Title Forty Four: Love The One You're With by Emily Giffin

When it comes to Emily Giffin, I have very definite opinions. I adored Something Borrowed, enjoyed Something Blue, and loathed Baby Proof. My expectations towards Love The One You're With were mediocre, and they were just about met.

Ellen had a great life; she married Andy, the brother of her college roommate/best friend, she started a great photography career in New York, she was welcomed into the wealthy Atlanta family of her husband, and she was happy, happy, happy until the day she saw her ex Leo on a street corner. Instead of ignoring it, or brushing it off casually, she had to make a huge deal about it, sneaking meetings and calls and texts, hiding it from everyone except her older sister Suzanne, who still lived in their hometown of Pittsburgh. Ellen needed *closure* from Leo, the one who broke her heart and got away, the one who knew her inside and out and just ditched her one New Year's Day. Meanwhile, Andy asked Ellen if she would like to move to Atlanta so he could join his father's law firm and be closer to his family, including sister Margot, who is pregnant with her first child. Ellen voiced no doubts and away the two went, with Ellen realizing how stifled she felt in their new mansion, or social circle, or life. I have no sympathy for Ellen; she should have spoken up. Instead she sabotaged her marriage, reignited her relationship with Leo, and burned bridges with her best friend and husband in the process, only to realize that she made a colossal mistake on an ill-fated trip back to New York to work on an assignment with Leo, a writer. Luckily for Ellen, Andy realized how much he loved her, and how stifled she felt, and he took her back, although I frankly don't think she deserved it for being such a selfish cow. Andy wasn't innocent but Ellen, a grown woman, should have tried to deal with the situation constructively. Instead she nearly imploded everything and manages to keep hold in the nick of time. A compromise is reached and everyone gets a happily ever after.

Sweet Christ, what shit. With the exception of Something Borrowed, Giffin has a unique talent for creating completely unlikable characters and constructing situations that are so bland they make plain yogurt look delectable. In my opinion she's a one trick pony and I hope someone stops publishing her dreck.

Title Thirty Three: Do Dead People Watch You Shower? by Concetta Bertoldi

If you see this book, run away. As quickly as possible. Bonus points if you set it on fire before you run. (Kidding.) (Kind of.)

Look, I admit to a certain fascination with ghosties. I love watching "Paranormal State" and have a slight crush on Ryan Buell. Okay, a big crush. I sort of want to have his babies. So I picked up this book hoping to find some interesting anecdotes about the life of a medium and her communications with the Other Side. Instead it was like being trapped at the kitchen table with a loudmouthed North Jersey paisan (I'm an Eyetal; I can say that) who refuses to let you leave until she has told you every detail of her life. "Oooh, look at me, I can see and hear dead people! I bring comfort to grieving family and friends! "They" told me who I was going to marry! I know so much more than you but I can't prove it but dammit you need to believe me because I am an expert!" Shut up and shove a cannoli in your mouth. Your writing is trite, vain, and has the skill level of a dyslexic middle schooler. (This is not a jab at the writer's dyslexia, or anyone else's for that matter; she is simply a poor author, incapable of writing more than one paragraph for many of the "chapters" of the book.)

The only heartwarming segments deal with Bertoldi's experiences with the deaths of her father and brother. They were, and still are, evidently devastating and painful, and if her communications and visits with them have brought her some comfort, then I'm glad that what she calls her "gift" has allowed that. Otherwise, it's a lot of showmanship with little substance. She trumpets her small validations and chalks her failures up to a sort of "Oh, only God is perfect, and I won't be perfect until I am one with Him" mentality. There's a lot of pseudo-New Agey crap sprinkled liberally throughout the book, especially pertaining to her concept that those who go "home" arise to a different plane of consciousness and cease to exist as separate entities, instead becoming a part of God, shedding all earthly constraints. I don't know about you, but when I get to heaven I want to find great sex, exquisite chocolate, flowering gardens and beautiful beaches, along with high-quality scotch flowing like a river and books as far as the eye can see. I want to enjoy my earthly senses to the fullest. In the end I decided that Bertoldi is a hack, which may be unfair, but hell, it's my opinion and my review.

Title Eighteen: He's Just Not That Into You by Greg Behrendt and Liz Tuccillo

Relax, fools. I didn't pay for this nonsense, nor did I borrow it from a library, friend, or family member. The truth is that my cousin bought it back when it came out when it was all the rage (and she was dating really horrific losers) and somehow managed to sneak it into one of my many bookshelves when she moved in with the guy who is now her husband. Sure, cuz, way to pass off your literary embarrassments on the girl who has so many freaking books she wouldn't notice if a tiny little family took up residence among her collection.

Anyway, when all the hoopla surrounding the movie came out, I thought to myself, "Self, I have seen that book in this house. Why have I seen that book in this house?" When I discovered the answer (see above paragraph), I climbed back into my mind and said, "You know what would be funny? If you actually read this turd. You need a good laugh."

Let me just say, wow. Women bought this? And formed groups around it? And made it their Bible - kind of the New Testament to The Rules' Old Testament? Look, it's pretty basic. If the dude: is married; doesn't return phone calls; disappears into thin air; only calls you when drunk; won't introduce you to his friends; only calls you for sex; or wants to be your boyfriend but won't have sex with you, you don't need a book by a douchenozzle to tell you that. You just need either common sense or a really honest friend and a bottle of wine.

I would recommend this book for a laugh, but it's not even worth that. Just do a Mad Libs or something. It would be time much better spent.

Side note: At the end there is a "glossary" that is supposed to help you figure out what a word is supposed to mean and what it really does mean; for example, "I'm not ready" should mean "I can't find my pants," but instead means "I'm just not that into you." I had to laugh at the entry that went like this: "Call me." "Should mean: I just dropped my cell phone in the ocean and lost your number." "Does mean: I'm just not that into you." The reason I thought it was funny is because my ex-boyfriend actually did drop his phone into the bay while fishing a couple of summers ago and I thought he would have a stroke, but since we were together at the time, and had been for years, I didn't have to worry that he had lost my number because it was in his head. Besides, we lived together, so there really wasn't any excuse not to call. (The point is that I'm trying to pad this damn review because it sucks.)