Happy New Year! Good luck, everyone!

I should've added that people who've signed up for my newsletter and people who comment on my blog, FB pages, or Tsu page are all entered into each day's giveaway as well. And names are chosen by random.org.

Jan 15th winner – Sheena Soller!
Jan 14th winner – Thalia Ramirez and Clarissa!
Jan 13th winner – Simone Peacock!
Jan 12th winner – Kristi Spinneweber and Mariann Reilly!
Jan 11th winner – Barbara White and Rachelle Marie!
Jan 10th winner – Ashley McDonald!
Jan 9th winner – Rochelle Thorne!
Jan 8th winner – Cassady Guest!
Jan 7th winner – Angela Conforti!
Jan 6th winner – Catherine Summers!
Jan 5th winner – Lori Mitchell and Keeley Smith!
Jan 4th winner – Paige Johnson!
Jan 3rd winners – Sara Lopez and Brenda Flores Crispin!
Jan 2nd winners – Viviana Varona and Cheri Anna!
Jan 1st winner – Michelle Simmons!

All these people keep telling me, “Writers need to be brands,” “You need to be your brand,” and “You are not just selling books, you are selling your brand.”

I am going to be like Doritos. Everyone likes Doritos, right?

First there was only nacho cheese flavored. Then they branched out with spicy nacho cheese, really spicy nacho cheese, and burn-your-face-off nacho cheese. And then they started getting really creative—guacamole-flavored and sour cream flavored chips to ease your palate, or for those who don’t like too much heat. But the piece de resistance—the scoop shape, marketed as the best way to avoid double-dipping in the salsa bowl. Make your friends like you again by scooping one enormous pile of diced tomato, jalapeno, onion and cilantro into your very own little corn bowl you can shove in your pie-hole. Brilliant.

But my piece de resistance is that all of my work is scoopable! While it may not make you more likeable to your friends, everything you read by me is cross-genre. Why not, right? Why not have a little bit of everything in every bite—I mean, in every story. Elements of comedy, satire, romance, suspense, mystery, paranormal, women’s issues.

Go on, taste it. You might just love it. You might even discover your new favorite brand.

Oh, and feel free to double-dip as much as you’d like, I won’t mind a bit.

Skinny jeans don't actually come with the skinny in them. Weird, right? In reality, they come with a sort of sausage shape with stuff squished and poking out on the top. Or at least they did in the ones I tried on. I'm really shocked the style is so popular. Do you think it was the brand? Anyone know where all the thin under-thirty-year-olds are getting theirs?

For those of you uneducated in the technique of “air hugging”, I’ve included step-by-step instructions.

*** This writer holds no responsibility if you hurt yourself or anyone around you while trying this.

1. Place your right hand on your left upper-arm.
2. Place your left hand on your right upper-arm.
3. Make eye-contact with the person you wish to “air hug”.
4. While gently squeezing your arms, say the words “air hug”.
5. That’s it! You’ve done it! Wasn't that fun?

The world would be a better place if we all did this more often. No mess, no bodily contact, just good lovin’. What’s not to like here?

It was as dark and stormy of a night that is possible at one o'clock in the afternoon in South Florida. The rain pelted my windshield in huge drops. The wipers, not being able to move at light-speed, were useless. I drove slowly. As slowly as a senior citizen on the freeway.

In the moments I could see, immediately after the wipers had bravely done their duty, before the downpour made everything disappear, I saw a woman next to the bus stop twenty feet from my car. She stood with her back to the wind and was holding . . . have to wait for the wipers . . . something white in her arms, covering it with as much of herself as she could. . . Wait for wipers. . . Oh my god, she's rocking it! Her gentle bounce and loving gaze were only interrupted by a . . . wipers . . . make that two quick glances up–probably searching for any sign of an approaching bus.

I had just enough time in between wiper swipes to check the backseat. Yep. I think my daughter's currently vacant carseat was the kind that could hold a child between 5-65 lbs. I would save them! If only the cars ahead of me would move a little faster, I could get this poor mother and child before they melted. . . Come on . . . Come on . . . A little closer now . . . Come on. A little closer.

I swung the car into the bus lane, slammed on the brakes, and threw on my hazard lights, hoping that the senior citizen behind me wouldn't get too confused, panic and plow into the rear end of my car. I slammed my finger onto the automatic window control (what did we do before those?) and the passenger-side window lowered, allowing the rain to drench my car's interior.

“Get in!” I shouted to the woman with the baby.

“Oh my God, thank you!” she shouted back, pulling the door open.

“There's a carseat in the back for the baby!”

“Oh, thank you. Thank you.” She slid into the seat. Adjusting herself into the seat, she cooed, “See honey, we're all dry now.” The woman held her baby away from her body and unwrapped the soaking blanket.

The baby's fur was all matted and stuck out in brown and black spikes all over its head. The fierce pride that had swollen my chest turned into a sneeze. The woman looked over at me.

“I'm allergic,” I mumbled.

“What?” Her attention had already returned to her mangy-looking beast.

“Nothing. Cute dog.”

“Thanks. She's my little baby.” Then she started the baby-talk. “Awen't you, my pwetty ba-by?”

I pointed to the backseat. “You'd better strap her in.”

“Oh, no. She can stay up here with us.”

“Great.”

Lauren, the hero. Saving the day and then rushing to Walgreens for some Benadryl.