In addition to helping plan your weekly reading, the meme is a great resource for finding the next book that will be on your nightstand.

This week, I am reading:

Best Kept Secret, by Amy Hatvany. Have you read Best Kept Secret? Join the Great Thoughts book club discussion on Twitter! Thursday, January 26th from 8 to 9pm CST. Best Kept Secret is the story of Cadence, an alcoholic mother who once “had it all” and it’s “the story  of how the secrets we hold closest are the ones that can most tear us apart.”

The Red Book by Deborah Copaken Kogan. I am reading this book as part of Elle magazine’s Reader’s Jury. The Red Book is a fictional story about Harvard University’s traditional publication, the Red Book, a collection of essays written by alumni. The essays serve to update fellow classmates on their personal and professional successes. Kogan’s book features the lives of four roommates, whose lives are crumbling just as their class prepares for their 20th reunion.

A Reliable Wife by Robert Goolrick This is one of the first books that I bought for my new Kindle Fire. A man puts an advertisement in the newspaper for “a reliable wife.” A woman responds. An arranged marriage of sorts, complicated by love.

What are you reading this week?

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Anyhoo…Princess Kate err, Duchess Catherine (she’s definitely not a lady, right? Could you clear that up for me? Much obliged.)

“Just get on with it,” you say? Fine. Color me confused about this whole “Her Royal Hotness” business! Princess Diana, and for the record, she is, was, and always will be a Princess. The Americans have spoken, and Her Madge doesn’t get a vote.

As I was saying, the late, great, Princess Diana had a sister. Maybe two. I would Google her, but Wiki is my go-to site for info, and because of a piracy bill Wiki is black. I do know that she had at least one sister, and her sister was definitely not a member of the British Royal Family. (Even though she shagged Chaz first.)

So how the heck did Kate finagle a title for the Pipster?

Okay, okay, I admit it.  I am not that dumb. Kate didn’t pull any strings with Granny.  The media, you and your cohorts (yes, I’m lookin’ at you, Katie Nicholl) christened P-Middy “Her Royal Hotness” and have been patting yourselves on the back ever since, eh?

Becca, it’s a dog-eat-dog world out there! If you want to make your mark, you’ve got to out wit your competition! Might I suggest a more appropriate moniker for Madame Middleton? “Hotness” is cliched, and, if we’re being honest, Pippa isn’t “hot.”

Now, don’t go saying that I said Pippa Middleton resembles Mr. Ed’s ugly cousin.  I am saying no such thing. (Although, I am suspicious about a certain ginger calling Pips a “fine philly.” If anyone said Pippa is a horse, keep the investigation on your side of the pond!)

P-Middy rose to fame when she wore a couture dress over a pair of Spanx. Her bum, bottom, “Beyonce” is her money shot. Wouldn’t “Her Royal Hiney“  be more apropos?

On behalf of all of us being spoon fed baloney like “Kim loved Kris!” and “Lindsay is an actress” and “Pippa scored a book deal on the merits of her exceptional prose and originality,” I appeal to your sense of mercy.

If we, the people, must be bombarded with such bloody drivel as we mind our business, standing in line at the grocery store, with our trolley full of Ramen Noodles and dented cans of beans, because not all writers get six-figure advances, could you spare us the “Her Royal Hotness” bollocks?

Click here to view the embedded video.

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Understandably, the following admission won’t win me friends, except maybe Lisa Belkin, and I doubt that little-ole-me can influence people. I do not support Amelia Rivera receiving a kidney transplant at CHOP. Go ahead, get vigilante on me. Because vigilante is exactly how the #TeamAmelia supporters have been behaving. Barreling in, guns ablaze, because Amelia’s mom said that the social worker said that the doctor said, “Amelia doesn’t deserve to live because she’s a retard.”

I should disclose that I was not present when the Riveras met with the doctors at CHOP. I can’t testify to exact words that the doctor and social worker used. Personally, I think the doctor was misquoted, possibly by a mother who was in shock after hearing news she wasn’t expecting. But, the story is evolving as it makes its rounds through the blogosphere, and it is stinking like a big fish.

Organ transplants are not as simple as diagnosing Strep throat. There is a lot of work surrounding a transplant, including analyzing if the patient is a good candidate for a transplant. Maybe you, whoever you are reading this, have medical training Maybe you are a doctor. I have no medical training. That being said, I do not think a person with genetic condition that has a side effect of chronic kidney failure is a great candidate for a kidney transplant. Yes, the chromosomal disorder Amelia suffers from, Wolf-Hirschhorn syndrome, has a slew of side effects, including chronic kidney failure. A kidney transplant is a temporary solution.

According to UNOS, there are currently over 100,000 candidates for a transplant. Only 70,000 are actively waiting for a transplant. Between January and October 2011, less than 25,000 transplants were performed. Why the discrepancy? Because some people are temporarily ineligible for a transplant as a result of medical conditions. Medical conditions that would lead to rejection of the organ, and medical conditions that suggest the patient will not enjoy a long term benefit of the organ, are removed from the active list.

Due to the shortage in supply of organs, not everyone who wants a transplant is able to receive a new organ. In fact, 18 people die every day while they wait for a transplant. Medical professionals, highly trained, highly qualified doctors, determine and rank one person’s eligibility for an organ as opposed to another person’s. In response to the commenters who proclaimed, aghast, “who are you to decide?” I say that the docotrs are precisely the ones who should be making the decision.

As of 5pm on January 17, 2012, there were over 3200 Google results for the Amelia Rivera kidney story. There is overwhelming support for Amelia and her family. Caroline Bracco Natale weighs in with the comment on the CHOP  Facebook page, “Well now you’ve done it. You have infuriated thousands of parents of special needs children, including myself. You just woke a sleeping giant. Your PR team must be scrambling….”

No, Caroline, the PR team is not “scrambling.” The sleeping giant you speak of is both blind and ignorant. There is no place for PR or the media in determining medical treatment.

Have you registered to be an organ donor?

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Maybe I’m late to the party, but I have just recently discovered the secret of cosmetics junkies everywhere: the beauty box. I love the idea of  trial sized cosmetics, delivered to my doorstep every month, for a low subscription fee. Now, my dilemma is which website to join? I’ve narrowed my choices to:

Birchbox:

For $10 per month or $110 annually, subscribers will receive four to five beauty samples from luxury brands every month. The samples are chosen by the Birchbox team, ensuring a surprise every month. Other benefits include discounts on full sized products ordered from Birchbox.com.

Beauty Army:

For $12 per month, subscribers get to personally choose up to six deluxe samples each month. Benefit is that I would choose which samples I want to try.

So what say you? Have you used any sample subscription service?

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“Special” guests may not be regulars. They may not grace the pages of the tabloids. On first glance, they may seem perfectly normal. However, they are far from normal. “Special” guests are as welcomed as the sight of a poison ivy plant after you’ve dropped trough  while taking a pee on a camping trip.

Here are the top 9 ways you can become a “special” guest:

1. Elect a spokesperson for your table. This is especially important for parties in excess of four. The role of the spokesperson is soley to order water for the entire table. Dining with a large party? Ten , maybe 20 of you? Absolutely employ the services of a spokesperson! However, no one should actually drink the water. Glasses of water should remain on the table for decorative purposes only! Servers love when a spokesperson gives them busy work!

2. Take off your shoes. Ignore that old adage, “no shirt, no shoes, no service.” Shoes & shirt may be required to be given a table, but once you’ve claimed your real estate, make yourself at home. Take off your shoes, sit crossed legged on the chair or booth, heck, might as well fart if you feel the need. Loudly, too! Bet your stinking farts won’t smell as bad as your stinky feet.

3. Delay ordering to most inopportune moment. Whatever you do, do not take a reasonable amount of time reviewing the menu. Chat with your dining partner. Make a phone call. Play Angry Birds. Shoo the server away until you notice that she has been double sat and a third table needs a bottle of wine opened. Then, shout across the dining room that you need immediate attention. When the server arrives to take your order, waste five minutes explaining that you have a movie to catch, a sitter waiting, anything. Just waste as much time as possible stressing that you are in a hurry. Bonus points if you give your order, then change your mind and spend a minute reviewing the menu, while insisting that the server wait for you to decide, again.

4. Insult the server. In the event the server doesn’t return to your table as fast as you would like, wildly wave your hand in the air while shouting, “Oh garçon!” and punctuate the shouts with the snapping of your fingers. Bar none, this ensures you will rise to the level of “special” guest. Other insults include informing the server that you usually dine at “nice” restaurants, but decided to “slum it” tonight. The key to this tip is not to be blatantly condescending, but to be creative. Employ backhanded complements often.

5. Ask stupid questions. In a classroom, it’s often said that “there are no stupid questions.” Not so at a restaurant. If you ask the server, “What is your vegetable du jour?” and the server responds, “A blend of peas and carrots or string beans,”follow up with, “Broccoli? Got broccoli? No? What about corn? No? Oh, okay… how about rutabaga? I love rutabaga! No, huh? No rutabaga?” Trust me, the server isn’t hiding a secret veggie du jour from you.

6. Complain. Complain about everything. The temperature is a great choice! Demand that the heat is turned up or the air conditionaire turned down. Complain about the food, complain about the service, complain about the loud kids three tables away from you. Just complain. Be sure to loudly announce that the food, service, etc is awful, just awful every time you come in. The tables sitting around you appreciate being told about the inferiority of the establishment they have chosen, and they wanted your expert opinion – as you are an expert, being as you come in every week.

7. Don’t be selfish – let the kids have fun, too! Parents, you have no idea the pivotal role children can play in earning you “special guest” status. Allowing the children to run around the restaurant, unattended, is always memorable, not safe but hey – who doesn’t enjoy a trip to the emergency room after a evening out? In the event that you insist on keeping the children at the table, encourage them to drop 90% of their food onto the floor below. Bonus points can be earned if the floor is carpeted and (this is key!) the children stomp on the dropped food, embedding it in the carpet. Servers will be thinking of you well after the restaurant has shut their doors and she is stuck vacuuming.

8. Overstay your welcome. Weekends, Mother’s Day and Valentine’s Day are crucial days to employ this tactic. Eat, drink, be merry. Then enforce your squatter’s rights. Mingle over that cup of coffee, while you and your companion remark “My! You are so busy tonight! An hour wait, you say? Glad we came early!” Ignore the subtle, and not so subtle, hints that your server is asking you to leave. Time is money, and the more time you dawdle at her table, the less money she will make.

9. Verbal tips! Being a verbal tipper will guarantee that you are remembered. Everyone appreciates a compliment now and again. Compliments on the server’s hair, makeup, nails or proficiency in pouring water will not pay the bills. Compliment all you want, but compliments in lieu of cash will earn you high marks in the memorable guest competition. Saying, “God bless you!” on your way out is not a substitute for a tip, either.

In nine easy steps, you can become a memorable guest at any restaurant!

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Five seconds ago, Mama Kat posted the linky for this prompt, so there must be oodles of bloggers all linked up and chances are, my post will be buried in the wee bottom. If you are reading, THANK YOU! But, I made the executive decision to free verse this post. No editing, no whimpering over the perfect word choice or sentence structure, no agonizing over the flow or sequence or bla bla la. (See, I’m not even backspacing to fix typos!)

New Year’s resolutions are a foreign concept to me. I just don’t make them. I mean, I ponder over what changes I should be making (lose weight, quit smoking, bla bla bla) but I don’t make a plan. I don’t commit (in writing) the changes I want to see, things I want to accomplish, etc etc.

For shits and giggles, I decided that maybe I should give it a whirl. I mean, everyone else is doing it, right?

Without further ado, here are my 2012 New Year’s resolutions:

1. Clean up the potty mouth. No, seriously. I cuss like a sailor. Well, not that bad, but enough.  I really don’t like the way it sounds. Not that I’m judging (even though I am, but don’t want to admit it) when someone else cusses, my perception of their IQ drops. Significantly. I know, I’m going to hell in a handbasket. (For judging, not for cussing.)  I can’t afford  to lose IQ points in the eyes of my peers, so I’ve got to clean up the potty mouth.

2. Improve my posture. From the time I could walk until high school, my mom made me walk around the house with a book on my head to ensure I would have perfect posture. I rebelled by purposely slouching. Fine, I’ll admit it – Mom knew what she was talking about.

3. Let go of perfection. If it’s not perfect, I won’t publish. Needless to say, that has cost me dearly. I coulda, woulda, shoulda, posted tons of stuff over the past few months, but I decided it wasn’t worth reading because I didn’t have the perfect hook, the perfect title, a compelling introduction of a strong conclusion. So, I posted nothing. Publish, or perish, that’s my new motto.

4. Be comfortable being alone. How many of you have gone to a movie alone and lived to tell? I will venture into a movie theater alone and (fingers crossed!) will report back. Unless, I get swallowed up by a black hole or abducted by aliens, then, you’ll know it really is a bad idea. But, I did survive the rapture, so I doubt a solo trip to the IMAX will be the death of me.

5. Make peace with Paul. Paul, ohhhhhhhh Paul. Have I ever told ya all about Paul? No? Well, Paul, overhearing me chat with a friend about my three part time jobs when we supposed to be studying for an AP Bio exam, interjected, impressed at my work ethic that I had three part time jobs, exclaims, “Oh my God, Melissa, you are going to be so rich!” (deep calming breath) (deep calming breath)

Okay, I know that Paul (calming breath) meant it as a compliment. I have no reason (deep calming breath) to suspect that he had a malicious intent. I know, I mean I knoooooow that “rich” is subjective. I know that my life is rich (calming breath) in the important things, like love! and health! and happiness! (Deeeep caaaaaalming breath) But I am single. Not to say that is Paul’s fault. I mean, when we promised that if we were both single by a certain age (which passed eons ago) we would marry each other so we wouldn’t be alone, and Paul said, “Oh, Melissa, you won’t be alone!” I am sure he…

Whatever. It’s not Paul’s fault. He probably didn’t mean to jinx me. And I’m not cranky that he’s all Mr. Successful and newly engaged and (deep! calming! breaths!) Anyway, I will make peace with the (unintentional?) jinxing. And if I don’t, well, new year’s resolutions are made to be broken, no?

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Maybe my expectations were too high. Maybe I had the wrong impression. But, had I paid the $495 conference pass, I would have been crying.

The conference schedule was jam packed with topics that piqued my interest. Experts were speaking on topics ranging from off-line networking, to how to write a powerful “about” page, to innovative ways to monetize your blog. Someone over sold and under delivered.  My biggest complaint is that the topics were geared for all levels of blogging, from beginner to seasoned veteran.

Maybe my problem is that I would have preferred a blogging retreat that included seminars and workshops. Are you familiar with the difference? A seminar is a lecture. There’s a speak who gives a presentation. Sometimes, there is a question and answer period, but for the most part, the learning is passive. Workshops are interactive and tend to be smaller groups who work on an assignment which helps the person to learn the lesson — this is active learning.

Maybe my problem is that I have a vision for the perfect blogging conference and nothing shy of it will satisfy me. I want an event that empowers women to go forth and prosper. I want an event that is an opportunity for women to connect with each other. A conference that is fun, interactive and informative, that’s what I am craving.

In July, there is the first Bloggy Moms conference. I can’t quite deduce what this conference will cover. There are vague mentions about the conference being relevant to all bloggers, but I want to know what to expect. Are any of you going out to Ohio for the event?

In August, BlogHer will be having their annual conference out in San Diego. A part of me wants to join the BlogHer craze and buy a pass. But, when I do the math, the conference, plus airfare and hotel will easily be over $1000. Is it worth it? Is BlogHer the be all, end all of blogging conferences?

In October, Relevant is coming to Hershey, PA. That’s only a few hour drive from my house. This conference is a Christian conference for bloggers. I want to go, but I feel like I would be an outsider looking in. I do write about my faith, but I don’t feel like a faith blogger.

Have you ever been to a blogging conference? What do you recommend?

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Recently, Amazon Vine sent me Molly Morgan‘s latest book, The Skinny Rules: 101 secrets every skinny girl knows. At first, I was suspicious. Wouldn’t this book be just another rehash of things I’ve read time and time again? Yes, and no. The book is written not from the perspective of how one should look, but rather, how one should live. 100 rules are divided into seven chapters, with a final chapter devoted to the last rule. Each chapter focuses on one aspect of a woman’s life, and how she can make choices that lead to a healthy, and skinny, lifestyle.

The Skinny Rules is neither preachy nor condescending, instead, it reads like notes from your best girlfriend with the killer figure who is sharing her secrets. While reading, I wanted to go take a walk with author Molly Morgan.

If you want a hardcore, lose weight fast book, this isn’t for you. But, if you want to learn how to change into a healthy lifestyle, and make healthy habits a part of your routine, definitely get yourself a copy of The Skinny Rules.

To get you started, here are my five favorites from The Skinny Rules:

Hit the Pillow: Sleep is essential to staying fit and healthy. While catching some zzz’s, your body produces leptin and ghrelin, which are hormones that control and stimulate hunger. When you don’t get enough sleep, your body produces too much ghrelin and too little leptin, which causes you to over eat.

Watch your BLTs: Bites, licks and tastes add up, and a skinny girl knows that. Did you know that a lick of peanut butter has approximately 116 calories? That tiny bite of cake with frosting is adding 103 calories to your daily intake? The skinny girl knows to take into account all the calories from every bite, lick, and taste, which accounts for approximately a one ounce serving. Visit www.nutritiondata.com to find out the calorie damage from every BLT of your favorite foods.

Sneak it in: Isn’t it easier to find ten minutes to sneak in a mini workout than to dedicate hours to the gym? Even by adding several ten minutes mini-workout each day to your routine, the skinny girl manages to reduce her waist size and body mass index.

Think about what you must eat: Instead of focusing on what foods to cut out, focus on foods you should be incorporating into your diet. Berries and whole grains are a great place to start! Substituting teas, both green and black, for your diet soda will get more flavonoids into you, which helps to improve cognitive funcion.

Spice it up: Skinny girls maximize the power of the spice rack. Spices add flavor and marginal amounts of calories.

What is your best skinny girl advice?

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Today, I am filled with regret.

Instead of living the healthy, active life that I admire other people living, I am the definition of sloth and gluttony. I fill myself with junk. Weighed down by the excess, I can’t get myself moving.

In my fantasy world,

I am the girl that wakes up just after the sun rises.

I power walk for an hour, powered by the thought of how great my legs will look in that new mini.

I spend an hour at Pilates. My body is firm and strong.

I eat real oatmeal, topped with granola and apples, for breakfast. No high fructose starts for me.

I unwind with yoga and let my tensions float off into space.

I need a change. An intervention. I feel like no matter what I do, all the cardio and weight in the world won’t create change. I feel like I am destined to be a big girl perpetually.

I need motivation. I need results. I need a good pep talk, people!

Now, it’s your turn…

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As a child, I understood the concept. I was seven years old and had just returned from a family vacation. Spending some time with Baba, I told her all about the beach, the shells, and the Marines that I had met.  The Marines are all over the world, protecting me, keeping me safe. Even though they haven’t all met me, they are on patrol just in case.

When I met the Marines, I told them all about Harry. As casually as I could, I tried to find out if they have come across him in their travels. “Not yet, little girl,” they said. They also said something that motivated me. They told me to keep praying, but don’t stop looking.

Back home at Baba’s, we were playing Go Fish and I explained to her that I needed to be more like the Marines, because they act! After my incident with some Brussels sprouts that were bound for Africa, my grandmother was leery whenever I concocted a plan. Her advice was that I should just pray that Harry would come into my life.

“Pray? The Bible doesn’t want me to pray. The Bible wants me to act!” I told her in an authoritative voice. She laughed, and asked me to explain.

In a haughty voice, I asked her, “Have you ever read the Bible?” The woman, whose father was a parson with the Church of England, had, in fact, read the Bible. In her sixty plus years, she had read it several times. Possibly several times a year.

I sighed and told her that she must not understand the Bible, then. Because anyone who understood the Bible saw the examples that I saw. God does not want us to sit around praying. He wants us to act!

God bless the lady, she had the patience of a saint, but it was late August and humid and her patience was worn thin with me. Harry had been eluding me for 3 and half years! She was at her wits end.

When I gave her my explanation of why He wants us to act, she nearly fainted.

Raindrop.org

“Moses. Did Moses pray?” I asked her. Initially, she laughed, “Of course Moses prayed!”

“Moses didn’t pray. Moses went out there and he parted those seas. He acted!”

Baba is stunned. I didn’t even give her a chance to respond.

“What about Noah? Did he pray?”

“O, Maleńka, (little one) Noah prayed! He prayed!” She said in a voice that was trying to convince herself more than me.

I responded with a little Bible lecturing. “Noah did not pray. He built an ark! Noah acted.”

Now, she’s worried. I tired to find Harry in a grocery store and the police got involved. I tried to save the starving children of Africa with my leftovers, now I’m talking about parting seas and building an ark. This is not going well.

First, I weighed the pros and cons of spreading the seas, which I ruled out because I wasn’t near the ocean. Then, I thought about how silly it would be for me to build an ark, being as I was a little girl who couldn’t play with hammers or saws.

Eureka! The thought came to me in a manner that can only be described as divine intervention.

At seven years old, I knew that He didn’t want me to rely on prayer alone. He needed me to act. Through prayer and meditation, I let the spirit inspire me on how to act.

I would write a letter to Santa!

The day I wrote a letter to Santa, asking for his help in finding Harry, was one of Baba’s favorite stories. Tune in later this week for the blow-by-blow recount.

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