“...I grabbed my bag of underwear from under Sam’s arm and started walking. The paper handled bag got caught on her watch and split in half. Eight pairs of large cotton granny panties fell to the ground. I did everything I could not to cry. I could see Sam out of the corner of my eye. She was in silent hysterics. I dropped my half of the bag and left her there on the street picking up my panties. I waited until I was safely around the corner to peek back and watch her. I never laughed so hard in my life. I couldn’t wait to marry that woman.”

"Winner of the 2009 GCLS Award for Best Dramatic Fiction"

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Dresses and other catastrophes


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poem for what's her name


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"My internet profile read:

Educated MTV addict with a penchant for bad fashion and dull conversation seeks overly attractive, high maintenance, money grubbing, curious, "straight" woman for bad dates and awkward kisses. You should be prepared to use me anytime and dump me on a whim to return to your husband/boyfriend. I am into transcendental vegetation—"I think, therefore, I yam." I like long walks through airports and singing in public restrooms. I have perfect teeth and perfect feet. Everything in between is a cruel joke told by gravity. I am in a very vulnerable place in my life, so please be willing to take advantage of my insecurities and need for affection. I drink, smoke and use prescription medication. You should be prepared to overlook my chain-smoking, drug addiction and alcoholism; but feel free to complain about it every second of every date. I do not have a sense of humor and I lack patience. If I tell you that you are a flake, I am being serious. Please do not laugh at everything I say as I am sure most of the time it will go over your head. Boring tales of your job will put me to sleep. I need sleep, so please don't try to wake me. Any attempt to change my hair, clothes or habits will lead to bitter resentment and removal from my Christmas card list. You must insist on flaunting me in front of all your exes and treat me like dirt when they don't respond. More important, you must treat me like less than dirt if they do respond. Please don't invite me to the wedding; getting you back together is reward enough. I don't like intellectual conversation, so I would appreciate a woman who is not familiar with Darwin, Dorothy Parker or anyone not associated with "Cosmo." I am turned on by women who call me "hun" and use alternate spellings like "kewl." If you think you can meet any or all of my criteria, I would love to hear from you. Normal, intelligent, funny, fit, attractive women need not apply; you don't exist.  I might as well date the Easter Bunny."

Want to read more? Kindly purchase the book now. Seriously, now.

 

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"Jules decided to skip her last two classes on Friday. She took off early and went to the gym, the bank and the mall. The last $300 was pulled from her checking account and half of that was put toward a new pair of sandals, faded jeans and a crisp white shirt. She counted the other $150 over and over again with much scrutiny. She couldn’t believe she was taking that much money on a date. She couldn’t believe that she actually had a date. It had taken her four months to earn that extra $300 and she’d meant to put it in savings for a plane ticket home to her family. The fact that she was using the money on Sarah confirmed her suspicion that she had really met someone special. 

   She stood in front of the mirror for twenty minutes debating her hair style. She knew she should have had it cut, but that would have dipped into her date money. She hoped that it would be windy in Dallas so she didn’t have to apologize for her ratty hair. She loved her new shirt and reveled in the fact that she finally had a reason to spend money on that dreamy French-cuffed classic. The jeans fit great, but the sandals were a bit of a problem. They looked perfect with her clothes and freshly painted toenails. The problem was that they made a sort of “farting” noise on about every third step. She paced up and down the hall of her small apartment for half an hour in hopes that the incriminating noise would go away. No luck. She had her heart set on wearing her new shoes, thought, and vowed that even a little gassy accusation wouldn’t stop her."

Sound familiar? Flashing back to your first date with a woman? Later there’s a conversation about a jello fight between Judith Light and Dixie Carter. I should wan you though... this one’s actually a drama.

Hey, you know you’d buy it if Karin Kallmaker wrote it.

same sacks marriage


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Eyes of grey

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 " I awoke to the sound of church bells. The deafening, clinging clamor was enough to beckon the believers and provoke the sinners. The fact that I was still in bed confirmed my membership in the latter category and not the Latter-day Saints. I lay in bed with pillows pushed against my ears and regretted renting the house across the street from the oversized Methodist church. The bells continued for what seemed like an eternity, and I forced myself back to sleep.

   Round two ensued. Again with the bells, the incessant hollering that rang though my head like an alarm clock with no volume control. I pulled myself from under my warm covers and dragged my tired body to the kitchen. I managed to scrape together enough instant coffee and stale milk to fill one large plastic Circle K mug. I dropped the last twelve kibbles of cat food into the plastic fish-shaped bowl and pretended it was a meal fit for a king. I managed to make my escape to the other room before my three cats had a moment to complain.

   The clock read 8:40; when adjusted for the actual, non-daylight savings time, I knew it was really about 9:33. I turned on the TV, forgetting that the cable had been shut off weeks earlier due to lack of interest in payment. I hoped that my check went through to the local paper so that I would at least have my Sunday news. I was in luck, the rolled up bulk of pages rested safely on my doorstep; one more check had eked its way through the system. I flipped and reflipped my way through the sections until I located the ‘Daily Life’ which contained my mandatory weekly routine- the Sunday crossword."

You know you’re intrigued. You should read what happens next. (Waiting for the movie might be fruitless). Buy the book, you intelligent gorgeous person.