Pulp Fiction; not to be confused with the movie

I am bereft.

Or at least that's how it feels. I just finished the book I was reading, and I don't have anything "new" lined up to read this weekend.

That's not entirely true. I have plenty of books on my shelf that I haven't read yet, but none of them are what I'm in the mood for right now.

I don't want anything serious. I don't want anything literary. I don't want anything that describes in great detail how a computer encryption program works even though it's supposed to be fiction. I don't want anyone to die unless it's 1) The bad guy, 2) The asshole husband, 3) A beloved relative who was old and whose "time had come."

I DO want humor. I want gratuitous sex. I want people to suddenly become wealthy in a totally fictitious obvious plot-point way. I want the characters to get drunk and inappropriate in public. I want a character who's a smoker and never once mentions quitting, nor anyone lecturing the smoker about quitting. I want the ditzy blonde to turn out to be a genius and save the day. Oh and that same ditzy blonde? She turns out to be lesbian and she really didn't realize all those guys were hitting on her. I would also like a giant old house with old furniture and at least one hidden room.

Oh, enough rambling. I love pulp fiction. I'll quote my skanky ex-boyfriend Pete: "It's better for your brain to read trashy fiction than to watch trashy fiction on TV."

Pulp fiction: It contains pretty darn good descriptions of food you want to eat, adventures you want to live, sex you want to have, and an ending you'll never get.

So I just walked over to my shelf and grabbed at random. I'm sure to get at least one of the things I want.