Revlon Waterproof Liquid Foundation

Start over?

We always step ahead. E 'in the center. And when we step, which is in the car, on foot or by bike, I pretend not to see or if I look at it, take me wrong. I set foot there since 12. December. 2007. But it is always the same. The large wooden door scraped. The windows of the gazebo. The stone stairway, smooth, smooth and consumed. High ceilings. The muffled sounds and murmurs under the fund. Objectively, it is not just a nice place. A little 'decadent and somewhat' bohemian. The garden is like who knows if I left. From the outside can not see it, if you're not professionals, just do not know, do not you just dream that within all that there is also a garden, the glass opaque and full of clapping, the flagstone floors and classrooms, but many still have too few.

University.

At this time I had already finished. Should I have my beautiful and triumphant piece of paper hung in plain sight in your living room. I probably would not be helped. I'd probably also to the PC, maybe in a studio to do practicum, underpaid for 12 hours a day. Certainly I would be proud of myself. No, and I know I'll never know.

I know that I have chosen differently. I took the easy way out, I dropped everything and I got carried away by events. I adapted to the life he has chosen for me and I stopped to decide, to plan, thinking only of me.

But then, somewhere there is still me, there are still things I can do and above all there are still those that I already have. There are those who tell you that it is never too late to start and then there are things that change. Things that do not come back like before, but always changing and sometimes, just as you would like.

in full sail with the wind behind it can no longer live scuse.Però devrei I do not know what to do, to go or who picked up a bit as muovermi.Ho 'imagination, a little' strengths and some 'courage. I picked up a little 'healthy selfishness and I am determined.

I rewrite the university.

Upload I introduce myself as a rocket on the ground floor of the University station. Through the front door with a room feeling in my knees, I keep my eyes down and pray in turkish not to meet anyone who knows me completely. I do not want to talk to anyone or give explanations to anyone, are gone overnight from those corridors and I really do not like to say how and when to anyone. Then maybe I do not rewrite, which I have fallen all the tests already done and I'm not going to start all over again. Put that the survey does a bang, not make it. Put that there are problems. No better not to meet anyone.

I go straight to voicemail. The Beer garden is strangely deserted, and I find that coming soon? What the Students that time has changed from March 1, is closed. And the site did not say. And the site was not updated. And I went up to it at all. This is a sign. What the fuck. Ok, it means not to be done. Never mind.

University of cabbage, I come to join and you make me find the office closed.

Then, fate, events and everything around us lose out a hand and are just there this morning. In front of the University. I look at him. Maybe I look a moment to see if it is open. I look only if there is a row, walk away. I look. It is open. There is no row. Vado.

There is a lady so low that as soon as I can see it from the window of the door. He is kind and tells me everything I need to hear. She gives me advice and tells me to return in late summer. That everything is in order and that in September "you can get back on track." So I said, you can get back on track, like a car that went off the road and time begins to run.

I went out by the University with a stupid smile and 3000 thoughts. Actually I have not concluded anything, I could still draw back, but I will not, back in late summer and I subscribe for sure. I would like to meet someone and say "hey you know that since September, I go back?", "You know that from September back on track? It is not to say, I'll seriously. "I have not met anyone.

I called a friend who told me "you're crazy, good cross," and then another that said "you're great, you can do it!" Balancing the 50 to 50 my fears and my expectations . And I'm telling you. And then I'm saying to myself like a mantra to catalyze all the necessary strength to believe more and more. It begins again. Not like 3 years ago, more than 3 years ago. It begins again.

Ps: We take advantage of the bridge this weekend and we go along in Emilia Romagna to eat gnocchi, and tortellini tigelle good, so good party unity at all and do not forget to wave strong flags to celebrate!

Blondie - One Way Or Another

Online Scattergories Multiplayer

Things never seen.

I saw men with their pipes and boys with the keffiyeh. I saw women and female students in the fur parka. I saw mothers with children dressed as Italy. And grandmothers who, with thick glasses and skin off, but with your brain turned on. Brothers of Italy. I saw a flag, our long, long, full of us, we do not want us to kill the thought. There was the school, there were women, were the workers and the unemployed, there were business people and retirees, was Italy. Italy has awoken. Italy defending itself, defending its security and wants the facts and not jerking off. Italy who wants to return and walk with their legs, which wants to change direction, tired of being pushed strongly toward the abyss deeper disguised as just change.

I was in the square and then it was gone.

I was in the dark in a small room, small, with a small black bench. A voice, a woman, has a beautiful voice. I take off my shoes and little support on the bench. The floor is not a real floor. It is smooth, is black, it's cold. There are two doors, narrow and long, all black. It 's all black. The voice tells me to enter the right door. I am alone. There is silence.

Another room. A stool, red, small, and many small blue tiles. There is a tub, one that my grandmother used to swim with my father when he was little. A tin tub full of water, with a yellow rubber Paparella. On land there is the bell. The bell that drew on the road in front of the house with pieces of plaster of the houses under construction. This is done with the stones, all made clear, precise one after another. The water in the tub moves, makes noise is a regular drop falling from a tap not shut properly, but there are no taps.

But how beautiful daughters madame doré, but how many beautiful daughters. I want to marry madame doré, I want to marry ... are no longer alone, there are two children playing. They are the children of the woodcutter. I follow them and are on the edge of the woods. I sit under a tree and fall asleep. When I wake up, it's almost dark. There's just me. It smells of wood, wet wood, there is no smell at night, waiting for someone, but no one came. It's like a little house in the park, small ones for children, those in which I was hiding by the door is too small to go that low I have to bend. My feet make no noise, crush the dried leaves and are rolling stones. My feet hurt when I crush the stones. There are so many trees, the wind gets up and begins to sway and make noise. There are the sounds of the night and I can not go back. Walk between the trees and among the noises of the night. Then a distant light. A house.

It smells good, sweet. The house is made of biscuit, I get to taste it is sweet. I feel like a fairy tale of the Brothers Grimm . I look a bit 'and then later. The smell is good. I start to get astride and walk on all fours. There are lots of bones piled up here and there. It smells of burning flesh. There is a dark, narrow and long. There is a cage. Is anybody. He has bad feet, ankles swollen and deformed fingers. The skin is yellow es'intravedono lumpy blue veins. I called, looking for me but I do not see, I hid well. It makes a bad laugh, mouth open and then open all to see if the oven is ready. They feel the wood logs that crackle.

and shoulders, that's when I decide and push her and she falls into. Burn in the oven and makes the same noise when the logs burn.

There is nothing left. A pile of ashes. A shoe crush. Dentures. Nails. The rolling pin that had burned in half apron. A memory.

I wake up. I must be dreaming.

am, where I fell asleep. I'm at the theater expecting to see a show called HG. They are without shoes.
Where are my shoes?
I find them on a small black bench. I put them. One hurts. There is a stone inside.
I have a rock in your shoe!

... I have left Hansel and Gretel .... He says a woman's voice. A beautiful voice.

The show is over, the show was me.

Theatres settlements. Nine rooms to cross, a voice that guides you, revisited a story, a mystical path between reality and fiction, between childhood and adulthood, between fear and dream and you're the protagonist.

Last night he was theater HG Trickster. ( what HG )

I saw many beautiful things yesterday. Things never seen before.

Difference Between Pipe And Rolling Tobacco

My pediatrician is a genius.

the frog from Porto pediatrician. I

why you have written somewhere that my pediatrician is a very "bung, bung" style. I think the girls would come to the right of "dell'orgettina. Necklines, and not exaggerated bursts there are sincere and began to have suspicions that he does what he does on merit and nothing else. She is one of mutual and I go there only for a medical opinion, rarely seen on his care, and only when its pulling me a little, pay the cinquantone cool to the pediatrician in private.

"Hello Doctor"

"oh hi, lady are you okay?"
the assumption that if all went well I would not be here ...
"not really, the frog has a cough and smeared the eyes morning "
" Well, let's see, put it on the table "
hum! bronchi are free ... "
"fiuuu"
"it has a little sore throat"
"that I had also understood by me"
"the eyes is all ok, it was a stroke of air"
- but it should be? -
"Well lady, the girl is relatively well and truly I say to continue only with the nasal wash"
"nothing, I know for a cough?"
"but, no, there's no need, as I said is fine, but certainly not now know, tomorrow it could also come to her fever! "
" how, please? "
" and some lady! If you are now out and the child takes cold tomorrow it could also have a fever! "
o_O!

Congratulations!
is the genius of Pediatrics, I present to you, my Pediatr candidatela well in the Nobel Prize for Medicine. Then you say that some people should not kicking ass!
Maybe if I take you to control the child is because I do not want that it be a fever, right?

Song: Green Day - Boulevard of Broken Dreams

Curriculum Vitae Beauty Therapist

obvious, but maybe not.

Maroni Fried Green. At 9:00 in the morning.

On the table there is a new issue of the magazine with which I am working. As soon as I leave open the brackets, I will infumi the brain and I can not see. The member who had read it before me, covered with croissant and cappuccino trying to mediate the hot climate. With the cap in one hand and croissant in the other, I begin to meditate revenge. I can not do anything else. Leave mail in bursts. My thirst for revenge is not quenched, but I have to blanch them, so I decided to do a tour of the beautician. The method of the drives out, always works. Replace thoughts with annoying pain to eradicate. What better way to cool the blood, if do not gossip and talk about anything to the sound of tearing the net and decided that with the agitation also take away layers of skin. Therapeutic, I swear, better than sitting by a shrink. And then nothing, I preclude putting the cream but my skin has something to fish that I do not understand and is so determined to peel like crazy. The forced substitution of unhappy thoughts with useless thoughts and practice to be explored.

When I get home, glabrous and satisfied, regardless of the shit that there might be around 12 o'clock, and the frog just woke up and the member 14 should go away. The fridge is crying, because I have been shopping and I do not know when I can, because a little 'I forget, a bit 'and annoys me a bit' I do not find the right time. In most desperately wanted chef, to cook because I want to, zero.

There is a carrot, ugly and lean, which tells me: "cucinami, cucinami, cucinami please do not leave me to rot in here." Next there is a zucchini, younger, but on the same street of the sunset and a can of tomato in half, that if I do not throw it away out today. Stop. Browse the freezer and digging up a box of peas. I turned the room with the nice green beads frozen, but I was too sorry for the carrot that I begged for mercy and her friend zucchini. Strength and courage.

Nothing I have picked out of the fridge, the vegetables spinsters, I washed and made into small pieces, small, small, and put together a handful of peas and a tiny peak in a potato chip nice pan from the golden background of olive oil. After a minute I thought I could feel a warm in there and poured a glass of water. The vegetables to soak, heated in the whirlpool have made friends and have invented a fantastic soup easy. The smell was good only had a little bronzer, too prone to white, so the half can of tomato sauce was invited the beach party and has given an unexpected final touch of respect. Combined with the pasta lunch, a little 'nerds, it was good, but most of all I turned a 15-minute clock.

Why this post? No, only the clearest proof that even when it seems that there's nothing left to do, that the way forward seems to be one, if you look at the goods and sharp wit, an alternative is always the obvious.

Night people.

Song: Talking Heads - Sax & Violins