Don't Boo

When I was a child, maybe 11 or 12, my parents took me to the St. Patrick's Day parade in New York City. I don't remember much about it, to be honest. I had a really good view, it is possible I had a friend with me, and the weather was cold.

However, it was the first year they were letting a group of people who were gay march. Whether they were police officers, or a social group, or a dance team - that is lost to the ether. What I do remember is there was a gap in the parade, an unusually long space between one group and the next. As the gay pride group marched toward us, a man to my right started to boo. Loudly. Repeatedly. Enthusiastically. The closer the gay banner got to my section, the more noise he made. Then a gentleman to his left, a tall man, British, with thin hands wrapped in fingerless gloves turned to the naysayer and said, very distinctly, "Don't boo. If you don't agree, don't clap. But never boo."

I have never, ever forgotten that.

Today, CFA is allowing people to boo. Loudly. Repeatedly. Enthusiastically. The one near my hometown is packed, all three adjacent parking lots filled to overflow. One friend in Virginia saw a line wrapped three times around the store. Another friend in Pennsylvania saw 32 cars lined up in the drive-through.

I believe CEO Dan Cathy has the right to free speech. He has the right to say that he does not believe in gay marriage. However, when he uses corporate money (supposedly $3 million so far) to donate to causes that are trying to suppress gay marriage, then he is no longer operating as a private citizen but in his role as corporate employee. And yes, CFA still has that right as a corporation to make a stand one way or another. The Jim Henson Company very publicly just made one in response to CFA by pulling all of its toys, ending any future participation with CFA, and donating all of the money earned so far through the partnership to gay rights. All of this is perfectly within their purview of citizens, corporate and private to make their views known.

My problem is the lines and lines of people who believe that they are best served by showing up to say boo. Their speech isn't free - they are paying $5.25 per sandwich, $3.49 per kids meal, and $2.99 per ice dream shake to say that they do not support gay rights. They are saying boo to someone else's life, to someone else's marriage, to someone else's kids, to their parents, to their family. Every ka-ching of the cash register is another boo, and another, and another.

When a family member is dying in the hospital, friends and neighbors usually lend their support through gifts of food, free babysitting, lawn care, etc. They don't go to the hospital and yell boo through the doors. But today, every person buying a CFA sandwich is doing just that. Instead of holding it open, they are locking it closed, because you see, gays don't have the right to visit their dying partners in the hospital.

When a wedding is celebrated, people stand when the bride comes down the aisle in respect. They don't boo through the vows. But today, every person ordering waffle fries is doing just that. They are jutting their legs out to trip her aisle after aisle so that she can barely make it to the altar. Instead of singing during the ceremony, they are shouting, because you see, gays don't have the right to marry.

Today, people are booing. Loudly. Repeatedly. Enthusiastically.

Just like they did about slavery.

Just like they did about suffrage.

And now they are doing it about same sex marriage.

One day, they will be embarrassed that they booed. That instead of standing by or standing up, they instead kicked the legs out from under others. One day, the taste of that chicken fried in peanut oil, those fries cut in waffle patterns, and those high-fructose corn syrup drinks, loaded in calories and food coloring, will no longer nourish, but sicken then.

You don't have to clap. But never, ever boo.

Hot Times, Summer in the Suburbs

I find myself singing a lot of Annie during the summer. Particularly, It's the Hard Knock Life. That song runs through my head every time I pick up or drop off my children from their various summer activities. As they are busy little beavers, I hear this song a lot. Sadly, the irony is lost on them.

You see, summer is not about sitting lazily around the house, playing happily in the yard, whiling away the time with books, board games, and bike trips around the block. Or, at least it isn't for my kids. My kids get evil when they have nothing but time on their hands. Give them an empty day, chock full of opportunity and they will give me nothing but hell on earth. I don't live in a mansion by any means, but I do happen to have both a living room and a family room, plus a downstairs playroom, and each kid has a toy bin in their own, private rooms. Even with my rudimentary math skills, that adds up to four possible play places for each child at any given moment, not counting the great outdoors. Where do I always find them? In the same room, on the same couch, fighting over the same toy, trying to sit on the same cushion. Why? It's a mystery.

To ensure that I end the summer with the same number of kids I started it with, I enrolled them in multiple summer camps. Of course, both kids can't do every camp, the number of days per week range from two to five, some are at night, some only once per week but over a month-long period, some were free, some were not, etc. (But strangely, all end by noon). An actual spreadsheet was created, color-coded, and continually updated to keep track of who was going where when (and for how much). Oh, and don't forget, we joined the town pool to keep them busy in the afternoons, so a secondary calendar was created to log just how many days we spend there to get the proper ROI at the end of summer.

The town pool has proven to be a Godsend as both kids always find someone their age to play with and can happily ignore each other. The big girl is a free-range swimmer who wanders at will between the diving well and the deep end of the regular pool. The little guy still requires my attention, but he's only allowed in the three-foot deep section and that is well within his comfort level. The pool also helps me keep the fainting goats at bay. The higher the heat index, the harder my stupid syndrome is to manage. As I don't want my kids to do nothing but watch movies in air conditioning all summer, the pool allows me to keep my body temp down while keeping their exercise and socialization up. Win/win!

In between all the various camps and time spent at the pool, there are our weekly trips to the library. My daughter is fully embracing multiple summer reading programs and is on a quest to win as much junk and as many free books as possible. My son, while too little to participate, is enjoying the ancillary benefits of being bought new books because we feel guilty whenever she gets a new one and he doesn't. As a result, our collection of superhero books in growing in leaps and bounds. Then there are of course the movies, the play dates, the BBQ's, the day trips, sporting events, and all the summer fairs. It's exhausting.

Am I complaining? Nope. I know damn well that I am incredibly lucky to spend all this time with my kids. I'm lucky that I can afford to keep them out and about. Growing up, summer consisted entirely of arguing with my father over which was one of was stuck rubbing Ban de Soleil on my mother, a dedicated sunbather who rotated every 30 minutes via egg timer and started every summer beige but ended it burnt umber. She didn't have a buffet of vacation bible schools (religious affiliation not necessary), or sports camps, or story times, or free movies to for me to attend. Cable barely existed and VCR's were still a few years away. I sat and I read indoors (in a haunted house without air conditioning) or I sat and I read outdoors (and tried to time my bathroom breaks with her egg timer).

So, in this summer of heat and drought, the sun will always come out tomorrow/You can bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow, there'll be sun - and my kids will be out enjoying it, with or without my direct supervision.    

Where's the Beef?

I didn't go into a stripper movie expecting much. In fact, I was pretty clear that I wasn't interested in the "talky bits." I wanted hot, naked men dancing for my amusement without the hassle of a two-drink minimum and a handful of dollar bills that I am supposed to stick into dirty, sweaty, spangled thongs. I wanted a movie made for women - sweet romance with a hot lead, swoon-worthy secondary characters for comic relief, and at least one really good sex scene.

Sadly, I got nuttin'.

What I got instead was a movie made by men, who, as usual, proved they have no idea what women really want.

I was in a theater full of women ready and waiting for a good time. The initial buzz was happy, giggly, and silly. The first ass shot got a round of applause. The first dance number got some woo-hoos, and there was one "Hey-yah" from the crowd that was not only well-timed, but well-earned. But slowly, as the movie went on, all the life got sucked out of the crowd. The woman two seats to my right spent the first 20 minutes on the edge of her chair, head in her hands, staring at the screen as if she were trying to figure out a way to climb into it. Inch by inch the end of the movie found her slumped into her seat, unable to even muster a smile.

SPOILERS. You want to lose your cherry? Then proceed. But if you want a virgin movie experience, stop reading now.

Yes, it was a stripper movie, but couldn't it have been good as well? Would a full-frontal would have been so hard? (Snerk) There were tits aplenty (as usual), but not one dick shot. I love Joe Manganiello and Matt Bomer. When one has a character is named Big Dick Richie and the other is named Ken, well, I want to see the big dick and I want to know if Ken is anatomically correct. I don't want to see a prosthetic dangling in shadow. I want a full on, Boogie Nights shot and I want it now! Plus, they barely had any lines! I am usually the first to point out that hot men need not speak, but in this case, a little dialogue would have gone a long way. Or, a plot, really. A plot would have been nice. Romance? Romance would have been lovely. Instead, we got a lousy actress (who I am sure was not hired because her father is a studio head), terrible chemistry between her and the lead actor, uncomfortable sexual chemistry between her and the guy who plays her brother, and, of course, she had to be bitchy, condescending, and belittling. She wasn't charming, or intelligent, or funny. She also must have been absolutely hated by the hair and makeup team because while the men all sported flowing locks and perfect tans, I don't even think she wore lipstick.

So, why do I think the movie was made by men who had no idea what women actually like? Let me give you an example. A pretty young thing spends her 21st birthday at the stripper bar, partying with two of the hottest men she has probably ever seen, but she ends the night with a blow job. Men, let me let you in on a little secret. I can count, on one hand, the number of women I know who enjoy giving head. When women are drunk and horny, they want to get laid. LAID. Not swallow.

Here's another example: while the movie starts off auspiciously with a shot of Channing Tatum's ass, we are immediately treated to a scene where he puts his clothes on but the woman keeps hers off. Why does a theater full of women need to see tits? We all have a pair. We can see them every day. We are not impressed. Show me a schlong.

However, the last scene of the movie was by far the most egregious example of men being from Mars and women being from Venus. Finally, our hero and heroine are getting together. While I am not Channing Tatum's biggest fan (a) because judging by his inability to speak clearly, he probably has cow tongue and would be the worst kisser ever and (b) because he has a stupid name - even I will admit that he oozes charm. He's moving in for the kill and finally, we are going to get the honest-to-God sex scene we've been waiting for this entire movie. The crowd is rustling, anxious, waiting for this final release. What do we get? End credits. Are you fucking kidding me? The entire audience let out its breath in one unhappy whoosh. It was like a kid knocking on the bedroom door when it is locked. Reading 50 Shades supposedly gave women blue balls? Well, that last scene in Magic Mike kicked them in the balls.

They couldn't even get the casting right. The secondary character, the Kid, was so soulless, so dead-eyed that he practically had the word "skeevy" tattooed on his forehead. No one was rooting for him. While most of the strippers were easy on the eyes, one of them mysteriously looked like Mickey Rourke. Who wants to see him naked? Matthew McConaughey, a man who spent a considerable time on my list, is now such ancient history that I must have written his name with a quill. You could have used his skin for one of his infamous bongos, it looked so leathery. The plot, such as it was, managed to biff even minor points. One character is thrilled to have earned $230 in one night. My cousin earns FOUR TIMES that much in a single shift bartending. After six years of stripping (and working three day jobs), the hero of the tale has only managed to save $13 grand. Apparently, stripping really doesn't pay that well. Though, perhaps the rent on his beachfront, two-floor house, filled with real wood and lots of light, is setting him back a bit.

So, to the friend who was unable to attend because the movie was sold out -I promise that I will go see a movie with you, but it won't be this one. I'll buy the tickets and the popcorn, but I will not sit through this movie again. I should have just stuck with the trailer - a little flesh, a little music, and a lot left to the imagination.  

Riders of the Storm

My husband is not a fan of people. Certain people he loves dearly, many he enjoys, and a few he actively dislikes, but the great bulk of mankind could disappear off of the planet and he really wouldn't mind. This attitude toward others is never more apparent than when we are on vacation.

Last week, we took the kids to the Williamsburg area to visit Busch Gardens, Colonial Williamsburg, and Water Country USA. I have an entire system on how to avoid crowds worked out and will scour guidebooks and websites for info on which days, weeks, and months have the fewest number of people in attendance. This is both to avoid lines and to avoid, well, other people. I was never so sad as when my daughter started school and we had to give up going down the shore the second week of September, when the weather was still perfect, but everyone with a child in kindergarten or above was long gone. We only go to Orlando at off-peak times, we try to go to amusement parks mid-week, water parks in the cool of the morning, and we begin every trip by walking to the extreme back of the park and then moving counterclockwise. Crazy? Absolutely. However, this system works quite well for my little family.

Due to this belief that everything is better when there is no one else around to enjoy it, when the weather channel warned of approaching thunderstorms, we headed straight for Busch Gardens. Mid-afternoon, with dark clouds gathering, we got a front row parking spot and headed into the park in the firm belief that the storm (singular) would pass and we would be left in an empty park. So, off we went, jauntily walking toward the entrance as the thunder rolled and hordes of people streamed past in the opposite direction. Unfortunately, my daughter is afraid of both thunderstorms and being locked inside a closed building, which at that very moment, merged into a single keening overwhelming terror that, combined with a raging nosebleed caused by a sudden temperature drop of 25 degrees, caused her to fall into the abyss of uncontrollable hysteria. Within seconds, the drops of both blood and rain increased exponentially and I had to bring my husband into the women's room to try to try to help me calm the poor child down before she bled to death.  All of this happened before we had arrived at the ticket booth. 

Our immediate goal was to enjoy some of the shows the park had to offer while waiting out the storm. Eventually, we were able to coax my child out of her fear cage with the promise of singing and dancing. We made it to the first show with nothing worse than wet feet and exited into promising rays of sunlight. My son (who had not even noticed his sister's descent into madness and was happy to play in the puddles) had been promised the first ride, so we trekked across the park to his promised land - Elmo's World. Upon arrival, we chose a sunny, dry spot to wait for the rides to reopen. Sadly, this was not to be as a lovely young park employee came over to tell us to seek shelter immediately as another severe storm was on its way. Joy. With his help, we plotted a course to the next show and set off. We had to stop multiple times along our route to avoid the worst of the weather, but the number of people we saw kept diminishing which kept me hopeful that when the storm ended, the park would be our personal playground of delights.

Our final destination was an enormous building that could comfortably hold 1500 that was currently holding about 150. As the park-wide announcements changed from "we are experiencing weather delays" to "we are keeping the rides closed for the safety of our guests" to "please seek shelter immediately",  we were safe and dry indoors while the severe storm raged outdoors. Unfortunately, the 60 mile per hour winds, hail, and torrential rain caused interior flooding near the doors as well as some minor leaks in the ceiling. Finally, finally, the storm abated to the point of venturing forth, hopeful that now we would be rewarded with no lines. As I rushed toward the first park employee I saw, asking when I could expect the rides to reopen, she explained very gently that instead of opening the rides, they were actually closing the park.

We choose poorly.

This of course meant that the next day, the park was twice as crowded. As my son refuses to ride anything but basic transportation-inspired rides (bumper cars, trains, very slow moving boats, or the carousel), I had a rather dull afternoon moving from shady bench to shady bench with him. As my daughter begs to ride anything that goes upside down, sideways, with a big drop, preferably into water, my poor husband had quite a different afternoon. At one point, after I had just enjoyed a breezy 20 minute scenic loop around the entire park on a train watching deer frolic and looking fruitlessly for bears, I found him slightly green and wobbly-eyed as he tried to recover from the latest ride while my daughter waited in line for the next nausea-inducing one.  

In the end, a good time was had by all (even with the crowds). Luckily, our next trip of the summer will be with friends so good that one time (not in band camp), the husband almost punched a guy for me. So even if the Inner Harbor is filled with idiots, my little circle will be that much larger and that much more intelligent. But I will still make them move in a counterclockwise formation.

Clip, Clip, Screw

The other night, while flipping channels, I happened upon Extreme Couponing. Now, we all know I watch a lot of crap TV.  While I have been accused of being both a movie snob and a book snob (mostly by people who have NO taste in movies {cough, cough PG}), I am definitely not  a TV snob. I may not watch The Bachelorette, but I watch almost everything else.

To those of you smart enough to change the channel (or to avoid TLC entirely), in each episode two different people go to the grocery store and try to buy as much stuff as possible while paying at little as possible. For example, if Snapple Iced Tea is on sale for $1.00 and there is a coupon for $.50 off Snapple and the store allows the doubling of coupons, then you are receiving that one dollar item for free. If the store does not have a policy that limits the number of either coupons or purchases of a sale item, you can then buy cases of Snapple - all for free. 

Or, if you have a manufacturer's coupon that is MORE than the sale item, say $1.00 off of Snapple Iced Tea, but the iced tea is on sale for $.75 each, then some stores will actually credit you back the $.25 per bottle you purchase.

What I don't understand is why it is necessary to purchase multiple cases of an item. If I need a case of Snapple, it is certainly nice not to have to pay for it. But unless I am throwing one hell of a party for AA members, I certainly don't need more than two, right? Even those lunatics who feel the need to stockpile food and beverages for the end of the world, the zombie apocalypse (Hi M!) , or the Third World War still probably know enough to rotate the expiration dates out now and again. No one wants to face Judgment Day with food poisoning. But you can't possibly drink dozens of cases of Snapple in time to beat the expiration date unless you want to face the end of the world with a mouth full of cavities (and I don't think you can kill anything, undead or not, with bad breath). So why buy more than you need? Last night's episode showed a woman buying at least a dozen gallons of Almond Milk. Isn't that going to expire relatively quickly? Does lack of use negate lack of payment? I certainly think so. I have spent my entire life trying to explain to my mother that just because it is on sale, doesn't mean it is a bargain if you don't actually need/want/use it. She hasn't quite grasped the concept yet but I'm still trying.

Most of the women (and the few men) shown have storehouses of food, cleaning supplies, beverages, and junk food. It's like hoarding, except everything is organized in neat rows. One guy claimed that he donated everything, but he didn't say where or to whom or even how much. I'd be impressed with someone who used their mad coupon skills for good, but even if they did donate the whole stash, it is still unfair to the store and manufacturer  you basically just screwed out of payment. What may seem like a fun game to you ends up being a huge headache for a store manager in a business that already has slim profit margins trying to figure out how he is going to restock the entire Snapple display without the money to pay the distributor.

I also wonder at the wisdom of showing how you screw the system on television. If I owned Snapple and found out someone was advertising how to acquire my product without paying for it, I would immediately contact my marketing team to rectify the situation. No Snapple coupon would be worth more than $.25 and could not be used in conjunction with any other coupon. If I were a grocery store owner, I would immediately set limits on both the amount of coupons allowed (say one per item) and the amount of items allowed to be purchased (say maximum of six).

The coupon craze is conspicuous consumption writ large. The concept of acquiring multitudes of items just to have them, is such an American (and Ferengi) mindset that I can only imagine what other cultures would think of such a TV show. Also, since most of the coupons are for boxed, canned, bagged, bottled, and frozen food, most of what they are eating isn't even healthy. It's all just empty calories filling empty spaces. Either way, I can't imagine this craze will last long. The more the big corporations learn about how the coupons are being manipulated, the more they will change how coupons can be used. When you allow a TV crew to follow your step-by-step process on how to beat the system, it isn't going to take long for the system to change the game.

Smart, Not Pretty

Raise your hand if you like bathing suit shopping. Anyone? Aw shut it Gisele, put your hand down.*Anyone NOT a super model? Alrighty then.

Look, I realize that bathing suit shopping is torture for almost everyone. But when you have triple D's and an ass you can rest drinks on, it becomes a bit more problematic. Personally, I'd like to go back to old-timey bathing costumes. Who doesn't look good in dark blue serge? Add in a cute little ruffled hat and I'd be all set. Sadly, they don't make them anymore. Trust me, I've checked.

What they do make for ladies who lunched on sugar and carbs are bathing suits of such a hideous nature that they could only have been designed by the blind. When you are roughly the size and shape of a couch, surely you don't need to wear clothing that looks like upholstery? I live in Jersey, the land of leopard print, but does it have to be on everything? There is also a ratio of cup size to sparkles that I have yet to understand. So far, it seems like the bigger the boob, the bigger the bling. This means that if I were to buy a bedazzled suit, I'd probably cause temporary blindness if looked at in direct sunlight.

I found all this out during my recent foray bathing suit shopping. While many people recommended Land's End (and their generous free shipping policy), they only makes "soft cup" suits. I need underwire and rigging and possibly even miniature cranes. Land's End is out. Instead, I hit the mall. I wandered through store after store fingering triangles of fabric that would barely cover my areola. I found bottoms that were so small, they should have been sold as dental floss. Finally, broken and dispirited, I wandered into the plus-sized clothing store. Why had I avoided it for so long when I am obviously their target demographic? Two reasons: they have pretend sizing and they appear to charge by the (cheap) yard. If I am going to pay a thigh and wing for an outfit, I at least want to recognize the material. But, when it came to bathing suits, this store was actually fairly restrained. Not only did some come in basic black, but they had built-in bras. While it may have been a win, buying those awful things still felt like a loss. I came home pissed off, depressed, and just plain mean.

This is when Jennifer Weiner stepped in and saved the day and reminded me of one very simple phrase I tell my daughter all the time, which is, "It is better to be smart than pretty."

That night, while I was sitting on the couch brooding, hating myself and my body, I decided to check Twitter. (I have an account mostly so I can follow people.) There, my beloved Weiner was holding a contest to see who could post a picture that included her books but referenced The Bachelorette. I quickly set up a tableau wherein my entire collection of Weiner novels were surrounding a mini-guillotine/bagel slicer where a copy of Jonathan Franzen's The Corrections was placed, ready for death. I titled this piece, "What happens after the rose ceremony." Within minutes, I had a direct message from the author, telling me that she loved my joke and was sending me a free galley copy of her yet-to-be published new novel.

This happy moment, when I won a free book from a great author based entirely on my sense of humor (and knowledge of her cantankerous history with Franzen) pulled me out of my black mood and taught me a very valuable lesson. Over Twitter, she couldn't tell that I was fat. She could only tell that I was funny. Judging by beauty alone, I may have become the person you refer to as, "she has a great personality" or "she makes me laugh" but really, is that such a bad thing? I have told my daughter that it is better to be smart than pretty so many times she can recite it on cue. Well, not to too my own intellectual horn (because based on my SAT scores, I'm not even half as bright as my husband) I am at least smart enough to be funny.

I'll take that as a win.

* Joke lifted directly from my eldest sister-in-law.

50 Shades of WTF?

WARNING: This blog post is NC-17. Explicit sexual language WILL be used. It is also wicked long.

WARNING: Here there be spoilers.

The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was getting the world to believe he didn't exist. - Keyser Soze

The greatest trick EL James ever pulled was convincing the audience that this book had anything to do with Twilight. It doesn't. Pricks with dicks are a dime a dozen. The fact that he is rich and young and she is dumb and pretty makes this a Harlequin Romance. She is the eternal damsel in distress, he is always the errant knight available to rescue her. Add in the sex and it is just a rated X Disney movie. But take out the werewolves, and the vampires, and the Volturi and it's just bad porn.

Ladies and gentlemen, here are the 50 Things Wrong With the Fifty Shades Trilogy

Fifty Shades of Grey

1. Our heroine actually looks into a mirror as a descriptive device. That is the "its a dark and stormy night" of characterization.
2. Why couldn't Kate/Rosalie just have called and done the interview over the phone?
3. Why did Kate spend months trying to get the interview and, based on the questions, mere minutes actually preparing for it?
4. "Smart" as a adjective to describe being neat and tidy once is fine. But repeatedly? Not so fine.
5. If you ever find a man with gray eyes, kill him with fire. No human being on this earth has eyes that color. (Same with yellow eyes - and why does no one ever notice that Edward and his entire adopted family all have the same unnatural eye color?)
6. Ana has huge problems accepting any gifts from Christian, but she seems to live off the kindness of her roommate - rent, clothes, laptop, etc.
7. José= Jacob. Only without any sort of interesting back story at all.
8. "No one has ever held my hand." Look, there is a line between innocence and stunted emotional growth. We have left it far behind in the dust with that particular sentence.
9. Twinings English Breakfast Tea is Ana's favorite. Honestly, can she be more bland?
10. Anyone who can drink five margaritas, champagne, and beer is not a lightweight. Especially if it is her first time getting drunk. At 21. After four years of college.
11. Elliot = Emmett
12. She has never been kissed? At 21? She has never masturbated either? Or had sex? Or knew that she should shave her armpits and legs before a date? Throw in the lack of hand-holding and drinking and now we've passed emotionally stunted and gone head first into emotionally damaged.
13. Our first appearance of the phrase "fucks hard" occurs in Chapter Six. This will repeat roughly one million times throughout the rest of the book. It is never rough, or dirty, or rushed, or fast, or any other word. It's just hard.
14. So after making her sign a non-disclosure agreement, then showing her a roomful of elaborate sex toys, then showing her his dominant/submissive contract, he's just going to screw her the old-fashioned way? Huh?
15. No naughty words are ever used to describe naughty bits. It's always his erection, never his hard cock or dick. It's her breasts, never her tits. The is the most formal porn ever. She has a clitoris, not a clit, and never a cunt or a pussy. In fact, her fave phrase for her vagina is to call it "there." It's supposed to be erotic, not ridiculous.
16. So, our 21 yr old virgin reaches orgasm for the first time in her life and her response? "Oh my." That, my friends, is bad writing. As is this example of being overcome by his stunning beauty,"Jeez, he looks so freaking hot. Holy cow, I cannot move my arms."
17. Then, upon seeing his hard-on, she is completely confused as to how it will fit inside of her. Didn't she ever take sex ed? Have none of her friends had sex and discussed it within her hearing?
18. Within the first sex scene, we set up the pattern for all the rest. Play with nipples, insert finger in vagina, rub G-spot, tells her he is about to fuck her hard, open foil packet, she feels full of him, they screw, he tells her to come, everyone orgasms. It's not very imaginative.
19. When our heroine actually tells the hero that she isn't interested in pursuing a relationship, instead of walking away, as he had promised, he shows up in her bedroom. Later, she later leaves for a five-day vacation and he shows up within two. This is not romance. This is stalking.
20. Why are the college graduates looking for internships and not jobs?
21. Midway through the first book, we stop pretending to rip off Twilight and start actually ripping off the e-mail exchange scenes from Bridget Jones Diary instead.
22. When she finally tells him to spank her, as she has been well aware he has wanted to do from the beginning of their relationship, she proceeds to freak out completely and dump him. I repeat, for asking him to do what he expressly (visually and in writing) said he wanted to do from the first moment they met. Sigh.
23. FIFTY SHADES DARKER: At a restaurant, he orders dinner for them both and she is appalled. "Jeez, don't I get a choice." Um, no, you dumb shit, you don't get a choice. He's a DOMINANT. You are his SUBMISSIVE. This isn't fucking rocket science.
24. He makes a comment about never leaving - she replies by asking if he wants her to move in. When he says yes, she freaks. Um, why did you ask the question if you didn't want to hear the answer?
25. Don't e-mail him all day then complain that he is suffocating you by returning the e-mails. God, I'd like to beat her with a ruler and I don't even swing that way.
26. Jack Hyde is really the name of the evil boss. Obviously. (The better to show Christian as Jekyll).
27. Hyde might as well twirl a black mustachio in all of his scenes. He's a straw villain, not a real one.
28. Her first week of work, she shows up 15 minutes late and spends all day either e-mailing or calling her boyfriend -but has the gall to wonder why her boss is upset with her!
29. The boss waits mere days to sexually harass and physically assault his new assistant. How does this guy still have a job?
30. Oh good, now that the evil boss has been fired, our heroine can move into his position, take his corner office and his assistant - after a mere two weeks. Wow, this really is fiction.
31. Kinky fuckery is a good phrase for describing BDSM, but it isn't the only one. Can someone please get this author a thesaurus? Also, there is nothing so kinky in this book that you couldn't find displayed at a in-home sex toy party.
32. So, immediately after someone has broken into your home (and was not caught), you wake up and see someone at the foot of your bed. Do you (a) think it is just a dream and wander around like an idiot or (b) alert someone immediately? What do YOU think our heroine did?
33. I understand Christian is controlling, but does he have to summon her, lead her places, and tell her what to do by saying, "Come" all the time She's a person, not a dog. Of course, considering how many times he reminds her that "You. Are. Mine" she might as well be on a leash.
34. Chekov's gun appears - and it is actually a gun. Honestly. Shoot me now.
35. His staff has a wide range of duties - shop for women's underwear, chauffer women around, set up elaborate proposals, and completely miss the stranger sitting in a car in the front yard.
36. He proposes after only knowing her a month and the only worry she has is if they are compatible sexually? All they've done is have sex. If I were her, I'd worry more about living with a controlling egomaniac with jealousy issues.
37. FIFTY SHADES FREED: I have been purposing ignoring Ana's inner goddess. Instead of describing what Ana thinks or feels, the author instead uses a Greek chorus to tell us. It's sloppy writing and makes Ana seem like she has multiple personality disorder.
38. I would like to work for a company with her vacation policy. She's been there fewer than three months and still got a three-week vacation?
39. He gives her hickeys on her breasts so she won't be tempted to sunbathe topless for a second time. He believes this is acceptable behavior and is not upset by it. Later, when she willingly allows him to tie her up (and this leaves a mark), he is contrite to the point of ridiculousness. The lesson learned here is that if he does it on purpose, its fine, but when he does it by accident, then it's not fine. Um, WHAT?
40. Ana read five books on her three week honeymoon. Five whole books in three weeks. On this fact alone, she is given a publishing house to run. On my two-week honeymoon, I needed a separate piece of luggage for all of my books. I assure you, I read way more than five - and still had plenty of time to bang like a screen door in a hurricane.
41. She spends all of her time worrying if what she says or does is going to make him mad. That isn't a relationship built on love; that is built on fear.
42. Case in point - she doesn't mention that she is going to keep her maiden name at work and since IT didn't immediately change it within hours of her returning to work, he shows up at her office to bully her into changing it professionally. And then she does. Oh, I foresee a long and healthy marriage here, don't you?
43. Our very married heroine actually threatens to fire a woman who dared to flirt with her husband. Trust issues much?
44. Why wouldn't the self-confessed control freak who is also exceptionally sexually active make certain that his wife remain on schedule with her Depo-Provera shots? He controls almost everything else about her but leaves that up to chance?
45. Worst. Security. Team. Ever. Two break-ins, one kidnapping, and getting the slip (twice) from the person they were supposed to be protecting.
46. As a medical point of reference, if you have a catheter in, then you don't feel the need to pee because your body is already handling that particular problem. Really, if you can't get the little things right, why should I believe you when you try to write bigger stories?
47. So the evil boss made his assistants have rough sex with him, taped the assaults, then used those tapes as blackmail against the assistants. Haven't any of them ever seen Law & Order? You blackmail the guilty, not the innocent!
48. If I never have to read the phrase, "Jeez!" again, it will be too soon. 
49. Both of these people are black holes of need. They deserve each other.
50. Theodore Raymond Grey is a much better name than fucking Renesmee.