VAMPIRE NAMES - (non uno ma ben tre tra cui scegliere): 1) Mary Moor - 2) Victoria Moor - 3) Desdemona Eldrich - (di questi il mio preferito)... Ho come il sospetto - vago - che il fatto di aver ben tre nomi tra cui scegliere spiegherebbe che soffro di personalità multiple...di tanto in tanto...

WICCAN NAMES - (anche qui ho avuto un'ampia varietà di scelta) 1) Athena Wood Firelight (ammetto il mio preferito) 2) Rowen Spirit Rider

ELVISH NAMES - 1) Luthièn Narmolawya 2) Eamae Narmolawya

FAIRY NAMES - 1) Gossamer Willowfelter 2) Juniper Icefilter

Che dire? Io sono tutti questi nomi?...forse...intanto son solo me stessa e mi basta!!!...Che dire? Ah si!...Votate il vostro preferito per ogni categoria!!! keep in touch

Of course, the problem with Wikipedia is that you never just stay in one article: you start in Voynich and then head off to read about John Dee, which then leads you to Enochian, which takes you to Tolkien's Quenya and Tengwar and on and on. Multiple windows/tabs open. Back Back Back up to where you started only to take another path down through more pages. And I still haven't finished reading the blasted Voynich page.

Looking at the Quenya and Tengwar pages made me recall being a teenager. I was a bit of an oddity. I graduated at 16 and didn't really hang around with people my age (or my grade, I should say) a great deal. I generally stayed home and read. Had the Internet been around then, I would probably have been in heaven -- all that information there for easy picking. Even then I had this sort of compulsive-obsessive thing, where I would get really engrossed in a subject for weeks or months. During my Tolkien phase, I soaked in everything Tolkien I could find -- all of the books, including the Silmarillion; artwork; articles. A mere fraction of what's available now, to be sure, but it was a treasure trove then, especially for a school girl. From those books, I built a fairly comprehensive dictionary of Sindarin and Quenya Elvish. I learned calligraphy in order to be able to properly write Tengwar and I used it to sign yearbooks the year I graduated. (I couldn't tell you now what I wrote -- some long, moody Elvish poem, I think -- though at least I had the foresight to write it in both Tengwar Quenya and English. I have no idea what ever happened to that dictionary. It would be interesting to see how good (or bad) a job I'd actually done based on currently available linguistic information for those languages. Probably should have been a linguist except that I really never knew it was a field you could get into. It's nothing that ever came up in discussions with guidance counsellors (not that they were particularly helpful) nor was it ever mentioned by anyone else -- my parents mentioned translation and interpreting frequently but never linguistics. And I just didn't have a clue.

Around the same time, i.e. high school, I also got hung up on Greek mythology. Not Roman, not Norse, just Greek. I can remember repeatedly signing out this huge encyclopedia or dictionary of mythology -- it wasn't Bulfinch's Mythology but it was comparable. Better, because it just gave the bare facts without the long winded stories. That was important because I was building family trees of the gods. I filled several coil notebooks with meticulously researched, laid out, and cross referenced pedigree charts, showing marriages, children, and the rest. It took months. I think I'd even tried to lay it all out on bristol board before finally settling for numbered and referenced pages and subpages in the notebooks instead. Again, I have no idea where those notebooks went, but I would love to see them again. I see that someone published a Genealogical Guide to Mythology in 1993 so I was obviously way ahead of my time. LOL

So, you see, I *still* haven't finished reading that Voynich page, all because Wikipedia has sent me off in other directions entirely.

Mindboggling? Not, when you consider that all this while they have been singing in Icelandic. Moreover, a few other songs and the whole of album ( ) was sung in their invented language Vonlenska! (roughly translated as "Hopelandic")

In the recent Eurovision song contest, Belgium's representative Ishtar sang the song "O Julissi" which lyrics are in an invented language. It is a well-known fact that Belgium has a cultural clash with parts of the country speaking in Dutch and the other in French.

John Naisbitt would be proud to know that his global paradox is more and more becoming apparent. In a world where you are more or less expected to know English, why is everyone striving to use invented language?

An obvious advantage of invented language can be found in literature and fiction, where alien civilisations are abound—obviously they don't speak English. Klingon language is one of the most famous alien language, with quite a number of fluent speakers (Guiness World Record 2006 certified it as "the most spoken fictional language by number of speakers"). It was created in the Star Trek series, and now is an almost certain stamp of geekness, with quite a number of Trekkies' weddings done in it and books like Hamlet translated.

Another notable examples are the Elvish languages Quenya and Sindarin. To my embarrasment, I could actually speak a number of Sindarin phrases during the LOTR hype—who could forget mellon? Tolkien was teaching English in Oxford, and he put a lot of details into the construction of the languages' grammar and phonology. His works wasn't finished though, which left Quenya and Sindarin as incomplete languages not fit for casual usage.

Talking realistically, the biggest project so far to use an invented language as lingua franca that replaces English is the language Esperanto. It boasts around 1-2 million fluent speaker, with numerous organisations using it almost exclusively. It has however, yet to be adopted as official language of any country, but efforts have not abated.

On the other side of the story, while these invented languages are popping out into existence and usage, a lot of ancient languagess have perished or on the brink of disusage. Latin, which was once widely used, and was the language of the elites in the West is now only officially used by The Church and relegated to use of its phrases in specialised discipline such as law and medicine. Earlier this year, Marie Smith Jones, the last speaker of Eyak, an extinct language historically spoken in southcentral Alaska died, reigniting the fight for extinct languages.

It is a well-known saying in Malay, "Takkan Melayu hilang di dunia" (Malays shall not perish on this world). I wonder how long the Malay language will survive. It only took a few decades for the language to change and lose its lustre, while government keeps pondering whether to call it Bahasa Melayu (Malay language) or Bahasa Malaysia (Malaysian language).

Consider for one moment that we Filipinos have 154 recorded dialects and languages. For such a small part of the world as the Philippines, listen in on the radio with all 90 million Filipinos speaking all of their languages at the same time and you'd wish the radio would just go static.

Well, in the subculture of the Geekdom, there are several languages that you can hear. Many of them are fictional by nature and can be used for the sake of aesthetic license. Nevertheless, we humans love to speak meticulously about something, to describe an idea more clearly, and to transmit our culture from one person to another.

Aliens (if they exist... i certainly hope they don't) may see this as just the repeated opening and closing of the two flabs on our faces we simply call lips, but we have come to know the practicality of language.

Let me give you a scenario why language is practical. An American and a Filipino enter an elevator. The elevator door closes. On the next floor, the door opens and another Filipino shows up. He said, "Bababa ba?" and the Filipino replies, "Bababa." Communication is complete because of a single syllable "ba." Get what I mean? Words are important. It carries meanings that bring understanding to people.

Here are some fictional language that some scholars crafted to keep us busy.
Klingon - The language itself is forcefully spoken, its syllables hard and harsh to pronounce. It mirrors the culture behind the language as Klingons (a race in the Star Trek universe) are a warlike race, mostly at war with humans and other species in that universe. If you're clueless of what I'm talking about, remember your lolo or lola watching this sci-fi show on tv... the show with people having ridges on their foreheads. Those are Klingons. NUQ DAQ YUJ DA'POL Translation: Where's the chocolate?

Elvish - If you're a Lord of the Rings fan, you've probably encountered Elvish. No, not Elvis. He's dead already. Elvish. The language of the Elves (the creatures with pointy ears and can live thousands and thousands of years... unless you kill them of course) in Middle Earth. Created by the master linguist and fantasy writer himself, professor JRR Tolkien, Elvish has been unmatched in the fictional languages in terms of complete rules of grammar and composition. I love it mostly because of how soft-spoken it is and how it resembles the beauty of the Celtic language which Tolkien loved. There are two branches of Elvish, Sindarin and Quenya. There's a big difference between the two, but I lean on Sindarin more. Auta miqula orqu. Translation: Go kiss an orc.

Gungan - This language is characterized by gargles and bubbles in the tongue, as Gungans live under water in Star Wars Episode 1. Though there's no evidence of a language crafted by George Lucas, it is still entertaining to shoot down Jar Jar Binks. Misssssssssssaaaaaaa propose......

I wish to include Esparanto but the language is dying. With the rise of worlds of the imagination, the languages I have cited may be used by fans of the said universes. Elvish, now, is a course in Oxford. So you see, fictional gibberish is not gibberish after all. As long as people speak them.

Yet of all the languages we may speak, it is all too clear for us: Ang hindi marunong magmahal sa sariling wika, ay daig pa ang hayop at malansang isda.

Ngayon, di ba masaya kapag nagsasalita na tayo ng Tagalog? :D

-resplend3nt

My eyes were open as I starred at the ceiling trying to muster the energy to get up and do something as I normally do in the middle of the night.  I do not 'sleep' for long durations.  I take 4 and 5 hour naps at a time.  I slept 8 hours throughout the night once last year and even that was only because I was on medication.  I thought it odd of course and went back to sleep.  It moved me enough to write about it though.  I know that blogs are meant to serve a personal purpose, but I do attempt to cause thought provocation as a result of my posts.  I will just start a research list and go from there.  Tibet, now elvish.

Sound  travels through many mediums.  There is no doubt in my mind that there is decipherable language in any audible sound we encounter in this lifetime.  The question is, how do you get yourself to the point of being able to distinguish it, question yourself on what it was, and motivate yourself to find out exactly what was said?  That is the next step.

Namastae

Looking back, Rahman is not the least content with his achievements. “It’s never enough,” he rued. “Music is my only therapy. There’re so many awful things happening in the world. I wish I could heal the world. My peace anthems like Vande Mataram and Pray For Me, Brother are a small candle light in the storm. But you never know which candle will light a thousand other candles.”

Today was an altogether more successful day, despite my confusion (which I have to say is a fairly normal state of affairs).  Jason let me lie in today, which was wonderfully welcome except for the fact that I dreamt that I was in Folsom Jail, on stage with Johnny Cash facing a lot of riled up prisoners banging tin cups.  We were supposed to be starting the show, but I had no idea how to play the bass guitar, as only minutes earlier I had been peeling potatoes on kitchen duty.  Apparently Johnny thought that as he was a bass player down (he never explained why, and I never asked.  You don't like to really), that because of my dextrous way with a potato peeler I'd be handy with a bass guitar.  Now, even though I was a convicted criminal (what for I'm not quite sure) and clearly, as hard as nails, being the only woman in an all male jail (I think I had facial hair and tattoos), I didn't refuse him.  Instead I foolishly agreed, desperate for my fifteen minutes of fame.  Oh woe and shame, shame and woe!

Now Johnny may have been a legend in his own life time, but I feel it wasn't one of his good decision making days, and that both he and I might have only a slim chance of living to regret his choice of bassist.  For a start my arms are too short to make a good bass player (the neck of a bass guitar being much longer than an average regular guitar, fact fans), and my bosom was getting in the way, despite prison fatigues.  It was all going horribly wrong when I had the very good fortune to wake up and realise that I was in bed in Glenfield, and the worst thing that was happening to me was that I couldn't remember what day it was.  I expect Johnny Cash had many a day like that.  Mind you, it is unlikely he had many of them in Glenfield, more's the pity.  I would love to have had one of those blue plaques on the wall of my house: 'Johnny Cash didn't have a clue what was going on here - Circa 1968'.

If I don't stop having dreams about musicians soon I really must go and see somebody about it.  It's quite troubling.  I get quite nervous about who might be popping up next.  What if I had the terrible misfortune to squander a good night of dreams on someone like Aled Jones for example?  Now, he's hardly on a par with Slash from Guns 'n' Roses or anything, but you just never know do you? Dreams are tricky things at the best of times.  It would be just my luck to have a dream where we both ended up naked.  It is a hideous thought, and one which I shall do my best to blank out of my mind altogether.

One of my friends at university had the great misfortune to spend a night in bed with Aled Jones.  He went to visit his girlfriend's family for the weekend, and they were very strict on the whole boyfriend and girlfriend not sleeping together until they had a mortgage and a dog type thing.  His girlfriend's sister had also brought her boyfriend down for the evening, who just happened to be Aled Jones.  As there was only one spare bedroom and the bed in it was a double, my friend ended up pyjama to pyjama with Aled for the weekend, and was understandably, severely traumatised by the whole experience.  It's not something you forget easily, much like the execrable song; 'Walking in the Air' which still haunts us every Christmas, despite the fact that Aled is now a rugged, beer drinking family man with a hairy chest and a deep brown voice.  Be sure and your sins will find you out!

Now let us move from dreams to nightmares, and my impending brush with whatever hideous plague the children have seen fit to bring into my house.  I have been on spot inspection again today and so far none have turned up, although I am driving myself slowly bonkers thinking about them and have now developed a rampant itch all over, which is almost sure to be psychosomatic.  Psychosomatic and bloody itchy nonetheless.  Tilly has taught Oscar to say; 'Spot!' at the top of his little lungs and jab whatever part of your torso he can get near, which is why I ended up getting a funny look from the woman next to me in the queue in Borders, and having a very watery eye where he poked me randomly in a moment where I had let my concentration lapse momentarily.

Yes! I did finally get to go to Borders today, and as predicted have seized a tasty haul which bears no resemblance whatsoever to what I went in for, but which is monstrously pleasing nonetheless.  I treated myself to the new, illustrated version of Pippi Longstocking with pictures by Lauren Child which was an astronomical £20, but which is now half price, and seems much more worth it.  I have been trying to read Pippi Longstocking to the kids for years, and they find it too wordy and boring.  I used to love the Pippi books when I was a kid and find them hilarious.  I am hoping that the illustrations will finally get them to sit with it for more than thirty seconds.  Even if they don't, I love the book and will bore any grandchildren that come to me with it (but not hopefully for many years to come thank you all the same).

I bought tons of novels, all of which are to read when I'm less busy reading everything else.  At this rate I'm going to have to go for early retirement from motherhood or send the children to boarding school because the ratio of non-read to read books is beginning to tilt alarmingly and it is frankly ridiculous of me to buy any more.  Not that I would admit that to Jason mind you.  Death before dishonour and all that!  If he can prance about in pixie ears, I can squander money on lovely, lovely books.  At least I don't have to read them in a windswept field in the middle of nowhere in Elvish.

My brother accompanied us on our bookish odyssey and then to Pizza Hut.  I dislike Pizza Hut intensely (having moved on in my middle class aspirations to prefer the hallowed portals of Pizza Express!), but it was right next to Borders, it wasn't very busy (due to the fact that all the pizzas taste like they have been mounted on stiff cardboard), and the children love it.  This is a huge plus point, and however unpleasant the food is, it is a step up from McDonalds.  This isn't saying much admittedly, but beggars can't be choosers.

I hate spending my hard earned money taking the children out for lunch when all they can do is whinge.  It drives me mad.  I do however, love being a lady who lunches, and don't see why I should be one of those sad, Supernanny bound individuals who haven't been out for a meal for eight years because of their hideous children.  I have conscientiously trainned my children to always be very well behaved in restaurants, for the simple reason that if they play up I take them outside and kneecap them in an Mafia style slaying incident.  I can't stand children who run round ruining other diners' meal times as well.  I feel that people who allow their children to do this unchecked should be forced to pay everyone elses' bill for them at the end of the meal.

My children merely whinge over the food.  If it's something they have decided they don't like they can eke eating one teaspoonful of said item out for about the length of the average soap opera, and with as much drama.  They could easily win awards for it at some televisual luvvie event.  In real life however, it's painful and boring and really puts you off your food.  Quite often whichever one of them is on a go slow gets left in the kitchen while we all go off and do wondrous things in another room (sadly this is impossible to do in a restaurant without the authorities getting involved).  It works a treat, as it never fails to annoy the crap out of them, almost as much as they have annoyed us.  I highly recommend it.

We don't do what my mother used to do, which is stand over us and threaten us with the fact that if we don't eat it we will spend all night at the table, and if we still don't eat it we can have it for breakfast tomorrow.  That's too much like hard work, and I have vivid memories of sitting for four hours over one particularly unpleasant roast dinner one Sunday night, which I have no intention of paying therapy bills for with my own children.  We simply leave the room with a time limit set, by which time if they haven't eaten it, it gets scraped in the bin and nothing gets served to them until the next meal time, and then go off to eat chocolates and watch illicit television loudly in the lounge.  It will be in my upcoming child rearing book called: 'Kids and the Revenge you can wreak upon them - Volume 1'.

Today, with my Pizza Hut plan I really thought that nothing could possibly go wrong, and that we would have a marvellous lunch together full of bonhomie and boingy cheese.  When we found that they are even offering chicken nuggets on their children's menu these days I allowed myself a little pre-emptive victory dance, round the confines of my own head, mind you.  How foolish I was.

It turns out that the chips were the wrong sort of chips, and had the damned effrontery to be potato wedge shaped, which was totally unacceptable.  The chicken nuggets were the wrong sort of chicken nuggets because someone had dared to put some kind of herb based product in the batter mix, and the tomato sauce was too tomatoey.  They sighed and wailed and pushed their food around their plate looking for all the world as if I were force feeding them Pedigree Chum with a liberal side helping of mouldy cauliflower.  They muttered and prevaricated and Tallulah let out a test sob whilst watching me out of the corner of her eye.  I quite calmly stated that as they had picked their own food and I had paid for it, if they didn't eat it there would be rivers of blood in Pizza Hut before the day was out (I am, as you know, drawn to the dramatic.  Then I blame my children for exactly the same penchant.  This is o.k. because I am a parent.).  By the time Rob and I had finished our food they had eaten enough to keep an anorexic mouse alive and I had lost the will to go on.  We left, never to return.

We spent the rest of the afternoon at my mum's house.  She has been trying to coax us over since Boxing Day.  This is because she realized at about three o'clock on the day in question that she had fallen into the age old trap of over-catering wildly and needed lots of people to turn up and eat all her food.  She tried diverting a pensioner's bus trip to the potteries to no avail, and only had us to fall back on.  Hence her attempts to feed us all her leftover party food, including the abortive ginger pig, which she is now trying to sell me as being 'lovely', mainly because she's sick of the sight of it, leering at her from the back of the fridge.

Now, I love our family parties for the very fact that you will never go hungry.  I can't stand those parties you go to where people think that a family sized bag of crisps and some peanuts in a bowl will tide you over for four hours because there is after all, enough drink to sink a battle ship.  It's pants.  I cannot go for more than an hour without having a little snack.  I make Winnie the Pooh look like he's on permanent hunger strike, and if I'm going to a party I need to be fed, and fed well.

I once, and I almost hesitate to say this dear reader, for fear of shocking you (you may want to sit down), went to the birthday party of a friend of my ex-husband's, at which there was no, and I mean NO cake!  Now call me crazy, but surely the whole point of a birthday, and indeed a party to celebrate said birthday, is a cake.  How on God's green earth can you have a celebration without some form of cake based produce? It's an abomination.  There are not many things I would leave my house to march in the streets about (because I am a lazy cake eater mainly), but this is one of them.  I thought that they had forgotten the cake, but when I enquired of the hostess where her cake was, she said, and I quote: 'Oh! That's just for kids.  Who needs cake when there's all this alcohol?'  It was at this point that I had to be restrained from lamping her one with the punch bowl ladle, and shortly thereafter Jamie had to take me home, via the Londis shop for a fortifying box of French Fancies.

I now refuse to go to any party of someone I don't know very well, unless whoever has invited me can confirm the presence of cake.  I don't want to be lured in on false pretences again.  Once was enough, twice and the shock would probably kill me.  Consequently, like my mother before me, I always over cater massively at any parties held in my house and there are at least three types of cake available at any given moment.

My best cake party memory was my friend Kate's wedding.  Her mother is a stonkingly good cook and even better, likes to feed me up.  Now I'm not saying that they laid on the entire wedding feast for my benefit, but it is a sure fire bet that she knew that I would be coming, and consequently she was the first to tell me that she had assembled a vast and dizzying array of over thirty different kinds of cakes and puddings.  I needed restraining again at this point, but for entirely different reasons than previously.  I was, as you can imagine, quite overcome, particularly after sampling sixteen of her offerings.  I would have soldiered on to the bitter end, but Jamie refused to drive me home afterwards if I didn't stop then as he was worried for the upholstery in the car.  It was a quite magnificent day.  I am hoping that Kate and Gary will renew their vows in a few years and have another party.  I am in training already.

I don't really like eating leftovers much though, particularly not a few days later leftovers, so I refused to be drawn into my mum's evil plans of emptying her groaning larder.  She was quite disappointed, so in recompense I cooked us smoked salmon risotto with peas, white wine and cream.  It was lovely and she and I secretly agreed that we were much happier with that than left over pig.  Everyone else had pasta, because they're boring and don't like risotto because it's foreign and sloppy!  Actually, Oscar ate it with great gusto, but then on the days he's not being a fruitarian, he eats everything with great gusto, so it doesn't really count, although it does make a lovely change from the: 'These are the wrong shaped bananas mama,' brigade.

She did try to get us to take the remains of ginger pig home with us, and had even wrapped it in a cunningly disguised parcel, which I think she was hoping to get one of the girls to smuggle into the car for her.  Thankfully the evil smell gave her away and we were able to dispose of it on the grounds that it was vile and stinky and she couldn't make us!  When even the cat won't eat it, you know there's something amiss.  I think the only thing for it now is to release it back into the wild and let it breed tiny ginger piglets in time for next year.

However, J.R.R. Tolkien's books (and these movies) had one very human, but very difficult aspect that wrapped itself around my mind: created languages. In fact, Tolkien admitted that the languages seem to have come fist and the stories were created to provide a realm in which to use them. The languages he developed most extensively were (not the black language of Mordor, sorry) but two forms of elvish: Quenya (pronounced kwenya) and Sindarin. I've taken a fancy for a while to the idea of creating a language, but as I am neither a linguist nor well informed on the aspects of grammar nor longsuffering in such matters, I read such things as the Language Construction Kit with interest but without results.

I also admit that the particularly lovely sound of elvish caressed my ear and I began to wonder whether or not this language (I didn't know there was more than one) could be studied and acquired. It can. Tolkien's original Quenya is the one I settled on, only to find complex manuals written by linguists or at least those who had studied language and grammar enough to use the most difficult terms they could muster. I also found that even these languages were not complete enough to really provided a speaker with a basis for fluency and were thus learned for the purpose of writing and interpreting the language in the novels and Tolkien's various other works and letters.

I did find, however, a bastardized and much simplified version of the language had been made by a group called the GreyCompany, a group interested in roleplay based on Tolkien's elf kingdom. (There was, as you may have guessed quite an explosion of interest and websites concerning these in the early 2000's but all of the sites I visited are now defunct. ) I had been much hoping that someone had thought to do this. BUT, the internet was full of so many pooh-poohing purists that I was put off this track until weeks later. It made me wonder how anyone could be a purist concerning a created and much modified language... I thought that the simplification of the language was an excellent idea, but I seemed to be one of the few.

In the world of languages, is academic pursuit enough?

Or, is it permissible to modify what is not, after all, some kind of sacred and permanent structure in order to keep it alive?

Ladies and gentleman, the title of this post gives you my reply.

Having a hard time???

YOU ARE?!?!

Well, here I have compiled the definitive answer to your problems!!!

Simply follow the instructions below (for a minimal cost):

How to sell a car fast!!!! (HUMOR)

Set-up:
-1 car (good condition)
-1 cell-phone (junky is O.K.
-lots of poster paint
-a red carpet leading to the door of the house of the people you're trying to sell it to
-several crappy actors

Now, put the car in front of a rich person (here-after referred to as your quarry)'s house

Write the following all over it and in a pamphlet with a sticker on the front saying, "warning: contains nudity" as an attention grabber >.<

• For Sale! $6,000! CHEAP!!!
• Use cell-phone glued to window to call us! (Speed dial 1!)
• FREE car wash every month by your choice of either 6 Norwegian girls wearing tight-fitting white garments OR 6 topless island honeys with grass skirts!
• FREE chauffeur (uniform with your color choice included)
• complimentary TOOTHPICKS with purchase!!!
• chocolates or mints (your choice) on your car seat pillows every morning!
• INSURANCE COVERAGE INCLUDED!!!
• FREE maid in FRENCH UNIFORM to clean out your ASH TRAY (promptly at 5-7 pm.)!!!
• KNIGHT wearing AUTHENTIC PLATE and CHAIN-MAIL ARMOR to guard your car when you leave it!!! (Als0: burglar alarm that says, "HEY!!! <insert name here>'S CAR IS BEING STOLEN! IT IS AT <location--provided by ON-STAR> WITH THE LICENSE PLATE NUMBER <licence plate number>. THE CRIMINAL IS A <brief description of criminal, including height, weight, hair/skin/eye color, favorite food, whether or not they like long walks on the beach, and ANY EMBARRASSING DETAILS IN THEIR ENTRIES ON MYSPACE OR FACEBOOK!!!>" (who wants to have that blared across a parking lot by the mall?!)
• spacious interior!! DOOR UNLOCKED for easier viewing!!!
• GREAT HANDLING!! KEY IN IGNITION to test for yourself!!!
• DOCUMENTS PREPARED FOR SIGNING, LEGALESE, ETC!!! IN A BEAUTIFUL GAZEBO!!! WITH A LOVELY VIEW!!!
  • a bouncer standing outside gazebo with a clip board
  • bouncer asks for name and credit card number of the people, checks "LIST" and says, "YOU'RE COOL." before unlocking the chain barrier
• several crappy actors to stand outside saying, "WOW! ONLY $6,000!" "I KNOW!!! JUST THINK OF THAT!!" "I SURE WISH THE WIFE WOULD LET ME GET ANOTHER CAR!!" "HECK, I'D LEAVE MY WIFE TO GET THIS CAR!!"
• FREE RADAR to FOOL TRAFFIC LIGHTS!!!
• ALL POLICE STATIONS within 200 miles BRIBED to ignore you if you get caught
• NO SPEEDING TICKETS GUARANTEED!!

And now the brilliant money-making part: TAKE THE MONEY AND RUN!!!!!!
PLEASE SEND ME ANY IDEAS ANYONE GETS!!! ACCEPTING ADDITIONS!!! (I WILL CITE YOU!)

reviews about this post so far:
"[Two] thumbs [way] up[!!!!!!!!]"--My own mother...
"What the he***[a GOOD job!!!]"--My dad
"[I'm] *screaming* [with delight]"--My brother

"thanks for the support, you guys!" --me...

Thank you to Brahnamin for a new Meme to play with

3 quirky things you find attractive in a person of the opposite sex

Guys with long hair

Guys with tattoos

Guys who are "artsy" in that they can sing or play an instrument or draw, etc.

under what circumstances, if any, would you share your significant other?

If we ever had the money ....  I'd probably let him make use of one of the girls at the Bunny Ranch. .... ONCE

I don't feel the need to watch or join in though.  I just sort of feel I "owe it to him" since I have almost no libido whatsoever.

name one thing the person closest to you doesn’t know about you, but you wish they did.

Oh gosh.  I honestly don't think there is anything that Hubby doesn't know about me.  I've known him since I was 16.  I guess if I have to pick something it would be able to see (without getting defensive) how unhappy I am sometimes.

1 thing you want to change

My appearance ..... I want to lose weight ... I want (need?) a breast reduction ... I'd like to have all of the bumps, etc. from my Neurofibromatosis removed.  And while they are there ... a little lipo .... a little botox?  LOL

2 things that are so *YOU* that they’ll never change

I will always read voraciously.

I will always be a worrier.

3 things you want to learn

To knit.

All about my birth family.

To speak Elvish (I know I know ... I'm a total geek right?)

4 things you want to pass on

My ability to forgive almost anything

The way I make "friends" part of my family

My love of books

My love of learning obscure bits of trivia

Say something important to someone who reads your blog.

Lady Rose ...

I look up to you so much.  I don't think you know that.

You are the best friend I've ever had.

{{{ Hugs }}}

Mama Kelly