Tuesday, June 5, 2007

"The cherries sneered back again. Evidently they hadn't gotten the good news they were apples."**

So sorry this announcement is late. I feel like I was lost for the past few days, swept off by the wind, dizzy and loopy—and then the next thing I knew Paris headed to jail? Hmm... tsk, poor bitch.

Anyway, without further ado, let me introduce our BESTEST Phin Tucker *g*:




What did you think? Of course MY Phin will win, geesh. I’m bestest after all. :P Oh well, nothing but good times ahead for me and MY Phin!

As for the winner of our Welcome to Temptation raffle...




Thanks everyone for participating; hope you pervs had fun choosing between two yummilicious studmuffins. Jolie,*** gorgeous, if you could please email us the address where you want your book send. As always, feel free to include naked pics of Brad Pitt. ;)

**Quote from WTT
***Image taken when we turned ourselves into a romance cover, heh.


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Wednesday, May 30, 2007

Tucker for Mayor: More of the Same! (Trollop's Phin)

No words are necessary...

(Okay, I’ll say something LOL. Harlot here nicking Trollop’s post to remind everyone to vote for who you think should be Phin Tucker. All voters will be automatically entered in our Welcome to Temptation raffle. No, you won’t get to take home the BESTEST Phin, sheesh (that’s MY job, heh :P), but you’d get the book instead. Still, that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t vote wisely! :D *cough* drought *cough*)







































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Tuesday, May 29, 2007

Tucker for Mayor: More of the Same! (Harlot's Phin)

Okay, folks, here’s the deal:
  • a) Trollop and I luuuurve Jennifer Crusie’s Welcome to Temptation like sick freakos love sex in a barn (probably with fongool orgasm :/). We love its hero, Phin Tucker; its witty and funny story, the uber hot sex and, yes, Phin’s incredibly charming campaign slogan “Tucker for Mayor: More of the Same!”

  • b) From now on, instead of “Ohhh, more, more, MORE!” (the one we use on our love slaves’ section), whenever we have a long post, we’re going to use Phin’s funny slogan as a post continuation link. Particularly if said post includes tons of photos (like this one *wink*) and/or videos. That way, our pages won’t look cluttered and it’ll be faster to load, yay!

  • c) JC ROCKS!!! If you’ve yet to read WTT, don’t walk—RUN and grab the first copy of it you can find. Seriously, it will leave you breathless and pink all over with barely concealed glee, bright and shiny floating to the clouds like a joyful monkey! :D Er, or something close to that, heh.
Now, Trollop and I were discussing our darling Phin a while ago and how uber wonderful he is. *sigh* I then told her who I imagine as Phin whenever I fantasize about him LOL. Anyway, she disagreed—as usual (she does it to annoy me; EVIL, EVIL)—and then had the gall to throw a challenge that if we let our dear readers vote who they think should be Phin, HER PHIN will win over MY PHIN! (Honestly, I’ll choke her, I tell ya! *grrr*)

That’s why I need your help, my bee-yoo-tiful chicas. All you have to do is say that MY PHIN (that delicious man down there) is BESTEST. Yep. That’s all you have to do, really... You’d think I might give a threat that THERE SHALL BE A DROUGHT OF EYE CANDY LIKE THERE’S NEVER BEEN BEFORE IF MY PHIN DOESN’T WIN but... I’d never do that. *g*































P.S. Trollop will post HER PHIN later. Don’t forget, no drought threats just, make sure you vote wisely. Mm-hmm. ;)


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Wednesday, March 28, 2007

How fat is Min?

I’m listening to the audio of Bet Me (fabulous reader!) and noticed that Jennifer Crusie never tells us exactly how overweight Minerva is.

I was wondering if she did this on purpose so that all us “sturdy” gals around the world could relate in our own chubby way to her.

There are parts in the book where I think she’s on the thin side of plump:


Diana looked up, mystified. “You know, this is an eight, it should fit.” “In what universe?” Min said, outraged. “I wasn’t an eight at birth. Who ordered this thing?”

Min took a deep breath and popped the button on her skirt. “Look, Mother, I am never going to be thin. I’m Norwegian. If you wanted a thin daughter, you should not have married a man whose female ancestors carried cows home from the pasture.”


Parts where I’m left speculating exactly how chunky this woman is:


Min stared at herself in the mirror... and thought, I’d kill myself, but this is not the last thing I want to see before I go. She was once again in the blue skirt that zipped up only when she sucked in all the air in the room, the lavender chiffon blouse that still pulled across the bust, and the new blue corset that only laced shut when Min gave up breathing and the fitter used the force of ten. Why would Cal want to sleep with somebody who looks like this?

Min came out of the dressing room, and Nanette said, “It still doesn’t fit,” in a tone that did not bode well for her fat daughter.


And parts when I downright think she’s obese:


She slid out from under his arm, and picked up his shirt from the floor. When she put it on, it failed to meet in the middle over her chest. That always works in the movies, she thought, disgusted, and dropped it on the floor.


I really don’t get how his shirt would not fit! My BF is a size M and I’m somewhere between an M and an L and his shirts are huge on me!

In my mind she looks more or less like this Rubens’ painting.** How do you ladies imagine her?



**Peter Paul Rubens, The Union of Earth and Water, C 1618

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Friday, September 29, 2006

And they lived happily ever after

I was blog hopping a bit last night and catching up on entertainment and literary “news” when I came across a debate going on at a very popular book blog. For the most part, the discussion in the comments section has nothing to do with the actual post, which was very interesting on its own, but, though fascinating, has derailed to the point I had to go back and read the whole article to make sure we’d all read the same one LOL.

In any case, one of the gazillion “mini” discussions going on is the HEA in the Romance genre and whether readers want it or not. Now, I’m sorry but, WHAT THE FUCK?


“I’m willing to accept the HEA if I can only have some more ambiguity, thoughtfulness, provocative themes and characters and issues, complexity, moral contemplation, and subversion in my Romance.”


This is the sentiment expressed by some romance readers in the argument and I have to say that what you, personally, are willing to accept *snort* and what the genre, by definition, entails are two completely different things! Also, as Harlot pointed out to me, what the hell does that mean; that only well written novels deserve a HEA and the rest should be punished with no HEA because they’re bad? I have to say I’ve read many a stupid thing, but this one... well... this one is pretty stupid LOL.


A romance novel is a novel from the genre currently known as romance. The genre has two strict criteria: the story must focus on the relationship and romantic love; the end of the story must be positive, leaving the reader believing that the protagonists’ love and relationship will endure for the rest of their lives.

To be considered of the romance genre, a novel should adhere to the following criteria:
  • the story must focus on the relationship and romantic love between two people.
  • the story must have an emotionally satisfying and optimistic ending.
HEA - an abbreviation of “[and they lived] happily ever after,” the phrase which traditionally ends fairy tales; it refers to the happy ending that romance novels MUST have.


Now, I believe I have been very vocal about what displeases me** about the romance genre (if not, do let me know and I’ll do my best to bitch some more LOL). And yet, despite all these things, I read them. Why? Because every once in a while I find a romance novel that is so wonderful, so poetic, so perfect that it makes up for all the previous bad ones.

And between the one hundred bad ones and the ever eluding good one? Well, I’ll usually read other genres. I love historical fiction and biblical conspiracy theories. I also love mythology and children’s books. So does that mean the romance industry has to have books to cater to my every mood and whim? Must they publish a category that includes heroes that are mythological gods falling in love with biblical secret hunters who act like twelve-year-olds? NO, it fucking means that *I* have to go read something else!

I loved Nora Roberts answer to these “romance doesn’t need a HEA by definition” claims. It’s classy and tasteful in a way that mine could never be, so I thought I’d share. (Could you guys pretend I wrote it? LOL I mean, that’s exactly what I was trying to say, and mostly the same thing minus all the “fucks” I used. :P)


“If you’re not satisfied by what’s out there under the Romance umbrella, on any of its varied spokes, it may be the fault of the writers. We’re not finding enough fresh ways to address those constants or creating characters compelling enough that you’re pulled into their story.

Or it may be that you need to step out from under the umbrella for awhile.

If you don’t have the HEA, the story slides off that umbrella of Romance into another area. And that’s fine.

I guess I don’t understand why any reader, dissatisfied with the framework, the form, the constants of the genre feels the genre itself should adjust for her needs, rather than she seek her satisfaction in another area of fiction.”


I’ll leave you with a quote that I love by J. Crusie on the topic of HEAs, and two questions:


“... best romance novels always show a woman coming to her strength and fullness as a human being, and part of the reward for the fulfillment of that quest is a strong, equal life partner. The old “I can’t live without you” always seemed so weak to me; I like the more modern “I can make it without you, but just by existing you enrich my life so much I’ll never want to.”


Do you consider a book without a HEA part of the romance genre?

If authors decided to start writing books where the H/H don’t end up together for whatever reason (hate, adultery, death, etc) would you still read romance novels?

**Summarizing: I find that a lot of it is repetitive and badly written, not to mention my huge pet-peeve about stupid characters that I swear are part of 99% of the books I read.

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Wednesday, June 28, 2006

Dating Justin Timberlake and saving yourself for marriage


I am in my, er, 105th(?) reread of Welcome to Temptation; you all know how much I love this book and that HOT dock scene. *sigh* Anyway, earlier this week, while listening to the audio version, I started thinking about the question Amy posses to Clea and Sophie in the scene they’re having some “girl” time in the beginning of the book:

“Does anybody ever have a good losing-my-virginity story?”

DOES anybody indeed? Every tale I’ve heard on this topic is an embarrassing horror story that might seem funny to others, but that the main character will never live it down as long as she lives!!!


“It was two years into my relationship with Justin and I thought he was the one. But I was wrong! I didn’t think he was going to go on Barbara Walters and sell me out!”


Apparently I have something in common with Britney. And no, it’s not the fabulous pre-baby body! *sob* It’s that we’re both in the same losing-your-virginity club, one that goes by the very popular name: “if it was so embarrassing you still have nightmares about it, you belong here!” I was wondering (and yes, I am a very nosy bitch! LOL) if there are any other members around...

Now, I will post my story in the comments section as anonymous (mine is very embarrassing!!!) and suggest that anyone else that’s shy about with the topic do the same. I’m specifically curious about the ladies that waited until marriage: are your stories better? Because that would seem to me one of the perks of saying your vows first and doing the dirty later LOL.

To get everyone started, here are the WTT*** girls’ stories. How do yours compare?

Clea
“I was in love.” Clea made it sound like, I had the plague. “And he acted like he was. And he was so good-looking—”
“Frank was good-looking?” Sophie said.
“It was twenty-four years ago,” Amy said. “Shut up and let her talk.”
“—and we were doing Taming of the Shrew for the senior play,” Clea was saying. “And you know how it is when you rehearse and rehearse and pretend you’re in love. Except I really was. He was just everything back then.”
“He’d been dating Georgia Funk forever,” Clea said. “But on Saturday night, after the cast party, Frank took me out to the Tavern for a Coke, which, let me tell you, was big stuff. And he parked in the back which is pretty much Temptation’s lovers’ lane, and he made his move, and that’s when I lost my virginity.” Clea drained her second glass.
“He promised me he was through with Georgia,” Clea said. “But when I got to school on Monday, she was wearing this tiny chip of an engagement ring.”
“He said she was pregnant,” Clea said, “and they got married fast enough. And then eleven months later, sure enough, she had a baby.”

Amy
“I lost mine to Darrin Sunderland after the homecoming game my junior year, and it was lousy.” She sipped her cider and brightened. “Fortunately, sex got better.”
“Darrin was too drunk to be grateful,” Amy said. “Which taught me my first lesson about sex: They have to be sober. It’s one of the ‘Classic Blunders,’ right up there with ‘never get involved in a land war in Asia.’”

Sophie
“I lost it to Chad Berwick in Iowa, one month before school was out, my junior year,” Sophie said, trying to keep her voice even so she wouldn’t spit on Clea. “I thought I’d con him into taking me to prom because I wanted to be ‘in’ just once, and nobody was more in than Chad. Except it was awful, and when I got to school on Monday, everybody knew. And when I went to the cafeteria at lunchtime, his best friend came up and stuck his finger in the pie on my tray and scooped out this big, gloppy cherry and said, ‘Heard you lost this, Sophie.’ And then everybody laughed.”

Now, your turn. *g*

**I googled “losing your virginity euphemisms” and got these results. That one up there cracked me up! LOL
***Excerpt from Welcome to Temptation by Jennifer Crusie

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Thursday, May 18, 2006

Welcome to temptation

jw06


“Sex isn’t what’s important anyway,” she said loftily. “It’s the relationship that matters, and relationships take work.” He didn’t say anything, so she went on to fill the silence. “I mean, sure, it sounds good to just hand everything over to somebody else, but that’s not how it works in real life.” She felt angry about that, which was totally inappropriate, and she was pretty sure it was the rum and Coke betraying her, but it might have been her life.


jw09


“Depends on the version of real life you’re using,” Phin said.
“Well, in my version, you have to be careful all the time and you get nothing for free,” Sophie said waspishly. “Especially orgasms.”
“Then you need another version.”


jw08


Sophie lost her breath as the silence stretched out again. Well, if he made a pass, she’d say no. She’d just turn around and look at that great face and better body, and say no. Who did he think he was, anyway? She certainly knew who she was, and she wasn’t the kind of woman who—


jw04


“Come here,” Phin said, and Sophie felt his voice in the pit of her stomach.
She shook her head.
“You’ve got nothing to loose,” he told her. “Day after tomorrow you’re gone, and we’ll never see each other again. This is our one shot at being selfish. Let somebody take care of you for a change.” She swallowed as she tried to get her breath, and he said, “Come here and let me give you an orgasm you don’t have to work for.”


jw03


The heat spread fast and low in her, and Sophie bit her lip and tried not to feel anything. Don’t be dumb, she told herself. You are not this kind of woman, this is not what you want, but her breath came faster and it was what she wanted, he was what she wanted. She opened her mouth to say no, but what came out was, “Why would you want to do that?”
“So I can touch you,” he said. “I’ve wanted to since the first time I saw you on the porch.”
There definitely wasn’t enough air by the river. The heat was driving it away. If she turned around and looked at him, she’d probably asphyxiate. “You didn’t even know me on the porch. You don’t know me now.”


jw11


“That’s the beauty of it,” Phin said. “No guilt. No responsibility. Just pleasure.”
She did turn to look at him then, and he met her eyes coolly. He had propped himself up on one elbow, but there was no tension anywhere in his body—she closed her eyes because he has such a beautiful body—no pressure there on her at all. He could have been offering her dinner and his voice would have sounded the same.
“You wouldn’t care if I said no, would you?” Sophie said, and he looked surprised.
“It wouldn’t ruin my evening.” He sat up slowly. “Okay, not a good idea. I apologize. Let me walk you back to the house, and we’ll forget—”
“I’d have to be depraved to say yes to something like that,” Sophie said, and her voice sounded thick. “I’d have to be...”


jw01


She stopped because she couldn’t get the words out, and he watched her for a moment and then he leaned closer. “Wild,” he said softly. “Reckless.” He was so close his lips were almost touching hers, and she knew he was going to kiss her. But then he said, “Satisfied,” and bit her lower lip, and the ache made her moan, and then he did kiss her, tasting her mouth as if she were candy, easing her down onto the dock as she clutched his shirt and arched into him, depraved and abandoned after all.

*Excerpt from Welcome to Temptation by Jennifer Crusie.

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Saturday, May 6, 2006

A tale of two Bobs*

Our lovely friend and reader, Vixen, had the great fortune of attending the Naperville signing of Don’t Look Down, new release of authors Jennifer Crusie and Bob Mayer. Since I live very far away *sob* and will probably never have a chance to meet them, I gave Vixen a little (and very easy, I might add) assignment from The Book Bitches: to kidnap Bob the cutie and pack him over to my sunny island. Surely she could muster that, couldn’t she?

After the signing, Vixen claimed she had accomplished her miniscule task. Apparently, Bob made it very easy for her, since, when signing her book, he wrote a small note on the bottom: “You are so sexy, meet me in back room in half an hour. Wear only a bowler hat and your heels.” She never did tell me exactly what went on in there. All I know is that, yada yada yada he was gagged, tied and packaged on his way to moi. *big evil grin*

Yesterday I went to pick up the packages I had waiting in my PO box. I, of course, wore a very dirty little pair of knickers, in honor of taking Bob home with me and shagging him into oblivion LOL. My hands were shaking, I finally had the package in hand, but then I realized that unless Bob was a two-pound midget, he could not be inside that box!!! Grrrr. Afraid, I slowly opened the package (lord knows who Vixen had kidnapped and send instead of Bob). And to my great surprise, I found something even better than Bob! *gasp* I found this!


My very own signed copy of Welcome to Temptation and an “Italian Stallion Pack” with a whip! This is so much better than plain old Bob! Now I get to enjoy dirty kinky Phin the way God and JC intended it. Me is going to have herself some fun!!!

Vixen, you’re a doll. Thank you so much for this wonderful gift. This is my first ever autographed copy of any book LOL. And I value it so much more because it came from you.

*Bob Mayer and BOB (battery operated boyfriend)
**By the way, whatever did happen to Bob? What did you do with him?

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Wednesday, May 3, 2006

Why do bad books happen to good authors?

Once in a while, even the best authors produce a book so bad you would assume even they are embarrassed it got published under their name.

With the exception of Paullina Simons and Jill Barnett (each and every book of theirs I’ve read I truly enjoyed), most authors I love have written a book or two that made me wonder: What the fuck? Did he/she really write this crap???

Take Judith McNaught for example. After all these years and all the books I’ve read by different authors, Something Wonderful is still my favorite romance novel. I truly believe no romance lover should be without a McNaught book. However, as much as I’m grateful to her for creating such amazing love stories—including A Kingdom of Dreams and Paradise (where I met the man of my dreams—oh, Matt Farrell, my love *sigh*), she has books that, simply put, tarnish her name. Tender Triumph, for one, went straight to the bottom of my shelves where cobwebs flourish and dust bunnies rule, never to be seen again. (Trollop here stealing a bit of Harlot’s post to say that, Until You and Remember When should be taken out of bookstore shelves and shoved in a dark dungeon where no other unsuspecting reader will be able to find them—and suffer as I did!—while reading those two, you know—those two things!!! They were so bad I don’t even have a word awful enough to describe them!)

The same thing with Susan Elizabeth Phillips. Her “Stars/Bonners” series is definitely one of my favorites. I have high respect for this author but I have to say, Honey Moon and Glitter Baby are just not my cup of tea. They’re more of an ice cold milk you poured for yourself, but instead got globs on because its sour. :/

Linda Howard gave us After the Night, Kiss and Tell and those Mackenzie studs. But lest we forget, she also gave us one of the worst heroes ever, Rome Matthews of Sarah’s Child, the imbecilic prick who refused to accept the responsibility of a new baby because *gasp* he didn’t want to replace his dead sons! I know. Fucker.

Even the romance diva herself, Jennifer Crusie, has books I didn’t like. Granted, Faking It and Fast Women don’t actually qualify as “Books I Would Love to Burn,” but they were still a big disappointment. Nothing short of great should be penned by this woman!

Philippa Gregory, who writes fantastic historical fiction (A Queen’s Fool, The Other Boleyn Girl), ventured into writing a contemporary novel and almost got lost. That Zelda’s Cut book was so unbelievably stupid, I actually thought it was a joke! Unfortunately, it didn’t deliver its punch line; definitely doesn’t make the cut.

Then there is Helen Fielding. Incredibly funny and talented, she single-handedly created what we now know as “chick lit,” an increasingly popular fictional genre. Millions of women around the world swear by her Bridget Jones books; they have become a generational icon for singletons in every corner of the earth. And then she had to go and write Olivia Joules and the Overactive Imagination, possibly one of the worst books published in the history of literature. *shame* What a waste of time and talent—and even worse, what little appreciation Mrs. Fielding showed for her fans by cashing in on her BJD success by pimping this trash to us!

So how about you? Do you have authors you love who produced a book you truly hated?

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Friday, March 10, 2006

Is there anything yummier than men who can cook?

Retro Bitches
Originally published on December 14, 2005

Hello readers, *Trollop* here. When Harlot came up with this Naked Chefs post, I wasn’t sure we should publish it. I mean, who would want to see half naked men in our blog? Since I was reading Bet Me at the time, to tame the article down a bit, I suggested that she post some book recipes with these “indecent” pictures LOL. This post was so popular, our ratings went sky high! Who would have known that the one with the porn fetish would be right? LOL So this is how our eye candy tradition started. :D Enjoy!


I don’t know if it’s just me** but there is something so sexy, so irresistible, so delectable about men who are not only skilled in the bedroom but also in the kitchen. Here are some excerpts about heroes who make my mouth water—and I’m not just talking about the food. *g*



Ren Gage
Breathing Room by Susan Elizabeth Phillips

He sighed, grabbed a dish towel, and wrapped it around her waist. But when he’d finished tying it, his hands stayed on her hips, and his voice developed a husky note. “Get rid of your shoes.”
“Why?”
“Do you want to learn how to cook or not?”
“Yes, but I don’t see—oh, all right.” If she protested, he’d just say she was being rigid, so she kicked off her sandals. He smiled as she tucked them under the table, but she didn’t see anything amusing about leaving a pair of shoes out where anyone could trip over them.
“Now open that top button.”
“Oh, no. We’re not doing—”
“Quiet.” Instead of arguing, he reached out and did the job himself. The material fell away just enough to reveal the swell of her breasts, and he smiled. “Now you look like a woman a man wants to cook for.”



“Now, diced up those tomatoes for the bruschetta.” Ren pronounced the word with the hard k of the Italians instead of the soft sh most Americans used. While she was doing that, he cut thin slices from yesterday’s bread, then drizzled them with olive oil, rubbed them with clove of garlic, and showed her how to toast them over the open flame of the stove. As they turned golden brown, he added bits of ripe olive and slivers of fresh basil to the tomatoes she’d diced, then spooned the mixture on the bread slices she’d arranged on a majolica plate.



Cal Morrisey
Bet Me by Jennifer Crusie

“You don’t cook, do you, Minerva?” Cal said.
“Oh, and you do?” Min said.
“Sure.” He took a spoon from her. “I worked in a restaurant while I was in college. You need a big spoon, Minnie. This one is for eating.”
“Or I could just jab you with it,” Min said.



“Do you want to know how to make chicken marsala or not?” Cal said, exasperated. She was such a pain in the ass.
She scowled up at him. “Yes.”
“What’s the first thing you did?” Cal said. “Sprayed the pan with olive oil,” Min said.
“Sprayed?” Cal said. “No. Pour. A couple of tablespoons.”
“Too much fat,” Min said. “It’s good fat,” Cal said. “Olive oil is good for you. You’re going to have to pour, Minnie. It’s part of the flavor.”
“Pound the chicken breasts. Use a can if you don’t have a mallet, put them in a plastic bag, and pound them thin. Then dredge them in flour mixed with ground black pepper and kosher salt.”
“You’re kidding,” Min said. “Flour just adds calories.”
“And seals the chicken,” Cal said. “So it doesn’t get... dry. Then what did you do?”
Min folded her arms. “When they were browned, I put the mushrooms in and poured the wine over and let it reduce.”
“No butter?”
“No butter,” Min said. “Are you insane?”
“No,” Cal said, dropping the chicken back in the pan. “But anybody who makes chicken marsala without olive oil, butter, or flour may be. He dipped his finger in the sauce and tasted it. It was so vile he lost his breath.
“What marsala did you use?” Cal said when he’d gotten the taste out of his mouth, and she handed him a bottle of cooking wine. “No, no, no, Look, honey, when you make wine sauce, you’re cooking the wine down, concentrating it. You have to use good wine or it’ll taste like…” He looked down at the pan. “... this. It’s a wonder the cat’s not dead.”

**As I’ve mentioned before, I’m hopeless when it comes to cooking. In one occasion, out of many miserable ones, while Trollop was trying to teach me how to cook, she said: “This is cooking class for the retarded 101!” That bitch. *sniff*
***All photos are from Cosmopolitan Men.

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