Humor
Revisiting My Jealous Bitchfriend, Depression
In April 2015, my self-exorcism post went live. It was, by far, the most difficult and soul-consuming blog post I had ever written. Yet, as cleansing as it was to post, I had unfinished business with it. A few days ago, I saw August McLaughlin, talking excitedly about her Beauty of a Woman Blogfest V, on Facebook. Knowing the type of exposure and scrutiny my blog would receive, it was the sign I needed to revisit this post. Here it is, in its entirety – still unedited – followed by an update, of sorts.
[April 15, 2016] This post has been a long time coming, as it has been dwelling and languishing in my house of avoidance. Typically, I composed blog posts, edited and posted them. This one was minimally edited, against my better judgment as a wordsmith. It needed to remain in its raw, almost draft state, in order to convey the events accurately.
I am Clinically Depressed.
No, I am not “sad” or “melancholy,” as those terms lack the depth to describe what I have felt. Or in my case, haven’t felt.
According to Web, MD., “clinical depression is marked by a depressed mood most of the day, particularly in the morning, and a loss of interest in normal activities and relationships — symptoms that are present every day for at least 2 weeks.” Signs and symptoms include, but are not limited to:
- Fatigue or loss of energy almost every day
- Feelings of worthlessness or guilt almost every day
- Impaired concentration, indecisiveness
- Insomnia or hypersomnia (excessive sleeping) almost every day
- Markedly diminished interest or pleasure in almost all activities nearly every day (called anhedonia, this symptom can be indicated by reports from significant others)
- Restlessness or feeling slowed down
- Recurring thoughts of death or suicide
- Significant weight loss or gain (a change of more than 5% of body weight in a month) [Yes, there should be a proper citation here, but I need to exorcise this post from my psyche before I chicken out and retreat into my fortress of solitude. So, fellow wordsmiths and scribes, bear with me.]
I started this blog when I returned to undergraduate studies to complete prerequisites to apply for nursing school. After attaining a 3.8 GPA, being wait-listed, then accepted, I began the RN Level I course in the Fall of 2011. The material was challenging, in ways I never expected. To say that I was ill-prepared would be a gross understatement of epic proportions.
I graduated with my BA in Criminology in 1991, so my expectations were completely inconsistent to the new way of work of higher education. For example, I went to class with a course syllabus, notebook and pen, took notes, read my textbooks and supplementary materials, studied both and took written exams. In 2011, there were syllabi, textbooks, e-textbooks, videos from the textbook manufacturer, YouTube videos, Power Point slides, sample tests from an outside company used as predictors for the NCLEX Board Examinations, digital records of lectures and my own personal notes. This was for the lecture portion of the course, only. The practical/hands-on Clinical portion had it’s own syllabus, notes, “check-off” preliminary skills practice and finally, the formal hospital rotations working directing with RNs and their patients. I received a “B” in this class. I was 43 years old.
Spring of 2012 brought Level II (Medical Surgical Nursing and Labor and Delivery) and Pharmacology. I received a “B” in Pharmacology and a “D” in Level II. My instructors revisited and regraded each of my tests and quizzes because they could not understand the disconnect between the student they saw explaining concepts to classmates and practicing safely on the hospital floor, with the final grade of 79% (D in my RN school). My Clinical Instructor, who has sense become a good and trusted friend, asked me if I had ever been tested for Learning Disabilities. Having gone to a major university in the 1980s/1990s, before Learning Specialists were on staff, and performing well in my classes, I never considered it. I visited our college’s Learning Specialist who referred me to a Licensed Mental Health Therapist, specializing in Adults with Learning Disabilities.
At my first visit with the LMHT, he tested me for Learning Disabilities and determined that I had Adult Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), with an emphasis on Distractions. He described my brain as being a shelf with cubbieholes. Each cubbiehole was a part of my brain and as long as each cubbie was filled, I was able to function well. My challenges were when I had to concentrate on only one item and leave all the rest of the cubbies “empty.” My brain would naturally want to fill them up. In layman’s terms, I was/am fantastic at multitasking, but terrible at concentrating on one project alone. This served me well when I was working professionally, but was my kiss of death in Nursing school, where any tiny distractions would pull my attention away from the material I was supposed to be learning.
The college allowed me to re-slot back into a Level II course in Fall 2012, while my classmates moved on to Level III. Along with swallowing my pride, ignoring the growing guilt about “wasting” money again, trying to ignore my feelings of inadequacy and embarrassment at having to repeat a course for the first time in my life, I retook Level II, this time with appropriate accommodations for tests, which included a quiet, private room and extra time to take the test to allow for mental “refocusing” breaks. I don’t think I ever fully processed my personal biases against needing ADA accommodations, because I expected I would “snap out of it,” as my father suggested. Of all the courses to repeat, the irony and agony of retaking Level II, with its emphasis on Labor and Delivery, was not lost on me – a childless middle-aged woman. I made it through with a “C.”
Spring of 2013, brought with it Level III (Medical Surgical Nursing, Pediatrics and Hospice Care) and Psychosocial Nursing. I received a “B” in Psychosocial Nursing was the only person in my class of 30 students who actually looked forward to our clinical rotation with Mental Health patients, or “my people, as I began to think of them, almost immediately. I passed Level III with a “C” and thought it was the most rewarding Medical Surgical Nursing rotation, because I had so many hands-on experiences, it re-energized me for the final semester and was working with a population very precious to me – Veterans.
Summer passed quickly and I looked forward to completing Level IV, Role Transition in Nursing and the Nursing Care Management Practicum (aka. Management rotation). I received an “A” in Role Transition in Nursing, because it was not academically challenging, but took precious time away from my Level IV study time. Level IV and Management ran consecutively, and in order to qualify to take Management you had to successfully complete Level IV with a “C” or better. Adding to the pressure was the knowledge that at the end of Level IV were two exams, the Level (or class final) exam and the ATI comprehensive test. Students who did not pass the ATI test – a predictor for success on the NCLEX – were ineligible to proceed to the Management rotation. Consequently, the amount of stress we were under was tripled. Needless to say, I cracked under the pressure and finished Level IV with a 78%, another “D.” Ironically, once my grade was posted I felt an immediate sense of relief. Unfortunately, I had to share the news with everyone I knew, including my parents who had changed their travel plans to ensure they could attend my RN Pinning Ceremony and Graduation. That was probably one of the hardest phone calls I’ve ever had to make.
Additionally, at a time they should have been celebrating, my classmates were stunned, sad, and angry….very, very angry. Out of 112 students in our Level, 27 of us failed to make the Management rotation. As competitive as we were with each other, the nature of Nursing school (and the Nursing profession) was infinitely more congenial, team-oriented and we became a “family.” They wanted to know why their teammates would not finish the program with them. And they vocalized this, loudly. It was just before Thanksgiving 2013 and I was 44 years old.
As this was occurring, I took to my bed.
For the next two and a half months.
I dragged myself out of bed, showered and participated in holiday activities, or what I labeled, resentfully as “mandatory family fun.” When December ended and January began, my husband, who had been my rock during this entire episode, suggested I speak to my Primary Care Physician about my “lack of moods and tired feelings” at my annual physical. I will forever be grateful to him for this, but at the time, I simply wanted to be left alone to be in my room, pretending to read, sleep or watch funny animal videos online.
My Primary Care Physician was a Puerto Rican woman, whom I adored, admired and respected. She was the right person to discuss my condition with me. All of it. The comforting numbness, the security blanket of obesity that I had started weaving around myself, the lack of interest in anything and the heart-stopping pain of knowing I had disappointed everyone…including myself. In our typical Spanglish, we went through issues I had never discussed with a doctor. Ironically, Nursing school deserved a great deal of the credit. One of the skills we practiced from our first day on the floor with patients, was teaching. I was a natural teacher and I enjoyed it. So, if I was able to ask men in their 60s, 70s and 80s about their current sex lives, and ensure they were using condoms correctly, answering similar questions about myself should not have been a barrier. It wasn’t. In fact, it was the first time in my life that I had been asked many of the questions.
My doctor became concerned when we discussed my mental health. and she asked me to describe how I felt.
I never felt sad.
I never felt happy.
I felt mildly to severely inconvenienced and numb.
Numb.
Devoid of all emotions, feelings and sensations, as if I moved into
a fluffy, shock-absorbing, grey Cloud where all lights and sounds were muffled.
Waking up and engaging the world required more energy than I could, or cared to, muster. Showering, washing clothes and spending time with people entailed bracing myself for questions I had no answers to, conversations I had no desire to participate in, and were physically and mentally draining.
I had become comfortably numb, just as described by Pink Floyd.
The truth was…I liked it. It worked for me. On every level.
Numbness required little or no time away from wallowing in my own self-pitying disappointment. Unfortunately, as a “responsible adult,” numbness is frowned upon as a way of life. It prevented me from engaging in life. I was a failure in school, unemployed and rudderless. My security blanket of obesity had taken me past the point of being an unattractive “fat person,” and into the realm of “the invisible people” quite effectively.
To my doctor’s credit she listened. Carefully. She referred me to a therapist and prescribed an SSRI (Selective Serotonin Reutake Inhibitor), that I immediately researched in my Nursing Drug Guide. Simply explained, serotonin, a neurotransmitter, is responsible for sparking the body’s natural chemicals that control feelings of happiness and well-being. The body distributes it when needed, and then collects it, when not. People with depression, tend to lack enough naturally-occurring serotonin, or too much is recollected at the end of emotionally difficult or sad moments – resulting in the “numbness.” Additionally, the SSRI prescribed me would help my lack of focus, related to my ADHD.
I resentfully, took the loading dose (30-90 days), and noticed a gradual change in my moods and energy levels. Not a “magic pill,” by any means, as all it did for me was begin to dissipate my Cloud. But, I resisted. Dissipating the Cloud would allow the sunlight of self-exploration to take place. It would require me to notice and acknowledge my obesity blanket and begin to reconnect with others. I wasn’t sure I wanted to do any of that.
I really loved my Cloud, dammit. Cloud understood me without judgment. She was my mistress and best friend. She was also my greatest enemy, and a jealous one at that. That was February 2014 and I was 46.
For the next few months, I struggled to find myself. Every day Cloud waited patiently for my return, letting me I know she loved me more than anyone, just as I was. I am disgusted to admit that more often than not, I would let myself float into her beautiful numbness, as my medication would begin the arduous process of pulling me back out. As I was experiencing the allure of numbness and the frightening thought of leaving Cloud behind, I stopped being a wife. I simply was not interested in any of it. For months, my husband would come home from work, only to find me lying in the same position I had been in when he left for work at 5:30 every morning. Dishes went unwashed, dogs were not walked, dinner was not cooked. His patience, already worn thin from dealing with my stress during Nursing school, disappeared. For weeks, then months, we lived an existence of cohabiting strangers.
In October 2014, a dear friend whom I met working on political campaigns sent me a Facebook message. He recommended me for a job as a Regional Field Canvass Director for a political action committee. After all, I had done community organizing work for years and had the necessary networking and human resources experience to successfully do the work. Thinking this would be a great transition, from unemployed to temporary employment, I accepted the position. Then lasted two days. My husband saw me for my dinner “break” on the first day and grew concerned, as he said I was simply staring into space and speaking in tongues. On the second day, he visited my office, helped me out of my chair, waited until I had sent my resignation email, and escorted me home. The only word out of his mouth when he saw my work environment, was, “no.” In fact, he called my parents and in-laws to give them his impressions of the “cold, ugly, white box” I would have to work in. He told them, “I just got glimpses of my wife back. I am not willing to knowingly send her into an environment that will only make her worse.” Like I said, this man was my rock. He knew and supported me like no other.
But, Cloud was already there. Soothing me, reminding me how much better I was wrapped up in my blankets at home. She was right.
This proved to be but a minor setback and the climb out of Cloud was easier.
In December, my Father arrived for a Christmas visit, and repeated his “my daughter was confident and fearless, this is only a phase, just snap out of it,” mantra. I heard similar versions, in various levels of resentment from my mother, mother-in-law, and several friends – dissonance. I have always been able to tune people out so well and quickly, that it makes my own head spin, sometimes. Frankly, I have never cared if they knew it.
2015 arrived with a renewed, albeit cautious, sense of purpose. And Cloud. Always waiting patiently to embrace me in her soothing emotionless depths and play my new theme song, Bad Day by Fuel.
Before I flunked out of Nursing school a dear friend I met in Level I and I found very inexpensive tickets to New York City and planned a girls’ weekend to celebrate my graduation and Pinning. Needless to say, I neither graduated nor received my RN pin, and now had nonrefundable tickets to New York for the four days before St. Patrick’s Day. I asked my family to help me take the trip, and they agreed. By now, my parents were fully paying my mortgage, so I was asking two retirees for money to take a leisure trip. The ugliness and lack of fairness was not lost on me, but I was learning my new normal. I had a wonderful time in New York and was reminded of when I would travel there for business, years ago. Suddenly, I began to see, and miss, the old me. And Cloud knew. She always knew.
Cloud reminded me that my “new” life was online – a mixture of reality and fantasy. Interactions with strangers who now knew more about me than my own family. Sharing myself in depression-themed and other chat rooms, finding kindred spirits who never asked me to change or leave the house. Cloud approved of my new friends and generously created more space for me to experience these relationships within her numbing comfort.
Which brings me to the present, and the impetus for finally writing this post: a new friend. A new friend who sees more of me than I am comfortable showing, and yet, accepts me as a I am. A friend who asked me, rather audaciously, to share how I got here. The boldness of this request both surprised and frightened me, as it would require tracing my steps back to my bottom: the end of Nursing school. It would mean taking responsibility for my own selfish behavior, regardless of whether or not, it was related to my Depression. But most of all, it would necessitate a level of introspection that I had avoided. That I have always avoided. I would have to see my own beauty and worth and begin to tear down walls erected in my late teens and college years. SCARY STUFF, as I preferred to see the beauty in others. Never myself.
So, to my friend, I say, challenge accepted. And to Cloud…bitch, you need to find another mistress. I am 47 years old and Clinically Depressed, battered, bruised, incomplete, but not defeated. May soothing rain fall on me and help me chase Cloud away.
Thank you Ed Sheeran for sharing Foy Vance’s angst-filled lyrics, that moved me beyond words and allowing me to cry real tears of pain for the first time in over eight, or more, years. “Make it Rain,” indeed.
UPDATE – April 30, 2016:
I am still here.
No. Scratch that.
I am more than simply “still here.”
I am a a better version of myself. Still sassy, snarky, loud and opinionated, but also a little wiser and more gentle on myself. Still obese, but 30 pounds lighter than I was at Christmas time. Listening to my body and working out with that tiny English dynamo, Gemma Fountain, while embarking on a journey as a Plexus Ambassador with my Sister-in-Law. While still high, my “bad” cholesterol (LDL) and liver enzymes (indicators of possible inflammation and impaired function), are only one number out of “normal” range. I have more energy, my libido is back and I feel like participating in life, for the first time, in a very long time. I am still an extroverted introvert, who loves to socialize, then regroups by spending quiet time at home with her dogs, working, reading or chatting online. And, at 48, I KNOW I look good and can still rock a side ponytail, like it’s the 80s or 90s.
Thanks to Paxil, mental health therapy, a primary care doctor who is not afraid to say, “lose weight and clean up your eating habits,” my very own Drill Instructor/US Army Veteran #10 Can ‘o Whoopass Facilitator/Husband, family, friends, classmates and K9 kids. It has taken a village.
4-Enchanted Stars for A.D. Marrow’s “Love and Other Cosmic Nonsense” – Book Review
Aside Posted on Updated on
Breaking it off with her long-time non-magical boyfriend, Evan, was for his own good. At least that’s what Maggie Owen tells herself. After all, a witch and a human can have no future together. Her vision told her so. But now it seems the universe is exacting revenge for upsetting the balance of what “should be” and her heart is telling her she was wrong.
Evan Jackson can’t believe his bad luck. It’s been a year since Maggie broke his heart, and now his business partner has hired her as their new receptionist. Fine, they need the help. But no way will he let her get close again. He can’t take another heartbreak from the woman he still dreams about, even if it feels like there’s still a magical pull between them.
Being in the same building with Evan is a start, but it’s going to take more than Maggie’s special talents and a wink to get the hard-hearted bad-boy to see that love is really more than just cosmic nonsense and set the universe back into balance.
My Review:
Take Bewitched, mix in a little Miami Ink For a Bewitching Debut – 4 Enchanted Stars
Disclaimer: While I received a complimentary copy of this book from the author for an honest review, I enjoyed the book so much I purchased it for my ebookshelf.
This lovers-reunited novella, found Maggie Owen accepting a job at the very tattoo shop co-owned by her ex-boyfriend, Evan Jackson. In a cosmically ironic turn of events, their reunion was the impetus they needed to face their strong feelings for each other and the reasons for their breakup. There were several naughty, but not overtly explicit, sex scenes, that pulled readers in, as Maggie and Evan’s personal barriers were torn down and their mutual desire heated up. They had to look past their surface attraction, to the deep feelings underneath and both learned to accept the other’s gifts, including Maggie’s magical connection.
Annabel, Maggie’s sister and Liam, Evan’s business partner and friend, rounded out the cast and there were hints of a possible love match for Liam in future books. These secondary characters were even funnier and snarkier than the lead characters. My favorite quote was delivered by Annabel as she described Evan, “Maggie, the man looks like Aphrodite and David Gandy had a love baby. He loves art and building stuff. He likes puppies. He volunteers at a soup kitchen. His favorite movie is Love Actually for heaven’s sake.” (Marrow, A. D. (2014-03-24). Love and Other Cosmic Nonsense (Entangled Covet) (Kindle Locations 246-247). Entangled Publishing, LLC. Kindle Edition.) Who wouldn’t fall for a tattooed good boy, like that?
My only note was that the story was too short. I know A.D. Marrow planned to continue the series but this reader would have enjoyed some flashbacks to the characters’ “meet cute,” “first date,” or “first sex scene.” The length did not detract from the story – I just wanted more! However, fans of Entangled books will be pleasantly surprised with at least one cameo from another author’s popular MMA fighter series.
I look forward to Ms. Marrow’s future books and recommend Love and Other Cosmic Nonsense (Entangled Covet) for those days when you need a short, sweet and funny happily ever after to curl up with on a cold or rainy day.
Review links: Amazon and Goodreads.
About the Author:
A.D Marrow is a a registered Sapiophile, a proud Geek since before Geek was chic and believes that everyone deserves a happily ever after. She lives in the foothills of North Carolina with her ridiculously hot and amazingly supportive husband, three kids that rock so hard there should be a national holiday for their awesomeness, two really stupid dogs and a plethora of Post-it notes with book ideas to last her until she’s 90.
Her childhood dream is realized in the fact that YOU have cause to read her bio. She hopes that one day, it lends her enough credibility to live out her second dream, which is to write an episode of “Doctor Who.
Her personal mantra echoes that of Morticia Adams; “Normal is an illusion. What is normal for the spider is chaos for the fly.”
You can find A.D. on her website, Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest.
Song of the Day – “What Does the Fox Say?” with Corresponding Spoof
If you haven’t seen Ylvis’s video “What Does the Fox Say?” you are a) lucky, b) in for a treat, or c) may curse me for leaving you with a terrible earworm. Either way, this is Norwegian comedy at it’s best. Or worst. Or strangest.
Ryan Higa’s spoof is priceless! Happy Friday, everyone!
Happy Release Day to Olivia Cunning!
Olivia Cunning’s Sinners are going to the chapel and going to get married!
So, the paperback proof copy of Sinners at the Altar just arrived on my doorstep. Freaking finally… *grumble, overnight airmail my ass, grumble*
And all those lines that were on the digital proof’s cover are nowhere to be seen on the hard copy, so in celebration of the release (of the breath I’ve been holding since Friday *cough*) of Sinners at the Altar, I’m giving away 10 autographed copies of the book w/ a Sinners on Tour wristband. (Two are in the picture so you can see both sides.)
And since I’m feeling generous, I’m giving away 20 additional wristbands. 1 per winner.
So that’s 30 prizes up for grabs!
Well, you do have to enter…
Click on the link below to enter for your chance to win.
Sinners at the Altar Release Day Giveaway!
Good luck!
And yes, it’s open internationally.
El Bachelor Reaches Schmuckasaurus Stature During the Final Rose Ratings Bonanza.
SPOILER ALERT: If you have not watched the final episode of Juan Pablo’s season on “The Bachelor”, please stop reading now.
Right: Clare Crawley
In one of the most bizarre, yet strangely entertaining seasons of The Bachelor, we arrived at the Come-to-Jesus…I mean “The Final Rose” show. To this point, Juan Pablo was rejected by two contestants who left the show, rather than being eliminated by him, and summarily dismissed any woman who asked him anything deeper than “would you like fries with that?” The finale became the battle of the blondes – Nikki, the Pediatric Nurse and Clare, the hairstylist.
Last week we learned that there may have been a more intimate moment between Juan Pablo and Clare, that he disclosed (bragged about) when he spent time with Andi in the Fantasy Suite. Whatever was said, was bad enough to have Andi rip into Juan Pablo and and walk off the show.
Ironically, he tweeted “The day has COME… Finally TODAY the soap opera comes to an END… 😃” and “The END of Mi Aventura STARTS now on ABC…” before tonight’s show aired. Soap opera? Aventura? Oh, boy. We knew the man was clueless, but surely someone at ABC could have found him a publicist, or at least a keeper? Naw, Juan Pablo went rogue. And it was priceless.
It was no surprise to anyone, but Clare, when Juan Pablo told her he was not choosing her. After letting the woman declare her love for him, he made some awkward comments about friendship and leaned in, presumably, to hug her. Clare, held up her hand, told him off and walked away. In doing so, she earned my respect but she could have saved herself the heartache by listening to her oldest sister who expressed her “displeasure” at the Juan Pablo’s lack of commitment, during the Hometown Dates. I am sure the women meant to say, “run away from Schmuckasaurus as fast as you can.” His comments to host Chris Harrison, as he discussed Clare’s exit were truly cringe-worthy and there were audible groans from the studio audience. Clare chose not want to “reunite” with Juan Pablo during the live show and indicated that he made some deeply inappropriate sexual comments he made about their time together.. In his defense, being a class act was never part of his skill set.
At this point in the show, I was laughing and hoping (praying) that Nikki would follow Clare’s lead and dump Juan Pablo on his tightly sculpted ass. Alas, it was not to be, as she also professed her love for him. Typically, this is where the Bachelor would drop to one knee and propose to the last woman standing. Juan Pablo however, not only did not reciprocate in telling Nikki he loved her, he took it one step further. He actually told Nikki he had a ring in his pocket, but was not going to give it to anyone. Instead, he offered her a rose, to continue dating and “getting to know each other,” apparently. Nikki accepted the rose, but confusion and hurt were evident on her face – to everyone, except Clueless JP. It was uncomfortable to watch and I am sure rather unpleasant to participate in, or see your loved one go through.
Once this “Final Rose” debacle ended, the live “After the Rose” show started. My live tweet during this portion, as I stared, open-mouthed, at the continuing train wreck, was Chris Harrison should get hazard pay for Juan Pablo’s season. Welcome to Planet Hot Mess. I sincerely believed Juan Pablo was planning to defend himself and his actions, because he was embarrassed at how he was portrayed on the show. In fact, he seemed to have a statement prepared about his home country, Venezuela, and the political unrest there. What he, and many others on reality TV shows, failed to realize was that the show aired the footage it had. In other words, they showed the world what he said and how he behaved. Of course it was edited for television, but they did not create something out of nothing. He became flustered and angry as he referred to drastic changes in his and Nikki’s plans, and whatever the “big surprise” was that they teased at each commercial break, was never revealed. (He likely promised the producers a declaration of love or proposal for air time.)
“After the Rose,” also featured some of the previous contestants, including Sean and Catherine, whose wedding was televised a few weeks ago. Also in attendance were Desiree and Chris, from the most recent “The Bachelorette,” where Juan Pablo was “discovered,” incidentally. As Juan Pablo continued to dig himself a shallow, then exceedingly deeper grave, the other contestants and Chris Harrison tried, in vain, to throw him a lifeline. He was given prompt after prompt to declare his love for Nikki on television, and the idiot refused to do so, citing “privacy.” When Sean pointed out that reality TV stars had no privacy, Juan Pablo proceeded to insult them. He then, turned on Sean, who had, until that very show been his ally. The quote of the night goes to Catherine, who said “Don’t slap the hand that fed you.” Someone actually had to explain this to Juan Pablo, during the show. I was hyperventilating, I was laughing so hard.
But, “Betches Love This,” capture the essence of the episode so well in The Best After The Final Rose Ceremony Recap You’ll Ever Read.
We learned two things tonight. Just because a man is attractive does not mean he is intelligent, has substance or sensitivity. And, finally, ratings for the next Bachelorette, starring Andi Dorfmann, will be through the roof.
I invite you watch along with me.
Update (March 12th): Juan Pablo wrote a blog for People Magazine that is, according to his tweets, being held up by ABC’s production crew. Additionally, there seems to have been a “privacy pact” of sorts between the “character” of Juan Pablo and Nikki Ferrell. He refused to profess his love on television, but did not mind doing so via his “Adventures in Loving You” YouTube video. Bizarre. I hope he realizes that all that ABC footage of him and Nikki is property of ABC Network, not him.
Happy World Nutella Day – February 5, 2014
Nutella has always been a part of my food vocabulary. Growing up overseas, we were exposed to international foods from an early age and items that might have seemed “exotic” to some, were commonplace to us. Nutella, was one of those treats. My great-grandmother would spread it on toast, as a dessert with tea. Since it was a memory I associated with childhood, I always assumed it was tastier than it actually was. The same way camp cabins seemed so enormous, when we were younger, but grew smaller as we aged.
I was wrong. Nutella was not only as delicious I remembered, it was even better incorporated into “adult” desserts.
Imagine my surprise when I moved to the U.S. and there was NO NUTELLA, anywhere. Some Italian specialty markets carried Nutella, but it was expensive and would fly off the shelves as soon as they were stocked. In some cases, it was like watching a small version of Black Friday sales crowds, before the mayhem and murder.
Fortunately, American fans demanded that Nutella be available and we prevailed! Now, Nutella is available in our local grocery store and a few American food corporations have created their very own versions, of the luscious hazelnut spread. I wish them luck, but I am a loyal Nuella woman.
Eight years ago, blogger Sara Rosso created World Nutella Day to extol its wonders. Other food bloggers soon caught the bug and World Nutella Day became a grassroots success. Unfortunately, the “holiday” met with some early legal challenges from Ferrero, the Italian company that produced Nutella. Once they realized that World Nutella Day was not only a celebration of the product, but an opportunity to gain new fans, they relented and joined the fun. Today, Ms. Rosso and Michelle Fabio are the coordinators of the festivities, with the blessings of Ferrero.
If you have not tried Nutella, today is the perfect day for your first taste! To all the other Nutella fans out there, I high-five you with my spoon!
5-Stars and 2 Snaps in Z-Formation for Avery Flynn’s “High-Heeled Wonder” – Book Review
Sylvie Bissette may be one of Harbor City’s youngest glitterati, but only her best friends know her most closely guarded secret. She’s the woman behind The High-Heeled Wonder, the newest must-read blog for fashionistas everywhere. Gossip, fashion advice, exposés. Too bad some people can’t take a little criticism. When an internet troll discovers her secret identity, Sylvie turns to security expert Tony Falcon for help. The investigator from the other side of the tracks is the olive oil to her Evian water, but it’s not just her temper he’s inciting…
Tony Falcon wouldn’t know a kitten heel from a tabby cat, but since most of the bad guys he tracks down aren’t wearing stilettos, it’s never been a problem…until he meets Sylvie. The feisty fashionista may be his best chance at catching the criminals responsible for his best friend’s murder. But solving that case means going after the people Sylvie cares about, and soon the attraction—and the danger—has him wondering if solving the case is worth hurting the woman he can’t stop fantasizing about …
When Sylvie’s stalker escalates from sending nasty e-mails to trying to run her over in broad daylight, Tony goes undercover as Sylvie’s boyfriend to infiltrate the close-knit fashion community. In a world full of overblown egos and cut-throat ambition, Tony and Sylvie must work together to find her revenge-obsessed stalker before Sylvie ends up with a literal knife in the back.
My Review:
Bogie Meets Gracie Lou Freebush and they “Make it Work”
Sylvie Bissette was the mastermind behind the popular, “High-Heeled Wonder,” a blog that exposed all of the fashion industry’s dirty little, and not so little, secrets. Her scoops garnered her huge a fan base, the ire of both a magazine’s editor-in-chief and a self-absorbed, talentless designer and her very own cyberstalker. This troll indicated he/she would stop at nothing to reveal Sylvie’s identity and take down her blog.
After a very public attempt on her life, she relented to having Tony Falcon, former cop turned security expert, pose as her boyfriend to discover who was threatening her. At the same time, he was trying to track down the criminals who killed his best friend. Tony, who never had a problem maintaining his distance from his charges, met his match in feisty Sylvie, who was determined to “help” with the investigation. As the threats against Sylvie escalated, so did Tony’s innate need to protect her. The more time they spent together, the more problematic their mutual attraction became. When they finally gave in to temptation, it culminated in a fully clothed, sultry exploration that only heightened their appetite for each other.
Clues were pieced together to deduce the identity of the perpetrator, while Sylvie and Tony continued to become close. He narrowed down the list of suspects. Unfortunately, that list included people Sylvie cared deeply for. Hell-bent on retribution, yet blinded by hurt, Tony uttered one of the most touching boy-loses-girl lines “You’re going to hate me later. You will and when you do, promise you’ll give me the chance to fix it,” as he broke Sylvie’s heart – along with his own.
Like a delightful visit to Imelda Marcos’ legendary shoe closet, High-heeled Wonder (A Killer Style Novel) (Entangled Ignite) took readers on a sexy, chick lit ride worthy of early Helen Fielding or Sophie Kinsella. Additionally, Avery Flynn added classic thriller plot twists, thrills and surprises. Her characters were multi-layered, balanced and intelligent. Sylvie was a fully developed, professional woman who overcame a tragic childhood and Tony was the wounded alpha, with a heart of gold, who needed her to begin to heal. A colorful and motley crew of secondary characters – their families, friends, and coworkers, provided further action, suspense and comic relief.
Both my inner fashionista and nerd girl appreciated the references to the fashion industry, as well as, the nod to Doctor Who and the gaming world. High-heeled Wonder (A Killer Style Novel) (Entangled Ignite) earns an old-school, Men on Film, two-snaps in Z-Formation and my recommendation as a great book to curl up with on a cold winter’s day. I look forward to Ms. Flynn’s next book.
Disclaimer: I received an ARC from the author in exchange for an honest review. Then purchased the book for my private library.
About the Author:
Avery Flynn has three slightly-wild children, loves a hockey-addicted husband and is desperately hoping someone invents the coffee IV drip.
She fell in love with romance while reading Johanna Lindsey’s Mallory books. It wasn’t long before Avery had read through all the romance offerings at her local library. Needing a romance fix, she turned to Harlequin’s four books a month home delivery service to ease the withdrawal symptoms. That worked for a short time, but it wasn’t long before the local book stores’ staffs knew her by name.
Avery was a reader before she was a writer and hopes to always be both. She loves to write about smartass alpha heroes who are as good with a quip as they are with their *ahem* other God-given talents. Her heroines are feisty, fierce and fantastic. Brainy and brave, these ladies know how to stand on their own two feet and knock the bad guys off theirs.
Find out more about Avery on her website, follow her on Twitter and Pinterest, and like her on her Facebook page. Also, if you figure out how to send Oreos through the Internet, she’ll be your best friend for life.
Duck and Cover
I am not, nor ever will be, a fan of “Duck Dynasty.” However, the brouhaha over the suspension of a public figure who made ugly, unthinkable, regrettable homophobic and racist comments made me long for the days when “A&E” signified ARTS and entertainment, only. The duck person’s right to free speech was not infringed upon, as he spoke honesty and freely, in the GQ Interview. As a result, he was suspended from the show (I suspect due to violating terms in his contract with the network). People face these types of consequences every day, as corporations may create whatever policies they want for their employees. That is all that occurred, in this case.
Reality TV show “celebrities” opened themselves up for a greater degree of scrutiny when they signed their contracts and agreed to be filmed. They had the opportunity NOT to participate. Many who have been interviewed after their shows aired, stated their lives were forever changed and lamented the loss of privacy, relationships and sense of themselves. Notably, the Osbornes, who were no strangers to the public eye, ultimately regretted opening the doors of their private lives and homes to a television audience.
Unfortunately, the duck person was being touted as a “champion for Christian values,” and the angry mob of his “fans” began calling for boycotts of the network, petitions to be signed and have spewed more hate-filled speech towards A&E and organizations that promote LGBT equality and rights. This non-controversy will result in more sales for the duck people’s products as their “fans” rush to “support” them, enriching their coffers even more. Their “fans” will continue to vilify and marginalize people whom they believe are “beneath” them and continue their scorched earth campaign against “others.” Just as Jesus would do, I’m sure.
“Christians” could follow Pope Francis’ example…but they have already labeled The Pope as “anti-Christian.” Oops.
The aftermath will be must-see TV, although my sincerest wish is that the duck people, the baby pageants, and the Kardashians are canceled and replaced with educational programming. Or all shows of that ilk are grouped into a new network entitled “Dumb Me Down.”
Pass. The. Popcorn.
Self-Love is NOT a College Course
Today I stumbled upon this little gem Elon University to Sponsor “Self-Pleasure” Course. The blogger proceeded to describe the course schedule that included toy demonstrations and communication techniques. Sadly, its initial session was only open to 20 students.
What could possibly go wrong with a college course about personal sexuality? Nothing, if the course had been sanctioned by the University. Apparently, students at Elon may create seminars and workshops on topics of their choosing. Many colleges offer similar opportunities through their student organizations, on and off-campus health service agencies, lecture series and similar venues.
Elon did not actually offer “Masturbation: 101,” and the blogger failed to contact University officials to verify his facts. In fact, the very first comments on his posts were by, none other than the Vice President for University Communications. Oops.
Would you take a course in “Self-Pleasure” for college credit? Post away, let’s talk.
30 Days of Thanks – Day 20
When I started this blog I needed an outlet for my feelings. Not only has the experience been cathartic, it has given me the opportunity to read other bloggers’ thoughts. But, the unexpected blessing has been the thought-provoking discussions I have had with people all over the world. Over time, I my readership numbers steadily increased, and I started to find my voice. Thank you for taking the journey alongside me.
Today is about you. Whether you focus on books, humor and satire, fashion, or life, please leave a post with your name, the name of your blog and a brief description of it. This post is a forum to celebrate your blogs and pay it forward.
30 Days of Thanks – Day 18
As I mentioned on June 12th and June 25th I am indebted to my Spam Blocker for diligently patrolling my blog to keep it free from undesirable content. Today I send my thanks to those savvy programmers who write the code to keep up with the ever-growing mountain of cybercrap being flung at every website, in hope that some will stick. Salute!
Giant group recreates ‘When Harry Met Sally’ deli scene: We’ll have what they’re having — VIDEO
Smile of the day! I love the unsuspecting men’s reactions. Some looked a bit frightened.
Fifty Shades Of Grey To Be Released V-Day 2015
The train wreck that keeps on giving, and the behind-the-scenes drama and shenanigans will overshadow this “movie.” I’ve said it before, it will end up as a Hallmark Channel throw-away, or as the next episode of “American Horror Story: The Making of 50 Shades.” Pass. The. Popcorn.
Reading, Drinking and Dancing with a Chaser of Snark 