The book I had begun reading just before leaving on vacation, "Bared To You," a Crossfire novel, by Sylvia Day...
Waste of time.
Darn. I wanted to be dazzled.
The plot was woefully lacking.
Redundant. Think pushing the REWIND button over and over again while watching a movie. Sex, sex and more sex. Really steamy, hot sex.
Okay. Whatever. Not that really good sex isn't a wonderful thing. Of course it is. But there's more to a "good book" than just "good sex."
No plot. No ah-ha moment, no crescendo. No oh-wow-this-speaks-to-me moments. At times I even found the content to be somewhat cheesy. At times creepy? Maybe even a tad disturbing and depressing.
In fact, it is apparently one in a series of more no-plot-just-good-sex books.
The hopeless romantic in me will not budge: If it had been a great romance with a juicy, substantive plot AND GOOD SEX, now THAT would do it for me.
The heatwave in our neck of the woods begins today, and I'm already feelin' the effects. Supposedly the temps will continue to rise over the course of the next several days. I would NOT want to be at Disney World (or any amusement park, for that matter) during this kind of weather.
When the temperatures outside are really cold, I just deal with it. May not like it, but it doesn't faze me much. Life goes on. But really hot, humid weather?
Returning from vacation this past weekend, my body felt like a load of cinder blocks. Self-inflicted pain. I ate like a crazy woman the entire last three days of my vacation, ridiculous amounts of carbage. Loved every morsel of it. It began rather innocuously towards the latter part of the week. Afterall, it IS vacation. But once I begin to indulge shamelessly, it always snowballs into an avalanche of mindless eating, having nothing to do with true hunger, but just the orgasmic sensation of eating naughty, forbidden trash. And before I know it, I feel miserable, achy, bloated, grouchy, sleepy... fill in the blank. And it doesn't stop there. Even after I've stopped the insanity, the aftermath escalates for too many days following.
Hello? I'm reminded why sugar is poison.
It's okay. It's not something I do habitually. Weekly. Frequently. But I do indulge on vacation, and sometimes to the same degree between Christmas and New Year's. But payback is hell.
And so I begin the cleanup with a few mind games. Inspiration. Motivational thoughts, affirmations, images.
It's kind of like spinning the wheel, letting it land, and whatever the arrow is pointing to, I focus on that image, milk it, play it, drink it in, run it through my brain, then let it make its way to my heart, festering into undaunted determination.
One of the best motivational movies for me -- besides the Rocky series, of course -- is Flashdance. What a fabulous FLASH back to the 80's. Yeah, leg warmers and all, as goofy as they seem today, I loved it ... loved it all.
Jennifer Beals...SO DAMN SEXY!
Work it, girl!
And everyone remembers the infamous footsie/lobster scene ... so sexy, and undeniably beautiful.
Does that qualify as inspirational? No.
But it's in the running for sexiest love scenes.
Just sayin.
And the OTHER Jennifer's Trumping Tribute
Just wow.
(SHE doesn't need a double)
Okay. Recess is over.
Time to reclaim my passion, take back control of my body, get into my game.
Find my rhythm. Time to push. Pump it. Burn it. Give it everything. It's what I do, and it's what I love. It IS my fix. My euphoria. That FEELING....It empowers me psychologically as well as physiologically.
I've been reading this book since just before leaving on vacation.* I can't decide how I feel about it. My overall opinion? Eh.
But what does that say about ME? Mercy. Yikes.
(* I've been reading three books at once, in fact. That should say something about my feelings on THIS book, that I can't finish it before starting another!)
Maybe it's my age that keeps me from connecting with the characters and the plot. (But in retrospect, I know how I am...I'm not sure I would have connected with them even when I was much younger!) Or maybe I'm too unyielding. Boring. Too tightly wrapped.
(sigh)
I'd love to know what this character Gideon looks like. I see him in my mind's eye. I think this is what keeps me going back for more. Delicious.
This isn't my idea of true love. But then, this isn't ABOUT true love. It's about really good sex.
I'm pretty naive at times. But in defense of self, there are far worse things to be.
I will read on. I want to know how it ends. And then I'll write my OWN review...for what THAT'S worth.
Having been pretty much "blog-less" for the several days that I've been away, I'm seriously missing time with my blog. Private time with myself.
My blog has been quite an effective means of self-expression in all its forms. It serves also as a vehicle with which to purge when necessary. Expunge.
EXHALE.
It is in essence the breath of my soul.
Self-expression of life’s more memorable moments, profound, or not so profound.
A purging ... mostly as a deflection of raw emotion that is kept safely and deliberately behind glass walls. When reality is too painful to endure.
My blog is my repository for the overflow from my soul.
I didn't realize how much it meant to me. Until it wasn't there anymore.
Waste of time.
The hopeless romantic in me will not budge: If it had been a great romance with a juicy, substantive plot AND GOOD SEX, now THAT would do it for me.
