Fun, fast, flirty reading … with a message


What kind of friend are you? Are you a thong, always up someone’s ass, or are you a push up bra, giving your friend that extra boost when needed?

Some friends are like a thong.  Always up your ass.

Some friends are like a push up bra.  You don’t need them everyday but they are there to give you a little lift when you need it.

Some friends are like a watch.  Every five seconds they give you an update on their life via Facebook, but other than that things never get too personal.

Some friends are like stilettos.  They are fun to wear for awhile, but after awhile your feet are covered in blisters.  And they keep running … keep partying in their three inch heels, while you are hung over and covered in band aids for an entire week.  Stiletto friends are hard to keep up with.

Some friends are an old worn in pair of tennis shoes.  They’ll walk with you when times are slow or run with you when times are fast.  They are comfortable … even more comfortable than your own bare feet.  And these friends can be worn anytime and are there to comfort you through anything.

Some friends are like a scarf.   They are nice in some weather, but sometimes they feel like they’re suffocating you.

Some friends are like granny panties.  They cover your ass when you need them.  Not just part of your ass – they cover your entire ass!  These friends are the best.

Please tell me if you have an example that I’ve left out? turtleneck? jock strap?


The day I walked into McDonalds looking like a treasure troll, AND how you can tell the size of a man’s package by checking out his cell phone

I didn’t mean to do it.  I really didn’t.  I had met my husband three times before for lunch and I had worn a sexy little mini dress and sandals.  I had brushed my teeth and everything.

But I was having … well … the only way to explain is that I was in the writers’ zone.  My thoughts were racing faster than I could type and it was coming out like word vomit.  I was having a bowel movement of the book that couldn’t be stopped.

I never should have even left the house like that.  But I suddenly realized that I hadn’t eaten in 24 hours and my stomach was grumbling in protest.  I really didn’t worry too much since I had NEVER seen my husband’s coworkers go to lunch with him.  Every time I’d ever met with him he was all alone sitting there by himself.

And so I walked into McDonald’s looking like a treasure troll.  Actually, I looked like a cross between Woody Allen and a treasure troll because I have these dark brown nerd glasses that are too small for my face.  They were designed for children, but they were on sale for ten bucks.  Furthermore, I hadn’t combed my hair and it was mangled up in dreadlocks.

It gets worse, though.

I was wearing grey baggy sweat pants.  My FAVORITE ones.  The ones he threatened to burn if I ever wore them again.  He said they made my ass look long and from the back it looked like I was 82.  I had on a gigantic 3X T-shirt. (Don’t you just love the ones that are so big it’s like wearing a night gown?)  Yes, the T-shirt was hot pink, which I thought added a little splash of sexy.  Ahhhh … but quickly counteracting the bold color was the fact that I was wearing a gray sweatshirt covered in stains over the T-shirt.

It was Summer time.  It was hot.  But I didn’t care because I had been writing since 3 a.m. in the morning when I jumped out of bed like a jack in the box and started typing away like a madwoman.  It was cold then, and that was the last thing I remembered. I had dressed accordingly for bedtime.

Now, here I was at McDonald’s, and I assumed there should be some sort of forgiveness policy for when your girl looks bad.  Unfortunately, NO.  Not this day.  This day his coworkers and his boss all walked in together laughing and joking … well … at least they were.  His face grew pale, like a prisoner who was about to be lethally injected.

I arrived first.  Therefore I couldn’t have known that it would have all went down like that.  I was busily typing away on my computer, excited to have WiFi.  Afterall , the reason my husband and I decided we were soul mates in the first place was because we were the two thriftiest people on earth.  I hide behind a tree in the neighbor’s yard to get internet.  He uses generic ketchup (Ugh!) and generic detergent.  I re-use tea bags (which, according to him, is ‘what they did during the Great Depression’).   He ate a ham sandwich every day for lunch for three years straight.  When we met, we both immediately realized that our cell phone chargers were interchangeable.  That was because we both had the same cheap-ass gigantic square cell phone from 1998. He joked around saying we were “cell phone charger soul mates.”  And for you single ladies out there, I highly recommend that you stop trying to analyze the size of his feet and check out his cell phone.  It worked on this one.  Big cell phone .. big .. anyway…

Back to my drama.  There he came through the door, looking all handsome and chiseled and just as out-of-my-league as the day I met him.  And by the look on his face, he was finally realizing that, too.

But I didn’t even care.  Writers can be narcissistic at times, all wrapped up in their own little crazy world of writer madness.  That was me that day.

He approached with great trepidation, and I could tell that he didn’t want to claim me.  He looked a little scared, knowing that he had no choice.  His friends looked puzzled, wondering where the hot chick was who he had claimed he was married, too.  And wondering why he was leading them all to the table of someone who was obviously a dope dealer.

Horrified, he took the walk of shame up to my table.  His coworkers sat down, expecting him to introduce me as his sister, his cousin … the mother of a homeless family he’d sponsored for Christmas.

“This is … uh … my wife…”

I wasn’t the girl who was so hot, he married me despite the fact that I had a super scary and rather disturbing case of bipolar disorder … The girl that was so sexy,  he married me despite the unsettling fact that I wrote slutty books for a living.

Nope.  I was a treasure troll.  A fat, little, squatty treasure troll, wearing pants that made my ass look as long as foot ball field and as square as SpongeBob Square Pants.  I was SpongeBob Grey Squarepants.

He put his arm around me carefully, but not letting his forearm touch me.  I hadn’t showered or brushed my teeth, and I was so hungry I couldn’t help but to have a face full of cheeseburger by the time he got there.

He gave me a little pat.  I call it a church lady hug.  It’s like when you go to white-people church and they manage to give you this big bear hug without even touching you at all.

He sat down.  Nervous.  I nodded but didn’t look up from my screen.  I could almost hear the thoughts racing telepathically across the table.

How the hell am I gonna explain this to the guys?  I told them my wife was hot.  Geez … Are those dreadlocks?  She wore that to sleep last night.  How hard is to put on a pair of jeans?  Really?  Is it that difficult? Just a pair of friggin’ jeans, and take off the weird glasses for cryin’ out loud..  That’s all I ask.  It’s not like she needs to see to eat a cheeseburger … She practically opened her mouth and inhaled it.  Oh my God.  Please don’t burp.  If you burp I will die.

I burped.

Those McDonald’s colas are so carbonated.  It’s not humanly possible to chug one without some sort of regurgitation. I continued to heartily chug my cola.

I thought he was going to kill me from across the table.

He ate sitting straight up and on the edge of his seat.  His friends looked around nervously, trying to make small talk.

Although the thirty minutes whizzed by for me, it must have felt like forever for him.

Finally, after the torture was over, he texted me evil, evil things my entire drive home.

“I can’t believe you. Did you do this on purpose? Do you hate me?”

“I’m sorry.  Show them the picture of my slutty Halloween costume that you took on your big square phone.  That’ll teach ‘em.”

“No, nothing can counteract the event that just took place.”

“Oh, whatever … How was I supposed to know it was Happy Meal Day at the grind?”

“You’re gonna pay for this…”

“What are gonna do?  Divorce me for having a bad hair day?

“Is that what you call that?  A bad hair day? If I hear one more Yo Wife So Ugly Joke … Geez … when I walked up to you the guys thought I was giving money to a homeless lady.  Then Joe said I never told him I had a pet Iguana.  Larry calls you “the dope dealer” now.

“You’ll get over it.  But let me let you go for now.  You know I’m busy working on my book.”

“Yeah, you just wait.  I’m never helping you with the dishes again … And I’m wearing a Metallica shirt with a kilt to that stupid black tie gala you want me to go to …”

My husband looks like an underwear model.  If he wore that to the gala, every man in the place would probably be sporting that look the next week.

“I don’t care if you wear a pair of white nylons … you look sexy in anything.”

“Used to think the same thing about you. Thx for proving me wrong today.”

I let out a big heartfelt belch.  I wish there were some way to text a belch.  I considered recording it and sending it, but I was driving.

I sipped the cola, and admired the sparkly ring on my finger.

Marriage –what a wonderful thing.

Why I became an author instead of a stripper

Growing up I had classic “No Daddy” syndrome. I never had that protective love of a father that guided and directed a woman’s life in the right path. And though some women still turned out fine, I was desperately in need of a man’s presence in my life – a need that was never met.

Mom couldn’t help too much with that problem. She meant well, really. But she let me start wearing makeup at two. She said “it made me so happy.” And it did. I LOVED to play in her makeup. In every single one of my toddler pictures, there I am wearing bright red lipstick and horrific blue eye shadow.

As a preteen she let me read Cosmopolitan (newsflash: twelve-year-olds may not need to know about sixteen different positions to have stronger orgasms.) But poor Mom didn’t know that. She always had her nose in a Bible, she had NO CLUE what was in Cosmo. Since she had me in church every time the doors opened, I guess she figured it’d counteract the evil influences of the world. HMmmmmm…. Almost.

Poor Mom helped me sew shoulder pads into my bra after two boys nicknamed me misquote bite in middle school. I was the youngest kid in my class, and so while the other girls were thirteen and had started having periods and wearing bras, I was an extremely underdeveloped twelve year-old.

I initially stuck the shoulder pads in my training bra on my own, but when they came tumbling out during a P.E. Volleyball serve, I had a very disturbing and embarrassing moment that will forever haunt me the rest of my life. My Mom helped me sew them into the training bra permanently after that, to prove to everyone that those REALLY were my boobs after all.

At fourteen, God decided to make up for three years of adolescent hell by delivering me a set of full double D’s that made me the most popular chick in the ninth grade. I mean, literally, I woke up one morning, and just fell out of bed I was so top heavy. It was like the Gods of Boobs had smiled upon me, and decided to give a finger to the face of all those misquote bite bullies.

No, there was no denying these things. They shook and jiggled and bounced. They were real, and it was the best Christmas present I’d ever gotten from Mother Nature. Unfortunately seven days worth of hell were included in the package, but that was such a small price to pay to have super big hooters.

Mom let me buy a hot pink string bikini and parade around at Spring Break like a Hawaiian Tropic bikini model, minus the Hawaiian tropic tan. She said she had been so fat all her life, and it made her so happy to see me thin and gorgeous and having so much fun.

In return for her being so incredibly cool, I was very obedient. I didn’t screw around like all the other teenagers. I didn’t even drink, and I worked non-stop to keep straight A’s and high ACT scores so that I could get scholarships. We were so poor we filed for bankruptcy. They foreclosed on our house and my car three months after turning sixteen. I thought to myself that my whole life was crumbling around me. But I couldn’t have known how much worse it was going to get.

I was sitting there with her in the doctor’s office when I heard the news with my own little ears. I was only sixteen-years-old. I was wondering how the hell I was going to get to the beach and show off my boobs when I didn’t even have a car anymore, and then suddenly my entire body went numb, when I heard the doctor say these words to my Mom.

“There’s no easy way to say this ma’am, but you only have six months to live … at best.”

There’s really no way to describe that moment.  It was surreal, as if I were living someone else’s life – as if I were in a bad nightmare that I would soon wake up from.  My entire body felt cold … and sick … and I was certain that somehow, I would surely die with her.  For no one had ever loved me like she loved me, and I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I couldn’t live without her love.

She died a year later after an incredible amount of suffering and pain, and I was officially left orphaned in the world at seventeen with a gigantic set of hooters, a face like a Barbie doll, and zero money in my bank account. Not knowing what the hell to do with myself, I took my scholarship to college, but I had a nervous breakdown in the process. Crying uncontrollably…Taking 22 mile runs to the middle of nowhere and then passing out from heat exhaustion … Drinking myself to sleep every night. Chain smoking. I didn’t know where to go or what to do.  No direction. Just anger and bitterness toward God for leaving me all alone in the world without a single to soul to love me.  My brothers and sisters – gone.  My friends moved off to different colleges.  My mother – dead.  My father – out partying every night and obsessed with his own life.  I went from having a loving little warm nook in the world … from having a little greenhouse of love and support … to the cold Alaskan tundra of the world, where my little tropical blooms were frostbitten and I was slowly dying on the inside.  I would NEVER be able to survive the new climate of complete abandonment at only the age of seventeen.  No one.  No relatives. No friends.  Nothing.  Just a heartbroken girl, floating around the world like a leaf in the wind. I suppose I was destined for the pole. But despite the doctor’s diagnosis of bipolar, I persevered. I went onto college and battled with some of most evil women on the face of the planet –sorority chicks.

No mater how gorgeous I was, no sorority wanted a chain smoking crazy chick who couldn’t stop crying. And even if they would have wanted me, I was broke as a joke. So I fell in with the kindhearted and fun loving hippies. They gave me this gigantic red, white and blue bong that we all named “Liberty,” and we emancipated ourselves from the minds of the rest of the world every single day – all day long.

I moved in with the hippies, and the next door neighbor was conveniently enough, a big-time drug dealer. It seemed I had finally found friends, acceptance, and a place in the world, but then my life came crumbling down again my fourth year of college.

I was set to graduate with a degree in Journalism. I had ONE more quarter. All of my hippie friends would graduate after that quarter, too. And so there was no need to renew another 12-month lease. I had registered for all of my final classes IN ORDER. I had written my thesis on the Middle Eastern crisis and was poised with an internship. Everything was in place – until my loan check didn’t come in.

The scholarship had been used up the first year. After that I needed major loans for everything. Tuition, rent … Everything. But day after day, NO CHECK. Finally, I called them and they told me I couldn’t get the check without an audit. I had no F’n clue what an audit was. All I knew was that I couldn’t afford another year in college.

So my hippie friends and I, after several tokes off of Liberty, decided that with my big hooters, I could clear the needed $2000 in two weekends at the local strip club, and nobody would ever have to know.

The plan was brilliant. They went to the club and checked it out with me. The old lady told me I was “perfect,” but I had to be licensed. So I drove down to the local police station in search of a license.

The guy in charge of strippers’ licenses was a total prick. I’m surprised anybody strips in Columbus Georgia after having to go through the troll guarding the bridge. Even as I was filling out the paperwork, I kept feeling his eyes on me. I finally looked up, and he gave me this super condescending look as if I’d just offered him a BJ for coke, and he was like “No thanks.” He was one of those guys who wore whitie tighties and jacked off to Good House Keeping magazines as a kid. I could tell.

Whatever, man. People gotta make a living, asshole. I didn’t say that. But I certainly wasn’t going to let his snobby attitude stop me from finishing college. I’d lived in a sorority dorm for my entire first year of college, and I nearly committed suicide because of those self-righteous bitches. No way was I letting some pretentious power-trippin’ cop stop me from being a glorious success.

I got my license. I went home, happy and excited, despite the judgment that had been passed onto me. In fact, I was thrilled. I even got a Mystic spray tan on the way home.

When I got home, all of my hippie friends were so excited for me. They had even built me a little faux pole to practice on, and had that song Nasty Dancer by Kilo ready to go in the CD player. Nobody could fuck up a strip tease to Nasty Dancer.

Apparently, no one except for me.

I swear to this day that if my friends wouldn’t have smoked a ounce of blueberry bubblebum berry blast hydro weed straight off the boat from Amsterdam, then they would have liked my strip tease.

But alas, they thought it was the most hilarious thing they’d ever seen. Snobby looks are one thing, but putting everyone in stitches was not the intended effect.

It was supposed to be sexy … and freaky … and hot, and make Mamma lots and lots of dough. But they laughed their asses off. They laughed so hard they were crying.

Geez, I couldn’t even get them to stop laughing. Hal said I looked like a fat grasshopper taking a dump. Layla said I had gigantic white streaks under my arm pits and that my nipples were radioactive orange. Adam said I looked like a pregnant Chihuahua in heat humping a leg.

“How the hell is a pregnant dog in heat Adam?”

This made him start laughing again. “You’re supposed to spin around on the pole all fluid looking, not dry hump it and then pis on it like a fire hydrant.”

So here I am, a poor struggling writer, begging for nickels and Kindle royalties, when I could be sitting in a yacht right now with some Play Boy bunnies sipping gin and juice and giving Hugh a comb over.

OH NO! I had to hang out with the friggin’ stoners. And I’m telling you, they only thought it was funny because they were so incredibly blitzed. I swear that strip tease was amazing! I have a video that proves it, and I’ll show you one day when I decide to reveal my identity. But now it’s too late to anything super sleazy and cool.

Strippers can’t have stretch marks and cellulite, and probably shouldn’t be over 25. Rumor is, they break these rules constantly, but I don’t even care anymore.

I’m an impoverished little writer beast typing away at a little blog that three people will read if I’m lucky, and I’m having to steal WiFi from Mickey D’s to write it. Ah, but I could have had such a glamorous, rich life. But I chose to be poor, and now I have two beautiful children, a wonderful husband and … and …

And I’m the happiest woman on the face of the earth.

Thank you God, for sending stoners to help me choose the right path.

How I ended up crouching naked behind a Lazy Boy, hiding from gun fire …

“So, I went on a blind date,” I told Summer over the phone when I’d finally gotten several miles down the road.

“Did he bring his dog?” she said breathlessly, and I could hear a headboard thumping.

“How the hell did you know that, Summer?”

“It’s a joke, you moron. BLIND date?  Bring his seeing-eye dog? Get it?”

Summer was the only woman on earth who could have sex, talk on the phone, and make pretty solid jokes all at the same time.

“Oh.  Well, sorry I’m not laughing, but dude REALLY DID bring his dog, and wasn’t sure who was who at first.”

“OMG,” she said, and I could tell that she had momentarily paused her merrymaking.  I heard her politely whisper ‘In a minute, baby. This is serious.’

“What a dweeb!” she exclaimed, probably at her climax.

“You don’t know the half of it, Summer,” I went on matter-of-factly.  I knew there was something arousing to her about talking on the phone and doin’ the dirty. She thought she was being naughty, and secretive, so I just let her go on thinking that it was her little secret, and I continued my bad date saga.

“I said everything I could to scare him. I even told him about being locked up in the looney bin, but he wasn’t even listening.  Instead, he jumped up and did a Tai Chi demonstration in the middle of the restaurant … and then he stroked my hand softly and told me that he had soft skin …”


“I know, so I don’t think I can do this internet dating thing ANYMORE.”

“Aww … don’t give up.  How ‘bout that tall guy who was your second choice.”

“Yeah, I forgot about him.  He is pretty cute … but if he turns out to be another circus freak, I’m through!”

“Just give it another try,” she encouraged as the headboard started banging again.

I let out a deep sigh. Dating was so hard.

“Summer, I feel like this is a job.  I feel like I’m an HR manager interviewing someone for the job of being my lifelong soul mate.  What, do I need to bring a list of questions next time to ensure that no pets are in any way invited on our first date?”

“It couldn’t hurt.”

“Fine, I’ll go look up his profile again, and see what I can think up.”

“Keep me posted, ho!”


At first, Adam did NOT in any way appear to be another circus freak.  He had legs like Red woods, eyes the color of cash, and hair so thick and black that there was no hint of Rogain in his future.

He was wearing a untucked Polo shirt and a pair of khaki pants which ordinarily would have been too “Pretty Boy” for me … but after looking him up and down, I decided I’d let my tattoo criteria slide.

Adam worked at T-Mobile, and so was constantly pulling cool gadgets out of his pockets.

“Have you seen the new Blackberry Slice?”

“No, but it sounds delicious!”

My phone was the shape of Sponge Bob Square pants, and was only capable of dialing numbers and receiving texts. No internet.  No picture messaging. No Facebook. No putting it on vibrate and using it as a dildo.

It also shut itself off every thirty minutes just for fun and then refused to ever tell me any of the numbers or texts that I received while it was down.  If it were not for that stupid phone, I would have probably been happily married with three kids instead of having to market myself on the internet like some two-bit cyber whore.

“Yeah, it’s awesome,” he said as he showed me something straight out of Star Trek.


All the colors.  All the buttons. It was as overwhelming as when I beheld my first calculator watch in the third grade, and I was suddenly glad I didn’t have to worry with such a fancy piece of machinery.  I wasn’t sophisticated like Summer. I could barely balance my check book.

I wondered what was next for cell phone technology.  Could there be an app that would help me spot a loser? Maybe it could double as a tazer or pepper spray, in addition.

I told him how Summer said her cell phone could chart her ovulation cycle.  No need for condoms anymore.  Just leave it all up to the latest app.

“So, enough about phones,” he said, apparently not quite as fascinated by my story. “Let’s get outta here.”

“I second that.”


Adam took me to a sushi bar and then to a movie.  His phone vibrated in his pocket throughout the entire movie, but he ignored it.  I wanted to make a dirty joke, but thought that maybe phone-vibration jokes were a little overplayed.

When we got back to his quaint little garden-style home, he asked me to come inside for a little while.  I shrugged my shoulders and said, “sure.”

Summer had agreed to watch Isabella for the night, and I had no other plans for the evening that I could remember.

He opened the door for me, and I stepped inside with great trepidation.  After all, he was someone I met on the internet.  Would he have frozen heads in the freezer?  Would he have a stuffed German Shepherd starting at me from over the fire place mantle?

I stepped in and immediately wished I would have brought my list of questions.

A gigantic pregnant cat was standing on the coffee table lapping beer out of an oversized ash tray.

“Don’t mind Nibbles. She’s just grumpy because she got messed up by the bastard cat next door.”

No, I thought, Nibbles had simply failed to use the ovulation calculator on her cell phone.

“Bad kitty,” I said as she stopped lapping beer and did a swan dive off the coffee table.

I wondered if she should be drinking while she was pregnant.

“Wanna beer?” asked Adam.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

He handed me a Beach Bum.

I plopped down on the couch.

“Look, is there anyway we can hang out in my room?  There’s a more comfortable sofa in there, and I promise I’ll be good.”

He gave me a wicked grin.

“Look, I’m not like that, O.K.? I just want to hang out and get to know you.”

He put his hands up in the air as if he were under arrest.

“I completely understand,” he said innocently, as a brown curly tendril fell mischievously over his eye.  It was all so Hugh Grant in Nottinghill, minus the illegitimate litter of bastard kittens that were about to be born on our first date.

I decided he was no longer dating material, and immediately cast him into a little category Summer and I liked to call the “Get your freak on one time and never tell a soul” club.

“Look, get me out of the delivery room and we’ll talk.”

Five minutes later we were both quickly approaching naked on the cat-free sofa in his room.

I have no idea how that all happened so quickly, but it had been a long time, and Nibbles the cat wasn’t the only one who was horny.

He had just let out a triumphant victory cry as he unhooked the fourth clasp of my industrial strength support bra when the strangest thing happened.

Suddenly, a hammering fist suddenly assaulted the door with the brutal force of what could only be the FEDs making a meth bust, or his WIFE!

We froze.

The color drained from his face.

“Are you married?” I hissed as I attempted to hide behind the throw pillow.

“No … it’s my granny.”


I heard the sickening sound of a key picking a lock.

I scurried to put my clothes back on, but it was too late.

The door slung open and there she stood — all five feet and two inches of her –fuming in the doorway and she beheld our butt naked bodies scrambling around the room.

“INTRUDER!” she screamed, as if I were a rapist who had snuck in Adam’s window.

“Adam! Adam! There’s an attacker in your room! Get the gun!” she yelled and then spun around on her heel.

I dove off of him, and went sailing out the door behind her. I would run naked if need be, to avoid being target practice for Granny Glaucoma.

At first I thought I was in the clear. I slowed my sprint down to a quiet tip toe and tried to get around her, but I was too late.  Granny may have been blind, but her sixth sense was keen as ever.  She whirled around and pointed a gun directly at me.

“Who goes there?” she shouted.

I dropped down behind the Lazy Boy and crouched down into a naked little ball of scardie cat. Nibbles followed me and started licking my ass with her scratchy little cat tongue, but that was the least of my worries.

I peered out from behind the chair.  Granny was waving a Smith & Wesson around everywhere while trying to dial 911 from a rotary phone.

Adam was no where to be seen.  I assumed he had climbed out the window.  Who knows? Maybe he didn’t even live there.

What a way to die, I thought as I tried to hold my breath, and ignore the unwanted advances from Nibbles.

How would the preacher explain at my funeral that I was shot by Glacouma Granny because I raped her grandson.  I always knew I wouldn’t “go traditional.”

Fifteen minutes later, I was certain I would implode.  The cat hair from Nibbles had created a super sneeze that I’d been holding in for well over a lifetime it seemed.

Ever since the day I turned thirty, my body had suddenly became allergic to every plant, animal, and low carb diet plan known to modern man.

Making matters worse, Nibbles seemed to sense my disdain and became even more fervent with the licking.

I could feel my entire ass flare up with hives, as I watched Granny search the kitchen cabinets for the intruder.  How the hell she thought my big ass would fit into a kitchen cabinet was beyond me.

Finally, the cops showed up, and I was actually relieved as I was feeling in need of some protection.

“Look, my granny is legally blind AND crazy,” I heard Adam’s timid voice as he rolled out from behind a china cabinet.

“Please, officer … take her with you,” he begged them.

The two police officers rolled their eyes at each as the blonde one attempted to wrangle the gun out of Granny’s hands.  He had nose the size of Jupiter, and probably could have easily knocked it out her hand with a simple nod.

The other officer, the cute one, resembled a young John Travolta.

“I ain’t crazy, sonny.  There was an intruder.  I saw him!”

I wondered if I should be offended that his granny thought I was a man.

Jupiter Nose finally recovered the gun and I felt a small since of relief that at least I wouldn’t be getting a double-barreled mastectomy.

Adam rolled his eyes.

“Please just leave, officers.  This is all so crazy.  She’s not even supposed to be here.  She had a Bingo game tonight.”

“The hell you say,” Granny piped, “There really was an intruder. I see the car outside.”

“Granny, that’s my friend Joey’s car.  I told him he could park it here.”

The hot cop and the ugly cop exchanged a glance that said neither of them wanted to be there.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. McHaney.  We’ll check the place out and make sure there are NO intruders before we go.”

“Thank you, officer,” said granny as she continued to look around frantically.

Please don’t sneeze.  Please don’t sneeze.  My life depended on it.

Nibbles continued to nuzzle the back of my bare ass.  Ugh!

I peered back around the edge of the sofa.  The hot officer was headed in my direction.


I waited.

I counted his steps as I saw him coming.

Each foot coming toward me sounded heavier than the one before.


I will never forget the look on Sergeant Sexy’s face when he peered over that couch and saw my naked ass crouched up into a little ball.

I put my finger over my lips and made a little “shhhh” sign.  Sergeant Sexy turned bright red.

“Nnnnothing behind here,” he said awkwardly.

Just a butt-naked girl with a cat coming out of her ass.

He moved on to the next piece of furniture.  Thank God, Nibbles went with him.

Finally, hours later it seemed, the officers had thoroughly checked the house and convinced Granny that any intruder was long gone.

She still looked suspicious, but finally turned the lights around 1 a.m. and retreated to her room.  Adam, who apparently had no idea that I was still behind the Lazy Boy, did the same.

I waited ten minutes after every light in the house went out.  I crept out from behind the Lazy Boy and darted across the living room and to the door.

I fumbled with the lock.  Doing anything butt naked is always a little more challenging.

When I finally opened the door, something similar to tornado sirens began going off all around me.  The Hope Diamond couldn’t have possibly had a louder alarm system.

I darted across the yard with my boobs flopping in the wind as every neighbor within in ten mile radius ran onto the front porch and got the show of their life.

I dove in the car and cranked up the engine.  I heard shots firing behind me as granny fired the gun after me.  Lucky for me, Granny wasn’t a good shot, but I got a feeling that one of her neighbors ended up having a worse night than me.

Adam called three days later.  He said he wanted to see me again.

“No thanks.”

“It’s about my granny, isn’t it?”

“Adam, I’m going have to be honest with you here.  ”

I always thought it kinder to say that I was either seeing someone else or GAY as opposed to the harsh line, “I’d rather be completely alone than to be with you.”

“I’m seeing someone … and I’m gay.”

“Oh,” he said, seeming to get the message.

Suddenly, I remembered the gay waiter from the steakhouse, and I realized he wasn’t so gay after all.  He just didn’t want me.  Karma, what a bee-atch.

About the series

Though the Diary of Dion is the inspirational tale of a girl of followed her faith no matter what, the other two books of the trilogy, She Tells All and Every Woman’s Hero, tell the notorious Maddie’s side of the story.

Though she appears at first to be a foul-mouthed promiscuous girl who finds a pair of magical stilettos, you’ll find there is much more too her than that.

As the book unravels, you will be able to piece together the reasons for Maddie’s behavior based on a tragedy that shook her faith, and after reading the trilogy you will understand the power of loving people in the condition they are in, instead of trying to change, shape and mold people into what you want them to be.

I hoped to convey that powerful message of redemption in this book, and I believe that message is woven into even the smallest details of the story.

Maddie (the main character in the first two books) does have a foul mouth that will more than likely make you cringe, but for me, watering down this character felt like an unpardonable sin. She is who she is, end of story. That being said, she IS terribly offensive. So even if your ears bleed, please give this character a chance, since it’s never good to judge a book by it’s cover.

I hope you will give my book a chance, and I look forward to hearing your thoughts.

Check out the reviews!

Reviewed 12/17/11 by Jessica Ramirez,

My thoughts after reading the very first sentence, “I am not going to like this book”. How very very wrong i was. I enjoyed Judah’s story about Madison so much that I found myself laughing out loud and crying too. Normally I do not like vulgar language but i decided that I was going to read with an open mind. And I am so glad I did, because if I didn’t, I would be missing out on a great book.

We start of the with Madison and her friend Lizzie, whose husband hates Maddie. For good reason too! She is a girl who sleeps around with anyone, it is just who she is. So we go back into her life on why she is the way she is. And this boys and girls, was what had me hooked. Not only was Madison funny, and beautiful, she was real. She might not have ever realized that about herself until the very end, but I saw what a great person she was deep down. Madison is the type of woman you can count on and one who will be there to bail you out of anything. I absolutely loved that about her. When someone gave her absolute no reason to not trust them at all, well Maddie looked past that and helped out anyway she could. Such a strong person.

There were a lot of hook ups in the book and i found myself silently screaming at her to quit being so stupid! She didn’t need any of that and she deserved a lot better than all the losers she dated. She was way too good! A good girl she was not, though. She was the bad girl we all wished we could be but aren’t. I enjoyed reading about her best friend Summer, she was just like Maddie only skinnier and blonde. And as Madison says, she was hot. Both these girls together against the world made my experience fresh and funky. In a good way of course.

Any hot boys in the book? Um…definitely not! Jose, which later becomes her baby daddy and husband, was disgusting and the biggest loser of them all. I can honestly say, I really can relate to Maddie when it comes to dating all the losers. Like her, I trusted to easily and in the end came out burned. It must be why I loved the story so much.

There was a religious aspect to the book and I found that awesome. Why yes bad things happen to good people, as long as you have Jesus Christ by your side, everything will be okay. And I think Madison knew that, she just needed that little push. In comes the last character I will talk about in my review, Dion. She was such an inspirational character. I cried and cried when her ending came. She always believed in Madison and she was the one who gave her that push. I have a bunch of people like her in my life. I am blessed and lucky to have that, as some people may not have that at all…

I want to thank Judah for allowing me to read her book. I will interviewing her so everyone stay tuned! You do not want to miss out on the book or getting to know that wonderful author.


Reviewed by Kell Smurthwaite, BCF Book Reviews     

Self-published novels often get looked down upon by the “why couldn’t they get published by a real publisher” brigade, but every now and then, you get a little gem that sparkles and stands out from the rubble, refusing to be tarred with that brush. This is one of them.

I was pleasantly surprised at how easy this novel was to read. Although it chronicles Madison’s sexploits, explicit detail doesn’t usually play much of a part in the proceedings, which is a welcome relief, given the amount of shenanigans she gets up to! It’s a nice change to have a promiscuous “heroine” who doesn’t feel the need to “drop the f-bomb” (as she calls it) every five seconds and although many of her activities are explicit, the author leaves much to the imagination, giving only the bare essentials in the sex scenes.

Madison is a very likeable character. She is obviously a little troubled and has terrible taste in men, but once again, the Davis bucks the trend and refuses to give Madison all the good looking charmers – she’s a regular chick and the guys she sleeps with are regular Joes too – some better (or worse) than others. And she’s such a caring person, constantly trying to help people and do the right thing, that you desperately want things to work out for her.

This is a very quick read, but an enjoyable one. And yes, I actually shed a few tears near the end which was handled in a tactful and sweet manner. Madison’s journey through slutdom to finding herself and keeping her faith is worth picking up if you like inspirations tales with believably normal characters.


Reviewed by Alexandria Vail,

Madison Miller has an affection for bar hopping, dancing and (sometimes very unattractive) Latin men. She doesn’t see anything wrong with her lifestyle or sleeping with complete strangers, but knows her church-going Southern mom wouldn’t be proud. She recounts the loss of someone close and how that may have led her into this lifestyle and all of her one-night stands. When tragedy strikes again, she is forced to take a hard look at her relationship with others and most importantly, her relationship with God. This kept me laughing and at some points on the verge of tears. It’s a book with a life lesson, and a lot of humour with a little vulgarity – in a good way. (AV)


S. Reisner, Author of Sorcerers’ Twilight Series

It caught me off guard at first because this book isn’t written like standard fiction. It tells instead of shows and is a tad slow to start. It is written in a very passive style that some readers may be uncomfortable with at first. However – it was intriguing enough to keep my interest and it moves along at a good clip. There were times I was howling with laughter (as in couldn’t stop laughing) – it really was that funny. There are also touching moments. The candor and emotional depth this novel is written with more than made up for the passive writing. Now if you’re the type of reader who needs to be spoonfed visual detail you may find this book a bit lacking (I’m notorious for skipping those parts anyway, so that was fine with me) since really – this is more of an inner story than an outer story. All in all, it was like listening to a close girlfriend tell the story of her life (just like the title says) and is a fun read. I definitely recommend chick-lit and literature fans give it a look.