MOOBS

By Olivia Starke


Today I want to blog on Moobs.Urban dictionary defines Moobs as Man boobs, or disgustingly large titties on a man.

(Think of moobs as the COMPLETE OPPOSITE of this.)

Apparently small towns breed men who have an inherent predisposition to moobliness (or at least the small town where I live.) And I’m not talking about those sweet, wonderful, cuddly guys we know and love who have good jobs and basic common decency—no I’m talking about those other type of, ahem, men. The ones who’ve managed to beer drink (among other things) their way to a nice sized rack.

First off, we have the thin guys with worn Budweiser t-shirts expertly cut out to expose their perky As and giant man nipples. Usually accompanied by homemade tats and a questionable smell you can’t quite place, they seem to think they are God’s gift to women and will be quick to wink and call you “Babe” or “Honey.” The fact you can’t stop staring at their freaky nips only confirms in their mind your interest, and they will be quick to shed that Bud Light shirt at the first opportunity to give you the whole show. Of course, this is about the same time you feel your uterus shrivel completely away, leaving you sterile for life.

 Next, we’ll jump straight to the gentleman who can give my own Ds a run for the money. These are the proud carriers of a matching “toolshed” or huge gut that hangs below their belts, attesting to their years of hard drinkin’ and hard livin’ Larry the Cable Guy style. For the most part not as cocksure as the boys mentioned above, they often reek of beer and lost dreams. Walking around with a button up shirt three fourths the way unbuttoned, you’ll wonder, Why, for the love of God, can’t they just spare us and hit those last few buttons! But no, they really can’t be bothered since they are much too busy finding reasons to cuss vehemently about everything.

Unfortunately, every summer we are subjected to these men and you have to ponder why it’s legal that they can show it all, but a woman with a decent set can’t? I personally know which I’d prefer to see as a straight woman desperately trying to avoid the asexual life.

(Comment with an email for your chance to win Sweets & Swag! US only, sorry, it’s a customs thing.)

~ Olivia Starke 

“Adding a Little Kink to Your Bedtime Story”

www.authoroliviastarke.comhttp://romancingthepentoday.blogspot.com

Familiar Desires

Blurb: Ashley Adams signed up with the 1Night Stand service in hopes of stirring up some cougar passion in her lackluster life. When she meets tall, dark, and oh-so-sexy Justin, the sparks fly. But something deeper lies in their magical connection, something she isn’t prepared for. Will a casual one-night stand change her life forever?

Excerpt: 
“You’re more beautiful than your picture.” He reached past her shoulder and hit the emergency stop. Her breath caught in her throat when the elevator jolted to a halt.

“What are you doing?” She darted a glance up at the security camera.

The way his mouth curved at the corners made her knees knock. “Your profile said you liked to be adventurous.” The tip of his tongue stroked over his bottom lip as he watched her through heavy-lidded eyes.

“I—I meant trekking through the wilds of Africa, sky diving, that sort of thing.” Her heart beat so loudly, surely he had to hear it. He stepped forward—his finger traced her jaw line before he tipped her chin up. She swallowed.

“Skydiving?Can’t say I’d have the guts to try that, though I’d love the chance to kiss a pretty girl in an elevator.”

A corny come-on line if she’d ever heard one, but spoken with a whiskey-smooth Kentucky drawl—damn, it works for me. That’s what she’d come for, to have an unforgettable night with a hot hunk to stir up her humdrum life. After all, she’d dished out the funds for the flight, half the price of the hotel room, and the 1Night Stand fee.

He moved in close, and a wonderful, heady mix of musk and spice filled her nose. Her insides somersaulted in anticipation, wicked intent written all over his perfectly chiseled face. They could be kicked out of the hotel, or worse—arrested and appear on one of those dumbest criminals shows. The elevator wall pressed into her back, but when he leaned forward and touched his lips to hers, all the reasons they shouldn’t be doing this in the elevator evaporated. 

Piggy Love

by Valerie Mann



I love to see something that can surprise me so fast and hard, I bark out loud. I’m not talking about a mere funny that makes me laugh. Or even makes me LOL. I’m talking about the things that make me ROTFLMAO…those are the keepers. And if it can keep me laughing, even after a dozen or more views...even better!

Absurd interpretation is perfection.
  

But sometimes, what I think is belly-busting funny, irritates the living hell out of the people around me. The Geico insurance commercials are classics. They either crack you up or piss off everyone around you. Usually because you're making an idiot of yourself laughing at something they don't get. Either way, whichever ad agency Geico contracted has total geniuses on staff. 

Hipster Cavemen with attitude? Check!

Adorable Southern Belle pothole? Check!

But, the most genius of all is Maxwell the Pig. 

When he wee, wee, wees all the way home, I completely crack up. My family hates it. To add insult to injury, it's my cell phone ringtone (it was free. Geico is friendly that way). My co-workers think there's a baby crying in my purse when my phone rings. Their disgust only adds to my hilarity.

Cute-as-hell Pig guaranteed to piss off family and friends? Check, check!!

So what makes YOU laugh, but annoys the hell out of everyone else around you? 

The Secret Life of an Intergalactic Princess

Please help us welcome, Jenna McCormick.

Being an intergalactic princess isn't easy, especially when you do it in secret. No matter how much I want to whine about not doing the carpool, making dinner, vacuuming the dog hair off the stairs, I shut up and do them. I'd love to raise one eye brow, a skill I have yet to master, and tell the chores to go stuff themselves, well, I can't. Why? Because being an intergalactic princess is a responsibility with a really shitty benefits package.

Okay, so the IP can conquer worlds in her head, vaporize an entire star system with a single thought and look great in a kick ass pair of fuck-me boots. The conquering often gets sidetracked by a ringing phone, the vaporizing gives me a guilt complex and my feet end up with blisters.

Shouldn't an intergalactic princess have minions? Underlings to see to the day to day necessities so they don't weigh on her royal mind? Unfortunately the royal coffers are empty and my last minion is a beagle mix that sleeps twenty two hours a day, so I'm stuck getting my own slippers, wine and chicken salad sandwhiches.

Believe you me, I'd love to whip out my laser pistol and plant a bolt right between the eyes of that prune-faced gorgon at the school's front office when she gives me crap. An intergalactic princess should not have to take crap! But the intergalactic princess can't smite at her will because then her alter ego would go to jail. Do not pass go, do not collect $200.00.

So what's the point in being an intergalactic princess? Writing some steamy books, of course! And in them her creations live and die, love and war as she sees fit. In No Limits, the intergalactic princess commanded "Let there be a world where germs are no longer a problem!" and BAM! In the future she created people are fitted with personal health guards to stop the spread of disease.

Then she commanded, "Let prostitution become as easy as ordering a pizza!" and BAM! We have a world full of eligible manwhores just a phone call away.

Oh yes, it is good to be the intergalactic princess because even if I have to do crummy jobs and take crap, well at least I don't have to do it all the time.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Blurb:

Coming January 1 from Kensington Aphrodisia

All Genevieve Luzon wants is to be loved by one man, a seemingly impossible task in New-New York City at the start of the twenty second century. Sure, she can buy sex as easily as order a pizza on a Friday night, but finding a forever kind of love among her self-centered peers is no easy feat for the unemployed off-world vacation coordinator. When an old friend offers her the position of secret shopper to test out the male prostitutes, Gen can't think of a good reason to refuse. Hell, if she can't find Mr. Right, she might as well try on a sampler of Mr. Right Nows.

Yet the perks of her new position don't compare to the strange attraction she has, not for one of the prostitutes, but a candle that seems to warm places of her she never knew existed. When a man appears out of the flame, Gen is sure she's found the one. Rhys is an empath, made a slave by the Illustra Corporation and he's everything Gen could ever want. Except available. Because Rhys is on a mission. One that might claim his life. He must try to free his people, consequences be damned. Now, Gen must choose between turning her back on the only man she's ever loved and the monumental task he has set for himself. Should she risk her life fighting a war hidden from polite society against those who wish to control us all?

Is love really worth fighting for?

So do you lead a double life? I'd love to hear about it! And please visit the intergalactic princess at www.authorjennamac.com and sign up for my newsletter.

Let's Play...

Let's play the "what Is..." game. I give you the answer, and you give me the question. Well. I suppose, technically, I'll give you both, but it'll be fun for you to guess as we go along.

So, first up: Worth it's weight in Gold.

...Answer: What is a block of sharp cheese? Well. Yes, but not was I was going for. I was going to say, a husband who not only gets this headline and why I might care... 

But actually brings the magazine home from the theater so he can show me and we can grin over it together. That's Twu Wuv....

Next: Not the Droid you're looking for.

Answer: What are any of the half dozen or so found in the bottom of son's Lego box, because he's after a specific one that came with a specific set...which he never actually received, so how he thinks he has it, I have no idea. But then, I'm just a weak-minded fool apparently susceptible to the most basic of mini-Jedi mind control tricks. (Oh. Here's something interesting. My computer knows how to spell Jedi better than I do. Huh.) And, I am also easily distracted. SQUIRREL!!!!

 And finally: Worth every penny they get paid and then some.

Answer: Who are cover artists. And I'll tell you why. Better yet, I'll show you. First, Anne Cain's work on my first Dreamspinner novel. "Better"  and next, the head of the Art Department over at Total E-Bound her work on the co-authored book "Tools of Justice" 

Conversations

Son: "I can't put my clean laundry away. There's no more room in my dresser."
Me: "Toss all the jeans with the holes in the knees, and the rest will fit."
Son: "They aren't holes. It's a *style*
Me: *face palm* Leaves*
Some things just are not worth arguing with an eight yr old over. Trust me on this. In fact, so much of what goes on in a kid's head is beyond me, despite the fact I once was one.

For instance, just this morning, my daughter sat a the table and told me....Told Me....to get her a bowl of cereal. O.o Really. Where does she get that? And of course immediately on the heels of asking myself that, I realize the answer. Me. Damn. I did that to her. Do you know how long it's going to take to train that out of her now? And worse, now I can't use her as my fetch and carrier, either, because that's a double standard she will never, ever allow to be forced on her. Kid's too smart for my own good.....

Now, of course, I didn't get cereal for her. Her (adult) cousin made her grilled cheese less than ten minutes later. Sigh. There is no winning, really.

Ode to Chin Hair

This poem was inspired by my chin hair. It seems to perpetually grow and sprout at the most inopportune moments. (Or, at least, I realize it's there at the most inopportune moments. LOL)

Ode to Chin Hair

Oh, chin hair, how you sprout!
No matter how often I pull you out.
Bristly and white
You arrive overnight
Rearing your head in the morning light.

And sometimes at midday, you appear
When my tweezers are no where near.

How truly evil you are.
Sometimes, you go too far!

Why must you race along my chin
As if chased by the wind?
Surely, you can find
Another chin more designed
For coarse, white hair than mine.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

For examples of chins much more designed for chin hair, please visit this site.

Unfashionable, Sensible, Warm Clothes

Common sense. Where did common sense in fashion go? Did it ever exist? Or am I the only one baffled by the stupidity we call fashion?

This all started up at my mother's at Thanksgiving...

Actually, I take that back. This has been going on for several years, probably predating Lily's birth, but I wasn't aware of it until I started shopping for her. Every year, I go to different stores looking for cute Christmas dresses for Lily to wear. And every year, regardless of whether I am in the Central Valley or in Los Angeles, none of these "Christmas" dresses have sleeves. O.o

Yes, adorable, but freezing.

Okay. I get it. To someone in the Midwest, California seems warm, even in winter. (Unless you are in the mountains, of course.) However, those of us who live here year around, 30-40 degrees Fahrenheit is cold. Even 50 degrees is cold. And, at the end of December, we wear long sleeve shirts, jeans, and bundle up with jackets. So, I ask you, why would anyone think we want to dress our daughters in a dress sure to give her pneumonia?

But I digress... This isn't about previous years. This is about this year's fashion stupidity. And this year has some doozies.

Back to my story:

My mother picked Lily up some Hello Kitty pajamas at Walmart. Except the pajamas were missing one small component: a top. Lily, being female, obviously doesn't need a top. I mean, women don't wear tops, surely. O.o So, Mom had to buy her a shirt separately (thin because, you know, it's winter after all, and it's warm outside.) Not that I have anything against these pajamas. I'm just baffled as to why the tops are missing.

By the way, I have noticed that Target is also selling pajama bottoms, just pajama bottoms, for women. No tops. Um, okay.

Now the tops my mother bought are so thin you might as well be wearing muslin. Wait! Muslin is thicker than these tops. So, Lily's legs and bottom are warm, but her core, which is the part of her that needs to be warm the most, is not. Of course, these PJ's are Lily's favorites. (sigh) Perhaps this is China's way of getting rid of all of us.

Now, the pajama tops aren't the only shirts that are paper thin because now all the rage is layering. Layering paper thin tops. Paper thin tops that cost $25 a piece. (Ka-ching went the manufacturers.) You must buy another top to wear underneath because you can see through the original one. The spaghetti strap top that goes underneath is only $6 and as thick as a top should be. The paper thin tops will last maybe a few washing before you have to shell out another $25 to buy a new one. That one you paid $6 for to go underneath? That one will last you 5-10 years. (g)

The other day, while at a kid's birthday party, I saw a mother wearing this fashion. We were at an ice skating rink. She was freezing. I was so surprised.

Now, I don't care what other people wear (within reason...some things should not be seen.) However, when fashion fads affect my wardrobe, I am less than pleased. And this year I happen to need new turtlenecks. (I told you I'm no fashion maven. I'm practical and like to be warm.) A few of mine are from college and are in desperate need of replacing. So, I asked Mom for some for Christmas, but due to this stupid fashion trend, the turtleneck I want might as well be available only on the moon. It's not going to keep me warm, unless I layer. Well, I do layer. If it's really cold, I'll wear long johns, a turtleneck, a sweater, and a jacket. But it's not that cold out here most of the time, and I want practical shirts, ones that will last me another (cough, cough) ten years (or more) and ones where I don't have to layer three together to be half as warm as I want to be.

Common sense. It seems as if no one has it anymore. Can someone please tell me where it went? And who are these idiots designing clothes? While they run around in their fur coats, we freeze in their designs. I want my unfashionable, sensible, warm clothes back. And if a designer can't create exciting clothes while keeping temperature in mind, perhaps they aren't that good of a designer after all!