Ever wonder how a burnt-out TV exec turned into a smut-gobbling, half-feral book goblin? No? Too bad.

I’ve never been the “hobby” type. I was a latchkey kid, oldest of three, basically a live-in third parent with a side hustle by age ten. I was raised to work, not play. Sports? Absolutely not. I wasn’t built for sports. I’m like if Snooki and a T. rex had a baby — short, chaotic, aggressive energy with tiny arms, big boobs, and zero coordination. Mini Costco Pizzas, and watching Donahue, Ricki, Sally, or Jerry after school. Television raised me, and naturally, I made a career out of it.

And then TV — sweet, shiny, soul-sucking TV — betrayed me. So here’s the tea: I was pregnant, grinding harder than ever, and somehow got triple-crossed by three “friends” slash business buddies all at once. One swiped my talent like it was a clearance sale, another straight-up stole one of my ideas and claimed it like it was theirs, and the third completely dropped the ball on a huge Netflix deal — you know, the one I was actually passionate about.

Now, I’m not bad at reading people — I was just naïve. I truly believed they weren’t capable of pulling that shit. Spoiler alert: they were. And, I am still mad at myself for letting it happen.

But quitting? Walking away? Please. As much as I wanted to scream “fuck this,” (I did say “Fuck you” to one of them.) I loved the job too much. I’d already poured every ounce of heart and hustle into it. So there I was, stuck in the middle of a loyalty nightmare, surrounded by a few less-than-stellar characters, but still committed to the damn grind.

And then—bam!—the pandemic hits, and just like that, the love of my life (TV) gets shut down. No warning, no safety net. Suddenly, I’m pregnant, juggling two babies under two, and staring down a future that looks like a big question mark.

So what do I do? Pivot. Because what else can you do when life flips the script? I started a coffee business—because caffeine is basically my survival strategy—and dove headfirst into motherhood and entrepreneurship all at once. Spoiler 2: it’s messy, insane, and honestly, I’m just winging it… but hey, here we are.

So, am I just being another basic bitch and jumping on the book bandwagon? I don’t think so. You tell me what you think…

I’ve always been the focused one. The laminated call sheet girl. The spreadsheet-for-every trip chick. I feel weird when I have free time — like the universe is judging me for not optimizing it. Add in what’s probably undiagnosed dyslexia or attention issues (unclear, but vibes say yes), and reading was never my thing. Too slow, too hard, too... not productive.

Then one day, I got curious about Lindsay Lohan’s new face and Christmas movie — as one does — and spiraled straight down a rabbit hole I did not see coming. One convoluted Google search led to another, and somehow, I ended up with my first spicy romance novel in hand. And that was it. Since January, I’ve read over 90 books — physical, digital, audio — often three at a time, all while raising two kids, running three businesses, and trying to keep 40+ horny book club members reading appetites satisfied. (Yes, I am looking at you.)

When I latch onto something, I hyper-fixate. That’s just how I’m built. If you know me, you know. But this time, it’s not just a phase. This time, the obsession gave me something back. Reading became a lifeline. A full-blown, batshit beautiful escape. For once, I found a hobby that didn’t feel like a waste of time. It felt like mine.

And because I can’t leave well enough alone — because joy must always be monetized or turned into a passion project to justify its existence — I want to do something with it. I want to make a space to talk shit, reflect, recommend, spiral, scream, and maybe — maybe — help someone else feel seen. Or brave enough to make something of their own.

So yeah. This is me, giving you my Long Island TV-producer, feral mom, trash-bag philosopher opinions. Loudly. Passionately. Unapologetically about, books- well really anything I want.

Fight with me. Agree with me. Laugh with me. Cry into your Kindle with me.

Just be here. Hang with me.

And maybe, together, we make a little magic out of the mess. Either way, we can always thank Lindsay Lohan for the wild ride.