Our Genre--Erotica

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Pubic Hairstyles

Sharon Noble, an author of contemporary erotica, is our guest today. Her latest is Velvet and Topaz, a contemporary erotic ebook, released on January 18th. You can find it here.

So, Tuesday I discussed our hair limit, but apparently, I missed a very important part of the human body where there is hair. Sharon has graciously agreed to, ahem, cover this neglected part in this post. Yes, my husband has asked me to go bare or get a landing strip. My response: Only if you get yours waxed, too. (g) Needless to say, it isn't going to happen. (g)

Thank you, Sharon, for helping me out with this missed portion of the body and coming to visit us today. (g)

Thanks, Marci, for the opportunity to talk about a topic that, not surprisingly in my household, came up at the dinner table last Thanksgiving. We had a mixed group of about 10 sitting around after devouring a turkey, just having coffee and talking aimlessly. When the topic of pubic hairstyles came up, I came to attention and gave it my full focus. I'm always willing to learn something new. I didn't actually provide any input because to do so would have exposed my lack of knowledge in the sophisticated nuances surrounding the subject. I've been writing about people who don't barber their bodies, but, since I write contemporary romances, perhaps I should know something about what's out there. I haven't taken a lot of notice of this aspect of sexuality. Am I hopelessly out of date? I always thought pubic hair was nature's way of decorating out bodies, just like the hair on the rest of our bodies, but clearly not everyone agrees.

For those of you who write period romances, it probably doesn't enter the picture at all. But my guests talked about preferences for no body hair at all – ghastly in my opinion. Apparently some men shave off every single hair on their bodies except for eyebrows and head. Repulsive to me, but attractive to some women (I guess). Apparently women are shaving their vulvas in any number of inventive designs, taking their lead from the popular porno stars. And those piercings have to hurt. Although, if my vulva were bare, I'd probably glue a ruby on it somewhere – just for the hell of it.

So do any of you write about vulvas who have been treated to a Brazilian wax job? Do your heroes prefer vulvas naked, shaved to a landing strip, decorated, dyed some designer color, or au natural? Of course, it depends on the context. A female scientist working in the Amazon jungle isn't going to have the same aesthetic as a movie star who does naked scenes, so I get that. But do we need to address what seems to be a new aesthetic with wide preferences? Are they having fun or setting a new standard for pubic hair? I admit I've had the impulse to dye mine orange at Halloween, but I stifled that impulse out of consideration for the delicate skin underneath. Who would have ever thought we'd be considering hairdos for an area of the body that has heretofore been considered beautiful “as is.”

Then there's the topic of the merkin (hairpiece) for those who have scanty pubic hair. Yes, ladies, they do exist. My oldest daughter is a wig maker for film, TV, and stage, and she recently made a fluffy merkin for an actress who had a naked scene but didn't want her own privates exposed. My guess is that she didn't have pretty pubes. Those of you who write period romances probably know more about this than I do. Apparently merkins have been around for hundreds of years. Do you write about them in your novels? Is this a topic that might inject a sense of fun into a romance novel? I didn't ask my daughter where she got the hair to put in the merkin. I didn't want to hear the answer.

~ ~ ~

A little portion of the blurb from Velvet and Topaz:

When Caroline Benning's husband of 18 years divorces her on the eve of her 40th birthday, she is devastated. To boost her spirits, best friend Marjory treats Caroline to a month-long trip to England where they can indulge their long-held passion for Tudor history. History comes alive when the friends visit Hampton Court Palace, mingling with costumed reenactors populating the palace and the grounds, and they are virtually transported to 16th Century England and the court of Henry VIII.

One man in particular, a dark, bearded cavalier in black leather and velvet moves Caroline to unexpected sexual longing - so much so that she returns alone the next day just to see him again. In a shadowed closet adjacent to one of the bedrooms, they make love unlike anything she has ever experienced...

Read more.

Miss America, the mediocre beauty and talent contest

I can remember when I was child just how exciting watching the Miss America pageant was. (Of course, a lot of things excited me as a child that don't any more. Eg. Sean Cassidy, Mark Hamel, McDonalds. grin) I didn't follow it per se, but when it was on, we certainly watched it. Perhaps my parents thought it was lame. Well, I do remember my dad and mom making commentary and often disagreeing with the judges about who went through. There weren't a lot of options as far as what to watch back then, but still it was a big deal. I hadn't watched one in years until a few weeks ago.

Now I know why.

When did it become so lame? Remember when the young women were actually pretty and less, um, plastic? Remember when they didn't have past winners talking about their high heel shoes and plugging the sponsor? (And the Miss America shoe line is ghastly! You'd have to kill me to get a pair of those on me. Even then, my corpse might spontaneously combust in protest. Of course, I'm not a fan of high heels, but I can admire well-designed shoes. But I digress...) Seriously, remember when the contestants could choose their bathing suits? Something must have happened because now they don't have any options, really. Just a few choices between one black bikini and another. No personality. Pretty soon, the contestants blurred into the same person with varying skin tones and hair color. Even those differences didn't make it any easier to tell them apart.

There was one--Miss Delaware--who had lost her hair when she was very young, so she wore a wig all of the time, except when she was home. At home, she just liked to sit around with her family with her wig off. I know this because they showed us a video of her doing it, and she played that bald card as long as she could. Now, I admit that it's great she hasn't let something like this keep her from pursuing her dreams, but, honestly, had I heard about her hairless state one more time, I would have puked. She made it all the way to the talent round where the judges cut her. Thank God! She had on en pointe shoes and proceeded to cavort about the stage like a three-year-old child pretending to do ballet for the first time. It was...pathetic.

Another of the contestants chose to sing Nessun dorma. For those of you unfamiliar with Nessun dorma, it is a very famous Puccini tenor aria from Turandot. It's glorious when sung by a tenor. Not so much by a soprano. She should fire whoever advised her to sing that. Any voice coach with a shred of knowledge would have given her something else. I am sure they just pulled it out of a "famous aria" book. One word: painful.

Only Miss Arkansas had any talent, and she didn't win. She was first runner-up and was a decent ventriloquist, yodeling with her mouth closed. The seventeen-year-old who did win played the piano. Eh, she was okay, but kind of sloppy. Honestly, for that level of competition, I expected more from all of them.

The funniest part of the competition came during the evening gown section. The gowns were what one would expect to see, some more flattering than others. No, no one tripped, although that would have been somewhat funny, if humiliating. No, instead, little bubbles popped up on the screen with information about the contestant as she promenaded across the stage. For instance, Miss Hawaii ate termites in Uganda and is a princess in a small Cameroon village. (HAHAHAHAHAHA) Another contestant once saved a child while on lifeguard duty. (Really? You didn't save an entire family and their beloved pet hamster, Roxie? Only one child. How disappointing!)

Charlie and I were cracking up at these bubbles. Can you guess what Miss Delaware's bubble would say? Perhaps something like: Once in an emergency situation, I used my wig to stamp out a fire and saved our family farm. (Okay, I'm being cruel, but I'm not too far off the mark, and it did mention something about milking a cow on the farm while getting a manicure. Okay, not the manicure thingy, but it was that ridiculous.) I don't know who came up with the idea, but, um, they need to nix it and fast. It pushed the competition past lame and into farcical.

Now that I've dissed on the Miss America Pageant organization, I do have one good thing to say: they provide more scholarship money to young women than any other. The winner is awarded not just the crown, but a $100,000 scholarship. I'm not sure what the runner-ups get, but it's a goodly sum as well. And all of those pageants leading up to this one also award something like $5,000 for the local ones and $25,000 for the state level. (Perhaps more, I really don't know.) I knew someone who competed in them. They helped pay for her education. So, that's good, but--and this is a big "but"--somehow, this whole franchise needs to change. If they are going to be a beauty pageant, don't pretend to be something else. Require real talent, real beauty (not breast implants--there were a lot of those and also a pair of saggy breasts in a twenty-year-old. Where did that come from?), and poise. Either don't change it, or change it completely because this in the middle isn't working.

So, did any of you see it? Do any of you care? Am I just ranting to myself? (g) It wouldn't be the first time I did that. (g)

What's your hair limit?

I swim some three to four days a week. There are some hot guys at the pool. And there are some not so hot guys at the pool. Of course, you will also see a variety of hair, er, styles on different body types. The older men, you really can't say much about. I can only give them props, really, for showing up at all. (I am no stellar specimen of a woman, certainly no top model, but I am entitled to my opinion, especially when it comes to body hair. Grin)

Me, I like some hair on a man's chest. Tom Selleck did that very nicely. (So does my husband. Yum!)

It has to be just enough to run my fingers through, but not so much that I feel like I'm petting Sasquatch. No sasquatches please! And I've seen my share of sasquatches. There are a few at the pool. You know the ones with a pelt on their chest and one on their back to match. (Eep!) Yeah, I'll pass.

Once while at Laguna Seca, I saw this man walking toward me. His skin glistened blue-white through his fiery red hair. Hair that was everywhere. From his ankles, up his tree trunk legs, most likely under those teeny, overly tight tennis shorts, over the shirtless, huge man belly, on his bearded face, and down his back. It was a pelt. Although I didn't look much closer than that, I am sure he had some on his knuckles, too. It was shudder inducing, and the image is forever embedded in my mind. Maybe you can imagine it, too. (Evil grin) Some two hours later, the same guy's skin was no longer blue-white, but bright red to match his hair. The skin color change did not increase his appeal.

However, I'm not big on a prepubescent-esque nude chest that was all of the rage for years either. I mean, if the man is naturally hairless, that's one thing, but to shave/wax to get that desired state. No. My first boyfriend in high school had that bare chest. (Think Beckham-like body, only slightly buffer but not body builder. He was a swimmer.) I was okay with it. (grin)

Now, my craving for that little bit of hair on a man's chest does not extend to a man's face. Maybe because my father was clean-shaven, I have never been attracted to men with any hair on their face. (Well, Tom Selleck aside. His mustache suited him quite nicely. grin) I want to see my man's face, and I don't want to feel like I am kissing a caterpillar with God knows what still stuck in its fur. (If I want leftovers, I'll get them from the fridge, thank you very much!) I apologize in advance for this next picture, but I couldn't resist. I would never date a man with this on his face:

Some men do look better with a bit of fur. One of my childhood friends had a stepfather who shaved his mustache once. With the mustache, he was unattractive (at least, I thought so.) Without the mustache, he made a melodrama villain look positively angelic. He had this long, narrow face with beady eyes. The mustache hid just how long and narrow (and unattractive) he really was. His wife was absolutely beautiful. Whatever attracted her to him mystified me.

And God help the Grizzly Adams men. That was a cool show, and he was a cool mountain man, but I ain't datin' him, kissin' him, or doin' anything else with him, for that matter. He'll have to settle for the bear. If my husband ever went Grizzly on me, he'd be sleeping on the couch.

Oh, and that mustache with the goatie thing some men do? It looks like a butt hole. Some people might like kissing butt holes, but count me out. I've never been an ass kisser, and I'm not going to start now. Brad Pitt can't even pull it off for me. Sorry, Brad, I guess you are stuck with Angelina. (grin)

So, what's your hair limit?

Hoarding

How does it happen? How do we get piles of crap? Even if it's tiny piles, it's still crap. No matter the size of the pile, it still stinks. When did we decide we needed that much crap? It just boggles my mind that we do. And all of us seem to do it, even if it's on a small scale.

There are those who are much worse, though. Yesterday, I was watching that show "Buried Alive: Hoarders." I'm looking at these people's homes and thinking, "This looks familiar."

No, my house isn't covered in crap. My daughter's room, though, looks like a toy store and a recycling bag blew up in it. Is it just me, or do children seem to hoard?

My daughter comes home with two to three pieces of homework four nights a week. (She's only in first grade. That's a completely different rant.) If I let her, she would keep every single piece of homework. Our house is small, but even if we lived in a friggin' mansion, where the hell would we keep all of that paper?

But it doesn't end with paper. Paper is only the beginning. Grandma used to take her once a week to McDonald's, and she would get a Happy Meal^TM. You know what kind of shitty toys they put in those Happy Meals^TM. Crap made in China that probably has lead in it, right? So, every week, she'd come home with one of those stupid toys, and the only way to get rid of them was to wait until she was out of the house and to surreptitiously recycle them.

Not only are those things crap, they are ugly and, sometimes, they stink. I remember one that was a Strawberry Shortcake advertisement. I don't remember the character beyond the fact that she smelled chemically sweet. For some reason, children seem to love this. God knows, I don't. That toy stayed in her room for nearly a year. When I found it one day in one of the piles, I palmed it and passed it off to my husband to recycle. She never knew. She has so much stuff she doesn't even miss it.

And then there're the cheap toys/party favors that come with every birthday party we attend. Parents, my child does not need a bag full of shit to bring home. If you would just let your child open the presents while the other kids were there, these stupid bags wouldn't be necessary. Matter of fact, I think these bags send the wrong message. Whenever I see these bags, I grit my teeth, as do all of the other parents. So, why are you giving them out? Nobody wants them, I've stopped doing it, and... this is a topic that deserves its own day. I will stop now before I burst a vein.

But it is a challenge. Her grandmothers like to buy her things: books, toys, clothes, etc. I finally had to tell them to stop. I do appreciate it, but we are being overrun with things. I am not Aaron Spelling with a Beverly Hills mansion. I don't have a room just for dolls. I don't want a room just for dolls.

On top of this, her school has been teaching about recycling and reusing trash as art or using it to create something else. Well, that's all fine and dandy, but we are not saving that plastic bottle for an art project. Nor are we going to keep that small plastic container for, I don't know, but we aren't keeping it. No, we are putting it in the recycle bin. Okay? That's what the recycle bin is for. I am not going to fill my house up with trash. And if you're school thinks this is such a great idea, I suggest we take all of the trash to them and let them find uses for it.

I do hoard a little bit, too. I admit it. I have a few things I cannot part with: my costumes from when I used to portray historical women, my wedding dress, sheet music, reference books, and the like. I won't ever be able to wear those costumes again unless I lose fifteen pounds, that is. I just can't see that happening. Toothpick was fine at one time, but not any more. (Not to mention that after childbirth, my hips and ribs will never be the same size, unless they are trimmed.) I won't ever wear my wedding dress, but I hope to give it to my daughter some day. I do pull out the sheet music and read it on occasion, and my reference books are frequently, well, referenced. There are some clothes I could probably part with, though. Perhaps later today when I'm done working, I'll start cleaning.

Now, after watching that show yesterday, I was galvanized to clean. Clean that pile of paper off of my dining room table. Clean the coffee table. Clean everything in sight. It's an eye opener. Many of these people could have very well started with a small pile. All of them turned into massive hoarders. I have no intention becoming one of them.

Ever.

And how can I teach my daughter to get rid of stuff if I don't. Of course, when I clean, she's inspired to do so, but usually with my stuff. She'll pick something out and say, "Mommy, you could give this away, too."

"Except I wear that shirt all of the time. Why don't you look at your own stuff, huh? You're room is a mess."

(grin)

And yet it doesn't happen. Her room is obviously still a mess.

Somehow, I think her idea is to clean all of my stuff out of the house so she can fill it up with hers. I mean, hasn't she already tried to leave her toys in my bedroom, the dining room, the living room, the bathroom, the...

Do we really need that much stuff? Yeah, um, no.

So, am I the only one with a hoarding child? And if not, how do you deal with that type of behavior?

Vanishing Stuff & Not My Stuff!

When I wander through my house and see the amount of stuff that’s mixed in with my stuff, or find my stuff moved to parts of the house where it should not be, I get a li’l hot under the collar.

What is it with kids who think if it belongs to Mom then it’s fair game? And why do kids believe that your designated “mom” areas are they’re areas to store their stuff?

We have a five-bedroom home. There’s plenty of freaking room for their stuff!

I walked into my upstairs office this morning and took a gander at all the shit on the floor that was NOT mine.

Baby walker

NASCAR Storybook

Musical keyboard

A pair of jeans

A teether

A bouncy seat

The toy gizmo that hangs over the bouncy seat

A folder full of graded papers.

Oh, but it doesn’t stop there. My desktop has someone else’s crap all over it too.

Used tissues (eew!)

A baby monitor

A notebook

Dry erase pen from the refrigerator

One Silly Band in the shape of a castle

And what irks me to no end is that I have stuff that I use for my writing and everyone else thinks it’s there for their use too.

NOOOOOOOO!

If I buy a pack of nice pens, they’ll vanish faster than a chocolate fudge cake at a Weight Watchers convention. It never fails!

I just opened a pack of Sticky Notes designed for editing and for marking places in journals and notebooks. What do I find when I sit down at my desk? Notes scribbled on them by my youngest dau who thought she’d be cute.

I just purchased a pack of Sharpie Ultra Fine Markers to use for my notes and editing. One day I sat here and noticed half of them are gone and the pink one, although missing, has no cap on it. The cap is lying on my desktop!

Bought a four-pack of highlighters. Two have vanished.

I’m sorry, but messing with my stuff or putting stuff in my domain that is NOT mine pisses me off to no end!

So, I walk in my bedroom and there are baby clothes on the floor. I found Christmas ribbon that was never put away (belongs in the upstairs closet) when someone wrapped gifts in my room.

If I want to find something, all I have to do is go to one of my kids’ rooms and ask them what they did with such and such. It usually materializes out of their stuff. But it’s not their stuff. It’s my stuff!

And do I scream and bitch at them about this stuff issue? HELL YEAH!

But it does no good. What the heck do I have to do to get others to respect my belongings, my room and my office???

Ask me to borrow something, but don’t just take it and not return it. I don’t go into my daughters’ make-up cases and help myself nor do I take one of my son’s Hot Wheels so I can play with it while I wait at the doctor’s office.

If I could hotwire my desk, books and belongings, I would. Touch it and ZAP! Then again if I did that, it would sound like I had a bug zapper upstairs!

The only thing they do not bother is my new laptop. It is the Holy Grail. Touch it and there will be body parts all over the house. Period.

Surely I’m not the only parent who has this problem with stuff?

Red Alert! Panic Mode!

Allow me to whine, pass me the cheese, and then share with me your woes, because I know we all suffer this horrible feeling from time to time. It’s something I’m going to rant about just to make me feel better. As odd as it may seem, it’s comforting to know that we all have this frightening moment.

The past three weeks has tied me in knots on a professional level. Work is booming for lack of a better expression, and whenever I stop and think about what I have on my to-do list, the time I have to accomplish it in, and trying to schedule all of it around my oldest daughter’s online schooling, it tends to make me a li’l buggy.

Don’t take that the wrong way; I’m thrilled about my work. I really am. However, the stress? I could do without that part.

I write as F.L. Bicknell for my agented work and some of my more serious e-books, but I also have four other pen names. As a result, I have a lot of contracts to honor, but the ones that do my head in are the series. I have three contracted series I’m writing with two more under consideration [pass me the smelling salts].

Readers don’t realize the time-consuming stuff that goes into a contracted manuscript. The forms that have to be filled out for artwork, for shorter blurbs and long blurbs, and signing up for publishers’ loops (if it’s a new publisher you’ve signed with), the time it takes for some editors to answer questions, and then there’s the cover work that doesn’t fit the story, so then you have more correspondence with the artist...it can take days to sort out a lot of this stuff.

And it all goes on while a full-time freelancer is going full bore on projects.

I’m a stay-at-home mom, so I write full time—literally. I get up with my youngest and have him on the bus by 8 AM at the latest, take my 20-minute walk, then I come in grab a hot cup of coffee and start working. After about three hours, I break for an early lunch, do a couple of chores, maybe relax for 15 minutes, then I either grab the laptop and work with the satellite music on or go back upstairs if my dau isn’t doing schoolwork.

Later, I look at what I’ve done for the day. Sometimes it’s a mix of promo, blogging and writing. Sometimes it’s all writing. Some days it’s all online work.

Add to this list the private clients whom I edit for, and I also freelance edit for special publishing projects. I’m paid in advance for that work, so when I get a manuscript, I have to address it before anything else—but I have deadlines to meet on contracts too.

Now, where the “Red alert! Panic Mode!” comes in is when I’m lying in bed unable to sleep. Those middle-of-the-night moments when you wake up at 3:15, stumble to the bathroom, stagger back to bed, and crawl under the sheets and...

BLINK.

WHIR! BUZZ! DING!

“Attention all K-Mart shoppers. The Brain is now officially on and fully functional. Have a nice day.”

Damn. I’m awake.

So you lay there and start thinking about what bills you have to pay that week, appointments that must be kept, things your kids have talked to you about for school, and then you switch to work mode.

Big. Stupid. Mistake.

A horrible piercing sensation hits you right in the middle of your stomach. You know the area, right there below your breastbone. STAB! Next, your breathing becomes erratic. You break out in a sweat. You sit up and pant, eyes bulging, more sweat coats your skin, and sometimes if it’s really bad, a whimper pops out of your mouth and you think, “OMG, I’m going to die! I can’t breathe! Air! I need air!”

At this point, I throw the covers back and wander around the house until the sensation passes. Sometimes it fades quickly. Other times it takes me a good half hour to calm down.

Yeah, you gotta love those good ol’ fashioned panic attacks, eh?

I’ve had a couple of these the past week. I love my work. And anyone who has known me a long time online has made the same comment to me: “Faith, you’re not happy unless your plate is too full. You thrive on it.”

Yeah, I guess I do.

But the panic attacks at 3 AM sucks ass!

Usually what I do is make a list and when I see I’m marking things off my list, the panic attacks go away. Sometimes it’s just a matter of knowing the word count for such and such project and such and such series is going up, up, up that settles me down. But when all else fails, a hot bath in the middle of the night can do wonders to soothe the soul and the mind.

This is something we all relate to and that we all can commiserate on, so share with me your panic attack moments and any remedies for them. Is it a cup of coffee and an hour of mindless television? Maybe you read for thirty minutes?

Thong-ong-ongs!

I realize that everyone has his or her likes, dislikes and preferences. I like Caffeine Free Pepsi Zero whereas my oldest dau likes regular Pepsi. One person prefers pop in a glass and another likes it in a can.

Some women insist on having their nails done while others are content to paint their own.

One man insists on blondes but another likes redheads. Tom likes Nikes, but Dick prefers Pumas.

Here’s one I’m firm about when it comes to underwear: I prefer the boys’ briefs made for ladies.

Granny panties have their place during that time of the month. They’re comfy and they reflect our mood well during that time.

Thongs, however, are a medieval torture device. I’m convinced of this.

Yeah, I get that there are people out there who prefer thong underwear, but I’m not one of them. My oldest daughter had a few pairs she’d wear, but only if all her other undies were in the dirty laundry. Once the elastic failed said pairs of thongs, they hit the garbage can.

I’d always tease her about having worn them, but she does the same to me when we’re shopping for underwear.

“Hey, Mom. Look at these.” She’ll hold up what looks like a small tangle of red or blue dental floss.

“No.”

“Why not?” she’ll ask. “You’d look good in them.”

“Number one, when I fart, I don’t want to hear Bluegrass music coming out of my ass, and number two, I’m not into self torture nor do I want to be picking a permanent wedgie all day. If I want to relive my wedgie days, I’ll go back to high school or I’ll celebrate the 1980s again by wearing a pair of spray-on jeans.”

Usually, by this point, my daughter is cracking up, so I know she keeps at me about the thong undies just to see what smart-ass remark comes out of my mouth. What she doesn’t realize, however, is that—I’m being perfectly serious!!!

Butt floss. There IS a reason someone gave thong undies this nickname!

One of my faves to call them is ‘hemorrhoid polishers’. Seriously, other than torture that’s the only thing this style of panties is good for.

I like a pair of panties to fit snugly, but not cut off my circulation, and I don’t want them so high I might as well wear ‘em as a one-piece swimsuit; I hate it when I put on a pair of jeans and four inches of my undies are sticking out of my back waistband. I like the kind of panties that will bend and move with you (jeez, I sound like a commercial for Hanes Her Way!). Ever wear a g-string and squat or bend over? Take my advice...

DON’T DO IT!

That little string only makes the ass crack deeper! Whoever invented those damn things should have installed padded emergency airbags in case of sudden bending or squatting.

Yowza.

Same thing applies to thong bikinis. If you’re gonna wear one and sunbathe in your backyard or on a rooftop, fine. But A) I don’t want to see some chick’s or dude’s ass cheeks flapping around in the wind while I’m at the beach trying to take in the scenery. B) Only buns of steel look good in thong bikini bottoms. Sagging tushies or hairy asses parted down the middle with a bright pink string only serve to give people nightmares and years of therapy.

Besides, it only takes one li’l grain of sand and a g-string bikini bottom to ruin your life. That one li’l grain of sand caught under that thong will feel like Jethro parked a tractor-trailer in your ass crack.

The only reason I can think of that a pair of butt-floss undies is good for is enticing your significant other. Throw a pair of stilettos on with the panties and you’re good to go, because those torturous panties won’t stay on long enough to bother anything.

So what sort of underwear person are you?

Boxers or briefs? Granny panties? Thongs? El commando?

10 Things that Piss Me Off

It's my turn to blog this week, so I thought I'd launch it by posting ten little things that irk me to no end.

1. Guys who email me on MySpace or Facebook telling me how beautiful and sweet I am only to leave their phone number, asking me to call them.

Oh sure! I’ll stop what I’m doing right away, call you in Bum Effed Egypt, run my cell bill to the moon, and chitchat about how the sky is blue, puppies are cute, and you are too—NOT!

2 . Telemarketers who, no matter how many times you tell them you don’t have Northern Gas Company in your region, still try to sell you their heating fuel.

Hey stupid! Why don’t we telephone Hell and ask ‘em if they want to sign up for North Gas Company’s services? I bet Hell could use a li'l help, so tell ‘em I sent you!

3. Satellite stations that advertise a movie from 8 PM until 11 PM just so they can fit in two and a half hours of commercials.

Damn, I can take a bath, make a snack, put the cat outside, AND take a dump and be back just in time to pick up where the movie left off!

4. Notebook paper that has that “wonderful” waxy sheen on it.

What IS the point of that wax-like coating on paper? Try using a pen on it...ha! Start to write a note or a letter and it’s: “Write, dammit! Write!” BAM! BAM! BAM! Sometimes I’ll get so ticked off over it the notebook AND the pen hits the trash can.

5. Ice pops that are no more than colored-ice.

Oh, gee. I guess the food company forgot to put any freaking flavor in my batch...again!

6. Late-late night TV that is all infomercials.

Make sure all guns, rifles and pistols are out of the house as you flip through the satellite channels after midnight. The temptation is just too much. Trust me on this!

And did you know that there's even a sex infomercial being aired around 3 AM???

7. Tortilla chips that do not have warning labels on them.

Seriously, have you ever sliced your tongue or gums on these things? You’re chomping away, and suddenly a piece of your tongue falls out and you’re...gurgle! ACK!

8. Rugs that state they have slide-resistant backing.

Do not, I repeat, do not believe that warning. It is a lie!

9. Dusting sprays that promise to repel dust.

HAHAHAHAHA!!! Whoever came up with those chemical solutions has obviously never lived in the country.

10. A vampire named Edward.

Jacob can kick your ass any day. And he’s pretty to look at too.

So what little things can you randomly list that piss you off?

Sex Words: Are They For Real?

Warning: This post is definitely on the adult side of life. So if you are easily offended, hit delete now. If you are underage…I’m calling your mama!

Have any of you ever visited this site? http://sex-lexis.com ? Everyone should. At least once for kicks. Lol I discovered it about three years ago, and as I write erotic romance, go there occasionally for inspiration—and the laugh.

It’s a thesaurus for sex words. Yeah, a thesaurus.

Plug in the word and it will give you all the words and phrases you can sub with. Now granted, the vast majority of these words—okay—the overwhelming majority of these words, are not something you could ever use in a book for sure. But some will make you roll with laughter.

Now remember, this is all in good fun. I sure as hell don’t suggest these are GOOD words to use. Lol Here are some examples—some tame examples:

Penis:

Long dong, bush whacker, giggle stick (I had a couple that made me giggle, lol), ham howitzer, spermapositor, pride-of-the-morning, eggwhite cannon, bacon bazooka, beaver lever, libido bandido, ladies’ lollipop, two dots and a dash, etc.

Vagina:

Aperture of bliss, crack of heaven, portal of Venus, sink of solitude, bearded leisure center, cupid’s alley, downy cave, dead end street, fresh axe wound in a bear’s back, hefty clefty, joy furrow, serpent socket, vertical axe wound with sideburns (damn another axe), skin chimney, glory hole, etc.

Breasts:

Boulders, bra busters, bouncers, beef bags, baby bar, jersey cities, jobblies, kettledrums, milky way, warheads, sweater dandies, sweater meat, yabbos, etc.

It took some doing to round up all these words and phrases and put this site together. As much as I abhor some of these words, well, I still laugh.

And all of this leads me to this question. Are there any sex words or phrases in romance books that you simply can’t stand or absolutely love? And don’t be shy. Post them. This is an adult blog. Oh, and what’s your take on the occasional purple prose?

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