Smart Bitches Trashy Books | All of the romance, none of the bullshit.

Stephen tagged me almost a week ago with this meme, but I just didn’t get around to it until now. Ooops.

Three screen names that you’ve had: misshepeshu, pillsbury doughgirl, zehitrer

Three things you like about yourself: My knockers (I have a very nice set, if I do say so myself), my evil sense of humor, the good care I take of my cats

Three things you don’t like about yourself: the fleabite scars on my legs (GODDAMN BASTARD FLEAS RAR), the size of my ass, my tendency to be a whiny-ass beyotch

Three parts of your heritage: Passive-aggressiveness from me ma, a tendency towards corpulence from dad’s side of the family, and cancer, heart disease and diabetes from both, whee!

Three things that scare you: The idea that Intelligent Design may actually be taught as a scientific theory in schools, reanimated dead people (I thought Resident Evil was scary, which is a sad reflection of the extent of my paranoia), being eaten alive

Three of your everyday essentials: My morning yogurt, purrs from ze kitties, checking the comments on this blog

Three things you are wearing right now: A V-neck sweater with bright blue, pink, yellow and white stripes; a tan wool skirt; beat-up brown clogs. I am a FASHION MAVEN.

Three of your favorite songs: This list changes from day to day, but for right now: Nada Surf’s version of “Au Fond du Rêve Doré,” “One” by Three Dog Night, “Space Oddity” by David Bowie (this song gives me chills no matter how many times I listen to it)

Three things you want in a relationship: fidelity, good sex, being similar in the ways that really count

Two truths and a lie: I’ve eaten head cheese and loved it, I’ve eaten pig’s feet and loved it, I’ve eaten pig’s ears and loved it

Three things you can’t live without: food, music and books

Three places you want to go on vacation: Marseilles, to visit my friend Edouard; St. Croix, to visit my friend Jen; and some place in rural England (Sussex? Why can’t I remember? Grrr) to visit my friend Katie

Three things you just can’t do: Whistle properly, laugh softly, arm wrestle worth a damn

Three kids names: Jablocks, Larksong, LaMonJello. These are all names that have been inflicted on real kids. Poor mites.

Three things you want to do before you die: See the pyramids, make an assload of money doing something I love, adopt more cats

Three celeb crushes: Matthew Caws, Beck, Jonathan Togo

Three of your favorite musicians: Again, this changes from day to day, but high on the list right now are The Shins, Nada Surf and Franz Ferdinand

Three physical things about the opposite sex that appeal to you: Slimness, a sweet face, deft hands

Three of your favorite hobbies: Reading, making insane messes in the kitchen, fucking around on the Internet

Three things you really want to do badly right now: Finish that chapter of my Stupid-Ass Serial Story (SASS), have an orgasm, take a nap

Three careers you’re considering/you’ve considered: Writer, English professor, veterinarian

Three ways that you are stereotypically a boy: I laugh at fart jokes; if you ever see me looking off thoughtfully into the distance, odds are high that I’m not pondering the meaning of life so much as imagining some filthy, dirty, wrong sex; I really couldn’t care less about girly matters like make-up and haircare--I don’t even own a hair dryer

Three ways that you are stereotypically a girl: I love romance novels, I have a passion for girly clothing and shoes, I love to cook

Three people that I would like to see post this meme: SB Sarah once she gets back, Bam and Meljean. Bwahaha.

Sarah headed off to the hospital first thing this morning to induce baby Freebird to come out. Since the romance novel covers E.D’Trix sent us didn’t work, I’m not sure I have much faith in anything that medical science has to offer, but she has to give it a shot, eh?

She has my number and I told her to give me a call when she has a moment to give us the details, and I gotta tell you: It’s peedance city in this here joint. But realistically, I probably won’t hear from her until tomorrow, because much as I want to think I’m the center of the universe, Sarah’s family has more important things to deal with right now other than her blog partner who lives across the country.

Anyway, everybody: think good things about Sarah and her Hubby and baby Freebird, and as soon as I know, you guys will know.

OK, one last bash on the Harlequin Presents pinata, and then we’re done. For this week, anyway.

This contest is really, really simple: Below is a list of Harlequin titles. All of them except one is fake real. It is your job to pick the fake title.

Now, we need operate on an honor system here, since lo, the shadow of Google looms over all: you need to promise to NOT perform any kind of Internet search for these titles to see if they’re real or not. If you own a lot of HPs or live near a bookstore with an extensive collection and want to check that way, that’s kosher. Gotta work for that shit, man.

There’s no real way we can verify that you haven’t cheated, of course. Just remind yourself that every time you cheat, a baby panda dies.

The prize is a $10 Amazon.com gift certificate. Contest ends at midnight tomorrow, 11/8/2005. Post your guesses in the comments, and only one guess per person is allowed. If more than one person guesses the correct answer, we’ll use a lottery system to randomly select the winner.

Any questions, just e-mail or .

Without further ado: The List of Titles!

Enter My Jungle
Thai Triangle
Dearest Demon
Angry Desire
Boss’ Virgin
Bedding His Virgin Mistress
Blackmailing the Society Bride
The City-Girl Bride
The Sheikh’s Virgin Bride
Silken Savagery
Brittle Bondage
Time of the Temptress
Tender is the Tyrant
The Deserving Mistress
His Virgin Mistress
The Judas Trap
Strange Intimacy
Boardroom to Bedroom
The Sex War
Satan’s Contract
Satan’s Master
Gold Ring of Revenge
Adam’s Rib

Beth, Slayer of Foley, has nailed it on the head with her take on what constitutes good writing vs. bad writing vs. writing you love.

It’s funny that she used the food analogy, because I’ve done the exact same thing, only I used Doritos instead of Little Debbie cakes. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying Doritos, and there’s also nothing wrong with not particularly enjoying high-falutin’ food that requires fresh ingredients and a modicum of skill to make. But to say that the two are equivalent is, I think, a somewhat muddle-headed thing to do. In terms of hateration, The Stone Diaries incites a similar intensity of feeling in me that Desire’s Blossom does, but I reserve the title of Worst Book of All Time for Desire’s Blossom, because frankly? It’s impossible to be worse than THE WORST BOOK OF ALL TIME. The Stone Diaries exhibited skill and a certain coherence despite its non-linearity, while Desire’s Blossom exhibited all the skill and coherence of a drunk midget trying to run the 100m hurdles at the Olympics.

And to stretch the food analogy even further:

Sometimes you can acknowledge that the dish is really, really good, and you would’ve loved it--except there was cilantro in it, and you know, gaaaaaah cilantro PUKE. You might learn to love cilantro down the line, or encounter a chef might so skillful in her cilantro usage that she creates a singular dish, The Only Dish With Cilantro You’ve Ever Enjoyed, but by and large, cilantro = death to your tastebuds.

And you look at people who will consume whole sandwiches consisting almost entirely of cilantro, and you cringe in horror, but at the same time, you can acknowledge that a cilantro sandwich made with freshly-baked home-made bread is NOT in the same league as Doritos or Little Debbie.

Or, conversely, your hatred of cilantro is so all-encompassing that anything with cilantro in it = crap and a danger to good nutrition and a moral society as we know it, the end. I’d disagree with that view, even if I dislike cilantro, too, because dude: it’s just cilantro.

And then there are other dishes that are made with skill and the finest ingredients, but they kind of piss you off because you don’t get the point of this particular mingling of flavors. These dishes are usually entirely too fond of their own cleverness and innovation, like the chi-chi platters you get at upscale fusion restaurants that don’t put dollar signs before their prices in the menu, like so:

Sardines broiled in a raspberry compote, served on a bed of raw oysters and drizzled with rice wine reduction 85

And you look at it and think “what in the hell,” but dayum, look at all the people slurping up the raspberry sardines on raw oysters around you, apparently enjoying their meals. So you think OK, I’ll try this, how bad can it be, and you do, and IT’S EVEN WORSE THAN YOU’D IMAGINED IT’D BE. It’s not just death to your tastebuds, it’s death by dysentery.

Or, maybe you love it, and you’re telling all your friends about this crazy dish, and they tell you to stop hitting the crack pipe so hard before heading out for overpriced fusion cuisine but you swear up and down that it’s GOOD, it’s not just the hype.

Anyway, now that I’ve beaten that particular analogy to a bloody, whimpering pulp.... Thanks for reading. Don’t forget to tip your servers.

Have mercy, y’all. I’m not in labor yet but I totally busted my large gut at the reader-submitted covers. So today we present the Man Titty Hall of Fame, Volume 1.