Life has been busy. Work has been busy. I spent an entire night at the mall last night feeling generally miserable about all dressing room outcomes across the various stores and then just went 11-for-14 at 8:45a.m. today at Target. Who knew?
Anyone who knows me knows I hate breaking the rules for fear of getting admonished. I felt more than slightly mischievous when I walked back out to my basket after the first round of the limited six and snuck eight back to the dressing room for round two. Because I was way to lazy to do the whole dress in my t-shirt and jeans bit before gathering my round three summer apparel from ten feet away.
Living on the edge, friends.
So I’ve neglected the blog because life happened. Last Friday was spent with my newest area girlfriend (Katie blog shout-out!), followed by my cousin’s high school graduation party (Jamie blog shout-out! And I feel really old!) and a trip to the Beach Boys 50th Anniversary Concert at the Saratoga Performing Arts Center (Uh bah bah bah bah Barbara Ann shout-out!).
I danced with my boyfriend to “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” live. Also watched Big Drunk Shirtless Dude dancing slip and bite it face-down in the grass. JOY.
And all the while, I’ve been reading Fifty Shades of Grey.
I feel much the same about this book as I did about Twilight. I started reading not because the series itself intrigued me in particular but because everyone else was reading and I had to know what the hype was about.
Apparently I’m a follower.
And much like Twilight, I hate every minute of reading this book. I’m only halfway through, and just like Kristen Stewart’s blinky-eyed Bella, Fifty Shades Anastasia Steele is an idiot. Completely ignoring all sense of self-worth, self-esteem and maturity.
Also because the book is entirely unrealistic.
Oh, you had an orgasm while the guy you’ve known less than a week took your virginity? Tell us more about how you “shattered” around him.
Also, every time Grey is turned on when she bites her lip, I consider how I’m pretty sure that move makes me look like a beaver.
But wait – we don’t want to hear from Ana. We want to hear from her subconscious. Excuse me, inner goddess.
I want to ctrl+F the book for that phrase and see the count of shots I’d take if I made it a drinking game.
Her inner goddess says approximately every third-to-seventh paragraph she’s better than this, but in reality, she’s going to actively prove in the remaining paragraphs that she’s not. And that inner goddess will keep talking, and Ana will keep giving the inner goddess the finger while Grey slips her his.
(You’re right! I totally went there! And hit publish to 205 followers! Living on the EDGE!)
Question: What would you name your subconscious? Because “inner goddess” is about the last thing that comes to mind for me. Inner cookie monster ranks higher.
I really hate this book. I really hate that it’s a three-part series and Ana isn’t going to make any good decisions in the next 1,000 pages.
I really hate that I’m going to keep reading, not only this one, but the next two.
I really hate that based on the fact I am going to keep reading and because I need to see what happens, it seems I’ve actually grown care what happens to these stupid characters and their inner goddesses/demons/sexually-charged Jiminy Crickets.
So to summarize, I hate this book.
But apparently, like Mr. Grey and Miss Steeles’, it’s a love-hate relationship.
I’ll let you know how it goes.
A friend sent me this music video this week and said it reminded him of me. I loved every minute of it, so I thought I’d share. Happy weekend, friends! Also, I tagged this post with the word “sex.” Sorry if I tricked any non-blog followers looking for something way more interesting.