Getting Lei'd (19 page)

“Wow.” It’s a simple statement, but it says so much.

“Wow.” I agree and kiss his neck. The water has stopped; so when I shiver, he asks if I am cold. “No,” I shake my head. “Just ridiculously happy.”

After a while, he says, “I’m sorry I couldn’t last for a full revolution around the circle.”

I smile at him, wondering what other sensuous delights the circle has in store for us. “We can spend the rest of our lives practicing,” I reassure him, grinning.

Judging by his reaction to my offer, I think he agrees wholeheartedly.

If you haven’t yet discovered the luxurious, super-moisturizing benefits of coconut oil, Nana Lana suggests running (not walking) to get some right now—unless you have a coconut allergy. For skin and hair application, be sure to use unrefined, extra virgin coconut oil. Below are just a few uses for this magical hydrator.

• Slather it on as an extreme skin softener. Coconut oil is solid below 76 degrees, so either rub between your palms to warm it before applying or heat it in a wax warmer for a few minutes until it becomes liquid. (Don’t forget to test the temperature to make sure it isn’t too hot.) Putting it on immediately following a shower or right before bed will work wonders on parched skin. Be sure to put on old clothes or a robe for a few minutes after applying—until the oil has a chance to be absorbed—or stay naked!
  
• Apply with a cotton ball to use as a gentle makeup remover.
  
• Tap it gently around eyes (not too close), on the backs of hands, or on the neck to utilize it as an antiwrinkle cream.
  
• Tame frizzy hair with a tiny dab. Bonus: it also adds shine. Be careful not to use too much on hair—less is definitely more on your locks.
  
• Alleviate allergy symptoms by applying inside nostrils.
  
• Increase sun tolerance—equivalent to SPF 4.
  
• Shave with it for an ultra-moisturizing shaving cream.
  
• Rub into cuticles to use as a cuticle softener.
  
• Swirl a dab in your palm along with your favorite face cream. The added moisture will give your skin a velvety texture without the greasy feeling of undiluted oil.
  
• Massage it into wet hair for a super-hydrating leave-in hair conditioner.
  
• Steam up your romantic time by using it as an all-natural personal lubricant. It works better than most of the store-bought versions, without the harsh chemicals.
  
• Add salt or sugar to make a softening body scrub. Experiment by mixing in your favorite essential oil or pure vanilla extract.
  

The list of coconut oil’s potential uses and benefits goes on and on. Best of all—the light, coconut odor leaves you smelling like a relaxing Pina Colada on the beach!

Get ready to be enchanted by the personal diary of Fern Burns. (Yes, she knows her name is ridiculous. If you met her flighty mother, you would understand.) Fern is forty-two years old, lives in the beautiful, tropical Florida Keys, and is
not
your typical contemporary romance heroine.

In this journal, Fern shares the wacky, entertaining stories of her life for the year. From the love-hate relationship she develops with the book
The Secret
, to having to deal with cursing parrots and a road filled with skittering crabs, her summations of her offbeat daily life make for a delightfully fun read.

Fern treats her diary like her best friend as she openly writes about her hopes and dreams, her thoughts and fears, and her triumphs and embarrassments. This is a particularly exciting year because she finally meets the man of her dreams. Or is he?

This fast-paced story is an intimate look inside Fern’s life as she hands over the keys to her diary. Go ahead . . . 
take a PEEK
!

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00KUX0NAE

Spice-o-meter Rating: This fun, steamy romance is a solid 7.5, maybe an 8, on a scale of 1 to 10, with 1 being Mild (Grandma’s diary—let’s hope!) and 10 being Ooh La La, I’m blushing, but I can’t seem to stop turning the pages (The
Fifty Shades of Grey
Red Room of Pain).

If YOU love reading about naughty, complicated love triangles or if you enjoy fun, contemporary romance novels with surprising twists along the way, get ready to spend the day reading
Chances and Choices
.

In
Taking Chances
(the first half of this fast-paced, exciting story), we meet Abigail Brown, a twenty-eight-year-old divorcée who, much to her chagrin, has never had an orgasm. Despite being self-conscious about what she considers to be her body’s “failings,” she has built a terrific life for herself in the quaint, lakeside town of Harbor Shores, Michigan. Abby thinks that she has discovered her “happily ever after” ending when she stumbles upon the perfect man. Just when you think you have this book all figured out, some unexpected surprises come along and completely shake up Abby’s world.

Abby needs to make some difficult decisions in the second half of her story,
Making Choices
. Who will she choose? Who should she choose? She has made a mess of her life. Will she be able to fix it or is it too late?

With
Chances and Choices
, you get both novels combined into one terrific book, for one low price. Get your copy NOW, because it’s a great day to relax and enjoy reading a new book that you won’t want to put down!

Book 1:
Taking Chances

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00FCNI42G

Book 2:
Making Choices

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HE5NBP0

Books 1 and 2:
Chances and Choices

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00I1S6H1Y

The Keys to My Diary

Tuesday, March 17

It’s my birthday! Okay, that isn’t nearly as thrilling as it was twenty-five years ago, but it’s still somewhat exciting. At least I no longer get pinched if I’m not wearing an abundance of kelly green. A St. Patty’s Day birthday kind of limits your special-day outfit choices in your youth. I remember one year in particular when Grandma gave me a beautiful, pink, frilly dress to wear to my birthday party. Mean Jimmy (as I used to call him) pinched me hard on the arm, and that started a barrage of pinching from my so-called friends. I ended up hiding in the bathroom for a good portion of my party. I must have forgiven Mean Jimmy because less than ten years later, I started calling him James, and I let him slide into third base with me in the back of his souped-up, cherry red Mustang. How’s that for not holding a grudge?

What am I thinking? That’s no way to start this year’s diary. I haven’t even introduced myself. What if some handsome stranger finds this book several years from now and wants to track me down? I’m sure I’d be happy to meet you, Big Fella. Wink, Wink.

My name is Fern Burns. Yes, I am well aware that it’s a ridiculous name. Anyone who has met my scatter-brained, flighty mother gets it. Mean Jimmy had his fair share of fun chanting my silly, rhyming name, as well. “Fern Burns never learns” or ‘Fern Burns makes my stomach churn.” Thinking back on it now, I’m amazed that I was able to forgive him so quickly. That must be part of the magic of youth. Now, I would probably hold a grudge and plot diabolical revenge against him.

Since my middle name is Mable, it’s not really much help in cutting the unusual factor down in my name. Sometimes I throw the
M
in when I state my name aloud, hoping that I’ll be taken more seriously. I don’t think it helps very much.

I have kept journals of my day-to-day life since I was twelve years old. Gosh, I guess it’s officially been thirty years today. How is that possible? On my twelfth birthday, my grandma gave me a beautiful, sequined diary that locked. In one of my mother’s few serious moments, she told me that I shouldn’t write anything down that I didn’t want the whole world to see. Being a rebellious preteen, I started writing
everything
down in my new journal, mostly because my mom thought it was a bad idea.

I’ve started a new diary on my birthday every year since then. The quantity of past diaries is becoming embarrassingly large. I keep them in my squatty fireproof safe because my memories are pretty much all that I have of value, except for some savings bonds that I received for my high school graduation, which are tucked away in the safe as well.

Occasionally, I like to read back through my past journals. It’s amazing how much has slipped my mind. Without my written record to remind me, so much would be completely forgotten. It’s not just the actual events, but also how I felt about them—my ideas, dreams, and fears at various stages of my life. Besides, when I become famous, these works will be worth big bucks. LOL.

Anyway, writing in journals has become an ingrained habit for me. Sometimes things don’t seem real until I’ve written them down. It’s like talking to my very best friend. So, I’ll detail a year of my life in here. Most likely no one else will ever read it; but if you do, I hope it brings you joy, or at least minor amusement. My life is a bit of a train wreck right now; so if nothing else, it will likely make you feel better about your own life.

Let’s see, I’ll start with the good. I live in beautiful Key Largo in the Florida Keys. It is sunny and gorgeous here the vast majority of the time. Our little island is surrounded by some of the most crystal-clear, turquoise blue water I’ve ever seen. Scuba divers come from all over the world to check out the coral reefs just off the coast that are teeming with marine life. Since I don’t work for the Florida Keys Tourism Board, I’ll also mention that the humidity sometimes feels like being wrapped in a warm, wet blanket, and we have mosquitos that are the size of small birds. For the most part, though, the good outweighs the bad, and I like the idea of living here.

Another positive aspect of my life is that I scored a job at the Keys Yacht Club (known by members and locals as TKYC). You’ve probably never heard of it, and that is the way the über-rich people that belong to the club want it. Most of the jobs in Key Largo are at scuba diving shops or restaurants; so getting a full-time job with real benefits, like health insurance and a 401(k), is a real privilege in this area.

On the not-so-great side, is my actual position at TKYC. My official title is Outdoor Recreation Specialist. It sounds fancy, but I’m basically a glorified cabana girl. I work at the club’s pool and lagoon area. The lagoon is my favorite because they truck in tons of pristine, white sand. I’m not sure where they “borrow” that from, but it’s one of the only sandy beach areas in Key Largo. I know that is surprising, since it’s an island, but this island has a mostly rocky or mangrove-covered shoreline. As I’m circling the lagoon, picking up trash, beaching water toys, and repeatedly straightening the same lounge chairs, I tell myself that all of this sand walking is going to make me have killer calves. I try to look on the bright side of things.

Working the pool areas is significantly less fun. There’s the members-only pool, where I’m constantly stopped during my rounds to take a snack or drink order, even though my blue polo shirt indicates I’m with the Recreation Department. The members know that the Food and Beverage Department workers wear red polo shirts, but they think that the staff is completely interchangeable. To some degree, I guess they are right, because I always manage to get them what they want. It’s my job to keep the members happy.

On my pool coverage days, I usually volunteer to cover the guest pool, where any riffraff (as the members call them) who are lucky enough to score an invitation from a member are permitted. The other staffers don’t like it because the guests don’t tip as well, but I enjoy it because they at least seem grateful to be here. Many of the members are jaded by constantly being catered to and given whatever they want. The guests are in awe of the natural beauty that surrounds them here and seem, in general, more appreciative of my service. At least they look me in the eye.

The worst part of my job is working the stand. The stand is a small booth where we sell a few beach basics like sunscreen, tanning lotion, bottled water, and sunglasses. We also hand out clean, bleached-white beach towels and put any soiled towels into a large rolling bin. Frequently, when I’m working the stand, someone will refer to me as the “towel girl.” A father will turn to his young child and say, ‘Give your wet towels to the towel girl.’ I feel like screaming, “Look at me! I am a grown woman! I have real dreams and unique thoughts and ideas! I’m not just a towel girl!” Instead, I smile, say thank you, and silently fume. It’s probably not great for me to keep all that annoyance cooped up inside, but at least I get to write about my frustrations. Besides, everyone hates their job, don’t they? It could certainly be a lot worse. I could be cleaning up elephant poop for a living. Elephants are beautiful, but I bet they have really big, stinky poop.

Back to the plus side of my life, I have a wonderful best friend. Her name is Marina West. It’s a unique, but cute name for a one-of-a-kind, adorable person. She took me under her wing right after I moved to the Keys (about three years ago), and I’ve never been so grateful for anyone in my life. Marina is gorgeous, spunky, funny and loyal, and I love her to pieces. Her piece-of-shit husband, Frank, is another story. He is a player and will sleep with anything in a skirt. Marina knows about his indiscretions and chooses to turn a blind eye. I just don’t get it, but who am I to judge? It’s not like my love life is anything to brag about.

I guess we are flipping back to the negative if I’m going to describe my nonexistent love life. In high school, I did the typical, starry-eyed relationship with one of our class jocks. (This was after my quick, almost tryst in the backseat of Mean Jimmy a/k/a James’s muscle car). Ryan was tall, lean, and handsome. We fumbled through taking each other’s virginity in my bedroom while “Love Bites” by Def Leppard played on my boom box. It didn’t last the entire song, but we spent the next couple of years exploring our bodies and improving our technique. We started growing apart as two years turned into three. When it came time to either get married or break up, we mutually decided that we would prefer to break up. It was all very civil. My relationship with Ryan had been a glorious, happy time, and I remember him fondly. We are Facebook friends, so I check out his profile periodically. He’s married with two kids and a dog. His hairline is seriously receding, and he has a significant belly pooch; but he still has kind eyes, and I wish him well.