Sometimes when you shop from the shelf of someone on Goodreads you go to that shelf and hit 99% out of the park and then you will find a real kuso debu there.
What the hell did I just try to read? It was convoluted and complete crap. Continue Reading
Kirsten Osbourne took the opportunity to answer this Valentine’s Questionnaire in a way that would best suit her Valentino! She put her man on the spot in a head to head with a sassy reporter who doesn’t let go until she gets all the dirt. Ms. Josie Smith did my job and better than me but Tino Hayes still got the last word!
Five authors have written one hero into five different romantic tales. For this next week you get an exclusive introduction to these male leads by seeing their five unique replies to one Valentine Questionnaire. Meet a cowboy, an FBI agent, A Highland Laird, a real estate developer and a vampire all by the name of Valentino.
I’ve read these replies. Some of these guy wouldn’t know romance if they had to spell the word with Alphabet Soup. Please heroines of these Valentino stories, kick these boys in their toys!
At 38.5 weeks gestation, my twins were estimated to weigh upward of 8 pounds each and baby boy wouldn’t keep his head down. So I had a c-section.
I have some ambivalence about missing out on labor, as if that painful birthing is the essence of motherhood. That’s hogwash, of course, as all adoptive mothers will say. But its one of the many idealizations we internalize about parenting, and which we can use to abuse ourselves about whether we are doing it right.
Motherhood (and fatherhood) is a messy, creative, profound, painful, joyous boundary exploding chaos, and the birthing is only one moment, crystalizing the beautiful blood bath that brings new life. Continue Reading
What is sexier than sex on a stick? Sex on a stick that purrs and has momentously hugelicious control issues; in walks a manimal named Darkness and suddenly I need a shower, chocolate, intravenous injection of dilaudid and my mom talking in my ear to distract me until the hot flashes go away. From the second he was mentioned back in what, was it Moon’s book–maybe it was Shadow’s, I was all heavy in the breath for him. I love my men to be morally ambiguous; I want them to be like my coffee, black on the inside with a good dose of potential evil. Darkness isn’t called Darkness because he cuddles puppies and kisses babies; this cat likes playing with his dinner before he eats his prey. Eat me Darkness, play with me, eat me! Please mom, don’t read that! Continue Reading
Back in November I got a surprising email that served to inflate an almost impossibly large bloggerly ego. I used to get a plethora of email requesting me to read this, do that, post info, kiss babies and enlarge my penis. Often I had blog tour instructions telling me to: put my right arm straight in front of me with my palm down, bring my left arm straight out in front of me, also with my palm down. Flip my right hand over. Flip my left hand over. Touch my left shoulder with my right hand. Touch my right shoulder with my left hand. Slide my hands up under my hair and over my head. Put my right hand on my left hip. That should be followed by my left hand to my right hip. Then put my hand on my big booty… yeah, I’m sure some of you can see that some tours felt like I was doing la Macarena.
So when I got this email and it said all these really freaking nice things that I say to myself everyday–both when I first wake up and then before I go to bed–I was completely blown away that someone outside of my psychosis liked my blog as much as me and my mom did! Let’s play Ms. Ali Cat’ show and tell!
Oh if I could have had a king size bar of James Reid back in the day, I’d have been socially acceptable in college. I had my own problems in my hay-days but my hazy days were not as bad as Fiona’s hazing days. It’s a long story… well actually it’s a book, but in a short summary: Fiona has decided that she is going to burn away the girl she once was in a blaze of glory in this new life known to all the normal people as higher education. At a concert where she is trying to push her way to the front row she encounters a great looking dude who challenges her rather devil-may-care stare with a try-me-sweet-thing look. This explodes into a fiery passionate hot time, in which Fiona finds herself in a locked closet with a stranger having the hottest sex of her life. Later to learn that he is the prize that she is not allowed to touch, talk to, know, acknowledge, look at, think of, or remember having ever having met due to the rules her sorority, Phi Delta Chi, have for winning a date with his magnificence with at the end of the year.
There is just one problem. James doesn’t want her to forget their interlude and he has no intention of letting her. Again, a problem I’d have given good money for during my days at Penn State. Continue Reading
Did you feel that or was I the only one who had that special tingle in my pants? Yeah, Lizzy is sorta like the JJ Abrams of books for me. She isn’t someone who I gravitate to on the basis of heart-attack-humor but she blows me the eff away with every freakin book on the side of supa-natural and paranorms. She’s got it and I get it. Once I read it, I get a tingle. Sometimes it makes me pee because it is so freakaliciously amazekittens! Other times its the deal where her men make me get excited and it’s a different wetness and tingle altogether. I’m still fanning myself over Rhyn and waving my Team Decker flag. Please don’t ask me what the hell I’m doing licking my paper doll of Nathan or petting my screensaver of Chace. I am pleading the fifth on all accounts. This is also where I’d like to make a plea for sexy men with red necklaces to come bite me. Please, Xander, come nibble me! Continue Reading
This is a do-over review; Becca Brooks is amazekittens and I wrote the original review for this book when I was at a supa-low-stress-puppy-kitten point of bad, badness. This book deserves a more coherent review. To be fair, I don’t know what the hell I was trying to say or what anything I was babbling meant when I read the first review again (It’s not there anymore so don’t look for it)… let’s thank my psychiatrist for higher dosages of happy pills so that I’m no longer crying into my pillow and my reviews are a little more in the tongue of the human species. Huzzah, Dr. Joshua Golden!
Casey Webb has had the misfortune of being the other half of a relationship that was going nowhere. By the time she figured out it had stalled, years were wasted and her other half had buried her under too many of his expectations and dreams she had lost touch with her own. Probably the biggest regret she has is that she had allowed herself to become this second class citizen in her own life while she put Nick’s need to write his epic novel first–something that was beginning to take a toll on her because she realized that the epic novel was also a need of Nick’s that sat a little higher on his list than she did. Guys suck, girls. We need more cats and martinis in our lives. Continue Reading
I have a soft spot for college romances… most of mine weren’t worthy of putting crayon to paper but I love hearing people tell me of their cray-cray years in college when they sowed their oats, hops, and every other agricultural metaphor in use to say they ran wild in the sheets! I had a special sort of wild since I was bipolar and stupid–it made me a brilliant artwork of self destruction. I was a beautiful place to visit but you had to be nucking futs to live with me. So I think I love New Adult Romances because now I’m medicated and I can read these and go, “Is that how it was supposed to go? Well, shit!”
L.A. Rose is a beautiful place to visit and I would like to live here! I’ve read the second book in this place, James Games and I have Icy Pretty Love which I haven’t read but I highly doubt will be anything less than delicious. Why is L.A. Rose a locale that is so fine? I am a self-medicator where books are concerned. I like books that pull me out of my head and take me somewhere with a little less mental and usually the ones that make me laugh get extra mileage. The start to finish L.A. Rose owns it with this book. It’s not a surface story where you are hearing something being told… she is an amazekittens storyteller that brings you into that warm, funny, awkward, smexy space where you aren’t flipping pages–you have melded a little with Cleo Reynolds and you are feeling her hesitations, hearing her whisper her reminders in your own ears, and your heart is pounding when she is talking out that next love scene to Adrian. L.A. Rose is just that damn good! Continue Reading
