Imagine this: a confident young woman in a ThinkGeek shirt approaches the bar and asks for a B & C. The bartender (male) takes in her appearance, the gaggle of unruly logicians with whom she has entered, grins, pours her drink, and puts a little black straw in it. Firmly but politely, the young woman removes the straw, wipes it on the inside rim of the glass, and lays it back on the barmat. Drink in hand, she returns to her table. The round goes on; the bourbon is consumed. Someone else - male, most certainly a philosopher of some description - saunters up and orders a jug plus same. When he returns, huzzah! - there is no straw. Perhaps, the young woman thinks, the bartender has learned. But she is wrong: for, lo, when next her round appears, the straw is back, protruding from her bourbon and coke like a tiny plastic javelin.

Now imagine this happens at every single bar, everywhere, ever. I cannot begin to describe how annoying this is. Firstly, who drinks bourbon and coke from a straw? For that matter, what adult drinks anything other than cocktails from a straw, alcoholic or otherwise? Secondly, why would chicks need straws more than guys? It's not like our lips are weaker. It's not even neater, or more girly-girly-feminine, because any possible element of girly-girly-feminine gained by the straw is instantly lost by the fact that it's bourbon-and-fucking-coke. The highlight of this weirdness came tonight, not at the pub (for once) but a Chinese restaraut, where the (male) waiter brought my Long-Suffering Husband and I two glasses of water: one strawless, for him, and one with straw, for me. I mean, water. It's not like there was even a slice of lemon there, or ice, you know, something to swizzle around: no. Just plain ol' water. With a straw.

God help me.

There's only two scenarios in which I've ever been served strawless: either the barman takes careful note of my straw-refusal and thereinafter learns (although usually they go to put the straw in a second time, catch my expression and whisk it out again, whoopsie!), or the bartender has been female.

O barmen of the world, take heed: renounce your ludicrous straws. If it's absolutely necessary, put them within reach on the counter, supply on demand - who cares? But for the sake of everloving sense, stop giving them just to women.

It's enough to make a girl start drinking beer.

Article Citation: Our "Ideal Girl": Prescriptions of Female Adolescent Sexuality in a Feminist Mentorship Program. By: Bay-Cheng, Laina Y., Lewis, Amanda E., Affilia: Journal of Women & Social Work, 08861099, Spring2006, Vol. 21, Issue 1

Permanent Link: Click Here

Subject Headings of Articles:

TEENAGE girls,TEENAGERS,WOMEN -- Sexual behavior,TEENAGERS -- Sexual behavior,FEMINISM,WOMEN'S rights,VICTIMS,ETHNOLOGY,GENDER

yo i had to post this just check it out it cool mane big up to all the kids out there....

Here, in Pakistan, this is how things in the arranged marriage business works.

Meeting I: It always has to be the guy’s family who proposes. If most of them haven’t met the girl, or if someone has just put the families in touch, the guy’s family usually goes over to the girl’s house. The guy and the girl meet each other and the families.

Meeting II: Then, if all’s well, the girl’s family is invited over to the guy’s house. The girl doesn’t go. Its considered inappropriate. (I think its unfair. If the guy’s seen my house, I want to know how they live too!)

Meeting III: If both sides approve, the boy and girl get to meet again and this time around, they spend some time conversing, if they choose to do so. They don’t always. :) Mostly it’s a ‘liked-at-first-meeting’ kinda thing.

But, it’s usually the guy’s family that gets first choice… and it’s usually they who ‘choose’. The girl’s family is supposed to be ever-so-grateful that they’re gifting their son to them and they are supposed to meet up with the guy’s family’s demands of jaha’ez (dowry). Pakistani society often refers to dowry as the punishment for having a daughter.

In my case, the dowry is not a problem... or a question. My parents are going to give zilch, LOL. Like my father says, we paid your university fee, that’s the entire dowry we’re giving. You have a good degree and common sense. That’s the best dowry girls can have. Sure, tell that to other people!

That brings me to the topic of ‘choosing’. To be ‘chosen’ is a bit humiliating in its own right. Like, oh hey, I passed the test based on how I look! Ee, I dunno. It’s awful. That’s all I can say about the experience.

Think of it, most of our choices would be so different were we not in this ‘arranged marriage’ business. Here, the only thing that people choose each other on is ones ‘looks’.

Fairly speaking, when you know that is the only aspect you have a choice in; you can’t help but put in very high standards. You have no idea what your future partner’s mindset might be like. Why not at least get it to your standard in the looks department?

My parents say the silliest things about ‘boys’, as they call all the prospects.

This one is so short, Specs.

This one is too thin, Specs.

This one, nah, we just don’t like him, Specs. Blah blah.

Very strangely, it is I who end up defending the guys and telling my parents again and again to make Astaghfar (although I say it laughingly but I mean it); ‘this is someone’s SON you are talking about. How would you feel if they said this about your daughter?? I’m not perfect either.’ ‘Yes,’ as my mum puts it, ‘but THEY liked you.’

Erm, superb logic. Beat that.

But was I to make my own choice, I am very sure I would let most of the physical standards go. Tall? Short? Fat (okay maybe just a bit, not very much!)? Long hair? Short hair? Bald? I don’t care. That much, I can swear on. On occasion, I have been told off by my parents for having a ‘weird choice’ because they think guy X or Y would not really ‘look good’ with me but I keep on repeating, ‘Nah, I think he’s okay’ because their personalities so overcome any physical attributes… or the lack of them.

Nowadays, it’s easier and easier to get out of marriages. Muslims have started divorcing like never before. In my childhood, I had not heard of a single divorce; it was whispered of among aunties in a low voice and shown on TV as something which only happens once a blue moon. The definition of a terrible tragedy was… the dreaded D word: Divorce.

My point here is not to launch into a discussion on the merits and de-merits of divorce. My point is simply this: with it being an easy option for my generation, twenty somethings who are going to be ‘planning’ their family after they get to understand each other (I echo common philosophy here).. for these people, exercising prudence when choosing a marriage partner, or looking for compatibility in ideas and views is becoming more and more irrelevant.

Fair skinned girls and tall guys are no measure of future success. You have no idea whether you will agree on basic issues in life; what shall be shaping your decision when it comes to crucial issues. The following discussion I narrate to you actually took place. Both guys are University graduates with excellent jobs.

Guy 1: You know, I want someone very pretty

Guy 2: That’s not the be all and end all of marriage. You need to focus on a good character more.

Guy 1: I don’t care. As long as she’s very pretty.

Guy 2: How’s pretty going to help you if she’s rude to your family, or insults you in front of other people, or flirts with your friends?

Guy 1: Doesn’t matter. If she’s like that, I’ll divorce her. But at least I will have my initial three months of fun.

If you’re not saying Oh-My-GOD at this stage, maybe you need to. This is what educated Pakistani Muslim guys think like. And sadly, so do girls. This is why whenever I say, ‘not really, what the guy looks like is not very important’, people start telling me how bad that is, and how can I live with a husband I do not find attractive, etc etc. Did I SAY I want someone who is unattractive? It’s just that my criterion of attractiveness is different from most of the people around me. I have seen, up close, the devastating damage parents who cannot get their acts together can do to families. To me, a person who is faithful and a good father to my children, does not cheat or lie and someone I can trust with my eyes closed would be one who I find attractive. Thick hair? Square jaw? LOL, WHAT a foundation for a marriage! If it comes with the package, well and good. I shall be thankful if I end up with a real looker, I'm not unappreciative of good looks, but if not, really, I have different priorities. Its not something I bother myself with.

Strangely, and very sadly, of all my classmates and friends who have gotten married, I’ve heard something sensible from none save one of them: I think I can make a good family with this guy.

Its strange how no one but a minority actually have that ‘long term’ aspect in their thinking. Everyone treats marriage as only a means to having a halal, society-approved physical relationship. There’s a good reason for that: In a society where we have open access to cable and internet; and thus inappropriately dressed women and men who would give you, as a friend puts it, ‘thoughts’ , there’s no place for youth to… lets put it this way… spend their energies on. ‘Boy friend’ and ‘girl friend’ are words thrown about without much thought. 10 years ago, a boy friend was someone girls talked to on the phone, and maybe, if they were daring, went out with for ice-cream or soda. Now, a boyfriend is something much different. It’s close to the western definition now. That obsession with the opposite gender and the societal pressure of having a partner who is a great looker would be enough to explain away this strange obsession with ‘looks’. Sometimes, parents who approach my parents have but one ‘demand’:

 My son wants a girl with long hair.

My mother: Well, she wears a hijab too so are you sure your son would be okay with that?

Weird aunty: Nahin, my son doesn’t really care. The girl can be religious or not; really that’s no problem. But she’s got to have long hair.

Umm… okaaaay.

I once ran into a weird aunty at some religious lecture who got it in her mind that yes, her son and I would be a very good idea so, a few weeks later, she finds some common connections and is sitting at our place.

‘Well,’ she begins, ‘actually my son doesn’t like girls who wear hijabs. He wants a modern girl.’

 This word forever irks me (because I don’t think girls who wear denim jackets and red heels to interviews are modern but that’s how Pakistani society describes modern) but… coming back to the topic, I look at her, uncomprehending. I mean, erm, if your son has a problem with girls who cover their head, find him one who doesn’t. I mean, what’s the issue?

 ‘So,’ she continues, ‘will you please meet him with your hair open? After the wedding, we can tell him that you wear the hijab and then, I will support you and he will fall in line, don’t worry.’

I am actually getting angry just thinking about that episode so let me take a deep breath here

*deep breath*

Can you imagine? The hypocrisy? The lie? Does this lady, who thinks of herself as so religious know of this Hadith?

“Lying is improper whether in earnest or in jest. (All lying is unacceptable) even if any one of you promises his child something and does not fulfill his promise.

(Related by Al-Bukahri in Al-Adab Al-Mufrad and Abu Dawood)

'Refugee' made a very though provoking comment on my previous post. He said:

He said we were making a wrong choice, he said go ahead and get marry now because you want your wife to see all the hard ships you have gone through all these years. If you marry once you have every thing, she would never understand that what hard ships did you go through and she would always think that life was almost smooth for you and would take your accomplishments for granted... we ... all had to really struggle to achieve some thing in life. And you know there are certain feelings and hardships that can’t be describe in words.... past those seem distant memories but those were some tough days. I wish if I had married earlier then my wife would have known all the troubles I had to go through. Coming to US with borrowed lil money which was supposed to be returned ASAP and survive with nothing but hope and hard work. Those were some days but it made us stronger. So if you marry some guy then please don’t take him or his accomplishments for granted. We might never share those hardships with our wives but it does not mean that scars are not there. 

There, as you can see, is another reason I am against the whole prospect of arranged marriages. You have no idea what shaped your partner; or what scars they carry. Roller coaster ride as Yousuf puts it in the comments section? I disagree. Its a committment. Not only a joy ride. There are responsiblities that come with this union, which is a fact most people tend to forget. 

Although I know I cannot speak for guys, but it would be unfair to leave out what I do know: that their monetary income seems to be the only ‘swing’ factor for girl’s parents when choosing one guy over the other.  See, guys, the problem is: our parents try to be too mathematical about the match. Some things are best left to fate. If the guy is a hard worker and intelligent enough, he’s going to chart his way out himself and give your daughter a good standard, even if he doesn’t have that right now.

The mind, it is said, is an excellent servant but a terrible master. It takes the happenings around you and colors them with meaning; that, in turn, translates them into ‘experiences’. Our parents are basing their choices on their experiences. But, to me, they are becoming victims of their too-rational thinking. They think they can chart out our lives for us; that is why they believe they are making the best decision when they tell me to consider that 30 year old with an ivy league degree instead of the 26 year old with a ‘just-good’ degree. Life is so variable; you cannot control a lot of things. I wish they’d stop letting their mind being their master and let us have our say.

There’s no real guideline on how to choose or what standards to use. Every arranged match is a shot in the dark. Its only your luck whether you end up with a gem… or a worthless stone.

Haleem advised me once to make a list of my priorities and match prospects against them to see if they make the grade. Man, with me, I am a walking disaster, ha ha. :) If I make a list, this is what I fear will happen... 

As far as the fact that most people misinterpreted my concerns for a man who is not very unhelpful to translate as 'one who is domesticated', that I will answer in another post, InshaAllah.

I've been in bed for an hour lying awake. On work nights I usually go to bed at 11 and get up at 7--a solid eight hours. Usually I have no problem falling asleep. Tonight, though, for some reason, I'm tossing and turning.

There's a lot on my mind. The upcoming election. My job. My roommate. Annika. My health. My family. My life. And Jessie. Jessie, the girl I love.

I don't want to fall in love right now, and I keep trying not to. Jessie makes it hard, though, so hard. 

I met her in high school. She, at the time, was in a (dramatic) relationship with my best friend. They were forced to break up eventually by Jessie's parents, who were disgusted and angered by Jessie's relationship with another girl. My friend and I drifted apart (well actually it was a bit harsher than that; turns out she was kind of a manipulative bitch) but Jessie and I stayed good friends. We always had an easy friendship; we just kind of got each other. We were able to just be with each other and not have any pretenses.

Of course, I wasn't out then, and she stayed in the closet too, after her parents made her choose between being gay and having a family. She chose family. So she dated guys during college, while I went to women's college and went wild, found myself, came out, blah blah blah. And we hardly talked at all during those years. But I always thought of her wistfully and wished we could get back in touch.

So after I graduated, I was at my parents' house in my home town for about three weeks before coming to San Francisco. I contacted Jessie, wrote on her facebook wall and said something boring like "are you in town? I'd love to see you" or something like that. And she wrote back right away and the very next day we were having coffee and I was choking on it because I was nervous. (I really did, it was embarrassing. "God, I'm nervous!" I said. "Why?!" she asked, surprised. "You intimidate me!" "What?! I'm so not intimidating!")

And after that we saw each other every day until I moved here. And then six weeks after I moved here she came and visited me, for six days. It was the best six days of my life. I don't think I have ever had as much fun in six days as I had with her. I took time off work and we just... did everything. We took the ferry to Angel Island and hiked to the summit. We went to Muir Woods and saw the redwoods. We drove down highway 1 to Santa Cruz and went surfing. We went across the Golden Gate Bridge to Sausalito on bikes. We went to Stinson Beach and drank beer. We walked all over the city. And one night, we went out, got sloshed, and hooked up.

Whoops. Our relationship was unspoken until then. We had this incredible bond, but we didn't talk about it. We didn't act on it. She is in medical school, in New York, in her second year. And I'm here, in San Francisco. We cannot be in a relationship, absolutely cannot. I am 22, I am single, I am in San Francisco. I am not about to be in a long-distance committed relationship. Not with someone I really really care about, someone who in the future might be someone I could make it work with. I don't want to ruin it now by jumping in too soon. And I can tell she feels the same way. We just have this amazing way of communicating so seamlessly without even talking about it. I love her.

And we hooked up, drunkenly. I think it would have been fine and even beautiful if we'd hooked up sober, but drunk was a bad idea. But put alcohol in us and we couldn't keep our hands off each other. First it was her hand casually on my leg; then it drifted casually upwards and inwards. Then it was my hand casually, nonchalantly finding hers and twining my fingers around hers. Delicately, coyishly. Then we were in a cab heading home, her head on my shoulder, and then somehow, mysteriously, her lips on my neck, sucking silently, cab driver intently not looking in the rearview mirror. And then we were in bed, our bodies getting ahead of themselves. "I shouldn't be doing this," she whispered as she climbed on top of me, her breath warm on my ear, her tongue lightly tracing my jawline. "We're going to regret this in the morning," I said, but I was paralyzed, it was too late, there was no turning back. She had me, I was hers. 

And in the morning, we looked at each other sheepishly and moved on. We didn't talk about it; there was no need to. We both knew belaboring it would just complicated it. And the rest of her time with me was amazing, and beautiful, but I was aching for her. We would lie next to each other in bed, tentatively spooning and caressing each other, but that was all. No more sex.

And next weekend, October 24-26, I'm meeting her in Vegas. She's going for a medical conference of some kind, and she asked me to meet her there. So I'm going to meet her there, I'm taking Friday afternoon off of work and flying out there; we have a hotel room for two nights. The catch? A friend of hers will be there too. In the next bed. I'm so frustrated, I just... want us to fuck. And fuck. And fuck some more, and stop this game of we-love-each-other-but-we-can't-so-we'll-pretend-we-don't. We've been talking on the phone several times a week, texting each other daily since she left on August 5th. I think it's time to just make it real. I want her, so much. BUT HER FOOLISH FRIEND WILL BE THERE. ARGH. 

So I'm apprehensive. And trying not to have expectations. But... let's just say, I'm hoping to have some hot sex to write about when I get back.

Ok maybe im been hormonal nothing extraordinarily bad has happened except that everything i touch and do turns to crap!

I had a big conference to convene this morning for about 2 hours... do you think i could even sound remotely non spastic for most of it?? No! I kept making all these stupid speaking mistakes saying 2008 when i meant 2009 and vice versa. Saying the right thing but the other way around... having to apologise for getting things mixed up... it was shocking shocking shocking performance!! Mind you it was my first time in that particular forum.. i am soooo much better when i am mediating... arbitrating i don’t like so much... lucky i only do an arbitrary conference once a month... i love my mediation conferences because i don’t have to be so damn fastidious about how to phrase things.. well i do.. but i am better at the mediation stuff. I found myself feeling like a bit of wally in that room today. At one point i wanted to just get up... excuse myself with “well you can all shove this job where the sun don’t shine.” Give them the finger and walk out.................. thats what i would have done if had won that $10million lotto draw last night... but nooooooooooo since i didn’t... i had to grin and bear it and move on... stupid work!

One day i will have my dream store (business) and not have any bosses to please.

Or i could take on Homer Simpsons advice “when you hate your job you don’t complain about it... just go in and do it really half assed...thats the American way!’’ ... but i am not American.

She had short black hair with a few scattered streaks of bright blue. I was surprised by her order; Goldschlager, straight up, and she sipped it casually. My heart instantly warmed thinking of Rabbit and his affinity for cinnamon schnapps.

So I paid closer attention to her brown skin, her ears stretched with emerald green plugs. She seemed rather apathetic and quiet, neither particularly enthused nor upset, just, I guess, at peace with the goings on of her world. I envied it. I could not remember the last time I felt that way.

I decided that she wasn’t pretty. When she got up to go to the bathroom I noticed the excess weight in her hips and backside, significantly more so than what flattered her small frame. She walked more like a man than a woman, her hips not really swaying as much as they rigidly moved from side to side, like some sort of exaggerated cowboy dance. I suspected it was the heaviness of her legs that afforded her the uncomfortable-looking walk.

It had been a boring shift. I wasn’t particularly busy, although the house was nearly full. People had been ordering easy things, like shots and bottled beers; it was practically like I wasn’t working, merely hanging out at a bar. I absentmindedly washed glasses, stared off into space until she returned.

“Howsit goin?” I asked, drying the pint glass I had previously been washing.

She seemed surprised that I was talking to her. She turned around and looked back at me as if to ask, “are you talking to me?” Once her answer was confirmed, she nodded and replied.

“Not bad.”

It wasn’t my last attempt, but the ones that followed got similar results. She wasn’t easy to talk to. I was getting annoyed, but it provided a challenge that I was attracted to.

I wasn’t trying to take her home and I wasn’t trying to be her friend; I just wanted to talk to her. The other people I had been waiting on weren’t talking much, mostly watching sports on television or kissing and cuddling. I knew some people went to bars to be alone, hell, I did it all the time.

In my head, I made her much more interesting than she probably was. She was from out of town, someone that had left her whole life behind her in a small town she didn’t quite fit into; perhaps she had killed her best friend, a virgin with stringy red hair and freckles, just to say she did it, to save something so pure from being corrupted. Maybe she was a musician who was going to write a song about it that nobody would listen to.

“I’m Jolie.”

The girl was starting to look annoyed, but she smiled then, for some reason. I felt accomplished.

“I’m Sonia.”

I went to school with a girl named Sonia, many years ago, before I had lost my mind, before I was completely ruined. I remember her having glasses and a long nose. Shy eyes, when you could see them. She laughed in her palm every time, which was a shame because I remember thinking she had nice teeth. Besides, there was something so sexy about a laugh that wasn’t hidden. Well, I guess that Sonia hadn’t been sexy.

And neither was this one. This was not her, but the thought was still, warm and inviting and I wondered why. I wanted to ask her about herself; what movies she liked and didn’t like, what music made her dance, what made her angry. But I didn’t.

She finished her drink. “I’ll have another, Miss Jolie.” It was said in an affectionate way, but there were undertones of mocking. I didn’t care.

I poured us both one and clinked glasses. She took hers as a shot this time, like me. “I haven’t seen you in here before,” I said, grimacing from the heat of the drink.

She nodded. “That would make sense.”

“You just move here or something?”

“No.”

I was growing tired of the charade. I wasn’t getting anywhere. She wasn’t even proving herself the least bit interesting yet and I was mad at myself for still being so interested. I thought of her like a rock I was attempting to squeeze water from.

I began to talk to other patrons, new men that had come and sat at the bar. I had to make a few drinks, mostly kamikazes and Jager bombs. I was getting tipped relatively well for the small amount of work I was doing. I tried to find things to do. I swept, texted James out of boredom, put some songs on the jukebox.

When ‘I Can’t Go For That’ came on, she spoke again. “Great song.”

I laughed. I had played it. “Oh yeah?”

She nodded. “I’m a sucker for Hall and Oates.”

“Oh yeah,” I agreed. “Classic.”

“I don’t drink much,” she confessed, pushing the glass around the bar with her palms. “I just needed to think.”

I nodded. “Don’t like the taste?” I wanted to avoid the second part of her statement. It was personal; those kinds of things would come out if she wanted them to. Bartenders never have to pry to get that.

“I don’t know, it’s just not my thing.”

I shrugged. “Different strokes.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, then pushed the shot back to me. “Another.”

“Not your thing huh?” I asked. It was cheekier than I wagered I would get away with.

“No, ma’am.” She ran her hand through the ebony layers, let them fall back into place. I noticed a birthmark on her cheek.

I had another one with her and decided it was my last.

“You know if it is the taste that bothers you, I can understand why,” I said, shaking my head, getting shivers. “The cinnamon thing, I have to admit, I have never understood.”

Sure it was good for gum, apple pie and Valentine’s Day. But booze?

“This is really all I’ve had,” she retorted, shrugging.

We didn’t really talk much after that; I got back to work and she had one more drink and waddled to the bathroom. She tipped nicely.

I didn’t notice her leave. But somehow I knew she would be back.

As cynical or realistic about the world as I am these days, I am pretty happy about myself and the way I see my own life. Nothing really seems to faze me except criticism from the people I care about, or my own failures. But even then, I usually find a way to laugh it off.
Things are going well so far. I don't expect it to stay this way, but it is really enjoyable and almost euphoric at the moment.

I'm keeping the same friends, which is a relief to me. Things are changing between us all, but I still feel strongly connected to them, which is the most important. It's interesting to see how much our relationships are affected by our physical location and the other aspects of our life, though. Adelle, unfortunately, doesn't live as close to Bryan or Esh or myself, and because she's so busy with school all the time, it's hard to see her. It's almost like the conditions of life get in the way. And because Bryan and Esh live literally a minute away, it's so convenient to see them. Things are definitely changing this year. It's not unsettling, though, since I expected it, and it's interesting to see where we all end up in relation to each other.

And one last thing...I can't seem to make a blog post that isn't about bikes anymore. But I made an offer on the Ninja 250 that I looked at on Saturday, and I'm going out to Florence tomorrow to pick it up with the title. I don't think I've been this excited about anything since I was a kid on Christmas morning waiting for a new set of Legos.

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14. continue...

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15. www.janellestudio.com/metal/shaper_general.txt

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16. Bamboo Rodmaking Tips - Tips Area - Machines - Lathes - Selection

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18. www.canerod.com/rodmakers/rma/rm0011_2.txt

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19. www.canerod.com/rodmakers/rma/rm9903_1.txt

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20. GEORGE'S WORLD WIDE ANTIQUE MOTORCYCLE TRADER

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24. Barnes Pneumatic - Daily Briefing Page

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27. CAN-AM MACHINERY SALES : Contents

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28. ypsi~dixit: januari 2006 Archives

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29. Model T parts info

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31. IPNews - Saws Contents

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32. Search the Purchaser's Guide

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35. A machine tool parts source - chin chung parts

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The Dallas Pulse will be the elite entertainment publication and online marketing source for select metropolitan areas across the United States by providing exclusive content and information on nightlife, hot spots, restaurants, music, trends, events, politics, technology, culture, and much more.  Our online community networks members, clients, and guests through personal profiles, photo/video galleries, forums, talent sections, blogs, and bulletins.  With The Dallas Pulse, you will receive unparalleled access into the upscale dallas entertainment and social scene.

• May 15th, 2003 – Wild on Dallas was founded by Alex Woodson and Jason Gray. The duo then launched WildOnDallas.com, which quickly became the leading online resource for nightlife and entertainment in Dallas and surrounding suburbs.
• July 2003 – Wild on Dallas partnered up with Bo Lais, founder of Advantage1WebHosting LLC, providing the ability to develop, host, and market websites on all known server platforms.
• September 2003 – Wild on Dallas partnered with Tony Dao and Mina Vang, of Integrated Entertainment Group and e-Models, to produce events and provide models for events and functions.
• January 2005 – Wild on Dallas hosted Dallas’ 1st annual New Years Eve Event NYEDallasLive.com.
• September 2005 – Launched BrazenWebDesign.com and BrazenPrint.com.
• December 2006 – Launched PriorityEmailing.com and Priority-SMS.com.
• January 2007 – Rebuilt and renamed WildonDallas.com to “TheDallasPulse.com” under the parent company, “The Social Pulse, LLC”.
• February 1, 2008 – Re-Launched the new website with new name “TheDallasPulse.com”

-Whatcha think about that. Pussycat dolls feat Missy Elliot-

Okay, so we all know that there exists such people who still think that just because they speak English, people will perceive them as smart, or rich, or whatever. I personally have nothing against not using our own language, obviously, since I write in English more than I write in Filipino (although I do feel a tad guilty about it sometimes). Still, what I'm trying to say is that I really don't think that people who speak English are maarte or whatever. The way I see it, it doesn't really matter what language you speak, as long as what you're communicating is something nice, or useful, or at the very least, not irritating (as in, if you speak it properly and not with invented intonations!), like these girls.

See, our office building elevators are currently under maintenance. I'm not that good with descriptions, but this is what you need to know: it smells like paint, and you can see the frame on the walls so you'll figure that they'll probably put something over those walls. Anyhow, this morning as I got in, there were two girls who went in with me, and this is how their conversation went:

Girl1: Eeeeww!! What's that smell?
Girl2: It's the paint.
Girl1: Yuck. Ang baho!
Girl2: I know.
Girl1: I wonder what they're going to do with these elevators?
Girl2 & Girl1 (together at the same time): I hope MIRRORS! *laughter*

:-x What 'da!?! How vain can you get?! Okay, I know what you're going to say, what do I care, right? Live and let live. But... I hate mirrors in elevators. They hurt my eyes when light shines on them, they make the already awkward elevator rides more awkward, and yeah, I hate it for the precise reason they probably want it -- because it makes some girls treat the elevator like the washroom where they can comb their hair and such. Ugh! If you're gonna be vain, can't you at least leave your vanity rituals in your own house? :roll:

As part of the sexual revolution, women abandon the lessons of their mothers and grandmothers. They exploit newly proclaimed sexual ‘rights’, and abandon the time-honored American female strategy of No Sex without Marriage.

But, they go too far. Feminism inspired greater sexual freedom for females, but women could not keep it from flowing to adolescent girls. The younger the females available to provide sex, the greater their sexual attraction to men committed to someone else. (Who says abstinence education for girls doesn’t pay off?)

If they choose, girls and younger women can easily disrupt tightly bonded marriages that appear unbreakable. Today they do choose. Many seek committed married men as already proven worthwhile for matrimony. Men separated and divorced remain unproven, and their value goes down relative to the still-married.

Girls and adolescent-minded women, such as college booty, lack maturity to undercut male domination. Mature females are fearful of losing their man. Consequently, females submit more easily to male domination in both the social and home arenas.

Have a peek:

Think BUMBLEBEE:

How about a fun prissy pirate?

Need a BOO tee? How cute is this? We love this look for classroom parties for a no fuss look.

This list goes on an on. Here are more ideas for using a www.tutugirl.com tutu:
Bunny tutu costume, ladybug tutu costume, princess tutu costume, cowgirl tutu costume, bride tutu costume, Barbie doll tutu costume

Model (name): Lindsay Marie
Height: 5'6"
Weight: 105
Measurements: 34 C-22-33
Nationality: German, Danish, Spanish
Hometown: Chandler, Arizona
DOB: 4-28-1986
Sign: Taurus
Turn-ons: Confidence, A good sense of humor, spontaneity, tattoos, piercings, a sense of style.
Turn-offs: Arrogance, Close Mindedness, Drama, Lack of creativity and of course bad hygiene
Special skills: Besides being a model, I am also an artist. I do a lot of Graphic designing in my spare time, however what I love to do most is paint, sculpt, and design my own clothing...
Occupation: Model/host/Graphic Designer/Artist

View More photos of Lindsay Marie

Dee had a handful of friends, but she never found comfort with them. She'd back out from their little gatherings when she simply doesn't feel like it. Dee was simple. Plain and simple. Nothing too special about little Miss Dee.

That's until, she met Zee.

Zee was her ex bestfriend's brother, whom contacted Dee through the net, thanks to likes of Friendster.  They got re-acquainted, went out, and went steady- how 20th century is that word?

Dee was enamored by Zee, not just for his boyish good looks, but for the fact that Zee went to an elite school. A prize to bring home to mummy, isn't he?

Zee was said to be the perfect gentleman. He paid for most of their meals, and movie tickets. Generous man, yes, he was. He made sure she walked on the inner side of the pavement along the road side. Made sure she sat first before he did and opened every possible door for her. As he was considered an elite, his parents were rather strict, making sure he's home at least ten minutes before his curfew. Dee understood that the both of them could only meet on weekends. Weekdays, Dee's nose was constantly plastered on the screen of her cellphone, waiting for a reply from perfect boyfriend, Zee.

This lasted 3 months.

Why?

Zee gave a reason, a completely stupid one, if I might add, that he needed to concentrate on his O Levels, and Dee and Zee, had to be over. He made this ridiculous promise of coming back to her after his O's. Dee was left devastated.

Confused. Dee didn't know what she had done. That's until she got the biggest scoop of her life.

From a friend, she got to know that Zee was actually cheating on her, with 5 other girls. Practically, one girl for each day of the week. What lead Zee to ending all his relationships with them(including Dee) was for a girl from another elite all girls school; a worthy candidate to show to HIS mum and dad. From what Dee heard, not only was she smart, she was a vivacious vixen. Zee had to have her.

Unfortunately for Zee, the girl only wanted him for a while. Just someone who could teach her math. Dirty slut, good game, if I do say so myself.

Now, we are left to ponder, how could Zee, keep up with such an act, so consistent, and believable, with 5 other girls. HE ESTABLISHED A 'PROPER' RELATIONSHIP WITH THEM. I find that very hard to keep up with!

Well, from what Dee told me, Zee had already suffered more than enough of a retribution. However, he's back to his old ways of using girls like his playtoys. They don't really change, do they?