Catherine Gigante-Brown

Makeup and I have always had a love/hate relationship: I love it; it hates me.

raunchy renaissance woman. multimedia artist. probably a slut.

Why, when I'm cool with being a salt-and-pepper chick, does it so clearly unnerve others?

Anne Lamott's Operating Instructions wasn't your typical cutesie baby fare. It was raw, real—and unabashedly funny.

erotic. intimate. unapologetic.

You learn a lot about people when you live in their home. The Taylors seemed to lead a joyless, Spartan existence.

I immediately developed a hot-and-heavy girlcrush on the wild, wacky, brash, candid, feminist, rubber-faced comedian—and you should too.

I know it’s not a politically correct one, but I’ve got a confession to make: earth-friendly hotels stink. There, I said it.

My husband and I agreed: raising a child with an independent spirit who made decisions for himself was a good thing.

Upset you lost your keys? Try losing your breast. Pissed off about missing that train? Try missing your son’s 8th grade graduation because of a horrific infection from fluid buildup in the previously-mentioned missing breast. See what I mean? It kind of puts life into perspective.