Tired

I spent my evening watching American Idol (of course, because I'm a dork who is addicted to that stupid show). Then, the Evil Twin came back upstairs and wanted to record a movie off the DVR. I wasn't much interested in it and there was nothing going on with the computer.

I decided to get in bed and read. The book I'm currently reading is smut given to me by a friend. It's not a Harlequin Romance type book. It's smuttier, but with a better plot. Not exactly high-brow reading, but it'll do.

I read for about an hour and a half, then decided I should try to get some sleep. Of course, my brain is working overtime thinking about this book and a certain series of events that happened.

The basic gist of it is: A guy and girl are in love with each other, but were separated early on by a sequence of strange twists. 15 years later, they're in the same town again and she's being stalked by some maniac. He works security so he goes to her parents' house to check on the security and place some bugs. They end up having wild monkey sex for the first (and second and third) time all over her room.

Of course, he's packing some serious heat - I mean, would any guy in these novels have small or even average weiners? No, they're always ginormous. Fine, fine. I can let that go. Because at least that is realistic.

Here's what bothered me and I'll try to put this as delicately as I can. They have sex three different times, using three different condoms, yet - he maintains a "hard feeling" the entire time.


Now, I've been around the block a time or two.






















Never happened to me. Have I been with a guy who could recuperate and go again fairly quickly after the first time? Yes. But not in that same manner.

It just ticks me off that people write this stuff. I mean, get realistic!

It's the same thing I hate about Hollywood. I think they sell people the idea that romance and love is always wonderful, always easy and always wildly beyond anyone's expectations. It's not.

Mostly, it is great, but it's also a lot of work. Things don't happen like the movies or books most of the time.

I guess I'll try to finish my book this evening, even though I can sense where it's going. Ho hum. I should write my own, huh? (note: although it wouldn't be nearly as interesting to anyone but myself... I'm nothing if not practical).