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OK JANGO...NOW WHAT????
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Gender: Female
Age: 65
Location: Houston United St... Us
Member Since: 07.01.12
Recent Stations
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About Me

Thanks, Jango for finally getting wise and getting rid of the peeps that thought this was porn site, and all the fnkn SCAMMERS out there!!!!


This is goodbye but never forgotten to all MY wonderful peeps, past and present that I was so lucky to have met and got to know a few. Y'all will never be forgotten and will be forever in my thoughts...I hold you deep in my heart. Later gator!


Salud to: Brucie Baby, MLHeat, Top Fuel, Myron and last but not least the Wonderful Willow!!!!


Lydia aka...TxSugarBritches, TxSweets, Lollipop, GaGa for U!!!




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EVERY PASSING MINUTE IS ANOTHER CHANCE TO TURN IT ALL AROUND...


?•*¨*•.¸¸??•*¨*???•*¨*•?•*¨*•.???•*¨*??•*¨*•.¸¸??•*¨*•.¸¸??•*¨*•.¸¸??TxSwTs13? is...


40% Loving


20% Friendly


20% Emotional


10% Aggressive


9% Crazy


TOTAL= 99% HUMAN


+ 1% (ALIEN)


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Interests

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Love - a wildly misunderstood although highly desirable malfunction of the heart which weakens the brain, causes eyes to sparkle, cheeks to glow, blood pressure to rise and the lips to pucker. ~Author Unknown



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?•*¨*•.¸¸??•*¨*•.¸¸?My Love for Marilyn?•*¨*•.¸¸??•*¨*•.¸¸?



?•*¨*•.¸¸??•*¨*•.¸¸?Marilyn Monroe?•*¨*•.¸¸??•*¨*•.¸¸?


•*¨*•*¨*•••*¨*•..•*¨*June 1, 1926 - August 5,1962•*¨*•*¨*•••*¨*•..•*¨*


Born Norma Jeane Mortenson but baptized and raised as Norma Jeane Baker; was an American actress, singer, model and showgirl who became a major sex symbol, starring in a number of commercially successful motion pictures during the 1950s.


"I'm not interested in money. I just want to be wonderful" ~ Marilyn Monroe


In May of 1962, Marilyn made the most memorable performance, but it wasn't for a movie. She sang a breathless version of "Happy Birthday" to President Kennedy at Madison Square Garden. She was in the middle of work on her latest film, ironically titled Something's Got to Give.


"If I'm a star, then the people made me a star" ~ Marilyn Monroe


Something did...


On the night of August fourth, 1962, Marilyn Monroe died of a sleeping pill overdose. Rumours have flown ever since. Affairs with the Kennedys, Mafia involvement in her death, murder, a cover-up, a conspiracy. Her death was listed as a probable suicide. Whatever the truth about that night, Marilyn Monroe was dead, at the age of thirty-six. Her light had shone brightly for many years, and it was extinguished suddenly. The world, in shock, began a search for answers that continues to this day. Answers that will never be found.


In 1999, Monroe was ranked as the sixth greatest female star of all time by the American Film Institute. In the years and decades following her death, Monroe has often been cited as both a pop and a cultural icon as well as the quintessential American female sex symbol.


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THE BUTTERFLY PROJECT


In an effort to remember them, Holocaust Museum Houston is collecting 1.5 million handmade butterflies. The butterflies will eventually comprise a breath-taking exhibition, currently scheduled for Spring 2014, for all to remember. The Museum has already collected an estimated 900,000 butterflies.


"Children were neither just the mute and traumatized witnesses to this war, nor merely its innocent victims; the war invaded their imaginations and the war raged inside them. - Nicholas Stargaradt in "Witnesses of War: Children's Lives Under the Nazis"


“I Never Saw Another Butterfly”

Children’s Drawings and Poems from Terezin Concentration Camp 1942–1944.

By Hana Volavkova (Editor)


"More than 12,000 children under the age of 15 passed through the Terezin Concentration Camp between the years 1942-1944. More than 90 percent perished during the Holocaust. In these poems and pictures drawn by the young inmates of Terezin, we see the daily misery of these uprooted children, as well as their courage and optimism, their hopes and fears."



•*¨*•*¨*•••*¨*•..•*¨*The Butterfly •*¨*•*¨*•••*¨*•..•*¨*



The last, the very last,

So richly, brightly, dazzlingly yellow.

Perhaps if the sun’s tears would sing

against a white stone....

Such, such a yellow

Is carried lightly ’way up high.

It went away I’m sure

because it wished

to kiss the world good-bye. For seven weeks I’ve lived in here,

Penned up inside this ghetto.

But I have found what I love here.

The dandelions call to me

And the white chestnut branches in the court.

Only I never saw another butterfly.

That butterfly was the last one.

Butterflies don’t live in here, in the ghetto


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THE STORY OF HACHI-KO -

TRUELY THE STORY OF A "MOST LOYAL" AKITA


Beloved by all who hear his story "Hachi-ko" has truly touched the hearts of people around the world. His legend lives on larger than life.

Daily Professor Eizaburo Ueno walked to Shibuya Station to board the train to Tokyo, accompanied by his Akita named Hachi. Once there Hachi-ko (as the professor affectionately called him) remained behind as the professor boarded the train for the commute to Tokyo Imperial University.

Hachi-ko would greet his master precisely at 3 p.m. as he returned on the afternoon train. One day Hachi-ko waited patiently as he did every other day, but his master was not on the train.

Tragically, Professor Ueno had died suddenly at the University that day having suffered a stroke. Hachi-Ko waited long into the night, friends of the professor come for him, sending him to a new home some miles away. But Hachi-ko would continually run away to return to his former home with the professor he would then go to the station to again keep vigil.

Hachiko continued to meet the 3:00 train every day, hoping his beloved master, to whom he was so devoted, would return. The former gardner of the professor, Kikuzaboro Kobayashi, fed and cared for Hachi-Ko but allowed him to mourn his own way. The station Director, realizing why the dog returned each day, also gave him shelter from the weather and began to feed him as did many people so moved by his faithfulness. Hachi-ko became a landmark; his unaltering routine became well known to communters, his fame spreading nationwide. Japanese schoolbooks talk of his great love for his master, serving as an example of loyalty. He was both pitied and admired. Many people traveled to Shibuya Station for the express purposed of seeing Hachi-ko, often presenting him with food, gently touching his head for luck continued his daily ritual even when arthritis and age slowed his pace. Almost ten years after his beloved master, Hachi-ko was found dead on the very spot at the station where he had kept vigil for so many years. A day of mourning was declared. He was almost 12 1/2 years of age when he died on March 8th, 1935 having been born October 4th, 1922. The little creme colored puppy had been a gift to the professor from one of his students at the University.


•*¨*•*¨*•••*¨..•*¨*•*¨*•*¨*••HIS SIX YEAR VIGIL...*¨*•..•*¨*•*¨*•*¨*•••*¨*•..•*¨*


DOG REFUSES TO LEAVE MAN'S GRAVE


Capitan keeps watch over Miguel Guzman's grave (La Voz)An extremely dedicated dog has continued to show its loyalty, keeping watch on its owner's grave six years after he passed away.


Capitan, a German shepherd, reportedly ran away from home after its owner, Miguel Guzman, died in 2006. A week later, the Guzman family found the dog sitting by his grave in central Argentina.


Miguel Guzman adopted Capitan in 2005 as a gift for his teenage son, Damian. And for the past six years, Capitan has continued to stand guard at Miguel's grave. The family says the dog rarely leaves the site.


"We searched for him, but he had vanished," widow Veronica Guzman told LaVoz.com. "We thought he must have got run over and died.


'The following Sunday we went to the cemetery, and Damian recognized his pet. Capitan came up to us, barking and wailing as if he were crying."


Adding to the unusual circumstances, Veronica says the family never brought Capitan to the cemetery before he was discovered there.


"It is a mystery how he managed to find the place," she said.



Cemetery director Hector Baccega says he and his staff have begun feeding and taking care of Capitan.


"He turned up here one day, all on his own, and started wandering all around the cemetery until he eventually found the tomb of his master," Baccega said.


"During the day he sometimes has a walk around the cemetery, but always rushes back to the grave. And every day, at six o'clock sharp, he lies down on top of the grave, stays there all night."


But the Guzman family hasn't abandoned Capitan. Damian says the family has tried to bring Capitan home several times but that he always returns to the cemetery on his own.


"I think he's going to be there until he dies, too. He's looking after my dad," he said


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WOMEN'S REST ROOMS


FOR ALL THE MEN IN OUR LIVES WHO ASK, "WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG IN THE RESTROOM”?

When you have to visit a public bathroom, you usually find a line of women, so you smile politely and take your place.

Once it's your turn, you check for feet under the stall doors. Every stall is occupied.

Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall.

You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter, the wait has been so long you are about to wet your pants!

The dispenser for the modern "seat covers"(invented by someone's Mom, no doubt) is handy, but empty.

You would hang your purse on the door hook, if there was one, but there isn't - so you carefully, but quickly drape it around your neck, (Mom would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR!), yank down your pants, and assume " The Stance."

In this position your aging, toneless (God I should have gone to the gym!!!)thigh muscles begin to shake.

You'd love to sit down, but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold "The Stance".

To take your mind off your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser. In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying, "Honey, if you had tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!"Your thighs shake more.

You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday -the one that's still in your purse. (Oh yeah, the purse around your neck, that now, you have to hold up trying not to strangle yourself at the same time).That will have to do. You crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It's still smaller than your thumbnail.

Someone pushes your door open because the latch doesn't work.

The door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest, and you and your purse topple backward against the tank of the toilet.

"Occupied!" you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle on the floor, lose your footing altogether, and slide down directly onto the TOILET SEAT.

It is wet of course.

You bolt up, knowing all too well that it's too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper -not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try.

You know that your mother would be utterly appalled if she knew, because, you're certain her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, dear, "You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get".

By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a fire hose against the inside of the bowl that sprays a fine mist of water that covers your butt and runs down your legs and into your shoes.

The flush somehow sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the empty toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too

At this point, you give up.. You're soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat.

You're e-x-h-a-u-s-t-e-d.

You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket! and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks.

You can't figure out how to operate the faucets with the automatic sensors, ...so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past the line of women still waiting.

You are no longer able to smile politely to them.

A kind soul at the very end of the line points out a piece of toilet paper trailing from your shoe. (Where was that when you NEEDED it??) You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it in the woman's hand and tell her warmly, "Here, you just might need this".

As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has long since entered, used, and left the men's restroom.

Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck?" ...........

This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with a public restrooms (rest??? you've GOT to be kidding!!).It finally explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers their other commonly asked questions about why women go to the restroom in pairs. It's so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your purse, and hand you Kleenex under the door!


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HOW HOT IS IT IN TEXAS?


It's so hot


...the birds have to use potholders to pull the worms out of the ground

...the trees are whistling for the dogs

...the best parking place is determined by shade instead of distance

...hot water comes from both taps

...you can make sun tea instantly

...you learn that a seat belt buckle makes a pretty good branding iron

...the temperature drops below 95 F (35C) and you feel a little chilly

...you discover that in July it only takes two fingers to steer your car

...you discover that you can get sunburned through your car window

...you can actually burn your hand opening the car door

...you break into a sweat the instant you step outdide at 7:30 a.m.

...your briggest motorcycle wreak fear is, "What if I get knocked out and end up lying on the pavement and cook to death"?

...you discover that asphalt has a liquid stage

...the potatoes cook underground, so all you have to do is pull one out and add butter

...the cows are giving evaporated milk

...farmers are feeding their chicken crushed ice to keep them from laying boiled eggs

And last but not least...

It is so hot and dry in Texas that the Bapitst are starting to baptize by sprinkling, the Methodist are using wet-wipes, Presbyterians are giving rains checks, and the Catholics are praying for the wine to turn back into water!


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History of Dream Catchers~~~~~****~~~~~~******


Long ago when the word was sound, an old Lakota spiritual leader was on a high mountain and had a vision. In his vision, Iktomi, the great trickster and searcher of wisdom, appeared in the form of a spider. Iktomi spoke to him in a sacred language. As he spoke, Iktomi the spider picked up the elder's willow hoop which had feathers, horsehair, beads and offerings on it, and began to spin a web. He spoke to the elder about the cycles of life; how we begin our lives as infants, move on through childhood and on to adulthood. Finally we go to old age where we must be taken care of as infants, completing the cycle.

But, Iktomi said as he continued to spin his web, in each time of life there are many forces, some good and some bad. If you listen to the good forces, they will steer you in the right direction. But, if you listen to the bad forces, they'll steer you in the wrong direction and may hurt you. So these forces can help, or can interfere with the harmony of Nature. While the spider spoke, he continued to weave his web.

When Iktomi finished speaking, he gave the elder the web and said, The web is a perfect circle with a hole in the center. Use the web to help your people reach their goals, making good use of their ideas, dreams and visions. If you believe in the Great Spirit, the web will filter your good ideas and the bad ones will be trapped and will not pass.

The elder passed on his vision onto the people and now many Indian people have a dreamcatcher above their bed to sift their dreams and visions. The good will pass through the center hole to the sleeping person. The evil in their dreams are captured in the web, where they perish in the light of the morning sun. It is said the dreamcatcher holds the destiny of the future.

Television

Big Bang Theory, Hot in Cleveland, Bones

Film

The Life of Pi, The Impossible, Skyfall

Books

Stephen King, John Varley

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