Been thinking about it all day, and I can't quite decide if I'm flattered or mortified that someone compared the
spicy bits of my book to 50 Shades of Grey.  Honestly, though, a person can't help but be flattered to be compared to any bestselling work, but considering my own opinion of said work, I can't help but be pretty embarrassed, too. 
I mean, sure. I know I have a freaky side, but is the work really that raunchy?  Oh my goodness.
Hmmm.  I was actually going for a little more substance and a little less sauce, but the truth is that it all makes the soup. So, either way...Soup's on!
I'm just thankful as all get out to be read.  That's the point.  Readers are always the point.
But more than just read, I want to be respected. I want to be credible, memorable, substantial.  I don't want to just be fluff and filler.  Empty or guilty calories.  Mindless entertainment only.  Meh.  Although...mindless entertainment is not necessarily a bad thing.
But who says I can't have little bit of both, saucy and substantial?  I would like to have  achieved that balance for The Other Side of 30, but maybe the best stuff is leftover for The Other Side of 40.  Who really knows?  I sure don't.
As for the one minute or less elevator pitch, there may or may not be progress.  I keep re-pitching and re-thinking and re-pitching and re-thinking all of this stuff in my head, and I think I'm getting it just about down to roux level, but it's hard to tell without pitching it out loud to someone.  I guess I'll have to mix up a few words and pitch them at work tomorrow, just to get an idea of whether or not I'm headed in the right direction.

Thanks, so much, to everyone for supporting my 2nd release of The Other Side of 30 (TOST2). I'm pitching it as "a little saucy, seedy story of a good girl with bad intentions."  We'll see how that grabs folks.
I got some good feedback on my most recent elevator pitch, too.  I'm going to post it here.  If any of you want to offer feedback, I welcome it, as always.  Here goes:

The Other Side of 30 is a story about a woman who, after what was supposed to be this one last fling with an old boyfriend, a few weeks before his wedding to someone else, decides that she wants a second chance at what might have been.  Sebrina Cooper finds herself in unfamiliar territory on the other side of right, the other side of betrayal, the other side of friendship, and she also happens to be on the other side of the age of thirty.  

With all of these moral and ethical dilemmas embattling her biological clock, she's driven and manipulated most by whichever one is speaking the loudest at any given moment.  Sometimes, it doesn't matter that his new wife is a friend of hers, which was a complete accident.  It doesn't matter that glass house that she's unwittingly constructed for herself is only one misstep away from shattering into a mess of jagged little pieces.  Other times, it does.

No matter what happens with this title, if it takes off or not, people need to know that I'm thankful for their support and encouragement.  Without that, I'd surely have given up on this dream of writing something that matters to somebody besides me.  I think that gratitude is always a good look.  It's important to acknowledge people.  Period.  So again, you all are super awesome. Thanks, for reading, commenting, and spreading the word!

So...the hunk across the way apparently already has a love-lust interest. My chances of ravishing his body are a dwindling by the moment.  Well, if that don't beat all.
I suppose I knew this was possible. Not that my nameless neighbor would get his own potential boo-bunny-sex slave just when I was warming up to him.  But that I've created a post that leads to another post.  So be it. 
He really is completely lust-worthy.  To the point that if even says anything else to me, I'm just going to jump on him.  Nobody ovulates THAT much.
I think I must blame everything on ovulating.  How else do I explain my lingering thoughts and sudden tinges of envy?  Just when I was ready to flaunt my feminine wiles and let nature take its course.  Hmph.  That heffa.
All I know is that he just better not come around me talking and smiling, or I'm just gonna pass out and let him let me have my way with him.
Scene set up: 
Me:  Walking to the mailbox is bare, freshly pedicured feet, wearing a white camisole and black yoga pants.  (I'm still fine enough to pull it off.) 
Him:  Just happening to be coming home from work.  Flashes smile.  Says something. It doesn't matter what.
He holds the door.  I "clumsily" drop my mail, and perform one of those kneel down to pick it up in slow motion moves.  Smiling on the way down and on the way back up.  He says something else.  I jump his bones right there at the mailbox.
Okay.  Well, yeah.  That needs work.

Okay, so yeah.  I posted on my other blog about some of the dirty things I want to do my neighbor.  Don't worry.  It's relatively clean.
Sure, I think a lot about ravishing him, in a wholly two consenting adults kind of way, in one of those perfect conditions, perfect opportunity, risk-free fantasies that only come up in romance novels or pornos, but that got me to thinking.  What if the opportunity did happen to present itself?  I mean, it's not astronomically unlikely.  I'm single.  He's single.  And we are neighbors, after all.
Like at this moment, if he were to knock on my door and throw himself at me.  I wouldn't be ready.  It occurs to me that I wouldn't even let him cross the threshold.
My hair's not done.  My nails are complete crap.  I need a pedicure.  I could use a few waxing touch-ups, and I could stand to lose SEVERAL pounds in a several select places.
Sometimes, I wonder just how much attention a man actually pays to a woman's body during sex.  I know that men don't mind imperfection, any more than women do.  I mean, it's not like you're starring in love scene on the big screen, or making a home porno, but still. 
But how much do men really mind a little back fat, or muffin top, or a little extra meat on the thighs?  Do they really notice when our legs aren't freshly shaved?  Eh.  Probably not.
The point is, we notice it on ourselves, and for me, well...I get a little embarrassed thinking about what he might be thinking.  Yeah.  Silly, I guess. 
I just want to feel attractive.  I want to feel like I look like somebody whose bones he wants to jump all the time.  *Sigh*  I miss being in a relationship.  I mean, I ain't gon' miss no meals because of it, but I'm just thinking of how great it would be to look great when opportunity comes knocking...literally or figuratively speaking.
And for those women out there with steady beaus and husbands who have your periodic, but inexplicable losses of interest in sex, what is your deal?  Sex on demand, and you have no interest?
Okay, if it's a vanity thing, I totally get it.  That whole "I'm not feeling sexy right now," or "I need to tidy up" type of issue, I get it.  The self esteem thing is heavy, and probably drives down the sex drive for most of us. 
But for all else, such as that, "I'm tired," "I got a headache," "the kids are in the next room," (y'all KNOW you can have quiet sex), or "I'm mad at you right now" type of stuff, all the damn time...you bitches make me sick.
I mean really.  What is up with that? 
I totally get not wanting to be touched by, ogled at, or groped on by some guy in which you have absolutely no interest.  And damnit, ain't nothing worse than when some jerk is all up in my face and space, assuming that just because I don't have a man, or, in this case, have the hots for another guy, that it's okay for him to come sniffing around and propositioning me.  Wrong, buster.  Get the hell away from me.
But hell, if you're in a relationship with, or married to him, what...the hell...is up?  That's a completely rhetorical question, because I've already made up in my mind that if you say it's anything but vanity, you're on some lame-lazy excuse-making, denial-having, lying ass bullshit.  If you don't want him, then why the hell are you with him?  Y'all are the bitches who make me sick.
And don't get me started with those of you who've somehow settled up with the wrong poor bastard, for haste, or spite, or fear of failure. Or you call yourself being "bored" with him.  You heffas really get on my nerves.  Ain't nobody made you settle up with the wrong man.  Got him thinking that all women want to pull the "hold out" card once they get a man; but no.  It's just YOU.  And your specific disinterest in HIM.
And please don't get it into your head that just because you don't want him that somebody else is just waiting for you to cut him lose so she can jump on him.  If that's your line of thinking, oh grow up, already.  And consider and check your own shady inner circle before you make general assumptions. 
Despite what many ill-informed people would like to believe about single women, being single IS a conscious choice, not a chronic condition.  I've been celibate for this long because I'm selective, not thirsty.  It actually opens my mind for some pretty clear thoughts to jot down here and there.  Including some pretty vivid sex scenes.  But I digress. 
I'm just saying that if you don't want to have sex with you own man, tell his ass the truth about why.  Stop making excuses.  Save everybody a lot of trouble.
Okay.  I guess I'm done thinking, for now.