Cigna Dental Hmo Dentists In Phoenix

Romaiano

Today April 21 is the Christmas of Rome.

Piazza della Rotonda, Pantheon

Via dei Fori Imperial

Mask of the fountain in Piazza della Rotonda

Turtle Fountain, Piazza Mattei

Triton Fountain, Piazza Navona

Pond Eur

Sunset on the gasometer

(clearly the rights of the photos are reserved, the reproduction, publication, use, sale, etc., etc.).

Can You Paint Plastilina

'na botta pc-laziness

E 'come spring. I mean that weather, and if anyone has any idea how
long, cold winter has been the Netherlands this year knows what I mean. So I
disconnected from the PC, I left out of the niche in which I was moldy and I'm as much as possible "into the wild.
very "wild" in my garden right now: he realized that it's too hot and is exploding. Mica flowers, eh!, But weeds weeds and hedges to be trimmed. Moderately
"wild" the village. They came vacationers as the pheasants that are: in winter do not see them ever and a day are all there, big as turkeys, pheasants that you wonder if the jump was the "egg" was born and grown up now and feathered. bah. I have to ask why the mystery of Google San pheasants upsets me somewhat. At least they
, however, I did not steal the car park at the supermarket. As do 'sti damn tourists from April 1 at the end of August the surrounding crowd. What then ... but what ever you travel around here? They work as cleaners in the sewage water of establishments? A trip to the refineries? A picnic on the dock 2356? Given that electronic

laziness, lying inside the PC into a hundred photos of Antwerp, Leiden Brielle and I want to show you as soon as I find the urge to write even two lines of caption.
Given that next week will also parentame assorted do not think I do it very soon.
I also have to clean the glass. After 10 days of sun the excuse of "but as soon ripiove" no longer holds. And the one "but they are not dirty, there's only mist!" was pierced for some time. Ugh.

signed
disturbingly little wild Desperate Housewife

Cosmetic Yahooanswers

Pigs

Tonight, a dream of those who can not be forgotten.
I'm a piggy, not in the broad sense, in the true sense of the word. Capacity at the slaughterhouse, in an environment divided into three rooms: one large enough, the second giant with lots of wardrobes, the third small and narrow, and without a wall on the back: at the mercy of the world. While I am there, I get phone calls from my grandmother, my father, my aunt and a friend do not see the second year of university. Transit in the three rooms, and when I enter voluntarily in the third, the final and no return, I feel that my end is near. I look behind me and I see a road beyond the curve, of course, some predator that shall eat of my flesh.

strange hours to feed fears that I would have had seven months ago.

Tiffany Granath Night Calls Forum

drowning in paper

I would not exist without the paper. The paper of my books, which smelled since childhood with greed. The paper notes that pack of friends and family for a child. The paper rejected on the bare soft Morositas that devoured in one gulp. The paper they scribbled naked women smoking and roasted chicken (and, in the absence of that, I can live in the walls of my bedroom).

Only now I realize how much paper has been able to accumulate in twenty-three years of life. Items wanted by some that I would have been useful in the future, compelling advertising, fashion photography models which would contour and wanted to hang on the wall, entire magazines, brochures, postcards, brochures, exhibitions, cinema tickets, theater, concerts. Besides books, many books from being submerged.

have not changed, and perhaps only with Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451 could come to my rescue by giving everything to the flames. Two decades of life, few but intense. And then, the memories. Many. Between black and white photos from which darts look young Arab mother, my grandmother Sgambati and smiling, but my grandfather never knew that I should know, and Roald Dahl's Matilda, and Priscilla White Pitzorno Struts, Pinin Carpi and Wolf Hurricane , Margaret Mahy and his pirate everything to ashes.

Thinking back, I choose the powder, the weight of the perfume.