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romance (or the history of "free bitch, baby")

Once upon a time, a twisted "free bitch, baby", who lived in a nice, but small city. Yes, she lived in a beautiful city where, to his misfortune, everyone knew - was a nut, half wrapped in a handkerchief.

Every morning, with the nightingale singing in the dawn, she rose and repeated to herself how beautiful and perfect it was his life and everything around her - was one of the biggest lies he liked feed.

Yes, our little "free bitch, baby" managed the topic of the lies and hypocrisy to perfection. There was nothing in the world that he liked better to start a hot conversation about anyone (and by "anyone" include, of course, to their circle of nuclear, the closest friends-of-all-the-life). But worst of all things was not saying, oh no, but his outrageous and irritable voice. Chattering as she alone had the gift (oh yeah, had "one") to make a pack of hyenas sound like a choir of angels (as compared to their cries and howls, anything). She was all crying, nothing glamorous (much to his regret, of course).

But if so it is not easy, no no no. Our "free bitch, baby" over his life, has paid a heavy price for being a little fame monster (which has nothing famous), all on account of all actions, all.

Oh, poor "free bitch, baby", who once said that "there were hundreds of men at sea", sorry, "thousands of fish in the sea", and not worth it to get bad by any them. What the fate of cod disastrous for our little princess, or will her poor little discretion to blame for all misfortune? It seems that one ever ever ever will reap what you sow, and more turns of life, the karma will take care to give you a bad rotten romance if you deserve it. And, my dear, you do the Americas (every).

With stories like that, "Who Needs revenge? Do not hate your life, I enjoy.


PD: No, never compared it to "free bitch, baby" with Lady Gaga. They have nothing in common aside from being crazy, and now.

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All the leaves are wind


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"Why is it nicer to walk when you're in love?"

Because it's nice to walk when you're in love.

I still believe in him (not tell rabid love)

and wind leaves dance and fall

while toward evening on the boardwalk.

PD: I love to do a story, but I'm lack of "ideas", can I have some?

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Diego, diego.

My seven "things" yesterday and today, for you:

1. In fact few people who know my first name ("Rosa"), and are even those hands contaditas you can say "Rosa Patricia" without getting a strange look on my part.
2. Now that I think, over the years I have acquired a taste for my middle name, sometimes I even feel that gives cache.
3. I love music, and I need every day. Walking to the beat of something I ha hecho tan natural como respirar o escuchar a alguien estornudar y decir “salud”.
4. Amo la comida, uf, es hermosa – pero nunca en exceso, no.
5. Montar bici se ha convertido en mi pasatiempo favorito, sin dejar de lado la fotografía y uno que otro cuento en el camino.
6. Me gusta imaginar muchos escenarios posibles acerca de una situación.
7. Y mirar las expresiones de la gente al caminar y viajar en combi.

So, now you know.

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my dearest

A dragees:

After months without, well, "write", I come again. Much has happened since the last time I felt the real need ... to do so. And not for lack of goods and / or people who have (believe me, I've got plenty), but partly out of sheer laziness, carelessness, laziness, carelessness, or whatever you call it. Time also, I suppose, although a minimum percentage. If this were a confession, would have to admit I did not write because he had not the slightest anxiety writer required for, like, telling a short paragraph short (very pintón, of course). It was never my intention that this absence is prolonged so blatantly in time (as indeed happened).

corroded me add that a little guilt, but that would go into explanations, so I just tell them:

back.

And we'll see.