Find a great selection of elegant and practical bar stools for your home.
I LIKE cakes on a plane.Heck,I like cakes on a train!In a car,at a bar,in a house,with a mouse,in a pool they make me drool,I love
cakes I’m no fool!In my chair,on a stool,at my desk,while I rest.
I don’t mean to be a pain,but whats the fuss,bout cakes on a plane?????
I know the obvious answer is yes, you can’t take away someone’s rights just because they are crippled….but I was thinking today, and say they were "walking" home from a bar, on their wheel chair, couldn’t they get a DUI for that? I mean, I heard of someone getting a DUI for being drunk on a bicycle, so its not like there has to be a motor (which is what i used to think) but even if it does have to be a motor vehicle, what about power chairs? Can someone get a dui for driving a power chair under the influence? this doesn’t exactly seem fair, but its still a motor vehicle…right?
My opinion is…that probably you legally can get DUI for that, but no cop is gonna be that much of a prick and give one out….but who knows?
Any lawyers or anything actually know the answer?
Or anybody else want to put any input?
Regular gloss white spray paint will work or is there a special one for wicker?
My goal is to use an old rustic door to build a table top. I have no idea where I can find a used/antique door in the Sacramento area that’s reasonably priced (free would be awesome but I don’t think that’s realistic).
For all book lovers. What do you think of my writing?
Chapter one.
The woman scurried down the street, pressing her bleeding left knee with her slender hand and stealing quick looks behind her. She knew he was following her. The lampposts at her side offered no guidance; they all stood silently, their heads fogged with dust as if they existed in a place forgotten by time.
She gasped louder as she pulled her wounded leg behind her, unable to bear it anymore. The pain surged through her lower body and blurred her eyes. She wished for a voice to offer her a temporary refuge in the ever-increasing coldness of the night, but the buildings that surrounded her were all stark and dim as the trees facing them.
After sometime, she glimpsed the light of a far store she quickened her pace towards it. Footsteps emerged behind her. Afraid to turn her eyes from the store, she struggled faster down the street, convincing herself that it was just the sound of her high heels over the asphalt; it was just an illusion.
After falling to her knees in front of the store, she called out. “Help…someone…help me…”
A tall man appeared out of the store. He had a cigarette at his mouth. His face was brown and wrinkled; his eyes blue, narrow, and his chest bare and lined from the inside with the evident bones of his rib cage.
“He’s following me…I can’t walk…”
After placing her arm around his neck, he lifted her from under her armpit and dragged her into the store.
“What’s wrong…?” The man asked after placing her on a stool. “Who’s following you?”
“I can’t tell you…” She screamed. “Do something…please…the pain ….my feet is hurting me….help.”
“I can’t help you unless you tell me who’s following you.”
“I won’t tell you…” she screamed once again and kicked the man in his knee. The man shrieked and slapped her. Unable to balance herself over the stool, she fell to her face, crying at the ceiling. “Someone help me….” She scampered towards the door of the store. Every minute that passed, she knew, he was getting nearer to her. Soon enough, she would die.
Chapter 2
The man with the blue scar against his cheek stood at the door of the shack. It was still dark. The trees surrounding the shack shivered in the cold night air, filling the forest with furtive howling sounds. The lady escaped him this time. He would never allow it to happen the next time, but before this time came he first had to rest.
Inside the shack, he took off his black leather jacket and placed it at the hook behind the kitchen door. After standing naked in the dark, he walked to the small window above the red couch, and narrowed his eyes. He was waiting for someone important, someone that brought him news that he had been waiting for since last month.
He walked to a small table standing in the middle of the shack. He opened a small jar and took out a young girl’s ear. Slowly, he nibbled at the edges. He had been eating human flesh since he was twelve. He usually savored the soft parts like the ears and the nose.
Some minutes later, he sat down inside the small tub standing beside the door. The water was so cold like his skin and as his wounds unleashed their blood into the water, he sighed and started humming a repetitive lullaby that his mother used to sing to him when he was young.
He fell into a deep sleep in which he dreamt of the old lady he was trying to kill. She appeared out of a foggy street, ran at him and tugged at his throat, peeling his skin with her purple nails.
The door of the shack creaked open. He shivered, sat up and after raising the red handled knife above his head, he stepped out of the tub and walked, still naked, to the other man that went into the shack, his name was Ewan. His baldhead glimmered against the light of the small bulb that dangled down the ceiling from a white wire.
“Sorry for interrupting,” he said, “I know you were waiting for me.”
He nodded. “Have you brought it to me?”
“Yes sir,” Ewan dipped his hand into his brown jacket and tugged out a brown strand of hair. He placed it against the man’s wet shoulder.
“Thank you,” he said, “Now, you mission is finished.”
Ewan’s eyes widened and he walked backward; his hands shivering. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s ok. Just calm down.”
“You won’t kill me…” Ewan yelled at his master, throwing a small stone from his pocket at his face. “I trusted you. I helped you…”
He smiled and lowered his face. “I know. That is why I will kill you. You helped me and your mission is done. You are an extra organ in the cycle of life. You should die to give space to someone else…”
“You’re mad…”
“That’s why I survive…”
Ewan’ back trembled against the door before he could turn to open it, the man with scar at his cheek, raised the knife and dipped it three times at his neck; three was his favorite number.
Well, I’ve been creating a plot for a story that’s good 4 either a book or movie because it’s summer and I needed some leisure time. I would just want to know what do you think?
Here’s the story:
It’s about a guy named Sean who has been getting bad luck after quitting his job as a literacy critic for a magazine to pursue his dream as a novelist. His girlfriend left him for a rich man, his landlord’s chasing him for rent money, and he’s suffering from writer’s block. He has since drown into depression, and had several suicide attempts.
His seventh attempt was the last straw as he was kicked out of his apartment and was living on the streets. His older brother Roger finds him on the street and took him to his loft. Sean learns that Roger’s gay, as Roger’s been hiding it from the family ever since, and mentions Roger about his status in high school as being popular and dating many girls (he learns they used him for fashion advice and he only had an eye for the captain of the soccer team).
After passing out at a bar, Sean was taken back to the loft, as a flower plant suddenly drops from the upper level and breaks a priceless antique, or in Roger’s case, a chair once sat by Gianni Versace. Sean then encounters the neighbour, Eileen, for the first time, as she complains with Roger and his lover, Jamie, over the hole she created.
He would meet her again the next day, during her day job as a dog walker. Eileen is a free-spirit whose family knows every Hollywood legend from the classic era, dresses oddly, is very klutzy, has a child-like behavior, likes to talk about mindless things, always breaks the rules, loves to watch strangers and dub over their conversations with music or with her imagination and loves to have fun. Sean also learns of her night job as a singer at a cabaret, and her long-going feud with Roger and Jamie over Eileen killing their dog (The dog was chased by one of Eileen’s dogs and was ran over by a taxi).
Sean begins to hang out with Eileen more, even when they fix the hole in the apartment. Eileen’s bohemian personality was a sudden change to Sean’s organized and depressed life, as he is becoming more outgoing and getting luck with a new book deal. He suddenly begins to fall in love with Eileen. He confesses it to her, but it was too late as Eileen leaves her apartment and Sean behind to further her music career.
When they reunite, Sean has become a best-selling author for his book about his relationship with Eileen and Eileen is touring with her Vegas-performing brother. Sean learns that this will be his last chance to win Eileen back, and he is willing to take risks to win back the girl.
Well, the title I chose is "A Girl Like You" and if the plot sounds familar to you, let me know cause it’s just a draft and I’ve been getting a feeling it was done before. As well, I’m also in high school.
- about Sean’s book, it’s actually based on his relationship with Eileen, not his autobiography.
Getting ready to close on our first home.
It’s not huge, a nice starter home.
Has an eat-in kitchen. I really like the bar height tables and chairs and we’ve found a table we like that comes with two chairs and both rounded ends of the table fold down for space.
Q1. Would a bar height or standard height make the kitchen look bigger?
One of the first things on our to-do list is get the bathroom remodeled. A local contractor did my parent’s bathroom a few years ago and it looked great. We ordered a custom sized extra long and wide shower base and then had the walls tiled in 6inch tiles (pretty sure it’s 6"). The walls were painted Cocoa Mocha (a neutral creamy tan color). But the plans for this new home are to do it in muted blue colors-possibly.
Q2. What tile size looks best in a smaller bathroom? Should i look for more 6in tiles or go for the really small ones?
Any other paint/decor tips you’d like to share that worked well for you–i’d appreciate it.
Thanks in advance!
needs new fabric or seats.
We recently moved to a new state about 2 weeks ago. Earlier in the week on 2 different mornings I found that my cat had pooped on the floor. (since we moved here the cat has been rolling around in those spots if I’m in the room and he’s in there with me) the stool was very dark, almost black in color and wasn’t in the ’shape’ of normal stool. Since we moved my cat has been very weird about his water. I will have 3 different bowls full of water in the kitchen but he barely drinks out of them (he wants to watch me get a new bowl of water and put the others in the sink). Then tonight right in front of me he was digging in the carpet and then squat so I picked him up and put him in the litter box. I shut the door and when I checked on him about 10 min later there was poop on the tile floor &in 3 spots where he was sitting there were dime or penny size puddles of watery brownish-greenish colored water. I checked his ‘area’ and there was the same stuff on/in him.
Is there something wrong??
I know this is newborn and baby - but my son is my baby!!
A
1 Hammock
2 couch
3 airplane seat
4 bar stool
5 beach chair
6 Floor
B
1 beer
2 milk
3 Coke/Pepsi
4 root beer
5 ice tea
6 lemon aid
I have fibro, clustrophia and lower back issues that are awaiting surgery. I used a handicap stall in a restroom for the room & the bars to help me up & was verbally abused by a woman in a wheel chair. It was humiliating and degrading & I need the bars just as much as she does.
Not sure of exactly what type of wood it is. Should we use Teak Oil? Or Thompson’s Water Seal? Or a simple varnish?
ancient roman food
Chapter one.
The woman scurried down the street, pressing her bleeding left knee with her slender hand and stealing quick looks behind her. She knew he was following her. The lampposts at her side offered no guidance; they all stood silently, their heads fogged with dust as if they existed in a place forgotten by time.
She gasped louder as she pulled her wounded leg behind her, unable to bear it anymore. The pain surged through her lower body and blurred her eyes. She wished for a voice to offer her a temporary refuge in the ever-increasing coldness of the night, but the buildings that surrounded her were all stark and dim as the trees facing them.
After sometime, she glimpsed the light of a far store she quickened her pace towards it. Footsteps emerged behind her. Afraid to turn her eyes from the store, she struggled faster down the street, convincing herself that it was just the sound of her high heels over the asphalt; it was just an illusion.
After falling to her knees in front of the store, she called out. “Help…someone…help me…”
A tall man appeared out of the store. He had a cigarette at his mouth. His face was brown and wrinkled; his eyes blue, narrow, and his chest bare and lined from the inside with the evident bones of his rib cage.
“He’s following me…I can’t walk…”
After placing her arm around his neck, he lifted her from under her armpit and dragged her into the store.
“What’s wrong…?” The man asked after placing her on a stool. “Who’s following you?”
“I can’t tell you…” She screamed. “Do something…please…the pain ….my feet is hurting me….help.”
“I can’t help you unless you tell me who’s following you.”
“I won’t tell you…” she screamed once again and kicked the man in his knee. The man shrieked and slapped her. Unable to balance herself over the stool, she fell to her face, crying at the ceiling. “Someone help me….” She scampered towards the door of the store. Every minute that passed, she knew, he was getting nearer to her. Soon enough, she would die.
Chapter 2
The man with the blue scar against his cheek stood at the door of the shack. It was still dark. The trees surrounding the shack shivered in the cold night air, filling the forest with furtive howling sounds. The lady escaped him this time. He would never allow it to happen the next time, but before this time came he first had to rest.
Inside the shack, he took off his black leather jacket and placed it at the hook behind the kitchen door. After standing naked in the dark, he walked to the small window above the red couch, and narrowed his eyes. He was waiting for someone important, someone that brought him news that he had been waiting for since last month.
He walked to a small table standing in the middle of the shack. He opened a small jar and took out a young girl’s ear. Slowly, he nibbled at the edges. He had been eating human flesh since he was twelve. He usually savored the soft parts like the ears and the nose.
Some minutes later, he sat down inside the small tub standing beside the door. The water was so cold like his skin and as his wounds unleashed their blood into the water, he sighed and started humming a repetitive lullaby that his mother used to sing to him when he was young.
He fell into a deep sleep in which he dreamt of the old lady he was trying to kill. She appeared out of a foggy street, ran at him and tugged at his throat, peeling his skin with her purple nails.
The door of the shack creaked open. He shivered, sat up and after raising the red handled knife above his head, he stepped out of the tub and walked, still naked, to the other man that went into the shack, his name was Ewan. His baldhead glimmered against the light of the small bulb that dangled down the ceiling from a white wire.
“Sorry for interrupting,” he said, “I know you were waiting for me.”
He nodded. “Have you brought it to me?”
“Yes sir,” Ewan dipped his hand into his brown jacket and tugged out a brown strand of hair. He placed it against the man’s wet shoulder.
“Thank you,” he said, “Now, you mission is finished.”
Ewan’s eyes widened and he walked backward; his hands shivering. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s ok. Just calm down.”
“You won’t kill me…” Ewan yelled at his master, throwing a small stone from his pocket at his face. “I trusted you. I helped you…”
He smiled and lowered his face. “I know. That is why I will kill you. You helped me and your mission is done. You are an extra organ in the cycle of life. You should die to give space to someone else…”
“You’re mad…”
“That’s why I survive…”
Ewan’ back trembled against the door before he could turn to open it, the man with scar at his cheek, raised the knife and dipped it three times at his neck; three was his favorite number.
