que tragar la tuya.
Pasa, vida, entre cuerpos, entre rejas hermosas.
A través de las rejas, libre la sangre afluya.

Triste instrumento alegre de vestir; apremiante
tubo de apetecer y respirar el fuego.
Espada devorada por el uso constante.
Cuerpo en cuyo horizonte cerrado me despliego.

No volarás. No puedes volar, cuerpo que vagas
por estas galerías donde el aire es mi nudo.
Por más que te debatas en ascender, naufragas.
No clamarás. El campo sigue desierto y mudo.

Los brazos no aletean. Son acaso una cola
que el corazón quisiera lanzar al firmamento.
La sangre se entristece de debatirse sola.
Los ojos vuelven tristes de mal conocimiento.

Cada ciudad, dormida, despierta loca, exhala
un silencio de cárcel, de sueño que arde y llueve
como un élitro ronco de no poder ser ala.
El hombre yace. EL cielo se eleva. El aire mueve.

Miguel Hernandez

I am just curious...if there are any NICU nurses or respiratory therapists out there...

How many ventilator/oscillator patients do you usually manage in a shift?

Is there an incentive (pay) for working in NICU at your facility?

Are there ample staff for your unit?

What do you feel are safe patient/nurse/therapist ratios?

I'd like to hear how things go in areas I have not worked in.  I have worked in about 15-20 NICU's in my career, but you know how things change.1

Hola Amigos(as),

Les comento que estas noticias de hoy en dia son mas y mas malas. Nuestros amigos de freyewayer nos dan esta mala noticia hoy Lunes! Espero que nos estemos preparando para lo peor que viene en los primos meses!

Es kuy triste saber que mas y mas de nosotros estaremos sin empleo y pasando momentos malos!

Ebay compra a DBA y a BillMeLater y de pasada despida al 10% de sus empleados Publicado el 10/06/2008 a las 9:20 am por Alexander Schek (Mr.Chips)

El sitio de subasta más grande del mundo comenzó la semana muy agresivamente. Por un lado anunció el despido del 10% de sus empleados, esto representa a unas mil personas más cientos de otros puestos temporales.

Por otro lado, desembolsaron USD$380 millones comprando a la empresa DBA y otros USD$820 millones por adquirir BillMeLater.

DBA es el sitio de avisos clasificados más grande en Dinamarca, y BillMeLater es un servicio que otorga crédito directo a usuarios que compran en sitios de comercio electrónico en Internet.

Link: eBay buys Denmark’s DBA for 275 million euro, U.S.-based Bill Me Later for approximately 600 million euro, and cuts jobs (TheNextWeb)

 "--"--"--"--"--

Si tienes algun comentario sobre esto de la economia o si vendes o compra en ebay dejanos saber que tus penzamientos.

Si has perdido tu empleo y tu negocio se ha bajando en ventas deja tu comentario.

Saludos y mucha suerte,

Diego Cardenas

www.compuhombre.com

El socialismo es la filosofía del fracaso,
el credo de la ignorancia y la prédica de la envidia;
su virtud inherente es la distribución igualitaria de la miseria.

Sir Winston Churchill

 Aren't you tired of people stabbing your back when all you've done is try to help? I know I am. I suck at making friends. Every kid in the school hates me and yet I have done nothing to them. What did I do? Nobody will answer my question because everybody hates me and wants me dead. I know I hate big cities, but I'm better off in the big city I came from than I am here. People are making me hate myself, when I should be proud of what I am. But I don't know what to think anymore. People have been screwing with my head since I moved here. So, I'm different. I thought different was good. I guess I was taught wrong.

Es fácil correr y avanzar, pero ¡qué bello es aprender a esperar! La vida es como la siembra. Hay momentos para sembrar, otros para cosechar. Hay plantas que dan sus frutos rápidamente, otras que pueden llevar años. Para vivir una vida en paz, necesito aprender la ciencia de la paz, es decir, la paciencia. Aprender a esperar, pues el sol no va a nacer antes de la hora, ni el día va a tener una hora más. Todo existe en una armonía completa. Lo que necesito hacer es entrar en esta misma armonía

Todo era azul delante de aquellos ojos y era
verde hasta lo entrañable, dorado hasta muy lejos.
Porque el color hallaba su encarnación primera
dentro de aquellos ojos de frágiles reflejos.

Ojos nacientes: luces en una doble esfera.
Todo radiaba en torno como un solar de espejos.
Vivificar las cosas para la primavera
poder fue de unos ojos que nunca han sido viejos.

Se los devoran. ¿Sabes? No soy feliz. No hay goce
como sentir aquella mirada inundadora.
Cuando se me alejaba, me despedí del día.

La claridad brotaba de su directo roce,
pero los devoraron. Y están brotando ahora
penumbras como el pardo rubor de la agonía.

 Miguel Hernandez 

Despite suffering pain from a kidney stone - for which I wish him a speedy recovery  -Peter Mandelson still managed to attend the Cabinet top meeting on the economic crisis. This is a sign that everyone is pulling together for the sake of the country.

Whwereas Cameron and his toff attack diogs can only play politics and carp, being the novices they are, the real job of a responsible and strong government is to find solutions and support the people in these times.

Churchill did not stand about and play politics as the East End burnt, likewise it is good that Brown is able to get all talents to sit round and come up with workable and sustainable solutions.

Brown has shown that when it comes to politics, it takes greater gestures than glib soundbites, more courage than using your family for PR,  and not an ego that wants itself paraded on GQ amagzine.

The working class who the Tories are not interested in (note their promise of inheritance tax cuts for millionirs) are going to get the protection they deserve, it is no time to protect your own elite group of toffs but serve in the interests of the whole country.

Today, some quirky photographs from a now defunct photographic studio on the Barcelonian street La Rambla, "the only street in the world which I wish would never end" according to Spanish poet Federico Garcia Lorca.

The studio's archive which dates from the early 1950s is a tribute to photography as the social, cultural and anthropological register of Barcelona. Its portraits show boxers, wrestlers, musicians and actors, alongside formal wedding portraits and family groups.The best are the mannequins, who are posed legs crossed in an armchair, smiling blandly at the camera.

You can read more about it and see more photographs here.

They're part of the Brighton Photo Fringe, and on display at Crane Kalman until 9th November.

Another little morsel-ette from the reshuffle is the fate of the 2006 Curry House plotters.

Of the 15 members of the 2001 intake who signed the letter calling for Tony Blair to pack his Hawiian trunks and head out of Downing Street, 11 have now been rewarded with nice little earners (well, nice posh titles at the very least).

They include four out of the six ministers who walked out on Blair. Most amusingly, three of the plotters have been dispatched to the whips office - where they will obviously be able to speak with great authority about the importance of standing by a sitting Prime Minister to any backbencher tempted to cause a fuss.

Those whose disloyalty has been richly rewarded are:

Chris Bryant -  Parliamentary Secretary, Office of the Leader of the House of Commons
Tom Watson - Parliamentary Secretary, Cabinet Office
Sion Simon - Parliamentary Under Secretary of State, Department for Innovation, Universities and Skills
Wayne David - Parliamentary Under Secretary of State,  Wales Office
Ian Lucas - Assistant Government Whip
Hywel Francis  - Chairman, Welsh Affairs Select Committee
Mark Tami - Assistant Government Whip
Kevan Jones - Parliamentary Under Secretary of State, Ministry of Defence
Mark Lazarowicz - Special representative of the Prime Minister on carbon trading working with the Secretary of State for Energy and Climate Change.

Ann McKechin - Parliamentary Under Secretary of State, Scotland Office
Chris Mole - Assistant Government Whip

The rest: (Khalid Mahmood, Jim Sheridan, David Wright, David Hamilton) must be wondering when their gravy will arrive.

Full coverage of UK Politics
Three line Whip home

Faith, Hope and Carrot Cake-Episode 16  

      Lucastra stood hesitantly in the porch, her finger hovering by the door bell. She realized, much to her annoyance, that she was suffering from the same kind of gut wrenching  apprehension that she experienced as  a   teenager.  She remembered how she had headed off to her first school dance, hoping to catch a glimpse of Terry Beahan, a boy with long, greasy black hair whom she had compared, in her mind, to Heathcliff, a flight of adolescent fantasy that was  later brought crashing down when he had his hair cut and took a job in a particularly unglamorous branch of the civil service.

   Klara took her fingers off the keyboard and sat back in her chair. Lucastra? No, that had to go. As a fanciful name, ‘Lucastra'  might have been perfect for the heroine of one of her Lady Carnaby novels, but no young woman today would be called ‘Lucastra'. For that matter, no young woman was called ‘Lucastra' in the eighteenth century either, but Klara considered that she could get away with most things in a light historical romance. But if Purple Owl didn't want any more of those books, but were planning to target their marketing strategy at the  ‘younger, feistier reader' in the words of this man McAllister,  she would have to change her approach.

       The problem was, Klara thought, that apart from Maggi's left-wing, no-nonsense niece Harriet, she didn't know any twenty-something young women. Nor did she know what kind of novels Purple Owl wanted for them. Plenty of sex and shopping, she supposed, and not the kind of shopping she did either, all that scouring charity shops for vintage dresses from the fifties. Did young women buy Jimmy Choos, and if so, what were they? Where was Quaglinos? Oh hell!

 Klara bent over the electric typewriter again

       She knew he was in there. The small, frosted window upstairs was lit up. The  bathroom she supposed. She could hear music, The Pogues, fancy Fyn liking the Pogues! She  pressed the door bell. Was that splashing she heard? Or did someone let out a yell and a curse? A moment later, the  door opened and there he has  standing in front of her.

 Here he was,  Fyn,  beautiful Fyn, clad only in a fluffy white towel worn low on his utterly desirable hips, a towel which might at any moment slip and reveal all. But all  Lucastra x Sharon? Vicki? (revise later) ....could feel was horror. It wasn't the towel, it was.....

"Klara?" A familiar voice, thick with a Brummie accent, spoke close to her ear.

Klara jumped, swiftly removed the paper from the machine, and thrust it under a pile of books.

       "Hello, Gerry," she swiveled round on her chair to face the features and arts editor of the Heathbury Herald, trying to look as cool and nonchalant as possible.

   "Sorry if I startled you." Gerry made an attempt to hitch his sagging trousers up over his gross belly and then with an equally hopeless gesture, tried to prevent his glasses from slipping down his sweaty, putty-like nose. "You were writing something for the paper, weren't you?"

     "Yes. Have to meet my deadline," Klara smiled at him and crossed her legs, showing her black stocking-ed legs off to their best advantage. Eeeeurgh! How vile it was to have to vamp this unappealing male, however mildly. She could not imagine how any woman could possibly want to engage physically with Gerry. He was forty two, balding, careless with personal hygiene and dressed abominably.  On the other hand, he was her life-line in her tenuous, freelance writing career, so perhaps she shouldn't hold his baggy, nylon trousers, his grey pique, and his Cornish pasty shoes against him.

     "You appear to have to have been here all afternoon," Gerry commented. "It's getting late."

      "Just trying to get it right," Klara told him.

       "Well, I need to speak to you," Gerry leaned over her, "It's about your latest book review."   

        "What's wrong with it?"

         "It would be easier to say what's right with it. ‘Jenny Leicester's latest offering, is disappointingly dull and predictable, with very little tension or wit in the writing. Any experienced reader would see the  main twist in the story line coming from a mile off, and after that, it's down hill  all the way, almost as if the author  had lost interest and was simply dashing to meet a publisher's deadline. Sorry, Jenny, but you've lost the plot. This kind of book might prove a comforting read for someone suffering from severe flu, but otherwise, avoid!'"  Gerry slapped the type-written sheet down on the desk. "Listen, Klara, I can't print this," he said.

   "Why not?" Klara tried to look innocent.

      "Writing cutting, waspish reviews isn't what our paper is all about," said Gerry. "And your reviews have been getting increasingly satirical."

     "I was just trying to turn out well crafted sentences, Gerry."

    "Look, Klara," Gerry frowned. "We run competitions for readers to win copies of the  ‘book of the month'. We liaise with author promotions at the Heathbury Hill  Bookshop and  promote author's events at the library. Our book page is supposed to encourage interest and sales, especially of local writers. We're not an anarchic, undergraduate rag. We don't cock snooks at successful authors.  Frankly, if I didn't know you better, I'd think this was sour grapes."

    "Sour grapes?"

  "Jenny Leicester is a best selling writer. You, on the other hand have just been dumped by Purple Owl!"

   "Gerry, I........" Klara felt stung to the quick. How did Gerry know? Who had told him?  

   "No more debate!" he snapped, "Just write me a proper review, or get out! Sorry to snap, but my ulcer's playing me up."

      "I'm sorry, Gerry, really I...."

       "That's enough. Just get on with it."

      Klara waited until Gerry was back in his office, then, with a sigh, she put a new sheet of paper into the typewriter:--

    It wasn't the towel, it was the  stair carpet behind him. It was disgusting. A carpet with a base colour of red, covered in whorls and swirls of vivid colours---the bright mustard yellow of dog turd, the green of bile, the blue of a suppurating, bruised wound. The texture, the pattern, the brazen vulgarity of this piece of domestic tatt made the stomach heave and the eyes water.  It was a vile carpet, the sub-species of carpet that might be found in an establishment run a fat, warty seaside landlady in the nineteen fifties, a carpet whose  pile exuding the stench of gravy dinners and.....

God! No! Klara ripped the paper out of the machine, crumpled it into a ball and flung it in the bin. This was no good. It would never be any good.  She hated Purple Owl. She  didn't want to write for them any more, not with this Pericles McAllister in charge.  Not only that, but now, she felt as though she hated Gerry and the Heathbury Herald  into the bargain. 

    Klara came to a swift decision. She was going to stop writing.  She was going to give it up. It was time to find a new way of earning her living altogether.

me encantaria conoser personas que quieran entablar una amiastad sana y sinsera

Poor Peter Mandelson has had to undergo surgery for a kidney stone. In this he is like that other remarkable public servant Samuel Pepys. His stone was lodged in his bladder, but he had it removed on March 26, 1658.


Samuel Pepys celebrated the removal of his kidney stone each year

Kidney and bladder stones can be intensely painful. Pepys had to have his removed withou