At 8:30 am (!) Phone calls immediately after planning. What a lady introduced herself to some spa and asked why I actually stopped visiting their beautiful institution, located in the center of Nizhny Novgorod.
No, first of all, it was dull, of course. Obviously I was wrong.
At first I wanted to say with a pathetic and offensive voice that the last time the milk in the bathroom was not fat enough or the painted flower on the fingernail of the index of tears on the second day...
But it’s a pity the girl became, still not by her will calling customers at eight in the morning, right?
Therefore, I just handed the tube to the chief engineer Nikolaich - "This is you". I was just interested in the dialogue between a girl from a expensive spa and a man who is confident that a spa is a sleeping place in a wagon. Probably not very well.
He listened attentively to her and timidly then asked if they had accidentally (he said - INCIDENTALLY) in the presence of a 5mm-thick galvanized sheet and travers for the crane. Apparently, they didn’t have it, because Nikolaich returned the phone to me and said it was a fist, not an office. They don’t have a hero.

Essentially also:
<...> All my work is the work of my hands. But! I will not lay a plate, put a brick, paste wallpapers, tint, and so on. <...>
= is
Well, and for a glossy glow would explain why the plate is "lay", and the brick is "lay"?
-
The cafe is pretty damn, and the brick is still there.

It came here by hand: "Why do Russians have registrars installed on any transport?"

Yes, because today’s laws protect every urlo and murlo, and you, a citizen of a great country, will only be protected by a double video recording of events, even posthumously.

I clean up, I clean up.

The MDI...
I would like to look (from a safe distance) at those fools who use nuclear explosions as a source of light.
________________

You look at them every day. Do you know about the sun?

Listen to "Let’s get married":
She wanted to marry a Christian, but her first husband was a Buddhist and the second was a programmer.
I am proud =)

xxx is. We don’t have a mortgage.
YYYYY What did he not give? They seemed to give everyone
xxx is. They just shut down this program and that’s all. They closed with the NG, which the consultant in March for some reason did not suspect. He said to us, “Sorry and forgive us.”

To all lovers of the society described by Hanlaine, I recommend a small thought experiment. Remember three or four former military acquaintances with whom you had to work. And then imagine that only they and like them can be elected and elected.
===
Uncle Vasya, Marshal Zhukov, Rocosovsky Examples are many.
........................................................................
I know you, grandfather!

Why do some people not want to accept the fact that people may have different opinions?! to

The therapist is a thousand gigabytes, or 1024?

What do you know about motivation?

I have a father, the driver, when his flight was in repair, worked a couple of weeks on the catapult, looked at everything, so after that in a couple of months 18 kilograms lost, because:
In front of the men uncomfortable, who will carry the grave with me, so many matts in my address I am not ready to hear even from that light.

I served for a total of seven years, but I understood the meaning of what was happening a month later. Everyone thinks about being healthy. The meaning of army life activity is not to do everything effectively, but to work day and night almost without rest. This is what you would do if you free up a lot of free time for efficiency? Improved skills, went to training? Fuck the two. Technique to chase - pleasure is expensive: GSM, spare parts, ammunition, logistics, etc. The technique is calculated.
In the army on imbeciles (because the average level of the soldier is), and without the equipment there is nothing to improve: the AC and the MPL-50 shoulder - there 4-year-old children will cope. So what would the soldiers do? Based on the indicated average. "As long as a soldier stands in service, he cannot commit a war crime"

It is...

Physicism, the study of the history of wars, tactical, partisan, defensive, offensive and other actions, crafted substrats of Vietnam/Afghanistan/Chechnya (strings, holes of the type of Vietnamese souvenir, forgotten and abandoned ammunition with trothyl instead of powder, etc.) and their detection / disposal - all this is done for free. But the brain needs to be turned on, yes.

I bought a snake mouse... the snake doesn’t want to eat in principle... now I think what to feed the mouse)

YYU is fucking fucking. Some old man, cutting one eye, called me a girl.
YYU: I wonder where he saw the bearded girls? Oh yes...

The state, like an unfaithful man, is constantly deceiving.

There is virtually no humor in this story, and it will not fit into the usual Internet 2-3 paragraphs. But believe me, it is worth it. Especially because the story - in fact exclusive, sounded several times in a narrow circle, without bringing out. Now, it seems, it is time for greater coverage, just on Victory Day.

In the 1970s our family lived in Rostov-on-Don at the address: Fortress Street, house 141, square. 48 is The usual brick five-story in the center of the city, across the road from the pool "Briz", if anyone is interested in the exact location.

There and now someone lives in our two-bedroom Chruščov. Just like the floor above, in the 51st apartment, in a single room. But in my childhood, my grandmother Sonja, a quiet, smiling old lady, lived in the apartment number 51. I don’t remember her well, I can say, I don’t remember anything at all, except that she always had a soft plastic bag in the hallway with caramels, with which she served me, resorting to salt or other economic orders.

My mother and Sophia Davydovna often talked, the neighbors at the time were much closer to each other, so the relationship was more open.

Many years have passed, we have moved for a long time, and once my mom told me an amazing story. She, of course, became aware of this from the neighbor, so now it turns out - "from the third hand", sorry if I am wrong. I tell you as I heard.

*** by

Sophia Davydovna in her youth studied in Moscow, practiced in some publication, and when the war began, she became a stenographer-machiner in the editorial office of the newspaper "Red Star". There were a few young girls there, and they worked mainly on the grades of Soviet journalism - in the summer of the forty-first Sonet got Konstantin Mikhailovich Simonov, it was his texts she re-printed most of the time.

The time was heavy. The Germans approached Moscow, daily airstrikes, the edition moved somewhere in the suburbs of the capital, the evacuation is actually being prepared. And suddenly in the midst of all this nightmare they announce: "In Moscow concert! In the Philharmonic! “There are invitation tickets for the newspaper, who wants to go?”

Everybody wanted to go. We found some kind of bus, or half Tuesday, full body of music fans, including Sophia and Simonov. In the courtyard, either the end of summer or the beginning of autumn, we arrived without adventures.

And there beauty - ladies in fashionable dresses, officers in parade uniforms, a few staff also found something to wear. Our girls look in all eyes, a bunch of famous people, what are you! On the stage - the orchestra... here memories fade, like my mother confidently reminds me that it was about the premiere of the symphony of Shostakovich. You feel the atmosphere, right? A piece of peaceful life.

In the middle of the first act, the air defense sirens begin to blow. The orchestra stops playing, the commander comes out and says, "Comrades, we have an unexpected break, whoever wants can come down in the lobby, there is a bomb shelter, it will be safer." The room is silent, no one rises from his seat. “Comrades, I ask you to come down to the bomb shelter!” In response, silence, even the chairs do not whisper. The manager stood, stood, took his hands and left the stage. The orchestra continued to play until the end of the first act.

They applauded, and only then everyone went down to the lobby, where they waited for the alarm. Sonia, of course, looks after "his" Simonov, as he is there and with whom. Everyone knew about his romance with Valentina Serova, and it must happen - at this concert they almost accidentally met.

Serova was with some military, Simonov grabbed the desperately sparkling Sophka, went with her to the actress and introduced them to each other. This, of course, was, rather, an occasion to start the conversation, but the young stenographer and that was enough - even, Serova herself, the star of the screen!

Then Simonov and Serov went aside and there, behind the columns, they talked about something for a long time. The conversation went on a few elevated tones, everyone around delicately as if not noticing what was happening. Simonov asked Serov about something, he whipped his head, he insisted on the answer, but as a result only achieved that Valentina Vasilievna turned and left Simonov alone at these columns.

Here, the beginning of the second act is announced, everyone returns to the hall, a whirlwind of the conductor’s stick, and music grimps again. Time flies unnoticed and almost at night the truck goes back, the spectators tremble in the body, a small rain freezes. Sophia stolenly looks at Simonov, he sits silently, smokes papyrus, one after the other...

Arriving at the location, everyone goes to sleep, full of impressions.

In the deep night, at three o’clock, our heroine wakes up from the fact that she is awakened by a messenger: “Sofka, get up, it urgently demands you!” She begged, soon dressed, resorted to the house where Simonov lived. Konstantin Mikhailovich stands at the dark window, looking at the distance. “Sophia, sit behind the machine” – and begins to dictate:

Wait for me and I will come back, only wait very long,
Wait for the yellow rain,
Wait when the snow melt, wait when it’s hot,
Wait until others wait, forgetting yesterday.

Soffka knocks on the keys and cries. And tears drop on the first printed copy of the famous poem.

*** by

I have long thought about writing this post. There is no written evidence. Sophia Dawidovna Yukelson died in the late eighties, other similar memories were not found, Yandex also knows nothing about it.

In some archives there will probably be facts confirming or disproving this story. But I think it is worthy to be preserved in our memory - a small piece of history of a great country.

Such things.

Odessa, “Privation”, a fish series. The Aunt:
and Bulls

By the end of the summer, I decided I needed a thickness.
“Well, come, buy,” said my mother when I told her about it.
And I went, taking my brother as a guide. We came back in a few hours.
- So you already have a grey, - commented the mother's purchase.
and E?
I knew for sure: I had neither grey nor white, nor any other thickness.
So I bought you.
Aaaah, why didn’t you tell me? Why did I ride then?
I thought you would buy blue.
In silence, I heard my brother and I drown their jaw.

You are laughing and your child is growing up. Think before it is too late.
________
O boze boze, in the future there will be less than one selfish, unable to give up even in little things to the person he values. The alarm code is red. Urgently, urgently educate a fucker who organically does not accept anybody's tastes and opinions, except their own! And then, oh horror, some butterfly with him in the future will be, at the peak of traditions and foundations, even HAPPY! Save who can!

And of the two orders I left one, which in fulfillment of my instructions - "It will be incomprehensible - call me!" - called at 3 a.m., and not the one who then bleated "I thought...
— — — —
Just for the sake of interest – you are, by chance, not from a military family, right?

"Make the game, only in a short time, rather, rather, cheer for optimization now!!and "
"What kind of shit did you do? Let us optimize"