the writer

well…i did stuff and i’m still doing stuff, i guess. only now i have two boys crazy enuff to want me as their mommy. hey, at least i tried to warn them, so my job is done. i don’t like to capitalize, partially because i like how lower case letters look visually, but mostly out of laziness. please don’t judge. it could be you. and i would say, hey. you’re alright, buddy. you’re ok in my book. now c’mere for a hug. the hug might be pushing it. air kiss? we are strangers, after all, with only a mutual love of poor grammar.

i live for a world full of controllable anatomically correct, android men programmed to meet our specific feminine needs (wink, wink, nudge, nudge with a big waggle of the eyebrows). who look like the rock. and ian somerhalder. and idris elba. and that’s it i promise. variety. gotta have variety, right?

but alas…apparently that exists only in johanna lindsey’s genius mind. so until then, i enjoy my incredibly warped sense of humor. i read tons of erotica and romantic, drippy goo that makes my heart go pitter patter. then i thought, hey. what, i said to myself. (softly, of course, so no one finds out i am 2 nuts short of a fruitcake) maybe you should write this stuff too. maybe someone will like it and maybe buy it. so i said, huh, you think? then i said, well…yeah, i wouldn’t have suggested it…(inserts sarcastic tone) and then i was like lose the attitude, ok? then i was all, would you just shut up and write, already? sheesh! and i did. 🙂

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Does Your Mother Know What You're Reading?

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