Posts tagged ‘Humor’

It was Cute to Meet you!

I love a good “meet-cute.”  And I’m not talking about that time some random dude ogled me on a New York City street, leering, while saying, “Hey gurl, you kinda cute! Whaz yur name.”  Yes, it was a meeting, and yes, cute was mentioned, but that was not a meet-cute.

No, when I say “meet-cute,” I’m talking about that moment in romances and RomComs.  You know the kind.  When your two characters meet for the first time and sparks fly, fireworks boom, love blossoms, and you just know that they are going to fall into crazy, passionate, intense love.  Le sigh.

That random, zany, completely unscheduled moment? That is the “meet-cute.”  Not some guy on a street corner with a leer.

A great meet-cute can set the entire tone of the book.  It can be sappy, funny, spunky, passionate, zany, and too cute for words.  But regardless, a good meet-cute really gets me interested in my hero and heroine.  I can be ADD and slow to meet, slow to love, slow to cute, does not cut it for me all the time.  Sometimes, I just need an exciting “Capture My Attention” meeting, and the meet-cute gives that to me!

Now…a fun quiz time! Apparently, my cute-meet moments fall into the creepy category–just a little–but what about you? How will you meet your beau?

How Will You Meet Your Cutie?

1. It’s a typical Saturday. Thank God! You’re going to…

A. Ah, just the normal. Chill out, maybe get some coffee, buy a new book. A calm Saturday.

B. Who knows? Why plan when you can just DO!

C. Sleep. That g*# freakin D*@! neighbour ruined my beauty sleep last night with his loud car and disregard for anyone else!

D. You really don’t want to know…just in case the police ask any questions.

2. Man Candy at 3 o’clock. Peeking over you see…

A. A Duke! Nom Nom. So proper, so romantic. I just want to rip that . . .

B. Sex in a sports car. Tall, dark, and athletic. He’s the key to my ignition.

C. Shit. It’s that neighbour. He looks like a f*cking hobo. Has he ever seen a razor or a shower?

D. I can’t really tell…it’s hard to see…

3. Okay, don’t look now but Mr. Cutie is coming over. You…

A. Blush prettily and send him an enticing smile. Reel that big fish in honey!

B. Send him a smolder. You need a little good luck.

C. Glare.  Then proceed to chew him out for his rude and unneighbourly behavior!

D. Attack him with your mouth. YES!

If You Said All A’s:

Well hello, Ms. Traditional.  You are pretty much the epitome of the meet-cute: romantic, sweet, and almost possible.  Like Anna in the super sweet Anna and the Duke by Kathryn Smith, you’ll meet your cutie in a bookstore. Where in a moment of serendipity, both you and that hot duke will reach for the last book of poetry thus prompting you to share a soft, awww-worthy romantic moment. Well done!

If You Said All B’s”

Sup, Ms. Adventure. You don’t have a plan and never will.  A free spirit, you are the adventurous/comedy meet-cute: spunky, funny, and completely random! Like Blue Bailey in Natural Born Charmer by Susan Elizabeth Phillips, you’ll meet that hunk-a-hunk-a burning love while randomly wandering down the side of a rural road dressed in a beaver costume.  Just go with that flow…you wont regret it. Yum!

If You Said All C’s:

Please don’t hurt me, Ms. Passionate. You are terrifying intense and spirited. With your fiery, take no prisoners attitude, you are the passionate meet-cute: confrontational yet meant for each other! Like Jaine Bright in Mr. Perfect by Linda Howard, you’ll meet that hottie cop, yell at him, and then rip his shirt off. Go get ‘im!

If You Said All D’s:

Pssss, Ms. Felon. Controlled and a little illegal, you are the random, crime-comedy meet-cute: funny, zany, and completely in the dark.  Like Tilda Goodnight in Faking It by Jennifer Crusie, you’ll meet your love trapped in a closet, as you attempt to steal a painting, before you get distracted from your mission by his scorching kisses. Gotta love those closet meetings!

So there you go my dearest friends! I give you the way to finally Meet Your Cutie!

Romantic Question: Do you have a favourite meet-cute moment from a book or film?


May 6, 2011 at 10:57 am Leave a comment

Am I Really What You Want?

Okay, right now I should be writing a paper about women in slasher films, revising my creative nonfiction stories, or reading some serious works of “literature,” but it’s the weekend, and my brain is broken…so I’m not.  Instead, I am going to pose a question to you all dearest friends and random stragglers:

Is this blog really what you are looking for? 

I checked my “Site Stats” today and was looking at the searches that have brought people to this blog.  And I gotta say, some of you are in the wrong place. Opps! Not that I don’t love having you over, but I am not sure I have the answers you seek!

So for a brief moment of humor, I give to you some of the best searches that have led people to Reading Romantically! Enjoy…I certainly did 🙂

  • “who is lizzi poteet”
    • Well, I can’t answer that one, but if you are looking for Lizzie Poteet, then THAT’S ME! Hello! I’m pretty much a normal person. I read romances.  I write about them.  I sometimes review them for a book review magazine.  And I’m in college–for a few more weeks at least–before I am launched onto the real world.  Sorry about that world! Best page for you? About
  • “cupcakes men like,” “do men prefer cakes or cupcakes?” and “desserts most guys like”
  • “what is the real reason of this Jacobite revolt?”
    • Yeah have no idea. I mean I used to know, but that was like a year ago and now more important and relevant romance information has taken over my brain. Best post for you? Is Historical Accuracy Important?
  • “knowing accidents date”
  • “the creeper reading book”
  • “giving the best sex hes ever had”
  • “how to have porn”
    • Hmm how to I respond to this? Well, when two adult entertainers who work together professionally get a job and the director likes them very much… Best post for you? Porn, I Say, Porn!
  • “does bobbi starr do heroin”
    • No, not that I know of, but then again I only saw her that one time. Best post for you? Porn, I Say, Porn!
  • “poorly groomed man”
  • “nice word for a person you really dislike”
    • Well, I really dislike quite a few people–just kidding!–so I usually say they are “nice,” “interesting,” “fine” (but not in a “he’s so fine” way), or “really cool.” But that’s just me! Best post for you? Nice: A Kiss of Death

So there you are dearest friends, some random universe questions answered! One person searched Gretchen Wilson.  They got how I am a GRIT and not a WASP.   Another searched sleepwalking habits, they got how I once got lost in a closet.  I really don’t know if that’s what they were looking for… But I hope you enjoyed your time here anyway! Interested in more backposts? Check out my “Posts” page. It’s filled with them.

Romantic Question: Which result is your favorite? And do you often find yourself scratching your head and wondering just what Google was thinking?

April 29, 2011 at 1:20 pm 2 comments

The Creeper–A Drive-By Style of Buying

My Books!

Romances? No. It's a mystery. With a sexy cop and kickass heroine. And sex. Lots of sex.

I used to try to deny my interest in romance novels.  “Oh, no!” I would say, “this is a murder mystery.  You know all about a serial killer and cops and guns and such.  Romance novel? Pshaw! I would never.”  But see the thing is? That Nora Robert’s novel I was reading? Or that Karen Robards? Or that Julie Garwood?  Though they were about murder and mayhem–I read them for the romance.  In fact, they were romantic suspense. Not really mystery, suspense, or thrillers at all.

Romances–I was told–were not something “nice young ladies” read.  Once, I let my BFF at the time borrow one of my treasured romance novels.  A nice safe Nora Roberts.  Her family found it and the Romance Smack-Down of 2003 occurred.  Yelling.  Fighting.  Drama.  Instead of taking the blame for that “trash,” my nervous BFF sold me out and exclaimed, “It’s Lizzie’s! She left it here.  I’ve not read it!” The turncoat.  Not cool. But her family’s reaction to those smutty, smutty books isn’t exactly uncommon.  In high school I was told I would certainly not write a book report about Julie Garwood‘s Heartbreaker. That was inappropriate. In fact, I should not be reading them at all. I should focus on something inspirational or deep and meaningful.  Not something so common.

It took me forever to even admit to myself that I liked romances.  I mean–I used to deny, deny, deny.  Then those romantic suspenses led to contemporary romances and from contemporary romances to historicals.  Garwood‘s Murder List became her medieval romance Ransom.  That Karen Robards‘ mystery Bait became her historical Irresistible. The list went on and on, slowly moving me down the mystery aisle at the bookstore and into the romance section.  But my paranoia remained.  I was still afraid of the stigma attached to the “romance” novel.

I had a system for buying my romances.  I called it The Creeper. I would start in the mystery section leisurely browsing through those titles that I had no real interest in.  Then after a few crafty and well-placed side glances to make sure the coast was clear, I would head slowly to the romance section.  Those bold colors and heaving bosoms.  I would speed through that section.  Eyes straight ahead.  No left, no right.  I pretended like I was just walking through romance on my way to “real” literature, picking out titles and authors out of the corner of my eyes.  Then after my initial sweep, I would circle back and grab my books and run.  This drive-by method of shopping was my primary means of picking out my reading material.  God.  I’m sure I was super transparent.  But The Creeper made me feel better.

Shhhh! Cover that cover with this Hide-a-Cover...

Then I went to college, and though my friends were a little apprehensive about my romance novels, they came to accept my reading preferences with a minimum of teasing and ribbing.  Sure, they thought it was mildly embarrassing, and yes, sometimes I do still get grief from them about it, but for the most part, I was able to at let myself read what I wanted to read without too much hassle.  Moreover, I was finally able to come out of the romance closet, so to speak.

After my time abroad in Scotland junior year, I realized how silly I was being about the whole “romance novel” thing.  Why was I so ashamed?  I liked romance novels.  Who cares?  Then senior year happened–meaning everyone and their grandmothers wanted to know what I wanted to do with my life.  Finally having accepted that I love romances and want to work with them after college, I stopped hedging and replied. “I, Lizzie Poteet, want to publish/edit/sell romance novels!” (inspiration music now please!)  So yeah, I still get funny looks at Barnes and Nobel when I buy my books.  And people often criticize my taste in books when I tell them.  But really, who cares if that one girl in class looks down at me for my “low brow” habits?  And do I really care if that one professor thinks I am wasting my potential? Honestly? No.  Because this is who I am.  I want to work with romances after college.  So really.  Romances make people happy.  Nough said.

March 23, 2011 at 8:38 pm 5 comments

Slumberous Journeys: A Tale of Sleepwalking

My Sleepwalking Role Model

I sleepwalk.  It’s quite terrible really.  Terrifying.  Troublesome.  Tremendously treacherous.  You get the drift.  But yeah, I sleepwalk–all over the place.  But mainly I sleep walk when I am in strange new worlds.  Right now my sleep walking habits are very much on my mind.  See,  I just spent the past 13 hours in a car with my mother, my younger sister, and her best friend reliving some of our greatest vacation moments–quite a few which involve my slumberous journeys in strange places. Add to that the fact that I am currently writing this from a strange new place, and you can see why my slumber roaming is right at the front of the old brain here.

The first time I walked in my sleep–aka slept walked–I was on vacation visiting my grandparents.  I woke up alone, standing in a dark place, surrounded by walls, thin pieces of plastic and fabric hitting me in the face.  Unable to move.  Trapped.  I was trapped, so being a very reasonable young lady of about ten I started to scream.  Loud shrieks of HELP and GRANDMOMMA! Five minutes later my equally terrified grandmother found me in the corner of the guest walk in closet.  I apparently had opened the door, walked in, shut the door and then proceeded to get lost in the corner of her overcrowded extra space filled with old suites, dresses, and so many shoes I am surprised that I could even walk into the space.  That was the first time I rambled around a strange place.

There have been various other random nights were I wander around.  Once I called my brother who was at college at the time.  It was 2:00 am.  Then there was the time I woke up after a particularly vivid dream about HGTV and all the furniture in my room had been moved around.  Another time, I started to sleepwalk during a huge storm in which the power went out.  My mother slapped a flashlight into my slumbering hand and then proceeded to tell me to look for the matches.  I remember waking up in the dark, holding a flashlight in the middle of a storm, wondering how in the world I got there, and where there was exactly.  That’s the thing about when I sleepwalk.  I look completely normal.  No Zombie Lizzie roaming the halls in search of dream brains.  Nope.  I simply walk around.  Sometimes I talk.  Most of the time I can even have conversations–which I never remember in the morning.  Both my brother and my mother have had nice discussions with me while I was sleeping.  I understand that I am quite eloquent for an unconscious person.

Now, right now I am sitting in my hotel room dreading the night.  See the thing is, I ALWAYS sleep walk when: a.) I have to share a bed.  My subconscious apparently just does not like to share.  Probably something to do with being a middle child and b.) I am sharing a hotel with my mother. She must give me bad sleep mojo or something. Thankfully, we are not sharing a bed tonight, but my mom and I are sharing a hotel room. (key dramatic music!)

Most recently we shared a room and a bed on a vacation to New Mexico.  Apparently, around 1:30 am one night I jumped out of bed, sprinted to the window, and started banging on the glass with the palms of my hands yelling, “I gotta get off! Morgan (my sister by-the-way), you don’t understand! I’ve gotta get off!”  Then there was the trip to Maine where my mom and I shared a room.  I ended up pacing our room muttering, “It’s happening again.  It’s happening again.”  I then tried to sleep on both the couch and the floor.

What will happen this time?  Am I fated to once more wander through the hotel room muttering, screaming, and dreaming? I certainly hope not! And I am sure my travel companions agree. Sleepwalking can be quite scary for both the people walking and the people watching.  I know I have scared friends on more than one occasion.  I have also caused quite a few laughs like the time I slept walked at high school at a sleep-over at my friend Becca’s.  After falling asleep on the couch, I put my feet into the trash can next to me, stood up inside said trash can and yelled, “Becca! I hate your house and I am never coming back” after which I promptly sat right back down and closed my eyes.  I love Becca’s house.  I have been back many times since. I have no idea what I was thinking.

Best Case Scenario: You sleepwalk and fall in love at the same time. Multitasking!

Now some of the heroines in my favorite romances also have been cursed by that damned Morpheus and walk around in their sleep.  It gives me comfort to know that I am not alone.  In Iris Johansen‘s epic historical romance, Storm Winds, the heroine Juliette sleepwalks after she witnesses a terrible massacre.  Her nighttime activities–trying to run back the abbey where she saw her friends brutally murdered–leads to a very dramatic conflict between Juliette and the hunky hero.  Sigh.  I mean I don’t want to witness a mass murder caused by revolutionaries during the French Revolution–that would be disturbing on so many levels–but instead of having to have my mother take me back to bed, I would love for something positive to come out of my strange sleeping habits.  Like a dramatic hero rushing in to rescue me from walking in front of a milk van moment. Or something. I don’t necessarily want a sexy moment.  Just a dramatic moment.  There’s a difference as the romances taught me: dramatic sleep walking moment: cool.  Sexy sleep walking moments: disturbing.


Worst Case Scenario: You sleepwalk and fall into social ruin at the same time. Nightmare!

While Johansen’s sleep walking scene is beautifully done, other romances take a real creeper approach to the whole walking around unconscious thing.  One romance that I was not a fan of AT ALL, Seduction Wears Sapphires by Renee Bernard really crossed into the “umm excuse me?!?” zone. Not cool. Not cool at all.  In it the heroine occasionally walks around in her sleep, and the hero seriously contemplates bedding–aka having SEX with–with her… while she is asleep.  Wait, let me rephrase: he  seriously contemplates bedding a virginal lady while she’s asleep.  Call me crazy, but that is NOT a wake up call I would like.  “Oh hey honey, good morning, so yeah, I am currently in the process of stealing your virtue, taking your innocence, and ruining your reputation.  Just hold still for a second.”  Is it just me or is that really wrong? Plus, the hero was all smug, congratulating himself on only groping her sleeping form and not going all the way.  A real prize winner.  Obviously, Bernard has never had the misfortune to actually sleep walk or else she has a super kinky mind.

So there you go.  Sleepwalking in romances.  Oh the crazy connections I sometimes make.  What do you think about sleepwaling sex? Am I being too sensitive?

And just remember dear friends, if it is late at night, I am in a strange place and walking around with a slightly dazed look in my eye–please go find my romantic hero so he can keep me from reorganizing the pantry, calling some stranger, or some other ridiculous thing that I can’t even imagine. May my covers bind me to my bed.

March 21, 2011 at 12:33 am 4 comments

Call Me List-Queen!

Kick the Bucket

Damn You #6!

There’s nothing I love more than a good list.  So organized, so clean, so concise.  I make lists for everything.  Lists for shopping, deadlines, plans.  Recently, I made the most epic Senior Year Bucket List for all of my friends, just so they would know what was happening.  For the rest of the year.  Why waste another minute–as Rascal Flatts sang.  When a friend comes to me with a problem–usually about a boy–my solution? Make a list.  Today I made five lists: a packing list, a to-do-before I leave for Spring Break list, a things I forgot to bring on break list, a list of things I need to complete for monday, and a list of things I have to buy before I am prepared to spend a week down where the temperature gets over 50.

If I were a superhero, I would be ListerWoman, or the List-Queen, or just the Lister. Dun dun dun.  I make some pretty damn good lists if I do say so myself.  Sure sometimes, I have problems with that pesky number 6–seriously–why does it always have to follow 5? But for the most part my lists are the stuff of legends. Legends I say!

Want to dump that boy but not sure how to do it? There’s a list for that.  Not sure if this relationship is going anywhere? There’s a list for that to.  Overwhelmed by everything you have to do before you graduate? Yup, a list for that as well.  Really, you can make a list for anything.

Now, dearest friends, I can almost hear your brains a whirling. “Wow, you are completely insane.”  You are also wondering, “How does this connect to romance novels?” Trust me, as with everything in my life, there is some obscure connection to my favorite genre of books.  Are you ready for it? Drum roll please….

Yes, one of my absolute favorite contemporary romances–remember it is contemporary romance week on my suggestion list–is about a hunky, sexy, Alpha male looking for his perfect wife. And he has a list. I think he may just be my soulmate…love at first list.

She's a ginger, I'm a ginger. She's kooky, I'm kooky. She loves a man who loves lists....see where this is going?

In Susan Elizabeth Phillips‘ (SEP for us lazy people) Match Me if You Can, heroine Annabelle Granger is trying to make her matchmaking business a success, and when she manages to snare super-hunky and rich sports agent Heath Champion, she is determined to find him his perfect trophy wife–according to all of his very picky stipulations.  Heath knows what he wants in a wife.  His list includes such admirable characteristics as athleticism, sophistication, beauty, and intelligence.  With such specific requirements, it shouldn’t be hard to find this dream girl. Right?  Wrong.  In this wacky, sexy, funny, and almost squeal-worthy-it’s-so-cute book, Heath finds that what he is looking for may just be right under his nose….

“He grinned, and right then it occurred to him that he hadn’t enjoyed himself so much with a woman in a very long time. If Annabelle Granger were a few inches taller, a hell of a lot more sophisticated, better organized, less bossy, and more inclined to worship at his feet, she’d have made a perfect wife.”

Lists are completely useful.  I love them. And while Heath’s list may have been a bit misguided–turns out Annabelle really fit every point in her own off-the-wall way. Sigh.  I just love a happy ending.

What do you think?  Are lists worth the paper they are doodled on? I personally think so, and with that my dear friends, it is now officially SPRING BREAK.  Grab your beach towel, Heath and Annabelle sexy story, and go forth and make your own lists! The Liz-lister out!

March 18, 2011 at 4:06 pm 5 comments

Nice: A Kiss of Death

I was sitting in one of my classes today, absently doodling a really interesting paisley pattern on a letter to my friend Ria, as the people around me discussed death, dying, and all things happy in the world, when the professor brings up a quote from the book about the word “nice.”  See, the author was talking about his father’s death and how angry it made him when the doctor said something along the lines of, “He seemed like a really nice person.”  Now, my prof, she didnt really understand why our dear author was so unhappy, so I calmly piped up with these gems of wisdom: “Nice is what you call someone when you can’t think of anything else to say about them.  The ‘oh, he is so nice’ really means, ‘oh, yeah I have no idea what else to say about him that is good.'”  I then ended my rousing speech with an loudly exclaimed, “Nice is really the kiss of death for everyone.”

Super Awesome Doodles

I am a doodle master. Admire.

Apparently, the very nice ginger across from me took exception to this comment, as he exclaimed, “I really don’t agree.” Laughter ensued, and my lovely, nice, kooky professor joked that the reason I dislike “nice” is because I have never been called it.

But that’s not true.  Strangers call me nice all the time. I just really hate the word. It’s too…well…it’s too nice!

Have you ever read a romance where by the end of the book, all the you know about the hero (or heroine) is that they are nice? NO! You never hear an author describe a character that singularly.  They are either caring, nice, and passionate. Intense, nice, and passionate.  Fiery, determined, and passionate.  Passionate, possessive, and caring. Passionate, passionate, and passionate.  But never will you see a character who is simply nice, nice, and nice.  Why? Because dearest, nice is boring all by itself.

nice |nīs|adjective1: pleasant; agreeable; satisfactory : we had a nice time | that wasn’t verynice of him | Jeremy had been very nice to her.• (of a person) pleasant in manner; good-natured; kind : he’s a really nice guy.

Sure the definition sounds nice, but really would you only want to be known as “pleasant in manner” and nothing more? Nice is a superficial term. That’s all. We’ve all heard the phrase: “Nice guys finish last.” And the reason for that is if you are nothing more than a nice guy–you need a personality transplant.  Be exciting.  Be funny.  Be sweet, caring, and NICE.

I think in order to give life back into the kiss of death term we call “nice,” we should return to some of it’s now obsolete and fiery meanings. OED gives these scandalous defintions for the nice nice:

a. Of a person: foolish, silly, simple; ignorant. Obs.

b. Of an action, utterance, etc.: displaying foolishness or silliness; absurd, senseless. Obs.

a. Of conduct, behaviour, etc.: characterized by or encouraging wantonness or lasciviousness. Obs.

b. Of a person: wanton, dissolute, lascivious. Obs.

What A Nice Young Lady!

Why don’t we go with any of these obsolete definitions? They certainly make nice way more interesting.  “Yes, I remember him! He was such a nice young man.”–Right now that phrase translates as, “Yeah, I barely remember him.  He seems like he could have possibly been pleasant, but I really don’t recall too much about him!”  Instead, let’s replace that blah translation with some ancient pizzazz! So that it could either mean he was a foolish dude or a sex-addict.  I don’t know about you dearest, but I would rather be called wanton than boring.

Call me crazy, but for some reason I don’t think historical romance author Meredith Duran will!  She has some interesting things to say on the “nice” insult in a blog for RT BOOKREVIEWS (Click here to read the whole thing).  Her book,  Wicked Becomes You takes a plain-old nice young lady and spices things up.  Something I personally think we should do in the everyday!  So check out Wicked Becomes You and tell me what you think.  Are you a nice person? Or would you rather be something a little more wicked?

March 17, 2011 at 2:13 pm Leave a comment

Just dessert, Please! Cupcakes, Cookies, and Men.

My friend–let’s call her Sarah–recently turned to me and said, “Your next post should be about men and how they are like nuclear power–useful but damn hard to get rid of.”  Going by Sarah’s past experiences, I would have to say that the analogy certainly works.  Some of her former boyfriends have been very nuclear.  They start off all great and powerful and well…as she said…useful…but then BAM, something happens–a break-up, a fight, etc–and they become completely unstable.  One guy literally called her every day for a month after they broke up. So, yeah, for Sarah men are like nuclear power.  They are tricky, sensitive, and hard to dispose of properly.


Sweet, Firty, and Fun--The Cupcake

But I like to take a little more positive view of the opposite sex–if we are the “fairer” does that make them the “fouler”–anyway back on track…to me, men are not like nuclear power: men are like desserts.  Now, get your dirty little mind out of the gutter dearest.  I don’t mean the analogy like that and no jokes about “eating” them.  Seriously.  What I mean is there are a variety of lovely, not so lovely, and slightly odd men out there, just like desserts.

When we were in high school, my friend Gabi and I had a secret code.  When we saw someone we liked, when we met a new guy, when we were attracted to someone, we would rank them by their dessert type.  Over break this winter, Gabi and I sat eating cupcakes at a local bakery.  “So,” she says to me, “any cakes lately? Or cookies?” Laughing, I joke back that actually I had my eye on a really nice organic cookie, filled with wholesome bran and natural sweeteners, but didn’t think it was going to last. Gabi gives me an incredulous look and says, “An organic cookie? As in natural?!?” After all, I am typically a sprinkles kind of gal.

See, some men are cupcakes.  These are the really sweet guys, usually cute, not drop dead handsome, but cute.  The cupcakes are fun, flirty, but stable.  In many ways, a cupcake is the perfect dessert.  It’s not too much to handle, but a right fit.  I love cupcakes.  Some men are cakes.  These are those oh-so-gorgeous men you see on the subway or in your office.  The cakes are great–the epitome of everything you could ever want in a guy–but the cakes can be a bit too much.  A bit overwhelming, and sometimes, a bit too good to be true.  After all, you really can’t keep a cake all to yourself or it goes stale.  And finally, some men are cookies.  They are sweet, nice, good.  These are the guys that are the most stable.  The everyday guys.  I think most people end up with cookies because, really, cookies are easygoing and always around.

So on that winter afternoon, Gabi and I talked organic cookies, about how they were good for you, how they made you feel good about yourself when you had one, how they can be sweet but also really solid and dependable.  We talked about how odd it was for me to be interested in an organic cookie–after all they are close to nature and really quite different from my typical favorites of Heath Bar Cookies or cupcakes.  And while we discussed the pros and cons of these desserts, we were really talking about guys.

Muffins and Men

A bit immature, I know, but when you go to a gossip filled high school consisting of about 60 kids per grade–sometimes, a bit of code is exactly what you need.  Now, when Gabi calls me up, despite being a way out of high school, we have gotten into the habit of talking desserts.  Its a system we both understand.

And one I think Jennifer Crusie understands as well.  In her book Faking It–a hilarious, LOL-worthy contemporary romance–she compares men to muffins and cookies, saying, “Muffins are for the long haul and they always taste good. They don’t have that oh-my-God-I-have-to-have-that thing that the doughnuts have going for them, but you still want them the next morning.”  And I would have to say: Gabi and I certainly agree.  Therefore, in honor of spring break, the lovely Ms. Crusie, and my last post on funny contemp romances–dear friends, pick up Faking It. It’s worth it just for the muffin analogy.

Cupcakes, cookies, cakes–even pies, torts, and bonbons.  Which do you prefer?  Do you have a different classification than me, dearest friend? And remember if you ever hear me talking about a lovely earl grey cupcake:  it may be more than just dessert!

March 16, 2011 at 6:22 pm 6 comments

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