<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?>
<?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" media="screen" href="/~d/styles/atom10full.xsl"?><?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" media="screen" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/itemcontent.css"?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearch/1.1/" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" gd:etag="W/&quot;CkIGR34zeip7ImA9WhVTEUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5122451</id><updated>2012-02-25T15:22:06.082-02:00</updated><category term="chuteira" /><category term="babá" /><category term="Covabra" /><category term="vovó" /><category term="abandono" /><category term="desilusão" /><category term="esclerose" /><category term="paraplégicos" /><category term="acessibilidade" /><category term="paralisia" /><category term="Quando I Bambini Fanno" /><category term="desapontamento" /><category term="personal coach" /><category term="camisa" /><category term="alergia" /><category term="orfanato" /><category term="monografia" /><category term="locomoção" /><category term="sucrilho" /><category term="mouse" /><category term="fraldas" /><category term="aborto" /><category term="adoção" /><category term="atirador" /><category term="feto" /><category term="adotar" /><category term="deficiente" /><category term="aniversário" /><category term="céu" /><category term="perguntas" /><category term="deficiente físico" /><category term="Jesus" /><category term="voluntariado" /><category term="mulheres" /><category term="Jeremias" /><category term="Dia dos namorados" /><category term="hereditária" /><category term="diferença" /><category term="seleção" /><category term="x-factor" /><category term="New York" /><category term="Dia das mães" /><category term="televisão" /><category term="Frank Sinatra" /><category term="acidente" /><category term="avó" /><category term="superação" /><category 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term="deficiência" /><category term="Rio" /><category term="paralisia cerebral" /><category term="paraolimpíada" /><category term="tecido" /><category term="ajudar" /><category term="câncer" /><category term="rachel crow" /><category term="morte" /><category term="caridade" /><category term="piscinão" /><category term="paz" /><category term="parto" /><category term="salvação" /><category term="jazz" /><category term="Barbie" /><category term="solidão" /><category term="prisioneiro" /><category term="célula tronco" /><category term="troféu Fumagalli" /><category term="nós" /><category term="jovem" /><category term="idosos" /><category term="deficiências" /><category term="Rubem Alves" /><category term="queda" /><category term="simon" /><category term="autora" /><category term="inclusiva" /><category term="aflição" /><category term="cego" /><category term="família" /><category term="pernas" /><category term="idéia" /><category term="João Carlos Martins" /><category term="amendoim" /><category term="autismo" /><category term="mastigação" /><category term="homens" /><category term="agridoce" /><category term="tristeza" /><category term="obstáculos" /><category term="emagrecer" /><category term="resfriado" /><category term="esmola" /><category term="avós" /><category term="filho" /><category term="som" /><category term="poltrona" /><category term="olimpíada" /><category term="sofrimento" /><category term="cérebro" /><category term="Copa do mundo" /><category term="triste" /><category term="adotivo" /><category term="eletrocardiograma" /><category term="amputados" /><category term="bigfral" /><category term="fralda" /><category term="Osmar Santos" /><category term="acidentes" /><category term="uniforme" /><category term="exoesqueletos" /><category term="inutilidade" /><category term="olimpíadas" /><category term="olho" /><category term="contente" /><category term="Giuseppe Povia" /><category term="vovô" /><category term="cegueira" /><category term="Nick Vujicic" /><category term="cama" /><category term="livro" /><category term="mãe adotiva" /><category term="terceira idade" /><category term="O mundo sem ninguém" /><category term="amor" /><category term="Bíblia" /><category term="cadeira de rodas" /><category term="SIPAT" /><category term="braços" /><category term="cordas" /><category term="infância" /><category term="gripe" /><category term="History Channel" /><category term="aplicativo" /><category term="realengo" /><category term="tênis" /><category term="NOHL" /><category term="Brad Pitt" /><category term="Angelina Jolie" /><category term="João do Pulo" /><category term="velório" /><category term="licor de cacau" /><category term="excepcional" /><category term="cadeirante" /><category term="luto" /><category term="Lia Persona" /><category term="exercício" /><category term="tesouro" /><category term="Columbine" /><title>Quero contar...</title><subtitle type="html">Portador de deficiência por causa de uma paralisia cerebral e problemas genéticos, Pedro quer contar como é viver assim.</subtitle><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.querocontar.net/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.querocontar.net/" /><link rel="next" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false&amp;v=2" /><author><name>Mario Persona</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YGZm1WrpjHY/TetrV8qy9JI/AAAAAAAAAtk/V9eUBCl996M/s1600/212013_642167119_1918265_n.jpg" /></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>99</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/blogspot/NdbM" /><feedburner:info uri="blogspot/ndbm" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CE4HRH89cCp7ImA9WhVTEUo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5122451.post-7326509457318564031</id><published>2012-02-25T10:01:00.001-02:00</published><updated>2012-02-25T10:28:55.168-02:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-02-25T10:28:55.168-02:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="bolo de chocolate de liquidificador" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="amendoim" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="licor de cacau" /><title>Bolo de primeira viagem</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.querocontar.net/feeds/7326509457318564031/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5122451&amp;postID=7326509457318564031" title="2 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/7326509457318564031?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/7326509457318564031?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~3/WY8SUqYQn4E/bolo-de-primeira-viagem.html" title="Bolo de primeira viagem" /><author><name>Mario Persona</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YGZm1WrpjHY/TetrV8qy9JI/AAAAAAAAAtk/V9eUBCl996M/s1600/212013_642167119_1918265_n.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-shlWseezDZI/T0jNU8P92oI/AAAAAAAAA7U/Urw6jiw3nHY/s72-c/bolo.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><content type="html">Meu pai já fez muitas coisas na vida, mas hoje ele acordou teimando que nunca tinha feito um bolo. Bem, se você levar em conta a péssima memória de meu pai, ele pode até ter trabalhado em confeitaria e não se lembrar. Eu fiz de conta que acreditei que este seria seu bolo de primeira viagem e fiquei na minha.


Como o meu pai acha que com acesso à Internet ele é capaz até de fazer chover, lá foi 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/-3R1JmtYHHgNamRgTp3Vo74vw9o/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/-3R1JmtYHHgNamRgTp3Vo74vw9o/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~4/WY8SUqYQn4E" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://www.querocontar.net/2012/02/bolo-de-primeira-viagem.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEMMRX07fip7ImA9WhRbF0U.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5122451.post-1694227867878600355</id><published>2012-02-09T08:14:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2012-02-09T08:14:44.306-02:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-02-09T08:14:44.306-02:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="nós" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="cordas" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="fraldas" /><title>Nos aos montes</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.querocontar.net/feeds/1694227867878600355/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5122451&amp;postID=1694227867878600355" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/1694227867878600355?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/1694227867878600355?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~3/yw-a58UPQr0/nos-aos-montes.html" title="Nos aos montes" /><author><name>Mario Persona</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YGZm1WrpjHY/TetrV8qy9JI/AAAAAAAAAtk/V9eUBCl996M/s1600/212013_642167119_1918265_n.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lxfHQBpiaNA/TzOcgaf21oI/AAAAAAAAA7I/j-retGkP9vE/s72-c/knots_nos.10195.sizes.01.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Estou até emocionado com tanta solidariedade! Depois de contar aqui que meu pai estava decidido a dar um nó no cordão de minha bermuda, para evitar que eu tirasse tudo à noite e acordasse de vento a favor, recebi até um manual de nós. Não de mim, meu pai, você etc., mas de como desatar nós. O Itamar Dias, de Catalão, GO, escreveu um verdadeiro tratado sobre nós. Não sobre eu e o Itamar, mas nós 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/6TZDazveLCYQTRTTucClgQkiuMQ/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/6TZDazveLCYQTRTTucClgQkiuMQ/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~4/yw-a58UPQr0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://www.querocontar.net/2012/02/nos-aos-montes.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ck8NQ307cCp7ImA9WhRbFUk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5122451.post-1339581892268955956</id><published>2012-02-06T13:08:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2012-02-06T13:08:12.308-02:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-02-06T13:08:12.308-02:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="piscinão" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="bigfral" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="fralda" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="fraldão" /><title>Ai, que calor!</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.querocontar.net/feeds/1339581892268955956/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5122451&amp;postID=1339581892268955956" title="2 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/1339581892268955956?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/1339581892268955956?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~3/vbWNjDbrH2Q/ai-que-calor.html" title="Ai, que calor!" /><author><name>Mario Persona</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YGZm1WrpjHY/TetrV8qy9JI/AAAAAAAAAtk/V9eUBCl996M/s1600/212013_642167119_1918265_n.jpg" /></author><thr:total>2</thr:total><content type="html">Nas três últimas noites passei muito calor, apesar do ventilador ligado. Então tive uma ideia que me refrescou bastante e pude dormir tranquilo, mas meu pai não gostou nem um pouco e ainda levei bronca.


Você já dormiu de fraldão descartável? Pois é, eu durmo todas as noites com um da marca Bigfral. Não é o mesmo todas as noites, claro. É sempre um limpinho. Não ganho gorjeta da fábrica por 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/UMmR7tPn0N_t5fghqFLm4B5Xckg/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/UMmR7tPn0N_t5fghqFLm4B5Xckg/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~4/vbWNjDbrH2Q" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://www.querocontar.net/2012/02/ai-que-calor.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUEEQX89eyp7ImA9WhRQGUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5122451.post-5342621652731194222</id><published>2011-12-15T10:53:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2011-12-15T10:53:20.163-02:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-15T10:53:20.163-02:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="O mundo sem ninguém" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="History Channel" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="tesouro" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="avós" /><title>O mundo sem ninguem</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.querocontar.net/feeds/5342621652731194222/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5122451&amp;postID=5342621652731194222" title="3 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/5342621652731194222?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/5342621652731194222?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~3/5qyST3aSFkg/o-mundo-sem-ninguem.html" title="O mundo sem ninguem" /><author><name>Mario Persona</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YGZm1WrpjHY/TetrV8qy9JI/AAAAAAAAAtk/V9eUBCl996M/s1600/212013_642167119_1918265_n.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Gy_aUwLmc8/Tunqa48r70I/AAAAAAAAA3o/xsaTkyraTW4/s72-c/casa+vila+claudia.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>3</thr:total><content type="html">Hoje meu pai saiu para fazer uma de suas raras caminhadas e descobriu que a cidade cresceu. Pelo menos foi a sensação dele, pois os lugares aonde ele costumava ir caminhando sem se cansar agora parecem estar bem mais longe.


Primeiro ele passou pelo cemitério para visitar o túmulo de meu avô e minha avó. Os restos mortais de meu avô estão ali desde janeiro de 1998 e os de minha avó desde 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/qoU3aAthzx6mB6KYCfqKcj9l6HY/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/qoU3aAthzx6mB6KYCfqKcj9l6HY/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~4/5qyST3aSFkg" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://www.querocontar.net/2011/12/o-mundo-sem-ninguem.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0cDRXY6eSp7ImA9WhRQEko.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5122451.post-5337046369976641859</id><published>2011-12-07T07:57:00.003-02:00</published><updated>2011-12-07T13:17:54.811-02:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-07T13:17:54.811-02:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="x-factor" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="simon" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="rachel crow" /><title>Show de choro</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.querocontar.net/feeds/5337046369976641859/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5122451&amp;postID=5337046369976641859" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/5337046369976641859?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/5337046369976641859?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~3/lYCT0yVk59Y/show-de-choro.html" title="Show de choro" /><author><name>Mario Persona</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YGZm1WrpjHY/TetrV8qy9JI/AAAAAAAAAtk/V9eUBCl996M/s1600/212013_642167119_1918265_n.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Meu pai adora sofrer. Como eu sei? Pelos programas de TV que gosta de ver. Ele não gosta de filme de pancadaria, high-school ou vampiros. Ele gosta mesmo de programa que faz chorar, seja filme, seja show. O importante é ter choro.
Por isso ele não podia perder o X-Factor, aquele programa de calouro daquele cara que é do contra, o Simon. Ontem passou o episódio que passou na semana anterior nos 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/eRPWw4eT8HRl8bY0M0Jl6Yn3FyM/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/eRPWw4eT8HRl8bY0M0Jl6Yn3FyM/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~4/lYCT0yVk59Y" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://www.querocontar.net/2011/12/show-de-choro.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEENSXY6fyp7ImA9WhRTFU0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5122451.post-7952233797799713141</id><published>2011-11-05T12:18:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2011-11-05T12:18:18.817-02:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-11-05T12:18:18.817-02:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="hereditária" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="cegueira" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="NOHL" /><title>Gente que faz acontecer</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.querocontar.net/feeds/7952233797799713141/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5122451&amp;postID=7952233797799713141" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/7952233797799713141?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/7952233797799713141?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~3/xYXPr2aiyoI/gente-que-faz-acontecer.html" title="Gente que faz acontecer" /><author><name>Mario Persona</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YGZm1WrpjHY/TetrV8qy9JI/AAAAAAAAAtk/V9eUBCl996M/s1600/212013_642167119_1918265_n.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Meu avô costumava contar a história de um empregado que ele teve, o qual tinha um irmão que perdeu as duas pernas vítima da diabete. Para dar banho no irmão o homem o colocava em uma cadeira de ferro e arrastava a cadeira no banheiro por não ter condições de comprar uma cadeira de banho. Aquilo inspirou meu avô, na época aposentado, a fazer cadeiras de rodas na oficina do quintal e dar para 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9knwFBn987Vc__2pVfDWUKJnldA/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9knwFBn987Vc__2pVfDWUKJnldA/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~4/xYXPr2aiyoI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://www.querocontar.net/2011/11/gente-que-faz-acontecer.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkcNSHYzeyp7ImA9WhdQFE0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5122451.post-1368404394691548684</id><published>2011-08-15T08:09:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2011-08-15T08:34:59.883-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-08-15T08:34:59.883-03:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Dia dos pais" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Bíblia" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="avós" /><title>O Dia dos Pais de meu pai</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.querocontar.net/feeds/1368404394691548684/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5122451&amp;postID=1368404394691548684" title="2 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/1368404394691548684?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/1368404394691548684?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~3/YrLa22zyVhA/o-dia-dos-pais-de-meu-pai.html" title="O Dia dos Pais de meu pai" /><author><name>Mario Persona</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YGZm1WrpjHY/TetrV8qy9JI/AAAAAAAAAtk/V9eUBCl996M/s1600/212013_642167119_1918265_n.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hgCCjJqasOE/Tkj9l_Xp3WI/AAAAAAAAAzE/1xBA3KbHTo4/s72-c/bible-old.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><content type="html">Meu pai aproveitou o Dia dos Pais para fazer uma faxina na estante do escritório. Mas como ele é muito curioso, a cada minuto parava para ver alguma coisa que encontrava em meio às toneladas de papel de apostilas de cursos e congressos que ia colocando no "cesto arquivo". 


Uma dessas paradas foi para folhear a velha Bíblia que pertenceu à minha avó. E quando eu digo velha, põe velha nisso! Não 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/KoFWskiPMmMhWB_s4fUWyweUJ3s/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/KoFWskiPMmMhWB_s4fUWyweUJ3s/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~4/YrLa22zyVhA" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://www.querocontar.net/2011/08/o-dia-dos-pais-de-meu-pai.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CE4DR3w-cCp7ImA9WhdTEU8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5122451.post-485317616345226277</id><published>2011-07-08T08:02:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2011-07-08T08:02:56.258-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-07-08T08:02:56.258-03:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="parto" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="paralisia cerebral" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="ajudar" /><title>Pessoas que ajudam, pessoas que atrapalham</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.querocontar.net/feeds/485317616345226277/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5122451&amp;postID=485317616345226277" title="3 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/485317616345226277?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/485317616345226277?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~3/1RedVVn4GX8/pessoas-que-ajudam-pessoas-que.html" title="Pessoas que ajudam, pessoas que atrapalham" /><author><name>Mario Persona</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YGZm1WrpjHY/TetrV8qy9JI/AAAAAAAAAtk/V9eUBCl996M/s1600/212013_642167119_1918265_n.jpg" /></author><thr:total>3</thr:total><content type="html">Você já deve ter ouvido falar de um montão de gente que ajuda portadores de deficiência. É, tem muita gente bacana por aí, que faz alguma coisa diretamente para alguém com necessidades especiais ou que já ajuda muito respeitando, visitando ou incentivando o progresso de garotos e garotas como eu.




Mas será que já ouviu falar de pessoas que atrapalham o portador de necessidades especiais? Tá 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/m13o6wXozC9FCAbHxroQOAb5neo/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/m13o6wXozC9FCAbHxroQOAb5neo/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~4/1RedVVn4GX8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://www.querocontar.net/2011/07/pessoas-que-ajudam-pessoas-que.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkMEQX88fSp7ImA9WhZUFE8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5122451.post-7932322731119565018</id><published>2011-06-07T01:20:00.008-03:00</published><updated>2011-06-07T01:20:00.175-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-06-07T01:20:00.175-03:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Dia dos namorados" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="amor" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Don Quixote" /><title>Dia dos enamorados</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.querocontar.net/feeds/7932322731119565018/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5122451&amp;postID=7932322731119565018" title="2 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/7932322731119565018?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/7932322731119565018?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~3/sCDSca0KBGg/dia-dos-enamorados.html" title="Dia dos enamorados" /><author><name>Mario Persona</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YGZm1WrpjHY/TetrV8qy9JI/AAAAAAAAAtk/V9eUBCl996M/s1600/212013_642167119_1918265_n.jpg" /></author><thr:total>2</thr:total><content type="html">
 Isso mesmo. Não escrevi errado não. É que  não tenho namorada e pode ser que você não tenha namorado. Espere. Não  estou insinuando nada não, só porque está chegando o DIA DOS NAMORADOS. É que inventei um dia para quem vive enamorado sem ter namorada ou namorado.
 

 Não entendeu? Então deixa eu explicar a razão de "Dia dos Enamorados" e não "Dia dos Namorados".  Bem, tem tanta coisa na vida 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/72HiZsjYj_L46SN0pK897f7dcNI/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/72HiZsjYj_L46SN0pK897f7dcNI/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~4/sCDSca0KBGg" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://www.querocontar.net/2011/06/dia-dos-enamorados.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkYARn07eSp7ImA9WhZXGEo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5122451.post-825266005198933775</id><published>2011-05-08T12:55:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2011-05-08T12:55:47.301-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-05-08T12:55:47.301-03:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="homenagem" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Dia das mães" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="filho" /><title>Ser filho e'...</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.querocontar.net/feeds/825266005198933775/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5122451&amp;postID=825266005198933775" title="2 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/825266005198933775?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/825266005198933775?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~3/TKSSx35_ph8/ser-filho-e.html" title="Ser filho e'..." /><author><name>Mario Persona</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YGZm1WrpjHY/TetrV8qy9JI/AAAAAAAAAtk/V9eUBCl996M/s1600/212013_642167119_1918265_n.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://img.youtube.com/vi/2cRCS7AoGEE/default.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><content type="html">Estamos acostumados a ler e a ouvir mensagens que falam o que é ser mãe. Mas o que é ser filho?



Ser filho é reconhecer que alguém tornou sua vida possível e se sacrificou para que você viesse a ser o que é.

Ser filho é lembrar que alguém se alegrou com suas vitórias e chorou com você em suas derrotas.

Ser filho é entender que aquela que tantas vezes lhe perdoou pode um dia precisar de perdão
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ZQGnaDyZvbBCBPUKX-45t6O1p04/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ZQGnaDyZvbBCBPUKX-45t6O1p04/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ZQGnaDyZvbBCBPUKX-45t6O1p04/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ZQGnaDyZvbBCBPUKX-45t6O1p04/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~4/TKSSx35_ph8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://www.querocontar.net/2011/05/ser-filho-e.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkEMQHs9eyp7ImA9WhZQEkk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5122451.post-181768115696891271</id><published>2011-04-19T17:24:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2011-04-19T17:24:41.563-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-04-19T17:24:41.563-03:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Jeremias" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="ovo" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="páscoa" /><title>O ovo de Jeremias</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.querocontar.net/feeds/181768115696891271/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5122451&amp;postID=181768115696891271" title="3 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/181768115696891271?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/181768115696891271?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~3/BO1TR_vJTzU/o-ovo-de-jeremias.html" title="O ovo de Jeremias" /><author><name>Mario Persona</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YGZm1WrpjHY/TetrV8qy9JI/AAAAAAAAAtk/V9eUBCl996M/s1600/212013_642167119_1918265_n.jpg" /></author><thr:total>3</thr:total><content type="html">Nesta época do ano é impossível meu pai não se lembrar do Daniel, quando vai ao supermercado. Danielzinho foi morar com Jesus em 1998, depois de ficar doente por alguns anos. Ele era fã de videogames e, um dia, ao entrar com sua mãe em um desses túneis de ovos de Páscoa num supermercado, olhou para a mãe e disse radiante: "Mamãe! Passamos de fase!"


A história de hoje é de outro garotinho que, 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/v5ntBBJQaBMAzvj6Ui9zonqqfaY/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/v5ntBBJQaBMAzvj6Ui9zonqqfaY/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~4/BO1TR_vJTzU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://www.querocontar.net/2011/04/o-ovo-de-jeremias.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0YCSHkzeyp7ImA9WhZRGUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5122451.post-7393687094969981572</id><published>2011-04-16T08:38:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2011-04-16T08:59:29.783-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-04-16T08:59:29.783-03:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="atirador" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Christina Aguilera" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Rio" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="realengo" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="bullying" /><title>I'm OK</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.querocontar.net/feeds/7393687094969981572/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5122451&amp;postID=7393687094969981572" title="4 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/7393687094969981572?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/7393687094969981572?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~3/IIMITiX-e8E/im-ok.html" title="I'm OK" /><author><name>Mario Persona</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YGZm1WrpjHY/TetrV8qy9JI/AAAAAAAAAtk/V9eUBCl996M/s1600/212013_642167119_1918265_n.jpg" /></author><thr:total>4</thr:total><content type="html">Acho que todo mundo ainda está chocado com a barbaridade cometida por um monstro assassino numa escola do Rio, não é mesmo? Coisa feia, gente! Nessas horas todo mundo fica discutindo o que causou aquilo, e as apostas estão altas nessa palavrinha inglesa que parece lugar de guardar café: bullying.


Sabe o que eu acho? Antes de tirar conclusões é melhor a gente perguntar pra quem nos criou, quero 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/k0QIzH8JyrpcTPYjHJ6muUMYxqM/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/k0QIzH8JyrpcTPYjHJ6muUMYxqM/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/k0QIzH8JyrpcTPYjHJ6muUMYxqM/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/k0QIzH8JyrpcTPYjHJ6muUMYxqM/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~4/IIMITiX-e8E" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://www.querocontar.net/2011/04/im-ok.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEEFRn8-eyp7ImA9WhZREks.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5122451.post-5145394954592909074</id><published>2011-04-08T08:49:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2011-04-08T09:43:37.153-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-04-08T09:43:37.153-03:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Columbine" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="massacre" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="realengo" /><title>Pronta para morrer</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.querocontar.net/feeds/5145394954592909074/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5122451&amp;postID=5145394954592909074" title="2 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/5145394954592909074?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/5145394954592909074?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~3/gen3j_nt77s/pronta-para-morrer.html" title="Pronta para morrer" /><author><name>Mario Persona</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YGZm1WrpjHY/TetrV8qy9JI/AAAAAAAAAtk/V9eUBCl996M/s1600/212013_642167119_1918265_n.jpg" /></author><thr:total>2</thr:total><content type="html">Hoje tem muita gente triste. Pais, amigos, irmãos, professoras... todo mundo perdeu algum amiguinho ou amiguinha na escola lá no Rio. Eu nem preciso descrever o que aconteceu lá, porque está em todos os jornais. O que não está em todos os jornais é por que algumas pessoas fazem coisas tão horríveis. Quando aconteceu o massacre naquela escola americana há mais de 10 anos, meu pai escreveu sobre 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/KL1DYE3vMcbuGexa47MhhJbkEWs/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/KL1DYE3vMcbuGexa47MhhJbkEWs/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/KL1DYE3vMcbuGexa47MhhJbkEWs/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/KL1DYE3vMcbuGexa47MhhJbkEWs/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~4/gen3j_nt77s" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://www.querocontar.net/2011/04/pronta-para-morrer.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUICQ3k5cCp7ImA9WhZTGUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5122451.post-2351999913519564984</id><published>2011-03-24T13:14:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2011-03-24T13:19:22.728-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-03-24T13:19:22.728-03:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="paralisia" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="exoesqueletos" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="paraplégicos" /><title>Exoesqueletos</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.querocontar.net/feeds/2351999913519564984/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5122451&amp;postID=2351999913519564984" title="2 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/2351999913519564984?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/2351999913519564984?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~3/nYtq83GYN8o/exoesqueletos.html" title="Exoesqueletos" /><author><name>Mario Persona</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YGZm1WrpjHY/TetrV8qy9JI/AAAAAAAAAtk/V9eUBCl996M/s1600/212013_642167119_1918265_n.jpg" /></author><thr:total>2</thr:total><content type="html">Eu tenho um certo grau de paralisia cerebral, mas não tenho paralisia nos membros. Enquanto meu cérebro é de certo modo "paralítico", meus membros sofrem apenas de problemas de atrofia e também de coordenação motora, que é uma consequência da paralisia cerebral.

Mas eu sinto normalmente estímulos em todos os meus membros, ao contrário de muita gente que sofre de paralisia, como os paraplégicos e
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/iegCGTAJgganRX0Zy_Zq7tbkZsQ/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/iegCGTAJgganRX0Zy_Zq7tbkZsQ/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/iegCGTAJgganRX0Zy_Zq7tbkZsQ/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/iegCGTAJgganRX0Zy_Zq7tbkZsQ/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~4/nYtq83GYN8o" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://www.querocontar.net/2011/03/exoesqueletos.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0QHQnw5eip7ImA9WhZTEU0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5122451.post-5492393270713024494</id><published>2011-03-14T10:27:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2011-03-14T10:28:53.222-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-03-14T10:28:53.222-03:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="deficiente físico" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="cadeirante" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="cadeira de rodas" /><title>DEScontrole de qualidade</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.querocontar.net/feeds/5492393270713024494/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5122451&amp;postID=5492393270713024494" title="6 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/5492393270713024494?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/5492393270713024494?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~3/SD5pcXDB3bo/descontrole-de-qualidade.html" title="DEScontrole de qualidade" /><author><name>Mario Persona</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YGZm1WrpjHY/TetrV8qy9JI/AAAAAAAAAtk/V9eUBCl996M/s1600/212013_642167119_1918265_n.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-ihN5WTKMEfk/TX4OWMruUEI/AAAAAAAAAqI/9IdX5WXHeXw/s72-c/PIC_0277.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>6</thr:total><content type="html">Já contei para você que meu pai é palestrante? Que faz palestras e treinamentos de um monte de temas, inclusive qualidade no atendimento ao cliente? Não se preocupe não, isso não é propaganda dele... bem só um pouquinho. Mas tem tudo a ver com o que eu quero contar.


Considerando que, além de palestrante, ele também é escritor, meu pai seria a última pessoa que você iria querer deixar 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/sZSfoOyuCMFiarbe0IiH8SnzIrw/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/sZSfoOyuCMFiarbe0IiH8SnzIrw/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/sZSfoOyuCMFiarbe0IiH8SnzIrw/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/sZSfoOyuCMFiarbe0IiH8SnzIrw/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~4/SD5pcXDB3bo" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://www.querocontar.net/2011/03/descontrole-de-qualidade.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkcGQXg4cSp7ImA9Wx9aF0s.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5122451.post-426418370085876238</id><published>2011-03-10T09:27:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2011-03-10T09:27:00.639-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-03-10T09:27:00.639-03:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Covabra" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="vaga preferencial" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="idosos" /><title>Fonte da juventude</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.querocontar.net/feeds/426418370085876238/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5122451&amp;postID=426418370085876238" title="3 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/426418370085876238?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/426418370085876238?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~3/eLwwQ64UnTQ/fonte-da-juventude.html" title="Fonte da juventude" /><author><name>Mario Persona</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YGZm1WrpjHY/TetrV8qy9JI/AAAAAAAAAtk/V9eUBCl996M/s1600/212013_642167119_1918265_n.jpg" /></author><thr:total>3</thr:total><content type="html">Outro dia contei a história de meu pai em Nova Iorque. Você não leu?!! Então leia neste link, porque o assunto é parecido. Só que desta vez aconteceu em outra cidade, quase tão famosa quanto New York. Estou falando de Limeira, a cidade onde eu moro.


Meu pai foi fazer compras no supermercado novo da rede Covabra, que ficou lindão. Meu pai ficou impressionado com as vagas para deficientes e 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/YZbdwZHr-OPlT5pDfpRPaKv3BBA/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/YZbdwZHr-OPlT5pDfpRPaKv3BBA/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/YZbdwZHr-OPlT5pDfpRPaKv3BBA/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/YZbdwZHr-OPlT5pDfpRPaKv3BBA/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~4/eLwwQ64UnTQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://www.querocontar.net/2011/03/fonte-da-juventude.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkcFQXk7fyp7ImA9Wx9aE08.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5122451.post-5217432686715298523</id><published>2011-03-05T09:26:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2011-03-05T09:26:50.707-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-03-05T09:26:50.707-03:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="New York" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Starbucks" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Frank Sinatra" /><title>New York, New York</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.querocontar.net/feeds/5217432686715298523/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5122451&amp;postID=5217432686715298523" title="1 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/5217432686715298523?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/5217432686715298523?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~3/ceo2Xyuo56c/new-york-new-york.html" title="New York, New York" /><author><name>Mario Persona</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YGZm1WrpjHY/TetrV8qy9JI/AAAAAAAAAtk/V9eUBCl996M/s1600/212013_642167119_1918265_n.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/_pAUS1tVF17g/RoAWZoTIARI/AAAAAAAACYY/vbB5gLBQ2k4/s72-c/Broadway%20053%20%28Medium%29.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html">Quando o Frank Sinatra cantava de New York, "If I can make it there, I'll make it anywhere" ("Se eu puder fazer ali, farei em qualquer lugar"), ele não estava pensando em coisa errada, né?



Outro dia meu pai estava na "Big Apple". Não, ele não estava comendo uma maçã grandona, ele estava em Nova Iorque com minha irmã que ia levar meu sobrinho Luke ao médico.


Depois de engolirem uma pizza às 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Jy7OnhI2gxpK2BxDCC3fX9QBVNw/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Jy7OnhI2gxpK2BxDCC3fX9QBVNw/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Jy7OnhI2gxpK2BxDCC3fX9QBVNw/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Jy7OnhI2gxpK2BxDCC3fX9QBVNw/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~4/ceo2Xyuo56c" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://www.querocontar.net/2011/03/new-york-new-york.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A04EQXg4eSp7ImA9Wx9UGUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5122451.post-7441472296171161490</id><published>2011-02-17T14:25:00.002-02:00</published><updated>2011-02-17T14:25:00.631-02:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-02-17T14:25:00.631-02:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="terceira idade" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="idosos" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="orfanato" /><title>Depende do ponto de vista</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.querocontar.net/feeds/7441472296171161490/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5122451&amp;postID=7441472296171161490" title="2 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/7441472296171161490?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/7441472296171161490?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~3/ItGGUAsswoY/depende-do-ponto-de-vista.html" title="Depende do ponto de vista" /><author><name>Mario Persona</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YGZm1WrpjHY/TetrV8qy9JI/AAAAAAAAAtk/V9eUBCl996M/s1600/212013_642167119_1918265_n.jpg" /></author><thr:total>2</thr:total><content type="html">Meu pai anda super ocupado e meu blog  fica às moscas. Ou seria às traças? Tudo bem, você entendeu o que eu  quis dizer. Eu sei que ele está sempre correndo de lá para cá, que para atender seus  compromissos está fazendo das tripas coração. Só me preocupa se ele  fizer do coração tripas. Aí a coisa enrosca.




Mas tudo bem, eu vou  ajudando do jeito que posso. Aliás, eu ajudo um bocado nesta 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/GdNpMYJE0_wIcLAjkDgmQC2F9yI/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/GdNpMYJE0_wIcLAjkDgmQC2F9yI/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/GdNpMYJE0_wIcLAjkDgmQC2F9yI/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/GdNpMYJE0_wIcLAjkDgmQC2F9yI/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~4/ItGGUAsswoY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://www.querocontar.net/2011/02/depende-do-ponto-de-vista.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkEDRn48eSp7ImA9Wx9UEEw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5122451.post-3892192251958500050</id><published>2011-02-06T16:57:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2011-02-06T16:57:57.071-02:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-02-06T16:57:57.071-02:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="infância" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="inutilidade" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Rubem Alves" /><title>A inutilidade da infancia</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.querocontar.net/feeds/3892192251958500050/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5122451&amp;postID=3892192251958500050" title="1 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/3892192251958500050?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/3892192251958500050?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~3/du2DBENFDbw/inutilidade-da-infancia.html" title="A inutilidade da infancia" /><author><name>Mario Persona</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YGZm1WrpjHY/TetrV8qy9JI/AAAAAAAAAtk/V9eUBCl996M/s1600/212013_642167119_1918265_n.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html">Meu pai recebeu de  alguém a indicação para ler um texto do Rubem Alves. É, esse mesmo, você  já ouviu falar. O homem escreve que é uma barbaridade de bom. É uma  crônica falando da inutilidade da infância e, de tabela, da inutilidade  de pessoas como eu.


Assustou? Não se  preocupe. Rubem Alves não vai falar de mim não, e nem de qualquer  criança ou pessoa portadora de deficiências ou com 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/SSsQQGEv-iEICymcQ8lhwrtesFk/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/SSsQQGEv-iEICymcQ8lhwrtesFk/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/SSsQQGEv-iEICymcQ8lhwrtesFk/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/SSsQQGEv-iEICymcQ8lhwrtesFk/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~4/du2DBENFDbw" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://www.querocontar.net/2011/02/inutilidade-da-infancia.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0MHRXg5fCp7ImA9Wx9XEUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5122451.post-5052419007511848083</id><published>2011-01-04T16:23:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2011-01-04T16:23:54.624-02:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-01-04T16:23:54.624-02:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="embrião" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="aborto" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="feto" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="célula tronco" /><title>O que voce faria comigo?</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.querocontar.net/feeds/5052419007511848083/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5122451&amp;postID=5052419007511848083" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/5052419007511848083?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/5052419007511848083?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~3/1XoD8fL9J24/o-que-voce-faria-comigo.html" title="O que voce faria comigo?" /><author><name>Mario Persona</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YGZm1WrpjHY/TetrV8qy9JI/AAAAAAAAAtk/V9eUBCl996M/s1600/212013_642167119_1918265_n.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Outro dia meu pai assistiu "A Casa Caiu", com Steve Martin. O ator faz o papel de um  advogado que conhece uma mulher na Internet e a convida para jantar em  sua casa. Só que, quando ela chega, não é nada do que ele esperava! A  dona é uma presidiária que fugiu e o advogado quer mais é se livrar  dela. E eu? O que você faria comigo?



Estou perguntando  porque você também me conheceu pela 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/PiyeqW6JDbStzmC9wlN5aLIqfm8/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/PiyeqW6JDbStzmC9wlN5aLIqfm8/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/PiyeqW6JDbStzmC9wlN5aLIqfm8/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/PiyeqW6JDbStzmC9wlN5aLIqfm8/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~4/1XoD8fL9J24" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://www.querocontar.net/2011/01/o-que-voce-faria-comigo.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkQBQXs5cSp7ImA9Wx9REks.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5122451.post-5327328488692520089</id><published>2010-12-13T17:25:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2010-12-13T17:25:50.529-02:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-12-13T17:25:50.529-02:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="João Carlos Martins" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Osmar Santos" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="João do Pulo" /><title>Medroso! Medroso! Medroso!...</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.querocontar.net/feeds/5327328488692520089/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5122451&amp;postID=5327328488692520089" title="1 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/5327328488692520089?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/5327328488692520089?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~3/0yp_0pO3bnw/medroso-medroso-medroso.html" title="Medroso! Medroso! Medroso!..." /><author><name>Mario Persona</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YGZm1WrpjHY/TetrV8qy9JI/AAAAAAAAAtk/V9eUBCl996M/s1600/212013_642167119_1918265_n.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html">Meu pai é um medroso.  Só pode ser. Perder uma oportunidade dessas?! Ah, eu conto, sim, vou  contar, quero contar! Sabe o que? Que meu pai foi dar uma palestra em  Foz do Iguaçu e encontrou lá o Osmar Santos expondo seus quadros.  Encontrou é modo de dizer. Sabe o que aconteceu? Nada.



Isso mesmo, nada! Meu  pai viu o cara, viu os quadros e ficou nisso. Você sabe, o Osmar Santos,  aquele que 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/T47xSaIBw7xbeVvec8UtKfX89Z0/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/T47xSaIBw7xbeVvec8UtKfX89Z0/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/T47xSaIBw7xbeVvec8UtKfX89Z0/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/T47xSaIBw7xbeVvec8UtKfX89Z0/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~4/0yp_0pO3bnw" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://www.querocontar.net/2010/12/medroso-medroso-medroso.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkcAQXg_eyp7ImA9Wx9TF0Q.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5122451.post-8180579546130686204</id><published>2010-11-26T15:54:00.001-02:00</published><updated>2010-11-26T15:54:00.643-02:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-11-26T15:54:00.643-02:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="velório" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="aniversário" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="agridoce" /><title>Vida agridoce</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.querocontar.net/feeds/8180579546130686204/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5122451&amp;postID=8180579546130686204" title="1 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/8180579546130686204?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/8180579546130686204?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~3/37C7UW1wK-U/vida-agridoce.html" title="Vida agridoce" /><author><name>Mario Persona</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YGZm1WrpjHY/TetrV8qy9JI/AAAAAAAAAtk/V9eUBCl996M/s1600/212013_642167119_1918265_n.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html">Estou de volta. Não sem  deixar à mostra as marcas dos pedaços, porque é assim que a gente faz.  Vai juntando os pedacinhos, reconstruindo, passando uma colinha aqui,  uma fita crepe ali, um cimentinho acolá... É um monta e desmonta, porque  a vida é agridoce.
 


Outro dia contei de nosso momento amargo, com a partida da vovó.  Mas foi, ao mesmo tempo, um momento doce, porque agora ela está com
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9wfpJ-MMe9A5_pd1A7ZqMhdVtBU/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9wfpJ-MMe9A5_pd1A7ZqMhdVtBU/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9wfpJ-MMe9A5_pd1A7ZqMhdVtBU/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9wfpJ-MMe9A5_pd1A7ZqMhdVtBU/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~4/37C7UW1wK-U" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://www.querocontar.net/2010/11/vida-agridoce.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUUMQXw5cCp7ImA9Wx5aEkQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5122451.post-2979213533135657340</id><published>2010-11-09T08:08:00.001-02:00</published><updated>2010-11-09T08:08:00.228-02:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-11-09T08:08:00.228-02:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="vovó" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="céu" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="salvação" /><title>Um dia diferente</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.querocontar.net/feeds/2979213533135657340/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5122451&amp;postID=2979213533135657340" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/2979213533135657340?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/2979213533135657340?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~3/7oez0YVSVhs/um-dia-diferente.html" title="Um dia diferente" /><author><name>Mario Persona</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YGZm1WrpjHY/TetrV8qy9JI/AAAAAAAAAtk/V9eUBCl996M/s1600/212013_642167119_1918265_n.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">O dia 16 de  fevereiro de 2005, foi diferente. Um dia desses que ficam bem  marcadinhos na memória da gente, um dia de alegria e tristeza. Foi nesse  dia que vovó fez a viagem que ela mais queria e aguardava com alegria.  Foi nesse dia que uma triste saudade nos invadiu, mesmo sabendo que não  seria um "adeus", mas um "até breve". Foi nesse dia que avovó foi para o céu.

Eu já falei do vovô aqui,
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/_hJjJA-6El9WHt3cvrhHj8Dpptk/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/_hJjJA-6El9WHt3cvrhHj8Dpptk/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~4/7oez0YVSVhs" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://www.querocontar.net/2010/11/um-dia-diferente.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0QFQHw4cCp7ImA9Wx5bEE8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5122451.post-6579431165324988347</id><published>2010-10-25T13:41:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2010-10-25T13:41:51.238-02:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-10-25T13:41:51.238-02:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="deficiência" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="deficiente" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="invalidez" /><title>Invalidez</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.querocontar.net/feeds/6579431165324988347/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5122451&amp;postID=6579431165324988347" title="1 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/6579431165324988347?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/6579431165324988347?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~3/DxY7bsTqHUc/invalidez.html" title="Invalidez" /><author><name>Mario Persona</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YGZm1WrpjHY/TetrV8qy9JI/AAAAAAAAAtk/V9eUBCl996M/s1600/212013_642167119_1918265_n.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html">Geralmente pessoas como eu são chamadas de inválidas. Mas o que é um inválido? Alguém que não vale nada? Ou alguém que não vale para certas coisas, mas vale para outras? Bem, neste sentido somos todos inválidos, porque sempre temos algum tipo de deficiência. Meu pai encontrou um texto muito bom sobre invalidez e vou deixar ele postar aqui. É, de vez em quando eu faço algum favor para ele...



&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/bpefOsqgg7GvYVxp_dKFY5B3n90/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/bpefOsqgg7GvYVxp_dKFY5B3n90/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/bpefOsqgg7GvYVxp_dKFY5B3n90/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/bpefOsqgg7GvYVxp_dKFY5B3n90/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~4/DxY7bsTqHUc" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://www.querocontar.net/2010/10/invalidez.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkYCR3w_eCp7ImA9Wx9TFU4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5122451.post-6560848970503366789</id><published>2010-10-20T15:47:00.001-02:00</published><updated>2010-11-23T16:49:26.240-02:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-11-23T16:49:26.240-02:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="cama" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="acessibilidade" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="piso" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="deficiente" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="banheiro" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="acidentes" /><title>Agora tenho uma marca pessoal</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.querocontar.net/feeds/6560848970503366789/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5122451&amp;postID=6560848970503366789" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/6560848970503366789?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5122451/posts/default/6560848970503366789?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~3/t-zBz9ZOFQU/agora-tenho-uma-marca-pessoal.html" title="Agora tenho uma marca pessoal" /><author><name>Mario Persona</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YGZm1WrpjHY/TetrV8qy9JI/AAAAAAAAAtk/V9eUBCl996M/s1600/212013_642167119_1918265_n.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html"> 
Você tem uma marca? Eu  tenho. Ganhei esta semana e agora estou parecendo até produto de luxo,  desses que têm marca. Bem, mas não é exatamente a marca que você está  pensando...


Não se assuste com minha cara não. Não doeu quase nada. É que na foto eu tinha acabado de acordar. É sono mesmo.A  marca que ganhei é na testa, logo acima da sobrancelha direita. Não  precisei contratar nenhuma 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/_vyCaO0FcOlwub4jpPxHlUnJg4U/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/_vyCaO0FcOlwub4jpPxHlUnJg4U/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/NdbM/~4/t-zBz9ZOFQU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://www.querocontar.net/2010/10/agora-tenho-uma-marca-pessoal.html</feedburner:origLink></entry></feed>

