La mia medicina senza controindicazioniiiii! Sciarlòt, Sciaròòòòlt, non capisco niente quando sei con me, ma che giorno èèèèè, mi mandi in tilt come un videogeiiiiiiiiiiiiim!
Niente, volevo rendervi partecipi di cosa stava passando (passando? uhm... cantando? Allietando? vabbé, quello) in questo momento su Radio Suby, la radio adatta per quando si fanno le pulizie.
Ti ritrovi a sculettare con lo scopettone in mano, come una vera massaia che si rispetti.
Sedere di qua, sedere di là, mossetta, giro su te stessa, scopettone e goo!
Tun cià, tun tun cià, a tempo! Cacchio, sto perdendo il fazzoletto in testa!
Tun cià, tun tun cià!
Eccolo qui l'utile, and a duty, post!
'm sick, so sick. And when they are sick mangy, mangy much like a dog neutered or an old acid from which the antenna has stopped working just as Rig Bruce said in the episode-number 3438746387 - who between them can no longer work, because they too many lives and because she does not dress in the style of Forrester, but more like a woman For (r) east-a. Uga uga!
Well, I'm getting used to new with Mocciola, with Clinecs and company, and with that headache you do not even spring for a moment and that makes ... CIA tun, tun tun CIA!
So I'm here all alone and abandoned, with my shakes fishing (but beware: the trentaquattropercento is based on fishing, everything else is grape, banana and apple juice. So just know the fishing is.).
I said. The shakes pescauvabananamela crakerss and olives. They are my only friends at this time.
House of Grande Bordello is silent, if not for Suby tun CIA and bla bla bla, and the only funny thing of the day was arrange the clothes hanger with an attack of art. I made a sort of labyrinth of clothes hanging-because-it's raining outside and I'm waiting for Arianna will be able to get out and escape from the Minotaur (was he? My reminiscences classic ultimately hold water on all sides).
You also understand that my situation pisssicologggica today is not the best, is leaking all over her as well, incidentally.
andarmi I decided to take the pail and put a blanket on him man of the forest type (precisely) and honor, so, my reputation as home of "Miss Cover", the housewife of all the housewives. Then I'll make a loner.
Now that's life, right? End
helpful post, just to make up the numbers scribbled (but that number from?).
Pitupitumpàà!
Pomeriggio caraibico (maddeché). around me (no, not the advertising of Vodafone, nothing IlariBlasonata): home-made jam Apricot (graziemamma!), composed of a glass full of nauseating that even the little finger with the Prof would never be able to play (read = cigarettes in full glass of water, du ver no? At any moment I expect a knock Nani brings to the septic tank), a sea-Caribbean, by the way-of paperwork, the ugliest picture they have ever been able to do Madmuasél Toffoli, also known as the Miss-pack the backside 'co sti cabbage Mechanics of Dreams, the soap bubbles cyanide e. .. drum roll, Ladies and Siori: Dido!
Yes, before me stands the case of multicolor Dido (not to be confused with Dodo, dell'alberoazzurropostofelice) with nientepopò (poop) dimenoché le formine di Cars! O meglio, UNA formina di Cars, perché quelli della Fila per sette euro non regalano niente.
Il Didò ha fatto la sua apparizione in un pomeriggio in cui, come qualcuno, stavo coltivando i miei pessimismi tumorali. In preda alla disperazione più cieca, alla Orlando furioso stàil, esco di casa con l'intenzione di spendere i pochi eur(i) che si aggirano paciosi nelle mie tasche, al calduccio.
Cammina cammina mi imbatto in un negozio di giocattoli: "Ufologgggico! Voglio il pinocchio di legno versione mignòn da mettere in camera!" (non fate domande.)
Entro col sorriso a cinquecentoventicinquemilasettecentotrentamenotredenti (i denti del giudizio estirpati) e sicura di me: "Avete i pinocchi?" (Not found is a very intelligent question?).
The contract breaks my boyish dreams of revival, saying that any wooden toy was supposed to come soon. Never mind the short
! I want it now! I want my Pinocchio mignon!
(no, I told you). After the disappointment with a
Clìnecs, I wander the aisles with do question, going through tremendous figures: noddico, the Go (r) myths still distributed them? Who is the genius who designed marchétìn of men full of spikes with the air of someone who could move-if-you really kill piercing the crap?
Besides the Barbie model, with three sizes smaller than normal?
Even his beard may weigh 45 pounds wet, now they start to produce a light pole disguised as Cheìt Moss!
dutiful public spaces Pro-progress.
Call to Mattel: MATTEL'ha anyone ever tell you girls have to grow up carefree, running through the meadows, picking daisies, dodging droppings of cows grazing? One pole of the current sheath dress with a leopard and morally harmful as well as a photo of Mary DeFilippo make-up or in sciòrt Costanzo, Mattel!
End Pro-input dutiful public spaces.
Well, anything to get to Dido.
The name puts me through a whirlwind along the spine. Di-do
. Pure poetry hermetic, hermetic, ermetiana. That.
I see him there, all alone on the shelf, left to its fate (dry) and, driven by my ego deeply Ursuline, snapped it up. Mr Didò
, you're not alone!
I go to cash, my friend cost me less than 7 € (plus 50 cents for soap bubbles cyanide), but no matter, it's for a good cause: to make small snails, butterflies and bananas peeled seeds, as did blurt out our grandmother with the gnocchi dough, shred into thin rounds and make the tortellini, mix ... (Voice-over, far away).
Bottom line: my stay in Rome is bearing fruit. Mi sto rincoglionendo.
...A volte ritornano (quanta beltade!). Vedete cosa significa usare due passuor' per tutto ciò a cui si è registrati su questo sconfinato mondo uebbico (fecciabuc, lasteffemm, maispeis e bla bla bla, un vero cantiere navale)? Significa che dopo mesi e mesi di latitanza sono andata sul sicuro, digitando la parolina magggica senza indugio, ed eccomi qui ssssiore e ssssiori! Si torna su questi lidi.
I più scaltri di voi (ma voi chi?) avranno intuito (ma quando?) che per tornare qui ho davvero delle cose importanti da dire (ma de che?), e la loro importanza (pfui) mi spinge a rivelarle in mondo visione (pfui due).
Da oggi, trediciottobreduemilaotto, start my new life!
No, I do not have a rhinoplasty done, I removed the crow's feet or swollen lips I type Lecciso Stail.
simply (simply say the least) I moved to Rome! Yes, I was saying that the capital would not have ever had I had an obligation to give frequent lectures.
And so here I am, including a mirror Krabbe, a carrier Jall, the sensual Sarita curtains and chandelier ball of rice paper. Outside the sun from wild
his is in front of an apartment of Madonna fans who sing frantic "you givi me, yeah" all day holding hands with his pants. And while listening
Strawberry swing Coldplay who knows so much of summer afternoons with his head out the window of the speeding car.
In short, when I have mounted the most important detail-the shelf will do a photo-luc nuvo to the room for famigeratissimo "before and after."
Stei tuned PIPOLs givi you and me, IEA!
Che chiavica. my Dear Readers, I'm just a zero. This blog is exhaling its last breath, poor thing, why-not-in essence, I've got just the desire nor the strength to stay here to write the same old bullshit arised from my mind.
delight you, ordunque, with the ultimate dream / the fact / s tonight:
Prima scena: sono alla stazione Termi-ti e aspetto il ciuf ciuf che mi porterà alla méson. Quello arriva, con quel fascino che solo i treni conservano (puah, 'ste vecchie cariatidi), noi siamo tutti in attesa. I passeggeri scendono e noi prendiamo il loro posto. Mi accomodo su una poltrona facendo attenzione alla scabbia, all'accaivvù e compagnia bella, quando una voce dice: "Scendete, c'è da fare la manutenzione treno". Ok, scendo. Scendiamo tutti, lasciando -chissàppperché- tutto a bordo. Ad un certo punto il treno comincia a muoversi e Puff! Va via come un razzo! (e già da quì, conoscendo i tempi tren-italici, si intuisce che sia un sogno).
I said, the train leaves with all our stuff in! A feeling like that last penalty of the World Cup Final over me, and start to run. Yes, behind the train. And that was not straight, but was of concentric circles. In the end, with two other people, I open my arms and wait for the train brakes. "Oh, but it will brake?". Just in time, it gives me just a tap to the patella and a cask in crap, but I am alive. Down a Pakistani, or whoever it. And I take a beating.
And here lies the first question: to see the tivvù Santanché can cause such things? I can not accept the disappearance of the left and I inflict on immigrants to conform?
Second stage: change of location. Villa huge all white, the kind that only star trashisssime Ollivudiane can buy. The feature of this house is that it is the sea, but is not there faces, no, but we're right into it. The waves arrive in the garden, and they crash on the geraniums. I'm not a lady but I not so elderly, yet charming roughness, waiting for her lost love. But it comes only from the sea rompimelones son with a wooden boat, which docked on a pier (always in the garden, of course) and starts talking to me.
Meanwhile, Butler-yes, there too, dressed like the Ferrero Rocher-Ambrose called me to tell me that my bath is ready. Nothing mare's milk, ma una comunissima doccia. Mi metto sotto la doccia e comincio a morire dal terrore. La cosina (passatemi il termine, non so come si chiami) da cui fuoriesce l'acqua è altissima, e il getto potente, e mi fa tipo effetto grandine su testa pelata. Comincio ad urlare ma nessuno mi sente. Ambrogio sembra scomparso. E in tutto questo ho il terrore di bagnarmi i capelli. Poi il vuoto.
Secondo dubbio: Devo prendermi maggior cura dei miei gerani? O devo solo farmi una vacanza, magari in montagna? Ai posteri l'hard-ua sentenza.
In tutto questo, l'unico aggiornamento degno di nota (immaginate il resto) è che mi sono operata ai denti del giudizio (ben tre) e l'unica cosa che ricorderò, a parte il tremendo estirpamento dei denti con la pinza da idraulico, sarà la fame. Una fame cieca, incontrollabile, che si è impossessata di me fino a rischiare di farmi impazzire (completamente, gne gne). Per giorni e giorni pappette, minestrine, carne frullata, omogeneizzati di pollo e tacchino, mela frullata. E non necessariamente in quest'ordine.
In tutto questo ho ancora i punti, che ormai custodisco gelosamente nella mia bocca con affetto, e che toglierò l'otto maggio alle ore sedici. Ma pensiamo ai wafer alla nocciola, adesso (si perché alla fine ho buttato nel viccì la carne frullata e mi sono data a qualcosa di solido. Oh yeah. Niente malpensanti, grazie).
Non mi abbandonate, voi pochi che siete left! I go from cookies. Goodnight!
Post post viaggio. 
Ariecchime uebnauti.
I spent a while to recover and rediscover the tracks from my tourist-premium in France, and yet still I stop occasionally and think, 'What am I doing here acciderboli breaded, in this hole of Turkey? ".
say that the returns are always-or nearly-so, but put the being of God, all that is beautiful I have seen (not counting the usual coupled TUR IFFEL LUVR bar-bar SCIAMPS ELISE 'and bla bla bla) and How do they live there ... Well, back to this dump full of Burini gave me a little decompensation.
Yes, I actually said TOPAIA e BURINI, perché in confronto ai francesci siamo i Watussi dopo il cagotto. Loro non urlano, sussurrano. Se ti urtano in metropolitana ti ammaliano con un "parrrrrrdon" e tu sei lì che dici "Mannòòò, non ti preoccupare, urtami ancora! Urtèmmmuàà". Se lo fanno qui è pure colpa tua che stavi in mezzo: "Aooo spostateeee!".
NON ho visto nessuno con la baguette sotto l'ascella, segno di una probabile leggenda metropolitana. Sul portone non hanno il citofono, ma una combinazione numerica da digitare: se non la sai (perché evidentemente non sei conosciuto dal padrone di casa) non entri, t'attacchi.
Tradotto in spiccioli significa: niente testimoni di ge(n)ova che suonano per portarti il messaggio di pace, niente pubblicità dei centri dimagranti sobrino, niente rotture. Il codice lo si da solo a chi si vuole, gli altri RAUS.
Certo, se poi sei il padrone di casa e torni dopo una serata passata a bere litri e litri di birra, sidro e shampagn (leggi: coma etilico) allora lì sono cazzi, sfido a ricordare il codice. Ma è geniale lo stesso.
Insomma, Parigi è superlativa. Si respira un'altra aria, tutti gironzolano tranquilli tra le viuzze, fermandosi sul lungo Senna a guardare le bancarelle che NON vendono occhiali farlocchi, magliette con scritte tipo "VERSACE n'artro litro" o "poooooo poooo popopo poooooooooo", ma libri, romanzi, vecchi giornali anni '60, poster cinematografici eccetera. Ovunque puoi affittare biciclette (e pagare con il bancomat), e girare per i quartieri.
Ci ritornerò sicuramente, vista la fila che c'era ai vari musei (LUVR in primis) e che non mi hanno permesso di visitare nulla in quel senso.
Quasi quasi mi trasferirei domani.
Non qui, ma qui 
Come non utilizzare il titolo "Non qui, ma qui" per iniziare questo post ritardante (zozza!) e ritardatario.
Insomma: non sono qui, ma sono qui.
In realtà non lo so nemmeno io dove sono.
Persa nei pensieri, prima, nelle melodie, dopo. E nel mentre persa in mezzo alla burocrazia della vita (vedi: visite mediche, università and bla bla bla bla ....) My track
living is becoming increasingly an oxymoron (for those who could not remember what the oxymoron: animal teeth and white long (two), which strives to build dams in Po Valley).
I said, the track and live the oxymoron. All we can say that it is not alive. But consistency has never been my strong point (maybe I'm too strong for Constance).
The fact is that I always write something intelligent and funny, but end up with bored alone while doing it, and I'll jump on the bed reading a Dailan Dog. Folks, he is a man with casings-room. Biliv me.
Ehhhhhhhhh short. What can I say that will interest the people following me with internett love and devotion (I went on?): Parto
people! Between 10 days delivery! I'm going in that of Paris, the city of baguette (zozza!) The taste of her armpit, and the dialect scatarroso noses upward (here comes the parade of clichés, a bit like talking to Italy: pizza, figs, mandolin .. and mafia - niu come since 2007).
Well, perhaps I found a place to be projected: Paris (not Hilton, by the way), on the Seine, a beautiful Parisian arm with his arm and fragrant without phlegm (but with the nose) that whispers: "You 3 is Jolì madmuasel, je tem. "
Or in a penthouse on the first floor (sipperchè Mica Paris are so obvious) puzzolentissimi I eat cheese with acacia honey and Poplar (last I am not sure there) and drink gallons of wine DOP, DOC, DOG (it is useless, I always think of him!) and keep me informed if there are other .
cough cough. From the director make me a sign: "Aooo tajaaa.
webnauti bye.
Sbracavenaggio. 
Sbracavenaggio : disease of pseudo-and non-menstruating adolescents aged 18 to 25 (hopefully only up to 25) years.
The symptoms are still under study, for the moment are those recognized compulsive attachment to the 750-kg jar of Nutella, please call kilometers with anyone in shooting (takes the phone, you ambarabàciccìcoccò and fishing in one case), whole sheets full of hearts and stars and phrases like "Death Valentine" (and while we're at death Moccia and films that would serve an exorcism), compulsivity mobile phone ("Oh God, you are enlightened? Ah no, it is a reflection of the halogen lamp, is the battery, I unconsciously enlightened me and bla bla bla , so on) and besides the music . YOU, faithful companion of the advanced stages of the disease, those in which the face is like that of Marilyn Manson in one of his videos and the worst time dealing with it on the desk the entire volume, while the screen of the peak can hardly be seen anymore.
Ecccosì toppptenn that it is out of this, which I will share with you:
10. Alanis Morrissette - That I Would Be Good
9. Cristina Donà - Invisible
8. Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds - Into My Arms
7. Coldplay - Yellow
6. Elisa - Dancing
5. Mia Martini - Minuetto
4. The Verve - The Drugs Do not Work
3. Jeff Buckley - Lover, You Should've Come Over
2. A Fine Frenzy - Almost Lover
HIM. The unique, usual, the inimitable, "The King" to his friends:
1. Damien Rice - The Blower's Daughter
If you do not know any of these songs on cercatevele IU TUB, that I sleep well and tomorrow I examination.
And thanks to Al, because what they say: "Gianniiiiii, is the perfume of the ottimismooo vitttaaa" (and even self-mockery).
advertising space progress.
Try Gillette: the unique, inimitable. The only razor with three blades perfect for any occasion. It also has the strip of Aloe Vera in the end, not pizza and figs.
Un ritorno tra queste sponde (chissà).
E 'over the period (h) hostage. No
lords, the aliens abducted me and did a brain transplant (although, honestly, I do not offend), but I finished working as a hostess at the Auditorium of Rome, for the Festival of Science.
fantastic experience, and as usual I thought I would not do it.
Meanwhile, I started to get up at six in the morning (sometimes before) enjoying the cold face, the flap of the commuters, the expectation that the little bar tru (s) cido front of the auditorium opened to drink the first coffee of the day with that 'inimitable "Abbbellla buongggiorno! Morning 'love actually' competing to see who Ariva first eh? Chettepossssino, 'notch your oh."
Epppoi, watch the sun set the lights of a train in the distance, with "All Is Full of Love" by Bjork in my ears, is priceless. For everything else there is the smell of train brakes.
[..] And now I am here again, a bit stunned by the thoughts and music. I'm collecting
sleepless nights, some tear, swirling thoughts, a bit of healthy despair, books about books-I do not know where to get-and tests that may not convince me at all.
Or maybe I just have not convinced me at all (?).
Certainly, after nearly a month of absence, maybe I should unleash una delle mie postille posticce pasticciate, facendo il clown come al solito. Sinceramente, chissenefrega.
Comincio ad interrogarmi anche sull'utilità di un blog, dove possono cadere occhi (s)conosciuti che non mi aiutano, ahimè.
On air: discografia di DamianoRisoBlondeltrasudantedepressione.
Non serve che io spieghi perchè.
