This morning while I was having breakfast with the usual cappuccino soy milk (you should try it can turn around even the most gray day, believe me) and download the mail, I came across a notice of request for friendship (hereinafter For brevity, NRA).
The NRA (or NRAs?, Being here a plural), for the few still immune to the plague epidemic that has passed since a number of infections, known as Facebook, is that messaggino e-mail that warns you "Somebody is thinking of you." And not only. That someone has taken the trouble to type your name in the space provided and click on the icon of the magnifying glass or alternative number two, was tickled by that respective network that suggested that perhaps could meet you because you are friend of a friend of his environ ...
I shall omit here the list of alternative number three, the alternative number four, number five, etc. ... (Noteworthy, however, is the alternative number seven: aspiring "chick" of the "standard" that "guy" has tagged the background of a photo of "thing" in which, out of focus and - despite this - to say the least repulsive compare also you: so "chick" wants to see who you are ).
However, when you have found your name, the subject "asks the friendship" or, in a nutshell, we will ask nothing hosta scuriosare for free from your own photos, information, posts, and so on.
So - I said - this morning while I was having breakfast with the usual cappuccino soy milk, I came across one of these NRA (s). After the inevitable and fizzy feeling of curiosity mixed with flattery - that goes something like this: Who do you think? Who do you think? Who do you think? ah, but then someone thinks of me! - I clicked on the mail (just one click and not two, because I've got a MacBook, I!) And there it is, the bewilderment . Which is more or less like this: and who the hell is this person? . The person in question was
nientepopodimenoche Madame Scalabrini, French, class '65, he wanted to be my friend because we had the same surname.
So I seriously questioned by asking a series of questions which are as follows: What drives people to seek their namesakes, omocognomini (?) And the like? And above all, what fun is it?
So, without further ado, I opened the Google page and I did some testing.
Long story short, after a series of attempts by the outcome unsatisfactory I found a little something that I share with you.
Unfortunately it is not distributed in Italy but I'm still trying to recover it.
If you are interested in further, the website is here and, if I were to succeed undertaking to find, consider yourself invited to dinner.
The NRA (or NRAs?, Being here a plural), for the few still immune to the plague epidemic that has passed since a number of infections, known as Facebook, is that messaggino e-mail that warns you "Somebody is thinking of you." And not only. That someone has taken the trouble to type your name in the space provided and click on the icon of the magnifying glass or alternative number two, was tickled by that respective network that suggested that perhaps could meet you because you are friend of a friend of his environ ...
I shall omit here the list of alternative number three, the alternative number four, number five, etc. ... (Noteworthy, however, is the alternative number seven: aspiring "chick" of the "standard" that "guy" has tagged the background of a photo of "thing" in which, out of focus and - despite this - to say the least repulsive compare also you: so "chick" wants to see who you are ).
However, when you have found your name, the subject "asks the friendship" or, in a nutshell, we will ask nothing hosta scuriosare for free from your own photos, information, posts, and so on.
So - I said - this morning while I was having breakfast with the usual cappuccino soy milk, I came across one of these NRA (s). After the inevitable and fizzy feeling of curiosity mixed with flattery - that goes something like this: Who do you think? Who do you think? Who do you think? ah, but then someone thinks of me! - I clicked on the mail (just one click and not two, because I've got a MacBook, I!) And there it is, the bewilderment . Which is more or less like this: and who the hell is this person? . The person in question was
nientepopodimenoche Madame Scalabrini, French, class '65, he wanted to be my friend because we had the same surname.
So I seriously questioned by asking a series of questions which are as follows: What drives people to seek their namesakes, omocognomini (?) And the like? And above all, what fun is it?
So, without further ado, I opened the Google page and I did some testing.
Long story short, after a series of attempts by the outcome unsatisfactory I found a little something that I share with you.
Unfortunately it is not distributed in Italy but I'm still trying to recover it.
If you are interested in further, the website is here and, if I were to succeed undertaking to find, consider yourself invited to dinner.
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