I have a slutty confession. Last night, I finished 50 Shades of Grey. And I don’t feel good about it one bit.
I’ll admit, I took the bait. I wanted to see what all the hoopla was about with this book that people my age (and every age for that matter) are raving about. Two weeks ago, when I sat on the plane next to my mom on our way to Long Beach, I pulled out my nook and she asked what I was reading. For a brief moment, I wished for a wooden, wicker-like divider between us because I felt like I was in confessional. (Though, I can’t really remember what that feels like since the last time I confessed was right before my First Communion in 1985. I’m a bad Catholic, ok?!) When I told her what I was reading, she rolled her eyes in disgust. Oh great, she even knows about it. I told her I’d let her know when it gets real slutty, to which she shook her head disapprovingly and replied, “That’s ok.”
If you’ve read this book, I’m sorry I just used the term “rolled her eyes.”
I started this book on vacation, and I wished I had finished on vacation. This is a vacation-only book, people. This is not something you want to bring back to your normal life, your normal weekday routine*. Because, as awful and as flawed as it is, it must be read. It must be finished no matter how much you think to yourself as you’re reading, “This is such a shit book.”
*IT INTERFERES WITH NORMALCY OF LIFE. HENCE, THE HALF-ASSED, YET DELICIOUS, CROCK-POT DINNER. (I’ll get to it.)
I’m going to address a few things KEY elements of this book that led me to the ultimate conclusion that I truly don’t give a shit about Ana and Christian. And I don’t care to read the next two books. I will see the movie, however, because I’m dying to know how in the holy hell they will film such scenes and who in God’s name will agree to be cast in this flick.
1. People my age (let’s say in mid-30’s because that’s what I am), and younger, DON’T use the term “Oh for pity’s sake.” We just don’t, especially people in Portland. I feel bad for the Pacific Northwesterners who got shat on in this book.
2. Women my age (again, born in the 70’s) OR ANY WOMAN I know, especially in her twenties, DOESN’T refer to her sexuality as her “inner goddess,” ever. Not repeatedly, on every damn page, or ever.
3. Really, multiple orgasms? The time you lose your virginity. Really? Mmmk, whatever. Bravo to you then, Ana.
4. Are we not ever going to address the raging UTI Ana should have gotten within that week? Because it happens. That’s why you should always pack pre-emptive antibiotics on your honeymoon. Just sayin’.
5. I don’t like a man I can’t fart in front of. Christian Grey and I would never be compatible because he doesn’t seem very tolerant of flatulence. I knew Sean and I would be married and live happily ever after because he
embraced deals with my inheritance of Henderson-ism farts.
6. I’ve never been stalked, I think. But last I checked, stalking is bat shit crazy behavior, not a turn-on. And I’m pretty sure if I was having Cosmos with my mom in a hotel bar, she wouldn’t encourage that behavior. Ana’s mom is a mess.
7. Unless you’re milking the pregnancy card and say to your husband “Go fetch me the Phish Food. Right NOW,” half-kidding, but really not, the term “fetch” is 100% never used by people my age, or younger. No one fetches the Chinese food. No one fetches the contract. No one.
8. The “mean machine?” WHY aren’t they just texting each other? It’s not 1998. Dammit. Just text! And who takes the time to change the subject header with each reply?
9. The tampon scene. WHUT.
10. Shut up, Ana. Stop asking so many questions.
Here’s that chicken recipe by the way. (My mother would be so ashamed of this – the recipe and that whole talk of virginity/UTI-farts.)
One day last week, still trying to get back on schedule from our vacation and make-up missed ballet and gymnastics classes, I knew we’d be returning late in the evening from said classes. Earlier in the day, I threw chicken breasts in the crock and knew by the time we got home, the girls would be ravenous and in desperate need of a shower, then straight to bed. This is the perfect kind of meal for a hectic weekday when you’ve got shit to do, kids to bathe, and books to finish- thank God mine was on a nook so none of the other parents at gymnastics could see what I was reading.
SPICY CROCK POT BUFFALO CHICKEN SANDWICHES & SALAD (inspired by laziness and my Utah-roots)
for the sandwiches:
3 chicken breasts
1 jar Frank’s Buffalo Wing Sauce (I used the smaller bottle, about 5 ounces)
1/4 cup water
Bleu Cheese Dressing
6 Hoagie or potato rolls
for the salad:
Spray your crock pot with non-stick spray and place the chicken breasts in crock pot. Pour entire contents of hot sauce bottle over chicken, as well as the 1/4 cup or so of water to prevent drying-out. Set crock pot on LOW for about 6-7 hours. When finished, simply shred with two forks. (I added some matchstick carrots to the chicken at this point, but that’s optional.) Serve with Bleu Cheese dressing on your roll of choice and be sure to serve a salad alongside so you feel better about yourself after the laziest meal you can ever think of preparing for your family. Serves 4-6.
I didn’t even take images of these chicken sandwiches, that’s how half-assed, yet delicious(!) this is.