Category Archives: Favourites

Dirty Books For The Ladies – What To Read After Fifty Shades

2nd May 2012

So I read Fifty Shades and blogged about it, but then at this point, who hasn’t.

More importantly, look how handsome Christian is:


Anyway, after much thought, I decided to read other dirty books for research purposes. Ahem.

Someone has to do it.

I’ve also been reading Angie’s blog (she’s an addict, yo) and her posts about her “smut” recommendations gave me some great suggestions on where to start.

Here’s what I’ve read so far:

The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty by Anne Rice 

This is a trilogy but I’ve only read the first to date. I refer to this book as “medieval crazy, sexy time naked slavery”.  It’s actually a good read, and very well written – definitely plan to read the other two books in the trilogy. These are considered the high quality erotica for you erotica snobs out there.

Bared to You by Sylvia Day

Bared to You is actually kind of similar to Fifty Shades except that it’s much better written. The main characters are Ava (she’s one thousand times less annoying than Anastasia) and Gideon Cross (yes, another rich hot dude – see photo above) and who doesn’t want to sleep with a rich dude named Gideon, seriously. READ IT.

Comfort Object by Annabel Joseph

This one is DIRTY with a capital D. You’ll need to take breaks where you rub your eyeballs with kittens and rainbows to even out the nasty. It is going to make you squirmy and not in a good way. It’s good but really, really bad. Yes, I am a professional book reviewer – why do you ask?

Caressa’s Knees by Annabel Joseph

This is another book (meant to be read second) that features some of the characters from Comfort Object, however the similarities end there. It’s actually pretty good but not as depraved as Comfort Object. And it features classical music and a cello so it will make you cultured – in a dirty way.

Odalisque by Annabel Joseph

Another book (meant to be read third) featuring some of the characters of the other two books by Annabel Joseph. It’s VERY different from the other two again and it’s crazy time in terms of how far fetched it is in parts but I’m pretty sure that’s a prerequisite in these books. I did enjoy it however.

Mercy by Annabel Joeph

Hated it – it involves a ballerina, and I’m sorry but ballerinas have no place in lady smut. BECAUSE THEY’RE BALLERINAS!!!

Captive by Leda Swann

This should be called BORED TO TEARS because that’s how I felt reading it.

Beautiful Disaster by Jamie McGuire

Seriously, I couldn’t even get through this one. I might try again but if I have to work hard (no pun intended) to get through it, I’m out.

Rock Me by Cherrie Lynn

I actually really liked this one because it’s more story than dirty and it involves tattoo parlours and good girls and who doesn’t love that combination.


Honestly, books considered lady porn (and please stop calling it mommy porn – mommies can’t claim EVERYTHING) are a quick read, ironically. They take me a day to read and by day, I mean maybe three hours or so. Books tend to be a quick read when there isn’t that much to process – dirty things are happening, turn the page.

Also, something I’ve learned about Erotica books in general:

  • Every single one ends with a happy ending. Every single one.
  • “I’m yours” is in every book and something you should never say to your husband or he’ll expect you to do what he wants.
  • A lot of rich dudes are really sick when it comes to what rocks their socks.
  • If you read too many of these books in a row, you might dream of Thor and how cute your Thor babies will be.


So while I continue my research, I would love to know if you’ve read any of these? Any suggestions on what I should read next?

Fifty Shades of Grey – A Review

11th April 2012

Let me start by saying that when I picture Christian Grey – I see this guy:

That’s my vote, Hollywood.


I read all three books over the Easter weekend.

It’s not that hard (that’s what she said) – they’re a quick read.

So without giving much away because I don’t want to spoil it for you, I actually liked these books. I went in knowing that I wasn’t reading Anais Nin or Henry Miller (erotica for snobs), but a fun, probably dirty/sexy/pervy read, and that’s exactly what it was. Some parts are hilariously farfetched but who cares when they’re balanced out with some dirty goodness.

Yes, they have problems – the writing in parts, is just bad. Spelling mistakes and bad grammar were everywhere. Were these actually edited before pubishing? If they were, that editor needs to be fired or get new glasses. Anastasia Steele, the main female character says, “Holy Shit, Holy Cow, Holy Hell, and Holy F*ck” constantly, and at the most ridiculous moments of this book. Seriously, one way to improve this book – erase every instance of those words. Already better.

Another example of a bad choice of words:  MEWL and MEWLING and MEWLED — if I never see these words again unless referring to a CAT, it would be fine by me. (Insert groans here – and not the good kind)

Also, when you use the word “ARGH!” to describe a response to hot guy giving you the sexy time, I don’t think sexy, I think pirate. Not good.

Finally, “WHOA” needs to never ever be used in your dirty writings people – because all I see is Joey and Blossom. Just wrong.


Christian Grey, the main hot dude, is kind of a heartbreaker in this book. Yes, he’s rich and insanely good looking and perhaps a tad bossy (ahem), but he has a tragic soul and a heartbreaking background. It makes sense that he was written this way when you see how his relationship develops, but at parts, I felt sad for him. I may have teared up a couple of times as well. The sexiest part of this guy? He responds to your email promptly, answers your phone calls even when he’s at work, and he plays the piano while wearing sexy pyjama bottoms. How sexy is that? This person is clearly NOT REAL. Oh, and he has magic fingers.

He might make your lady bits tingle, and if he doesn’t, you need to get that checked by a doctor, a.s.a.p.

Yes, there are other characters in the book, like the driver and the cook and the slutty architect but these books are really all about Mr. Grey. Oh, and Ms. Steele, but her mewling and Holy Cow talk only gets in the way of your dirty imagination, so try to focus on him. These are meant to be a fun read – for the beach, or when your husband chooses his XBOX over you.

Lady porn. It’s what’s for dinner.


What did you think?


This Is Where I’m From

5th July 2011

I just saw this meme on Stephanie’s blog, and many bloggers have blogged their own version, but it originates here. I thought it was really special, so here is my version.

I am from Cabbage Patch Dolls and Barbie dolls, from board games and dancing to 45s.

I am from a small house with a huge backyard, and a beloved giant tree there to climb. From shared bedrooms, one shower, and rooms just for guests. From shag rug carpet, and beige, beige, beige. From homemade meals, and honey desserts and big family dinners .

I am from gardens filled with green beans, tomatoes and zucchini. I am from a backyard filled with roses, and lilacs that fill the air with their magnificent scent. From swing sets and picnic tables and riding bikes up and down the driveway.

I am from church on Sundays and huge family holidays, from hours spent watching the NBA finals and Wimbledon and from long weekend drives through the country, pointing out farm animals and eating soft ice cream cones in the baby blue Thunderbird.

I am from piles of books, and Walkmans screaming Concrete Blonde. From Pong and Donkey Kong and hours losing at Risk.

I am from practical jokers and funny business, from family comes first and worst case scenarios. From hard work is everything and always remember where you came from. I am from forty years of the family business and everyone pays their dues.

I’m from a small city in Ontario and a smaller village in Greece, from olives and baklava to spinach pies and endless Greek food.

From my dad’s endless bottles of Old Spice, the just in case safety pin on my mom’s beloved cardigans, and the endless hours of fighting, laughing, crying with four very different siblings.

I am from rooms filled with family photos, and photo albums with memories of the old country.

This is me. This is where I’m from.

Starbucks Tears

28th November 2010

Yesterday, I almost cried in the Starbucks bathroom.

I know it sounds odd.

But I experienced a moment – one of those that come at you out of nowhere, where you realize just how precious life is.

I was with my four year old, who needed to do some business. As we were coming out of the stall, the larger stall door opened with an elderly woman in a wheelchair, pushed by two women, who I assume were her daughters.

I couldn’t help but watch their reflection in the mirror – they were so loving and gentle with her. They pushed her up to the sink, and pulled up her sleeves, just as I did the same with my daughter.  Almost simultaneously, we helped them with the soap and used our hands to wash theirs. My eyes briefly met her daughters’ eyes in the mirror and we shared a moment – for me, a moment of realization that what they were doing for their mom, and I for my daughter, was all that life is – all that matters.

What I was sharing with my daughter, was a moment that mom must have shared many years before with hers, and now their roles had reversed. Instantly, I saw myself in that mother and her daughters – and it was a very humbling, emotional moment.

In the bathroom.

At Starbucks.

Motherhood can be such an unexpected ride sometimes.

Things I never thought I would say as a Mother

13th July 2010


2. Stop touching your butt when you’re on the toilet!

3. No honey, that’s not a baby in there, it’s the cheeseburger I had at lunch.

4. Stop screaming or I will move out!

5. Stop trying to maim your sister!

6. Why was there a piece of Lego in your underwear?

7. Eat your dinner or you will never see another lollipop as long as I live. Or at least until tomorrow.

8. Stop saying butt in every sentence! Also boobies, my thing, and winky dink are also off limits!

9. If you lick him one more time, you’re on the naughty step!

10. Dora isn’t on television anymore honey – she’s moved on. Oh look, Oprah!

11. Daddy and I are already married, so no we are not going to get married again. I mean, things are so blissful, why mess with perfection? What does perfection mean? Never mind.

12. Please stop giving me your boogies okay? That’s why Mommy has 20 boxes of kleenex all over the house!

13. Lock the door or the boogeyman will come in and steal all the good toys!

14. Listen child, I don’t care if you’re “DONE”, wipe your own butt!

15. No seriously, I used to be a really hot number about 8 years ago.

16. Stop screaming! I’m just trying to wash your dreadlocks!

17. If you eat your dinner, Mommy will take you to Starbucks so she can get a coffee, and live to see another day.

18. Get back here right now, or I will utter some threat that will have zero effect on you!!!

19. Is this the freakin’  Twilight zone?

20. Yes, I love you, even when I’m screaming, and even when you’re screaming, but I love you just a tad less when you’re throwing up.

21. Yes I will come back – I promise. No I don’t have a suitcase for any particular reason – just practicing my timing.

22. Yes I love Daddy – even when he farts.

23. No, you can scratch your own butt.

24. You have to drink your milk otherwise you won’t grow up big and strong and become a doctor. Or a wrestler.

25. Mommy isn’t crying – she’s just cleaning out her pores. It’s the reverse facial honey.

Letters I Will Never Send

8th July 2010


Dear Colin Firth,

Hello. My name is Maria – your future wife.

Love, Me

P.S. You look really cute in your jammies right now – don’t ever close your curtains.


Dear Ex-Boyfriend from a previous life,

You still owe me money from that dinner you took me to, and then conveniently forgot to bring your wallet.

Sincerely, Me (a.k.a. The one that should have run the other way after that crap date.)


Dear FedEx dude,

Thanks for bringing me my packages. Stop staring at my boobs.

Love, Me.


Dear Pervy Contractor Dude,

Thanks for dropping off your overpriced quote. Stop staring at my boobs.

Sincerely, Me

P.S. You are never coming into my house, unless you have one of those Face Off face switchoffs with Colin Firth.


Dear Movie Industry,

If you could make a flick starring Jeffrey Dean Morgan and Colin Firth, and make them nice, Greek boys that cook and clean and buy their wives handbags and Starbucks religiously, that would be super fun.

Love Me (a.k.a. The wife in need of some pervy material for those husband-is-travelling moments).


Dear Starbucks,

I still haven’t received one of those Free Starbucks for Life cards in the mail. I figure with the amount of lattes that I have purchased since having sleepless babies, I have successfully purchased enough shares to actually demand that damn card, so get with it.

Love Love Love, Me.

P.S. Don’t ever change.


Dear Husband,

The next time that I get woken up from a deep sleep, simply by the magnitude of your ass gas, be prepared for the carnage that follows.

Love Me

P.S. Old people sleep in separate beds (and rooms) for a reason dude.


Dear Hyenas that affectionately refer to me as Mommy,

Those toys on the floor don’t actually pick themselves up. Believe me I’ve tried – it’s the reason you’ll find me having a chit chat with your Buzz Lightyear after hours.

Love, The Mommy Management

P.S. Buzz Lightyear has asked that you stop groping him inappropriately. Also, he would like to be stored in the same drawer as Jesse. The dude has needs.

I do believe my husband owes ME a press conference

19th February 2010

So I just watched the worse press conference ever – 15 minutes of some famous dude reading (badly, I might add) this brutally scripted crap, as a means to apologize to the world that he’s a man whore. I didn’t empathize – I can’t really empathize with angry, arrogant dudes. I think he should have been down on his knees, apologizing to his wife, for humiliating her over and over. If I was his wife I would have thrown a rather large rock toward the tv. (Note: I said toward the tv, not directly AT the tv — no dude is going to make me destroy my only link to Modern Family, thank you very much.)

But it got me thinking – press conferences can be a good thing, if done the right way. In fact, I think I’m owed a press conference. Yes – I believe MY HUSBAND owes ME a press conference. So, I made it easy on him and prepared his script for him. I’m sweet like that:

Good Afternoon Everyone – my name is Husband (also known as SuperGoob) and I am here today to set the record straight on why I believe Maria is a GODDESS for staying with me after all these years, and why I truly owe her the largest and sparkliest diamond available. And a new camera. And a new house. And a Gucci handbag.

First off, I would like to apologize for all the years I’ve put my dirty laundry next to the hamper, instead of IN the damn hamper. My wife did not sign up for touching my nasty drawers on a daily basis, for the last 10 years of her life. I’m sorry, because truth be told, I suck. From now on, I will be doing all laundry, including folding it and putting it away to make it up to her.

Also, I would like to say that I’m ashamed to admit that every time my perfect wife has attempted to make me dinner, I feel the need to douse it with salt and various condiments, before I even taste it. I cannot blame her for wanting to throw said dinner at my head on a daily basis, and am greatful that she fights said urge.

Indeed, making her yell at me to do the garbage and recycling every Thursday night is so wrong, that I insist she go out and buy herself that new handbag this very moment, and any time that this ever happens again. Darling, I will feel so much better if you go ahead and spend a ridiculous amount of money on it. The enormous balance of that upcoming credit card bill, will fill my heart with joy.

But most of all, I would like to BEG for forgiveness, for every minute that I have slept in. (That’s a WHOLE LOT OF BEGGING in case you’re wondering). For every time I have slept through screaming and crying babies, sick and vomiting children, I owe you BIG TIME. For every time, I pretended to sleep, or ignored you when you were trying to talk to me, and every time I spoke to you rudely when you were trying to wake me, resulting in me acting like an insensitive prig, I owe you a million junk punches (with a jock on of course).

I will never live up to your fabulousness, or stunning beauty, and most importantly, I will never be as smart or funny as you are. No matter how hard I try, I will never beat you at Scrabble, or gin rummy or any game, ever. I love you so much that I will end this perfect press conference with as many cliches as I can muster, because being embarassed will only make me feel better about all those craptastic moments I’ve put you through over the last 10 years.

You are the wind beneath my wing.

You are the light at the end of my tunnel

You are the left to my right.

You are the pepper to my salt.

You are the funny to my cheesy.

Please forgive me. Sincerely, Your Husband

Travellin’ Man

17th November 2009

My husband is a bit of a travellin’ man. He actually travels quite often for business, and I’m somewhat used to it. Somewhat. I will admit that I don’t really enjoy those trips that last longer than a week, but work is work, so I deal with it. Of course, it is harder now with the children, because they get upset and miss him when he’s gone. They don’t understand – they just want their Daddy around.

Years before my husband and I met, he was a traveler of a different kind; without schedule or specifics. His travels were guided by his soul and a desire for enlightenment. Through that journey, he visited so many beautiful places and had so many life-changing experiences, it really amazes me even now. Although he’s all business these days, back in his 20s he was a writer, a poet and a sculptor. He began his travels at the age of 21 and saw many countries, including:








He returned to Canada after his extensive travels, but when he was 26, he traveled to Italy, where he lived for over a year, working on his novel and poetry, drinking copious amounts of vino and sculpting some marble pieces that now sit proudly in our living room.

These days he travels more for work, and for longer periods of time. In the last year alone, he’s been to Germany, Costa Rica, Hawaii, and Australia, not to mention all over the U.S. This latest business trip will be taking him to England and Amsterdam.

I’m not bitter – I swear. I only get bitter when the kids coincidentally come down with something, the minute he gets in the car and drives away. I’ve done the stats, it happens about 90% of the time. That part is not fun.

And those times when he calls me from these beautiful locales like Hawaii during dinner time, I try not to choke on my KD, while he describes his amazing meal with exact detail.

But I swear I’m not bitter.

Listening to the husband talk about how difficult, eight days of business in a foreign land is, does not really compare to how difficult eight days of 24/7 mommy business is, does it?

But who is really missing out?

I know that I won’t get the chance to see Big Ben or Buckingham Palace or the London Eye this week, and that’s okay, because I will be taking care of business on this side of the pond, with my two little people in tow. As a mom, I know and appreciate that every little moment with them is an absolute privilege. They are my London, my Amsterdam, my Hawaii. In reality, I won’t actually be missing out on anything. I won’t miss a moment.

But my husband will miss eight days worth.

Poor guy.

Best Bunny Story EVER

14th July 2009

Easter has always been a HUGE holiday for our family – its big with the Greek culture. Family gets together, the men roast a lamb on a spit outside, have a drink and talk politics, while the women do everything else. Typical. But its always a great holiday for getting family together, over some food and drink, and lots of laughs.

But there was an Easter that was anything but fun – it was very traumatic for some of us. It was around 1987 or so, and my little sister had been bugging my dad about getting a bunny. She really wanted one, and basically nagged him about it for a long time. The day before our Easter Sunday, our dad surprised us by taking us out and letting us pick out a little dwarf rabbit. It was tiny and he fit into the palm of my hand. We picked a black one and named him Zeke. We didn’t have his cage ready for him when we brought him home, because my dad was going to build him one. So we decided we would keep him in this large, very tall box, until the cage was ready.

So, fast forward to the next day, my entire family is there, plus my cousin’s family and like promised, the men are outside and the women are inside. My little sister (who’s about 7 or 8 at the time) and our cousin (he’s about 12) are downstairs playing in the family rec room. They had put ZEKE in the box so that the two of them could run around. Keep in mind this box was over 3ft. in height and this bunny was small (like 1/2 a chihuahua small) so everyone ASSUMED that the bunny couldn’t jump out of the box. So while they were running around in the basement, they didn’t realize that the bunny had jumped out of the box and was now on the carpet. What happens next is the beginning of BUNNY FIASCO ’87.

The poor little bunny jumped out of the box which was behind where my sister was standing. She took a step back and stepped directly onto the poor little bunny’s head at full force. All of a sudden, everyone hears this BLOOD CURDLING SCREAM come from the basement. The entire family runs down there to see the rabbit convulsing on the carpet, and the two of them screaming their heads off. What happened next?

  • My sister tries to explain what happened.
  • My mother screams that there is blood on her BEIGE carpet!
  • My older sister runs to call every vet in town.
  • My older brother picks up the bunny and runs him outside to drive him to a vet.
  • My other older brother is screaming “MURDERER, MURDERER” to my sister who screams louder each time she hears it.
  • Everyone is crying except my dad and my uncle.
  • My uncle tries to comfort my sister, and says to her, “It’s not all bad news. It’s Easter – we’ll just eat it”.
  • My dad looks around at everyone crying, and says,”Why are you crying? We’ll just go buy another one tomorrow”. (Keep in mind, my dad is from the old country – to him the concept of having a pet was ridiculous in itself)

Meanwhile, my brothers had already left to take the bunny to the vet. They came back and we waited for an update. What did we do during this traumatic time? We sat down and ate of course. It was the quietest meal with my family I can ever remember. My sister was still crying and upset – most of us were. Every time my little sister made eye contact with my brother, he would whisper “murderer” to her, shaking his head the entire time. I will admit – it was hysterical.

After our lunch, we got the call from the vet. He didn’t identify himself – but he kept referring to the “patient” so I assumed he meant the rabbit. He said, “I’m calling about the patient Zeke. He has suffered a concussion, but will survive his injuries. He will need to stay a couple of days and then will be released. You will need to administer an oral medication for one week, 2x day.”

We told our dad and uncle (THE MEN) what the vet said, and they thought it was hysterical, until my dad realized he would have to pay the vet. My dad could not believe that a $10 bunny was now going to cost him hundreds of dollars – he was pissed. Everyone else however was relieved that Zeke would be fine. A couple of days later, Zeke was home with a syringe and the orange liquid medicine that we had to give him twice a day. The first time, my dad held him so that his paws were in the air, while we tried to wriggle the syringe into his mouth. The rabbit, terrified, started to shoot out its rabbit poops like missiles all over the place. My mother totally freaked about the carpet – BEIGE, remember?. We could not stop laughing while my dad swore in Greek the entire time. Eventually, we wised up and repositioned the rabbit so he pooped DOWN.

Sometime during that week, I remember being in the guest living room (that living room where everything is PRISTINE and shrink-wrapped and yup, BEIGE). My mom was on the phone chatting away, while my sister and I played with the rabbit on that BEIGE carpet. Thankfully my mother was looking in the opposite direction, when Zeke decided to pee out this thick, foamy orange substance – yes – on the BEIGE carpet. My sister and I panicked to say the least. I told her to run to get something to clean the mess without my mom noticing. She brought one of my mom’s “good” towels – but who had time to quibble over details like that? My sister grabbed the bunny and ran like a crazy woman, while I cleaned it as best as I could. But, you do the math: BEIGE carpet + Orange foamy bunny butt discharge = Greek mother losing her shit.

My dad finished the bunny cage that night.

Oh, and just so you know, our beloved rabbit lived with us for 7 years and grew to be the size of a small dog. He was a beautiful, healthy rabbit who was adored by my entire family. In year 8, a farmer friend of ours told us that Zeke really needed to get some. So, with heavy hearts we let our farmer friend take Zeke to his bunny loving farm for some good bunny loving. He impregnated at least four girlie bunnies within the first week. We were so proud.

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