tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77829091981159687662024-03-05T22:43:17.476-08:00A lullaby for an insomniacLet's not sleep together.Natashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03209958600423697411noreply@blogger.comBlogger63125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782909198115968766.post-22479831713580192192009-03-30T21:44:00.000-07:002009-03-30T21:47:50.120-07:0010 tracks for this weekFinally something to jump-around about.<br /><br />NME (one of the greatest music magazine's on the planet), has done all the hard work of music searching for you by releasing their <a href="http://www.nme.com/theoffice">'10 tracks you must hear this week'.</a><br /><br />I love searching for new music, I'm hunt around on the internet for hours looking for that new favourite tune, so it's nice when writers you can be sure know their stuff have done that for you.<br /><br />Enjoy.Natashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03209958600423697411noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782909198115968766.post-1791152038658205512009-03-30T00:26:00.000-07:002009-03-30T00:31:26.071-07:00Hey, hey we're The Monkee's!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin6EwdRkdc-fOcXVoxZYvrs-7N7bXUgd8OEqcDTyz6dNaVoqRMVN7WPwfMcJstIbcywH9uXCnN360tv0zxWQQ4-Yf_QNYo9NRyLkGT5Ek0Kmvv9Rl0D4pOCL-3_Dth-rY4Eo34lP-uCmDI/s1600-h/4kees.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 360px; height: 323px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin6EwdRkdc-fOcXVoxZYvrs-7N7bXUgd8OEqcDTyz6dNaVoqRMVN7WPwfMcJstIbcywH9uXCnN360tv0zxWQQ4-Yf_QNYo9NRyLkGT5Ek0Kmvv9Rl0D4pOCL-3_Dth-rY4Eo34lP-uCmDI/s400/4kees.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318879684673720706" /></a><div><br /></div>Hey, hey, I remember watching 'The Monkees' when I was about 8 or 9 every day when I'd come home from school.<div><br /></div><div>They're doing a bit of a Monkee's marathon on the Bio channel, and so every time I turn on the T.V, I hear 'Last Train...'</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/ScXXaBu1Ing&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ScXXaBu1Ing&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Natashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03209958600423697411noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782909198115968766.post-25058549259348784802009-03-28T23:36:00.002-07:002009-03-28T23:39:55.028-07:00Sorry :)So, it's been way too long since I've updated. But, I have a good excuse/'s.<div><div>* Work has been incredibly busy</div><div>* Semester 1 has begun, and I'm already behind (this is not a good omen for the rest of the term)</div><div>* I've been terribly ill. So ill in fact, I was admitted to hospital earlier this week and had to be put on a drip.</div><div><br /></div><div>But, I promise to update more regularly now that (hopefully) I am in the swing of some semblance of routine. </div><div>That said, anyone who has studied Russian Literary Theory, feel free to send me your essays, Lord knows I need all the help I can get at this stage. </div><div><br /></div></div>Natashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03209958600423697411noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782909198115968766.post-68130389305032809152009-01-14T06:15:00.000-08:002009-01-14T06:19:39.857-08:00I spend way too much time on the 'tube...<div><br /></div><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/OuSdU8tbcHY&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/OuSdU8tbcHY&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br />Pretty much funniest thing I've seen in a while...<div><br /><br /></div><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/u1YJbCftjBI&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/u1YJbCftjBI&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br />Oh, this one's good too. A little weird but it grows on you... much like a meth addiction.Natashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03209958600423697411noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782909198115968766.post-47376090381410517732009-01-13T03:08:00.000-08:002009-01-13T03:15:01.339-08:00Russell Brand innit<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir7zGl9kbPDnHVqRCXz1v7emM7YByjbJBTVl7LRISSMtxllSs9XvAZArWtO2qp2-e32nvNXgBe45T6nSUJizedJVmbcwZwc2x4PoM87GaUjds2-jazWySyU9NqR7wo1ELV7YE3ctgJPFEH/s1600-h/brand.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 255px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir7zGl9kbPDnHVqRCXz1v7emM7YByjbJBTVl7LRISSMtxllSs9XvAZArWtO2qp2-e32nvNXgBe45T6nSUJizedJVmbcwZwc2x4PoM87GaUjds2-jazWySyU9NqR7wo1ELV7YE3ctgJPFEH/s400/brand.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290734047148676642" /></a><div><br /></div>Look, I know Russell Brand is a little weird, maybe even a little frightening, but come on... how can you not love a guy who titles his autobiography 'My Bookie Wook'.<div><div><br /></div></div>Natashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03209958600423697411noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782909198115968766.post-47998398088121718532009-01-12T23:35:00.001-08:002009-01-13T03:06:37.048-08:00Back to worksies...I think maybe four days off has been a shock to my system, because right now, I feel like I'm going to die.<div><br /><div>Well, ok, that was a little bit extravagant, but I do feel pretty bad. Dizzy, nausea, swaying...and I'm not even drunk this time.</div><div><br /></div><div>I've got one of those major head-aches that kills the back of your neck and just makes you hurt all over.</div><div><br /></div><div>That said, I have to get back into work tomorrow. I've been moved around on shifts a little bit which has been nice because producing a late night show and being yelled at every five minutes gets a little redundant after a while.</div><div><br /></div><div>So here's to me surviving this week and not ending up worse for wear at the end of it.</div><div><br /></div></div>Natashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03209958600423697411noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782909198115968766.post-40402108403846239792009-01-12T03:53:00.000-08:002009-01-12T04:37:57.798-08:00Hollywood conspiracy<div>I'm pretty sure there's a conspiracy going on in Hollywood. Namely, that Ethel Merman and Ernest Borgnine are actually the same person, that has been using two different persona's to maximise their career.</div><div>Don't believe me? Take a look...</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOiVPwT6cs3OiTKwr47gfUcTM0YqFdz0TWbaY1VGDaa3J9P_j8UbDJdj6CgqkHM9OaBQ9XnuGz6jMq3NDd4UMMy9UQ6vcEdFODXzs-LSIVD7FxxmDrPOIV6ysb2VNeuEwnh-uC5vAzs_KO/s1600-h/Ethel+Merman.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 255px; height: 350px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOiVPwT6cs3OiTKwr47gfUcTM0YqFdz0TWbaY1VGDaa3J9P_j8UbDJdj6CgqkHM9OaBQ9XnuGz6jMq3NDd4UMMy9UQ6vcEdFODXzs-LSIVD7FxxmDrPOIV6ysb2VNeuEwnh-uC5vAzs_KO/s400/Ethel+Merman.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290379197380795234" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Ernest Borgnine</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBjHbv24gENXkXHpLnYk_0G28YPhydUfCyXu5paPpVoCA1be7gSWw8BbzRF616NQAUJLLnhhMmZRFU2sL1VkvkzkRcTs22A97lFJCAjHhYfRZuSa-ha66WWVo2KoNJmkalx5EWPBSo4wOn/s1600-h/borgnine.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 225px; height: 280px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBjHbv24gENXkXHpLnYk_0G28YPhydUfCyXu5paPpVoCA1be7gSWw8BbzRF616NQAUJLLnhhMmZRFU2sL1VkvkzkRcTs22A97lFJCAjHhYfRZuSa-ha66WWVo2KoNJmkalx5EWPBSo4wOn/s400/borgnine.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290378926545845106" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Ethel Merman</div>Natashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03209958600423697411noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782909198115968766.post-44577048289465559092009-01-11T23:38:00.000-08:002009-01-12T00:21:08.342-08:00Sigur Ros<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1xHqZtTv21PnyKbP1uHQ7vi46kZ-ACUqb87d4uIWKX4PYlJrrWul_zbe3rLhxZHMhyphenhyphenqHgQwP22WpEah4fqxtYbm-OGEKJlJykaA8RHpCD7zuQwt3-ZehS7osk_xBvWqV2weOBZdJoY2QX/s1600-h/sr.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 294px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1xHqZtTv21PnyKbP1uHQ7vi46kZ-ACUqb87d4uIWKX4PYlJrrWul_zbe3rLhxZHMhyphenhyphenqHgQwP22WpEah4fqxtYbm-OGEKJlJykaA8RHpCD7zuQwt3-ZehS7osk_xBvWqV2weOBZdJoY2QX/s400/sr.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290319268589784498" /></a><br />Are you a Sigur Ros fan? Don't worry if you are, it doesn't make you <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">that</span> much of a wanker.<div>Anyway, someone posted this link on Twitter, you should check it out: <a href="http://current.com/items/89173668/sigur_r_s_moma.htm">Sigur Ros play New York</a></div><div><br /></div>Natashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03209958600423697411noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782909198115968766.post-17110430008619275772009-01-11T23:10:00.000-08:002009-01-11T23:28:01.503-08:00Celebrities never miss a chance to get political...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRWqtxUM2Ew7hfaFZtaTTqeilxIXLaPqsJELyUYYO5Ac45mg2SXqlOr9cy3JURahpJCuxNx2PaLrEnXt0MDqAZk2WBdKdsm4vaTc41w8o80AEdainLuvfU5lefOFKsQOnTiIfFAuQxC-X1/s1600-h/dern.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRWqtxUM2Ew7hfaFZtaTTqeilxIXLaPqsJELyUYYO5Ac45mg2SXqlOr9cy3JURahpJCuxNx2PaLrEnXt0MDqAZk2WBdKdsm4vaTc41w8o80AEdainLuvfU5lefOFKsQOnTiIfFAuQxC-X1/s400/dern.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290304617588795282" /></a><div><br /></div>I'm not really too sure who Laura Dern is. No, actually I have heard of her. But I only know her as Bruce Dern's daughter or that chick who married Ben Harper.<div>I have an inkling she was in some film back in the early 90's that involved dinosaurs and Richard Attenborough or something...but I don't think it was very popular.</div><div><br /></div><div>Anywhoo, the Golden Globes just aired today (yawn) and apart from them being completely boring, which I don't think is a shock to anyone....award shows like these are usually used as political podiums for actors who feel it's their job to tell us plebeians who we should vote for...and what kind of issues are like really like totally important at the moment y'all.</div><div><br /></div><div>Thing is, it's pretty easy to say something to a group of people who share the same views as you. Now, everyone knows Hollywood is completely left...if it's possible they are left of left. So for Dern, or someone like Tim Robbins to get up on stage and make some bogus political acclamation is cowardly. They know they'll be applauded, they know no-one will disagree with them, so that's why they say it. </div><div><br /></div><div>I don't know one person who after Laura Dern made her pathetic tribute to Obama go "Oh goodie, I'm so glad she made a political statement, that's exactly what I watched the Golden Globes to see!". </div><div><br /></div><div>Dern, Robbins, Susan Sarandon, Sally Field, and the rest of the left-of-left brigade should consider saving their Obama love-fest for the next time they hold a 'We Hate The West' party.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/NqCDOxbOaMg&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/NqCDOxbOaMg&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Natashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03209958600423697411noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782909198115968766.post-91600737957628974112009-01-04T18:09:00.001-08:002009-01-04T19:05:38.420-08:00Meet Harry...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKK2zdTEQ-V8ukr8kNTYB3V3aEHugwO0qbkKTn5qR5t2HseYGrTTfBtaNVgdIDsHv61sMRFdYOmQ_9uQCo8EmzCrRgRm5HXGNfzuGWZh9trymECqW-OpXEM06rqI9udKYLwe2lQ2PQxQEX/s1600-h/IMGP3634.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKK2zdTEQ-V8ukr8kNTYB3V3aEHugwO0qbkKTn5qR5t2HseYGrTTfBtaNVgdIDsHv61sMRFdYOmQ_9uQCo8EmzCrRgRm5HXGNfzuGWZh9trymECqW-OpXEM06rqI9udKYLwe2lQ2PQxQEX/s400/IMGP3634.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287639441037119522" /></a><br />You know how some people go all ga-ga over their pets and it makes you feel a little sick inside? I hate those people...but alas, since getting Harry, I have become one of those people.<div><br /></div><div>My bird is one of those rare animals that thinks he's a human. He's neurotic, has seperation anxiety and rarely hangs out in his cage - he prefers to fly around the house, screaming, and landing on people's heads.</div><div><br /></div><div>Oh, and my 4 year old next door neighbour is terrified of him.</div>Natashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03209958600423697411noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782909198115968766.post-7898113181905282222009-01-03T22:32:00.000-08:002009-01-03T22:42:55.968-08:00SlumdogNot sure if you're a movie person or not, but I am. God I love films.<div>I think one of my favourite things in the world is to visit the cinema - I love waiting while the lights go down, the movie begins and boom - you're transported into a whole new world. And for an hour and 56 minutes you leave reality. It's nice, it's beautiful.</div><div><br /></div><div>I saw one the greatest films I've ever seen yesterday. Slumdog Millionaire.</div><div>I don't know how well known this film is around the world. I know it's a HUGE hit in indie circles, but mainstream >>> probably not. </div><div><br /></div><div>My dad was the person that wanted to go an see this. I thought, from the title, that it would be some gangster flick and I tried to persuade him against it. But, after watching the tralier I realise how wrong I was.</div><div><br /></div><div>I won't tell you the plot line, the trailer can do that much, much better than I can. I will tell you that this film is the most uplifting piece of cinema for this year (yes! I'm making a huge prediction). It's bursting with hope, the performances are flawless, and you'll do the whole bit - laugh, cry and sigh.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><object width="480" height="295"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/AIzbwV7on6Q&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/AIzbwV7on6Q&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="295"></embed></object></div>Natashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03209958600423697411noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782909198115968766.post-70948247730900125932008-12-31T17:04:00.000-08:002009-01-01T07:35:30.148-08:00Happy New Year<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWExxonELezpISY4xKAyuqY64eGk12Uthscbkvde-5JcVg75A-tv6jkj-ZLPayYt609G6RZTL1y81NGkupHNEkkWB-_Td0GJIaVZUdrvSJvO1UfUGMGm744H6Fij27uERUuaxyhm_rnAcP/s1600-h/nye.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 329px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWExxonELezpISY4xKAyuqY64eGk12Uthscbkvde-5JcVg75A-tv6jkj-ZLPayYt609G6RZTL1y81NGkupHNEkkWB-_Td0GJIaVZUdrvSJvO1UfUGMGm744H6Fij27uERUuaxyhm_rnAcP/s400/nye.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286343372004718482" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">LOVE FROM SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA.</div><div style="text-align: center;">xxx</div>Natashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03209958600423697411noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782909198115968766.post-85715819973139940002008-12-30T05:46:00.000-08:002008-12-30T18:01:02.506-08:00love<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdAOABtWZhLxz9UtTJMzmBu0euLxtnOP50NWKU8hLW1nUbqjRKg2aKaFymNw3x-PlQafNMZbbws7g9iA5JnPJgEoG1TFvflNsHeiJ4TKUQ0K2W-RRRe12jxZIWtqQXpkkL0QucEibEQWGx/s1600-h/299520677_2c46bd8cb5-1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdAOABtWZhLxz9UtTJMzmBu0euLxtnOP50NWKU8hLW1nUbqjRKg2aKaFymNw3x-PlQafNMZbbws7g9iA5JnPJgEoG1TFvflNsHeiJ4TKUQ0K2W-RRRe12jxZIWtqQXpkkL0QucEibEQWGx/s400/299520677_2c46bd8cb5-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285601392652943282" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ginthefer/">alacrity _danger</a></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Hmmm, I just looked back at that post and laughed a little. It wasn't meant to be some 'OMG' kind of thing for anyone...but for me it was.</div><br /><div>See, I kind of fell head-over-heels for a guy I worked with when I was about 16. He was 36 year's old. Big mistake right from the start.</div><br /><div>Nothing happened between us...I mean really, what could or would have happened? The lad was nearly 40 and I had only just entered my teens. What - could he have taken me out for ice-cream? Or could I have waited outside while he threw back a few schooners with the boys?</div><br /><div> </div><div>And, you'd think this whole 'idea' that men just want young women would in turn work in my favour...well, thankfully it didn't. I say thankfully because looking back at my 16 year old self, I know I was no-where near ready for a relationship/commitment or anything else that didn't involve crime novels (here's to you Cornwell for filling my tender mind with crime... I'll love you forever more).</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 355px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY_oQQd-_eJXWc7IxsTZUPMsk5M496BlWMeepKpFEVX8xndZw3f5NeNedBWZV4eHkbIWZv37lGoDdiLsIs5R6mjX8fWBZp2BcDD5CKWK5-hLs75kzC5wMnWQrhI2p2eRx6qZHUxb2MuDBQ/s400/900673849_7bb4d8b362-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285599976075436722" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/face_it/">Gabriela Camerotti</a></span></div><br /><div>Now I'm a 22 year-old woman. Oh God...I'm not a girl I'm a WOMAN. Even saying that sounds so 'official' and even a little frightening. And for the last 5 years I've measured every single man I've met up to this guy I fell for. No-one measured up to him. And you know why? Because I had invented what I thought he was like. I didn't know him that well - I just worked with him, saw him every day etc. But in my mind I thought up ways he would behave, things he would say, his likes/dislikes etc. I built my own perfect man with him as my template.</div><br /><div> </div><br /><div>He has a girlfriend now - I'm not sure about that other 4 year gap, I heard he was a bit of a Lothario and has women come in and out of his life so I assumed he would have had someone...just not 'the one'. That said I don't think this girl is the one, who knows, maybe she is. Point being, anything I felt for him has disappeared. I'd like to think it's maturity. I'd like to believe I've grown up, I've changed my mind...and the person I am now, doesn't need to same person I needed at 16.</div><div><br /></div><div>So there it is. One sleep to go until 2009 come rolling on in and I've discarded an old-love that I had let cling onto me for years and years.</div><div>Truth be told, there is some part of me that will still hold a special memory of him (or the 'him' I created), primarily because it represents the most perfect unrecognised love.</div><div><br /></div><div>Happy Pre-New Year :)</div><div><br /></div><div>xxx</div><div> </div></div>Natashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03209958600423697411noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782909198115968766.post-83431087406461330032008-12-29T05:33:00.000-08:002008-12-29T05:36:05.323-08:00update - update - update - update - update - update - update - update -I've fallen out of love with a man I've been infatuated with since I was 16.<br /><br />More to come...Natashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03209958600423697411noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782909198115968766.post-81790681680054311492008-12-28T03:58:00.000-08:002008-12-28T19:58:04.483-08:00odd<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1woC-1Dpc49mGTyE9r0YZgrgQ2u6KXw2npKBdC0JiotnyuEdU-i5GL-So5e62oJOzOjnkKtU702c37FzfUtTxM8OKB9gQ4_ItqvEWANTqQ4ynt-sgMXnUgJRLAbO6W-Ogp0vO9IFsv8ha/s1600-h/python.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 276px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1woC-1Dpc49mGTyE9r0YZgrgQ2u6KXw2npKBdC0JiotnyuEdU-i5GL-So5e62oJOzOjnkKtU702c37FzfUtTxM8OKB9gQ4_ItqvEWANTqQ4ynt-sgMXnUgJRLAbO6W-Ogp0vO9IFsv8ha/s400/python.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284813998562934978" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Zing, zing, zing.<div>It's been the oddest week. It's Sunday, but feels like Friday. You know when that happens, and you feel all out-of-sync and then your week turns into one big snowball of days?</div><div>Plus, the week will turn into a brand New Year mid-way through, so you cant understand why I feel so odd.</div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 261px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGz5YlNvxt1cmGrkZCcx3A8vEHPFoIwpMFFUYcy1Gj2SRq0Ix85HsOR9GtJx878x-ENAtedqoHMpGQb22atOzIrzg4i8-o4KTkBjW1UNF34BZ6y4IJ7dxeIYiaQFFgi0wtERQOQlKp9kYw/s400/monty.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284810906349614578" /><div><br /></div><div>I've taken to immersing myself in Monty Python and lots of other silly things. I'm a big Python fan, I love the lads and I think their humour is pure genius. I know it's not funny to everyone (my mum doesn't like them at all), but, i find the absurdity and odd nature of their skits put me in a different mind-set. And that's what I love about them. I think that should be the aim of anyone who is creating; be it art, skits, music etc. You want your audience to be transported into a different place, taken out of reality and thrown somewhere else.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/ur5fGSBsfq8&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ur5fGSBsfq8&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Philosophers Football</span></div><div><br /></div>I have to say though, I used to think Michael Palin was by far the most attractive Python boy, BUT, I've taken quite a liking to Terry Jones recently. That's not to say I think Jones is the funniest, oh no, that honour goes to Cleese, Chapman and Palin ( can't pick, sorry ), but looks wise? Yeah, Jones wins that...even dressed as a woman which he seems to have a penchant for.<div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/IhJQp-q1Y1s&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/IhJQp-q1Y1s&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Fish Slapping Dance</span></div><br /><div>So, what I want to know is, is the Monty Python love a purely British/Australian thing, or do other people 'get it' or 'get them' ?.</div><div><br /></div><div>xxx</div>Natashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03209958600423697411noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782909198115968766.post-88659843942479504752008-12-27T02:43:00.001-08:002008-12-27T02:52:20.230-08:0060's baby!<div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(85, 26, 139); text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2194/1974174955_e8181da5d3_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7448182@N07/">litteredglass</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Right now I am totally into and in love with the 60's era. I love the straight cut clothes, the short hair cuts, the androgyny, the clean but eccentric make-up. I love, love, LOVE it all. So, in honour of my new found worship - I have dedicated a post to help anyone else who wishes to join me on my brigade to re-visit the era style blessed.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div><ul><li>Here's a wonderful run-down of the tragic life of 60's icon, Edie Segwick's.</li></ul><br /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 250px; height: 251px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg-xhklETTWloLgdvv5M2hithnO7cFt-DrRFB7xsEDJU9bitLMadhxZeFctEiXDIEGcjMEnYZbjJk6NjTwleAZxF24y83Bnzya0ew-47NRveSk2FcKmk0TL5wWfwOm3wnbG3m9oHyEFRb6/s400/edie.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284420532696662914" /></div><ul><li>Eye make-up from the 60's is one of the most quintessential elements of the whole mod get-up. It's dark, lots of mascara, liner, kohl...it's all big, black and bold. If you need a lesson in how to paint some 60's magic on your blinkers, check out<a href="http://www.wikihow.com/Apply-1960's-Style-Eye-Makeup"> this site</a>. </li></ul><div><ul><li>If you wanna see a video outlining a step-by-step process, check<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oTBdriBUvcY"> this </a>out.</li></ul></div><div><ul><li>OH.MY.GOD...<a href="http://www.modcloth.com/">ModCloth </a>has the best (and I'm not exaggerating here), they have the bestest clothes if you want to transform yourself into Edie Sedgwick or any other 60's chanteuse. The prices are really reasonable, some of their is one-of-a-kind so you know you won't catch anyone else wearing what you've got, and the people that run it are a nice bunch of folks. What are you waiting for? Click, click, CLICK!</li><li><a href="http://the60sofficialsite.com/">This site</a> has everything you need to know about the decade (pity about it being littered with gif's from 98).<br /></li></ul><br /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 363px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipJ_8l7PTlxDCggAWkZBA0ZT5vFFJBEpkZBZKIyJho-AwIr06-Rt1qyvy0H6Eha5Ct38ztSqqGq-r30HIGvSAFR92qQwNgYjZOH0RoOkDAImw9d9eODyjFBsEODiv_SsvZwS-ALVwv9rU4/s400/twiggy.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284416798000138178" /><div><div><br /></div><div><ul><li>And how could I forget that other mod-icon... <a href="http://www.twiggylawson.co.uk/">TWIGGY!</a> It's funny, because in all her old 60's modelling shots she <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">never</span> smiled. Not that it bothered me, I think the whole waif, lost child look totally added to her charm. But not, she has completely changed and smiles and smiles and smiles.</li></ul></div></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Check out this video dedicated to living life in the mod-era<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><center><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/tBq7icqGxB4&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/tBq7icqGxB4&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></center>Natashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03209958600423697411noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782909198115968766.post-13844503148710112652008-12-22T02:51:00.000-08:002008-12-22T03:32:14.971-08:00edit-edit-editWell, well, well. Oh my lord, I'm in the editing chair and I'm in control of news bulletins all night. Is that a good thing? Well, it's not so bad, considering I'm chewing my nails down to nothing stressting over lead stories and audio.<br /><br />Although, it is nice to be sitting here alone in the news room, doing my own little merry thing and feeling like I have control...the airwaves are mine...for approximately 6.05 minutes.Natashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03209958600423697411noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782909198115968766.post-82379959789957773822008-12-21T18:10:00.001-08:002008-12-21T18:15:49.956-08:00posting in...<div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style=" margin-top: 0px;font-size:0.9em;"><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></span></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3062/3113302958_b19929248e_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/smithsonian/3113302958/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Smithsonian Institution</span></a></div><div><br /></div>So, so, so my darlings. I have been absent from the internet for what feels like forever!<br />Getting knee deep in my new job and with my ISP deciding to shut its door without letting its customers know...yeah, all those things make a recipe for Internet activity impossible!<br /><br />Not much to update, really though. It reminds me of those times you see people you haven't seen for years and when you two really start talking you both end up saying 'yeah...not much has really changed'.<br /><br />Although, tonight I'm on my own at work. Edititng, writing and reading the news. Dear God, I'm petrified, excited and positively wrapped that I've been given the chance to do it.<br /><br />Now that my computer is working...and I've switched ISP's (damn you chilli), updates will be more frequent.Natashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03209958600423697411noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782909198115968766.post-42170397325758709542008-12-11T22:15:00.000-08:002008-12-11T22:30:33.425-08:00jack<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtGyK3NnL6UIfFJ8ekva8YMvvjXFmPVBRueP_itJ5b42AGAbFprgZaFYf_F5XGiiozvHPEySGMuCVFgo-kEx4zJPWe5NcgRxGzXbC0Zbjdl6BKdORQrAC9olmbYeJd6tP4ODU0kmsXtx36/s1600-h/untitled.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278786754483510130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 383px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtGyK3NnL6UIfFJ8ekva8YMvvjXFmPVBRueP_itJ5b42AGAbFprgZaFYf_F5XGiiozvHPEySGMuCVFgo-kEx4zJPWe5NcgRxGzXbC0Zbjdl6BKdORQrAC9olmbYeJd6tP4ODU0kmsXtx36/s400/untitled.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center"><br /><strong>I read Jack now every day<br />he sings me my lullabies<br />and helps me dream sweet dreams<br />of writing great novels<br />and taking long trips to the middle of nowhere<br />he makes me realise that it's all just make believe<br />isn't it?</strong><br /><br /><br /><em>"They danced down the streets like dingledodies, and I shambled after as I've been doing all my life after people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!"</em> </div><div align="center"></div>Natashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03209958600423697411noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782909198115968766.post-4364015379869968322008-12-10T20:10:00.000-08:002008-12-10T20:20:36.495-08:00late shifting,bored<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278380299366968802" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBBENHjkXRw0PwQMLvcOno5lmklfrq9B3Yj8p8MK1ARN2C8bv-PA5ED_neFZ027mmN-x3Eg7HvohKpgLN14fox3hVp_NivvWIWPwVOuBbufRp3Jb77A7znrwc_T6dfuW49j2WotkPUhp7e/s400/jack.JPG" border="0" /><br />So, I ended up having one of those days yesterday where everything went wrong. One bad thing after another. Whats funny is, is that once two bad things in a row have happened, you almost expect more bad thing to occur...so, you kind of jinx yourself.<br /><br />That said...I had some chocolate on me that I'd bought for my dad and because I was feeling so blue, I opened it, ate some, then wrapped it all back together. I don't think he'd realise though (let's hope not).<br /><br />Oooo, I also have a new literary love hero: <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jack_Kerouac">Jack Kerouac</a>. I started reading his masterpiece 'On the Road' yesterday, and I'm quite certain it's going to be fighting it out with 'In cold blood' and 'Catcher in the rye' for the best book's I've ever read award.<br /><br />Plus, ever wonder what it's like to work behind the scenes at a radio show? Well, take a look:<br /><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXTuNjO8nPAoBZm7oVwMoYIe5Wx6s0Y_Vg-mi289up-gcg0COQ7_lwk4cmVChb9DxG7-uViHUJt_Mtchu8V0NGwt9oi3Q8Q6GN4pZkKlcYlBhVnGOSsdX3qc7ZNGEmzU1sUibrYdZ7XsQZ/s1600-h/phone.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278380652726060162" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXTuNjO8nPAoBZm7oVwMoYIe5Wx6s0Y_Vg-mi289up-gcg0COQ7_lwk4cmVChb9DxG7-uViHUJt_Mtchu8V0NGwt9oi3Q8Q6GN4pZkKlcYlBhVnGOSsdX3qc7ZNGEmzU1sUibrYdZ7XsQZ/s400/phone.JPG" border="0" /></a> For some reason someone felt it was important to let others know this. I thought it was funny.</div><div align="center"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVP6csQP3gwjoVxel-rHJLunE5ZZEFn-kTlKKTdhyphenhyphengTo3S8a2ZDhAJtkGL8Azi4bmzKGfIkS_yYHLvyx2DhwpLhxHzHX7eysXwaR8mGWawQA5qc-os3uLraeielcnZC43fVYRuA4JAs8U6/s1600-h/screen.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278380655257732882" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVP6csQP3gwjoVxel-rHJLunE5ZZEFn-kTlKKTdhyphenhyphengTo3S8a2ZDhAJtkGL8Azi4bmzKGfIkS_yYHLvyx2DhwpLhxHzHX7eysXwaR8mGWawQA5qc-os3uLraeielcnZC43fVYRuA4JAs8U6/s400/screen.JPG" border="0" /></a> The screen. You write callers names on there, click the 'update studio' button and the announcer has their names.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtaoZTKYeFZzN0zwy2Ca6d3X2FeHG_HVEs83mukuR56OYuN8cjk_4Ijn8fSmUi73p0mWWDCAPNGmceoHLWGmdJP07Gid-D56SdpC_SjmMFvhDBp7g0yuQUS1PzqN6dHkaIdVC9m4wNMW4M/s1600-h/phone2.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278380650288646722" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtaoZTKYeFZzN0zwy2Ca6d3X2FeHG_HVEs83mukuR56OYuN8cjk_4Ijn8fSmUi73p0mWWDCAPNGmceoHLWGmdJP07Gid-D56SdpC_SjmMFvhDBp7g0yuQUS1PzqN6dHkaIdVC9m4wNMW4M/s400/phone2.JPG" border="0" /></a> Oh My God, the phones did not stop.<br /><div></div></div></div>Natashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03209958600423697411noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782909198115968766.post-36022894285457075132008-12-09T16:35:00.000-08:002008-12-09T16:54:49.540-08:00working...<div align="center"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/mcazadi/"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277958045945659202" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 346px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjYFflqVVZ61Mlv-Mfqpa6JjcCZjGsH65LoIWC_oSeGzqZU05Z6R2eXvQC40-SaCNHspxwiJmGrvO_P_IsKkBBRq9aZrmavKwgubh1MatriCFSg2xWlL5kCRc7GIhfY2UQCIallzfMHB8B/s400/walk1.JPG" border="0" /> <span style="font-size:78%;">McAzadi</span></a><br /><br /><br /></div><div align="left"><div align="left">Well, it's been one of those mish-mash weeks. You know the kind - the ones where the days are all mixed you (you think it's Friday, it's really only Tuesday), you feel tired, restless and just want the week to end.</div><br />I'm actually having a ball at work - in that I'm writing copy faster, writing more interesting intro's and I think the main point it, getting more confident about my writing.<br />I'm curious, is this a general path most new employees take?<br /><br />Do we all kind of go into a new place feeling like we really don't belong there/can't believe we were hired because we secretly know just how bad we are?<br />Then we kind go on our merry way, but never quite get into the groove of things because we're too busy critiquing ourselves?<br /><br />Then, suddenly, it's as if you have a epiphany, you arrive and you do your job and for once, you walk away genuinely pleased. It's a rare, wonderful feeling. One that you try to hold on to and revisit whenever you feel your confidence crumbling.<br />Then, before you know it, you're not the new kid anymore...you're 'one of the family'. It all happened so fast!<br /><br />So, do you guys go through that path of work self doubt? Or, do you start a new job totally confident and wanting to kick ass (I know my neighbour does...so I'm sure more people do!)<br /><br /><br />Anyway, I'm off to meet an old friend before work. Have a wonderful day, wherever you are :)<br /></div>Natashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03209958600423697411noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782909198115968766.post-88610407466538678372008-12-07T03:07:00.000-08:002008-12-07T03:14:30.290-08:00hope for christmas<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277003673079286210" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Yh9wlJZfcT_ymcXnT7cN9bAnwnYBLR4bx5TitWQxruQL0a4BCPh9mUVXv7XU5heH1HfIYs5aY3ALXTmzvsVsp9PBIscG-EJ-UgxfAM7iBK3wM6yNTNNcnBrpmOUsJNI0PThgQ4tiO-BE/s400/hope4.JPG" border="0" /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-87flNmDiCFftQ9FBRWh35IuCWBn5EZRhUd8GXaYJBL6CHVZy0RD_NaI9o-qOlCq4ejrHt0yMKIP9vSJHSs6redWl_Ux88rW7bCMer_BmH7U43V55GQGSNjZVnUpk7097e4p41kWhuqfr/s1600-h/hope5.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277004016961146082" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-87flNmDiCFftQ9FBRWh35IuCWBn5EZRhUd8GXaYJBL6CHVZy0RD_NaI9o-qOlCq4ejrHt0yMKIP9vSJHSs6redWl_Ux88rW7bCMer_BmH7U43V55GQGSNjZVnUpk7097e4p41kWhuqfr/s400/hope5.JPG" border="0" /></a>First, I have to totally credit <a href="http://www.galadarling.com/">Gala</a> with this idea. She is like the goddess of creativity!<br /><br /><div> I was walking through a mega-cheap store today... and saw this decoration. It was a silver 'HOPE' chirstmas tree decoration, and I had to have it. At $3, how could I NOT buy it!</div><div>So, I came home, got out my red nail polish and red glitter, painted it, dusted glitter over it and slid it through a spare gold chain. Voila!<br /></div>Natashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03209958600423697411noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782909198115968766.post-27053486329716220442008-12-06T21:49:00.000-08:002008-12-06T21:50:47.757-08:00louise hay<p>Before <em>The Secret, </em>Louise Hay (founder of Hay House Publishing), taught us about the power of the universe, and how to love ourselves...</p><p> </p><p><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ltJJbYvMagE&hl=" fs="1" width="425" height="344" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></p>Natashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03209958600423697411noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782909198115968766.post-8567148246851492272008-12-06T17:20:00.000-08:002008-12-06T17:26:48.372-08:00the dream keepers<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiggwt_vt0rPwxNGy7scs01Q424XmW8UPdGXcLrpgyaBgbAhaxEJb4oMd3EyvKbhklyx-JYnU20Lbv_sn6rl3_EoLci02AlVUSl99897P-UnYr5-EQ05oxH4lXCVPLoaeAZ6jOlApH_9k-7/s1600-h/beach-full.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276853110430077298" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 388px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiggwt_vt0rPwxNGy7scs01Q424XmW8UPdGXcLrpgyaBgbAhaxEJb4oMd3EyvKbhklyx-JYnU20Lbv_sn6rl3_EoLci02AlVUSl99897P-UnYr5-EQ05oxH4lXCVPLoaeAZ6jOlApH_9k-7/s400/beach-full.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center">'E<em>very day from nine to five I sit at my desk facing the door of the office and type up other peoples dreams (...) from where I sit, I figure the world is run by one thing and one thing only. Panic with a dog-face, devil face, hag-face, whore-face, panic in capital letters with no face at all - it's the same Johnny Panic, awake or asleep.'</em></div><br /><div align="center"><em>'There isn't a dream I've typed up in our record books that I dont know by heart. Theres insn't a dream I havn't copied out at home into Johnny Panic's Bible of Dreams.</em><br /></div><div align="center"><em>This is my real calling'</em></div><div align="center"><em></em> </div><div align="right"><em>-<strong><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sylvia_Plath">Sylvia Plath</a>, 1932 – 1963</strong></em></div>Natashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03209958600423697411noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782909198115968766.post-68133041270491247432008-12-05T03:01:00.000-08:002008-12-05T03:24:12.901-08:00tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8APRQpWa7kqfxlL4wRBd4WYLBnXlqCsVxZrhMotmMf8uiwAdj35K0Kdxlz5cy3JBNnXkmcHeKQCv-YdHM-wKGtHL-7dJ4iQhcv4CIF8lUGz1r13dEjpHhSUg4btLFUnQ6Pon9nRqjXQ7J/s1600-h/flower2.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276264856052350994" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8APRQpWa7kqfxlL4wRBd4WYLBnXlqCsVxZrhMotmMf8uiwAdj35K0Kdxlz5cy3JBNnXkmcHeKQCv-YdHM-wKGtHL-7dJ4iQhcv4CIF8lUGz1r13dEjpHhSUg4btLFUnQ6Pon9nRqjXQ7J/s400/flower2.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPo-Cvi9TPydvQJmZxJRGF6LAdbW_gQ8xCbldxVB6eAzpC8DrAwOI9gId4lfRRu3AIE5aTvxChtk21s5YMqwFvJbiAu8I1OFAWgcCu5H60nBbd1aMGon3tvTjX3NQbUMz4JDgp48m5BpzD/s1600-h/flower.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276264725376833218" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 391px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPo-Cvi9TPydvQJmZxJRGF6LAdbW_gQ8xCbldxVB6eAzpC8DrAwOI9gId4lfRRu3AIE5aTvxChtk21s5YMqwFvJbiAu8I1OFAWgcCu5H60nBbd1aMGon3tvTjX3NQbUMz4JDgp48m5BpzD/s400/flower.JPG" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-size:78%;">Photos by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/macomaco/">+Maco+</a></span><br /><br /><div>The pain does not decrease,<br />You just becomes used to the feelings.</div><div>It's etched into you,</div><div>You just go through the motions.</div><br /><div>Tomorrow does not matter.</div><div>Infact - tomorrow may not even come.</div><div>Tomorrow, today, does not even exist.</div><div>So, do not worry about what is not real,</div><div>and do not be afraid to be alone.</div><div> </div></div>Natashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03209958600423697411noreply@blogger.com1