My first novel!
A Soldier’s Embrace is a sweet, yet exciting story. The characters are captivating and the settings are perfect. The dialogue between the characters is well written and realistic. Ms. Romero has written a great historical romance.

Reviewer for Coffee Time Romance & More

Where authors and readers come together!

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Do eyebrows grow back?

Somethings I just let go. I know I shouldn't, but I do. Getting my hair cut is one of them. I finally make an appointment and go in. It's not like I have a long way to travel. It's down the freakin block. Jeesh. Anyway, I go in and the place is deserted. It's almost 5:30, so it's understandable. "The Woman" leads me back to the chair, this small talk tone to her voice that says "damn, I was hoping you wouldn't show up." At that moment, the overly long hairs on the back of my neck stood up and screamed.

She washes my hair, asking me how I've been. I can tell she doesn't have a clue who I am either. Normally I love this part because it's relaxing. Nope. Her ring got stuck in my hair and she yanked it out. She goes on talking, not hearing my tiny yelp or the noticing the tears in my eyes. Now it's time to make the way over to her station. She walks behind me or shuffles rather. I actually turned and looked down because it sounded like she was wearing old lady house slippers.

I sit down and she begins to comb it. "How do you want it?"

"It needs to be trimmed, so take about two inches off the bottom and trim up the layers."

I'm okay with silence. It doesn't bother me to sit and not say anything. I'm in there to be kind of pampered so I want it to be relaxing. Apparently she doesn't like silence.
Any vacations this summer?

I answered no. I asked her the same.

"Yes, we just came back from Vegas. I lost, don't ask. But it's not as bad as the last time I went to Vegas. Nothing can be that bad."

Okay, that's like a book blurb on the back jacket. I'll bite. "Why, what happened?"

She's begins cutting. "We were in a horrible car accident and my mom died."

Oh jeesh... So much for relaxing. She proceeds to tell me every detail right down to her sisters arm hanging by a tendon. What is it about me that attracts stories like this?

After she pauses, I ask her. Wow, when did this happen? I'm thinking last year from the way she's talking.

"Five years ago."

Okay, maybe it was the anniversary of the accident that prompted her to bring it up, but talk about a downer. I don't have a rash on my butt right now, but would you like to hear about when I did?

She continues, cutting my hair with that sissor slide thing. I made the mistake by telling her I work for a pain doctor. Oh man, she's got pain! Leg pain, arm pain, knee and elbow pain. And every once in a while she gets a shooting pain that goes from her right big toe to her pelvis. What's all that about, she asks.

"I don't know, maybe you should go to the doctor?"

She turns on the blow dryer and shouts over it. "And I'm so depressed! I have strange thoughts about things....people."

Oh god! Why did I have to ask for a brow waxing.

So, I lay on the table in the back room and she gets out the hot wax. Now, I've had my brows done for years, I know the protocol. First one eye. Rip! Maybe quick more little spots around the nose and then the tweeze clean up.

She does the other eye Rip. And then heads for the door.

"Ah, can I see?"

Oh yeah. She hands me the mirror. Both brows are a half moon over my eyes, this pink skinned arch of question. I ask her to straightened them out, make them more thin on the ends. She looks at me like she's never had that request before. The attitude, is okay, whatever! She does one and hands me the mirror. Not wanting to be a bitch and hoping eye brows grow back, I hand her back the mirror. "Nice, thank you."

She starts to leave toward the door.

I ask, Can I have the other one to match?"

"Oh, you want the other one too? I was wondering why you were just laying there."

Don't eye brows come in a pair and don't most people want them to match? Now I remembered why I forgot to make my hair appointment!

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

God hates me

I've always heard that God has a sense of humor. He has to right, I mean, look at the Aardvark, the Ant Eater, Nancy Polosi. But my husband and I have noticed as of late that our lives are filled with little 'gag gifts' from up above. Any extra money we get and plan to save. Nope. The refridgerator suddenly dies, or the toilet blows up with me on it. And let me tell you, to remove porcelin from your butt is no small medical bill.

My husband's favorite saying is "God hates me." I try to be positive by not agreeing, pointing out why He might feel our carpet needed to be flooded with outside sewer water. And trying to smile as I say "and wasn't it wonderful that the exact amount of money in our Europe fund will cover to replace it!"

Now, once again God cracked a joke. Oh, I hope he's laughing, because I'm not.
Our 13th wedding anniversary was planned out right down to the slinkly little outfit that I was going to wear. We had our dinner, movie, our dance music, everything planned in anticipation. And then BAM without prewarning boob aches or those nasty back pains, I got my period THAT morning. Not only was it "Ha, you're screwed for any sexual enjoyment tonight, but it was a bad one. Four motrin and it hadn't Begin to cut it bad.

Maybe my husband's right. Maybe the year had something to do with it. 13th. Or maybe God likes a good joke and I'm his favorite buddy! Which ever one, pass the damn chocolate!

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Questionable Meat

My hubby just bbq'd me a cheese burger with meat that was on the edge. His clever use of sauces made me forget the meat was questionable and could leave me clenching my butt cheeks not to mention moaning the night away.

We stood in the kitchen staring at the two last patties from our get together where we had friends come over to enjoy our tiny but fun patio (Last friday.) trying to decide if it was okay. First he smelled it, shrugged, then I smelled it. Then we looked at each other. It still had some pink through it so I tossed causion to the wind and said "What the hell," and grabbed a couple of buns.

As with all his grilling, the patty turned out perfect.

The day was a good one. The air conditioner in the office was fixed and now I had to deal with people complaining that the air was blasting down on them. "Can you turn the air down? I'm freezing."

I didn't want to say anything, but I thought it felt like a meat locker too.

Oh no...the stomach is girgling! So much for our bold adventure.

Monday, July 13, 2009

Some people!

I'm not particularly a patient person. Someone at any given time is usually on my last nerve. As I get older though and have suffered the loss of family and friends, I think I'm starting to mellow and as they say, I'm stopping to smell the roses.

Well, actually today the fragrance was more like B.O. The air conditioning broke in our building so the whole left side of this medical office was stagnate and hot. We're on the second floor with no windows and two doors that open up the hallway. And a full day of elderly patients.

The day started out fine. I'm thinking, okay, it's not bad, I can handle this. But by 10:00 I was done. By noon the doc was an hour behind. Odd thing was, the patients were okay. They waved magazines and told stories to each other about the hottest day they could remember. Topping each other with the greatest heat wave. "This is nothing! I remember one time..."
I tried not to be grim though my computer was slow, the phones busy and lines of sweat trickled down my back and down my butt crack.

It didn't take me long to realize that the patients came out from seeing the doctor with the same cheerfulness, thanking us and sending good wishes our way that the air came on soon. Despite their pain, they were thinking of us having to stay all day. Okay, they were probably happy that they would soon be out of the humid office and into that nice dry So Cal heat. But still! We started to smile and joke with the patients.

And then She came in.

This old lady is sarcastic, bitter, complaining, ugly and has a twitching hairless wart on her snarling upper lip. Every time she comes in she's bitching about something. Widow my ass. Her husband isn't dead, he's in hiding! And this time, oh joy, she brought her daughter! Man, if I were this girl, I would have been pissed that I didn't looked like the mail man.

The offspring had the same odd colored mole, hair the color of a badly rusting bumper of a 72 Ford Pinto and low and behold the same wonderful disposition. She knows the air is out in the building and she complains about how long it's taking, why is it so hot? Why don't they offer us something to drink? Why didn't they call us to cancel...blah blah blah. I hear her and call her up to the front desk. I'm blotting the perspiration from the back of my neck as I ask her if she would like to change her appt. She looks at me like I just leaned over and licked her face.

"Why would I do that?"

I tell her I can hear that she's unhappy. The woman looks at me and tries to give me this innocent look and says she doesn't know what I'm talking about. Whatever!

The day, despite what we've had to deal with, has been a good one for the most part. The doctor hasn't given us any trouble, which is rare.

That is... until he sees Her.

It isn't long before I get a pop up message on my computer from the doctor, with her file name complaining about the schedule and I must have scheduled wrong because he's so behind. A half an hour phone chat with another doctor and a twenty meeting with a rep had nothing to do with it. No, this lady is back there complaining about the heat and why don't we do something about it. I wanted to rip her bufont wig off and fan her with it!

Why is it some people are just unhappy? How do they get through life living only to rain on someone elses parade?

Sunday, July 12, 2009

Who am I?

Well, I'm not that interesting to be honest, but the people I love are. So, I've decided to watch, learn and laugh.

Humor has always been important to me. Growing up the youngest girl with two older practical joke playing brothers would have been a nightmare had I not learned very early on to laugh at myself. It's not always easy, but occasionally I'll catch myself in mid temper tantrum and realize I look and sound like an idiot. It's okay for me to laugh, but God help the moran who attempts to point out how stupid I sound.

As I said before, I'm the youngest. Though I live several hundred miles away from my parents, I try to visit them as often as possible. The main reason is they're really cool to be around, but mostly because they're both in the mid 80's and they need help. My father, who I affectionately call Poops, is deaf and my mother is almost blind. Interesting huh? They've been married 63 years.

I'm computer illiterate, but thank God I was smart enough to marry a geek. I love my geek! He's my best friend and someone I admire greatly. But that's another story. I love to write, hense this sight. I've written fiction all of my life but too scared to send it out. I've published a few short stories and have several novels in the works. After several years of bitching about it, I realize that I really do like my job. I'm a medical secretary for a Pain Doctor. That doesn't keep me from bitching though to everyone who will listen.

Monday, July 6, 2009


Was I sleeping when the patriotism went out of the 4th of July? I know it's red, white and blue and all the flags come out but isn't this the day when we're suppose to watch fireworks and celebrate our country and what it is to be an American?

Why then do they play songs from Miley Cyrus when the fireworks start? Whatever happen to George M Cohan songs? I've asked people this question and no one seems to notice the change. I went to a Padre game for the 4th last year and kicked back and watched the blazing sky light up to such tear jerking tunes as Summer Loving from Grease.

We're at war, our soldiers are dying for the very day we're celebrating. Would it hurt the politically correct Gods of Fireworks to play God Bless America? Oh, that's right, we can't say God. Okay, I'd settle for Your A Grand Old Flag. But no. Instead they blast some country song about a back front porch swing.

I was so annoyed by this that this year I watched the Boston Pops celebration on T.V. I thought for sure they would do some big fife and drum presentation. I mean, this is Boston Mass. one of the original 13 colonies! I was wrong. But I shouldn't complain, I mean after all they did squeeze in a few minutes of the hour show to give us old folks a patriotic medley.

Thursday, July 2, 2009

What is wrong with people?

Why is the world going nuts over Michael Jackson? Okay, he was very talented and I was a fan of his songs. When they come on the radio, I enjoy them still.

Why now that he's dead, probably from his own drug abuse that people refuse to admit that he did, are people forgetting the nut he was? Michael Jackson was a sick man. They keep talking about his estate and how much dept he was in. Not because he bought the remains to the elephant man, or his paying a voodoo priest to slay 40 some cows in order to curse his enemies, but because he paid off families of the little boys he molested! He paid off people left and right for their silence. Millions and Millions of dollars. I don't know what is worse, the parents who allowed themselves to be bought off or Waco Jackoff himself. Let's not forget that people! What grown man sleeps with little boys?

Wednesday, July 1, 2009


Myhusband can put together computers, televisons, phones in a blink of an eye. Why is it he can't grasp the art of removing the old toilet paper roll and putting on a new one?


I'm a So Cal girl. Born and raised in the San Fernando Valley, like oh my god! Now I guess it's OMG, but anyway, the valley people are not known for their chattiness, especially to strangers. I lived next door to a man and woman for over 25 years and never spoke to them. So, needless to say when we moved to San Diego and met friendly people, I was blown away. I kept looking around in surprise, "are you talking to me?"

Okay, that said, my husband and I are in line at the grocery check out. All our things lined up neat on the conveyer belt. My husband moved up to the credit card thingy and says to the checker- (We're learning to make convo)"hi, how are you?"

It seemed like a harmless question.

This over bleached blond, frosty pink lipped woman who has begun scanning our items launches into what could only be called WTF.

"I envy people who can cook." (She says this as she scans a frozen pizza) "I took home ec and if my teacher hadn't been such a (she whispers the word bitch) I might have learned something."

I realize now that I shouldn't have gasped. It only egged her on.

"Everyone hated her. She was so skinny that if she turned sideways you wouldn't see her. She told me I would never amount to anything."

I thought about pointing out that she was close to mid life and worked as a check out girl for Vons, but she was double bagging the heavy items, so I kept my mouth shut.

"I told her that I would like to make the dress for her funeral."

She nodded at me like this was a real zigger of an insult, but I didn't get it. I added the proper "Oh my God, good for you," just for safe measure.

"One of the reasons I hated her was because my best friend at the time was only fifteen and needed her help because she got behind in class. But this teacher was so mean she wouldn't help her with extra credit." She shoved through my wheat bread. "Oh, good price on that! Anyway, the reason she needed extra help was because her father raped her. Do you have any coupons?"

My husbands just gawked and shook his head. I tried to wander away to the Bag O Ice section but he pulled me back with this "oh hell no!" look on his face.

"Can you believe that? Now poor thing was seven months pregnant by her father and late on her homework and the teacher wouldn 't help her. She was never late with anything!"

Ah, she was late with at least one thing.

My husband tried to change the subject. "Weren't the stuffed olives on sale?"

"Buy two get one free. You only bought one. Tell you what, I'll have Frankie run and get you another bottle. It will just take a minute. So, my girlfriend is so distraught over everything she hangs herself. "

"Ah, don't worry Frankie!" he called. "That's okay, we don't another bottle of olives," he tried to chuckle. "We probably won't even eat these. I don't even know why we bought them." Poor Ky just kind of freaked in this uncomfortable chatter feast. His nose is perspiring, a tale tell sign he's stressed. The poor man grabs for the only question he can think of. He asks the clerk how she is. Again. I don't know what he was thinking. It didn't matter. She didn't hear him. She just kept ringing up our giant box of two ply toilet paper and talking.

" The sheriff said it murder right off the bat. He knew -what seven month pregnant woman goes out on a ledge just for the..." She handed him a receipt and a big smile. "You saved twelve dollars! On the bottom of the receipt there is a survey. You can fill it out if you want. You might win prizes!"

I smile as my husband pushs the cart out the door as fast as it will go. I'm still staring at the clerk. Isn't she going to finish the damn story? No, because she's already moved onto the next customer, now she's talking about how she's going to rescue a wild horse. I just stare at the receipt. Finally, he yells over his shoulder. "Come, let's go. You know you're not going to fill that out."

"I might, it depends. Do they have a box to mark weird?"

Monday, June 29, 2009

Sigh-I have a headache

I'm suppose to be editing. I'm always suppose to be editing. I find it ironic that I fought to be an author and now that an editor is waiting for my rewrite to publish my first book, I suddenly don't have it in me anymore. I either have a headache or there is something really good on TV-a rerun that I've only seen three times and I just happen to be a the really good part.

It's already 10:30. If I start now, then by the time I get out my colored markers and get my self situated in a quiet, well lit place where my neck won't hurt when I look down, then it's almost 11:00. But then I realize I didn't get myself something to drink and so I have to go back down stairs to get some water and by then it's definitely 11:00. By 11:15 I'll need to go to the bathroom because I'm drinking water . My husband will hear me moving around and yell up to me to see why I'm not editing, so then I have to get back up and go out into the hallway to yell down at him that I didn't hear what he said. Then we'll have a convo about what he's watching and how it would be better if I was watching it with him, but I can't I'll say because I need to edit. Then I'll go back into my office and shut the door, but it's hot, so I open a window and stare out at this really big cool looking moon. By then it's midnight and I'm still on the first page of chapter 28. And then of course, there's the headache...

So, I might as well just go to bed now and get started in my editing procrastion much earlier tomorrow.

Sunday, June 28, 2009

The little Tomato that couldn't

I've been trying to get into gardening. I bought myself a beef steak tomato plant and got so excited when I was able to pluck the unbeef steaky but edible red tomato from the sweet smelling vine and eat it. Wow! I made this! Well, not technically, but you know what I mean.

The vine got healthy, the fruit plenty and I was proud. At one point I looked out on my patio and found the vine alive with fourteen nice ripping tomato's. One of them, just about ready to cut from the vine and enjoy in a sandwhich. The next morning, I went out with sheers in hand gasped. All but two were gone!

I ranted with a strange sense that hovered between anger and pride. I blamed my neighbors who undoubtedly looked into my small yard with envy. Someone had a salad and was too lazy to purchase tomatos for themselves and snuck into my yard late at night. Probably waiting hours after I went to bed, waiting well into morning for my bedroom light to finally snap off so they could take mine. The poor vine looked empty. I hoped silently they weren't good. Grumbled a few choice curses about growing moles and facial hair. But not to give up, I watched it with protective eyes, watching the new fruit flourish on the vine, waiting for the first sign of red to grace the growing green tomato. "I've got five now!" I would tell my husband. I'm not sure he even listened.

Once again, the day came to cut my pride from the tall vine and share it with friend and family. They only got one slice each because the beef steak it was suppose to be, was not. Anyway, I was foiled once again. They were gone.

As I glance around my small garden with tearing eyes, I noticed so were my roses. And the blooms from my jasmine bush. What the hell? Some wicked soul had it in for my garden. I just about gave up on gardening until one morning I was awoken from sleep by an irritating "caw" outside our bedroom window. It was then I realized what was taking my tomatos. Crows! No wonder farmers have scarecrows!

I haven't figured out how to stop them yet, but I did notice this morning, one particular fat black one has an odd looking mole on the side of his beak and if you look closely at it, you'd swear it has hair!

Thursday, February 12, 2009

Happy almost Valentine's day~!

I really am lucky. My husband is wonderful. What more could a woman want? Even after almost 13 years of marriage, he still makes my heart pound. I never imagined I could be so lucky.

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Mucus, friend or foe?

Yay! I figured out how to log on. If it weren't for my husband or for my sister in law, I wouldn't know how to turn on the T.V. Remember the days when we had a simple pull on push off knob? Nothing is that simple anymore. Thank God I have my husband.

I've been coughing almost nonstop through this wonderful new year. Hacking my husband calls it. He usually says this as he's rolling over in bed, his pillow poised to cram over his head. What he doesn't know is it's an overt cough. I'm getting him back for his snoring slash gurgle slash intermediate leg jiggle.

I can't go anywhere without a tissue box these days. I never know when I might I have the need to cough up a lung. Honestly, where does all this mucus come from? Yesterday I blew my nose for a solid minute. I went through three Kleenex's before I noticed I was drawing a crowd. My arms actually grew numb from holding that position. I finally had to sit Indian style on my chair just so I could have something to prop my elbows on.

When I was younger, I could be sick as a dog in the morning and out playing by mid afternoon. Now I have to squeeze my butt cheeks together so I don't sneeze and fart at the same time. God, I sound so old.

Happy New Year!