Catherine Gigante-Brown

I sat obediently in her chair atop four ancient copies of the Yellow Pages. Crossing my fingers, I prayed Catholic schoolgirl prayers.

" Sure enough, the doorbell rang one early June day and there she was: curvy, seductive body, smooth black skin, bright blue eyes."

Why do we venerate individuality in adults but condemn it in children?

The overinflated American work ethic is slowly killing us. It’s constantly pushing us to do more — put in longer hours, check business emails on personal time, take calls from our bosses when we’re chilling in Cancun.

I dreaded putting him back on Concerta in the fall but I knew I had to. Or did I?

To the tattoo artist, I was a flesh canvas that she could transform into something beautiful.

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

raunchy renaissance woman. multimedia artist. probably a slut.

That’s the thing about being a breast cancer survivor — it’s always there: it never goes away. The scars, the fear that lurks in the back of your mind like a boogeyman. You’re going along nicely, living your merry life, and you’re fine, until you’re not.

I thought cancer was behind me. Until I had a weird pain near my left ovary which lasted for several days. It felt a lot like ovulation...Only, at 56, that train had left the station a long time ago.