My Earlobes Still Feel Fat

So I went to the gym today, like a good little chubster, and while I was sweating it out on the bike I tried not to stare at the perky, everslender asses bouncing up and down in front of me on the elliptical. But I couldn’t help it, and here’s why: I have a problem with staring at other people’s bodies, especially tits and ass. I think maybe I’m part frat boy. Or I grew up with a bisexual older sister and a vocal older brother, and was trained from an early age to check out other women (although sadly I get no tingles down below from kissing them or touching their boobs, which is as far as I went with my only girl-fling). But this is not a post about my inappropriate staring. This is a post about thongs. Ok, ok. I get it. I no longer rail for hours against the thong; I no longer state outright that I’ll never wear one, or that it’s better to just go without. Windy days in SF have taught me that they are better than nothing, and I even own about ten, a few of which are favorites...

Since I started writing my own novel, I think I’ve read at least ten chick-lit books in the name of 'research,' and what I’ve discovered is that there is no rubrick for character development, plot, or even number of protagonists. It seems that chick-lit, for all the pigeon-holing it falls victim to, is as wide and varied a genre as literary fiction. Well, maybe not literary fiction. But any other genre besides that. Anyway, in the past week I’ve read three very different novels, and had very different reactions to them. So I’ve sort of been walking around (well, loafing around) with book reviews in my head and no-one to share them with, save my poor boyfriend, who’s beginning to roll his eyes a bit too much for my taste. But then I thought about you all, and how long I’ve left you pining for another installment of My Oh-so-fascinating Life, and I figured I could subject you to a bit of book review! The three novels I’ve read most recently have been, in chronological order:...