50 Shades of Suckitude

After suffering through 50 Shades of Grey, I needed to get my thoughts about this horrible book down on paper (or blog, whatevs).

I've recruited a few others to also post reviews of this book, because the world (and by "world" I clearly mean "the 3 people who read my blog HEY Y'ALL, LOVE YOU") needs to hear from a few women who have some semblance of a brain and who realize that 50 Shades is a seriously pathetic excuse for literature.

Here is a handy list of why this book is probably the worst thing I've ever read. Ahem:

1) The story takes place in 2011. Our "heroine," Ana, is a 21 year old college student. She does not have a computer. She does not have an email address. I mean...okay. If I ever encountered someone in real life without an email address I would BANISH THEM FROM LIFE. Except I don't have to worry because only in this weird world where gingers are sexy and stalking people is endearing would this actually happen.

1b) Yes, Christian Grey, who, we are reminded constantly, is so insanely attractive that women pretty much melt into puddles all Wicked Witch of the West-style when they see him, is a ginger. HAHAHA OKAY.

2) No one in this book sounds like a real person. People do not seriously say "shall," E.L. James. I don't care if you're a middle aged British woman. Get with the programme (see what I did there?).

3) There is a character named Jose, and he very frequently says, "Dios mio!" If any of you reading this are Hispanic, on a scale of 1 to 10, how offended are you? If I had to guess how many Hispanic people E.L. James has actually met, I'm going to go with...zero.

4) Look, I really don't want to go that much into the sexy sex parts. Mostly because I'm not particularly well-versed in erotic fiction, and I'm definitely not at all well-versed in having totally unrealistic sex. But I will say this: if you read this book because you've heard about how it's revitalized marriages and you want to turn your love life up a notch, DO NOT READ PAST THE SEX PARTS. The prose is honestly so awful that it will take any amount of turned on that you might be and douse it with a bucket of ice water. To the soundtrack of 1,000 crying babies. With the smell of garbage on a hot summer day invading your nostrils. As in, it's a fucking buzz kill.

5) On that note, why is this book so popular with mothers? There are no moms here. Unless you count Christian's mom randomly coming by his house and not being bothered by his new lady friend with sex hair. Which I don't.

6) I think Ana is some kind of robot. She apparently hates eating. Every time Christian asks her if she's eaten (which, FYI, is totally weird), she gets all sheepish and "Whoopsiesssss totally guilty of not having eaten today!" as if she's a 5 year old who just got caught stealing cookies from the kitchen counter. WHY DOESN'T SHE EAT? I mean sure, every so often I forget to eat or don't have time to, but mostly, NO, THIS IS RIDICULOUS EVERYONE FUCKING EATS.

7) Related to #6, why on earth does this book talk about Darfur so much? I mean, why does it talk about Darfur AT ALL? I know that Christian had some weird upbringing where he was hungry all the time and that's why he's so controlling about Ana's food intake and also why he helps out Darfur (?????), but I kind of feel like this is E.L. James's way of saying, "Hey guys I’m going to talk about a serious issue now and I'm totally not stupid because I’m socially conscious and stuff, what?”  Also, I get that he wants to feed people, but doesn't he want to do something about the genocide? PRIORITIES, CHRISTIAN. Also, maybe read a newspaper, E.L.

8) Ana bites her lip a lot. I just tried to bite my lip and look sexy doing it. I failed. In fact, I kind of look like a scared chipmunk. Does anyone look sexy doing this? (Disclaimer: I don't look sexy doing anything, so...fine).

9)We hear a lot about Ana's subconscious, and also a lot about her inner goddess. WHAT IN THE WHAT. First of all, if you anthropomorphize your subconscious, I think that negates the whole "sub" part of it and DOING IT WRONG, E.L. Also, I don't know about you guys, but my subconscious maybe gives me weird dreams sometimes, but it definitely does not yell at me or look at me or anything that one of my besties would do. Because it's not a person. And the inner goddess? Who is this? Her inner slutty sex kitten? Why are these 2 different entities? What is even going on here? IS THIS REAL LIFE?

10) Typos. I wear "sandals," but apparently in this book, you wear "sandles." Does this book have editors??? Were they so blinded with pathetic mommy porn passion that they couldn't even think straight?

Sigh. And eye rolling.

Lacey's review is here, Debbie's is here, and Jess's is here.

For more hilarious reviews of 50 Shades, check out the Snark Squad, and this amazing article by Julieanne Smolinski.

Welcome to Saturday morning, future husband

If you read Peter Dewolf's blog, you're likely familiar with his series where he writes letters to his future wife. Well, Peter decided to challenge his readers to write their own future spouse letters, and for some reason I decided to take him up on it. I guess I thought it would be good to force myself out of my comfort zone - you know, by somehow trying to incorporate my signature cynicism in with his signature nauseatingly romantic series.

He clearly got the "challenge" part right, because it took me a long time to even start writing this post. But better late than never, I suppose. Here goes.

Hello, sexy future husband,

I'm excited that you're here. Because if you are, it means I've found someone so insanely, incredibly awesome that I was willing to share with you not only the rest of my life, but the other half of my bed.

I'm sorry about the bed thing, by the way. I know you hate that I insist on sleeping as far away from you as possible, but rest assured it has nothing to do with you and everything to do with the fact that I'm a finicky sleeper and I want to get my requisite 10 hours so I can be all the more pleasant tomorrow.

What's tomorrow, you ask? Nothing big, just a regular Saturday. I imagine the morning will go something like this:

I roll out of bed sometime around 10:30 and see that you, truly my better half, managed to get up and go to the gym before I even woke up, and now you're sitting on the couch, eating some eggs and listening to NPR. I stop to say good morning on my way to brush my teeth, and manage to fake-whine about a) ew, you're still gym-sweaty, b) why didn't you make meeeee some breakfast even though you know very well that I don't like eggs?

You respond by grabbing me into a sweaty bear hug, and then going to the kitchen where you pull out a box of Lucky Charms that you bought for me on your way back from the gym.

This is why I love you.

So you eat your eggs and I eat some Lucky Charms (dry, picking out all the cereal bits first while separating the marshmallows into separate piles on our coffee table). I sit annoyingly close to you, watching over your shoulder as you do your fantasy football or baseball or whatever that I still don't understand or care for despite your 100 attempts to explain it to me or get me involved. I will insist on interrupting to tell you that there are only 3 shooting star marshmallows in my bowl of Lucky Charms yet there are 17 pots o' gold and AGAIN there seems to be some kind of weird new marshmallow and I would be able to tell what it is if only I wasn't too lazy to go get the box.

You look at me in that way you often do, which seems to say, "You are so completely weird but somehow I still find you adorable." And then you quickly grab all 7 horseshoes and stuff them in your mouth. You bolt off to take a shower before I can land a punch on your arm.

As we get ready for the day, we discuss who else is going to be at this day-drinking birthday party, and how best to get there from our Brooklyn apartment. I become quiet for a moment and then say, "Hey! I bet that when we get back here, I'll be drunk enough that I can fall asleep even while cuddling! GET EXCITED!"

You laugh and grab my ass. And then we head out.

Dating and stuff

OKAY ACK a few people called me out for mentioning that I went on a date but not actually talking about it. SORRYYYYY.

The reason I didn't say anything about the date I went on is because it was completely unremarkable. Actually the guy was cute and nice and I cannot think of a single thing wrong with him aside from the fact that I didn't really feel any chemistry. Do people feel chemistry on first dates when you meet on the internet? I feel like I could never feel a spark with someone that I met under such contrived circumstances. But then...I'm totally weird (read: fucked up) when it comes to men and dating. Anyway I never texted the guy after our date and he didn't text me either and...that's that.

On a related note though, due to a whole host of reasons, I'm on JDate (again, after a several year hiatus). I can't say I'm thrilled about it but hopefully this time goes better than the last time. Which is to say, I hope no older men IM me, turn on their webcams, and then perform calisthenics in front of the camera with no pants on.

THAT HAPPENED TO ME. It was horrifying.

Semi-related to men and dating, I am desperately trying to make my way through Fifty Shades of Grey right now. Except IT SUCKS. I was under the impression that this book would be so bad that it was good, except it's so bad that it's terrible and I actually want to hunt down the author and punch her in the nose. The writing is so bad it offends me and the sex parts are...not that sexy? This is a terrible horrible no good very bad book. Whatever. Maybe if/when I finish I'll write more about it because I have some strong feelings about this garbage.

And finally, my blog is all pretty now! Click through and check it out, yo. Ashley at Little Leaf was fantastic to work with and I'm proud to show off my fancy new blog (only I'm too lazy to put anything in the top navigation buttons so umm those are blank for now but whatever I WILL GET TO IT ONE DAY).

The end.