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Gloria
| Main blog: | Gloriana | | Birthday: | August 6th | | Gender: | Female | | Occupation: | Student | | Education: | Some college | | Religion: | Not religious | | Race/lineage: | Asian | | Location: | Canada, Ontario, Toronto | | Also Goes By: | G, G-funk/Gfunk, G. Lo, Glorilicious, Minx, G-Minx/Gminx, G-Dawg, Glorox, Gloworm, DayGlo, Glorificus, Gloria in Excelsis Deo, Glorisaurus (Rex), Gloradactyll, Glammalammadingdong, Agent Glorange, Glorizon Wireless, Gloca-Glola, Gloptimus Prime, Da Flash, East Coast Hoser Hussy Queen, Yoria Glip, Glorgasm, Glory Hole, Glouria, Glowbug, Glaphod Beeblebrox, Glorichu, Glaustraliopithicus, Grasshopper, Glocoa Puff, Glotosynthesis, Glorygloryhalleluja, Glocose, Glory Be, Gloompa Loompa, Glonan the Barbarian, Gloogle, Glock .40, Gloriator, Glousiana |
| Praise: | SOLENDER: "No one can withstand the combined might of all seven Gloriacons." DAVID: "I do have a dead spot in my soul.... I named it Gloria." LEE: "Gloria is a round to stop us being square." JFZ: "If 'dinner' is the tasty fuzz and lint balls from a rainbow colored sock that Gloria has been wearing, I say, 'bon appetit.'" SINJA: "You're a real son of a bitch." DEANNA: "I wish I were the ant on her Mobius strip." |
| Body Size: | Slender | | Height: | 5' 6" (168 cm) | | Eyes: | Dark Brown | | Vision: | Glasses/Spectacles | | Hair Color: | Black | | Hair Style: | Straight - Long | | Undies: | Briefs - Short Leg Boxer | | Tattoo Info: | None. | | Piercing Info: | Two holes in each earlobe. | | More Details: | I have unusually straight thumbs. | | Shoe Size: | 7 |
| Relationship Status: | Single - Never Married | | Family Info: | One mother. One father. Eldest of three. One brother, 2 years younger, ever referred to only as Other Brother. One brother, Wesley, 12 years younger. | | Sexual Preference: | Straight/Heterosexual | | Biography/About: | I will misuse semi-colons on purpose if it suits my intent. I also like the swears. | | Likes: | Houndstooth, Burberry check, cufflinks, chivalry, common sense. | | Dislikes: | Jackson Pollock. | | Interests: | World domination, Rome, fire!, art, art history, architecture, mythology, etymology, semantics, explosions, monkeys, men's fashion, archery, smashing things, socks, knitting, cowboys, fairy tales, snapping pirates' necks (HWAH!). | | Smoking: | Makes Baby Jesus cry. |
| Liquor: | Limited. |
| Words I Can Use: | Winsome; acumen; cadence. |
| Books: | The Art of Love, Life of Pi, Ultimate X-Men. | | Authors: | Lindsey Davis | | TV Shows: | Battlestar Galactica, The Colbert Report, Cowboy Bebop, The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, Daria, Firefly, Rick Mercer Report, Simpsons, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. | | Games: | Tetris, Duck Hunt, 'Copter Game. | | Colors: | Black, pink, red, grey, silver, gunmetal, plum, white. | | Food: | Nutella, spinach, ramen noodles, roast duck, green tea ice cream, dragon beard candy. | | Artists: | Edgar Degas, J.M.W. Turner, Titian, Jan Vermeer, John Singer Sargent, Bernini, Jan van Eyck, Caravaggio, El Greco, van der Weyden, Cellini, Lawren Harris. |
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Some time in December:
5 AM. The night -- let's not delude ourselves with this AM, PM crap -- is quiet. The air is crisp, the snow fresh. The snowbanks are three feet high.
As I try to negotiate my way to the street, my arms flail wildly, my vain campaign to maintain verticality. The uncivilized state of the pavement is only partly to blame, because I am not so nimble; against the cold, I am wearing my coat, a hat, a scarf, a wool dress, leggings and tights, two pairs of socks, and the thickest boots I own. The coat eliminates every curve of my body. The hat makes...
Tiny Bodies in a Morgue, and Grief in China
I sat down in the tiny narrow corridor outside his office. My legs were exactly as long as the breadth of the space; the soles of my red boots, splattered with rain, rested neatly against the wall. Gingerly arranging my coat in my lap (it was damp), I waited.
When ehe elevator bell went off, I leaned over to peer down the hallway.
"Good morning, Gloria," my professor panted. In a navy trenchcoat, he looked irritated; he would be, having ridden his bicycle through windy, pouring rain to make it to his office for 9 a.m. on a Monday. I...
Mother Day's 2008.
As we dallied in the line that snaked around the flower shop, I took a fifteenth peek into the bouquet hugged (gently) in the crook of his arm. Spotting a tiny bundle of roses (which had not been there before), I exclaimed, "What are you doing?" The red buds clashed horribly with his demure plum and white selections.
"I like roses," he said defensively.
"You know how I feel about them."
"They're pretty."
"But they're too lazy. Too obvious." (The worst offense.) "Too common."
"They're the best," he corrected. "The best flower."
There is...
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