My checkbox is 35-40, therefore I'm middle age

The other day I bumped into a casting call and they were looking for middle aged women of 35-40 year old and it hit me: holy shit, I'm middle age!
When did that happen? I feels like yesterday I was attending University, watching Sex & The City with my BFF on Saturday night and being anorexic. Times flies, for real.
I should have seen it coming when a kid called me "ma'am" for the first time. There was a second and a third.
At parties, I used to be the cute Italian girl, now I am invisible. The cute ones are Russians in their 20s. I always got the attention of old guys, but I guess they died and the new generation of old men go for young girls.
Middle age sucks! I'm too old to have men interested in me and too young to have them leave me their seats on the bus.
Don't get me wrong, I like myself more than when I was in my 20s: I got rid of those invisible extra pounds that bothered me even though I was anorexic and I still have a smooth skin, but the day I found two white hairs on my head (not only there to be honest), well, I freaked out a little. I always thought I only got nice legs and depression from my mom, but apparently she passed huge bags under the eyes along with the rest. Thanks, mom!
It's not only about look though. Being middle age also sucks in terms of health: ten years ago I could eat Mexican and Indian food with no repercussions (okay, almost none); now the only food my stomach can take without crying for mercy is sushi. I do love sushi, but I am a little concerned of mercury poisoning.
And not only my stomach is not what it used to be anymore, other parts of my body go on strike once in a while and as soon as one recovers, another one stops working, usually a part of my body I didn't even know I had.
In conclusion, middle age stinks, but when I think that Dante wrote his Divine Comedy at 35 and Anne Bancroft was 36 when she starred in The Graduate, well... I still have a chance to accomplish something good in my checkbox 35-40.

Another review of "Dreams" on Amazon

Nicole gets hit by a car and loses her memory. The amnesia is so bad that she can't even remember her own name, let alone details of her home, friends, and relationships. This device gives Nicole an objective third-party view of her own life. This is a chance to re-evaluate all the choices she has made thus far: her high-intensity career; her relationships with men; her decayed family ties.

Of course, all of this compels the reader to wonder: What if *I* had a reset button on my life? What aspects of my life would I celebrate, and which parts would I be ashamed of?

Manzini's style is breezy and easy to read; the voice she creates of the hard-driving New York City executive with only black and white in her wardrobe is convincing. The novella grabs you from the first sentence ("What a f***ing bitch") and does not let go -- I read the whole thing in one 40min sitting.

There is much sardonic humor, surprise and, ultimately, redemption in this story. In an age obsessed with the outward signs of status and success, perhaps this is a gentle and funny reminder of what our priorities should be.

Ali Binazir M.D., M.Phil., author of [...], the highest-rated dating book on Amazon for 90 weeks

DO ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER THAN WORDS?

DO ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER THAN WORDS?

As a woman, I'm never satisfied. I had men promising me eternal love, but they cheated on me and left me, and I had guys showing me their love but they couldn't express it in words.
As a woman, I want it all! Am I spoiled? Yes. Maybe I'm waiting for a guy who doesn't exist, someone with no mommy (or daddy) issues, someone who's self confident and knows what he wants, someone who tells me "I love you" and brings me food when I'm sick.
My friends say that I deserve it all, but they love me unconditionally, they don't know how I am in a relationship, and I can be pretty demanding. If my man doesn't hold me in the morning the exact way he usually does, I get paranoid and wonder if he stopped loving me over night, or if he met someone else... in his dreams.
Am I insecure? Obviously! Do I have abandonment issues? Hell yeah! And of course I saw too many hollywood movies. I'd like to sue the movie industry for false advertisment.
But the question remain: do actions speak louder than words? Would you prefer a man who shows you he cares but never tells you "I love you" or would you go for the guy whose ability with words makes you almost cry for joy? And again, do you need a man who plans his future with you or can you settle with someone who lives day by day? 'Cause after all, there's no future anyway, we only have today so maybe that guy is right. Why planning and be disappointed instead of living the moment, carpe diem? Women kind of need to feel they will have someone not only today though, but also tomorrow, and after tomorrow, and in a year, or ten.
The secret is probably finding someone who thinks like you do, in order to avoid miscommunication... and passive aggressive behavior, something that comes so easily when we are in a relationship.
And the truth is that there's no such thing like the perfect relationship. After a few months of dating, men get lazy and woman get demanding (just because men are lazy!). Always remember the reasons why you fell in love and try to keep the butterflies alive, 'cause that's the best feeling in the world!!

A review from a reader:

This is a creative, original, and VERY fast-paced book, that reminds me of what a brainstorming session between Bret Easton Ellis, Candace Bushnell, and Tina Fey might produce. As a male reader who doesn't have any taste for so-called "chick lit" (a pejorative term, I know), I was reluctant to pick this up... But, I was honestly glad I did. If you crave some truly refreshing writing for that next train ride or plane trip, want something you'll thoroughly enjoy page after page, all in a voice that is both quirky and invigorating -- pick this book up! Elisa Manzini is a recent transplant from Italy, but has an AMAZING knack for nailing the American mindset (particularly the travails and foibles of the modern American woman), and a voyeuristic appreciation of the United States that only, perhaps, an Italian steeped in the world of cinema and American pop culture trivia could bring to the task.
J. Tangredi

Just a thought:

I cried this morning. Like that. At the top of Runyon Canyon I started to cry. I cried for my good friend who lost her baby, I cried for my other friend who lost his money to the banks, I cried for all of my talented friends who can’t get a job in this town and for my lovable friends who can’t find love. Then I cried for myself. Because I can’t have fun anymore. Because I get attached to men who don’t love me and I push away men who would love me. I cried because I’m losing sleep. I cried because I love myself but I don’t like myself much. I cried for the kid inside who’s still waiting for a hug. I cried because I don’t like a world where money seems to be the most important thing. Then something happened. I ran out of breath. I was crying and I couldn’t breathe anymore. People passing by and I was asphyxiating. Pure panic. I looked around and saw these two big dogs playing, like they were living in the most beautiful world and having the best time of their lives. Slowly my breath came back, I stopped crying and I thought I really wouldn’t mind to be a dog.

Here's a little piece I wrote, not part of the book.

“At least you’re not psychotic, only neurotic”, my Italian friend says on FB chat. Not sure it’s a good thing though. I kinda miss that detachment from reality that psychotic people have.

The anxiety attack of the day started when this morning I sent an email to a special person, wishing him a “wonderful week”. That was 9:44 am and I didn’t start panicking  until 11. This person lives in symbiosis with his phone, always checking his texts, emails and FB. Now, we are not FB friends (for reasons that have to do with my neurosis), BUT I can see his activity. And he had no activity going on since yesterday. No activity on FB, he doesn’t answer my email (while usually it takes him 5 to 10 mins to answer): something bad happened!! My negative thoughts always win over any other possible explanation. No no no, something bad must have happened.

My Italian friend tries to calm me down. “Maybe he’s busy, he’s with his family, he’s shopping”. See, nothing of these scenarios would have stopped him from answering his phone. Once he answered when he was donating blood. Another time he texted me when he was on the dentist chair. No no, something bad happened and I’m panicking. My heartbeats races. And I inevitably start to cry. At first I think his mother died. But he would have texted me. So, the only option is that HE died. And since we really don’t have close mutual friends, I won’t even know until after the funeral. I won’t be able to share my tears and pain with his friends and family because nobody will tell me he’s dead. My friend in chat suggests me to go for a walk. Maybe it’s a good idea. But I’ll check the obituaries first, you never know, I might find his name.

I turn off my computer, after frantically checking 75 times his FB (still no activity).

I look at myself in the mirror and I only see two puffy red eyes, imploring for mercy. No way I can cover that mess with a concealer, so I just apply some sun lotion (gotta prevent skin cancer)  and I walk out, into the hot Californian sun.

In a couple of blocks I am on Hollywood Blvd and I make a pact with myself, not to check my phone and emails at least for 30 minutes. Usually I always break the pact, but this time I HAVE to make it. I breathe deeply, and it smells like garbage. I walk towards the mall and the huge wave of tourists is already making me feel even worse. I pump up the volume of my iPod, hoping to isolate myself from the noisy crowd. But I’m still thinking: he’s dead. I won’t see him or talk to him anymore. Gone, like that. Not even the time to say goodbye. I’m trying to remember the last thing we talked about. It was probably something about the tragedy of getting old. I guess he won’t have to worry about that anymore. I take the staircase at the mall, maybe on the upper floor there’ll be less tourists. My anxiety is killing me slowly, I can’t live like this anymore, always worrying about things. In front of me there’s a girl with shorts and a pair of huge legs with cellulite. So I ask myself: would I like to be free from anxiety but have all that cellulite? Hmmm, not sure about that.

And it hits me: it’s genetic. I’m like my mother. I am my mother. A person with anxiety and depression, but nice legs. Thanks mom. That’s scary. I tried my entire life not to become like my mother and here I am: I don’t drive, I don’t like crowds and I have anxiety attacks. This is awful. And sad. Awfully sad. And he must be dead ‘cause he’s not answering my email (yeah, I checked a couple of times on my phone).

I’m walking in the mall, I see people eating and laughing and I wonder: how can they? How can they eat and laugh when HE died? I decide that it’s time to go back home, before more tears come. My iPod is playing Mariah Carey now, and it’s so pathetic that I smile, suddenly. I look around:  Batman is probably melting inside his costume, a Japanese kid wearing a Marilyn Manson T-shirt, and that sounds wrong somehow, and the usual homeless lady is enjoying her ice cream. Nope, I wouldn’t like to be any of them. Maybe I will just keep my neurotic personality, still thinking though that being psychotic sometimes would be better.

PS He is alive!!! He is alive!! He just didn’t see my email.

Nicole is a very successful woman living in NYC. After a hit-and-run accident, she wakes up to a life that she doesn't recognize--or want to. She must choose whether to step into her old life or start over with nothing but her dreams.

If you like the story, go on http://www.amazon.com/Dreams-ebook/dp/B00BV21406  and download the book!

Thank you!!