I Don’t Care About Your Band by Julie Klausner

If you’ve been through your share of romantic catastrophes, and, like me, I’m sure that you have, then Julie Klausner’s I Don’t Care About Your Band will help you laugh instead of cry about your own intimate disasters. Klausner’s memoirs mine her train wreck of a dating resume to hilarious effect. Klausner seems to have enjoyed her first experience of giving head as much if not more than most of us enjoyed our first time receiving: “I remember thinking the moment I felt Nick’s goth penis in my mouth that I. Was. Home. That this was what I was meant to do.”

Klausner’s comic gifts are as abundant as her libido, as she deftly combines two of life’s greatest pleasures, sex and laughter. I’m just glad that I’m not one of her loser ex-boyfriends, because Klausner’s scathing treatment of her blundering ex’s proves the old adage that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. But this furious New Yorker is also seriously funny, and, at long last, happily paired off. Here’s betting she’ll write an equally funny follow-up about the inevitable follies of successful intimacy.