Category Archives: Books

Without Thee, Sun, I Would Be Outside


Ok, that might be a lie.

Yes, I want a Grandma Garden, but why would I want to be outside digging in the dirt when I can be inside here, with you people?

I want to take my puppy for a walk and explore my new little town some more, but I’d much rather sit inside wrapped in a blanket watching Season 2 of Game of Thrones for the 4th time.

Why would I  risk getting skin cancer by hanging around outside on this beautifully sunny day when I have a perfectly comfortable bed asking me to join it for a nap or two?

I’m not really an outside person, as much as I love the outdoors once I actually go OUT the door.

I am, however, a super lazy fucker who has occasional bouts of initiative. Hell, yesterday I cleaned the house, did the dishes, raked TWO planters out, painted the front entryway, got supper ready for the grill, and mowed the back yard. I even had time to play with myself and take a shower. (Not at the same time, because it gets pretty slippery in the shower.)

Today, I have used the excuse that it was cold and dreary outside, so I stayed inside and read the book I’ve been reading for three months. (It really is a good book, I just get distracted easily.) Then I used the excuse that I have to work tonight, so I deserve to be a lethargic piece of shit. Too, I have (truthfully) told myself that if I spend too much time outside, I will end up with tan lines and wrinkles.

When did I start feeling bad about wanting to read? ‘Tis not a waste of time, (despite what non-book people say) so why do I feel like I have to justify sitting for four hours reading by cleaning house or doing laundry? Why must I say to myself, “Self! You stay busy now!” when really all I want to do is nap. Showering? If I didn’t worry so much about stinking, that would probably be the chore I cut out of my day. It’s probably a good thing my metabolism is alright, because otherwise I’d be sitting on my super-fat ass in front of the boob-tube not doing a goddamn thing.

So I shamefully admit now that I kinda just don’t want to do anything right now. And the weather has nothing to do with it.

This is the reason I haven’t finished writing my book.

 

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Nothing But Nonsense


I must say that of late, I’ve had not even one interesting Spam comment. For that matter, I’ve had hardly any comments at all. (But I completely appreciate all the comments I HAVE had!)

However, when I was looking through the Spam comments just now, I noticed there were several of the same comment made on a number of different posts. I’m paraphrasing here, because ’tis not worthy of a direct quote: Something something about that’s nothing but nonsense.

Basically, I have been found out. It takes a ballsy Spamator to call me out on my utter nonsense. I’m amazed it took someone this long to realize I’m a hack.  (a excessively busty hack, but a hack all the same.)

Sure, I can be witty, and surprisingly creative at times, (have you read my smut?) but I openly admit my blog holds very little of import. You will not find great life lessons written here, (other than to NOT propose to your forty-something boyfriend in a post-it, because he will deem it  unworthy of an answer) nor will you learn valuable truths (unless they are about me, in which case, if you ever are lucky enough to meet me, are very valuable indeed). To most, it would probably be said that my blog carries less entertainment within than a child’s Dr. Seuss book. (Fun fact: Dr. Seuss wrote for Playboy occasionally.)

To prove it, I will prove how nonsensacle I can be:

It’s true , what They say,

about money growing on trees,

it doesn’t.

But the best things in life are free.

BAM! 30 second poem.

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Book Whore My Ass


I’ve been making myself sit down and actually work on writing my book every day for the last two weeks.

I don’t mean to toot my own horn but, “beep! beep!”

To those of you with published and self-published and hell, even completed novels, this may seem small and insignificant.

To those of you who think so, I say, “Well, fuck you!”

Just kidding. (But not really.)

Anyhoo, I don’t know how normal people go about writing books, but I think it’s safe to assume that the process is a lot of staring at a blank computer screen or getting distracted by many other things that shouldn’t be on your computer screen while you’re trying to work. (Get your mind outta the gutter! I don’t mean porn! But that’s only because since we’ve gotten our new computer, my Rockstar doesn’t want to get any viruses on it.) I’m talking about being logged in to Facebook, or Amazon, or WordPress.

Yesterday, while I was busy mulling over whether my main character should have an Irish lilt to her voice or not, I decided to look up a list of the top 100 books to read. Oddly enough, there isn’t just one, so I printed off the one that seemed the smartest, which was actually two. The Modern Library had their board make a list, as well as their readers. I readied myself to amaze myself with how well-read I was.

Amazed, I was not. Astounded? Absolutely. For after reading in their entirety the suggested top 200 books of all time, (several of which were on both lists) I came to the realization that I’ve read only two. TWO?!!?!?!??!? Are you frickin’ kidding me?! I own over 5000 books of every make and model, and yet I cannot  boast that I’ve read even five of the top 100 books of all time.

My shame is palpable.

P.S. At least I can say that I OWN 25 or so of them. Like that’s any consolation.

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A Girl Without a Rocker


I may have mentioned that my Rockstar is from South Dakota, land of…… flatness? I’m not really sure exactly what South Dakota is known for, other than that ridiculous wolf movie starring the equally ridiculous Kevin Costner. (To be clear, the movie was only high in it’s ridiculousness factor because of that silly Kevin person.)

Anyhoo, it has been some fifteen-odd years since my Rockstar decided to uproot himself from the land of buffalo and HyVees and move on over a state to the slightly-less-boring Minnesota. According to him, my great state has only gone downhill since then, though he can hardly argue his reasoning why.

‘Tis true our urban road systems are a bit tricky, what with all the one way streets in downtown Minneapolis and all, but who can argue with a Minnesotan, who possesses that certain “Minnesota nice” quality? To be fair, I think there are quite a lot of dumbshits that live here, but as I have not lived anywhere else, I cannot comment on the asshat ratios between here and there.

My Rockstar and I were watching The Big C last night, which is set in Minnesota. (though for some silly reason is filmed in Connecticut). He commented again on the supposed silliness of Minnesotans, and how the show was correctly written, since (according to him) all of us are off our rockers.

At first, I was intending on taking offense, but upon further reflection, decided I was not one to argue against him, as I myself will admit that I am not completely of the sane nature. I did, however, question him to see if he was including me in his statement.

“Do  you think I am off my rocker?” I asked coquettishly, batting my eyelashes.

Since we were lying in bed in the dark, my lashes were of little concern to him. There was a manly Rockstar giggle before he responded.

“I don’t think you ever found your rocker.”

The man has never spoken truer words.

 

 

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Almost 20 Questions


liebster-awardIt is lovely to be loved. This time, I am appreciated by one JoJo Knows Everything,  who has nominated me for the Liebster Award. As a receiver of several such awards, I have adopted the tradition of not following all of the rules of such awards, but of course answering the questions asked of me, as well as sharing the requested number of facts about moi, because, really, who doesn’t want to know more about me?

The Facts:

(Here I will admit that I am running out of facts about me, because, despite what my histrionic personality will tell you, I really am not all that interesting.)

1. I wear contacts.

When I was younger, I wore glasses, but begged for contacts incessantly, because my blue-plastic-framed spectacles refused to stay put on my nose, and so my ten year old self walked around with glasses on the end of my button nose like an 80-year-old-granny.

2. I have all my wisdom teeth.

Because I am very wise. And have a big mouth.

3. I bite my nails.

A habit I have never been able to break since childhood. I believe one of my life goals at the age of eleven was to have long nails.

4. I fart.

But if you ask me, I will deny, deny, deny.

5. I think about food every second of every day.

Which is why a goodly amount of time and money are spent in a McDonald’s drive thru.

6. I refuse to live in a beige house.

People who live in beige houses are boring and perfect. While I possess a set of nearly-perfect breasts, I cannot boast that the rest of my body and mind is of such  caliber. And so I must live in a rainbow house.

7. I wish to have a “Grandma Garden”.

That is, a garden perfectly groomed like one planted by a person who is retired with very little else to do. Sadly, I am much too lazy, and have things to do.

8. My Rockstar has a perfect man ass.

I realize this fact is not exactly about me, but here you go- I spend an exorbitant amount of time thinking about sinking my teeth into his perfect man ass.

9. I cannot help but stare at the eyebrows of people who have filled them in with eyebrow pencil.

I just can’t help it.

10. I’m having hip problems at 32.

Probably due to the extensive high-heel collection I have, and the sometimes excessive on-top sex I have with my Rockstar.

11. My dog farts.

And if you asked her, if she hadn’t a long tongue, she would probably admit it.

Now on to the questions asked of me!

  1. Why do you write?

I write to keep from crying. And I write because I cannot teach. And I write because I’m supposedly good at it.

       2.   Pick one thing, event, or person that has made you a writer.

Earnest Hemingway. Not really, because I haven’t actually read any of his books, but if you can go through life in an alcohol-induced haze and still be recognized for your writing so many years later, that’s something.

       3.   How many people do you know named Josh?

One, two… nope. Just one.

      4.   Who is your writing inspiration?

My blog readers. Because without them, I would just be a diarist.

      5.   How many days a week/month do you work on your blog?

Not as often as I used to, but probably more than I should.

      6.    Where do you feel most at home?

In bed, lying on my back, with my Rockstar’s arm flung over my belly and my legs flung over his.

      7.    If you could have a magical power what would it be?

Being awesome. Apparently, I was born magical.

      8.   The one place you have to see before you die.

Oz.

      9.  How do you feel about Highlander?

I’ve never seen it, but I feel it must be amazing.

     10.  Worst flavor?

Anything on Cornuts.

     11. You’re in a cave. To your left is a mammoth grizzly bear with its arms wrapped around the thing you love most in the world. Armed only with your wits and a small bread pudding, what do you do?

Charge the bear while screaming “aiaiaiaiaiaiaiaiaiiaiaiai!” and bop it in the head with the bread pudding. Duh.

The rest of the rules I shall toss to the wind, but take the time to explore my comments, and you will surely find some smart blogs to read. XOXO

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Being A Book Person


There are so many words to describe us: bookworm, scholar, intellectual, and my favorite, bibliophile. (I promise it is not my favorite because it so closely resembles the word “pedophile”.)

It is a person who finds warmth and solidarity between the covers of a book; someone who writes, on paper, or in their mind, or on a blog for the whole world to see. Someone who, after a harsh and annoying day at work just dreams of coming home, sitting down, and losing himself or herself for just a few moments in a world where they don’t have to buy a plane ticket to experience a vacation from their everyday life.

What does it mean, to be one of these “Book People”?

It means going into a library, and wandering the aisles of every section, noticing titles that you hope to read eventually, and realizing that there isn’t enough time in twelve lifetimes to read all the books you want.

It means entering a bookstore, and touching every book you’ve read, whispering the title to yourself as if saying a prayer, and generally looking like a schizophrenic lunatic.

It means running up town to buy a dish sponge, and then deciding to check out the newly-opened antique store, and, when the owner begins asking how your day goes, and how you like your antiques, you somehow get on the subject of books, and how just the smell of them amazes you, and before long you understand you’re talking to another Book Person, not a stranger at all. Three hours later, you realize the dishes have been sitting at home in no-longer hot dish water, and that the sponge you went up to town to get has brought two Book People together.

Non-Book People just don’t get it.

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Doctor Zhivago, Frankenstein, Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde, and Little Dorrit


What a list of men this is! At least, that’s what I’ve heard.

With great shame, I will admit that ,while I own every book that these literary men originate from, I’ve yet to completely read any of their fictional biographs. I know the stories, sure, or at least those of Jekyll, Hyde, and Frank, but I was only required to read bits and pieces of their stories in high school, and while I pride myself on being a book whore, it is with great sorrow and guilt that I acknowledge my utter lack of knowledge about these stories. Let me explain why these are the men I have chosen to be my literary fodder for the next months.

Doctor Zhivago is known only as my Auntie’s most favorite movie of all time. Perhaps it is the storyline, or Omar Sharif’s delicious accent, I am not certain, as Netflix has decided to remove said film from their Now Streaming lists at the very time that I finally decided to watch it. All that remains now is a reissued version starring Kiera Knightly, who I greatly despise. Luckily, I acquired a worn copy of this book in an antique shop awhile ago, and so I will make an effort to see just exactly what it is that thrills my Auntie so.

Now Frankenstein, I have seen. And while Kenneth Branaugh is as low on my celebrity totem pole as Kiera Knightly, I must say that Robert DeNiro’s presence as Frank’s monster made me forgive Ken’s performance. Too, my best friend Delightful, who is much smarter than I, had to read and write a 20 page paper for school last year on the book, and so I must read it, so we have a great many literary things to speak of. (Other than all the other literary things we speak of already.)

Jekyll and Hyde are a pair that I am slightly more familiar with. I actually am not certain if I have read their entire story or no, because it was included in a high school lit book, and seemed much shorter than the actual copy I now own. This I will say- I do believe there are a Jekyll and Hyde in each of us. I am just accustomed to letting my hide out a little more often than the rest of you. (Heehee, did you see the play on words I did there? Brilliant, I say.)

Little Dorrit is a complete mystery to me, as I know not who he is, what he does for a living, or what it is that makes him so little. This title was one I came across on a more than regular basis when I worked at the Bookstore That Must Not Be Named, and as I greatly adore Charles Dickens and his writings, I picked up a copy, with the intent on reading it sometime in my lifetime. I believe that Dorrit may be the first in my Journey of Literary Men, as I am insanely curious to see why he is little.

I’m sure there are a great many fabled men I’ve yet to read about, but as I do not wish to be called a fiction skank, I’ll start with this little cultural gang bang. If anyone has any suggestions for future scholarly forays, let me know.

 

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Blake Shelton, Your Penis is Popular (and Other Semi-Popular Posts)


Having posted a little over 500 posts, I decided it was time to highlight the most popular posts of my blog’s lifetime thus far. I am sure this will only further make popular certain men’s junk.

Now It’s Blake Shelton’s Bulge

With a whopping 2,830 hits, it’s clear that everyone is obsessed with Blake’s vulgar bulge. Everyone,  that is, except me. I wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole, because with this many people googling it, it most certainly has some undesirable virus.

Straight Smut

While I am dismayed that Blake’s netherparts are what have drawn so many readers to my blog, I am quite elated that a story of my own fictional creation has made it this high on the list. Doubtless my indecent  imagination is to blame. 🙂

Female 5-Oclock Shadow

Not one of my best posts, and probably not exactly about whatever it was all those pervs were googling about.

The Histrionic

I am pleased that anyone even cares to read about the man, er, the woman behind the curtain. Bless you.

My Great Loves

Too, that anyone would care to read about what I adore.

Joe’s Junk and Other Disturbing Search Terms

It really is fucked-up, the things people google. And it’s pretty bad when I think so.

Smut-R-Us

This one was a little ways down on the list, but I figured I’d give y’all a little treat. 😉

Enjoy. XOXO

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Picked


Previously.

Just then, an immense being of a man bumped into Shaandi, not unintentionally, Isari noted. She also espied the irritated look that passed over the whoremother’s face before she turned to acknowledge her antagonizer with only a façade of purest pleasure.

“Jespin Fleura, you beast!” The name was spoken affectionately with just the slightest hint of erotic promise. “Mind you don’t ruin my shoes now! I had to fuck Barlavian three times before he’d agree to gift me with a pair from his new collection!” Though Shaandi was extremely tall for a woman, and towered over Isari, she had to crank her neck at what looked like an uncomfortable angle in order to make eye contact with the large man. Isari saw a bright flash of white teeth as the man smiled his own alluring smile before speaking. As he spoke, Isari felt the rumble of his  deep voice in her own chest.

“My utmost apologies, dearest woman! I was momentarily distracted by the wide assortment of lovelies here this year. I believe it is the finest Hocking Day in many years!” He did nothing to disguise his lustful gaze as he spoke to Shaandi. Isari made a disgusted noise in her throat, and the man’s stare drifted in her direction. At first, Isari wanted to laugh at his lewd observance, until he identically mimicked Shaandi’s earlier inspection of her. This time though, when his eyes skimmed over her chest, one huge paw of a hand reached out and squeezed one of her breasts. She felt her face redden with fury, and clenched her jaw, ripe with indignation.

Shaandi gracefully batted the man’s hand away from Isari . “Jespin, don’t be a boar! Can’t you see the girl’s not accustomed to such behavior? Leave your pawing until after you’ve made you purchases!” Isari lowered her eyes then, refusing to feel anything other than enmity for the woman, even if she did keep other’s hands from molesting her.

Jespin Fleur was not in the least deterred. He shook his hand in a dismissive manner and stepped closer to Isari, and she closed her downward turned eyes, waiting for another unwanted touch to occur.

“I’m Nikoli, sir. Do you see anything in this direction that might be of interest to you?” Isari’s eyes flew open in the direction of her new-found friend, and couldn’t keep the slightest smile from her face when she saw him putting one delicate hand on a slim hip and strutting about lasciviously. He spun around like the finest runway model and struck a pose facing away from the three, with his well-toned rear sticking out ever so invitingly. Jespin’s laughter roared loudly in response.

“I do indeed! I’m always looking for a fine young male specimen to add to my collection. Nikoli, you say? Are you always in such elevated spirits? ‘Tis something my other boys need to learn!” Jespin moved away from Isari, distracted for the moment, and Isari breathed a thankful sigh of relief. She no longer cared what Shaandi thought, who was standing beside her still, because she clearly could not keep her feelings about this day off of her face.

Before Nikoli could move from his fashion pose, Jespin’s massive hand landed a loud slap on Nikoli’s protruding rear. Isari winced when Nikoli yelped, but the boy was not to be so quickly dismayed. He rubbed his ass with a soft hand and turned to prevent a repeat action. Jespin grinned wickedly, and Shaandi shook her head, bored of the big man’s behavior.

“I am here to earn a fine coin for my family, no? I would think this thing would be easier done with an agreeable attitude, that’s all.” Isari saw how he tried to keep a pained expression from his face as he nursed his abused hide, and liked him all the more.

Jespin nodded his head and was about to speak before Shaandi interrupted him, clearly trying to get the man away from their company.

“Are you not going to admire any of the other playthings here, Jespin? As you said, there are a great many to choose from.” Despite how Isari felt about Shaandi, she couldn’t help but admire the way Shaandi’s voice carried a certain sensuous tone that made people want to do her bidding. She saw how it affected the piggish Jespin, and his dark eyes sank once again into the wanton stupor.

“Alright, alright. I will leave you to your choices for now, but do not think once the bidding begins that I will so easily be redirected.” He made once last barbarous gesture in Isari’s direction before laughing and moving away toward the other commodities. Isari watched his obscene retreat until she could not longer see him amongst the hoard of buyers, but she continued to hear his rumbling voice long after. She didn’t realize Shaandi was observing her closely as she did so. Once she did, Isari immediately dropped her eyes again, willing the woman to disappear.

“Ah, my dear,  I would never allow a prize such as you to go to such a bumbling oaf.” She clapped her hands together musically and leaned forward so that her face was only inches of Isari’s. “Now, I must pretend that other merchandise here is of interest to me, but I do believe I’ve found what I came here for.” Before Isari could respond, Shaandi’s lips were on her own. The kiss was charged with all the carnality that was Shaandi Necorian, and after she was far withdrawn into the crowd, Isari was reeling with the pure pleasure of it.

Nikoli waved one woman-like hand in front of Isari’s face until she met his eyes with a dazed expression.

“Now, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say that was a gratifying experience for you. Maybe being a whoremother’s slave would have it’s perks after all?” He winked at her knowingly, and she shoved him roughly.

“Shut up, you.”

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What Was Read in 2013


This is a shamefully short list of books for the entire year. That’s all I have to say about that.

Strip City: A Stripper’s Farewell Journey Across America- by Lily Burana

Sebastian- by Anne Bishop

The Help- by Kathryn Stockett

Between the Lines- by Jodi Picoult and Samantha van Leer

Wings of the Mornings- by Lori Wick

A Mermaid’s Tale: A Personal Search for Love and Lore- by Amanda Adams

Memoirs of Cleopatra- by Margaret George

The Rose and the Beast: Fairy Tales Retold- by Francesca Lia Block

Grimm’s Grimmest- by the Brothers Grimm

City of Bones- by Cassandra Clark

The Art of Racing in the Rain- by Garth Stein

The Vampire Lestat- by Anne Rice

Mermaid- by Carolyn Turgeon

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