Marie Osmond's fortitude of character, tested once again

I had an opportunity to see Marie Osmond speak at the Women’s Leadership luncheon for the United Way of Southern Nevada on Thursday, and at the risk of compromising my coolness factor, she was incredible! I went in thinking, “Marie Osmond—ha, ha, ha…” but she was an awesome speaker and I came away so impressed. Who knew, huh?


Her sense of humor came through as she joked about Donny and how Dancing With the Stars is fixed. But her speech really charged up as she told us how after the birth of her seventh (!) child, she was expected to lose 60 pounds in four weeks for a TV show and the resulting post-partum depression from all the stress. She choked up—in a sincere, not theatrical way—as she relayed that it was the help of her girlfriends that ultimately pulled her through.

Girlfriends. What would we do without each other? I got teary at that one, too.

She mentioned that she’s 50 now, and said that women our age have to remember that, whether we know it or not, the younger gals are watching us. (Note to Tara, Classic Rock Girl, Mandy at 30 and my other young readers: I’m doing my best, kids.)

Marie looks fantastic. I sat about 20 feet away from her during lunch and a little further from where she stood at the podium, but I had a good view of her. Gorgeous hair, beautiful face, unrealistic Hollywood body—about a size 2 with giant boobs—but I guess that’s what it takes. I feel like a freakin’ nerd saying this, but you can tell she’s beautiful inside out.

Hey, you know who else spoke for a bit? Carolyn Goodman, Las Vegas mayor Oscar Goodman’s wife. I just talked about him in my last post, and I would have been a lot nicer had I known he’s been married to the same woman for 47 years. Drink up, man! Mrs. G is funny as hell—you can see why she and the Big O have been together so long. It was cool to see her; she, too, looked beautiful. (I got this pic off the Internet).

After being so inspired by Thursday’s luncheon, you’d think I would have done my best show ever Thursday night. WRONG! It was, without a doubt, my worst. Sitting in my cubicle at work yesterday, I was all “WTF have I gotten myself into? Why am I doing this? I suck! Blah, blah, blah…” and then last night I was on FIRE—tightest performance yet. (The great crowd certainly helped.)

Joe Lowers, the comic producing my show, said to me afterward that you have to have those shitty shows because they make you work harder. He’s right. The Thursday night bomb propelled me to change a few items in my set and as a result, the show was greatly improved. It’s important that I tell you this so you don’t think it’s all so easy. It’s not. But don’t let that stop you from pursuing your own dreams. You can’t hit a home run every time at bat; just try to get on base.

I love you all. Really.

UPDATE: 3:30 pm

Just a few hours after I wrote this post, I heard that last night Marie's son jumped to his death from his L.A. apartment. Of course, I'm sad to hear of anyone losing a child, but having been so inspired by her the day before this tragedy, I feel particularly sad about this news. Sending prayers and healing energy, Marie.

Linda talks politics? There must be sex involved.

Even if you don’t live in Las Vegas, you probably know that our city’s been experiencing particularly tough times. But it’s not just the city; the whole state is a friggin’ mess. What do you expect? Though admittedly he makes for a colorful character, our mayor’s a former attorney for the mob who openly admits to loving his booze (even when addressing a class of fourth graders). Last year Nevada Senator John Ensign admitted to having an affair with a former staffer, but supposedly there’s more where that came from. And our governor, Jim Gibbons, has a civil suit against him for allegedly assaulting and threatening rape of a Las Vegas resident in 2006.

Niiiiice.

On Tuesday, the Huffinton Post reported that Gibbons claimed in a sworn deposition that he hasn’t had sex since 1995. Curiously, the governor filed for divorce in 2008, after he was linked with an alleged Playboy model mistress and another woman to whom he sent 860 text messages from his state-owned cell phone. But he hasn’t had sex since 1995.

Politicians don’t lie, so it must be true, right?

I swear, I was going in a whole other direction with this post. Totally didn’t mean to end up here. But since I did, let the record state (the record of my blog, anyway) that the biggest douche bag of them all, the King of All Douches, has got to be John Edwards. Edwards recently admitted to fathering his mistress’ child as his wife of how many friggin’ years battled cancer. And oh, yeah, this is all while he was running for president, to be the leader of the free world.

The silver medalist in this Olympics of Shame? Former New York governor Eliot Spitzer, who routinely banged a hooker. Yeah, every wife wants sloppy seconds after that. That governor of South Carolina—whatever his name is, the one with the Argentine “soul mate”—has nothing on him. (So Oscar Goodman likes to drink—big deal, huh?)

Let’s remember that Tiger Woods, as much of a train wreck as he is, is only a golfer. Sure, disappointing all around, but the bottom line is I expect more from elected officials.

And now for something completely different… a picture of Lori and Mom eating ice cream in frog pajamas. Yup.

I may be a granny, but damn, I love those biker bars!

There’s no better way to spend a Sunday afternoon than listening to some kick-ass rock n roll in a biker bar. Last Sunday my sister Lori Biker and I took at ride down to the Pioneer Saloon in Goodsprings, about 25 miles south of Las Vegas. Here's Lori out front.

Man, did we have fun! I’ve written about this place before; I dragged my BFF Lisa Gioia-Acres down there last spring (on Easter Sunday, of all days!), but the scene was much more crazy this time.

Here’s Monica, the bar manager, doling out a shot to one of her on-duty bartenders. Doing shots at work (without having to sneak them) -- that’s the kind of job I want!


I interviewed Monica for this Living-Las-Vegas.com article. She’s just a little bit of a thing. “Where does someone that size keep all her internal organs?” Lori wondered. No shit—she must be all of 98 pounds. Oh, what could it be like to wear a belly shirt and not have people turn away in horror?

Now I ask you, doesn’t this look like a swingin’ time?


This is why I love the biker bars. Everyone is friendly, unpretentious, and accepting—of other people and themselves. No one gives a shit if you're having a crappy hair day (is there any other kind?) or if your gut hangs over your belt; it’s all good as long as you’re smiling. And you know what I say--when you're laughing your ass off, no one cares how big it is.

Look at these two new friends we made.


I forget their names, but he’s 67 and she’s 54! And you wouldn’t believe the bodies on the both of them. His chest was rock hard (don’t ask me how I know) and she has, without a doubt, one of the all-time best asses I’ve ever seen. Check it out.


Hey, Saturday night I got to meet my incorrigibly fun-loving “daughter” of the blogosphere, Tara from Ohio. I love this kid—what a spirit! And talk about gorgeous--such a pretty girl. She and Hurricane Mikey came to my show Saturday night. Great fun!


Well, Mom left Sunday and Lori was supposed to go back to Albany yesterday, but well, you know how it goes. You check the monitor to make sure the flight’s on schedule and then you play some slots and do some shopping… except Lori looked at someone else’s flight time because when she got to the gate, the doors to the plane were already closed. Meant to be—an extra night in Vegas!

Lori’s leaving tomorrow (supposedly--ha!) and then on Wednesday her husband, Russ, arrives with our brother, Steven. Yep, it’s NASCAR weekend. They’ll be here until next Tuesday. When you live in Vegas, you do get visitors.

Busy, busy...

As David Byrne says, "How did I get here?"

You’re going to have to pinch me because I still can’t believe I have my own one-woman show. It’s surreal, you know? I’ll be backstage hearing everyone file into to the showroom and I’m like, holy shit--these people gave up their time and fought traffic and paid good money… all to see me. I feel a real sense of obligation to make it worth their while since they’ve made such an effort to get there.

It does make me crazy. I never know what kind of audience I’ll have and it’s weird; each audience seems to have its own type of collective energy. Last night they were great—I had five girls front and center who seemed to giggle at everything I said. God bless them, I’d love to plant them in the audience every night! Thursday night we had an older demographic, and though they were a much less vocal crowd, they also seemed to enjoy the show.

I heard somewhere that the definition of stress is the difference between how things are and how you want them to be. I always want to do a good show—well, actually I’d like to do a perfect show, but I know there’s no such thing—but the reality is, some are going to be better than others.

This is a learning process for me; I have to learn not to get stressed by the reality that sometimes I might not pull it off the way I want to. I think that’s why sometimes we don’t even bother to attempt to work toward goals; we worry that our efforts will result in something that sucks and so we let the vision die before it’s even born.

Let’s not do that, huh? Let’s plow through the doubt and fear. You know how I love to get on you to identify your talents and work toward sharing them with the world. Are you making progress?

Usually my BFF and cubicle buddy, Joe, hosts my show but he’s tied up this weekend. Lucky for me, my sister Lori is in town and took over his duties last night (and will again tonight, too). She did a fantastic job! Mom is also here this week and takes some good-natured ribbing during the show. And the CD playing before and after is the Red Haired Strangers, my son-in-law’s band. Keeping it all in the family!

Enjoy and have a great weekend!

P.S. I’m working on a YouTube video of a couple of minutes of my show—will post soon. (Tripod this time!)

True confessions: Do you have an embarrassing crush?

I’m not talking the Denis Leary type who you know is a total a-hole, but nonetheless would bang silly given the chance. Or the royal party-boy Prince Harry who’s half your age but you soooo want to party with. No, I’m talking a really, super-shameful attraction to someone who would make your friends roll their eyes, lift their faces to the heavens and declare, “Sweet bearded Jesus, she’s hit a need low.”

Yep, it’s time for some true confessions. I can think of three wince-inducing crushes right off the top of my head and amazingly, I don’t even file Prince Harry in that category. Or Billy Bob Thornton. (Not as the Slingblade character. What kind of freak do you think I am?)

Okay, here goes.

1. Glen Lerner. Unless you live in Vegas, you wouldn’t know who he is. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I actually have a little crush on a lawyer who advertises on TV. Eeew-uh! Sometimes at work I have his jingle in my head: “Glen Lerner is the way to go. Call 877-1500.” Not good, huh?

It’s the dimples. Plus, he looks like a big old bear. And I detect a northeast accent—Boston, I think. Not as sexy as an English accent, or even a Brooklyn accent, but I’ll take it. (Yes, Brooklyn accents are very sexy.) "One call, that's all."

2. John McEnroe. Oh, please—he is cute as hell. I have a weakness for Irishmen, and though I’m not a fighter (I break up way before it gets to that point), I think we could really go at it.

“Fuck off!’
“No, you fuck off!”
“No, YOU fuck off!”

And then after a few rounds of that, we’d have incredible makeup sex.

3. The Geico gecko. Yeah, I know—it’s a freakin' lizard. Did I not say these are embarrassing crushes??? And worst part is, when I’m fast-forwarding the DVR during the commercials, I will actually stop to watch the Geico commercials. It’s the accent. Plus I just know he’d play hard to get, which would both infuriate me and turn me on at the same time.

God help me. Yet another post that’s nothing to be proud of.

Oh, come on! You have an embarrassing crush, I know it. Spill it!

Zion National Park: a great overnight getaway from Vegas

If you live in Las Vegas or are visiting and want to get away for a overnight trip, take a ride up to Zion National Park in Utah. I’ve done it many times as a day trip, but if you’re a hiker, you’ll want to stay the night so you can get two days of hiking in, like Mike and I just did.

We left my place on Sunday morning around 10:15 and were back at my place at 10:35 because I forgot my cute little L.L. Bean hiking backpack. Good thing because I also left the coffee maker on. (Damn that cheap Mr. Coffee piece of crap that doesn’t even turn itself off.) Even with that false start and a quick stop for gas and bottled water in Mesquite, we arrived in Springdale, Utah at 2:15. Utah is on Mountain time so we lost an hour; without the false start and the stop in Mesquite, you can make it in two and a half hours.

Springdale is a cute little town right next to Zion, with lots of cute little shops and restaurants. (Am I in a cute little mood or what?) If you go want to stay the night, I highly recommend the Desert Pearl Inn.


I’ve stayed there before, and this is a place that actually does look like their website. (Remember our stay at the Cottonwood Resort in Scottsdale last year?) Their 500 sq. ft. rooms are sparkling clean and tastefully decorated.




This is the first time we opted for a river view instead of the pool view, and the extra twenty bucks was totally worth it. Our front door was literally 15 feet from the Virgin River.


Our private patio got the morning sun, and it was utterly delightful to sit there Monday morning and sip the Starbucks I purchased from the café/gift shop on the property and totally not be at work.


The weather couldn’t have been better for hiking. Sunday we did just a short 3-mile hike to the upper Emerald Pool area of the park.


We met a nice Mormon family and walked back down with them, and though I was quite sure that we should have taken a left onto the sandy path, Mike said, “Oh, no—remember that bench?” and we ended up taking a trail that led to where the Mormon family’s car was parked. Ours, however, was a mile back in the other direction. OMG, I love it when I’m right, even if I have to walk an extra mile.

On Monday, we decided to do a kick-ass hike up to Angel’s Landing. It’s a 2.5 climb that I did several times when B.H. and I lived in Utah, but never this time of year. I’ve always passed on the last .5 mile (hanging onto chains for dear life is a little too treacherous for me); instead we went about another mile up the West Rim trail. OMG, with all the snow it was beautiful!


The switchbacks on the way up were pretty slippery, and even more so on the way down. The good news is, I fell on my ass only once. This is a bit of the dry part--look at that freakin' path!


Zion is gorgeous any time of year, the Desert Pearl is a great place to stay, and we ate well, too—The Spotted Dog for dinner Sunday night, breakfast on Monday at Oscars (always fantastic food), and dinner at Zion Pizza and Noodle Co.

Oh, it was so wonderful to get away, even just for an overnight. There’s nothing as good for the soul as a road trip!

Great news in my family!

You know how I have two aunts named Joyce, right? Well, had. My father’s sister, Beautiful Aunt Joyce, passed away last June, remember? That’s not the great news. No, the great news is, you’re not going to believe this... her husband, my uncle John, is getting married tomorrow.

I know! It’s tempting to rush to judgments and assumptions. Like jeez, couldn’t they have waited at least a year and he probably had her waiting in the wings. On that second count, I assure you nothing could be further from the truth.

Joyce and John got married on June 3, 1967; my sister Lori and I were flower girls in their wedding. They were 21 years old. Joyce died 2 days before their 42nd anniversary and I can tell you no man ever demonstrated more devotion to his wife than John; he couldn’t have been more loving in his care for her during her illness. Here they are when Lori and I visited at Christmas 2008.


That was Joyce’s last surge of remission; soon after she had surgery to combat the cancer that had spread to her brain and after that she never regained her footing.

Shortly after Joyce’s death, John told me that he’d lost his parents nine days apart and had attended his brother’s funeral just two months before Joyce’s, but nothing could have prepared him for the loss of his wife. It was hard to imagine him alone in their beautiful country home in the woods outside Jim Thorpe, PA; a house my aunt had meticulously decorated and that held her physical imprint after she was gone.

Last summer John reconnected with a former co-worker (John took an early retirement from his position as a Ph.D.-level chemical engineer), a woman named Dolores whom I believe he’d met almost 30 years ago. And tomorrow they’re getting married, on Valentine’s Day.

Too soon? Why wait, I say. Nothing is going to bring my aunt back. Joyce was truly the nicest person on earth and I know she would never want her beloved to suffer with grief. Who knows—maybe in some kind of cosmic way, she was instrumental in getting them together.

So here’s to you, John and Dolores! May you enjoy good health and happiness together for many, many years. I believe there’s an angel in your corner cheering you on.

7 things you should NEVER say to single people, especially around Valentine’s Day

Ever since back in 1968 when I witnessed my mother hurling a box of Whitman chocolates across the dining table, I’ve known Valentine’s Day was a crock. And from the looks of this post from last week, you all know it, too.

V-Day is especially tough for single people. Yes, this year I’m in a relationship (and I was last year, too) and God willing, Mike is the last one for me. Sure, sometimes I swear he rides the short bus to his Mensa meetings and more than once I’ve seriously wanted to kill him, but he is really cute and I’m crazy about him, so blah, blah, blah, you know?

That said, since my first husband and I split up in 1994, I’ve been in a relationship for a total of six Valentine’s Days—this will be my second with Mike, I had three with Bastard Husband, and one with my old boyfriend Tim. That means I’ve experienced eleven as a single gal.

As many of you know, people say the stupidest goddamn things to single people. Here’s a list of my favorites, and by “favorites” I mean do not ever let these words roll off your tongue or I will march right over to your house and kick your ass.

1. “I wish you could find someone nice.” OMG, that’s f*cking brilliant! Hold on, let me write that down.

2. “You know what they say--you gotta kiss a lot of frogs.” Why don’t you just say, “Holy shit, you sure know how to pick a bunch of losers” because that’s essentially what you’re getting at.

3. “I hate to see you by yourself.” No, you hate the thought of YOU being by yourself. Don’t project your insecurities onto someone who happens to be going solo.

4. “You’d think a good-looking woman like you would have no problem finding someone.” Hmm… maybe I should look behind the couch.

5. “You’re too picky.” Oh, right—I haven’t met my frog quota yet.

6. “You’re trying too hard to meet someone. When it’s right it will just happen.” Okay, go get me something to hit you with.

And by far, the most annoying:

7. “Maybe you’re just meant to have some time alone.” Single people spend WAY too much time alone—the last thing they need to hear is this bullshit.

What did I miss? Anything you want to add?

Questions about that social media stuff

I used to love MySpace; I was on there all the time, checking in to see what my real and virtual friends were up to. That’s where I had my first web presence and my first blog. MySpace was so cool—I could connect with people I’d have never met otherwise, and through MySpace I made at least two new friendships that I truly value.

As the more user-friendly Facebook caught on, everyone seemed to desert MySpace. I haven’t been on MySpace in a while, but I suspect it’s as vacant as some of the strip malls I see around town here in Las Vegas.

I love Facebook! I feel it definitely strengthens established friendships, since it’s so easy to keep in touch, and it helps cultivate new friendships, too. It also makes it easy for me to keep up with my family. Some of my Facebook friends are folks I know only through the blogosphere, but I feel like I know them in real life. In time, Facebook may experience the same demise as MySpace, though I think it will remain intact for quite some time.

As far as Twitter goes, do I need to say again that Twitter can kiss my ass? God knows I’ve made some bad calls in life, but from day one I thought Twitter was an overhyped piece of 140-character shit and I still think I'm right about that one. I’m surprised it’s hung in there this long.

On to blogging… I love writing posts and I LOVE reading about other people’s lives, but I do wonder about the future of the blogosphere. Everybody is so busy these days and there are so many blogs competing for readers’ attention, I wonder if people will start to get burned out. I know I’m way behind on my blog reading and sometimes I actually get stressed about it, like I hope [insert name here] isn’t pissed because I haven’t visited lately.

So I have some questions for you:

1. Do you think that readers will burn out and today’s blogosphere will someday look like the deserted MySpace strip mall? Does blogging ever stress you out?

2. How about corporate blogging? Do you ever read corporate blogs, or are you like me and care only about real people, not corporate propaganda?

3. What about Facebook? Is it here to stay? (If they ever stop f*ing with the interface, right?)

I know that Twitter can kiss most of your asses, so I’m not even going to ask.

P.S. I’m going to keep blogging no matter what. I really value the friendships I've made through blogging. But more than that, my mother would kill me if I gave it up and she still scares the crap out of me.

Bastard Husband winners, no double dipping, and another timely repost

First things first. Congratulations to Andi and Perplexio--you're the lucky winners of the Bastard Husband: A Love Story giveaway, just in time for Valentine's Day. Please email your contact info to linda@bastardhusband.com and I'll get your books right out to you. (My Aussie gals Carol in Perth and Linda Twaddle--would you kindly email me as well?) Thanks to all who entered!

So tomorrow is Super Bowl Sunday, and for once I actually know who's playing: the New Orleans Saints and somebody else. I know that only because I love New Orleans. Anyway, yesterday on the radio they were talking about Super Bowl parties and people who double dip. They said there’s like a billion bits of bacteria that get transmitted that way. Disgusting, right?

Then somebody called in and said the solution is to break the chip in half and then dip each piece separately. THAT’S EVEN WORSE!!! In my way of thinking, the billions of germs festering on the person’s hands when they broke the chip have now made their way into the dip, which means the dip is now full of everything everyone has touched and don’t even get me going on those people who leave the bathroom without washing their hands. Call me crazy, but this is why I eat at home before I go to a party. (My own germs are friendly fire.)

Anyway, since tomorrow’s the Super Bowl, I thought I’d dig up this post from last year. Have a great weekend, and NO DOUBLE DIPPING!


Repost: "It's okay, I like men, too"

Anyone who knows me also knows I am a BIG proponent of gay rights. I have a beloved and quirky lesbian aunt and half my girlfriends have real-life girlfriends. Don’t forget my long-standing celebrity girl-crush on Beverly d’Angelo—how many times have I said I’d make the perfect (lipstick) lesbian?

I’m the first to admit I’m one of those super-annoying girly girls. I wouldn’t be caught dead without nail polish, and my toes are always painted a pretty shade of pink, even if no one sees them all winter. I put on lipstick just to get the mail. I mean, look at my picture—I’m wearing a freakin’ tiara!

So never in a million years would I think I’d talk about football on my blog. In my opinion, there are only two sports: figure skating and gymnastics. And unlike the rest of the world, I sure as hell didn’t celebrate Super Bowl Sunday because football is so not me. It’s loud and, frankly, I just don’t get it. At least in basketball, when you make a basket, you get points. Baseball—you round home plate, you get a run. But football, with all those first downs and everything… I’ve had it explained to me, but it just never sinks in.

To me, the most puzzling mystery surrounding football is why so many super-manly macho men are into it in such a big way, especially since, well, obviously… Football is gay.

Oh, pull-eeeze… You have a bunch of guys making passes at each other in skin-tight pants, for Christsake! And what could be more gay than huddling?

Oh, I know: tackling. (You realize they’re tickling each other while they’re down there, don’t you?) Even after the player’s already on the ground, there’s always the guy who still has to jump on top of everyone, just for the sheer pleasure of diving into a pile of testosterone. (Not that I blame him—I probably would, too.)


Don’t get me going on all the hugging and ass patting that goes on in the end zone.

Of course, after the game they all take naked showers together and, to soothe those aching muscles, rub each other down with what else but Ben-GAY.

Even the names of the teams: the Rams… the Packers (ouch).


No doubt the Oilers left town and changed their name to the Titans for fear of being outed. Even the Cowboys and the Chiefs… tell me that doesn’t sound a little "Village People" to you.

It’s okay, guys. Women love gay men! Yeah, yeah, I know… most of you don’t play yourselves, you just like to watch.

Eeew… that’s just sick.

I bet Helen Keller would think I look young. And I'm a good singer, too.

Remember I told you I met fellow Las Vegas blogger Donna B after my show last Friday night? I knew I would like her! After you've been reading someone's blog for a while, you get the feeling you know them, and when I meet bloggers in real life, they're always exactly the way I imagined.

Anyway, the next day Donna sent me this really nice email. I won't post the whole thing, just my favorite line because you know, I'm so vain I thought that Carly Simon song was about me.

"You don't come off in your 50s at all, more like your late 30s or early 40s."

OMG, I was so freakin' psyched to read that I wrote back, "Donna, we must meet for dinner next week!" and then she wrote back and said good idea, as long as we go someplace close to her house because

"I hate to admit it, but I have slow growing cataracts."

Nice.

One more thing. Remember this picture from a couple of weeks ago?


Okay, now look at this.


Notice anything missing... like the "Service Engine Soon" light? How about that? I swear, it was on for probably a year and now like magic it's gone. Imagine if I'd brought it in to the Saturn dealer--how much it would have cost? And there it just went and fixed itself. It's called the power of procrastination, people!

Is that cool or what? I was so happy I decided to take off the little piece of masking tape that's been covering these two little red lights, but damn, it was still on. So I'll just check back on it in a couple of weeks. That's called "patience."

Looks like my car's a little dusty, huh? I'll tell you right now, dusting my car is the last thing I ever think about. I put gas in it and every once in while put a couple of gallons of oil in, but that's about all I'm gonna do.

Hey, I have one more picture to show you--Courtney at seven months.


Baby Rice will be here mid-April--yay!

It's Valentine's month (puke) so win yourself a copy of Bastard Husband: A Love Story

Is there anything that nauseates single people more than all the hoopla over Valentine’s Day? All the love, love, love shit on TV and in Walgreens?

I could never stand this holiday, whether I was in a relationship or not. In the same way that I believe people should be thankful every friggin’ day and not have to gorge themselves on turkey one Thursday a year to prove it, I expect to be treated like the goddess that I am every day, too, and not as a result of pressure from the Hallmark card company. Really, if a guy thinks he can endear himself to me with a box of friggin’ CANDY when I’m the kind of person who takes out my contact lenses before stepping on the scales… well, that’s just crazy.

So, as sort of a declaration against Valentine’s Day, I’m doing two things. One, I’m having another preview show of D Words: The Funny Side of Dating, Divorce and Other Delights on Saturday, February 13, to benefit Divorced and Widowed Adjustment, Inc. It’s a non-profit organization that holds weekly meetings for divorced and separated folks twice a week; they also have a bereavement group that gathers weekly.

From my book’s back cover:

A week after I arrived in Sin City, I attended a divorce support group I found in the local newspaper listed between Cross-Dressers of Las Vegas and Friends and Family of Incarcerated People. (And I thought I had problems.) As I sat among a circle of strangers waiting for my turn to share, I glanced at the Absolutely No Swearing sign hanging from the ceiling and thought, “This will be a challenge.”

“I’m Linda,” I began, “I have no husband, no job, and you people are my only friends.” Everyone laughed at my pathetic truth.

The group helped me out tremendously when I came to Las Vegas and I’m thrilled to be able to do something for them in return. Tickets to this benefit show are $10, with all proceeds going to the organization. You know the town on the Saturday night before Valentine’s Day will be teeming with happy couples, so this will be a safe place for singles to gather.

My anti-Valentine’s Day gift to my blog readers is I’m giving away two copies of Bastard Husband: A Love Story. All you have to do is leave a comment on this post and on Saturday I’ll announce the winners and send your copy out in time for Valentine’s Day. You don’t have to live in the U.S to win—I’ll ship it anywhere in the world (so keep your fingers crossed, Carol in Perth, Australia!)

If you’ve already bought it (God bless you), you can win a copy to pass on to someone else. B.H. makes a great gift for a newly separated friend or, if you’re a guy, you can give it to your woman with a little note that says, “You think I’m bad???”

So leave a comment between now and 12:01 a.m. (PST) on Saturday, February 7. Good luck!

P.S. If you're having trouble leaving a comment, shoot me an email at linda@bastardhusband.com and I'll put you in the running.