You know, I was raised by a particularly intelligent woman.  And I’m not just saying that because she sometimes reads this blog either.  She already knows it, and false modesty isn’t a sin in which she partakes.  This, by the way, is the disclaimer part of the post.  I do it often.  You’d think that being bitter for so long I’d have ceased to care who I offend, but it just hasnt’ worked out that way.  So, Mom, this one isn’t your fault.  Or, well, really it is, but let’s both blame someone else and then talk about them behind their back.

I grew up believing that romance novels are trashy.  Yes, I can hear you all saying, “But they ARE” all the way over here, but think about it.  Really?  What’s trashy about them?  Are they badly written?  Some, yes, but not all by any stretch.  Jane Eyre isn’t anything but a very old romance novel, and no one calls it trashy.  Well, you say, but it’s a classic!  A classic is just something that’s survived.  Like me.  Not all classics (unlike me) are really any good.  Try reading Moby Dick and then tell me with a straight face that you enjoyed it. 

So if it isn’t the quality of writing that makes it trashy, what is it?  The cover art?  Yes, some is laughably bad.  I love the spoofs on the Longmire website, one of which I’ve shamelessly stolen here.  So we do often judge books by their covers, which is another reason I’m pretty happy that I now own a Sony Book Reader, because I can read whatever the france I want and nobody gets to judge me for it. 

But sci-fi and fantasy are also riddled with bad cover art, but no one says “Trashy” before the phrase “Sci Fi” or rolls their eyes they way you’ll get if you tell someone you have just finished a good romance novel.

So, I decided to test my prejudices and I’ve started downloading romance books.  I blame Charlaine Harris, actually.  I fell in love with the TV series True Blood on HBO (watched on the web because it hasn’t come out in the UK yet, dammit), and have since read all her Sookie Stackhouse novels.  Actually… I read all 8 of them in about 2 weeks.  Seriously.  And I don’t even LIKE vampire stories.  Talk about trashy.  I get images of Béla Lugosi and get the giggles.  Sorry, Anne Rice, but even if you take the comical aspect away, how on earth is cannibalism sexy?  Tell me that?  Anyway, that’s another rant altogether.

Anyway, I could go on and on about what makes romance trashy, and by now you’re probably worried that I will.  Either that or you’re shouting “Too Late!” at your monitor.  I’ll skip it all and get to the point. 

Write this one down, Ethel.  It’s the s-e-x.  If men talk about sex it’s bawdy and perhaps coarse, but boys will be boys.  If women talk about sex… and I’m talking about grown women here… it’s trashy?  It’s trashy to write about it, read about it, and for gods sake, don’t think about it either!  That leads down a path of decay!  Or maybe it’s just that most romance books deal with love and relationships.  By god that IS trashy!

Because I’ve been reading a few romance books lately…. probably… 40 books in the last 4 months. (I’ve got a lot of catching up to do… Jane Eyre was the last one I’d read!)  Some historical, some modern, some futuristic and a couple paranormal (that’s what they call vampires and ghosts these days.)  And I will tell you… some were really crap.  No doubt about that.  But there were a few that made me laugh out loud, got me misty eyed, and even made my pulse go a wee bit faster.  But guess what…. none of them were trashy.  Imagine that.

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First, I want you to know that I’m as romantic as the next girl while bearing in mind I also have a practical streak; I can appreciate doing the right thing for the wrong reason. When a couple-dozen of America’s young women are willing to compete ON TV for cash prizes, 15-minutes-of-Fame, and a marriage proposal from a total stranger, well, I get choked up. It’s the American Way! 

[Note: having burned my bra in the day and learned to be proud of who I AM, such as it is, as opposed to piggy-backing my worth based on my hubby's accomplishments, I've long since developed a sour taste for those whose human development isn't as it might be with a little effort.]

What I’m saying is, does it surprise you that a beauty queen wannabe, a Cheerleader–ferchristsake–for a pro-football team, would join the ranks of those competing for the glass slipper….er….ring and proposal from The Bachelor.

The Bachelor is an original one hour prime-time reality television series that gives one man and 25 women the unique opportunity to find true love in a most exciting and adventurous way. The Bachelor will get to know the 25 women in a series of fun, exciting and exotic dates that will elicit real and raw emotions. Along the way he must follow a gradual process of elimination, as his…

Now, for the happily ever after part.  You’re gonna love this.  Mary Delgado, winner of The Bachelor proposal in 2004, was arrested two days after Thanksgiving for punching out the man she lives with, whom she describes as her fiance (after living with him for three years.)  The reason for the assault wasn’t given, nor her fiance’s name–however, it WAS NOT The Bachelor who proposed to her in ‘04.  She was released from the pokey a short while later.  Ah, romance.

I don’t know about you, but I like my fairy tales with happier endings–after all, the original Cinderella was a mistreated, hard-working stepchild for whom all ended well. Even if you prefer Liberation Literature, it’s plainly not nice to punch a guy’s lights out, spend time in the slammer for it, then expect to ride away in a mouse-drawn pumpkin.  But that’s just me; I could be wrong.

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Why do only women have guilty pleasures*, like watching Grey’s Anatomy or eating a cup full of peanuts with chocolate sauce poured over it, having sex with the UPS guy, spitefully viewing America’s Next Top Model?

Is it that men don’t feel guilty about pleasure?

Or am I wrong about the gender difference?

So what’s your guilty pleasure? What fun, food, cheap fiction or flight of fancy do you like to indulge in? (God, I love alliteration. Sorry about that.)

Me? I like to go into the kitchen and sneak marshmallows from the cabinet and pop one in my mouth when I’m passing through. I suppose what does it for me is the sneaky secretiveness and the eating something that has absolutely no nutritional value, real or imagined.

*I did a google search for “guilty pleasures” and found that a lot of people, by the way, are very close to mentally ill and I don’t think, technically, that being obsessed with weighing your own poop is a guilty pleasure. I was going to link to the place I found that, but on second thought… umm… no, I won’t. I tell ya… google is a scary place sometimes.

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Although we’re technically Blogging for Bitter Women, this one is for the guys.

Quick Tip #3: There is NO Bank

Women might indicate otherwise, for motives I wouldn’t care to speculate on, but when it comes to earning “points” with the woman in your life, there is no bank.  The credit you earn now is the credit you have.   You can’t point back to a good thing you did a week ago and say “But hey I did the dishes without being asked last week.”  It don’t work that way.

Now some might consider this cruel, but it’s not… it’s just simply the way it is, and the sooner you understand the truth of the Chick Point System, the sooner you will be able to achieve the happy status of understanding you so desire.

Let me give you an example:

1. Monday:  Buy flowers for her.  + 10 points
2. Tuesday: Do dishes without being asked +5 points (Assuming this is a point of contention or something you don’t normally do.) Note: This gets fewer points than flowers because you dont’ have to leave the house or spend money to do it.
3. Wednesday: Give her fantastic, thoughful, multi-orgasmic sex. +10 points. (Although you don’t have to leave the house or spend money for this one… hey.. it’s good orgasms.  Shut up.)
4. Thursday: Remember to put gas/diesel in the car on the way home, knowing that she’s going to be using the car first thing in the morning and won’t want to have to stop.  +15 points.

Now.. the quiz… On Friday morning, how many points does he have?

The novice would look at that and say, “Easy… 40 points!”  Oh, you poor, dear soul.  ;))

The correct answer: 0 points.

Don’t cry to me about it.  You should thank me for explaining this.  You got credits for what you did on Monday-Thursday, no doubt, but just remember.. there is no bank.

Remember this, and your life will get easier.  Promise.

(My apologies, by the way, for all the contextual Google  “Get Cheap Credit” ads that are undoubtedly going to be appearing for this one!)

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Recently I’ve been dealing with a woman that’s an absolute control freak, and sadly, she spends a great deal of her energy trying to change the behaviour of everyone around her.

I’m reminded of the Serenity Prayer :

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

I wouldn’t have thought drunks would like platitudes , but that just shows you how much I know.

The point I’m rather badly trying to make here is that we always have choices.

Here are some prime examples of making life choices when it comes to things we can and we cannot control:

Scenario #1:

• We cannot control whether our partner spends all night on some moronic “quest”, ever does the dishes, picks up his/her socks, shares the remote, brings us chocolate without being asked, is appropriately worshipful, or ever has a hope in hell of understanding us.
• We can control the frequency, variation, and duration of the LOOK we give them.

Scenario #2:

• We cannot control whether our current bed partner is any good in the sack.
• We can control how much we decide to go ahead tart it up and screw their brains out, just to fuck with them, knowing full well that we might as well enjoy ourselves, and to practice being slutty for our next partner, with whom we will undoubtedly enjoy it more and to give the current partner something to really regret losing when we dump their ass.

Scenario #3:

• We cannot control: the fact that forensic technology is getting so much better these days.
• We can control: Whether or not we have rubber gloves in our bathroom (for touching up those natural highlights [read:grey hairs]), bleach under the sink (for keeping those whites white), a shovel in the shed (for garden days) and lye in the garage (for making soap).

Remember… control what you can.  We can never control other people’s behaviour, but we can make them fucking regret it.

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