WARNING: Contains Adult Content, Foul Lauguage, and Recipes that are so easy, even a dumbass could make them...

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

50 Shades of.... what the f@#$ was that???

Yes, I did it. I broke down and read it.  I bought the book, actually, because the thought of someone else's hands on something so sexy disturbed me; the last thing I wanted was a "used" copy.  Of course I'm talking about E L Jame's book 50 Shades of Grey.  I mean, this book has, supposedly, saved marriages. Created babies.  Or, in my case, caused me to ignore my children. Even my husband (though, that was temporary... if you know what I mean).  I spilled supper on the floor. Dropped an egg. I even dropped a knife on my foot, I was so distracted.  I sat in the tub until the water went cold. Ice cold.  I knocked over a candle, spewing hot wax everywhere.  I even forgot a load of laundry in the dryer. I NEVER do that. Ever. I stayed up until the wee hours of the morning (4:46a.m. to be exact) transfixed, not caring what kind of shape I would be in to parent with just a couple of hours sleep. I never even got off the couch to pee.  And based on the kink in my neck, I probably didn't move much at all.  I tried to put it down. I really did.  Many times.  I just couldn't... But why?
It wasn't just the sex. It couldn't be.  Or could it?  I mean, the sex was good. Very good.  I even caught sight of myself in the mirror a few times, blushed (flushed?) when no one was around.  I giggled like a school girl every time my husband asked "How's your book?".  But it wasn't just the sex that kept me reading.  I kept asking myself why I couldn't put it down.  This was totally not my type of read... Or was it?  I like psychological books.  You know: what makes a sociopath tick.  Books that explain why people do what they do; why we turn out the way we do. Those kinds of reads. Oh, wait a minute... I get it now.  This is totally THAT kind of book.  (I'm slightly relieved to realize that it's not just about the sex.  The hot, passionate, deviant sex.  I was starting to feel like a dirty,dirty girl.  But I digress...)
Christian Grey is hot, demanding.  And broken.  (And yes, I know: fictional).  Yet, I still want to "fix" him.  Cradle him. Touch him.  Typical woman:  "Here, let me find out what makes you tick... " and mend it. Change it. Quite possibly, ruin it.  I went from one chapter to the next to the next wanting to find out WHY?  Sure, the sex was great.  Mind-blowing.  But WHY was he this way?  Mommy issues? Did he hate women?  Even Anastasia couldn't help herself.  She wanted to break him... which we all know would lead to a lot of nose blowing and tear drying.  The next thing you know, they'd be getting married and making babies... and who the hell wants to read about that??  And let's face it, if she had succeeded, there would be no book two.  Or three.  (Which is what I'm off to buy next:  Even I need my fix.)
I hear there is talk of a movie.  I'm not looking forward to it.  I don't want anyone type-casting Mr. Grey.  (And realistically speaking, who, on this earth, could do him justice?  I mean, really??)
We all have a Mr. Grey hiding somewhere.  Someone broken. Mysterious. Deviant. Tangible.  And NOT in need of repair.