Sharon D asked:


“Here we go doll,” shouts Eddie “62nd street.” He helps get my luggage out of the trunk and I can’t believe what I am seeing. A green velvet rug leads into the doorway with a matching canopy overhead. A posh looking man stands by the door. I have only seen these images in movies, but not anymore. I’m here and this is all real.

“Well enjoy your new life in fabulous New York City,” shouts Eddie as he closes his cab door.

“Thanks. Give my love to your ex wife,” I laugh.

“Ah good old English humour,” He shouts as he drives away.

The man by the door approaches me. He’s wearing a chauffeur hat, a smart looking suit and unbelievable shiny black shoes. I swear if I looked down I would see my face in them.

“Hi, madam,” he says “I’m Maurice, may I take your bags?”

“Oh, yes please.” I say with a curtsey. I don’t know why I curtsied it just felt like the right thing to do.

I could get used to this doorman thing. I have never experienced it before. Back home, in Cambridge, it’s not an everyday occurrence. Although it would be great if it was. Imagine it was; you would drive home from a hard days shopping and just leave your bags in the car. Proceed straight through your front door and into your kitchen, pour yourself a glass of wine and point your hand in the direction where you want your very own “Maurice” to put your bags.

I open the door and this place is like a palace. The same green rug covers the whole floor and over to the left is a large marble desk. There are two cream sofas placed upon what looks like an expensive Persian rug. It looks better than my old family room back home and it’s only reception! I walk over to the desk and ring the little gold bell sat on top. The man behind the desk is on the phone.

“Yes ok Mom, I won’t be out late. I gotta go I have a resident to attend to. Yes I love you too.” He put the receiver down and I try, unsuccessfully, not to laugh.

“She worries about my cats,” he says, “You know if I’m out all night partying. I don’t live at home.”

“Ok,” I laugh, “I’m, Sophie Smith, I’m renting out apartment 225.”

“Sophie, lovely to meet you. I’m Eugene.”

His name matches his description perfect. He has blonde hair that sits in a middle pattern and is tucked behind his ears. His glasses are as thick as two milk bottle bottoms and he is wearing a checked shirt with braces and fawn granddad trousers. He looks out some paperwork and asks me to sign then hands me a key.

“Thank you, Eugene.” I say and I walk toward the lift.

I hear a bang and I turn to see poor old Maurice struggle to navigate through the door with my luggage. Maybe I should go help. No, not this time. I mean I should just enjoy the experience and after all it is his job. He would probably be offended if I ask. I enter the lift and press the number four button. When the doors re-open all I see is rows of doors and the same green carpet. I walk down the hallway looking from left to right trying to find my number. Finally all the way at the other end I find my new home. I put my key in the lock and turn.

There is a large hallway before I even get into the family room. Hanging on the walls are expensive art pieces. I think they are worth something; I’m not an art lover. To my left are three doors. I open the first and see it is a bedroom. It’s beautiful. There is a large four poster bed straight ahead; behind it is a huge window with stunning cream curtains that drape all the way to the floor. I close the door and open the second. It’s a bathroom with the biggest bath I have ever seen. It has two sinks. Why two? Maybe one is for washing and the other for brushing your teeth. That’s what they probably do in New York. The toilet seat is gold, not real gold but in colour. I hope it’s not real, if it is, I will be scared to use it!

Time for door number three. I feel like I’m on Blind Date. It’s an old TV programme back home where you have to sit behind a screen and choose a mystery date from men numbered one to three.
It’s just an empty space. I could use it for a walk in wardrobe. Feeling pleased with myself that I already feel at home, I walk down the hall and into the large open planned family room and kitchen. I don’t even notice the kitchen at first because to be honest I’m not much of a cook. Believe it or not.
Straight ahead past the chocolate brown corner sofa and plasma on the wall is a huge bay window which opens out onto a balcony. I walk out and the sight takes my breath away. Central Park! How did I not see that down at the door?
Eugene is the desk clerk and Maurice is the door man. She also mentions her name in this chapter. But I agree with the hi part I will change that

Always in Your Heart ♥ asked:


When life gives you lemons… make lemonade. That’s what my dad always tells me when I’m stuck in a crappy situation. But to be honest, I don’t think that advice will work this one out. It feels as if I’ve been given rotten lemons, with no juice left in them, and there is just no point in making lemonade anymore.
Only hours ago, I was packing for my summer vacation to France. Yes, France! You know, that country in Europe with the fashion capital of the world, and some of the most beautiful architecture ever created? Well anyways, I was happily packing away, minding my own business, when my dad knocks on my door. I was surprised by this because, to be honest, my dad and I never talk. He’s always busy on his laptop in his office, or he’s at work. It’s always one or the other.
“Come in.” I said, wondering what in the world was it that he wanted to tell me.
As soon as I saw the expression on his face, I knew it couldn’t be good. My dad always has one look on his face – plain, and bored. But at that moment, it was devastated. I wondered what on earth could have happened for my father to have been so sad. Millions of thoughts ran through my mind as I thought of all the possibilities. Did the fancy hotel that we were staying at in Paris burn down? Did our flight get cancelled? Turns out it was neither of those. It was much, much worse.
“We’re not going to France, Anna.” he said with the most stern look I had ever seen.
“What? W-w-why?” I asked, sadness sweeping over me.
“I got a call from my brother last night. He asked us to visit our homeland for the summer because my grandmother is very ill, this might be our last chance to see her. We‘re going to Ukraine tomorrow.”
My grandmother? Our homeland? Ukraine? I could not believe it. Moments ago, I was happily packing for France, and now I’ll be sadly packing for Ukraine? I know that I should have felt some sort of remorse for my great grandmother, maybe some guilt for not wanting to visit her, but I just couldn’t help but think how my birthday present which I had been planning for for months was ruined. This was not right. This was not what was supposed to happen. This was not the way my summer was going to turn out. No way, no how.
“But dad! You promised we’d go to France. We’ve been planning to go for months now, and it is a birthday present after all. Ukraine isn’t even my homeland. I know nothing about the place, or the people! We can’t go for the entire summer, we just can’t.” I said stubbornly, trying to fight back.
“Well then you can learn about the place and the people this summer. The decision is final, Anna. We’re going.”
And with those words, my summer flipped around faster than you could say “France no more!”.
The airport was crowded when we got there. People were whizzing by carrying huge amounts of luggage and suitcases. I wondered where they were all going to spend their summer vacation. Definitely not Ukraine. Some people wore sunhats and flip flops, as if they were ready to jump on to the beach in some tropic place like Hawaii at the very second. I’ll admit, I was jealous of them. My plain capris and t-shirt definitely did not show any excitement towards where I’m going. My dad is holding a book straight up to his face, as if avoiding eye contact with me. His bony face looks tense and distraught. His short chestnut hair stands up straight and I know that if it grew out a little bit more it will be just as wavy as mine. To be honest, I love my hair. It’s very long and wavy with a golden tint in it from my mom.
Another good thing about it is that it covers my chubby cheeks. I was “gifted” as my dad would say with permanent baby fat, just like my mom. My whole life everyone made fun of me because of it, but my dad says that they suit me. What a lie. I think that he said that because they remind him of my mom. She was a beautiful woman, and I will admit that chubby cheeks did suit her. The thing is, she died when I was only a few months old. It was in a car accident back in Ukraine. I think that’s why my dad decided to move to Canada in the first place – to forget the nightmare he lived through of my mom being gone. That’s also probably why we’ve never visited relatives back in our homeland. To be honest, my dad tries avoiding the country every chance he gets. But I guess this was just too much for him.

Ain’t life grand! asked:


I live next door to a woman who has teenage sons and husband works heaps. She is a full time house wife but seems to be constantly on the go with projects. When I first had my baby she popped in to see if I needed help and was a great support and then she became critical and overbearing. I am not the most confident and strongest person you’ll ever meet and don’t often stick up for myself when I should, so these types of people get the better of me and it gets me down because I feel robbed and abused in some way. She gives me her opinion when I haven’t asked for it and she twists everything around so she makes out I have the wrong end of the stick and not her. In cases when this has happened I have checked it out with the source and I was right in how I originally understood the situation. Meanwhile, she gets me all hyped up about people taking advantage of me and how naive I am to have walked into that one. She plays one up-man-ship all the time, even to the extent of copying my style of writing in emails to her. She challenges me non stop about what I do, what I say. I did make some progress with this but feel as if I have gone backwards. But I am beginning to feel that I have allowed this to go on too long and I don’t know how to get our relationship to a stage that I can manage it so I feel safe mentally. As I said, I did make progress for a few weeks and joked back at her and tried being overly kind when she called and boasted that she cooks this and does that. I have even stood my ground on some of her opinions only to have her insult me. Yesterday, she came round and teased me for having rollers in my her and then said my house smelt like milk or some sour thing. We have a mutual acquainance who needs to leave some luggage at her home and this person asked if they could leave it at my home to later pop into her when she returns home from her trip. I said ok. Somehow, my neighbour understood that as me taking the luggage and not her for keeping and I said I had agreed to no such thing and that I would pop it over to her and she said I was being taken advantage of and that just because it didn’t suit the other person to bring it sooner why should I have to do the running around. I actually didn’t mind and hadn’t thought of it like that so I started to feel used by the other person. I then got into it with the other person about clarifying who was taking her luggage etc and it turns out I was right in what I thought and my neighbour has got it all mixed up. So in short – I just feel I have no mental defence against this woman. She ups her game every time I become stronger. She gets to me when I am vulnerable (time of the month) and I absolutely **** it. I know I just can’t get rid of everyone I don’t get on with in my life but how do I just keep this person as a neighbour you just say hi to without her getting offended or noticing too much that I am backing away?

Sharon D asked:


“Here we go doll,” shouts Eddie “62nd street.” He helps get my luggage out of the trunk and I can’t believe what I am seeing. A green velvet rug leads into the doorway with a matching canopy overhead. A posh looking man stands by the door. I have only seen these images in movies, but not anymore. I’m here and this is all real.
“Well enjoy your new life in fabulous New York City,” shouts Eddie as he closes his cab door.
“Thanks. Give my love to your ex wife,” I laugh.
“Ah good old English humour,” He shouts as he drives away.
The man by the door approaches me. He’s wearing a chauffeur hat, a smart looking suit and unbelievable shiny black shoes. I swear if I looked down I would see my face in them.
“Hi, madam,” he says “I’m Maurice, may I take your bags?”
“Oh, yes please.” I say with a curtsey. I don’t know why I curtsied it just felt like the right thing to do.
I could get used to this doorman thing. I have never experienced it before. Back home, in Cambridge, it’s not an everyday occurrence. Although it would be great if it was. Imagine it was; you would drive home from a hard days shopping and just leave your bags in the car. Proceed straight through your front door and into your kitchen, pour yourself a glass of wine and point your hand in the direction where you want your very own “Maurice” to put your bags.
I open the door and this place is like a palace. The same green rug covers the whole floor and over to the left is a large marble desk. There are two cream sofas placed upon what looks like an expensive Persian rug. It looks better than my old family room back home and it’s only reception! I walk over to the desk and ring the little gold bell sat on top. The man behind the desk is on the phone.
“Yes ok Mom, I won’t be out late. I gotta go I have a resident to attend to. Yes I love you too.” He put the receiver down and I try, unsuccessfully, not to laugh.
“She worries about my cats,” he says, “You know if I’m out all night partying. I don’t live at home.”
“Ok,” I laugh, “I’m, Sophie Smith, I’m renting out apartment 225.”
“Sophie, lovely to meet you. I’m Eugene.”
His name matches his description perfect. He has blonde hair that sits in a middle pattern and is tucked behind his ears. His glasses are as thick as two milk bottle bottoms and he is wearing a checked shirt with braces and fawn granddad trousers. He looks out some paperwork and asks me to sign then hands me a key.
“Thank you, Eugene.” I say and I walk toward the lift.
I hear a bang and I turn to see poor old Maurice struggle to navigate through the door with my luggage. Maybe I should go help. No, not this time. I mean I should just enjoy the experience and after all it is his job. He would probably be offended if I ask. I enter the lift and press the number four button. When the doors re-open all I see is rows of doors and the same green carpet. I walk down the hallway looking from left to right trying to find my number. Finally all the way at the other end I find my new home. I put my key in the lock and turn.
There is a large hallway before I even get into the family room. Hanging on the walls are expensive art pieces. I think they are worth something; I’m not an art lover. To my left are three doors. I open the first and see it is a bedroom. It’s beautiful. There is a large four poster bed straight ahead; behind it is a huge window with stunning cream curtains that drape all the way to the floor. I close the door and open the second. It’s a bathroom with the biggest bath I have ever seen. It has two sinks. Why two? Maybe one is for washing and the other for brushing your teeth. That’s what they probably do in New York. The toilet seat is gold, not real gold but in colour. I hope it’s not real, if it is, I will be scared to use it!
Time for door number three. I feel like I’m on Blind Date. It’s an old TV programme back home where you have to sit behind a screen and choose a mystery date from men numbered one to three.
It’s just an empty space. I could use it for a walk in wardrobe. Feeling pleased with myself that I already feel at home, I walk down the hall and into the large open planned family room and kitchen. I don’t even notice the kitchen at first because to be honest I’m not much of a cook. Believe it or not.
Straight ahead past the chocolate brown corner sofa and plasma on the wall is a huge bay window which opens out onto a balcony. I walk out and the sight takes my breath away. Central Park! How did I not see that down at the door?

ineedsupernanny asked:


What is a zippered liner in the bottom of my suit case for? I’m wondering if it has a purpose and if it would be ok to put my shoes under there

Megan Peach asked:


this isn’t for sure yet but im planning to go to usa in 2012 (i will be 14 when this trip takes place) the friend will come+visit me then we fly back there after she comes here we go to usa then i fly back myself.. im really exited but scared

first ive never been abroad flying by myself
will i be aloud to fly by myself?
what should i pack?
whats the most amount of weight your suit case can carry?
will i need a visa?
what shouldn’t i pack?
what kinda cloths do i need?
do i have to turn my phone of on the plane?
can i have hand luggage?
how will i now when to board the plane?

you don’t have to answer them all just put the question your answering and the answer please!!

ill be thankful for people who answer these for me

candy S asked:


Well, like so many others, come tax season I’m going to go shopping for a new van/suv for my family but I have no idea of what to look for, what would be better for my dollar and family’s lifestyle so I thought I would ask it here. What make/style would better suit my family?
Some family info

Theres 5 of us so seating should be roomy-plus room for kid’s friends
My son plays hockey so it should be roomy for all the gear and luggage for away games
I drive ruffly 70 miles a day to work (RT) so it has to be good on mileage
I live on dirt roads in the country so it should have good suspension system, maybe AWD?
I am a single mom on one budget so I’m looking at a realistic price range, nothing that will take longer then my mortgage to pay off

Thank you in advance.

randomlylost asked:


I will be flying in a few weeks for a new job in another country. I will be there for at least a year, so i am pretty much packing my life into my luggage. Having never been on a plane before, i don’t really know how much clothes weigh in terms of combined weights within luggage. Looking back i should have spent a little more on the flight and got a better luggage allowance, but as it stands i have 20kg. I plan to take my laptop in a bag on the plane, as well as a cabin luggage.

I need to check in two bags for my trip; one bag with all my casual clothes and another with my suits, shirts etc in. I decided upon buying a small case for my casual clothes and a garment carrier for my suits etc. My question is out of the 20kg weight, how much should i set aside for the weight of the luggage alone? How much roughly would a few suits, a dozen shirts and ties, and shoes weigh? At the moment i am still a bit clueless as to what i can expect to take with me. Clothes don’t weight that much, right?

Thanks

Moe asked:


Air DOS
Everybody pushes the airplane until it glides, then they jump on and let the plane coast until it hits the ground again. Then they push again, jump on again, and so on…

Mac Airlines
All the stewards, captains, baggage handlers, and ticket agents look and act exactly the same. Every time you ask questions about details, you are gently but firmly told that you don’t need to know, don’t want to know, and everything will be done for you without your ever having to know, so just shut up.

Windows Air
The terminal is pretty and colourful, with friendly stewards, easy baggage check and boarding, and a smooth take-off. After about 10 minutes in the air, the plane explodes with no warning whatsoever.

Windows NT Air
Just like Windows Air, but costs more, uses much bigger planes, and takes out all the other aircraft within a 40-mile radius when it explodes.

Windows XP Air
You turn up at the airport,which is under contract to only allow XP Air planes. All the aircraft are identical, brightly coloured and three times as big as they need to be. The signs are huge and all point the same way. Whichever way you go, someone pops up dressed in a cloak and pointed hat insisting you follow him. Your luggage and clothes are taken off you and replaced with an XP Air suit and suitcase identical to everyone around you as this is included in the exorbitant ticket cost. The aircraft will not take off until you have signed a contract. The inflight entertainment promised turns out to be the same Mickey Mouse cartoon repeated over and over again. You have to phone your travel agent before you can have a meal or drink. You are searched regularly throughout the flight. If you go to the toilet twice or more you get charged for a new ticket. No matter what destination you booked you will always end up crash landing at Whistler in Canada.

OSX Air:
You enter a white terminal, and all you can see is a woman sitting in the corner behind a white desk, you walk up to get your ticket. She smiles and says “Welcome to OS X Air, please allow us to take your picture”, at which point a camera in the wall you didn’t notice before takes your picture. “Thank you, here is your ticket” You are handed a minimalistic ticket with your picture at the top, it already has all of your information. A door opens to your right and you walk through. You enter a wide open space with one seat in the middle, you sit, listen to music and watch movies until the end of the flight. You never see any of the other passengers. You land, get off, and you say to yourself “wow, that was really nice, but I feel like something was missing”

Windows Vista Airlines:
You enter a good looking terminal with the largest planes you have ever seen. Every 10 feet a security officer appears and asks you if you are “sure” you want to continue walking to your plane and if you would like to cancel. Not sure what cancel would do, you continue walking and ask the agent at the desk why the planes are so big. After the security officer making sure you want to ask the question and you want to hear the answer, the agent replies that they are bigger because it makes customers feel better, but the planes are designed to fly twice as slow. Adding the size helped achieve the slow fly goal.
Once on the plane, every passenger has to be asked individually by the flight attendants if they are sure they want to take this flight. Then it is company policy that the captain asks the passengers collectively the same thing. After answering yes to so many questions, you are punched in the face by some stranger who when he asked “Are you sure you want me to punch you in the face? Cancel or Allow?” you instinctively say “Allow”.
After takeoff, the pilots realize that the landing gear driver wasn’t updated to work with the new plane. Therefore it is always stuck in the down position. This forces the plane to fly even slower, but the pilots are used to it and continue to fly the planes, hoping that soon the landing gear manufacturer will give out a landing gear driver update.
You arrive at your destination wishing you had used your reward miles with XP airlines rather than trying out this new carrier. A close friend, after hearing your story, mentions that Linux Air is a much better alternative and helps.

Linux Air
Disgruntled employees of all the other OS airlines decide to start their own airline. They build the planes, ticket counters, and pave the runways themselves. They charge a small fee to cover the cost of printing the ticket, but you can also download and print the ticket yourself. When you board the plane, you are given a seat, four bolts, a wrench and a copy of the seat-HOWTO.html. Once settled, the fully adjustable seat is very comfortable, the plane leaves and arrives on time without a single problem, the in-flight meal is wonderful. You try to tell customers of the other airlines about the

*BubblyWeirdo* asked:


My friends say it does, but I think it has too little detail. Please help me.

Chapter one

“Now Tara, I don’t want to hear any bad news from Ma, while you’re staying with her. Understand?” Tara’s mother, Tasha warned, her ebony skin glowing in the bright sun. She stood tall in black high heels; she wore a pin striped navy blue business suit, her diamond studded brooch was clipped gracefully on the left collar of her blazer. Being the CEO of an advertisement company was very high status, and she loved showing off her importance.

“Yes Mother, I understand.” Tara replied monotonously, while picking the dirt from her bitten down nails. She never even gave her mother a second thought. Her back-pack was slung lazily over her shoulder, and she loosely held the handle of her roll-away luggage.
They both stood in front of the airport shuttle van pick up site, waiting patiently for a van to show. Today was the day Tara, was to leave to go live with her Grandmother Cassandra, who stayed in a small town called Waterfall, Tennessee.

Tasha didn’t quite understand why her daughter wanted to live in such a small town, that literally consisted of only nine-hundred and eight people. But then again, Tasha didn’t understand her daughter. Tara was such a confusing child; her face was bland and expressionless, while her voice was sharp and sometimes lively.

“I hope you do. Ma agreed to take care of you for the school year, and it would be a shame if you gave her any trouble.” Tasha said.
“Yes, Mother.” Tara looked up from digging her nails, and stuck her hands in her pockets.
“Theresa Marie Peers, what are you are you wearing?” Tasha said appalled.
Tasha cringed at her daughter’s appearance. Tara looked as if she had just gotten out of bed: hair tied in a messy afro puff, dark elbows covered in ash, and she wore the unthinkable: sloppy…gray…sweatpants.
Why did I, let her leave the house today, Tasha thought, looking around to see if anyone had noticed her.
“Oh, calm down, Mom,” Tara said, “I look fine.”
“I most certainly will not calm down. You look a hot mess, and I thought I taught you better then to wear, sloppy sweats in public.”
“Hey, they’re comfortable,” Tara plopped herself down on the nearest bench and let out a yawn, “Plus I only had fifteen minutes to get ready before we left.” She’d crouched slightly in her seat, stretched out her legs and rested the back of her head onto her arms.
“You would’ve had more time, if you didn‘t stay up till three in the morning and wake up at two in the afternoon.” Tasha pointed out.
“Mother, I’m fourteen year old girl on summer break, what makes you think I’m not going to sleep till noon.” Tara stated. Tasha gave Tara a sour look.
“What?” Tara asked.

Tasha opened her mouth to speak, then closed back up when her phone rung, looking at the number, she’d quickly turned her back to Tara, and answered it.
“Hello, Tasha Peers speaking….ah, Ramona, it’s always a pleasure speaking with you.” She continued her conversation, while strutting slowly away from Tara .
Tara sighed contently. Finally a moment to myself, She thought, she’d closed her eyes peacefully and hummed a little tune, letting her mind wander slightly to Waterfall, Tennessee. A town that was only a five hour drive away, a town that only had four stop lights, a town that she hadn’t visited since she was eight, a town she was leaving her whole life for.
She didn’t exactly know why she wanted leave her life behind, the idea just came to her while watching The Young and the Restless and eating cereal out the box. Tasha was a little shocked, when Tara told her that she wanted to stay with her mother, Cassandra.
“W-W-Why,” Tasha had asked, “W-why Waterfall? Why Ma? Why now? Why?!” She banged her fist on the kitchen table. Tara had made the mistake of telling her mother during breakfast, before Tasha had her morning coffee, which wasn’t the smartest idea.
The whole family had their eyes on Tara.