Nine Double Oh Penis

I was re-watching The Sweetest Thing last night and I almost cried laughing. I remember going to see this movie in the theatre with my friend Gena. Neither of us expected it to be as funny as it was, and we were both hoping to maybe mock it a little bit.

I remember watching this scene in particular with my jaw basically touching the ground:

Now I watch it and I’m like: Dude. Are romance heroines unreliable narrators? Maybe they’ve all been watching this scene on repeat and think that this is the way to talk to men. “Your penis! Is so! LARGE!”

I’m getting to the point that whenever I read about how big some guy’s dick is I roll my eyes. And no matter how tight the heroine is, she can take it all, no lube or warming up required. And no matter how much peen she takes on a daily basis she is still snug as a bug in a rug.

Now I’ll be thinking about this scene. Every time I read about some guy’s GINORMOUS WANG I am going to treat the narrator as unreliable.


Whoops, that’s your romance: Motorcycle Man

I recently purchased a train wreck of a book that I’ve been hearing rave reviews about all over our great internets. That book is called Motorcycle Man. A lot of readers compared the book to crack or Pringles, a guilty pleasure that is highly addictive. It was $2.99 so I figured, what the hell?

I want my three dollars back.

Motorcycle Man is a Sons of Anarchy fanfic  a story about Tack and Tyra, two boneheads who fall in love. Tyra’s all: “OMG UR GOATEE IS SO KICKASS THA BOMB DIGGITY.” And Tack is all, “IMA CALL U RED CUZ YOUR HAIR IS RED NOT LIKE SUN OR DARK.”

Clearly they’re a match made in heaven.

Dear Tack: Calling blondes “sun” is real dumb, son. Knock it off.

Tack was christened Tack because he is supposedly “sharp as a” but bitch, please. Dumb as a Rock, more like. Dude is always trying to lay all of this knowledge on Tyra, and it’s just a stream of dropped g’s and f bombs and a whole bunch of zzzz’s. I’m like: is this guy seriously talking just to hear himself talk? What the hell is he even talking ABOUT? I’m pretty sure he’s brain damaged. And I look over at Tyra and she’s just FLOORED by his garbled monologue. And THE REPETITION! Tack’s goatee will growl, whisper, and growl again the same question “WHAT WERE YOU FUCKING THINKING?” and Tyra will shriek, whisper, and shriek again her non-answer, something like: “MY FOOT IS ASLEEP!” and shit goes on for AGES. And there’s some muttering and growling about drugs and the Russian Mob (who kidnap Tyra twice)? Do I have to mention that everything in this book is told and not shown? Nope. Shouldn’t have to. It’s all very: Then stuff happened, randomly.

Don’t even get me started on him talking about Tyra’s “soft spot” and “greedy pussy”.  Ew. Ew Ew Ew EW!

But oh! These two are in luuuurve because suddenly Tyra can see colors now. Literally. It turns out oranges are orange! Cool! Dear Tyra: when people say that they lived in black and white until something/someone came into their lives, honeybabydarlin, that’s just called A FIGURE OF SPEECH. If you truly cannot see color you should go see an eye doctor.

And “You colored my world!”  is just one example of the many, many trite, cliché, HELLA CORNY expressions that run rampant in this book.  Most are of the rapist, abusive manipulator variety.

This happened, basically:

“Baby, I like wrapping my hands around your throat so that I can feel your sweet pulse and know you’re alive.”

“But it makes me uncomfortable.”

“I get that, since I’ve been known to choke a bitch. But you’re my woman MINE and I do what I want with my women. If you don’t want me to hold you by your throat when we’re casually talkin’ you’ll have to get used to talkin’ this way ‘cuz I’ll still do it ‘cuz you gotta understand Chaos and our way of life ‘cuz I do what I wanna do ‘cuz I’m the man and you’re the woman. I’ll give you whatever you want except whens I don’t want what you want and this time I don’t want what you want. You gotta understand who the man is in the relationship and it’s me ‘cuz I have a cock and you suck it. ”

Oh God. Did he just say that? He did just say that! He. Is. Awesome!

“Okay.” I whispered.

This is a very, very badly written book in which every single character is an ignorant moron who is violently melodramatic. I can’t.

And people are RECOMMENDING this garbage. Whoops!

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Cover Love

Andy just texted me at work.

Andy: Google Max Gladstone Three Parts Dead

So I did.


Book, prepare to be read.

I’ll be in my bunk

You know what makes a good romance for me? Pain, and lots of it.

I’m all about the Power of Love bringing people to their knees. When it hurts so good? I AM A HAPPY CAMPER.
Okay, I think that was enough clichés to last a lifetime.
But I’m mostly serious.

I’m not so much a fan of literal pain, although Laura Kinsale’s Shadowheart rocked my socks off.

“Tell me what you wish.” he murmured.

A deep thrill of excitement sank down through her. “You know what I wish. Do you know it?” It was half a question, half a cry.

His lips parted. She saw his chest rise and fall. “Tell me.”

“To give you hurt again!” she exclaimed, with a tinge of panic. “God save me.”

He made a sound like a muted growl. “Hurt me, then.”

She was panting. She turned away, in recoil from her own self. “Nay,” she breathed.

“I want it,” he whispered. “I have lived in dream of it for days.”

“Allegretto,” she said, closing her eyes.

The water swirled as he moved. “It is so sweet to hear you say my name.”

Oh, sex scenes. I love them. LOVE them. I’ve always been surprised when I read about people skipping them because the hell? Bring it ON. Bring on the licking and the nipping and the laving and the sucking and the …well, the fucking.

That’s what it’s all been leading up to, right?

Lately though, I feel like I’ve been reading the same scene over and over again. It’s like all of the heroes and heroines in Romancelandia are following the same script.

Her: HOLY CRAP will it fit?

Him: You’re so tight.

Her: You’re so big!!

Him: You’re so wet.

Her: Please!

Him: Please what?

Her: Please!

Him: Please what?

Her: *eyes narrowed* Please.

Him: *hammers into her* Come for me.

Her: *immediate orgasm*


I will not be in my bunk.

Lately I’ve been reading Kristan Higgins’ entire backlist, and have been THOROUGHLY enjoying them. This is kind of crazy because there are zero sex scenes in her books. ZERO. Zilch. At first I couldn’t wrap my head around the whole “She took him by the hand and led him to the bedroom. The next morning…”

Me: “Wait a second. Hol’ up. Don’t leave me hanging like this!”

But they’re extremely satisfying. I like not knowing what the hero’s penis looks like or if the heroine has been doing her kegels like a good girl. I like seeing the two leads actually, ya know, get to know each other and witness the first falling in love moments. The heroes aren’t constantly strutting around like roosters and the women are actually nice people who I’d possibly like to hang out with! And there’s a good amount of WE CAN’T BE TOGETHER WAAAAAH pain too – *fist pump*. But what’s even more awesome is that the heroine is resolved to make a go at it alone in the end WITHOUT THE HERO IF NECESSARY.

Now that’s love.



P.S. I still love sex scenes.


Midsummer Moon

Best. cover. ever.

One of my favorite romance novels of all time is Midsummer Moon by Laura Kinsale.

It was the first romance that made me think, “Please sir, I want some more!”

I had read about the glory that is Laura Kinsale on Smart Bitches, Trashy Books and I took myself to Powell’s Books and did the walk of shame to the Romance section, conveniently located in THE PLACE WHERE EVERYBODY CONGREGATES, i.e. the cafe. I see you, Powell’s Books. I had no idea which one to buy first until I grabbed Midsummer Moon and flipped it over.

The book blurb on the back made me laugh out loud:

If he really loved her, wouldn’t he want her to realize her dream? Merlin Lambourne is a famous inventor. When her life is endangered by Napoleon’s advancing forces, Lord Ransom Falconer, in service of his government, comes to rescue her and falls under the spell of her beauty and absent-minded intellectual brilliance. Bringing Merlin back to his estate, he promises that she can work on  her inventions safe from the war. But he feels he must thwart her dream of building a flying machine, not only because he’s determined to keep her safe, but also because he’s terrified of heights. When a plot to kill her nearly succeeds, Lord Falconer is forced to admit that her invention might just save both their lives..

It sounded like so much FUN! And it was. I laughed, I cried, I gaped, I squirmed, I sighed. I couldn’t put it down! I enjoyed every second of that book.

Ransom Falconer, Duke of Damerell, is all icy reserve and cool, composed demeanor when he meets Merlin Lambourne. Merlin isn’t one of those swoony types, she’s this sheltered inventor who keeps a hedgehog in her pocket (so fucking awesome) and is more focused on her flying machine than on how her nipples inadvertently harden around “Mr. Duke” (as she calls Ransom – she can’t even be bothered to remember his NAME). She can make rockets out of the odds and ends that she keeps in her pockets (not the hedgehog though – awkward!) when she’s in a pinch. Need a speaking box or a flying machine? She’s got it covered. And Ransom, dignified Duke of Damerell did I mention, IS a swoony type. Literally. HE. FAINTS! Okay, so it was because he lost a lot of blood when he was shot but c’mon, he FAINTS, he’s acrophobic (fun with words!) and he also had a stammer until he was 21.

I can’t even.

I mean.

Hold on a second.


As you can see, I have a soft spot for Alpha males with cracks in their stony facades. I also have a thing for heroines who save the day. Together they taste GREAT!!

Within hours of meeting Merlin, Ransom accidentally devours aphrodisiac-laced mutton and sets about getting to know her rather intimately. Merlin is surprised, naturally, but game. I remember feeling the exact same way while I was reading it- “Wait, what?! Why is he…oh.  Aw. That’s sweet.”  A few seconds later, “Okay, that’s HOT.”
Since Merlin is no longer a maid, Ransom proposes (she refuses). And proposes. And proposes. The first time he does it out of duty. The second time is so he can continue getting to know her better (ahem!). The next hundred times it’s because – well, you should read it and find out. BECAUSE IT’S AWESOME!!!

One GRILLION stars. Okay, more like 5.

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Here’s lookin’ at you, girl

The look of love

Sometimes I read scenes out loud to my husband, Andy. Most of the time his reaction is, “Guy sounds like a douche!” or he’ll simply make the universal symbol for wanking. Either way, it cracks me up.

Last night I read him this nookie-free excerpt where the hero’s eyes are at “half-mast” and Andy interrupted and said, “So he’s eye-fucking her.”


“Why ‘half-mast’ though? How is that sexy?”

“It’s cuz, like, he’s looking at her through slits because he’s so horny he can’t see straight.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “See?”

“Yeah, that’s dumb. When I hear half-mast I think of death.”

I laughed. “What?!”

“You know how when someone dies, they lower the flag?”

I blinked. “Oh, right! I never thought about it that way.”

“Yeah. So basically that guy is giving her the eyes of death.”

I laughed and laughed. “Oh, you. I love you.”

Andy jerked his head towards me. “What?! What’d I do?”

Classic Andy.

He is the Alpha and Omega

So yummy, so yummy, there’s a party on my tummy.

I like a hot hero as much as the next girl. In romance novels the hero is usually described as this chiseled, incredibly sexy, god-like man while the heroine is closer to meh territory. Fair enough, it’s a fantasy. But the more unbelievable the hero’s effect on women is (everywhere he goes women stare, panties drop, birds sing, because it’s not enough that you can do your laundry on his abs, if your friends  and countrywomen aren’t coveting the everloving shit out of your man, all bets are off) the more warning signs start popping up in my head: “ABANDON REASON ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE!”. I can only suspend my disbelief so far, give me a reason to stay here or I’ll turn right back around. These guys do everything but walk on water, they’re the Alpha and Omega: the beginning and the end.

Yeah. I’m only swooning because my eyes have rolled so far back inside my head.

Instead of focusing on the connection between the two leads, all I can think is, “Her? Why her?” Why her with the overlapping front teeth, frizzy hair, and small breasts? Why her if she’s the ONLY woman in the world who is running in the opposite direction when she sees him (Lord, don’t even get me started)? And every. single. time. the answer is naturally that her sex, I mean THE sex is mind-blowing. When He Who Walks Among Us hits that what he hits is the JACKPOT! Boy, she has such a presence in bed! She’s so responsive! So there! Never had he seen such an earthy orgasm! I’m just wondering what the other (more attractive) women were doing? No enough kegels, for one. I’m thinking that they were so focused on not making that ugly orgasm face that they just laid there like cold, dead fish until the hero was done? Something like that.

Real quick: Using the word “greedy” to describe a woman’s vagina will never not make me think of vagina dentata. *shudder*

What was my point? Oh, right. It’s annoying. I like a hot hero, but it’s enough that he’s hot to the heroine. Is it asking too much that heroes and heroines be held to the same standard? Heroes need to look beyond stretch marks but heroines get the pick of the litter? Riiiight.