I know just yesterday I was pontificating over whether or not I would actually read 50 Shades of Bad Metaphors, Descriptions, Analogies, and Characters I Want to Punch In the Face, and was actually leaning towards YES, so I could be educated in what I was trashing.

But then.

Last night, I was enjoying a nice glass of Layer Cake Malbec (no seriously, best Malbec ever), when I decided to yet again see if I could read an excerpt online that didn’t involve 15 orgasms in a row.

The Today Show, I guess, posted an excerpt from Chapter One.  So, the main chickadee turned nympho, Anastasia, is interviewing this Christian Grey person and asks him about his business:

“You’re very young to have amassed such an empire. To what do you owe your success?” I glance up at him. His smile is rueful, but he looks vaguely disappointed.

“Business is all about people, Miss Steele, and I’m very good at judging people. I know how they tick, what makes them flourish, what doesn’t, what inspires them, and how to incentivize them. I employ an exceptional team, and I reward them well.” He pauses and fixes me with his gray stare. “My belief is to achieve success in any scheme one has to make oneself master of that scheme, know it inside and out, know every detail. I work hard, very hard to do that. I make decisions based on logic and facts. I have a natural gut instinct that can spot and nurture a good solid idea and good people. The bottom line is it’s always down to good people.”

I’m sorry, what?  That is the most nonsensical answer I’ve ever read, and was clearly written by someone who doesn’t understand business (crappy plots, yes, business, no).  He just word vomited about having successful employees, which yes, drives a business, but that’s not REALLY the answer to her question, is it?  ARGH.  If I asked my boss “to what do you owe your success?” I would get a much better and coherent answer that actually answered my question.

Then, it gets better:

“Maybe you’re just lucky.” This isn’t on Kate’s list—but he’s so arrogant. His eyes flare momentarily in surprise.
“I don’t subscribe to luck or chance, Miss Steele. The harder I work the more luck I seem to have. It really is all about having the right people on your team and directing their energies accordingly. I think it was Harvey Firestone who said, ‘The growth and development of people is the highest calling of leadership.’ ”  (Ed note: Again, nothing about actual business principles, etc – just a lot of BS to get around answering a question.  Then again, maybe this IS more realistic than I thought)

“You sound like a control freak.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

“Oh, I exercise control in all things, Miss Steele,” he says without a trace of humor in his smile. I look at him, and he holds my gaze steadily, impassive. My heartbeat quickens, and my face flushes again.

Why does he have such an unnerving effect on me? His overwhelming good looks maybe? The way his eyes blaze at me? The way he strokes his index finger against his lower lip? I wish he’d stop doing that.

Seriously, an 8th grader could have written this nonsense.

Of course I’m jealous of the woman who wrote it – she has all three books on the NYT Bestseller list, she’s made millions, and all those freaks from Twilight are falling over themselves to be in the movies, etc.  I’d LOVE to be in her position.

I have to admit, I did LOVE that “Miss Steele” literally tripped over herself and fell INTO Christian’s office – sounds exactly like something I would do (have done, will do again, etc) – finally, a slice of reality in the otherwise pie of “WTF are you talking about, lady????”



Wait, WHAT?

Um, I don’t know how I’m just now finding out about this but apparently there is a Fifty Shades of Grey classical album.  I imagine it’s just the music they use for Cinemax porn on a continuous loop.  As I write this, I am sitting here simultaneously trying to not cry, vomit, or choke on my own bile.

E.L. James celebrated the release with a Q & A (involving handcuffs, natch) at the Soho House in NYC.  Classy.

I have remained steadfast in my refusal to read the Twilight series (from which this bottom-feeding garbage called 50 Shades of I am physically ill was spawned).  My mom, bless her heart, read the first one, so she could relate better to her teenage girls (she’s a pediatric nurse practitioner) and said the first one was so BAD she couldn’t bring herself to read the rest.  Actual quote:  “if I had to read that he turned pale and gripped something ONE MORE TIME, I was going to scream!  Can’t you use a different description?”

So, the fact that Fifty Shades of I don’t give a flying fuck was Twilight FAN FICTION made it an automatic “no'” in my book.  I mean, some Twihard in a chat room wrote this complete garbage that has been a bestseller for 30 weeks, is getting turned into a movie, and now has a soundtrack.  She’s like a pornographic Danielle Steel.

And here it is, still a New York Times bestseller because why WOULDN’T we want to read about a girl who values herself so little that she engages in freaky sadomasochistic sex with some rich dude who is too beautiful to leave until she leaves him and then maybe comes back?  I’m not sure.  Because I haven’t read them.  Although, maybe, similar to my plan for the next Bachelor, I SHOULD read this garbage so I can review it on my own and actually KNOW what I’m trashing rather than trash it based on concept alone.

Someone, I can’t remember who, directed me to THIS BRILLIANT review (aptly titled 50 Shades of WTF)

The chick who wrote this is hysterical and I would like to share my favorite excerpt below:

Now I’ll be totally honest, the biggest issue I have with Fifty Shades of Shit is neither the sex nor the horrible writing. It’s the plot. Thin as it is, it’s still there, its core message being that, given enough time, you can change someone. While I don’t have any problem with this if all you’re trying to do is help them to lose weight or quit smoking, when you’re talking about an emotionally and (dangerously close to) physically abusive relationship, sending that kind of message is ridiculous and irresponsible. Christian is controlling, possessive, condescending, and cruel. He doesn’t allow Ana to behave as she normally would, and Ana just puts up with it, insistent that if she can give him what he wants, when he wants, as often as he wants, she can eventually begin to pull his strings. Will it work? In the books, probably. In real life? No. Almost never. How many idiotic, weak women are going to waste their lives on some emotionally retarded prick because they’ve read shit like this and think this kind of fucked-up fairytale will come true for them? I’ve known women with this mentality. “Oh, he’s so dark and dangerous and threatening, but he’s got a sad, lonely side, and if I could just figure out what’s wrong, I could change him!”

I know this sentiment all too well, specifically with John Doe, thinking that if I loved him enough, I could change him and make him realize that he DID actually want to be in a relationship and eventually marry me rather than kicking me out of his apartment at three in the morning.  At least this Christian dude lets what’s-her-name spend the night (I’m assuming.  But not sure).  But you can’t change a person that hates themselves so much that they can’t help but hate the people who love them (shut up, that makes sense).  So the fact that this concept within the book has women foaming at the mouth and talking about this being some amazing love story is troublesome, to say the least.

But, my apprehension getting the better of me (as in, do I REALLY want to subject myself to this complete mess of a trilogy, I googled “50 Shades of Grey excerpts” and came across this:

” ‘Why don’t you like to be touched?’ I whisper, staring up into soft gray eyes. ‘Because I’m fifty shades of fucked up, Anastasia.’ ” (369)

No.  No no no no and did I mention NO?  It’s pretty safe to say that my original assessment that these books are steaming piles of garbage is accurate and I don’t need to read them to prove to myself that I would HATE them.

Why I Hate the Bachelor

Today I saw on that ABC announced their newest Jerky McJerkface for season 17 of The Bachelor.  Seventeen seasons of this mess?  Really?  The whole concept of reality TV often baffles me – because we’ve gotten to the point where it’s anything BUT real and just a race to see who can suck money out of the tabloid well the longest once the dust from the final rose ceremony (brought to you by! has settled).

When did this madness even begin?  Do you remember around early 2000 when the geniuses at Fox decided to air Who Wants to Marry a Millionaire and had 50 skanks parade around on stage and then the winner was basically picked because of her looks and had to marry the dude on the spot and literally dry heaved into the camera when he tried to eat her face on live television and got the marriage annulled ASAP and then posed for Playboy?  So after THAT the geniuses at ABC were all – “hey this looks like an amazing concept and the OBVIOUS basis for true love”?????

It is fake dipped in silicone slathered in whatever Joan Rivers’s plastic surgeon uses to keep her face from cracking off.

Okay, so I MAY have sent my picture in to be a contestant in 2005 but in my defense:  I was 24 (I think that is their cutoff age), had just moved across the country for a $12/hr job and had $10 to last me every two weeks after I paid all my bills.  So the prospect of being whisked away to Los Angeles (followed by an island!  Isn’t that how they do it now?) to have the producers of the show get me drunk and have me make out with some dude in a hot tub until he decided the next girl was better than me seemed like a step up from trying to ration a box of pasta and butter over the course of a week.

And that’s another thing – all these people do is make out in various bodies of water on tropical islands:  hot tubs, pools, under a waterfall, in the shower, etc.  I’d fall in love too if ABC let me go on tropical excursions in the Caribbean for six weeks with a hot dude…that is until I was eliminated for not being the cattiest or whatever because every season doesn’t it come down to some deranged lunatic and a virgin who is from like south east west central Kansas and still uses dial-up internet and when the dude goes home with her he has to milk a cow to impress her parents?

It baffles me that people are still interested in watching 25 anorexic girls named Sarah Jessica Tiffany Amber Vienna get into cat fights over some snake who will inevitably dump ALL of them until he picks the cross-eyed girl his entire family can’t stand who was like, in jail two years ago in Florida, and has a tramp stamp that you have to stare at while he’s making out with her under a waterfall during the “On the Wings of Love” video montage and all you have to look forward to in the morning is possibly getting groped by some homeless man on the train, which would be the most action you’ve seen in months.

So yes, here I am – 31, single, and refusing to watch a scripted show being passed off as a reality show that is anything but while the people involved always end up being recycled on The Bachelor Pad where the 7th runner up from season 6 of The Bachelor winds up marrying the 4th runner up from two The Bachelorettes ago and now I just have a headache.