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Monday, December 19, 2011

Another Russo Thanksgiving



     My Holiday season started off with a bang. A big bang as my pop’s fell off a shopping cart in a parking lot, the day before Thanksgiving and broke his elbow. So you’re wondering how does a fifty something, NYPD Detective manage this amazing feat. Well, I’ll tell ya…
     It all started a couple of weeks before Thanksgiving, when my mom really starts to pressure family about who’s coming to dinner. Nona and mom live for these big holiday feasts. Even though we have them every Sunday, for some reason, she really gets all crazy about the big food fest over the holidays. She started putting pressure on all the relatives, which is most of Jersey, to give her confirmation of doing some sort of drive-by on Thanksgiving. This year my brother and his new wife, (who likes to avoid us especially after the wedding fiasco) is coming for dinner. The newbie's family is getting the hell out of dodge. I think to avoid the Russo’s over the holiday. Mom put the screws to them about Thanksgiving. Something I'm sure they're not use too. I'm fairly certain she scared the hell out of them. So brother can’t imagine him and newbie eating alone. But there was a stipulation, the newbie is a vegetarian, but occasionally will eat meat, but only if it’s organic.  Mom and Pop were so happy newbie agreed to come, they ordered a range feed organic turkey from Pennsylvania. The happiness was short lived about making newbie and brother happy when they saw the price tag. Since those babies aren’t frozen, we had to pick up the expensive sucker the day before Thanksgiving. Which we did, but not without a adventure, of course.
     The day before Thanksgiving Pop’s, I and the grandkids went to the store to pick up the gold plated sucker, who had a privileged life before he met with death and the Russo’s. We got the turkey out of the store without incident, a feat in itself. But that’s where it ends. Pop’s is in the parking lot, showing off to the grandkids by jumping on the back of the shopping cart and riding it down a slight slope in the parking lot, at the kids delight. The cart couldn’t hold Pop’s weight, (he’s a big guy) and it popped a wheelie, throwing Pop’s off the back, he stumbled fell backwards, catching himself on the pavement shattering his elbow.
     It doesn’t end there. The cart shot out from under him like a bullet on a mission towards the street, taking the curve like a pro, with the turkey and Nona’s flour for raviolis with it. It almost looked like the turkey was driving the cart to escape, holding flour and cranberries hostage. It was amazing how high the cart went when it took flight over the curve and bounced off a fire hydrant landing right in front of a oncoming oil truck, and well, committed suicide. The truck t-boned that baby and ran right over the cart. The turkey was decimated in a puff of white from the flour. For a second the truck passed through its own little fog bank thanks to Nona’s future raviolis. And-kept on going, crushing the turkey flat as a pancake, which squished up through the cart. It was pretty nasty, which my nephew proceeded to express when we just had to go and look as the ambulance took Pop’s to the hospital.
      Thanksgiving still happened, sort of. My pop’s had turkey dinner in the hospital after surgery on his elbow, which was better than what the rest of the Russo’s were eating. For the rest of us, including the newbie, we ate out of my cousin's fusion Italian-Mexican food truck he pulled up in front of our house. We had Thanksgiving dinner served through a window in containers. The food was pretty scary. The spaghetti tacos were something of a hit and the cheapest items on the menu. We’ll see what Christmas brings. Maybe Nona will get run over by a reindeer. Now there’s a story.

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

I think I was hijacked!

     Okay, life has a way of taking control and hijacking one’s space. It did for me. First an earthquake, then a hurricane, that flooded my apartment. Just as I was ready to move back in, my computer crashed as we were hit by a snowstorm. One does not have anything to do with the other, but it happened on the same day. With ice on the lines, they snapped sending an arcing live wire right into Mrs. Gore, my neighbor who was smoking out back while still attached to her oxygen tank. You can only imagine what happened next. She became a jet engine, on full throttle. Mrs. Gore was blasted back indoors which ignited the downstairs hall. The only reason any of us, survived was because of Dimples her dog, who has more sense than his owner. Little Dimples alerted everyone to the fire, and Mrs. Gore's unconscious body, laying near the front door. Yep, she was thrown right down the hall to land in a heap at the front door, leaving a blaze of glory behind.  We all got out, and Mrs. Gore, still attached to her little small jet engine tank, was dragged outside to lie in the snow and smolder. When the alarms screamed, I was putting away my clothes because I had just MOVED back in. I grabbed James T. Parakett, and hit the stairs as the sprinkler system malfunctioned and drenched everything, including me. Once outside, I stood freezing, literally, because I was all wet and in my slippers. Who should pull up, but Officer cute-as-a-button, Javier, and put me and James T. Parakeet in the backseat of his unit. At least I could stop shaking and thaw a bit. I watched the flames blow out the windows of my apartment that took my Kindle, clothes and crashed computer. When I was able to get back inside the next day, I found one very cute CL wedge and my pink and black polka-dot bra the only things I could salvage, which is why I haven’t written anything in almost two months, no computer. My computer, (if it could be fixed) was a melted mess of plastic and whatever else computers are made of, no chance of a fix now.  Dio mi punisce, lo so appena.
     Oh, but that’s not where it ends.  I was laid-off from my job the next week, because I guess not as many people can afford over priced attorneys, who fret over paper more than their clients. So I’m now unemployed and homeless, sort-of. I had my parents, Nona and Henry, so I did have a roof over my head, and more food then I knew what to do with. You know Italians, where there's a disaster, every type of pasta known to man and Italy comes out. Not good for the thighs.  
     Things do get better. I had renters insurance. It gave me enough money to replace some of my clothes and my computer. Henry’s latest boyfriend gave me his old Kindle, because he was getting the newer one. So at least I’m back in business.  I’m moved into Henry’s guestroom for as long as I need to be. He knew Nona and my parents would drive me crazy. Now I have a posh Manhattan address, with a cellie who is in the fashion industry.  Samples here I come. I even have a new job. It doesn’t pay well, but at least it pays my bills. I wasn’t the only victim of the lack of law suits, so was P.I Sean. So he decided to start his own P.I service, or stop doing it on the sly, and open an office in the back of a Chinese restaurant, because he can’t afford a big space. He hired me to answer phones, do research and take cases. The drawback I smell like Chinese food when I get home at night that's not far from my the new 'office'. No more commuting. So I guess things happen for a reason and smelling like pork chow mien isn't so bad. 
    Now I’m back in business, sort-of.  Oh, and Mrs. Gore survived, just fine, with only a bump on her head. Her daughter, didn’t see it that way, and now she lives with her, and had to give up Dimples. So guess who has him? Me and Henry. He’s the best dressed dog in Manhattan. 

Vederla sul retro

Cari 

Friday, September 23, 2011

The Sky is falling! Really ya think!


     Okay there is a satellite crashing to earth the size of a bus. There is a 1 in 3,200 chance it will hit you, me or Nona. With my current streak of luck it will be me. Really I have the number 3,200 stuck to my back at this moment waiting for a chunk of space junk to crash through my roof and hit me. It could happen. In the past month I went through a earthquake, hurricane, flood, and couch surfing between cousin Henry in Manhattan, and Nona in Jersey, until I can get back into my apartment, which I’m still paying rent on, even though I don’t live there right now, thank you very much…Ouch. So with that why not get hit by space junk, it would be the perfect end to a perfect month. I see it coming now, in all its blazing glory right into my lap
     Nona is convinced it will hit her. She checked her homeowners insurance and she freaked out. She’s not covered for space junk. I don’t think I am either. When I was a baby my mom insured all us kids, but I don’t think the policy is specific about space junk. Unless a piece of crap falling from the sky the size of a bus qualifies as an actual bus. We’re there ever people on it? If so and it traveled around earth to deliver those space cadets to the stoop of the space station. Well then maybe I’m covered under the bus section that says if I’m hit by a bus they will be money to be made. I wonder if it’s specific on the location. Like if I’m sitting on Nona’s couch (which since I was evacuated out of my apartment, I’ve done a lot of that) and that bus size piece of space junk hits and obliterates Nona’s house, couch and me sitting on the couch going deaf because of the supersize television, my pop and uncle bought her, that is way too big for the room is all covered. Oh, Gees! Mi domando che varrei dei morti dal rifiuto spaziale sul divano del Nona?
      Nona would get a new roof out of the whole mess, that’s for certain. Stay tune, I’ll let you know if I get hit, or maybe not. It will be on world news. I’d be famous but very much not among the living anymore. I can see it now memorialized as the girl done in not by a mugger, but space junk.Well, Nona is convinced she'll be the one hit. If she's in the house with her television blasting and I'm there, I can guarantee she'll hit by something. The good thing, it will take out the super sized television that I'm think of having Tony the Squid take care of. He can pinch it. I'll leave the front door unlocked.

Vederla sul retro
Cari

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Will be back next week..

Thanks everyone for all the e-mails...I'm good. I was evacuated from my apartment after the storm. The downstairs flooded. So I spend the week with my cousin Henry and weekends in Jersey with my family. It's kind of crazy right now.
Another thing, when September hits, I go dark, as does my family, as we still grieve for the loss of family and friends in 911. This years was particularly tough..
Now that the anniversary has passed. I'll be back again...Thanks for all the good thoughts..

Thursday, August 25, 2011

Earthquakes and Hurricanes

       I don't have a book review, because I'm too busy recovering from the scare a earthquake put into me. Unless you live under a rock, and haven't heard, the east coast had a nice little earthquake that sent everyone in NYC screaming hysterically up and down Broadway, including me. I wasn't running up and down Broadway screaming, but I tore out of the Federal Courthouse, where I was with my boss, trying not to scream hysterically. I didn't need to, my boss managed do enough hysteria for us both. Oh per l'amore di tutto che è santo, ho pensato intendevo morire.
      It wasn't the earthquake that terrorized everyone, especially in the courthouse, but what we thought it was, another attack, of 911 proportions. Since I was in the courthouse, listening to my boss argue his case, and keeping his notes and him straight on just what was going on when the quake hit. I just knew we were under attack, because hey, it's the Federal Courthouse, and a lot of folks besides terrorist in planes would like to see it leveled. It's ironic to see a fit man in his forties who works out EVERYDAY, and lectures his staff constantly on the benefits of a healthy diet, whenever we have a pizza party, run screaming like a girl out the door, with his cell phone, trying to call his wife, to say good-bye, mowing down his ever faithful paralegal, in the process. He knocked me flat on my ass, and was the first out the door, past spectators and the judge. I deserve a raise! Good thing I was wearing my court suit, the one I save for special occasions like earthquakes and hysterical bosses, where I'll end up looking at the ceiling. Odio il mio capo.
       P.I Sean was in the court room. Like a first grader he had handed me a note, which said, "Can we try again?" When the quake hit. Maybe God was trying to tell me something, ya think? Anyhoo, P.I Sean helped me up and out the door. When we got to the steps, he announced it was a earthquake. I don't how he could tell the difference. Everything was rattling and shaking, I guess that was a good indicator. He said he grew up in L.A, and he could tell. L.A really? I didn't know that...I guess on our little short date, we never got past office gossip to that he was from California.
        Just then fire rolls up, someone was having chest pains. And who should jump off the truck first, but-what for it, drum roll, with Beethoven roaring in the background, Firemen Frank. He asked me if I was okay, very sweet. Then whispered to me, he wanted to talk to me soon. Okay, I whispered back about what? Well of course he had to save a life and not whisper anymore to me, so he said we'd talk. Okay, about what? 
       Regardless of Firemen Frank's weird behavior, I felt kind a special, with two guys looking out for me as my crazy boss ran down the street, confessing all his sins to his wife. I wonder how dinner was that night, when he realized he was very much alive and well. To be a fly on the wall for that one!  
     I'm still recovering from the shock it was mother-nature and not some crazed terrorist bent on wiping out NYC. So no book this week.. And I wonder what Firemen Frank wanted, as P.I Sean watched us. I still have the note, and thinking about it. La pazzia di tutto. 
       On the way back to the office with my consistently hysterical boss, now more worried about his confessions, then the possibility of a attack, who was probably hoping for some disaster so he wouldn't have go home, I had a message from Nona, who wanted me and the family to gather at her house tonight, to prepare for disaster. I could see her sitting on her front stoop with her aircraft artillery ready, decked out like Rambo, planning out how we'll hunker down for the hurricane coming our way. Farà Dio ogni fermata che punisce me?

Vederla sul retro
Cari


      






Monday, August 22, 2011

Another disastrous date or maybe not

     Okay, my friend decided after my last disastrous date with P.I Sean, that I was on a streak of bad luck with men. Oh really, ya think?  Oh, l'umanità di tutto!
     Soooo, her little brave soul decided I needed to meet her brother’s friend. I said no blind dates. The last was with Clark. No self respecting Italian mother names her kid, Clark! And the date was as stupid as his name. This time, I wanted e-mails. Yes, I was going, the let’s get to know each other on-line, where we can really lie through our teeth, because we can’t see each other, and use model pictures to cover up the lack of exercise for months, no let’s say years, route.
     Girlfriend assured me, he wouldn’t lie to me and he was in great shape. Uno può sperare solo! Oh, yeah, prove it. How well do you know this guy? Or did you meet him at your parents when he dropped by to watch football with said brother, who is a big loser. Still, with all this, it didn’t detour me from wanting to have a computer between us on the first official meet. I had heard all about computer dating, or meeting and decided it was time to experience it. As long as it didn’t include a police report, I was there.  
     So our communication went on for a couple weeks, until, computer-guy asked me to meet for drinks after work. Again at an Italian restaurant! What’s with these guys taking an Italian to Italian restaurants!? Come on, it’s NYC! I think there are a couple other types of eateries. Really, just a few, I’m sure we can find something, that doesn’t serve what I eat every Sunday.
    But I digress, I meet him at the same place P.I Sean dragged me out of, to chase a cheating husband he was paid to catch cheating!  The place does get great reviews. I was hoping to actually be able to taste my mushroom ravioli’s this time.
    We met, and hey, he looked just like his picture. I prodigi di volontà mai fermano!  Really, just like it. A bit of a exaggeration on his height. I'm taller then him. A little frumpy around the edges. He's a computer geek, so it comes with the job title. But not bad. I still think we're off to a good start. We do the air kiss thingy, and shake hands, and exchange  DNA in that instant, because he was dripping wet, with sweat. Yep, he’s just a bit nervous. Just a bit, I keep telling myself. It’s hot outside, its stuffy in the bar, but not like we’re sweltering in Texas.  
    I get a table for us, because the bar is crowded. I had gone to the restroom which passes the kitchen, and dropped in to say a few things to the chef. We conversed in Italian. Ka Bow, we get a table. Computer-guy is impressed.  I really needed to be able to hear computer-guy talk, since he wouldn’t look at me. I think I had a giant hair growing out of my forehead or wart on my nose. So yes, I cheated to jump ahead on the wait list. Sorry, but not really.
    But-that’s where it ends. I try everything to get computer-guy out of his shell. I tell him about the tire incident, the battery incident, Nona and my brother’s wedding, chasing the dog down the street with knife incident. I decided to leave out my ex left me for a man, situation, TMI at that point. He’s pushing his campanili around on his plate, and nodding and smiling. Okay, I’m laughing, by myself. Not working, I'm rapidly running out of incidents and police reports.  
    We end the date, more air kisses. He puts me in a cab. He's pretty impressed with the address I gave the cabbie. I do have to remind computer-guy, I'm from Jersey, like that would make a difference on the outcome of the date. Anyhoo, I go to Henry’s down a bottle of wine, and whine about computer-guy and men in general. The wine was a bad idea, had to go to work the next day. 
     Since then I get regular e-mails from computer-guy. It’s kind of cool. I can meet up with him, without make-up, in my pj’s, eating my left over mushroom ravioli, typing with my mouth full, there is no exchange of DNA. And just think no man-dribbles on my toilet seat because he didn’t lift it! Amare esso!!

Vederla sul retro
Cari

Thursday, August 18, 2011

The Inventor, by Morgan Karpiel


      I’m getting addicted to .99cents reads from Amazon. It really stretches my book budget, and The Inventor never disappointed. It introduced me to Steampunk, something I had never heard of before. Just in case you don't know what it is, it's a combination of Victorian setting, with modern science. Think Jules Verne. I bought it the day I was going to take my niece and nephew to the movies. The keyword here is, ‘was’.
      I’m still carless, and decided to take the kids off my mom’s hands for a few hours. Their visiting from upstate New York. I thought the movies would be a great adventure, at least for me. As life would have it, I had that adventure.
     Anyhoo, I borrowed Zio Serpico’s piece of junk to get the kiddies to the movies. I thought, it’s okay, we’re not going far. Well, we’re bumping along, only a couple of blocks from my parents house, and I felt a jerk coming from the rear, then a thud, as suddenly it felt lopsided, and then my nephew says, “Zia (aunt in Italian), a tire just pasted us.”  
      Oh kids and their imagination, I’m tell’n ya. Or I thought when suddenly a tire passes right in front of me. I feel the car slow, with a loud scrapping sound. The tire continued on its course, bouncing along in front of me, going at least 10mph faster. My niece is yelling, “Look Zia, there it goes.”
     "Ya, sweetie I see it," I said with a very sick feeling about all the noise coming from the rear. I look in the mirror, and see sparks flying from under the car. The tire is continuing to move down the street bouncing like a crazed chocolate doughnut on a mission of destruction, missing cars, people, a dog, makes a sudden right into a yard, right up the stoop's front steps, and crashed not just into the screen door, but threw it. Lots of screaming commences from the occupants of the house, which is where my high school prom date's parents live. He’s now in Riker’s for robbery, because of me. So this doesn’t look very good. I can’t stop the car, apparently the brakes failed, ran it up in the yard, and hit a little fountain, at which time water was spraying everywhere, including threw the floor board full of holes.
     The kids were thrilled. The only reason Alphonso’s mother didn’t whack me with a rolling pin, was because there would be witnesses in the form of my two fledgling cops in the backseat, describing everything in great detail to the responding officer, who happens to cutie Officer Javier, who hasn’t called me back since the dog incident. And once again, there is a police report with my name on it. Add it to the collection. I'm just praying Zio Serpico, has his insurance paid up. 
     Oh, but I digress, this is the first time I’ve ever read Steampunk. I didn’t even know what it was until I googled it after reading the reviews. It was a cool read, interesting and intelligent, with the way Ms. Karpiel, blended history with a more modern way of the looking at things. I’m not much of a history buff, but I was enthralled in this short read. I’m a fan now. For once I hit a series right, this is the first book, instead of my usual going backwards.
     Leda, Countess of Caithmore, is dumped by her husband. I can relate to that, accused of being overly fridge. So she looks for a cure in a friendship with a famous inventor, Ian Anderson. Who she hires to build a machine that will prove everyone wrong about her. And she really is a hottie inside and out. But there are some bad guys watching, and wanting to know what the inventor is up too. It adds a lot of suspense to the story. I loved it, and had a hard time putting it down. Leda, was a strong woman during a period where women were seen and most of the time not heard. I’m looking forward to the next one in the series. I think I’m hooked on Steampunk. It was a great read on a afternoon, when I needed a little steampunk, to help out.

I give this a #9, since I finished on the subway on my way to work on Monday. 
 

Monday, August 15, 2011

Take some lessons Snookie

     As a Jersey girl and Italian, I have a real dislike for Snookie and the gang from Jersey Shores. The reason, they make Italian American’s look shallow, stupid, partying drunks, and overly tanned. As much as the term Guido is not liked among most Italians, it does fit here. The girls are even called Guidettes. Sorry, it fits.
      My biggest complaint besides their habit of behaving very badly in front of cameras, the public and most recently in Florence, is their fashion sense, or lack of. Yes, they have set the stage for such shows as Jerseylicious, and Jersey Housewives, which don’t help the image much either, with the big hair, the weird costumes, and ridiculous spending habits. At least among the housewives, it’s rumored a couple of them are broke, because of over spending on all the glitz. Come’on, they get paid big bucks for the show. How can you go broke!? I guess when you have a party for a baby with a live person representing Marie Antoinette serving up food, while in the middle of table, with her dress as the table cloth, it can happen. 
     I don’t know any self-respecting Italian who would think of wearing anything any of these women do from any of the shows. If you’re seen walking down the street like that, someone would probably try to direct you back over the bridge to south Bronx. I’m sure not just a few cars would pull over and offer $20 bucks for a blow job.
      Recently, I was at the movies with my niece and nephew. It’s hot outside, so I’m in shorts, flip flops, and a tank. With the humidity, my hair is in pinned up mess on my head, and light make-up. Okay, I won’t go out without it. We’re in line for popcorn and in front of me is two women, taking their kids to see the same show, in stilettos, short skirts, nearly showing off ones ass, and huge hair. Ya think they are fans of one or all the shows? One is wearing of all things a bustier, with her cleavage popping out of the top. Her earrings go down to her navel, and so much make-up, I’m sure I could scarp it off with a spatula. Damn that's tough on the pores The other is in a tank top, ten sizes too small, with her mid-section showing. Now remember they’re going to a kiddy show, not a club, and they’re not that young. Everyone is just staring at them, looking around for cameras, because this can’t be real. No cameras, only the influence of Olivia and Tracy from Jerseylicious, with Snookie in the background.  Damn, putting soooooo much effort into going to the show, is way too much work for a hot afternoon spent with kids in the dark. I mean whose going to care? Oh, maybe all the dads, who were ogling their behinds, and the moms giving them a good whack to keep their eyes to themselves. Come’on!  It’s a kiddy show…It was the Smurfs for crying out loud!
      Recently, I saw the cover of W magazine with Kristin Stewart on the cover in a retro-60ish style. Ya know she looked fab..She had the make-up with the big hair, but it was done so well, I hope that Snookie and her gal pals, call up the Jerserylicious girls, who tell the housewives about it, and might try to tone it down a bit, and let the tanning spray fad. I know I’m thinking, maybe the next time I go out to a club, I might give it a try. Sophia Loren, here I come, I’ll do that.

Friday, August 12, 2011

The Black Eye

Hey all,

     Sorry for the absence. I’ve gotten lots of e-mails asking where I’ve been. Well, first I got sick with a bad flu that kept me in bed puking in a bucket for few days.  Nona showed up with chicken soup, which helped. What didn’t help she decided to clean my apartment, and almost, let James T. Parakeet out the window.  She did laundry, and I still can’t find my biancheria intima.
      Then on the day I was feeling better my sister Lucinda moved into my apartment. Chaos rained like a downpour. Pure and simple chaos. Then Lorenzo decided to cook. He just started culinary school and now thinks he's Bobby Flay. If he wants to stay on my good side, he better be able to cook like him. 
      Anyhoo, he slams his knife into the pit of an avocado, all chef like. Attempts to pop that baby out, and it came loose alright. A little too much muscle big guy. His arm flew back, pit attached to the knife, let loose and slapped me right in the eye. It was kind of hard to explain to the emergency room nurse I was attacked by avocado pit.
       I had one hell of a nice shiner. Haven’t had one like that since I got into a cat fight with Olivia Cano in the eighth grade, over Paulie Gaffaloni. Paulie wasn’t worth the trouble I got into, or the black eye Olivia gave me.  They're married now, and Olivia looks like she's had three kids in four years. 
       This time my eye was black, blue and swollen shut. I couldn’t see, which meant I couldn’t write. It hurt too much to open my eye. I honestly, felt sorry for Lorenzo, he’s already on the bad side of the Russo’s and this didn’t help. My brothers were gunning for him, literally. He won’t show up to Sunday dinner for awhile, much to my pop’s joy.
     Now like the avocado pit my eye is kind of greenish and yellow, sort-a-rainbowish.
     I’ll be back next week, in full swing with opinions, books and a jaundice eye. 

Vederla sul retro
Cari

Monday, August 1, 2011

Obama & Boehner, come on!

     Okay, I’m getting little tired of hearing about this debt thingy. I’m not a politico, like I’ve mentioned before, but this is on all the time. What I think in my non-politico self, is, Obama and Boehner, need to pull their heads out of their asses, and just do it. This is soooooooooooooo, stupid, I can’t stand it.
        Nona was born in Naples and came to America when she married my Granddad, who was in the Army at the time. She became a citizen so she could vote for JFK. She has voted in every election since, both national and local. She never skips. There are millions of stories like hers. And millions more who rely on social security like she does. She always worked since the day she hit these shores, and earned every penny of her social security. It’s hers…Now she may not get it, because of three parties who are thinking only of themselves and a election.
     They say if they can’t agree on a budget, then people won’t get their social security, and of all the people, these are the ones who need it the most.
     So Obama and Boehner, stop playing politics and get the damn job done. And while you're at it, tell the Tea Party to suck eggs.  Don’t forget if you fail, it will be people like Nona who will pay the price.

Vederla sul retro
Cari

Thursday, July 28, 2011

The Kennedy Secret, by Steve Richer


    Wow, Steve approached me to review his book, a thriller, and what a gift it was. It was one of those books I could NOT put down, and it came to me after my own little thrilling adventure.  
     I finally was asked out on a date, and it wasn’t prearranged by my mother. P.I Sean leaned over my desk at lunch when the office was empty asked me to go to dinner with him. In the office, shh, we’re not suppose to fraternize, but he was being brave and I was stupid, and said yes, with it in the back of mind, I can’t afford to lose my what puts the bacon on the table.  
     So, we secretly made our date. We’d meet, at a new uptown Italian restaurant. P.I Sean is a brave man. It’s dangerous to ask an Italian, whose family spends every Sunday arguing sauce to an Italian restaurant, no matter the reviews.
 I kept my nose to grind stone all day, until the last minute, left the office, headed to my cousin
Henry’s apartment where I changed. Even though it was hot as hell, or hotter, since I’m not really sure how hot hell is, Henry told me to wear simple black. He works in the fashion industry and his advice is golden. I had black mid thigh A-line, short sleeves, a silver necklace, hoop earrings, with a KK ponytail. He wasn’t home but left me an adorable pair of black CL stilettos, brand new. I hailed a cab to the restaurant. Anyhoo, P.I Sean was there when I got there, and into the restaurant we went. The atmosphere was wonderful, the food smelled great, the wine impressive and I was starving.
     I had studied the menu, and was just about ready to go for the ravioli, when suddenly P.I Sean grabbed my hand, and says in a hushed whisper, “We’ve got to go.”
     “What?”
     “Go, I just saw a guy I’ve been tailing for his wife, and he’s he just left with another woman.”
     “What?” It was becoming the only word in my vocabulary.
    He grabbed my hand, threw down a few bucks on the table, I’m thinking mushroom ravioli, and he’s dragging me out the door, in my new stilettos. We ran outside to parking where he had his motorcycle. Yes, a motorcycle, and I was expected to climb on it, with my cute little black dress, and those stilettos. He climbs on, nods to me to follow and hands me a helmet that barely fits over my ponytail. I was a gremlin running for the cliff to dive off, and I climbed on. The ‘subject’, (family of cops I know the lingo) passed us in a car, and off we went with me hanging on for dear life, as my little black dress, slowly crept up to my waist. Soon I was riding down mid-town, zigzagging in and out of traffic. I’m sure with my butt very much exposed to the elements, and public. I’m praying that none of my relatives were on duty to arrest me for indecent exposure. No ravioli, no wine, no date, other than riding around after some car, with two people in it, that P.I Sean was hired on the side, to tail. We rode through a very large puddle of dirty water created by an open fire hydrant. The motorcycle started to wobble, and I put my foot down with P.I Sean, my shoe tore right off, and a huge splash went up as a passing car flew through the dark water. I was covered from head to butt with nasty stinky dirty NYC water as we came to a stop. The only thing not wet was my hair, and that was because of the helmet.  
    My hair is ruined, my dress is embarrassingly up around my waist, that’s only future is in the trash. I’m covered in greasy road slush, and he looked over his shoulder to me and asked, “You hungry?”
    I was, but not anymore. Mushroom ravioli is a distant memory. P.I Sean dropped me in front of Henry’s, where I took off my one shoe and threw it in the trash. For a moment, I didn’t think the doorman would let me in, because he didn’t recognize me at first. Before I went through the door, P.I Sean asked, if we could have a rain check. Not sure. Maybe, he is very adorable. 
    Henry was home when I got upstairs. He handed me a plastic bag, and ordered everything to go in it. I showered for two hours, to get the shit off me, and wore a pair of Henry’s P.J’s, went to bed. I don’t think I’m meant to be spy or P.I or anything like that…
    Oh, but I digress. Steve’s book opens the days before Robert Kennedy is assassinated. The senator receives a mysterious key that is the key to the mystery. The two main characters are unlikely friends, Donovan lost his wife in a car accident, which at that time he goes into the CIA and becomes an assassin. He has orders to kill an attorney, Michael Beecher, who is a very skilled lawyer and conman. One of the funniest moments in the book Donovan fails at his mission. The first time he misses a mark. Because Michael fights back, in some unique ways, and has only one leg, but manages to get away from Donovan. This all happens the night Robert Kennedy is killed. When the pair realizes the senator is dead, they start to connect the dots to the murder, especially Michael who in the weeks prior had delivered a package of money to Sirhan Sirhan. The two go on a mission to discover who is behind wanting Michael dead, as they slowly put together who might really be behind the death of Robert Kennedy.
     Steve drew in some historic characters into his book, such Robert Kennedy, Jimmy Hoffa and some famous mobsters, and others. This was a page turner. I couldn’t put it down. I’m passing it along to my Grandpa Boyle who has a similar background as Donovan in the years during the Korean and Vietnam war when special forces was a fairly new part of the army. Grandpa Boyle became NYPD, not CIA.  
     I’d rank Steve's writing up there with some of the best thriller authors today. It was interesting, thrilling and fun read.
     If my numbers went higher, I would have given it a #20, because a #10, is just not enough. This was a way, way, way bitch’n read! I read it at home, on the treadmill, watching Firemen Frank's ass, in the broom closet, at lunch, in the heat, with annoying rats with wings, on the subway and even at my cousin’s deli, when my power went out. I was desperate, and he had air.     

Monday, July 25, 2011

Michele Bachmann, Praying the gay away

     I’m not much of a political person. I listen to the news maybe twice a week, and read the internet for news maybe twice a week, when my officer manager and nemesis, Charlene isn’t looking. So it could be a lot less. Other than that, I don’t pay much attention, until Michele Bachmann announced her candidacy for the President. I had the same response to her announcement, that I did three or so years ago of Sarah Palin’s. Say what? Say who? With an occasional, Oh those colors look great on her, I wonder who does her closet?
     Since I’m not a politico, I decided to pay a bit more attention, beyond the suit that looked fabulous, to listen to this woman. Being a woman, I’d like to see a female President at least before I’m 90yrs and can’t appreciate the whole adventure, because I’ll probably be put away in a home somewhere. Anyhoo, I decided for once to listen, because she was a woman. Admittedly, I can’t stand Palin, so I was hoping for something better, like someone who knows their history, and wasn’t averse to putting ones foot in mouth.
     I haven’t heard much, only that her and her husband run some kind of clinic in Minnesota, to try to pray the gay out of homosexuals. Well this did make me sit up and listen since a few months ago my now ex-boyfriend, Adam, dumped me for a guy. He claimed he had been sexually confused for years, and finally found his calling. I never saw any confusion, especially in the bedroom. So I was the one confused. No amount of praying I believe could save Adam or our relationship, it was a done deal. He wanted to be ‘friends’ and I wanted to poke him in the eye and put Tony the Squid on him. I was mad, not because he dumped me for a guy, but because he dumped me! I felt like I wasted three years on his confused sorry ass. If he would have said something a lot sooner, I would have, ‘maybe’ fell for the ‘friend’ thingy, and we’d be cool. No need for sore knees at the altar.
     My cousin Henry is gay. When he announced this to the family at a Sunday dinner when he was 18yrs old, we all just looked up at him, my pop and uncles mumbled something, the women nodded and Nona passed the pasta and complained about her weekly poker game, not going so well. She was losing a lot, hadn’t figured how to cheat yet.  
    We all knew Henry was gay. We knew it when he was six and designing clothes for Barbie dolls. My aunt was actually relieved, because of the family’s long standing history of cops or firemen. She knew Henry would do something much safer. And he has, he's right hand man to a prestigious clothing designer, travels the world, lives in a nice flat in Manhattan, and throws great dinner parties. That once in a while I get invited. All us girls, get his fashion advice, coming styles, knock offs, and throw downs. Oh, and the shoes!! He’s always texting me a great deal in the garment district, and to get my happy butt down there to scoop them up. Any of us can call Henry for any advice on anything in our lives! We adore him beyond the fashion.
     I would tackle anyone, rip their arm off and beat them with a bloody stump for even trying to pray Henry's gay away. This is serious business! He’s my fashion go to guy! Oh, l'umanità di tutto! Besides, Henry would not be Henry if was anything but gay. He's kind, a good listener, (I spent a weekend crying over Adam on his couch), and he's flamboyantly funny. Henry finds the humor in just about anything, heterosexual, and beyond. His mother loves him dearly, and as a family we are proud of his success. He's the only Russo who lives in Manhattan, in a posh flat, he owns. 
     As for Michele's migraines, which seems to be the big deal for most, being President seems to be one big headache of a job. I'm surprised on a average day their brains don't explode. My only real concern about Michele, is all her followers will drop to their knees and pray away gays. Which for me would mean I'd loose Henry the fashionesta and well, Henry. He'd probably start designing clothes for cops and firemen on duty!  As for Adam, if all the praying actually worked,  he might come knocking on my door, asking for forgiveness.  La molto idea mi acceca!
     So Michele, sorry to tell you girl, you're off my list of possible Presidents, you're messing with a Russo.
      Next!



Thursday, July 21, 2011

A Mississippi Moonlight by Vicky Renee Johnson

      I was starting to read this book when I got a call from my brother Gino aka Serpico (we call him that because that’s who he looks like). His air conditioning isn’t working, and Jersey is cooking. He asked if he could sleep on my couch for a couple of nights. Since he’s Narco, he wouldn’t be around much. He keeps weird hours, so I said yes, as long as he brought the pizza.
      Serpico would have the apartment to himself because I was going out with some girlfriends for the evening, but a girl’s got to eat before she goes dancing. I was in a little tank top, daisy dukes, with my hair in hot rollers. Right after I got off the phone with Serpico, my buzzer rang, and it was cute cop,  Officer Javier. He was in the area and decided to stop by.  The problem I couldn’t buzz him in, because the heat has fried the door release. So I stepped out into the hall to go down stars and let him in. I’m still holding a knife, I was going to use to make a salad to go with the pizza. My neighbor, Mrs. Gore was in the hall struggling to take her little dog Dimples out. She has to use a walker . So I volunteered to take Dimples out while I let Officer Javier in, forgetting I was barely dressed and still in rollers. Well, something spooked Dimples, because he made a run for the stairwell, and shot downstairs. I ran down the stairs with the knife in hand in pursuit of Dimples. When I got to the front door, I tried to grab him as he snapped and barked at me. The front door opened as tenant came in, and Dimples took advantage of the opportunity and escaped out the front, with me following, holding the big fat knife.
     I shot past Officer Javier who gave chase behind me, as Dimples ran up the street like a mugger with a purse.  Dimples, me and Officer Javier ran past Serpico who put down the pizza and fell into line behind us, yelling at me. I yelled back running with my all, waving the knife. Then a cop car passed us, made a Uie, and the two cops jumped out and started to run after us, yelling to stop. Officer Javier yelled out, he wasn’t in pursuit, but helping someone catch a dog.
     Dimples, ran past the local grocery store, where Mrs. Park stepped out, yelling in Korean, and slapped me with a cucumber right across the kisser. I fell, still holding the knife as Mrs. Park beat the hell out of me, screaming. Dimples shot out into the street, dodging cars, and narrowly missed, avoiding creating a major traffic accident. Officer Javier scooped Dimples up, before he became road kill, while Serpico, wrestled the cucumber out of Mrs. Parks hand, and I lay on the sidewalk still clutching my knife, my rollers falling out of my hair. I found myself looking up at two cops, with hands on the hilt of their weapons, ready to arrest me over chasing a dog, while holding a knife. Oh, Dio ha la pietà. Penso che voglia morire.
      Officer Javier after a lot of yelling at the officers and my brother’s over reaction to the situation, explained I was chasing a dog, not trying to turn it into chopped liver, which at that time, I was very tempted.
      Dimples was returned to Mrs. Gore, Officer Javier went back to patrol, (I’m sure he won’t stop by again, considering how I met him and what just happened). The two officers lectured me about running down a street with a big knife. Serpico, helped me up, got me home, and had to order out for another pizza, because the one he put down disappeared. He’s a good brother he helped me clean up my scrapes, made an ice pack for my bruised knee. I spent the night at home with salad, pizza, Serpico, no dancing and finished A Mississippi Moolight.
     Oh, but I digress, as I said I started reading this book right about the time all this happened. So with my knee packed, my brother snoring loudly on the couch, (it’s no wonder he’s single), I dove into this delightful read. Ms. Johnson drew me into Mississippi with this thriller about old wives tales, superstitions and a curse that makes a man take drastic action in the form of kidnapping Hazel Starling, weds her and impregnates her, to end the curse. She flees to California to escape, but the daughter she gives birth too, is a very special girl. This is a funny tale, with twists and turns as it moves between two very different worlds, Mississippi and California. Zeke and Hazel distracted me from my bruised knee, very bruised ego and a snoring brother. 
      I gave it a #7, bitch’n enough to hide in the broom closet to finish it, which I did on my break at work, only to be discovered by P.I Sean.

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

A new roommate

     Damn, my roommate, who is my BFF, announced that she is moving out in the middle of August to follow her boyfriend to North Carolina, where he’s taking a new job. Most of the time, I love this guy and have a bit of girl envy, over BFF’s good catch. But right now all he’s getting from me is the stink-eye. How dare he take a job outside of Jersey, even though he’s been unemployed for a year. Still, how dare he do this! I’ll have to get Tony the Squid on him, or better yet, Nona.
     I guess it doesn’t come as any surprise. I thought they’d get married before now, but BFF isn’t ready. But she’s ready to move out of Jersey! She’ll have to find a new job down there too. Since she hates her current job, it all works out.
    This will be tough, since we became friends at NYU, and been roomies ever since. I bemoaned BFF leaving me, and not just moving out, she's leaving me to my sister Lucinda. Who says all perky, “Hey, I want to move out. I’ll be your roommate.”
     My response wasn’t so perky. Where I loved BFF’s boyfriend, I don’t care for Lucinda's  Lorenzo, the guido, (I know not a nice Italian term, but I can’t help myself.) Lorenzo is what we call in the Italian community a ‘magnaccia’. Translation, a leach. I know I’d see way too much of his Jersey Shore fan club deep fried self. Oh, he comes with hair with so much product in it, a stick of dynamite wouldn’t ruffle it. I just can’t see Lucinda running her fingers over his wavy locks, she’d probably get cut.
     Lucinda also seems to forget I lived with her for 18yrs, and I know what that’s really like. My mom is thrilled with the idea, because the only words any of us can find to describe Lucinda, is pure chaos. She finds chaos in making spaghetti, which usually leads to a giant mess, especially when she decides to fling it on the wall to see if it’s done. The problem with this habit, she forgets about the dangling pasta, left to dry up to resemble a pale worm.  
     With BFF, we have a system to doing everything. She’s fairly neat, and so am I. But Lucinda, is in a class of her own when it comes to neatness, like it doesn’t exist. She doesn’t do laundry, she just buys new stuff. Although, she has some really cute shoes we often share.
     Yikes what am I saying! OMG, Lorenzo would be over a lot. Like he's at my parent’s all the time, much to pop’s unhappiness. It’s the magnaccia thingy.
    In the end I said yes, because by mid-August when BFF’s bags are packed and her happy ass is on its way to NC, I’ll be desperate. Per favore Dio mi risparmia da questa collera!
     Crossing myself and saying a prayer. Oh, emme, this is going to be wild ride. 

     Vederla sul retro!
     Cari


  

Sunday, July 17, 2011

Casey Anthony’s Prison

     Along with doing an occasional Dear Author when the mood strikes me, I’m going to get my opinion out there too, on just about everything, again occasionally. I decided to make some changes in content and background. I like this background better because it's softer. Something my roommates, techie boyfriend told me I needed to do. He also told me I had to show more of my wild and crazy personality. Not sure I like that description. But-for now I'll go with it, for lack of a better one. I thought I was doing that already. Hmmm, but I guess not, since my roommate nodded her head in agreement, even James T. Parakeet was swinging like a mad bird, back and forth, back and forth, as if to say, "Yeah, put more of yourself in this." Okay, so hang on. Some changes along with my book reviews, which I love to do, because I love to read. But that will have to wait for another day, this is serious stuff, over here.
     Like Casey Anthony getting out of jail. She served her time, and is now out. My family followed this trial closely because they’re all cops. My pop, said all along, she’d get off, and he was right she did.
     But did she?
   As people go crazy over this situation, claiming to give her daughter justice, they are landing in jail themselves. Like the woman who attacked some poor unsuspecting woman at a gas station somewhere in the mid-west, because the victim looked like Anthony. Crazy! Why are we giving Anthony so much power by doing stunts like that? Now that woman is in jail herself. Honestly, she had to be a bit nutty in the first place to believe the victim was Anthony, because she was still in jail. I guess she doesn’t listen to the news very often, or at all.
     Anthony will be living in her own personal hell from now on out. If you believe like I do, that she was somehow responsible for her daughter’s death, she has to live with that for the rest of her life. Regardless of her actions, partying, sleeping around, doing whatever, that will always be with her. She will always be regarded by 80% of the U.S polled as the mother who got away with the murder of her toddler daughter. 
     There is a rumor that Anthony would like to have another child. I'm sure she would, and unfortunately, forced sterilization isn't legal in the U.S. She never named the father of her daughter, so guys, watch-out she might be looking for a sperm donor.
     So many of us claim we'd want justice her daughter. So don’t sit around claiming it, own it! Do something in her name, donate money or time to a missing children’s group. Join a local search and rescue. There are hundreds of things that can be done to honor this little girl. But going to jail for assault, or even murder isn’t justice. It’s just plain stupid. Why give up personal freedoms, for someone like Anthony?
     The best thing, I think the public can do, is forget Anthony. Her name will never die. It will always be connected to the death of an innocent child until she goes to her grave. There will come a day, when we’ll hear about Anthony again, and she’ll find herself back in the lime light, just like O.J Simpson. Look where it got him, finally serving time. And he did it all by himself, without any help from the public. In time, Anthony will do the same, one can only hope.

      Remember, she is a bidonista. (Italian slang for liar and cheat.)
 
My Nona always says, "A correre e cagare ci si immerda i garretti."
Translation: "By running and defecating at the same time, you'll get crap on your heels."

Vederla sul retro!  
Cari

Thursday, July 14, 2011

Bootscootin' Blahniks, by D.D Scott

     I met D.D Scott on The Naked Hero and The Writer’s Guide to E-Publishing, where she blogs every week. So I decided to pick up one of her books. I love to read books when I know the authors. I don’t know many authors, so the ones I know are very special to me. So when she asked me to review her book, I was so honored and it came when I needed a good laugh. I could totally relate to Roxy and her absolute worship of shoes and her car problems.
     There I am at Sunday dinner at my Nona’s as usual. Not to make a appearance is number eight of the seven deadly sins. So as to avoid getting the stink eye, a good old fashion Italian curse, or have Tony the Squid add cement shoes to my wardrobe, I bear the arguments over sauce. Especially when my mom’s parents are visiting from Florida. My grandma Boyle’s family is from Florence. According to Nona, the Tuscan’s don’t have a clue how to make sauce. Nona’s from Naples, a whole different creature. Really, ones from earth, the other from the moon. Guess which is which.
     But anyhoo, I did my duty, and showed up. When it’s time to leave, which for me is right after the last dish hits the dishwasher, I climb in my little car and start it. It clicks over, nothing. More clicking. So I go into the house to get my Pop, Uncle Mike, my brothers, and grandpa Boyle. I really only wanted Pop, but everyone else decided to follow. How many Russo’s does it take to figure out I have a dead battery? Aye! There they are bent over under the hood of my car, all I can see is ass. One too many butt cracks, some bigger than others. Eeee….
     Pop comes to the conclusion my battery is dead. Again, how many Russo’s?
     Men love complications in everything, so they can fix it. I swear, they’ll take something so simple as a dead battery and it turns into a big hand waving, loud talking, discussion over the fact my car won’t start. Yo, my battery is dead! One more Russo in the mix.
    My brother Gino, who is working Narco, and looks a lot like Serpico, pulls his equally junky car up to mine, to give me a jump, with a lecture on how I need to get a new battery in the morning. He buys drugs for a living, which means he has flex hours. I work for a living, with no drugs involved, or flex hours. The battery was going to have to wait.
     The cables are hooked up, Pop gets in my car turns the key, and BOOOOM!!! I do mean BOOOOM!!! My battery blew right out of the engine, whistling like a missile straight up. The hood of my car flew back, slamming into my windshield shattering it. My battery on takeoff knocked Grandpa Boyle on his ass, with Uncle Mike staggering back screaming like a girl, and my brother Mario clutching his chest. Serpico, looked like he saw a ghost, and had to check the front of his pants to make sure he didn't pee himself.  
     What goes up must come down. It’s the law of physics. And that baby came down, to slam right into the hood of a patroling cop car down the street. The front end dipped into the street, while the back flew up, popping the trunk. It's amazing how much oil and water those cars hold in their engine.
     My mother came out of the house screaming, something about being attacked. Nona appeared waving my granddad Russo’s old six shooter, ready to take on any terrorist visiting our oh so important neighborhood. Dio perché mi puniscono?
     When the cop managed to collect himself enough to get out of the car, he was greeted by a barrage of badges. Since every male in my family is a cop or retired, they found it necessary to wave their badges around in the face of a shocked senseless very cute cop. My sisters stood on the stoop, smoothing their hair, checking their lipstick in a knife Lucinda was holding when the battery took flight.
      A report was taken, again with my name on it. I'm getting a quit a collection of police reports. The cop said he talked to me when I was at the corner store during a shooting. I didn’t remember him, not because I was in shock, but because my sight was blinded by Firemen Frank. It wasn’t blinded now. So he slipped me his card, with a cute little smile, with beautiful dark eyes. Officer Javier. Essere tuttavia il mio cuore di botte!
      Oh, but I digress. As I mentioned, I could relate to Roxy and her love of shoes, fashion, and car problems that brings her and Zayne together. Roxy is old New York money, she ran away from. Take it from me, run and don’t look back. She did, right to Nashville Tennessee, to build her own fashion business away from the influences of her families money and control. Zayne has his own family issues, with the memory of his over baring father’s influence haunting him and a meddling mother. His passion is tomatoes, and winning a contest from his father’s seeds.
     Roxy and Zayne’s relationship begins with a sick dog in Roxy’s Mercedes. Distracted she slams into Zayne’s truck. Instant sparks, especially when Zayne wants payment of the damages, from Roxy in the form of dancing with him in his saloon. More sparks and a lot funny situations that continues to fuel a attraction between to the two opposites. This is a funny cute story of two people overcoming family issues, and making their own way through the world on their own terms. Both are strong willed, and pig headed, and as much as one wouldn’t think they are a perfect match, they don't disappoint. I won’t give away this story, but it is a fun read, that made me smile, smirk and laugh out loud.

I give it a big number #8 Pretty darn Bitch’n. This is a great beach read…


Vederla sul retro.

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

Lady Bug Jinx, by Tonya Kappes

      Last week I guessed blogged on The Naked Hero, with the goddesses over there, and got to know Tonya and the others better. I sooo loved her first book, Carp bead em, so I picked up the second one, Lady Bug Jinx, without hesitation. And wow, I was not disappointed. 
     But-I read most of it while stuck in an elevator.
     It’s 5;15pm, I’ve clocked out. The office is empty. I’m ready to run away from work. I was on my way to my cousin Geraldine baby shower in Queens. I had planned it all carefully, in my new sage print pencil skirt, with a thin belt, and a sage clinging soft t-shirt, topped off with some very cute Vera Wang beige shoes.  I had the present and a nice bottle Chianti in my bag. I was ready.
     I jumped on the elevator with P.I Sean. The doors closed, we started down. I just smiled at P.I Sean, he's seen way too many intimate parts of me, including the dark side of the moon.
     Two floors down from the 30th, the doors open and my sexually confused ex, Adam with his over bearing cranky mother step in. Right then I cursed myself, by wishing this elevator would drop like a lead balloon.
     Adam’s cranky mom huffed and gave me the stink eye.I guess she was blaming me for Adam's life altering change.
     Maybe I should have jumped P.I Sean’s bones, just to give cranky mom a fit. I was imagining that very image when suddenly the elevator jerked, and stopped. The light flickered, and emergency lights came on, and we were stuck. 
     Cranky mom, let out a yelp. Adam started to sweat. 
     Oh, questo fotte appena grande! 
     P.I Sean immediately went to the emergency bell. I love a man of action.
     Adam began to sweat profusely, while his cranky mom, complained. 
     To make a long story, short, I sat on the floor in my cute little pencil skirt and really didn't care how much leg I showed off. P.I Sean sat next to me.
     I pulled the bottle of wine from my bag, “Got a bottle opener?”
     P.I Sean man of action, pulled out a Swiss Army knife, and in no time we were sharing a bottle of Chianti together. It's funny how the elevator didn't work but the music still did. Lady Gaga's, Just Dance, played and me and P.I Sean drank our red wine, and bumped to the music together.
     I took out my Kindle and decided to finish reading Ladybug Jinx. It took me away from the moment, and especially Adam. 
    Cranky Mom made a comment about, why he didn't get 'that expensive thing' back from me. Yeah, right. Touch my Kindle and it's on! 
    Oh, but I digress, Tonya created a wonderful world in Grandberry Falls, with all its funny names like the Thirsty Turtle for the local watering hole, there is The Fatted Pig, and so much more. I loved Celia’s spirit, as she created so much beauty. She left the world of law to start her business. Working with attorneys, I don’t blame her. It’s all about the paper, always.
     Then, a very handsome mystery man shows up in her life. Sam is a movie star running away from Hollywood and a painful past. Sam answers the add to be a delivery boy for Celia’s shop. A job he doesn’t need, but he wants to be someone else.  So he takes on the new roll in Celia’s life. 
     The combination of all the caring and wonderful personalities of this book is a page turner. There is a secret in Celia’s life too, something that is revealed, as the story moves ahead. This is a fun read, and great for the subway, where I started reading it. But with P.I Sean, a bottle of Chianti, and my Kindle in an elevator it wasn’t so bad. It made me forget Adam, and cranky mom. When we were finally rescued, I was feeling no pain, and in love with Grandberry Falls. 

     This is my first #10, This is a WAY BITCH'n READ!