Unusual Dining Room Furniture

I have a very unusual antique wood chair that has a carved gothic face on it. I would like to know what type of chair this is.
It is made of wood like a dining room table chair with carved legs, arms and back. Can anyone tell me some where I can email a picture to find out more? Thanks!

http://www.bathantiquesonline.com/antiqu e-appraisals/antique-appraisal.htm

http://www.kovels.com/

http://www.crawforddirect.com/worth.html

2007-10-24 12:33:30 by Jett

www.spacify.com Spacify offers black dining room tables, modern glass top dining tables, modern italian dining tables, extension dining tables and ...

i think shes posessed by demons for a few reasons

how do i deal with a posessed person, can someone email me or get in contact with me so i can explain everything

* 33 minutes ago
* - 4 days left to answer.

Additional Details
i dont know what to do, is there someone here who can help me get through the day, each day and tell me whats what and help sort through these problems.
my sister is abusive to me and i am beign severely victimized to a point where i dont even know what she does is wrong anymore. i am weekened and allowing myself to be victimized and i have no one in my life, no friends.
i have no one to turn to.
my entire family has turned on me and acts hateful and they have become abusive.
one person in particular, my younger sister whos 19 is home from college and shes terrorizing me, she beats me every day, physically abuses me and swats at me trying to hit me if i try to walk past her or enter a room shes in, she screams at me and makes monkey noises and animal noises to me, she curses at me 50 times a day and puts me down and screams at me.
i have life threatening health problems im trying to heal from, i cannot walk well either,i have moblity trouble but i care for myself. i cannot work and im sick and need to focus on my health.i am afraid ill die because its serious, so i have a right to stay with family since theres no where else im comfortable..
i have nowhere to go
my sister torments me daily, she does not want to stop no matter how many times i try to tell her to..she screams daily and gets violent.she follows me around the house making sure she hits me.i have a debilitating bone structure injury, a back injury and chronic severe pain i have daily.so the hitting makes pain worse
and its interrupting my healing from the injuries if the bones are getting hit
my sister also breaks furniture and does things infront of me to get me upset such as she tries to shake the dining room table and tries to break it
she does something unusual with her eyes, and she follows me around saying demon demon demon
she chants and does not act like herself.
shes unusually severely violent...she smiles at misfortunes and she wastes all my energy, i feel like she sucks the life out of me.
i dont realize i dont have a right to be treated like this,
i feel like its ok, i dont know why, maybe victim mentallity
also she does strange things, she predicts things that happen in the world.she tells me personal things about me to my face that i told no one. she tells me nightmares i have at night and daydreams and stuff i imagined in my head, she tells me outloud and she tells parts of conversation i have with others, she says them outloud when theres no way she heard the conversation because she wasnt there.
she tells me deep personal things about me i told no one
she also claims to have witnesses the bible events firsthand and keeps refering to herself as a man and her voice is different
i am thinking shes posessed
but either way shes abusing me and i need to find out how to deal with that
i am older then her and i should stand up to her but i dont know how since im always sick, tired and in pain all the time and have trouble walking... she says i look vulnerable so i cant protect myself
why is she doing this to me, could she be possessed?
why does she say unusual things such as private conversation i have with people she dosnt know, she repeats word for word to me peices of the conversation
she does strange things with her eyes
i dont know if shes mentally ill, she did see a psychologist and psychiatrist and they said shes not mentally ill, they told her she has social anxiety only
she does not take drugs, she does not have neurological problems
i cant figure out why shes like this. but either way how do i protect myself from abuse

* 31 minutes ago
* - 4 days left to answer.

Additional Details
i tried calling the cops and they never believe me because its my parents house

i dont want to get into anything messy, i dont want social services.

does anyone here have email i can send questions too

go to school councelor and tell them how awful it is and you want to be put in foster care they will do this and you will be gone from this mess.

2009-06-10 20:13:08 by Peggy

Price: $663.00 $651.48

i dont know what to do, is there someone here who can help me get through the day, each day and tell me whats what and help sort through these problems.
my sister is abusive to me and i am beign severely victimized to a point where i dont even know what she does is wrong anymore. i am weekened and allowing myself to be victimized and i have no one in my life, no friends.
i have no one to turn to.
my entire family has turned on me and acts hateful and they have become abusive.
one person in particular, my younger sister whos 19 is home from college and shes terrorizing me, she beats me every day, physically abuses me and swats at me trying to hit me if i try to walk past her or enter a room shes in, she screams at me and makes monkey noises and animal noises to me, she curses at me 50 times a day and puts me down and screams at me.
i have life threatening health problems im trying to heal from, i cannot walk well either,i have moblity trouble but i care for myself. i cannot work and im sick and need to focus on my health.i am afraid ill die because its serious, so i have a right to stay with family since theres no where else im comfortable..
i have nowhere to go
my sister torments me daily, she does not want to stop no matter how many times i try to tell her to..she screams daily and gets violent.she follows me around the house making sure she hits me.i have a debilitating bone structure injury, a back injury and chronic severe pain i have daily.so the hitting makes pain worse
and its interrupting my healing from the injuries if the bones are getting hit
my sister also breaks furniture and does things infront of me to get me upset such as she tries to shake the dining room table and tries to break it
she does something unusual with her eyes, and she follows me around saying demon demon demon
she chants and does not act like herself.
shes unusually severely violent...she smiles at misfortunes and she wastes all my energy, i feel like she sucks the life out of me.
i dont realize i dont have a right to be treated like this,
i feel like its ok, i dont know why, maybe victim mentallity
also she does strange things, she predicts things that happen in the world.she tells me personal things about me to my face that i told no one. she tells me nightmares i have at night and daydreams and stuff i imagined in my head, she tells me outloud and she tells parts of conversation i have with others, she says them outloud when theres no way she heard the conversation because she wasnt there.
she tells me deep personal things about me i told no one
she also claims to have witnesses the bible events firsthand and keeps refering to herself as a man and her voice is different
i am thinking shes posessed
but either way shes abusing me and i need to find out how to deal with that
i am older then her and i should stand up to her but i dont know how since im always sick, tired and in pain all the time and have trouble walking... she says i look vulnerable so i cant protect myself
why is she doing this to me, could she be possessed?
why does she say unusual things such as private conversation i have with people she dosnt know, she repeats word for word to me peices of the conversation
she does strange things with her eyes
i dont know if shes mentally ill, she did see a psychologist and psychiatrist and they said shes not mentally ill, they told her she has social anxiety only
she does not take drugs, she does not have neurological problems
i cant figure out why shes like this. but either way how do i protect myself from abuse
i tried calling the cops and they never believe me because its my parents house

i dont want to get into anything messy, i dont want social services.

You need to go to a hospice where you can rest and get better. Look in the blue pages of your phone book. Your family sounds like a REALLY bad situation and you are being made the scapegoat. If you need to call a suicide prevention line and maybe they will have a number for free housing for the ill. Don't be surprised though if they are nasty. Most suicide hotlines are. It's nothing personal.

2009-06-10 18:46:32 by Jenn D

Price: $439.99 $608.83

Dimensions: 45"W x 55"L x 16-3/4"H
Complete this Coffee Table With Matching End Table And Sofa Table
Kidney Shaped Glass Occasional Coffee Table

Hello. My name is Michelle and I think I might suffer from minor OCD. I'm fourteen, and I've always been a bit of a germiphobe by nature, and a neat-freak as a child (my toys would remain in the packages for as long as possible, and I would re-package them each time they were used), but I grew out of my quirks for the most part, until about two years ago, when my "tendencies" truly begain to develop. For the most part, it's an unreasonable aversion to germs. At first I would simply wash my hands more often and pay attention to what I touched, but recently I've been carrying a bottle of hand sanitizer with me everywhere I go. I wash my hands more often then necessary, and after a certain amount of time between doing so, I'll begin to get panicky, as I simply FEEL as if my hands are dirty, whether I've touched anything or not. Before touching my face, clothes, hair, laptop or ipod among other valuables, food, or eating utensils, I insist upon rinsing the hands or finger that touched anything, even a recently cleaned countertop, since the last time my hands were washed. The aggravation and irritation caused by the illusion of the presence of germs goes much farther than this, though. In the past year, I've been unable to sit the chairs and couches in my own home. While my family watches television in the living room, I sit on the floor, repulsed by the idea of the soft couch having been previously occupied. I understand that the carpeting is likely more filthy than the dining room chairs or living room sofas, but I am oddly more confortable there, mentally. I wash the dining room chairs and table, and the coffee table, when I eat there, although I am generally the last to have used either, and knowing that it had been cleaned since. If I'm at a friend's or family member's house, I often feel incredibly uncomfortable in their furniture, which can be distracting. I avoid eating food touched by others, and pay attention to those cooking to ensure that they wash their hands and touch little other than the food itself, and otherwise excuse myself from eating. I babysit often, and have trouble touching the children without hurrying to the sink directly afterwards. I'm overpaid for the most part, due to the fact that the parents, no matter how much time I devote to their child, return home to a clean and tidy house. I can hardly stand idly by in a mess, and find myself rearranging, organizing, and sorting whatever might be lying around. I clean tables and chairs, sometimes the floor, as a habit of stress. At first, the idea of OCD was a joke used by my friends as they watched my apply and reaply hand sanitzer and lotion, but as they noticed it becoming more apparent, they began to take the idea more seriously, and so did I. I assume that it's a minor case, I don't insist on certain numbers or animals being unlucky, or sterilize everything I touch, but I'm pretty sure that something's wrong. I'm not entirely sure how to bring it up with my mother, she agrees that my tendencies are aggravating and unusual, but I wonder if it might help to see a doctor. At the same time, I doubt anything can be done. I can't imagine not minding the idea of germs, but if you could supply me with more information, that would be wonderful. These tendencies are interfering with my life, making me feel uncomfortable and self-conscious, forcing me out of performing certain tasks, and adding tense and stress to my life. Could I have OCD? What should I do? What might have caused this? Any imput is greatly appreciated, questions will be answered as soon as possible. Thanks.

Yes you could have COD.

OCD can be related to anxiety-- and you said that things get worse when you get in a panic. You should seek some therapy to help you develop some healthier coping skills to deal with the anxiety.

And even if you remain somewhat of a neat freak or germaphobe, it's ok, but when the symptoms of that take over your life, it's time to get some help.

Also, there are some medications that can help you, too, if your doctor thinks it's necessary.

2010-04-17 18:29:12 by michelle.alexandra

Ok, so first I describe the city of Chicago and then there is a scene featuring the guy who saves her. He's at work (he's a special cop) and he's told to look out for her. Here's the next scene:

“Reagan! Hurry up or you’ll be late!”
I sighed and put a Q-tip under the tap and then quickly withdrew my hand as the water splashed a little onto my skin. It was hot! I shook my hand that the water had hit and then wiped the bit of eyeliner that mother’s yelling had caused me to ruin. I started over and drew a thin line. Then I quickly finished with mascara and put my makeup away in the drawer of my on suite bathroom.
My sweater vest for my school uniform sat on my bed, ready for it. I popped it over my head and quickly fixed my hair in the mirror on my vanity. And then I trouped down stairs to the dining room of the large penthouse that my mother and I lived in.
She sat at the table, platters and dishes of breakfast set before her, all made by our live-in housekeeper. She had the Tribune open to the society pages, folded along the ceases backwards to show a large picture of mother at one of her makeup gala events at Neiman & Marcus on Michigan.
Everyone said that Mother and I looked alike. I had to admit that they were right. My mother was pretty. She had blonde hair, dyed to be rid of grays, that was either worn in curls around her cheeks or back into a tight bun for business, as it was today. Her face was round, her eyes a rich shade of brown. She was of average height, built well for her age of forty-five. She really showed that anti-aging products worked, along with the occasional shot of Botox of course.
I was on the short side, only about five three. My body was crafted like hers but without the curves of childbearing and birth. My hair was blonde as well but I wore it a bit longer, to my shoulders and I defined my waves into soft curls. My face was a little more square than hers but with similar features. The only main difference between us was the I had my father’s green eyes. An unusual color and even more unusual shade of that color as they weren’t moss green or gray green or even blue green, but green green, the color of traffic lights or spring grass.
Taking a seat at the table, I grabbed a plate and began topping it with food. Mama watched in horror as I put a pasty, croissant, apple, some strawberries and a sticky bun onto the plate. She reached over and removed the sticky bun.
“Mama!” I gasped.
She glared at me over her reading glasses. “Too many carbs in the morning aren’t good for you. Fruit has a lot of natural sugar too, you know.” She took the apple away as well.
“Mama,” I protested, “I don’t need to watch what I eat. I’m not fat.”
“This is why. I watch what you eat even if you don’t.”
I scowled at her.
With a sigh, she looked down at her Rolex. Her eyes widened at the time. “Oh, you’d better hurry or else you will be late.”
After stuffing the rest of the croissant into my mouth, I grabbed the apple off the plate and left the dining room.
With my bag over my shoulder, my feet in my boots and my Burberry trench coat on my back, I headed out of the apartment. Bernard, our weekday doorman, smiled at me and held the glass door open as I exited and headed out into the streets of hustling and bustling downtown Chicago.
Even though Mama insisted that I take a car and driver, I much preferred walking to school. I absolutely loved downtown Chicago. My walk to school took me up near Oak Street, a timely walk from where I lived by the river, near Michigan. But I liked it.
The world was waking up. On Michigan the shops were opening, the restaurants on the side streets putting out their patio furniture and people milling about on their way to work, or just out enjoying the weather while it lasted. Being the beginning of September, the summer heat was trying to hold on, but it was being pushed away by winds blowing in from Green Bay. Today is was cool enough to wear a jacket, but still rather pleasant.
I headed past the John Hancock centre with the Cheesecake Factory in the basement, with the ditch before the building opening up to reveal the restaurant with over-priced desserts along with some other shops. There was a girl in the waitress uniform washing last’s night’s rain for the outdoor tables.
The beach came into view and I cut left, west, down Oak. I headed past Bravo and towards Prada when I felt a firm hand on my shoulder. Expecting a friend or lost tourist, I spun around. I didn’t get either.
In my face was a gun. It was small, perhaps a pistol or revolver. I couldn’t tell for I was not good with guns nor was I thinking about anything but the fact that there was a gun in my face!
Instinctively, I put my hands up like a convicted felon. I was shaking in my bones, fear swarming like bees inside of me. I couldn’t move or speak or even breathe. I managed to swallow and tears spilled from my eyes.
“Now you listen,” the man behind the gun said. He was young, too young I thought to be holding a gun. It dominated him, even with its small size. He had dark hair that grew in curls around his face. His eyes were a simple dirt brown color, but angry inside. He wore a white suit with a purple shirt beneath, very feminine I noted. Silly of me to note such things when a bullet was less than a second from possibly shattering my skull. His brows were extremely unruly and thick, giving him a caveman appearance who dressed like a girl.
He went on, “If you do what I say, I won’t hurt you. You understand?”
I couldn’t speak. My tongue was like cotton. Like those cotton balls, thick and fluffy.
“I asked you a question!” he shouted.
“Yes!” I cried. Tears pooled down my cheeks, surely ruining my makeup. My stomach felt sick and my knees were weaker than after running all the way home from first base.
One of my great hobbies was watching primetime TV. I loved crime shows especially. CSI, CSI: NY, NCSI, Without a Trace, were some of my favorites. I had see so many times when people were shot and killed, so many female victims. Every time something could have been done to prevent the death of said victim. But I couldn’t think. My mind wasn’t working properly. But I could do the simple math in my mind. There was no one around Oak Street this early, not even a damn car drove by! I could scream, but the time it would take for a scream to muster in my throat and then people to come was much greater than the time it would take him to pull the trigger plus the amount of time it took a bullet to travel from the barrel to and likely through, my skull. The odds were not in my favor.
“Do you want my purse?” I tried, thinking of anything. “I’ll give you my wallet, my debt card, my jewelry! Just please…”
“Shut up!” he shouted. “Don’t say another word, you little-“
“Hey! Put down the gun and get away from her!”
My attacker spun around, the gun taken from my face and pointed in the opposite direction.
Standing on the sidewalk, some feet away, was a man. He had orange hair, was young, of average height and build, wore a suit and was holding a gun at the man who had pointed the gun in my face. His face was hardened and he wore an expression of anger and justice that made me feel much better about the entire situation. At least a little.
“I’ll kill her!” My attacker pointed the gun back in my face. I panicked again and froze, near sobbing without trying to move a muscle. I was only eighteen, a senior in my fifth year of high school. I was too young to get shot and killed in the street. Images of my mother and friends around my body, blood seeping from my skull, crying and sobbing, filled my mind and made me even more upset and ragged. I started to sob. “Shut the hell up!” the guy yelled.
The cop, or whatever he was-my savoir, took a steps towards the villain. “Put down the gun,” he said slowly.
My attacker let out an angry growl and stepped towards me, pressing the barrel against my temple. My body shook violently. If he didn’t shoot me, I was certain I would die of fright anyways. I was surely going to vomit. I couldn’t die! I had yet to go to the world series, to fall into true love, to even go to post-secondary school, to-
Bang!
The sound of the gunshot racked my body, sending tremors up and down my spinal cord. I fell to the ground, clutching my stomach and thinking, No, this can’t be! Was this it? My vision was blurry, my mind wasn’t working. Blood was running across the pavement, towards my knees.
Wait…towards? There was no pain. Fright and disorientation and a sick stomach, but no pain. I pushed my hair from my face with sweaty hands and saw the guy who had attacked me. He was lying on the ground, moaning and screaming. Blood seeped from his legs and stained his pants, soaking the sidewalk.
I was unharmed!
“Miss? Miss!” The man was kneeling at my side now, a hand around my shoulders. Up close I saw he looked very young and rather handsome, his eyes a pretty steel gray.
“I…I…” I pitched forward and vomited onto the sidewalk.

Hey

My opinions:
- The first line of this scene is good, makes the reader wonder what she's late for, however I suggest tagging it, as the reader doesn't realise till later whether it was the mum speaking, I thought it may have been the protagonist

- Try not to use exclamation marks in the context other than the dialogue, and even yet, try to minimize the amount of those you use in dialogue too. Usually the exlamation mark should be shown, rather than told.

- Cut to the chase. Though your writing is good, detailed, and mostly well written with good word use, there are some bits we don't need to know, e.g. the whole paragraph about her mascara.

- Show, don't tell. Don't tell us your characters favourite show is this, show us that when she goes home, before anything, she rushes to the tele to watch the latest episode. Of course, if only it's relevant.

Those are my thoughts as a whole, rather than singling out each line, but keep at it, overall you have good potential with good words :)

~ JLT

2010-09-09 06:26:37 by Daisy