I Don't Care About Your Band

Also published at Blogger Critics Network.

Julie Klausner has Double-D-sized breasts.

I have yet to meet Julie or her breasts, but when I discovered this awesome fact, the whole thing made sense. Trouble was, her mammarial revelation didn't come until the second half of her book, so I had to start over.

This, then, is why I read "I Don't Care About Your Band"* two and one-thirds times. Breasts give a man perspective, a couple of reference nipples from which to view the rest of the woman. Until that point I was amused but lost. Once Julie's chest found sharp focus, I had to re-read everything up until the breast-size epiphany; then I had to finish it off (the book, pervs); then I had to re-read all the dirty bits.

The picture in my mind is of a sex-obsessed redhaired girl with big tits, blindfold, in lingerie, groping around a room in a desperate quest for a penis. She's a Jewish Princess at a piñata party, smashing her way into the pants of any man who shows even the vaguest interest. As an idea for a role-play sex game, that sounds like fun, but as a metaphor for finding someone, it's a disaster. Which is a great word for Miss Klausner's dating life in New York, although by her own admission, it's a selective history.

My question is: How did she miss with those puppies? I constantly referred back to her picture on the cover, wondering how the hell this vixen failed so well so often. Maybe if she'd walked around Manhattan topless, her love life would have been different.

Which of course is the point of the book. Who wants to read about dating suxxess? It's infinitely more fun for we readers to get smug at dating horror. Even hotties don't get laid.

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Something That Might Interest You

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Because we dating and relationship bloggers are a cool bunch, I want to start something new.

I will be sending this copy of Julie Klausner's book to another blogger for review. That blogger will read it and post his or her thoughts, and then send the book on to another blogger for their review, and so on. Everyone who reviews will link back to all previous reviews, thereby forming a kind of extended multi-review.

Should we call this the Blogger Book Review Network or something more snappy?

I am looking for input; if you're interested in participating, whether a better system exists, whatever you think.

Edit: Snaf will be receiving the book to review. She seemed the best fit, being both single and a New Yorker like Miss Klausner. Next week I have another item to check out.




*I Don't Care About Your Band. What I Learned from Indie Rockers, Trust Funders, Pornographers, Felons, Faux Sensitive Hipsters, and other Guys I've Dated by Julie Klausner. ISBN 978-1-592-40561-9

Published by Gotham Books, a divvy of Penguin. They sent it to me, free.


Klausner links [site] [tumblr]

Edited for overuse. Words, that is.

Friday Fluffer - Be My Valentine

Sunday is Valentine's Day, some bogus made-up celebration designed to make men anxious.

For those of you with nipples and an interest in low-energy technology, this might be a pleasing VD surprise - the LED Pasty.

Talk about green lights. [link]








Or if you are looking for something less outré, this might be more valuable. [link]

Food Plus Sex

I accidentally slipped a strawberry into Carol's pussy. That was my first time, some years ago now - my berry-busting if you will. Accidentally is not the right word because, just between you and me, it was not truly a slip-up. More of a pre-planned spur of the moment event.

There was chocolate sauce present too, in one of those squeezable bottles that make it easy to overindulge. Portion control is hit and miss with those things. We'd been fooling around with the chocolate, engaging in what we considered sexually sophisticated foreplay. I would spurt chocolate over her breasts, then lick it off, taking great pleasure in teasing about with her nipples. Carol was quite tasty enough without the sticky sweet stuff, but she seemed to enjoy it.

The downside of food in sex is the mess. Egyptian cotton sheets absorb really well. If you're enthusiastic with your congress and edibles are in the mix, the wet spot can be the whole bed. Makes for a squelchy kind of icky afterglow.

Perhaps your experiences are better.

Edit: Because TFABS can read my mind, here's the defining moment.