Ca Nhair Loss Be Reversed

Why Italy is as Brooke Logan Forrester

the day of the sesquicentennial anniversary of the unification, I felt a bit 'to blame for sciabattare home without writing a single line on the event. Ok, I have set the flag (which the mayor has made us kindly find in the mail last night), but mica is seen in the blog, right?
With this thought that going on in my head, I started hanging out in front of the PC, as if suddenly the monitor had been able to return me an inspiration.
Indeed it was.
Suddenly I was not clear why Italy has some similarities too obvious to be noticed by one of the women that I think embody the most stereotype of the woman of the twenty-first century: Brooke Logan Forrester.
immediately clarifies, for those of you who are thinking "this is going," I know very well that Brooke is American, while Italy can only be Italian, of course, but I invite you to consider these similarities:

L 'Italy is 150 years old and if it takes them very well.
As I was able to demonstrate scientifically few posts ago, by Brooke should have two accounts, if the weather followed the Beautiful in the normal course of real life, about seventy years. But look at it: there seems to be a septuagenarian? If you look like a series of seventy all men would not seek to have it.

if Italy makes them all.
No matter whether of right or left, ugly or beautiful, tall or short, intelligent or stupid. Other than America: Italy is the land of opportunity and democracy, where anyone can become famous and important. We have shown under the eyes every day. How
Brooke, even Italy are all well, in fact.

To Italy would like to repeat the same mistakes.
Ridge Brooke married 16 times. A few more election and we could go close to this record.

Italy is the land of meritocracy.
Brooke began career at Forrester as a model, then become a majority shareholder of focusing exclusively on ... their physical and a series of mezzucci dirty.

Although it combines the sorts of things, Italy is still a respectable lady .
Have you ever heard someone accuse Beautiful Brooke to be a whore? No, never. In millemila bet it never happened. This is because, even if you do them all, gives off an aura of respect that seems impossible to touch.
this morning, despite all we complain about how things are going lately, I looked out the balcony and every balcony I saw a flag in various shapes and sizes.

Italy, despite everything, loves and hopes.
Brooke does not just go with everyone, but with each of her lovers (which will be at most four or five, which alternate cyclically) has at least one child. This means that boredom is not moving, but the hope and love. Brooke falls in love and is truly convinced that every time he gets married, will be the right time because he is the right one. That's not the fool, who will be the Lady and the love to offer up my life for her if necessary.
Unfortunately now every infatuation proved a disappointment. On the other hand is a soap opera.

Staff Writer

Friends Contribution Cards

Taccodieci soon in bookstores

There he is, right here in front of me.
I read and reread it a thousand times, this contract, and every time I read convinces me more and more. Just a moment of uncertainty before signing it, just to savor the moment before handing it over to the story, then it's done.

I signed my first publishing contract.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, while the world goes on unaware of what, I work at the back cover while my editor works on the cover itself.
The publisher and I have courted for a while 'via email, until it was clear that the contract I was interested, so yesterday I took the bull by the horns and I called.

- Hello, I am ...
- Good morning.
- I'm calling because I'm re-reading the contract and find it very interesting ...
- Hahaha, I knew it! I knew it was a good contract!
- Well, look, I've never published anything, I wanted to know a little 'how it works, what are the next steps ..
- First we do this, then this, and then the book will be in bookstores by the end of the month.
- ?!?!?
- How?
- I did not expect it to be something so fast ...

In fact if I think I am a cuddly. In the library at the end of the month? A dream. Please, wake me up before it gets too bad!
For the novel I have received a total of three proposals for publication and in the end I chose the first one received.
I did not expect much interest in this first novel and it is not false modesty. They are light years away from modesty, I will. The fact that he is writing a post so tasteless on so important an event is evidence that some suffer from post traumatic stress disorder that will not let me think.
I can not wait to reveal much more about this novel ...

Staff Writer

Outdoor Aviary For Sale

chaste tree: PMS goodbye!

DO NOT TRY @ HOME. The

This post reflects a subjective condition. No, reflects a condition common to many of us (see the emotional rollercoaster of CosmoGirl ), but tells a very personal solution. It is said that the cure I've found I will work for all women, mind you ... I'm not a doctor, thank goodness, otherwise I would stir things disgusting and gruesome to see, so do not blindly trust me.

Sometimes, I confess, not even myself, I trust myself.

You woke up an hour early to make your boyfriend a favor and go to pick up a package in place his? You have miscalculated the traffic and you've waited for half an hour that the courier would open? You arrived breathless at the office and the CEO has seen fit to give you a head wash for reasons that do not compete? We've spent a quarter of an hour to make him understand your alien to the facts, an auditor while you waited in the meeting room and a stack of documents to verify prancing on your desk? Have you noticed that the documents that had occurred, you were correct and returned with required corrections will have been returned as they are, or full of horrors? Everything seems dull boring, heavy, unbearable? Did you know scientifically that the day would have been a hell right from 9.30 am and that, after work, I would have expected the friendly dentist's chair (in your imagination a horror second only to the gynecologist)?

E 'on days like this that sometimes I just want to send the country to which all of them, and smash something to punch anyone who has the misfortune to befall a shot.

you remember that time when I killed a chocolate cake railing as a truck driver? If refresh the memory back to the appropriate post .

Well, a few months away from that tragic episode I can confirm that there is a remedy for premenstrual syndrome. Yes, sir: In my case, that remedy is called chaste tree .

The chaste tree (I will write with a capital letter because if it deserves all) is a plant that grows somewhere (if you want a description Pizzos click here), but this is not the point. The point is that the chaste tree, taken regularly, in my case prevents hysteria. I mean, I want to think that my condition is not normal to hysterical woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown, bursting into tears with a geyser of profanity for a botched cake. No, I think I want to be that patient, who listens and who face life with a sense of humor. The chaste tree, herb but not illegal or a psychotropic substance, it helps me to keep Dr. Jeckill, leaving behind Mr. Hide.

Mind you, it's not for me to go around like a zombie, a Fatton, or knocking on the lampposts staggering, perhaps with a bag in his right Tavernello. Just me, the nice girl ever. In fact, if I have to say it all, thanks all'Agnocasto s ent which I speak, regardless of day of the month where I am, with clarity .

can not imagine the happiness that I got rid of the damn syndrome ... Now I know for a couple of weeks a month is enough for me to take a pill miracle grass in the morning, limiting alcohol and made Mr. Hide remains in jail.

And then the almost chaste tree has become one of us, at my house. For example, the scenes of hysteria, during which my FF was waiting for it to pass the fury thrusting a lampshade on his head and trying to blend in with the upholstery have been replaced by:

- Grrrr ... But porc ... But [@##°... But Vaffa ...

- Hehe, forgot the chaste tree today?

- Oh, baby, you're right! Hahaha, what would I do without you and dell'Agnocasto!

and everything passes.

Incredible, right?

I'm just wondering if you can develop addiction all'Agnocasto with horror and fear that one day may stop making effect. Well, if I were to explode all of a sudden one day it will be better that civil protection is alerted.

Staff Writer

Boobs Showing Of Bollywod Acterrer

Pride (and doposbornia) of a thirty

I remember I lived my eighteenth birthday as a turning point. Although at that time I were hospitalized for intestinal influence only a couple of days away dall'appendicectomia (experience that I would not wish on my worst enemy), I imagined that from that day on, I would be really cool things that happened exclusively.

First I got the license (I was fairly sure I would have done in less than two months), then I would become an active citizen and I was going to vote (no matter who or why: the idea excites me as a strike to challenge the lack of toilet paper to school) and then I would FREE . Free lining of tattoos from head to foot, to attend and anyone at any time and secretly hoped that my mother recognized my undeniable maturity and stop hindering my story with that metalhead from the beautiful green eyes and long hair (which for Incidentally, while I pativo in a hospital bed, he sat on a Croatian beach a few with friends: ah, how love makes us blind!). None of

this happened. I managed to pass the driving test just a few days before the provisional license expired (of course the blame was all dell'istruttrice), I went to vote (yes, but absolutely do not remember for whom or for what reason), I made no tattoo and the mission of my mother continued to be to prevent by all means my story with the fantastic and mysterious metalhead (he did it with unwavering consistency for all six years later).
As for freedom was therefore practically chained to a radiator .

I looked back and in hindsight the question springs to mind: "But why all this [@##° mania of the age of eighteen? .

The eighteen years I changed my life, I would say that did not change anything. I was basically the adolescent unlucky (bad luck should be included in textbooks of developmental psychology as a distinctive feature of this phase of life ) I was before and I was stuck in that situation of limbo for many years yet.

Yesterday I turned thirty .

This morning I woke up with a resounding doposbornia. It was as if someone had violently punched on the head, right on top of the skull. As soon as I raised my head from the pillow I heard a wave nausea.

Symptoms of a certain age? No, mere symptoms of an epic party with thirty friends at the Cuban restaurant (almost the only place in Padua, which I love), with annexes sangria, rum and mojito like rain.

were now a couple of years that I was saying that my thirtieth birthday would be remembered in the history of parties, so that, to prepare for the event, decided not to celebrate at the time nor the thirty nor thirty-nine.

Last night I turned to the restaurant beaming, I approached groups of friends to chat with everyone and I am convinced that I have spoken to each of them " I'd like to freeze this moment and relive it in loop for the rest of my life. "This is because, if the eighteen have not changed a worthy bean, thirty crazy are pretty cool and have all of your close friends to celebrate with toasts and songs millemila the beginning of this chapter is the best that can happen.

, I mean, the chain that bound me to the radiator is broken and finally fled. I live with my FF (which gave me a weekend in London: How long will the days until the date departure!) in our apartment and sunny, although I have to work hard ten times more than when my mother took care of everything, I can say that I live exactly how I live. I even making a tatuaggetto capolino dalla schiena e talvolta mi prendono dei raptus per cui scrivendo faccio un uso smodato delle parentesi. Non so se sia una questione d'età o se più probabilmente mia madre si sia resa conto di quanto sia chiaramente fantastico il mio FF, ma lo adora tanto da farmi la predica ogni volta che le sembra che non mi comporti in modo impeccabile nei suoi confronti (ovviamente non è il metallaro).

Ieri sera nessuno si è lamentato dell'orario a cui sono tornata a casa, anche se era mercoledì e stamattina sarei dovuta andare al lavoro (e pure in anticipo, visto che l'AD ha avuto la brillante idea di fissare un appuntamento importantissimo praticamente all'alba), nessuno ha chiesto spiegazioni sul My goggle or because it is out of the house wearing socks (clean) of my FF, indeed, I received text messages and emails of congratulations for the success of the event I had planned for years in practice (people who can not stand for centuries have managed to coexist in the same few square feet, and from what I hear, they are also fun).

Last but not least, I look in the mirror and see an aspiring writer who is about to sign a contract for the release of his debut novel (short a dedicated post, I'm not going to confuse this event in a dedicated post for more).

the face of that bastard of a gray hair that has the curtains on my hair.

Tie.

Staff Writer

Phat_azz_brazilian_orgy 2

Bishop Arduino Bertoldo, a lord of the past (unfortunately)

If a woman walks in a sexy or provocative, has some responsibility in the event there because even into temptation and sin. So a woman walking in a provocative or violent overreaction raises, sins into temptation.

I hate to go back to the stone age of reasoning and talking about women so hot air, but it is possible that there is still some dinosaurs who think this way?
In this case, the dinosaur is called Bishop Arduino Bertoldo and bishop of Foligno.

Dear Mr. Bishop,
if he left his car parked in the open, with the keys in the picture, a bystander would be allowed to take it?
If leaving the house forgot to close the door, someone would be excused if emptied the apartment?
If he has lost his wallet on the street, would be "normal" that a passer-by pocketing the money?
If a child of two years ran naked on the beach, you feel justified to harass him? Because you are of Foligno, the very country of the "monster" should investigate the habits of the victims in terms of clothing and see whether it is appropriate to give some mitigating Mr. Chiatti?
If a guy (read: men) were walking down the street dressed in a chaste, no sway, but with a face like a slapped incredible, would apologize to those who began to insult him just to see it go? If an earthquake
upset his area, in your opinion who is allowed to steal in the rubble of his home would be considered a jackal or not? Or even "half-jackal" as even she would be responsible for leaving the rubble accessible to everyone?
If instead of speaking generically about "women" scendessimo in this case, you would have the courage to face the parents girls who are raped, beaten and even killed for their daughters to tell them that, somehow, if they are sought and that their rapists / murderers in the end they are made of flesh (weak) and therefore are entitled to a species of contributory negligence? What if those girls had worn a skirt just a few inches longer than could have been still there, undamaged and vegete?
There were dark moments in human history in which it was thought that women could kill plants just by touching them during "those days". I bet it was coined at that time that the unfortunate "opportunity makes the thief." No coincidence that we speak of "man", since the woman at the time did not even have a soul (it was granted later, most likely a male). In more recent times was instead coined the saying "count to ten before you speak," now in force.
How sings Creminini, "words are bad" can hurt, they feel bad, can send wrong messages, can justify acts which do not have excuses, but one shot can make someone feel 'a bit less guilty "in actions that go far beyond the human being.
About guilt, she would not feel at least somewhat 'responsible for rape if the rapist before a judge is justified by saying "Is not all my fault: that he had a skirt so short that looked like a belt. The Archbishop also said that Bertoldo when one goes around so tanned is a contributory negligence. "
postfemminista I'm not a pissed off with the hormones that turn like helicopter blades, are a disappointed woman. Disappointed because they say that women who dress provocatively victims of rapes / violence / beatings / murders in some way if they are looking for is how to reintegrate into family law authorization for the husband to beat his wife as denying us again the right to vote, the right to a soul, equal opportunities with men, in turn, relegated to the role of dumb beasts, completely governed by instinct a brutal, destructive and violent. Disappointed because they say this is like saying that it is impossible to prevent the rapes (so we should not even try, ed) because it would be necessary, "a soldier for every beautiful woman."
I come from we like to think that the human race deserves more respect and that the world tends to go forward, not to go back and discuss issues and positions already hackneyed thankfully overcome.

Staff Writer

Can You Pop A Pinguecula?

arentao

It seems so strange to see which is already been a month since my last post. I would like to have at least some good excuse to offer the world, or at least myself, for this regrettable fact. In reality there is no real reason at the base. I just stalled. I must have accidentally touched the helm of my life, following what my heart told me to find myself planted on a desolate beach without being able to reverse course. Many have passed me by, with their cameras, ready to use their advice. I like a lame elephant I stood there, silent and smiling, to rust. The salinity and the time I corrode from within, and I rest helpless under the weight of events. A passive spectator, helpless. In the last month I spent half the time trying to react, to find their way offshore. The other half I spent wondering where I'd be gone if I had more water to wet my props, not hard and cold sand. While I was thinking, I get drunk, do drugs I was convinced he had found a lost serenity, but it was just the thrill of a mess convenient and handy. The life was telling me to wake up that nothing was really changed. Write
night, write to consume your fingers. Writing a shit if necessary, is the only thing that really interests you at the end, despite the handicap, the little talent, the lack original ideas. Writing a night to eat your writing, the little they have to offer. breath wasted energy thrown away, wasted in business bankruptcy, or in dreams so far away from objective reality to become nightmares.
me, I am here to hear my big wheels ran aground on a beach periphery of life where even the craziest of the nudists would get wet. I sit here, contemplating my failure without being able to try to respond, without wanting to respond. Without finding a real reason to react. Write
night, do the same nonsense, do it desperately, as if it were allowed, but write, because if you do still have a little 'silent end up dissolving in the shit around you, because you will be shelter for many pests that you will end up on the inside.

Rockstar Energy Corset

Men and the elusive concept of cleaning

Week 1

And 'Saturday morning and drag me like a zombie in my pajamas pink on the couch. They are feverish and very [@##@t just because they are feverish on Saturday morning. My bones ache, I have zero desire to swallow anything and in two words I'm shit.
My fantastic boyfriend (hereafter FF) approaches me cheering: "Yay , now that you're sick jump cleaning! .
And I said "no, love. The correct exclamation would have been: my love, since you're sick you're also lying on the couch and rest, which I'll clean house."
how it ends: I clean the whole house while he's feverish workout boxing.

Week 2

Weekend in the mountains with in-laws to fix some issues. It 'Friday afternoon. My FF approaches me with a festive uscendosene " Yay! This weekend we will not skip the cleaning! .
how it ends: of course forces him under threat of unspeakable torture to give me a hand to clean the house Friday night. Since we work all day throughout the week, there on Sunday evening to come home after two days of gardening and arrangement should also think about tiles and clean, is not it?

Week 3

Weekend in the mountains with friends. E 'Thursday and my FF approaches me fearful, looking from Puss in Boots " non è che domani sera mi tocca pulire, vero? ".
Come va a finire: mi faccio prendere dalla compassione, prendo un pomeriggio di permesso dal lavoro e pulisco casa, faccio il bucato, preparo le valigie e la cena che dovrò portare in montagna il giorno successivo, da mangiare con gli amici. Canederli e crostata di zucchine, nientemeno.

Morale della vicenda: se lasciato a se stesso, mio FF non avrebbe pulito casa, tazza del water compresa, per almeno tre settimane di fila .

Il caso del collega

Pausa pranzo. Un collega si ricorda, a voce alta, di togliere la borsa da palestra dal bagagliaio e di portarla in casa. I meddle in the monologue, saying that yes, indeed dirty laundry should be washed, because if it remains closed for a day bag in danger of turning into a stain of eternal stench in miniature. The colleague replied that I forget that bag full of towels soaked with sweat in the trunk now THREE MONTHS. At that point I notice that the opening of the bag could jeopardize the survival of a ecosystem with intelligent life forms are coming in the Iron Age.

Men do not see the dirt, there is little to be done. For them is the same as walking barefoot in a green valley or on a bed of toast crumbs. They do not realize if in a group Friends of creating a vacuum around wearing a t-shirt survived a full week of workouts, no.
If you import something of their cleaning, they would say "I'm going to take a shower" and not "going to give me a rinsed .
What then, have you ever seen a man wash his feet in the shower? And I intend to wash his feet to put the soap on your hands and wipe the right foot and left in a conscious way? Macchi. The feet of men, literally, it is rinsed. At most locations are fleeting soap from leaking down from the rest of the body. Ultimately foot of men do not wash . Mai . There
difference between cleaning the surroundings and the personal. I do not think it is laziness or indifference, but rather a very serious form of selective blindness. Or are we women to suffer from a serious form of super-sight can also locate the hidden germs? I think not. I do not think the crumbs on the floor to be a review.
The phenomenon is further proof of the fact that both sexes are necessary for the survival of the species. Not so much a matter of procreation, but because the man without the woman would have died of cold, yet the glow of human history.

Staff Writer

Why Does Urine Test For Pregnancy Fail?

a publisher to make me happy!

As loyal readers, as supporters of the initiative and officers of the undersigned, know that I am giving you a notice before my mother

At 10:02 am this morning the phone rang on his desk, signaling an email arriving in my personal mail. I read in disbelief the message and from that moment I can not speak, I can not breathe, I can not blink and imagine if I can proceed with the work. The very idea of \u200b\u200bbeing able to write a word of the project that I was drawing a second reading before the stakes are pure fiction. I do not know if you've ever had a situation Generally, it is as if someone had just announced to have won the Nobel Peace Prize, or that my invention has eradicated hunger in the world too unreal to believe, is not it?
The first coherent thought that I was able to articulate was, " if someone sends me a proposal for publication, I wrote a shit: Yay! .
I have not the slightest idea what to make of this proposal for publication, I swear. I did not really think about it for clarity. If you go out the window I saw a green donkey wheel, right now I might consider it a normal thing.
For now I just know it's a great feeling, fantastic, that there are no adjectives to describe what I'm trying. I think I would prefer at this time also an invitation to dinner by Keanu Reeves, sexy idol since high school. It 's all magic, are surrounded by fairies and elves who smile at me and even today the CEO seems to me the most adorable person in the world. Cialbella that I ate for breakfast was full of hallucinogens? Is this all a dream?
No, I'm quite certain that everything is true and that the email really exists: my dream to publish the novel I wrote you could really translate into reality, and if I think I could cry for joy, here, at my desk before the whole office, in a second fanificando all efforts in recent weeks to look like a credible leader.

For now I'm focusing on matters of an ... like saying logistics. I have already started to draw up a priority list for publication:

1. Enter into a 40 by 10 days at any cost.
2. Attend at least one presentation letteraraia by the end of the week to see what the authors say on these occasions.
3. Began to think of appropriate presentation of the novel and official meetings.
4. Prepare business cards with which to promote the book and the blog (which, as you'll see, are closely linked together using a common underlying logic).
5. Start to stretch the thanks to be included in the book (I have the impression to be thanked in the longer history of literature).
6. Honestly now I can not think of a sixth point.

Staff Writer

Entrance In Ice Skating In Moa

Women - Cape hymn to the courage and DETERMINAT ion

E 'with great pleasure (and delay, sob!) That place this beautiful email, sent to me by Mariella in response to the post in which I have given vent to my difficult to put myself in the shoes of a leader (go to post " the solitude of the head").

"Any man can make you feel compelled to explain who you are, is wrong." I might add, from the top ten in the heel of my "head only" that: "Any partner makes you feel compelled to explain who you are, is wrong. "Who does not recognize you as leader, when it is under everybody's eyes that you have made sacrifices, ideas, projects, risks, responsibilities and sleepless nights burning ... is wrong.
Many of us, women and leaders, continue to go on thinking he had the right to enjoy the moment. The work is always considered a duty and a respect for law. Assegnamoci the duty to enforce. Concediamoci the right to work peacefully. Are we or are not those before going to the command of a team wore jogging shoes and walked down the steepest hills, ravines and slipped in there mum raised, bruised, to start all again? We are and have always been, first, managers of ourselves. And if it is true that there is only one command of a boat captain, is also true that all operations can only be performed by the crew. The men dozing in the stern, they are left on the quay. The key thing is to feel able to withstand whatever you have time to discover and move forward in research. Women
Cape I wish (and hope) to wake up every morning stronger than the first day, to smile in the mirror, feel beautiful, but also to cry and find comfort in you, with courage, heart Holdin and the soul with renewed vigor and strength.
TaccoDieci Hello!

place that email, as strong as smart, because, fortunately, although I feel sorry for Mariella, I realized that I'm not the only one to find that the position of the head, especially women and recently arrived, is difficult. I did some research on the internet and unfortunately I have seen that women consider the heads of women bitches and snakes (all terms actually used, I swear!).
forward with a proposal: we could not begin to divide the leaders in inbound and assholes and competent human beings, rather than by gender? I'm sorry if you have a boss frustrated woman who pours his malaise on the team, but I think that there is no Women's pair - frustration. Those who believe that there is such a combination is like one of those men that when a woman gets angry liquid his outburst saying "the sky will be ...".

Perhaps the chief difference between a "real" and a "fake" just do it the grit, determination, not to be cut down from these positions as acidic as easy, moving forward with confidence and security in their potential. Why after all of them, or at least most of them, says Mariella have made sacrifices to get where I am, even if these sacrifices are often taken for granted (such as is taken for granted that the head is always the first to arrive and last to leave). I know that millions of people make sacrifices and they have nothing in return except a handful of flies, but is this to be unfair, not the recognition of the efforts of some, and do not see why those who have been approved to be branded a priori as a "bitch" or "Viper".
then I would say that women have enough problems at work without there also put to make war between us. Indeed, perhaps women have so many problems at work and suffer so much injustice because we are not united .

Staff Writer

Dog Has Pink Mucus In Her Feces

Campaign for the Protection of small gestures of affection

"My girlfriend and I we do not presents for Valentine's Day, because mica is no need to specify a party to get us a nice gesture, no? And then Valentine's Day has become just a commercial holiday. Me, my girlfriend, I prefer to make a surprise when it does not expect. So, any day ... "

Too bad that that day never comes .

Because that day will come when modern man does not have the head for his career, the realization of their dreams, changing light bulbs, the meetings of condominium, shopping, the accounts to bring back ... Both his wife / girlfriend / girlfriend is always there, right? And if you love you should understand. If he loves you must understand that, in all millemila that make up the second day, there is not one in which your thoughts go to her. Just not possible. You might also expect that, coming home at night, to pamper yourself a bit ', because you have worked, she will accept magnificence making you sit in front of the tv till it ends to prepare your favorite dish, because basically you deserve a bit' of healthy sleep, with no stress to you that nonsense, right?

For men, women are feminists who demand attention gassed to avoid like the plague, they exploit the poor with absurd claims: holidays in the Caribbean and diamond rings as big as onions.

will tell you a secret: carbonated feminists do exist, but are a tiny minority of women in the landscape and are usually equipped with special radar that points to the bank accounts of six zeros. Normal men can therefore be considered safe. Most women, including the absurd claim that advances, requires a very different kind of attention: unexpected a caress, a kiss of a sudden, a bottle of good wine and a toast for no reason .

operation cost € 10. Time invested: 10 minutes. You say, we can do?

It is inconceivable that we forget these small details, that throughout a whole day there is not time for that. Without these healthy and genuine gestures of affection everything becomes banal and mechanical. Without these actions, there is no difference between a girlfriend / wife / girlfriend of the heart and a caregiver. The caregiver has the disadvantage of demanding a salary, but in return does not break balls begging to be kissed or caressed.

Every man should seriously make this assessment and weigh according to their own personal balance the pros and cons of each situation, before passing a hysterical woman who lives senseless rights.

If eventually you decide to stay with a girl, it must be done consciously, knowing that they must accept a complete package . For years women have made mistakes, believing they can change a man, because now people should blindly committing the same mistake? The package woman, "ahivoi, includes headache, in-laws and demands attention.

If all this is stupid I do not know honestly what to do about it. On the other hand seems to us women so stupid that there is one who goes into a frenzy for twelve men in shorts running after the same ball every weekend, instead of taking matters in hand and appear in a Super Tele head, but we accept . Also seems to us that you feel stupid right to loiter in the evening, waiting dinner, when we know that both men and women have worked all day. Although it seems silly to us that the average person just to warm up before a failure or a stolen car. Although it seems silly to us to reach a certain age still think that there is a goblin to find underwear that does the laundry in the drawer magically washed every week. Even many of us seem stupid male attitudes, but there we go on with stoicism and avoid planting a mess every time. It 'so hard to do the same?

Apparently yes. The male mind, in its unsettling logic, there seems to be designed to "accommodate".

Invitation only men to listen to not pathetic excuses to justify this. say you do not feel like it, that are idiots and useless gestures of affection that women are hormonal, but sooner or later you'll get a surprise when we least expect it. Do not say that if there sorprendeste daily surges of your attention would eventually become taken for granted, because I assure you that should go to the daily surprises geological ages before a woman of sound mind puffs in front of the millionth bouquet of flowers.

found itself not an apology, because they offend our and your intelligence, when in an evening with friends laughing and pull out the argument we all pretend to believe.

Staff Writer

Bmi To Look Good In A Bikini

"As you know, the office has always had a training manager. Now I have identified the person responsible for the preparation: For each question you should refer to her, who will talk with me and that will be updated everything that happens in every circumstance. "

When the CEO spoke these words during a recent meeting, taking impreparatissima, at times I choked on a candy that I held in my mouth just to hang out. A dozen eyes were turned grim last arrived, then that would be me (literally) high for all to see a step up compared to the common mass of poor losers. I might as well attack me that the CEO of a target on his back and opened the hunting season .

At that moment I heard a chilling voice asking me if I was ready to take such responsibility. "Sure, why not? It 's a challenge and I like challenges," I listened to the one of those phrases taken from the manual "Believe in yourself." It makes you think that going against traffic during highway a bicycle in a snowstorm could pose some challenge, but I'm not that stupid to be taken into account.

But I did not felt, cowardly, conflict with the AD. In a sense, however, the matter of the challenge is also true: I have always worked in teams, but I never had the responsibility of organizing the work of others. It usually happens that someone would organize the work of a group of losers, in which I was there. I feel as if I had been admitted behind the scenes and this, after all, now I like it. These early days as a leader, however, have taught me one important lesson: the head is only . This in light of some major design considerations.

First the head can not , just as it can not be a parent, friend be . A leader can be estimated, may even come to feel affection for their colleagues and defend them before the CEO even when they are dead wrong, but can not really be a friend. This is because sooner or later end up in some way betraying that friendship or to lose the leadership, credibility. How can he be a credible leader with whom we do a drink and tell you dirty jokes until later? Or a leader who keeps a blog in which all rose to 99% of the time talking about nonsense?

Second the leader is never wrong . Humans make mistakes and this time is read the sign of their inherent humanity. When the boss is an asshole wrong or incompetent that has been put there as a servant of power, just to eat bread for treason. If the head screwed it up, no one dares to cover, in a kind of silent agreement that is expressed in the motto " previously established by the power! .

Similarly the positive gestures of the head are forgotten over time of a blink of an eye, the negative ones remain etched in stone forever and ever.

The Head is ultimately and by its very nature, an asshole that needs wary. With the head can not be casual, do not go to have a drink, let alone one goes to the chief's house to eat pizza. When you're my head, everything you say could be used against you in court. Would you like in the distant future to start a family? Better not say when the head is, because you could, from day to day and in a totally unreasonable, be invited to pass orders to a worker you are watching more of you young and single, emerging as if by magic from who knows where.

At best, the head is born, and if your boss is a lucky, the office will tell him " could go worse." For this to happen, the leader must be particularly good, and I mean very good technical skills with a monster of a talent unequaled in human relationships. Besides you're never wrong, the head must, in other words, finding the time to listen to people, especially when they are whining, motivate them (even in circumstances in which they actually find positive sides to an art), check the individual workloads The answer to the most unexpected contingencies that occur on his desk when others do not know how to get out alive, trying to mediate to keep a cool head when the CEO goes around the corridor screaming hysterically that wants to cut heads.

However the go things, the head will never be enough, however . Quite what? Quite "everything". Yes, because as the head is exceptional, there will always be someone in the office, in the eyes of someone else or himself, he would have deserved more than that position of leadership.

I concluded that I should attend a course in leadership. For now the weather is good and, apart from some minor disagreement, I can maintain a balance. However, I have the impression that some bomb is about to burst when turned their backs. It is normal to live with this anxiety? What makes the difference between a leader and someone who is not to be especially strong nerves and a face of marble? Everything can be, as far as I know.

Staff Writer

Milena Velba Nadine Jansen Blog

The Loneliness of the Chief publisher

Yesterday I took advantage of the day without a job (if we exclude the eight emails received by the office) and finally begin to give effect to spread to the world of my first novel.
I got up early, when my wonderful boy, after measuring the fever for the last time because deep down we had hoped, he went to work and I finished writing the synopsis plus a short presentation of myself. The presentation, by failing to I published anything of nothing but a piece in an anthology that I do not know whether it is still sold on the Internet, it's really short (I do not even bother to report it, since those sales, if ever there were, I have never received a cent on the cover and I also have the name wrong).
Then I started making phone calls, armed with Excel spreadsheet to track all the terrible job of marketing it intended to do. It is not pretended that
mica red carpet and a limo to the house, so to speak, but I never expected that someone even refused my manuscript. As my mother always told me, " how can you say you do not like if you do not taste even a bit? . "But it is exactly what happened. Typescript rejected the first two calls.

call 1 - Hello, I'm an author. What steps should I follow to submit an unpublished manuscript?

- What kind owns the material?

- It 's a novel female.

- So young adolescents?

- No, say it is more gender-Sophie Kinsella ...

- Mmm ... How many pages?

- about 220 folders.

- Ah. Here, for this kind we take into account only foreign authors or already famous . She has already published something?

- Really ...

- I'm sorry, try to check back next year .

- Next year? But we are in February!

- Yes, I know. I'm sorry. Or suggest you start with some lesser-known publishing house .

Phone Call 2 - Hello, I'm an author. What steps should I follow to submit an unpublished manuscript?

- I'm sorry, but for the next two years we do not accept unpublished material in evaluation.

At that moment my body felt an uncontrollable need for Coke and frozen pizzas, which I immediately devoured furiously in front of the monitor. Only after the last bite I realized I had just ten in the morning and it was emotional eating.

Then things went much better, because I stopped call. I simply read the instructions for sending unpublished material on the sites of publishers and, looking good and dial any phone numbers, I managed to send all at less than 11 publishers.
A publisher has already answered me. Yeah, to ask, if I were not prepared to pay the publication of my own pocket, to say it now, to avoid fatigue when reading the novel .
All in all, yesterday my life has given us a great lesson: to become a writer you must get used to fish in the face.

Staff Writer

Funeral Thank You Minister

From provincialotta hello to stylish with a click

This award from Cosmo Girl could not come at a better time, or worse, depending on the perspective from which you look at my present condition. Just to let you all soon, since Friday afternoon, I am stuck on the sofa with a high fever. The fact that 37,000 other Venetians are statistically sharing my luck does not console. If it were true that "bad policy, half joy," now I should at least dance around half naked and drunk on a table with a Mojito in hand with delight. Of course not.
Only suckers fall ill on Friday afternoon , fighting all weekend and managed to scrounge up a couple of days of illness at the beginning of next week.
For this reason, the prize we really wanted to lift morale on the ground and raised with a shroud of Kleenex: thank you very much, Cosmo Girl! But mainly thanks for the nice words you had for me in your blog. You called me "writer" and have greatly flattered my already enormous ego, but above you said you felt a certain affinity between us. This would not make me more pleasure, since I really admire your style sharp, ironic and never granted, so much so that I could be her sister separated at birth by Candace Bushnell (by the way, your blog gave me a desire crazy to see Sex and the City). And now we come to the
Pizzos or seven of my secrets untold scandalous private life.

1) Once, when I was about 20 years (ie not just a lifetime ago, mind you) a friend accused me of being out with her boyfriend, a fantastic drummer. Negai to death, but ... was true. All true. Saw then what was the end of our friendship with her shortly afterwards, for other reasons, I stopped from time to repent of that sordid action. I firmly believe that it was worth it: he was simply beautiful and there are trains that do not go often in life. And then, try to understand me, I had just been discharged after four years for a framer thighs secular natural that I was convinced that hypocrisy was the key to success, no?

2) I'm addicted to good order and cleanliness. My brother calls me "our lady of the flap" because in practice compel anyone who comes into our house to wear them when crossing the threshold. And what the heck, I'm a working woman, I can not stand to go the mop every single day ...

3) I can not stand women who feel lost without the prospect of a career. I know women who would prefer an arm amputated rather than not to work and stay home to care for a family. But I'd give an arm because one salary was enough to raise many children calm and to avoid, one day, the Babysitter send me via webcam in the office the first word of my son.

4) I can not accept that my body changes. One day I consider the fine lines of expression and that damn hair as white as a hallmark of wisdom and (why not?) Class, the day after the botox I would swell to bursting. But I will not, rest assured, because I know that my boyfriend, much wiser than me, would flee in horror at seeing his heels like a taut balloon. And of course I change my mind a second later and I would suck.

5) I am a clinical case of lunatic. They are perfectly capable of waking up pissed as a hyena, let me pass the moon with brioche and cappuccino, send all to hell before lunch and apologized in tears within a few hours, move me after dinner and watching Casper crush my boyfriend under the covers at bedtime taken dall'inspiegabile anguish of being able to lose at any moment. In case you're wondering: no, it's not fun living like this.

6) Secrets bother me, especially when I showdown. I have never been impregnable as Fort Knox and I never claimed to be, then it irritates me a lot when someone tells me a secret begging me not to disclose it. Anyone who knows me knows that I am at least a little bit a sieve, that just can not bring myself to do the dumb, and then tell you a secret that will inevitably be on everyone's lips means deliberately want me to do the figure of the bitch.

7) amazing things happen to me every day and live coincidences worthy of a screenplay. We have such a friend of mine who accidentally starts a call while you are having sex: who do you think the phone will ring on the other side? Yes, me. And let's assume changing jobs: Who would be my nice (really, not ironic!) Opposite of your desk? One of the best friends of my ex, of course (always one of the framers, see point 1). And so on. Even this is nice.

And now, drum roll ... Let's see who gets the prize in my turn. I state that I do not believe I get to 10 blogs, because (this is my eighth unspeakable secret, a kind of pointless bonus track) are very selective. I regret not being able to reassign to Cosmo Girl, because if the meritebbe everything.

- The princess thought the friend of all time, Sabrina. Ironic, funny and capable of seeing everything from incredible prospects.
- Beer and feelings, because since I know beer is a kind of drug I can not do without. And she has a gift that I have: to paint a whole picture in ten lines.
- The key noise Elisa, because she is a talented writer and I hope that you find in all creative fields in which it operates, the satisfaction he deserves.
- The World of Puppy and friends, the friendly pea green of the Bohemian. My dear friend has the fairy hands: turn everything into magic and his creations are incredible. For example I have a pair of earrings made by her that inevitably elicit compliments whenever I wear them.
- But, really? A blog that makes me coats with laughter, but he says the real truth that few women would dare to say. A splendid example of a blog to share useful and understand that "no one is born learned."

Well, what are you still doing here? Up, power: reading!

Staff Writer

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steps

walk the streets empty, the blinds drawn, lights out, closed the windows and balconies. Shops like cages cry from behind dusty windows that bring misery day after day to the center. I think one day swallow whole.
Trouble doubles with my feet and agile four-legged and thin for a puppy that follows a single track: my. If he knew that I do not know where I'm wearing, and I choose the path running from myself and from my solitude, perhaps you would stop, or change direction.
observe more and more uniform soil slips under my eyes absent, and the tops of buildings, which are illuminated by the sun by day and by the silence I always seem higher, unreachable. I do small and slips away into the darkness without a shadow of the arcades. Hands in his pockets rummaged through the sand as the uncertainties that abound in the mind.
suddenly a girl comes out ahead of me, challenging each other with a glance in my direction. I reassure her slender figure for the time necessary to cross, then go back and alien remains just my corner of the eye to observe it as a ship moves away. Castaway in this vast ocean of solitude deaf to the rhythm of my footsteps asymmetrical. Trouble every now and send messages of urine on the walls, impulses to be found, because some dog mangy can reach him by collecting the wake of his move confused, messy. The time of the closing of the bar can not stand, people in the fleet is to be vomited back door. Swept away after being squeezed hard sweat of pecuniary and soon vanished. Contrails alcohol vanishes into thin air, leaving a furrow in my nostrils. Inevitably, the smell is transformed into that of sex and badly worn in cold rooms, aseptic some cheap hotel in the suburbs. Neon lights bouncing in my mind with no way out. I cling to the lifeless face of the collar and get a move on. I want to run away from this wind of death blows out the candles dim that dies in me. Looking, looking a bit non-stop 'to rekindle the wood, I seek in the eyes of a girl who does not know yet, and that this gives me hope. I'd settle for just a little 'paper, which burns strong, but fast, stretching for a while the agony and anguish of those who live in hardship, but for anything in the world would go silent.
From the top, just behind a street corner, I refer them to the noise of a party. I stop in a few seconds, the nose. I ride a big puffs cigarette smoke in smokers soul. Then the stasis is interrupted herself, and rimprendo the way, made my steps trying in vain to cross with those of someone like me, are fed up.

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closed door

I get up in the morning without being able to rearrange ideas. The sun is out by a deafening noise and there is no switch that can turn it off. I always get out of bed with the usual face. The gestures used to take me to wash, perfume, clothes. The reason why the world is today, will face trouble. If it were not him, and his threat of cagarmi in the world would not come home even see it. When I go down the stairs I always hope not to meet any tenant downstairs. Walk with his head down like a maniac smoking among high school students in miniskirts laughter, comments, and shooting straight. I almost always different ways to move from one part of the city, but always I stop in front of the car park of Via Dante. A beggar them is always steady with his misery. The step hugging and smiling for the first time. Not that there's nothing funny about him is that the desperate souls have a different solidarity. Do not try to paint reality with a new color, simply smile.
spend hours unnecessarily concentrated reading useless books that I read out of duty. I repeat myself for a little, and then I can fly away. But the hope of a different life is gradually diluted over the years that bitter show my face. I think back to past loves, I do it with tenderness, compassion, anger. Whenever a loss, a wound suffered as desired or not ever heal.
The voices of passers-by are always so full of security, of excitement that I sink deeper into the solitude of listening.
I speak little, less and less, and I always look for a partner that does not at least shake his head too empty and the little that I have inside. But the enthusiasm of easy dialogue fades to every comma, every time when I catch my breath and start over with the rest of the sentence. That is not my speeches that seem only half are. This evening I found Claudia
online, I asked her if she wanted to see us for a few minutes.
"Step in your home with Trouble"
"Only five minutes but I have to study"
"Fastest" I say.
Claudia has lost more than my soul, but rejects any arm's length because it must have distance too. Often refuses even mine. I can not communicate what I feel, the affinity that should unite us more and vanishes in a short silence, and the attraction I feel for you continues to be suppressed forever.
I am convinced that tonight will be different, I leave home to many of my attitudes, my personality, I will go to her naked as I am with my fears, but especially with this desperate need for affection that only those with real soul torn can give. Trouble jumps off the couch, took the ball in her mouth and wags his tail. Poor helpless victim of my Paturnie. With a smile I hope to launch the street, walk the road that quickly separates me from seeing it. I attack this conversation as if the only goal in my life. And after all it is. Supero desolate streets and traffic jams of people scattered. Jump loneliness as dead branches and run towards that bell. A
5 steps from the door of Claudia I get a message, you are.
"Forgive me, but I have a really bad night, we do another day?"
"I'm in your house" I am writing. "Ok, one more time" in the second message.
I am in front of that door, and what little strength that I did get from them is gone in a second, 5 steps away from hope. I do not know how to find the strength to go home. Trouble wags, who just wants to throw the ball.

Toothache Bruised Face

I just wanted a pair of shoes red ...

- Look, I brought my wedding dress!

My mother could not be more proud while handing me the dress of her most beautiful day, perfectly preserved. I look at him at the height of desperation: how do I explain to her that her dress is fantastic, but

a) E 'at most forty, or me there would come a calf.

b) has a high neck lace (oh Jesus ..) and is studded with exuberant pink flowers as big as grapefruits, tulle, satin or [@##° that I know, on what was once a skirt to Disney.

c) In essence it seems that the designer who has designed it knew of fashion as far as I know of particle accelerators.

And I should marry ... NOW! Shit.

- Mom, this dress does not fit. No later than in there.

- Do not want my wedding dress?

- No, Mama, do not put on this plane. It 's wonderful, but not before it's too tight.

- I think you should try ... E 'rubber band!

I'm desperate. My wonderful boyfriend is already waiting for me to church and I'm here, wearing a purple fleece overalls, slippers and a haircut with sheep at ground zero. And I have not a shred of clothing to wear.

course burst into tears. Stramerda shit. The happiest day of my life becomes a total failure because "I forgot" to choose the dress.

- Come on, come on. You can put this just for today. Search

to comfort my mother, as if "at the forthcoming marriage" things could get better.

- Mom, do not understand. I wanted a beautiful dress: light golden, very sexy, with a red strap and red shoes. I dream all my life, [@##°. But I forgot. I can not put your dress because I'm not there then it would always be "your dress, not mine. I will never marry, never ever. Nobody wants to marry someone who forgets to pick a dress [@##°! And even that comes in a sweater and jeans to church.

confess that the idea flashed in my mind for me is a second or two, accompanied by subtle excuse: well, if you really loved me would want to marry me, not my dress, right?

- you'll see that everything can be fixed.

seee, right. I bet he also told his mother the daughter of Marie Antoinette as the crowd swept into the square. My mother puts a hand on his shoulder. He wants to console me, but does not understand. He does not understand that my life is ruined forever, because I am leaving my wonderful boyfriend alone in church, waiting in vain for a living wonder that never comes. What would be the right choice: dig a hole and sotterrarcisi inside until the next ice age or so to go to church in jeans and a sweater, apologizing for the delay?

- so I can not get married, Mom. I can not, I can not.

- But why can not you? I told you that the dress is elastic. Try it. Then why do you want the red shoes? I've never seen anybody get married in the red shoes.

As if that meant no one has proven scientifically that it is impossible. He says this as if afraid that I would take fire to his feet just trying to cross the threshold of a church with a pair of red shoes.

I seem to hit a wall of rubber and I feel, for this reason, completely, deeply distressed immeasurably to the anguish that grips your throat like a pack of pit bulls with anger. The only person I would like to talk about is my boyfriend. I would cry on them as I usually do, but this time its not possible. Certainly not comfort me because I'm covering the face of ridicule to all the relatives and an unknown number of friends.

Somehow we find ourselves suddenly in the center, a store of wedding dresses. The owner, who seems to be the actress of "Legally Blonde", try to console me by saying that yes, a dress for me will find it in no time at all. I almost feel better in the middle of that riot of pink velvet, which is the room where we are accommodated.

- what size ports, dear?

- A forty-four.

The selling of wedding dresses bleach as if I had just run over the cat doing maneuver.

- We have forty-four. Here we have only forty and we just can not pack a forty-four within five minutes.

overflights sull'insulto I was just addressed.

- You have at least the red shoes?

course, as if put up in jeans and a pair of red Marlboro cleavage heel ten could change everything.

And so it was that this morning I woke with a start with my heart in my throat and tears in her eyes, just ten minutes before the alarm sounded on Monday morning. Shit.

That would sound the alarm a little later and it was already Monday morning, I realized only later. First I looked next to me: my wonderful boyfriend (because he really does exist, right?) Still deeply asleep, unaware of my inner drama. Only when I was truly touched to see that finally came back to reality.

Stupid Freudian paranoia.

Staff Writer

Sample Confidentiality Clausein Employee Contract

Provincialotta I?

It all started with a train and a ticket to Milan. I went up on
Frecciabianca and I found myself surrounded by a million laptops Blackberry and in various shapes and colors. And they say that smoking is bad ... Sure, smoking is undoubtedly a bad habit, but we want to talk about the risks of having hundreds of laptops and Blackberry attached to the brain for more than four hours (counting round trip)? As if you could survive for a couple of hours without the internet ... I almost wanted to write on Facebook, since I have a cell phone connection with flat 24su24.
I was playing with an intention very clear (well, of course, the firm determination not to lose a syllable of the meeting of work that I should come): place me in the studios of Radio 105. I intended to make it in the early afternoon. I saw those in the Zoo, which I personally I do not like much, but would still see a piece of radio was that for five years now, keeps me company in the car every day.
Once I went out to Milan Central Station and, for the first time although it is clear that is not the first time I went to Milan, my eyes fell on the building which is located in front of the station, just to the right . "Look, look, the building of the Lombardy Region", I thought. And then: "I seem to remember that the Lombardy Region has moved into a skyscraper important ... wait ... was named ....". Then I had an illumination: " oh, Pirellone! . I had it under his eyes had somehow how many times and I never noticed.
My train arrived at nine and the business meeting was at ten. The time was just enough to make the trip from the station to the hotel. And of course I'm lost. The Google map
skimpy reported an average of one every ten name streets really thought I could do it? Luckily I have a good sense of direction. I do not know how, but at one point I almost bumped into the studios of Radio 105. Without meaning to, I swear. Like a good soldier I wanted to do first and then having the pleasure, but how to resist the studios of Radio 105 between seven and ten in the morning with Mark Galli in the studio?

I did not believe my eyes, but a bright red writing informed me that yes, it was all true: the boys were "on air". I know that I dream of cabbage, but it was still a dream nurtured for years that it was creating so much and sorry if I was numb down there, if I tried to peek through the curtains closed, if I went to it as a autofotografata ... provincialotta. And damn time tyrant, who made me leave before it ended the program in order to follow that pizzosissimo meeting.
do not know how I managed to reach the summit. Probably following a rabbit White, saw the state in which I was dreaming.
leave out the work, shall we?
After the meeting I went for a stroll in Piazza Duomo. Probably a lot of girls have thought I was lesbian, but I want to clarify that, as I wandered between the windows with upturned nose, eyes were "desirous" mine. I was simply assimilated! When recapitalization of running into so many unwitting fashion guru?
Yes, because Milan is "forward", in many ways. Fashion, but not all. Everything passes beyond the first, and then drops, delayed and restructured in the province where I live. It 'was a fascinating tour. The jaws around me and when I passed in front of a mega-store of Guess and Guess orologino I looked at my wrist, I felt myself part of a greater design. Wow, I was definitely designed to live in a big city. But, looking at those girls dressed very well with some rag Gap (yes, there is even Gap!) On him, sure of himself, with hairstyles simple and fantastic, I felt, for the first time in my life, definitely "provincialotta. I watched the Texans pies feet, are mirrored in the window of my brothers and Prada do not know, I had an unpleasant sensation.
I did not drown the sorrow in the shop, I saw that I could not afford anything of the above.
The only shopping that I was given medication, looking for a shampoo nowhere to be found in my little province. And drugs have witnessed the scene of a very small boy (although I admit that my perception is distorted age of the person from the minors when they got me a she) asked that the order information on condoms.

- You only have these? (the expert ...)
- Yes, we finished the others.
- You also have big boxes? (and we will never have to do? No, I do not want to know ...)
- larger ones are 12.
- How much? (Series: Let's see if I can with pocket money ...)
- 13 €.
- Ok, so a pack.

Yes, Milan is definitely "on." I, despite my advanced age, not entertain a pharmacist to talk about condoms. To snatch up the first that came to hand me and I go to the pharmacy before they can get someone I know.
On the way back I went back in the studios of Radio 105 and Alessandro Cattelan when I looked at the study (yes, it really happened) I looked away embarrassed and I continued to walk toward the station trying to mingle in a crowd that does not exist. I am definitely
province.

Staff Writer

Grope On Train Vidoes

I finished my first novel! The expectations trap

Going from my lunch I looked in the mirror and I was horrified that I have seen practically joined eyebrows, the skin as if I lived in a bunker away from direct sunlight in recent months , incipient herpes, a pimple next to the chin that seems to me is ticking by a whisker catfish and laddered tights right from half past nine in the morning (luckily only flesh-colored, otherwise I would have been very emotional for the whole day). Ossiggnoreggesù: I'm living from decomposing? Ah, no, it was only under pressure for some of these work and why ...

It 's normal that I have left a bit' go, do not you think? I certainly did not have time to pass the tweezers for eyebrows and make me a form to the active ions of fruit every night. Every night I "had to produce!

What satisfaction, folks. Yes, I know that until now only I know what it says, but I'm happy with myself.
It took me less than expected since I have been supported by excellent readings. In a sense we are what we read, I really thought you could write something brilliant, a couple of months ago, at the same time when I was reading "the hypnotist" Lars Kepler, a thriller in which the characters have pizzosissimo Ikea furniture names? Fortunately Lars Kepler has been replaced by Jenny Colgan and his fantastic "I open my eyes and think of you", then to Holly McBeal with "The Double Life of Isabel Bookbinder fantastic" and finally Karen Templeton with the extraordinary "that the casino, the my life! " (Remember only you can use words such as "transient" and "bombastic" in a script so ironic) and now here I am, but radiant woman destroyed, owner of a whole new novel.
My top five priorities now includes:

1) Tweezers for eyebrows.
2) Mask with cucumber.
3) A pair of new socks and not laddered.
4) A printer to use for what I have begun to call "copy zero.
5) Someone explain to me why should I pay 130 euro deposit to the SIAE for the unpublished work (26 euro per year to keep a sealed envelope on a shelf) when I use a simple recommendation and send a copy home zero (thanks Elisa!), where the shelf does not cost me anything: where's the catch?

Ah, yes, maybe I could have read my novel to someone, if your I advance the time. And maybe I could dispose of the months spent in front of the pc with a little 'exercise, so as to come into a forty just in time for the presentation of my new novel (Gee, can say what I like!). Even though I know that the move will be more likely to delegate to my "agent" the issue of the publication and putting them back in front of the PC to work on the second volume in the series. Why did I tell you that it will be a number, right?
So: all that I need to start a notebook is really, really tasty to keep in her purse.

Staff Writer

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anecdote about madness

How

Diana always amazes me once more. Told me an anecdote about the madness that I will not forget, and we would meet here at the service of those who will make something good.

spichiatrico In a hospital a patient is confined particular, its characteristic is to paint on the walls of the room, paint not to die, although as painting uses its own shit. Beautiful drawings of shit on the walls that need meticulous maids clean every day, nauseated by the smell of stale never clean a latrine. The shift spichiatra not know what to do, believe that cleaning the wall repeatedly, sooner or later will have to stay clean, he believes that insanity is a matter of consistency.
A day in the room the patient enters a new psychiatrist. Do not even look at the "sick" in the eyes, is too busy to observe the beauty of the painting on the wall. A painting done with the shit, but awesome. Not a grimace, not a sign of weakness for the smell that smashes the nostrils. Then he turns to the woman, and makes only one comment:
"It's really beautiful, although it lacks a little 'color'
" It's not my fault if I do not damage the paint, "replied the woman.

Who is crazy here? Most mental illnesses are the direct consequence of the stupidity of those who have the power to decide who is normal and who is not.

Why Doesnt Alexis Texas Do Black Guys

balance

In love relationships There are two types of people: the mules and thoroughbred. Mules are faithful companions in life, hard workers, obedient and domabile not dodge the whip of the master, and with humility and resignation do their duty, and always with devotion. The thoroughbred
are just the opposite. Degl'impareggiabili are sons of bitches, anarchists, selfish, unwilling to yoke, unpredictable, uncontrollable, but fucking powerful.
The mule is to find a balance of convenience, to perpetuate the illusion of stability, to disguise the change, denying it to extremes.
With a purebred you can ride with the wind in your face, feel God, but always run the risk of being unseated. The mule will take you to your destination, but never, never and I repeat, will give you a hint of emotion.
The same comparison can be done to the concept of balance. Some people will like the stalemate that no event can disturb. Others, like me, who perceive him as the epitome of extreme acrobatics, as noted below, from hell to paradise where you are.
In both cases the question of the fall is just a matter of time. That the fall may be a simple consequence of gravity, or it can be an art.

may seem meaningless words, metaphors, short legs, but if there's a thoroughbred among those who read these lines, safe who understands what I mean.

"I do not trust you, I'll end up hurt," said Marta last night.
"You also want a mule, in other words" I told her dry.

Pain is part of life, you always have the courage to accept it. Only if you live in hell every single day you know recognize the paradise when you meet him. Only if you live in pain and loneliness can you grasp what a beautiful pass in his hands, and attaccartici with all your strength, holding it up to bleed.
that you do not like risk, which will close within a glass bell frightened the world, by suffering, that you think you starvene secure in your relationship full of certainties, of reassurance, a pat on the shoulder, you who pretend most of the time for fear of loss or even worse, abandonment, you, I pity you. As for me, I want the wind in your face, I feel God, because only then can I stop to smell the shit all the mules of the world, and finally live. And if I fall, as happened to me many times, will not be a clumsy flight followed by a dull thud. No sirs, I will be an Icarus in all its glory piroetterà facing the ground as the right result for wanting to touch the sun.

Lidocaine Liquid Drink

Today we went to lunch with the in-laws and mother-in-law asked to proceed as the draft of my first novel.
the way, for those of you that if you are asking goes great. The final manuscript will be completed within a couple of weeks , with a little 'luck and good will.
At this news the mother-in-law has shown happy and my agent, as well as boyfriend asked if you know any reference in any publishing house. My mother-in-law began to ring immediately to the right and left to their contacts.
While I was in the couch watching some old family photograph, I felt my talents decant dispassionately on the phone with a friend. It was something like " know, this girl is dealing with a lot of things ... for example ... a photo a few years ago and also won an important prize, thanks to a short film ... .
All things are true, for charity, but at that moment I missed my breath and at times I choked on a bite-existent.
My mother-in-law, like the rest of the world, on the other hand, did not even read a line of the novel. He only knows that it is a novel, period. My boyfriend, who has offered to act as my agent, is also dark. I have not leaked any indiscretion.
The problem is this: What if, once finished, I gave a copy of the book to my mother-in-law and her reading, should think " my son is a moron ? Why would also be possible, eh. Indeed, it is highly likely that I am not a rising star of the narrative. And then my novel contains scurrilous terms and jargon that youth are not sure she, or a man as my boyfriend would appreciate.
Oh oh, I semblato esselmi of expulsion in a mess .
For this reason in the afternoon I started to revise the novel with a new enthusiasm, the knowledge that somebody is already doing much to make my dream based only on the confidence he placed in me. I find this extraordinary and I am really grateful to my wonderful boy who is my mother-in-law for everything they are doing. At the very least a bit 'more effort from my part in ending this thing they deserve it.
be clear however, that if trust is to be, trust is: I do not intend to change a comma of the novel to seek the approval of someone. I just feel an urgent sense that all males feel when they become adults, and I think it's called "performance anxiety .
While I was working on the novel, a few hours ago, my boyfriend and if nothing came out saying that when I am a writer full time can we afford a cat. Shit. And as I will explain that I am not a Kinsella? not explain it to him, that's all: read the book when finished and they will see for yourself. I hope that the disappointment is not likely to miss the good points that I'm sure, but there must be somewhere in the manuscript.

Staff Writer

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Weidmannsheil

strength tests always end up getting the better of me. The car had just begun to travel the 600 km that separated the incivility that we leave behind and the total lack of civility that was waiting for us ahead. My father drove silently, my uncle was snoring, I was not doing nothing but look out the window holding my balance at the head of Trouble sleeping on my lap. The intermittent white line gave a sense of endless torture, and marks the passage to the mountains waiting for us. "Here you take a radio, put a bit 'of music," says my father. I was hoping it was not
Toto Cutugno or some other provincial Italian singer. The last time I listened to the little island of white for no less than the DJ, I had stopped at the thought of having to also deal with all those that made the choir. Part one cd Mia Martini. I feel uncomfortable in dealing with its complete ignorance of basic things in the world, but his pain of love is enough to calm down a little. Only suffering knows appease the suffering, or at least feel less out of place.
do not know who made me do, I do not know if you resist 48 hours in a row with the blood of my blood to tell me stories about how you have to kill an animal. Death is already so present in the faces that I meet on the street that maybe looking directly into the eyes of a dead animal and gutted can dispel, and push towards life.
The mountains we swallow in steep channels, then more steep. I still think that at the end of this road the cliffs We shake in a vise from which we can not get out more. I can not breathe and I'm bursting from the desire to smoke. My eye continues to scrutinize the fuel level, sooner or later this cart will even stop to drink gasoline. But the move millimeter laciano I hope more and more convinced I am that I like Anne Frank, who died two days before the liberation. I'm going to leave the skin 2 km from the service due to lack of nicotine.
I still think about good intentions, the idea that I had made a u n tete-a-tete with my father, the man who looks at me and I do not understand. I wanted to please him, spend some 'quality time with him. The hunt, I thought, it's done of silence, or so the words will not help. I just wanted to be near him a little, feel a sense of complicity that we have lost, if we ever had. She watched him joking with my uncle at his side, I laugh from the back seat, but my smile does not reach the front. Maybe it's better that way, at least I do not run the risk that it looks forced. Trouble continues to turn over in his seat looking for a comfortable position, but too many hours in the car makes him nervous. I feel him more akin to my father. Every time I think I ask to remove here, a way to go back I would find easy. But my mouth is glued to my father for giving me the illusion of him.
Finally the motorway services, unmount even before the car stops, jump down behind me Trouble. We made only 300 km, and it is only 3 hours from the start.