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Three Quarter Boys
How can I dress more feminine but still stay in my comfort zone?
My wardrobe consists of t-shirts (bands, tv shows, quotes, etc), skinny jeans, shorts and several pairs of converse and sandals. As you can most likely deduce from my wardrobe choice, I like to feel comfortable when dressed. I want some help in making my outfit more feminine, since im fixing to be a sophomore in college, I don't want to change my wardrobe I just want to add accesories or something like that, I grew up in a family with the majority of boys (cousins) and two brothers so im very tomboyish, and i want to be able to wear something like this
http://www.bluefly.com/willow-clay-grey-bemberg-three-quarter-sleeve-cropped-jacket/PRODUCT_FEED/313135701/detail.fly?referer=ca_froogle&cm_mmc=ca_froogle-_-Willow_%26_Clay-_-womens_blazers-_-313135701
and not look like a lesbian, not that theres anything wrong with lesbians cause theyre cool, but yeah so any tips would be great.
THANKS!
try adding some nice earrings, getting a cute and feminine haircut, adding heels and form fitting slacks.
if you're interested in something else, try a pencil skirt. it is long and pretty comfortable according to my friends. otherwise, longer dresses...I know from experience, that dresses are the most comfortable article of clothing as long as they are at your knees! (i own about 50 dresses and i wear them constantly)
good luck and sorry if this didn't help you!
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Quarter $87.62 High Quality Content by WIKIPEDIA articles Quarter is one fourth,, or 25. Quarter may also refer to: Quarter (academic), a division of an academic year lasting from 8 to 12 weeks Quarter (United States coin), valued at onefourth of a U.S. dollar Quarter (Canadian coin), valued at onefourth of a Canadian dollar Quarter day, in British and Irish tradition, one of four dates in each year on which rents, etc. were due Quartering (heraldry), joining several coats of arms on one shield partitioned in four Quarters, a drinking game Academic quarter, term used by universities in various European countries for the 15 minutes between the defined start time for a lecture and the actual time it will start Fiscal quarter, three months of a fiscal year An imperial measure of weight, equal to 28 pounds. (See hundredweight) Author: Surhone, Lambert M./ Timpledon, Miriam T./ Marseken, Susan F. Binding Type: Paperback Number of Pages: 132 Publication Date: 2010/06/12 Language: English Dimensions: 5.98 x 9.01 x 0.30 inches |
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In the Quarter $44.28 One evening in May, 1888, the Caf des coles was even more crowded and more noisy than usual. The marbletopped tables were wet with beer and the din was appalling. Someone shouted to make himself heard. Any more news from the Salon? Yes, said Elliott, Thaxtons in with a number three. Rhodes is out and takes it hard. Cliffords out too, and takes it Author: Chambers, Robert W./ 1st World Library Binding Type: Hardcover Number of Pages: 260 Publication Date: 2006/02/01 Language: English Dimensions: 8.50 x 5.50 x 0.75 inches |
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The Lost Boys and Three Quarter Ale at Galatic ConQuest
The Revile Boy
The Revile Boy
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Screaming, crunching, kicking, I knew it, I don't want to! Anywhere else but here! Not this place! Not the third planet from the sun! Earth! Just my luck! With all the billions and billions of Galaxies, Earth my final frontier! I bet those must have been my words In less than a second of my arriving, my first encounter with the inhabitant creatures, "WHOP!" the sound that greeted my eardrums sending an electrifying wave across my butt, Screaming, my first lexis to communicate. Is that the only way to greet a new born? The hours thicken away, It's now my twelve hours anniversary, and like every other new arrivals, I was lying in bed thinking about, (not quite sure what I was thinking,) out of nowhere a mystical force throws me from the bed sending me crashing into the concrete floor. By this I had mastered the emergency sound, the earthly forms come rushing to my aid; miraculously I pulled through.
A year has passed since that terrible ordeal! My first home away from home; I remember the house vividly: a big white house with zinc roof that needed repairing! Sitting on less than an acre of land with lots of mango trees. My family and I shared that house with a tenant named Mr. Richie, a slim, feeble-looking old man who was unable to walk. He never drank alcohol or smoked, he was sickly! He lived at the front with his wife, son and daughter; my family lived at the back. Every day Mr. Richie sat on his veranda in his famous Rocka my Papa Chair; he sat there from nine to six in the evening: that was a routine thing he did. Stopping by to say hi, gently rocking me in his chair; that was fun while it lasted!
Here I am enjoying my famous Peek of Relaxation Sandwich, with not a care in this world Club Soda, just going through the routine as each indifferent day passed. One day while out adventuring in the yard I stumbled upon a new discovery: FIRE. Some intelligent earth bound irresponsible neutron was the genius behind this beautiful work of art. Like with every great artwork, there's nothing like a close up inspection, I became consumed by the creativity, the colors, motion, it was spectacular! Now here I am with Shadrach, Meshach and Abed-nego, trying out my new dance move I later called "the burning hop," my knees were so badly burn I wear the scares even to this very day. I was never even close to being spared as those boys; just my luck.
My sisters and I were standing at the gate looking out, it got dark, sleep set in, and the warmth of my bed calleth. I decided to separate from the flock. The night was unpleasantly cold! I needed someone to hold with some warm milk. While walking to the side of the house to the entrance door that led to our living quarters; I saw a poltergeist sitting in a Rocking Chair under the mango tree puffing what looked to me like a cigar; it appeared to be a male sitting with legs crossed, wearing a white jacket suit rocking gently. I stopped to see who it was; nope that's not him! No it wasn't Mr. Richie that much I'm sure of; because if it were Mr. Richie I honestly think he would have had his head on. Even so, that thing didn't scare me the least. I was on top of things, I was in control, I knew someone was watching over me, to protect me and keep me safe. That house was so ghostly; we had to move to a new house.
My most primitive years growing up in Hill View. It was during the 1980 General Elections and most of the areas on the island were going through fierce political gun battles with gangs on either side of the political divide, and the police were smack-dab in the middle. The community we lived in was no exception, as armed men paraded openly with guns, more so at nights. We lived in a house on the hillside, not a big house but it had sufficient rooms and all the enmities a family of eight sometimes nine, Ian another one of the siblings who stayed with us on occasions would need, it wasn't a posh house but it appeared to be compared to what was around us.
The community surrounded by rocks; the landscape uneven, almost like "Pitchy Patchy" The land our house built on had its share of rocky ground: even so, our house was nicely kept, and our yard was always clean. Our father Lloyd, he knew how to use a broom: his motto was, "No matter how poor we were; our surroundings must always be spotless!" A proud man, he boasted of his ethnicity, being God's chosen people that were scattered abroad. His great grandparents were on en route to the United States of America but somehow got settle here and fell in love with the warm climate and breathtaking landscape that stretches across this beautiful island of sun, sand, sea, the best coffee the world has to offer, a rich culture, economic advantages and links to global trade and commerce. A catcher for the girls in his younger days, he possesses the features of a young girl's dream: tall, slim handsome with beautiful gray eyes and dark curly hair and he never wore a mustache or beard- always on the cleaner side of things. A cynic with some chauvinistic attributes, if you were white you could come to our house, brown, stick around, he didn't say those words but we sensed it, we all knew. What made things a little awkward, the siblings and I share both parents but funnily, we all look the same but have different skin color. Two of us Junior and I took his features, while the other's tipped more to our mother's side of the family tree, they are darker people.
Across from our house stood an old Cotton Tree that appeared centuries old, no leafs just dried rotten limbs and branches with a frightening appearance, black rusty sheathing that creep the hell out of me. It was haunting; I could feel it, a resting place for those who once lived, on an open lot that was partially used as a dumping ground. Cactus, macka trees, and thick bushes were the proud inhabitants. I stared at that old cotton tree every morning, evening and night, wondering what mysteries hidden were beneath. Going to bed with the sounds of gun shots being fired and waking up to loud screams- someone apparently had died the night before and was discovered in the early hours of the morning. We all rushed out to see what had happened. There it was! The gruesome image that put a face to the loud bullets, right there in the culvert that separated rival gangs on both sides, a man sits against the wall with only a towel around his neck, the first thought came to me as a young child, why is he sleeping inside the culvert that was filled with debris and other unwanted refuse? I ask my older brother Mark, "Is he sleeping?"
"He's dead; he was shot in the head!" He answers with fear in his eyes. That image stayed with me for a long time.
Gripped with Love, Compassion, and Gratitude, concerning myself deeply to my sinew about others, it was a real pleasure for me to share what little I have with anyone that is in need, such action would leave my heart bubbling with gratification. Seeing someone being hurt physically, verbally, emotionally, and worst of all to see others cry- oh my heavens! Those teardrops would each pull the strength from my bones. I would become so weak in my knees, I would just have to sit for a while, take a deep breath to regain some control of myself. I never could walk away, I wanted to take a stand, something inside me just wouldn't let up, I was too small to do anything In any case, so I just had to live with it on the inside my poor little heart. It became too much. As a result, I became vulnerable to the cruel world that was shaping around me, then the why questions kept coming at me without the answers. It became a real struggle over time, I used to cry for absolutely no visible reason.
As I got older, it's time for school home boy. All decked out in short khaki pants, book and pencil in hand on my way to learning. My first day attending kindergarten. It was a small community school with just a few attending. My teacher was Miss, and she had lots of patience where her pupil was concerned. One afternoon we sat together for almost ten minutes teaching my fingers how to right the number two, then it dawns on me, my second major discovery that I will never forget: "I am two years old"
I attended that school with two of the siblings, Julian and Nadine; we were the youngest of the family. With not much to do then, we were from home to school. Our father never allowed us to talk to the other kids; we had to stay at home all the time and enjoy each other's company. As for our father, he was always at home but was out of sight locked in his room at the back next to the kitchen, and he only comes out to take a shower, then in he goes again, someone would have to take his meals to him, sure not me, I was scared to death of him, and as for that room! I called it the Dungeon; I would never set foot in that place not even when he went out with his friend Kingsley. Both would leave and he would not return until late evening, he was out to do what a father must do in order to support his family;WORK and those outings were quite rare.
We would have our baths and get ourselves ready for mother to return from work in the evenings. We all sat on our verandah and periodically one of the older ones would go to the gate to see if she was coming. Those days mom was king and Queen, nothing to us like our mom, she was the magnate that held our compass, the rudder that guides the ship, the engine that gave us thrust, the wind in our sail (I think I've made my point) a warm mom with a gentle strap, you dare not mess-up she would be coming, no matter how far you ran or how long you hid, she had the patience to wait because one thing is for shore, you got to come home.
I was the youngest and when I do messed up, it would be one of the older responsible ones that would be subjected to the high Judge's discretion, so those beautiful belt days had passed me by, but I was equally perturbed by the visible action of what that thing could do. Those kids danced, they sang and they hummed, they should be counting the stars just about now. Whenever she got home some would shout "Lindsey" that's the name they all called her, still not sure what led them to that, all I know "when in Rome do like the Roman's do" She did everything for us. As for Lloyd (daddy) he was synonymous with the word deadbeat, more like a world class failure who sits around looking for someone to blame for his misfortunes. It was obvious he never heard the term being used, "if you shoot for the stars and miss, try to hit whatever you can." (That's just a little something I had made up.)
Thesmall two bedroomhouse next door got some new tenants; they were old friends `of Lindsey, a large family headed by the father, mother, brother, three sisters, nephew and niece, the youngest of the Brady bunch. We were so happy when they'd move in because we had one neighbor at the back Lloyd Shakespeare to our left was an empty lot, to our right was an empty house, and right in front of us was that old Cotton Tree on an empty lot. Once they got settled they started coming to our house. We would play, talk about stuff, hang out, and watch out for each other, and we went over to their house too. It was fun! They had lots of fruit trees, apple, mango, naseberry, pear, coconut, and we all got together, especially during the summer time and just enjoyed the beauty that life had to offer. It was during one of those visits I first tasted pigeon meat. Garth (not his real name) the eldest, decided his little pigeon confine was getting a little overcrowded, as a temporary solution, he lit the stove and put on a big pot, and man, he couldn't have solved that problem any better than he did! That pigeon soup was a bomb! Like they say, you should complement the chef for preparing a good meal, and the chef must safeguard his recipes. After having our soup, we wash it down with some cool coconut water and apple hors d'ourve, man we were full! By the following day we were ready to extinct his feathery friends in a flash! That soup was real good I still taste the spice in my mouth.
We were now a pack that stayed to ourselves, absolutely no room for outsiders. I mainly hang with John (not his real name) Garth's nephew. John is three years older than I am, (seven) and he had a knack for toys and when he could not afford to buy them, he would make them himself. He made my first airplane by utilizing an empty bleach bottle with the assistance of cardboard boxes and ties to it a string. We would hold on to that string and run around the yard like some crazy kids, making a whole lot of noise's and those things did fly! He moved on from there and started to build newer models with more modern and sophisticated features. He installed his first engine through the use of a motor he removed from an old toy truck, carefully with batteries. Oh that was a major scientific breakthrough which later encouraged us to go on to greater inventions. He started to build huge trucks from boards that we could actually sit inside while another person on the outside pushed like a sleigh, which was cool; he quickly became the kid on the block. He went on to invent the greatest of all invention, the Walkie Talky from a old telephone he had found and totally rearrange it into his new creation, with the aid of batteries and some wires that were long enough to stretch from his house to mine. We would talk on that thing right through the night without ever feeling tired or sleepy; we were just boys who liked to play with toys.
It was clear John liked the attention and always wanted all the attention. It was his stage and he was the star on show and no one would ever get the chance to share in his spotlight, not over his dead body! He would rather to pull it all down, cancel the band and return the money, he was that serious. A spoilt brat, his mother was hardly around, he never had a father, if he did, we never heard of him or even heard him speak of him, and I never knew his surname, he always looked ragged, always dress in short khaki pants, most of them had holes and he never wore shoes, only on occasion.
About the Author
Debut Writer was born into a family of Pastors. Uncles, Grand Fathers, and Father. He began on the same path, attending Bible College, getting a ministry job as a youth Pastor in a small Baptist Church on the slopes of the Rocky Mountains, moving up to the larger, more contemporary church as an associate pastor in the heart of the bible-belt. But something never sat right. There was always something missing. This ‘something' sent him on the quest of discovery. Through life experiences, friends, situations, failures, and heart ache, he discovered that something was Christ. In fighting for Christianity he'd missed out on Christ. In this discovery a light came on that has changed his view of what is now important.
Suzie, as usual you are in top form tonight – thanks for the laugh
A star is on its way! Hugs CJ