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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

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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.