Look what came out of my womb!!!

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Scars of Beauty

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I've been battling my breasts since age 11. They have always been my least favorite body part. At age 11 I made a deal with God. The deal was that I would have a nice booty in exchange for my breasts. I started blossoming at age 9 and wanted to prevent the growth of massive breasts like my mother had. I stood out enough by my height alone. To be 5'5 at age 10 was mortifying and awesome, but mostly mortifying. Over night my body grew so fast that when I woke up I had some how developed a woman's body. Due to the rapid growth, my body became scarred with stretch marks on my breasts, hips, inner thighs. This also caused a great deal of insecurity for me. Only pregnant women and fat people get stretch marks, and apparently growing mutant children. 5 th grade I had this little boyfriend named Steve Sansone (pretty sure he turned me off to all Italian/American men). Not sure how we got into a disagreement, but he took it to a level a cruelty. My mother was fighting cance...
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r. carlos nakai+braking bad=missing new mexico

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Been listening to a lot of R. Carlos Nakai lately whether it be during yoga practice, drivin in my mini van, or working with clients during healing sessions. Also recently got addicted to the series " Braking Bad ." Watching the show only confirms my desire to never try meth, while at the same time makes miss the beauty and soul of northern New Mexico. There is no other place in the world like it. also some "don't do meth" propaganda, which i fully stand behind: Spun is a great movie about daily life as a meth tweaker.
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Ms. Jasinski

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Woke up with a taste of nostalgia. I haven't missed my mom in more than a while. It felt good to remember her. As I placed my amethyst earrings in their holes, I sighed a loud, "God I miss you Terri." To work at the Lizzadro Museum of Lapidary Art is to be in a constant state of nostalgia. Not only from the stone sculptures of Chinese Dynasties, but also my grandfathers essence that haunts the place with his original office and library still intact. When I sit up front greeting guests and doing research, I yearn to hear grandpa Joe's voice call me into his office and give me something to do. Never met the man. Only see him every week in a stone portrait custom made in Florence, Italy as a tribute to his passing. The afternoon lingered. A woman came in. As I watched her sign the guestbook I thought to myself: I know this woman. Yes, it has to be her.   She approached the front desk. "Hi, I use to have one of the grandaughters in my class a while ba...
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