Book Review of "Waiting On The Sidelines" by Ginger Scott

Nolan Lennox is, when this book begins, a Tomboy. She's athletic and doesn't mind wearing her brother's second hand clothing. She resides in a mobile home and while she's not ashamed of her family or even her home, she's not broadcasting that she lives in a trailer. Then Reed Johnson arrives at her school. From the first awkward interaction, Nolan realizes she likes the new boy. He's also legendary on arrival before he has a chance to show his skills as a football player because his father and brother were football stars during their time at Coolidge High School.

Reed gets himself hooked up with another girl in school, Tatum, who is openly snobbish and cruel. Especially to Nolan. Nolan struggles to take the high ground from one cruel act to another. I couldn't help but root for Nolan because she's not a pushover, she's got class. Her closest friends are there to support her as well. It didn't take long to figure out that Nolan and Reed were meant for each other. They do become friends and Nolan even begins to date Reed's friend and teammate. But the butterflies Nolan feels just by being in Reed's presence don't come when she's with someone else.

Nolan and Reed eventually begin to spend time together. They travel on the same bus to athletic events and work together as lifeguards over the summer. When Reed decides to take Nolan on a special "date," she arrives at Nolan's house to find Reed and his ex in a shocking pose.

Nolan and Reed spend quite a bit of time not together and Nolan avoids him in every way she can including changing her work schedule so she doesn't have to lifeguard at the same time as Reed. Through Reed's cruel, drunken rant at the Friday night desert party, Nolan finds out news that crushes her, breaks her heart.

Through all of this, every single misunderstanding that can happen, does happen. The fact that Nolan refuses to speak to Reed and Reed begins to drink and lose control leads to more lack of communication.

Eventually, the truth about the news from Reed's drunken rant comes out. Nolan and Reed still have a long way to go. A driving accident threatens Reed's champion throwing arm and his potential for college recruitment. Reed grows distant and nosedives.

These two go through every emotion imaginable before they're finally able to settle up with each other. These two love each other madly. And Ginger Scott set it up magnificently. She established the friendship as the foundation early on.

This story ends and there is a second book coming out that will hopefully take us through Reed and Nolan's college years, but this book can absolutely stand alone. I received this book from NetGalley for an honest review but if I found out about this book through some other source, I'd have scooped it up. And while I'm more than willing to receive the second book through NetGalley in trade for an honest review, I'd happily pay for it. This book should be required reading for YA readers, especially those in high school. 

Parents with teenagers could learn a thing or two from Nolan and Reed as well. Ginger Scott keeps it real and honest. She's not giving you a typical YA novel, she's giving you real life, real situations, real teenage experience and real love. She lines this book up absolutely perfect in letting every reader know just how much work real love requires. I wish I could give it more than 5 stars here. I give it 10 stars and it's going on my "Must Read Again" shelf! A++

Revised 02/14/2014

Review of "Love Hurts" by Beverly Scudamore

** spoiler alert ** Mel is in love with Dustin but she lost her chance at a relationship with him last year, now he is with someone else and she is heartbroken.

The book starts with Mel being late to school and hurrying, she witnesses a fight and pushes Dustin to break the fight. He does, and everything begins. She has to go to the Principal's office and there she meets Colter. She gets punishment and he helps her with it. The story of Colter and Mel begins here.

This book was quite good. It felt real. The author did her research on bad relationships and what the red flags are that a relationship can potentially become controlling and possibly dangerous.

Mel was a likeable character. She was nice, friendly, but had her fair share of problems, which threw her in the arms of Colter. And I can imagine a new boy, a bad boy at that has its merits and might seem fun, especially if you are trying to forget a boy.

Colter, well when we first see him in the book, I liked him, he was interesting and from the description, quite good looking. I can imagine girls falling for him. But while the story progresses, you start to notice things that are off. His parents, his house, and a whole lot of other red flags. I really liked that it wasn't immediate scariness, but that it slowly spirals from good to bad.

Colter, while nice in the beginning became really scary at the end. Psychotic and totally different than when we first meet him.

Luckily, Mel is a smart girl and notices things are wrong and talks about it a little bit. I was kind of worried she would end up like most of the girls in a situation like this. You know, dead or forever stuck to this creep.

I would have liked a different ending where Mel doesn't run off on a plane. Yes, there are victims of domestic violence who do need to flee for their lives and go into hiding. I don't think Mel needed to do that and I think she decides to go so that her mother doesn't need to give up a job she loves so Mel can stay where she is. Although, it's a mature and thoughtful decision for her to make.

I give 4.5 stars.

***Received via NetGalley for a fair and honest review.*

Book Review: "Good In Bed" by Jennifer Weiner…..Definitely Much More Than Your Average "Chick Lit"

Second read. Definitely much more to it than your average chick lit.

I'm not exactly Jennifer Weiner or Cannie Shapiro. Combine the two and we have a TON in common. Jennifer is based in Philly and Cannie lives there. I was born and raised there. Jennifer worked for the Centre Daily Times in Central PA. I live in State College, PA and was at Penn state when she began working there. I still live in State College. Jennifer and Cannie are overweight. I stopped giving a crap about it after hitting 40 years old. I'm tall, with a large frame and will never weigh 100 pounds. I'm not exactly carrying a Michelin tire around my waist but I'm no model either. There's a bunch of other stuff too.

It bothers me that some women have reviewed this book and called Cannie's story, "whining." Sounds to me like Cannie is just being Cannie. I don't think she's a perpetual victim, I think she's just trying to figure out years of bad things happening to her. Keep in mind that JW can't take you through every step of Cannie's growth. The book would be way too long. I think the fact that she's left Cannie under the care of a shrink tells you she's not done fixing the way she reacts to bad things that happen to her.

I have to wonder how many readers who wrote that Cannie was a "whiner" are really, really thin and have nooooo problem frolicking down the shore because they can wear some boob stickers and some string and call it a bikini?

Well, truth be told, there are more of us than there are of you. I'm not as big as a 16 but I'll never be an 8. And for the not so thin ones who said the same, do you envy Cannie because she got a lot of good things in one quick swoop? Because again, it's a book. It kinda has to be really kind of fast or you'll get bored.

The book was amazing, plain and simple.

What A Woman REALLY Loses When She Loses Her Daddy (Updated June 11, 2011)

June 11, 2011 at 6:24 AM

With Father's Day just around the corner, I figured it was time to sit down and re-read through this special piece and update it a bit. Please note that you are reading from 2009. Updated information is indicated.

The original can be found here: https://www.facebook.com/note.php?note_id=120168433408.

Warning: some material contained is GRAPHIC, shocking and NOT for the faint of heart. But, it is the truth as I know it. It's not in full, this merely touches the surface. Other Notes I have written on FB intertwine with this one to fill in a lot of, but not all, of the history.

Original composition date: Thursday, July 23, 2009 at 6:06 PM:

On June 21, 2009, I logged onto FB like any other Sunday. And then I logged off. So why did I, a total Facebook-A-Holic (just like the rest of you), abandon FB that day? It was FATHER'S DAY.

At no time in my whole 40 years on Earth do I ever recall having an internal, emotional reaction on Father's Day like I did this year. I'm still not even sure why, maybe it was the glut of Father's Day posts, I really don't know. But I did do a hell of a lot of thinking over the course of that day.

Your story is never going to be exactly the same as mine if you've lost your dad. It will never be the same as mine because those of us who have lost our dads lost them to different situations and at different ages. But, that day I wondered how much I may have missed because he wasn't here. Ever wonder what you really missed after he was gone?My father was viciously murdered, shot to death, by his step-brother on February 21, 1973. He would have been 27 years old less than a month from that date. That was also the day before my 4th birthday. I've been told the step-brother was an overly sensitive, milquetoast type of guy. And I've been told that my father had kind of a wise ass sense of humor. I suppose, on that particular evening, those two things just didn't mix well. Left behind were a wife and two young children.

The stories I heard when I was younger was that my father was just out of the Army after serving his country during the Vietnam-Era. I have his military records that confirm it. I don't know how they met but my parents got married right around early 1967. In February of 1969, I came along and 13 months later, my brother was born. I'm told that my dad was a commercial painter and worked all over the city.

So this past Father's Day 2009, I replayed my life and inserted what I thought life would be like if he wasn't taken away, in some cases by identifying what was lost after he was gone. *Cue the flashback-y, dream music*

My biological mother went completely insane. Her grief sent her into a downward spiral that to this day has never stopped spinning. Drugs like booze and cigarettes and even pot were common back then. But she spiraled out of control and drank, smoked pot, popped pills, snorted cocaine and shot up heroin. She became a drunk and a junkie. She's never recovered and it eventually killed her.

I don't believe for a second that my father would have allowed anything more than what was socially acceptable at the time and I highly doubt he would have allowed things like "works" and needles into his home where his young children were present. Had he lived, my biological mother may have never crossed that line.

And then came the violence. My biological mother became a heinous abuser of her children. Inflicting violence on the very offspring that came from the man you loved and grieved for never made any sense to me. Still doesn't. We were both smacked, kicked, punched, stabbed, slapped, burned and beaten mercilessly without warning. I even got shot. The bullet grazed my belly so I was lucky I guess. The "pop" of the gun that wasn't meant for me was more noisy than painful. Had my father lived, discipline would have been no more than maybe a spanking.

I lost a mother.

With my father gone and my biological mother out of control, the strange bed fellows were frequent. My brother and I spent a lot of nights at my grandmom's house. But, it didn't matter where we were. At home, after passing out from her drunken stupor, those strange men entered my bed in the dark of night and did things no child should ever know about at that young age.

While at my grandmom's house, my grandfather and one of my uncles living in the house also sexually assaulted me over and over. Had my father lived, none of these strange men would have come around and if my grandfather and uncle had still done what they did and my father found out? My grandfather would not have lived until the early 1990's and my uncle would likely not be alive today.

I lost my innocence.

I got good grades in school. I went to voice lessons. I auditioned, performed, and my aunt Margie kept me out of the house as much as possible. I was supposedly smart. Smart enough to be sent to Masterman from 5th grade to 9th grade. At the end of 5th grade, we came home from school to a padlocked door. The rent was not paid.....again. My brother and I walked to our grandmom's house. Great. Now what? My stay there was short and I was old enough to stay away from my grandfather and uncle but I was removed from all of that and went to live with my aunt-mother (my biological aunt and adoptive mother).

She did a fine job raising me after detoxing me from the drugs I was given often and my singing talent was already well known. She took me to church on a regular basis. My hair grew back. I got my ears pierced. I got clean clothing, I got fed breakfast, lunch and dinner (my brother and I used to go for days with no food). I got presents for Christmas and my birthday. I was taken to the dentist and the doctor for check-ups. And while I was extremely active and my confidence was a little better, I was extremely shy around boys. My hormones suddenly activated and all of the sudden, there were boys I liked being around. The teasing I endured at Masterman was hell on Earth already and now I had to talk to boys?

I lost the man who would have been the best advisor and I probably would not have been teased (or perhaps not to the same degree) were it not for starting out at Masterman dressed like a dirt bag. Oh, my body was always clean but my biological mother would not buy us new clothing. She'd just pick out junk from a local thrift store. I wouldn't see new clothing until moving in with my aunt mother. And my hair didn't grow back until I was already there for a year.

I lost my dad's lap to sit on to ask about boys and my protection from bullies.

In 9th grade, I was selected to audition for this special high school. A place where I could learn to be a better singer and performer as well as prepare to go to college for music if I wished. In 10th grade, I entered the Philadelphia High School for the Creative and Performing Arts (CAPA). During the summer in between Masterman and CAPA, I grew taller, my body grew around my chest, and I'd developed a few curves. My hair was red, long, and styled; my clothing was in style for the times. Not all the fancy labels but up to date. And I learned how to wear make up.

I was terrified on the first day at CAPA. I sat in the auditorium next to two girls I would come to know as Susan Donnelly and Janice Barclay. They just talked to me. Because of how we were seated they knew I was a singer just like them. And they were as friendly as friendly could be. It was a new building for them too and having seen where the school was housed before, we basically chattered about what the building we were in was like.

I spent the rest of the day finding my locker, finding my classrooms and bopping around with my best friend Lorna who also came to CAPA from Masterman. It was wildly different. Punk hair, blue hair, spiked hair, leather jackets, chains, ripped jeans, dance tights, guys who wore makeup, and every other possible type of dress under the sun was all under one roof. I got to sing that day. In three periods of classes too.

My father never heard me sing, not once, not ever.

I had crushes on boys. One boy in particular too. For years, right up until today, I would be his friend. Update: we are still friends today. Senior year came. I'd made a name for myself and had a decent rep. I'd experience performing in places I would have never imagined. My confidence was off the charts. I was never teased and I had no enemies (none that I know of anyway). And then what should have been one of the biggest rites of passage for me came along: my Senior PROM.

I knew exactly who I wanted to go with. I think EVERYBODY knew who I wanted to go with. Well, he never asked me and even with all of the confidence in the world I still couldn't bring myself to ask HIM. I never went to my prom, the one I wanted to go with asked another girl...same name, different spelling...and I spent the night of my prom with my best friend Lorna. Surely if my father had lived, I would have had the prettiest purple dress, probably a limo to take me there, my hair all done up pretty and ready to dance the night away with my chosen date.

But, I'd lost my dating advisor. There was no dress, no pretty hair, no limo, and no date. So, I also lost my rite of passage.

My father would not see me graduate from high school ranked high in my class, the winner of two Music scholarships, the Outstanding Vocalist of the Year Award, and a one year ride to study Opera at UCLA. 

I went on to college at Penn State. I did well there. I was engaged to be married, we split up, I dated, I partied (never touched an illegal drug), I sang, I studied, I worked. I was the FIRST person in my family to graduate from college. My father would not see me graduate college either. Had he lived, instead of a degree in Administration of Justice and Music from Penn State, I'd probably have just one degree in Music Performance, Voice concentration, from UCLA, which was the much better school.

Update: as far as I know, I am STILL the first person in my family to graduate from college. None of my cousins on my father's side of the family graduated earlier than 1992 and I don't know if my aunts and/or uncle attended or graduated from college.

The rest is harder to guess. I'd become an independent young woman with a brain and a mind of her own. Would I have met the idiot who would become my first husband? I don't even enjoy giving him the title of "husband" even though it's preceded by "EX-."

Had my father lived, I probably would have known what the red flags were sooner than later.

I do still believe I would have met Kevin. My father would be 5 years older than him. But I do believe my father would have approved of him with a huge gold star and a big, red bow! I believe he would have walked me down the aisle, my biological mother, sober and proud, already seated in the pew to my left. My father would have loved Kevin's parents (R.I.P.), especially Kevin's father.

Update: I still believe that my biological mother would have been a sober woman had my father lived. Today, she is still a drunk and a junkie. She did 5 years in Muncy for Manslaughter, was paroled, served 5 years of clean and sober probation and the day after it was up, she was right back in it.

Had my father lived, I might be famous. He might have had grandchildren. With no insane widow to kick the shit out of me, my reproductive system might have developed correctly and Kevin and I might not have had any problems with conceiving and I probably wouldn't have had any problems carrying those babies to term.

My father was a Catholic-Christian man who served his country, lived a clean life, worked hard, got married, had children and was only getting started on the rest of his life and it was flushed out in a fraction of a fraction of a second over what amounted to nothing but a silly joke spoken in front of the wrong, young and stupid idiot who probably never thought of anybody but himself. Update: as far as I know, this is still correct information. I'm still working to learn the full story. I could get a copy of the police report and read it. But, that man is named and I do NOT want to know his name.

I have never visited my father's grave. I want to but there is no head stone there and I can't find the only living relative I know he has: his sister (and my aunt) Christine. She had to bury him and I cannot find her to negotiate placing a proper marker on the site where he was laid to rest. I am still searching for her.

Update: Aunt Tina (Christine) has been found and is wonderful. She has two beautiful children (my cousins), Jason and Lucille. 

There is also my father's only brother, Vincent. He has three beautiful daughters, Brittany, Michelle and Nicole. 

I have an Aunt Roxane (Brittany's mom) who has been a God appointed angel. 

My Aunt Vicky passed away a while ago and there is an Aunt Patsy as well.

My paternal grandmother for who I am named, Theresa Casper, passed away in a fire before I was ever born. I've also learned I'm 1/4th Polish.

My paternal grandfather, John Casper, passed away from a heart attack at 57 years old. And, supposedly I'm 1/4th Lithuanian.

I'm looking forward to meeting ALL of them real soon.

If YOUR father is still alive, even with all of his faults or problems and issues, honor him. Cherish him. Find something positive about him to embrace.

So, what does a woman REALLY lose when she loses her Daddy? She loses her best admirer, her biggest crush that becomes second only to the man she marries. She loses her protector, her provider, and her biggest fan.

And, she loses a piece of her own soul. That piece of her soul will only be replaced when she goes to meet him someday and he's there to place it back in the hole left in her heart.

Wisdom and Lessons of Approaching the Big "4-0"

February 17, 2009 at 9:27pm

As I get closer to my 40th birthday, it occurred to me that there were two ways for me to enter this new decade of life: glide in nice and smooth-like or go in kicking and screaming.

Well, my claws are out and I’m going in kicking and screaming. And if I hear another cliché, I may have to claw out eyeballs.

I have lived more than one lifetime in these last 39 years and I don’t know if it gets any better solely because I’m entering my 4th decade of life. I guess that’s a wait and see situation.

One thing I have noticed now that I am getting closer to this milestone is in regard to what I think about what others think of me. Has the following happened to anybody else?

For more years than I can recall, I was always quite vocal about what others thought of me. I would proudly exclaim that I didn’t give a shit what somebody thought of me and I would also make it well known that I didn’t care if there was someone who didn’t particularly like me.

If this has happened to you, then you know that absolutely I DID care and I cared A LOT. I could probably guess which of my closest of friends were not fooled by those exclamations but if this is a surprise to any of them, then I’m a much better actress than I ever thought I was.

And then, something began to change. I didn’t hit on it until about a week ago even though it’s been brewing for the last year. Maybe it’s age or maturity or maybe it’s a newfound confidence that comes with this age change. Because now? I DON’T CARE! I REALLY DON’T CARE WHAT PEOPLE THINK ABOUT ME! I really don’t. I am finally LIBERATED! I can rattle off, by name, those real friends and family that truly do care about me, love me, like me and give a damn about what happens to me. And the rest can kiss my ass. ☺

This is who I am. This is what you get. This is how I’m wired and only those who have real love for me will be able to accept it. I do like to think there are more good things about me than not so good, but I’m a weirdly wrapped package with a funky kind of bow. But, God made me this way and God don’t make no junk!

I’ve learned that my past will always have an effect on my present and future. I’ve been to reconcile the horrible experiences so that I can speak of them without feeling pain but the simple fact is that because of these experiences, there will always be something from the past that will play a part in future decisions, future endeavors, and pretty much everything that comes down the pike for me.

Speaking of my horrible past, get over it, period. As I move into this new decade, this rite of passage has brought to light that if you are a part of my current life, you get the whole package, including the past. It’s made me into what I am today. I can’t make it go away, I can’t change it, and for anyone to those who told me to forget about it (yes, people have actually seen that as a viable solution for dealing with it all), frankly, you were a moron.

I am now realizing that I actually know who I am today. I’m more comfortable in my own skin, I don’t care (really, I don’t) if my ass looks too big in those pants, and I may be a late bloomer, but I’m now more free than ever to pursue what it is I want to do and to leave behind what I don’t want to do. I’m no longer willing to cave to the strong suggestions of others if I am convinced something is not right for me. “No” means “NO.” Please don’t take it personal.

Having said all that, I know who my real friends are. I have reevaluated all of my closest friends and have decided how much of a role they will play in my life in the future. Some will be faded away because I’m just not that into you anymore. The rest will go on and continue to grow with me, change with me, and celebrate life with me.

I hope life really does begin at 40.

Feel free to discuss.