Happy Birthday Mom!



Today is my mother’s 81st birthday. Wow!

My Mom’s incredible— she’s completely healthy, until recently walked a mile a day on the treadmill, and traveled the world by herself. She takes no drugs—nada. She’s petite and in fantastic shape with the exception of one worn knee. She’s more than active—my mother’s hyperactive, and it hurts like dickens for her to simply walk anymore. So, tomorrow, my mom goes in for knee replacement surgery. Mom’s never had surgery, and she’s petrified.

Therefore, today is all about distraction. I took the day off. We’re having mani/pedis  first. Then we’re doing the face and massage stuff. Next is a champagne lunch (all approved by the surgeon), and then tonight her grandsons come over for a surf and turf dinner.

After dinner, we’re watching old James Bond movies until we’re literally falling asleep on ourselves. ‘Course I’m nervous too. I lost my dad 24 years ago and I definitely want my mom around for a long as she’s happy to be alive.

If all goes well, we’re going to go to Iceland together next year. Another mother-daughter trip reminiscent of our first in 2008, which was a 28-day road trip through Monaco, France, Spain, and London. Making memories to treasure.

Happy Birthday Mom!




Valentine’s Gifts For My Readers!

heart double pinkisIt’s wonderful to begin the most romantic day of the year with gifts for some of my readers. I asked the Viking to pick three random numbers from the list of my newsletter database. Congrats to the following who won their secret decadent desire:

Tina Rucci – Chocolates

Karen Gilliam – Cherry Jelly Bellies

Lauren Seiberling – Cheese Pretzels

Karen Blue – Twizzlers


Tina, Lauren, and Karen, please email me at Jianne@old.jiannecarlo.com to let me know your addresses. If you’re international, we’ll work something out. (Shipping costs are prohibitive L)

For those who commented on my Love, Lust, and Laptop’s blog, the following have won:

Barbara – Notorious

Mary M. – Carnal

There were supposed to be three winners, but only Barbara and Mary M left their email addresses. If anyone cares to go back and fill in the information, I’ll pick the third winner.

Have a dreamy, sexy, Valentine’s day everyone!



Happy Birthday Dad!

mourning symbolIt’s amazing how grief works. I’m horribly absentminded and more often than not can’t remember my train of thought. But, every year as my father’s birthday and the date of his death approaches, I always know where I left of grieving last year. It’s taken a long time, over twenty years, for the happy memories and the pain of his loss became equal. I miss him every single day. And I wish he were constantly.

It’s amazing how grief works. I’m horribly absentminded and more often than not can’t remember my train of thought. But, every year as my father’s birthday and the date of his death approaches, I always know where I left of grieving last year. It’s taken a long time, over twenty years, for the happy memories and the pain of his loss became equal. I miss him every single day. And I wish he were constantly.

Today, I give Funeral Blues written by Wystan Hugh Auden. Loss has never been more poignantly captured.

Funeral Blues

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message ‘He is Dead’.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Happy Birthday Dad—love you always!mourning symbol

Panthers or Broncos?



Being the only female in a testosterone-filled home results in an osmosis-fed love of football. My boys and the Vikings think I’m nuts because I support athletes based on their decency.

Really? This is a bad thing?

I mean where did the notion that a superstar sports figure shouldn’t be a model for the millions of kids who adore him/her? That said, I’m a Manning fan – be it Peyton or Eli. Why? Because their mama raised those boys right. You don’t see either Eli or Manning getting their girlfriends pregnant and then marrying someone else. Nope. These men live by old-fashioned ethics and they’re amazing football players.

Now that my rant’s over, you must realize I’m all for Peyton and the Broncos winning this one. That’s not to say I don’t think Cam Newton’s the lesser of the two. Nope. That man’s amazingly talented. I just want Peyton to go out with a win!

Who’re you rooting for?

And then, of course, there is that incredible half-time show!!!


Have a terrific Superbowl Sunday!



2016’s Taken off at a Sprint!

2016 year of the monkeyWow! I don’t about you, but I’m swamped! And it’s only January 21st!!!

My fingers and toes are crossed that this isn’t the way the rest of the year’s going to evolve—at a frenetic place.

Of course, it doesn’t help that my day job’s in finance and January is a bitch for payroll and end of year issues. Right now I’m keeping my head above water, but the flood levels are rising—at an alarming rate.

Added to those problems, I’m way behind on two books—make that three—and my stress levels don’t help my creativity in the least. But, the end’s in sight for Prymal Hunger. Yay!

In between I’m working on two other re-releases and I thought I’d share today the opening scenes of one—Alpha Me Not:

Excerpt from Alpha Me Not:


Joe Huroq tossed his duffel bag onto the bed, scrubbed the week’s worth of stubble on his chin, and blew out a long sigh. It had been a hellish three months and he’d seen the worst of the emerging Eastern European countries, but the mission had been successful.

Yeah. Right. The team had rescued the kidnapped daughter of an oil executive from the scumbags holding her for ransom. But he’d taken one look at the broken shell of what once must have been a normal thirteen-year-old, and known she’d never be whole again. She might have been better off dead.

He knew not to go there.

The plaintive notes of “Stairway to Heaven” wafted to his ears.

Joe grinned.

His back-fence neighbor, Terri, was in one of her moods. He’d learned to gauge Terri’s state of mind by the music she blared while suntanning nude in her backyard. That particular rift meant she’d had a down and dirty fight with her girlfriend, had a twelve-pack of Heines on ice, and was halfway to being pissed.

Joe’s smile went ape-shit wide. Exactly what he needed.

Shoot the breeze with Terri, get a nice buzz on, jump in the pool, and forget the bleakness in the teenager’s eyes. He shucked his button-down shirt, tossed his boots, socks, shed his worn and grimy jeans, shoved off his briefs, grabbed a towel, and padded to the back door.

Spring in Hallie was his favorite time of year. A light breeze lifted the noonday heat, and the fresh aroma of just-mowed grass perfumed the air. A seven-foot wooden fence bordered his and Terri’s backyards. She upped the volume when Joe slipped the deadbolt on the gate between the two properties.

Must’ve been a doozy of a fight.

Terri and her significant other, Petra, had a tempestuous, passionate relationship. He’d come to believe Terri secretly loved makeup sex and deliberately picked fights with Pet.

He spied Terri on the opposite side of the pool. She lay nude on a lawn chair, her face covered by a wide-brimmed straw hat. Joe raised his face to the sun and rolled his shoulders. No place in the world like the good old US of A, and nothing washed away the sins of the universe better than an afternoon of dissing the latest political gaffes and arguing about sports teams while drinking beer and scarfing down pizza. He studied the wispy white clouds dotting the powder-blue sky as he made his way over to Terri.

A four-seater patio table with an open blue-and green-striped umbrella stood adjacent to the twin lawn chairs. He glanced at Terri and frowned.

She looked…different.

Those boobs. Perfect. Rounded.

At least a C-cup, with milk-chocolate areolae, and fat, dark taupe-tipped nipples.

His cock stirred, and he stumbled.


He’d never felt the slightest attraction to Terri. He dropped his gaze lower and salivated. Inky, tight curls framed a heart-shaped mound of pubic hair from which peeked the prettiest pink pussy lips he’d ever seen, bar none. His jaw sagged, and his cock vaulted to commander-in-chief attention.

Holy Batman and Robin. He had died and gone to vagina heaven.

The song ended. His knees went slack. Joe grabbed a chair to try to steady himself. The metal feet squeaked on the pavers.

Terri jackknifed to a sitting position.

Not Terri. Not Terri at all. Whoa!

The female scrambled to her feet, grabbed the towel from the chair, and clamped the terry fabric over those perfect breasts. “Help! Help!”

Joe blinked.

She spun around and sprinted to the small deck connected to the back of the house.

A fine ass.

High, muscled, and sweetly curved.

He licked his lips and focused on her sleek thighs and the hint of pubic hair that did a stripper’s grind-and-tease peep show with each long stride.

And all the while she shrieked like a fire engine on full alert.

The high-pitched screams made him wince, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her backside, and he couldn’t have moved an iota even if someone had put a Glock to his head.

She threw open the back door, raced inside, and slammed it shut.

Joe shook his head hoping the blood pooled in his groin would somehow speed back to fuel his lust-dazed brain.

The crack of a window being opened penetrated his sex stupor.

“I called 911, you pervert. Get out of my backyard!”


Hope you enjoyed! Have a terrific Thursday!