My Take on 50 Shades of Grey

Fifty Shades of Grey is not for the faint of heart.

Some people refuse to read it. Others read it and want to burn the memory from their brains. Some use it as a manual to vamp up their sex life.

Whatever.

I have been trying to conjure up my own opinion of the book. Is it filth or fantastic?

From a writer's perspective E.L James is a freakin' genius.

Whether you loved the book or felt like you needed to shower after--it got the masses talking. As a writer, that is a great achievement. When you work on something that has the potential to only collect dust on a book rack, it is a pretty big deal when everybody has something to say about what you have written.

As far as the story line--eh. I mean sure it is heavily decorated in a sex fetish--but at the end of the day it's just a love story plus handcuffs and a riding crop.

Some Things to Consider:
If reading about sex makes you feel icky--not the book for you.
If you didn't like the first book--don't read the next two.
If you hated the series--don't watch the movie.
If you're embarrassed you read it and liked it--don't tell your mom.
If your mom read it and liked it--embrace her freak flag.

All in all--I thought it was alright. I admit--I have the cast in my head of who should play who in the upcoming film. Whatever. When the book gets banned I'll have rebel status.

Winona Ryder, condoms, and frosting.

I have been trying to write a blog for over an hour. Reed is at school, Keygen is napping, the T.V. is off--there are not distractions. Well, except my goldfish attention span that has been darting around unable to settle on a single thought. So..I thought it would be entertaining for you to read my thought process for writing a blog. My thoughts for the last hour:

Maybe I'll write a blog about sex.

Yeah..everybody has sex.

Okay, not everybody.

My grandma doesn't.

Ew. What if she does?

I'll ask her.

No, that's weird.

I'm going to ask her.

What if Reed gets embarrassed?

I won't talk about OUR sex life.

What if I did?

My mom reads this. 

So? I'm a grown up.

Ugh. I can't do it.

Next.

I'll write about the time I thought I was a dog whisperer.

I am crazy.

What if I really am crazy.

Would I be Joan Crawford crazy or Winona Ryder in Girl Interrupted crazy?

Winona. 

Didn't she shoplift?

Google.

Yup.

What's the world coming to?

Apocalypse.

I don't believe that.

Do I?

Nah.

It's bothering me I can't come up with anything..

I could write about my pet peeves.

Ugh. I have too many.

I hate the word "coupon."

I always clip coupons, but never use them.

It's like having a mini van. Sort of.

I'll never own a mini van. 

Unless I have 5 kids.

Planned parenthood is where it's at.

Maybe I could write about  condoms.

I had a kid in the middle of college--a planner? Yeah right.

A blog about---marshmallows or gummy bears.

I'll call it "Weird shit we don't know why we eat"

Really?

Jello is another one.

Stop.

I could write about my fear of being a starving writer.

I'm hungry.

I could make cupcakes. 

I hate to bake.

I could just eat the frosting.

Focus!

This.Is. Going.Nowhere. 

Frosting.

It just wasn't in me today. 

A Political Blog----Uh oh!

Ok--so I'm sorry for joining the masses about the nationwide political freak-out, but because of some recent events, I feel it is necessary to post about an issue that I have personally been through and seen others close to me go through.

As the election approaches, everybody is on edge. No matter what your political affiliation is, there is a weight in the air that makes people nervous about our country's future. No matter which side of the fence you are one, you certainly have an opinion about the politics whether it is liberal, conservative, moderate or simply sure that the government is one big crock.

Either way, we have all sort of gone on the defense about where we stand politically. I just want to take a moment to bring everybody down for a minute. Just a minute. Because once our political beliefs turn us into hate-spewing two-headed monsters, we need a reality check.

I am a flaming liberal. It's true. I believe in the welfare system. I believe in people paying their fair share in taxes. I am pro-choice. I believe in gay  human rights. I believe that there is absolutely no reason that one single person in our country should have to worry about receiving healthcare...ever. I also think that religion has no place in politics.

My belief system and perception of the world have been created just as yours have--by the experiences I have lived through. It takes all kinds of people to make this world go around and you can't be so far on one side of things that you can't see the other. While it may be easy for all of us to group people by political party and then belittle , name-call, and stereotype--we have to remember that we are not political parties. We are people. We all want the same things. We want our children to grow up happy and healthy. We want to provide a stable life for our family. We want to have a small piece of the American dream. We just have a different way of getting there.

I get it, politics can be overwhelmingly dividing--and it's not that easy to sit around holding hands and singing kumbaya (Uh, you really thought I was going to write this entire thing without being all...liberal) when someone on Facebook posts something that pisses you off so bad you want to argue with them for an hour in a public showdown of who did the best job fact-checking (And let's face it..none of us are Bill Clinton), this leads to an ugly side of human nature. A side that has to be right at the expense of friendships and sometimes even family.

But you know, the truth is, we need to just get over the fact that we can't change people to suit the world that we have created for ourselves. I'm not saying you can't be proud of your affiliation, but when people resort to name-calling and truly believing that they are the only person in the world with any common sense, this no longer is a political issue, but a human one.

Women At War With Women

Women At War With Women

This is an insightful look at the approach to women's issues with their body.

The 98%

Twenty-three is too young for a biopsy, I think.
I guess everybody feels they aren't ready to have their private parts exposed to the world (ok, a radiologist, an ultrasound tech, and student who was probably more nervous than I was). But really, it is more than that. I don't feel ready to be tested for cancer.

Cancer.

I hate how that word sounds. I hate how it feels to type it. It feels like something with teeth. No, I'm not ready for that. But, who is?

At first, I cried. Probably too dramatic for this entire situation. 2% chance is what we are looking at. Just a 2% chance of having that word manifesting in my body. But, when you have a number with something, it becomes more real.

So, after the radiologist urged me to do further testing (aka biospy) I sat on Keygen's bed and looked around his room. I thought silly thoughts like how I was sure the fish would die if I wasn't around. Ok, so I know Cheetah died while I was around, but that was a total fluke.
And then there is Keygen. He hasn't even grown a mustache yet. And who is going to remind him to never wear black socks with brown shoes? Who is going to kiss him until he says "No more kisses momma!" Who is going to let him sleep in the middle more times than he ought to? Who else is going to let him have popcorn for breakfast?

 And then there is Reed. Not just any girl would let him bake better than her. And I don't think he would know what to do if I wasn't around to hog the entire bed. I like to hold his hand and the way that he smiles, and I'm just not ready for that to end.

So after thinking about all of those things,  I started to cry. Life just got much more real. I am used to bad things happening. I know that the bad days are supposed to remind us to really cherish the good ones, but, even I can't always be practical. It was after my face became all red and splotchy that my sweet boy Keygen came in and said "Momma, don't cry. I'll get you a tissue."

I had an entire week from being told I needed to have a biopsy to actually having one. It was a rollercoaster for me. I had days I was very sensible and knew that I had nothing to worry about. Then, I had days that I hated my body for even THINKING about being sick. I just don't have time for this. I just don't.

After meeting with the surgeon, I felt better. He seemed unalarmed. So two days before the biopsy I found peace with the process.

On the day of the biopsy I felt more uncomfortable about the embarassment of it all. I just focused on that. I focused on the humiliation of exposing myself to strangers in order to not think about why I was doing it.

In the waiting room, I was on edge. I snapped at poor Reed and he just stayed quiet. He understood. He always does. Keygen was busy, as usual. No matter how much your life feels out of control, there is nothing like a 2 year old to remind you that some aspects are always the same.

When I finally got called back which only took 15 minutes but seemed like 15 years, the tech who came to get me was a young man. I had imagined him to be a her. *Sigh*

I'll spare you the details--but will say this--that needle was more like a meat thermometer. Luckily, I felt nothing and the entire process took less than an hour from check-in until check-out. Everybody in the room with me was very friendly. Too bad we couldn't have met under different circumstances. I think we could have all been on a bowling league together.

There is no happy ending--yet. We will know on Tuesday. So for now, I am trying to not think about the 2% and take comfort in being the 98%. After all, I have NEVER been THAT (un)lucky.

Hey there stranger

Ugh. I always seem to remind myself that I am a flake. Like this blog. I started out with good intention..write every day...ok every week....ok whenever. But seriously, I will try to write more consistently. Or you know what..I'll just THINK about writing more consistently. Its the thought that counts or whatever.

So, I guess there is one major thing on my mind--- The horrific flight back to Arkansas with Keygen

4 hour flights back to Arkansas with an anti-napper, I need more juice, read me my noisy book so everybody glares at you-two year old angel-are not for the faint of heart. Keygen is his mother's child. He is willful, sassy, and hell bent on everybody seeing things his way. Which you know, honestly, I am proud of. EXCEPT when it is directed towards me..in public...where spankings are illegal.

He was pretty good on the first leg of the flight. It was the connection in LasVegas that started our demise. Keygen really really I mean REALLY liked the slot machines. An old man laughed at us when he saw Keygen flopping around trying to get his hands on the slot machines. I really wished I laser eyes so I could use them on that old man. Not to hurt him, but you know, burn the phone out of his hand so he knew I meant business.

Luckily, the layover was only 58 minutes so I made it on the plane only slightly frazzled. Once on the plane Keygen lost his baby mind. He wouldn't sit down. He wouldn't put his seat belt on. The flight attendant looks at me and says "Ma'am he really has to be buckled." Oh well I'm sure that will totally change everything.....

Eventually Keygen fell asleep...for twenty minutes. Once he woke up he wanted apple juice. I didn't have apple juice. Thus began the 40 minute scream fest for apple juice. I am a scared flyer for sure. I always panic a little that the plane will crash. But in that 40 minutes I didn't care. I was thinking "Take her down...for the love of all the apple juice in the world..just TAKE.HER.DOWN."

The rest of the flight is a haze. I think I have blocked it out in order to hold on to my sanity. Getting off the plane was another adventure. Keygen decides to lay down. Yes, lay down right in the middle of the aisle. He wouldn't get up. He wouldn't come to me. I just wanted off the damn plane.

Then, the older gentleman setting next to us scoops him up and says "Come on Keygen, don't you wanna go home?" Of course, I freak out. I can just see us plastered on every news channel "Woman Thanks Kidnapper for Taking Her Child" Honestly though, I didn't like some stranger holding my kid. But, Keygen was thrilled. And he made it off the plane.

So there is the story of the plane ride to Arkansas. Each time I take a vow I will just fedex him next time. This time I think I am serious.

I Never Called Her Grandma

My 60-something year old grandma is my life-line.

 I never have called her grandma though. We had a few years stint where she was "Granny" and "Gran" but somehow along the way it morphed into "Nanny" then just Nan. We are so much alike that sometimes our conversations lead to tears of laughter or exasperated eye rolls at how ridiculous we think the other is being. We both know how to laugh when we really just want to cry, we like to discuss in-depth our life philosophy every day (both of us just as passionate as the day before) and we know how to survive with a bag of flour, milk, and an egg (which by the way Nan..this is what is going to save Reed and I through grad school).

It doesn't matter what my ramblings are about, I know that no matter what Nan will listen to whatever end-of-the-world debacle I am ranting about and always have advice that inevitably ends with "now that's the truth".

I spent quite a spell of my childhood living with my Nan and Pawie in little yellow house about the size of the tiny apartment I live in now. That is why I just smile  and pat Reed on the face when he worries about if I am really OK with how little space we have. Less to clean, is what Nan always said. But it was in that little yellow house that I learned about living. Sometimes bills come and money doesn't. Sometimes things break that can't be fixed.Sometimes you have to wear hand-me-down clothes that belonged to your brother. And sometimes, you have to eat potato soup for a week with or without the band-aid that Pawie occasionally had to put on so his fingernail wouldn't fall off.

So maybe we were poor, but I sure did have fun living there.

Nan worked the late shift at a factory in my home-town, so she was pretty delirious by quitting time at midnight so it was always fun to talk her into doing things. So one Friday night I convinced her we needed to make something together. So we went to the store and searched around the craft section until we found a little ceramic house that looked a lot like the house we lived in. Of course, it was important that we painted that little house as soon as we got home.

To describe the end result in one word: Horrendous.

We painted the house yellow with red (yes red) trim. The branches of the trees that clung to the side of the house were green with random splotches of red and yellow due to one little girl putting too much paint on her brush and one old woman fogged by exhaustion. We still like to laugh about that ugly house we painted. We decided unanimously that was not our calling in life.

But, it wasn't always fun and games with Nan. I remember once a friend and I were determined to not go to Sunday school. So, we rolled around in mud and made sure to get it in between our toes and matted on our hair. We walked into Nan's house triumphantly. Surely we were too much of a mess to go to church. Two swats and a bottle of Suave shampoo later, we were sitting in the first pew singing How Great Thou Art.

As I've grown up our relationship has changed.  She stopped taking care of me as much and started providing me with the tools to take care of myself. I know the exact moment my Nan stopped seeing me as a child. It was when I was about 16 and Nan, realizing that at certain points in a girl's life certain things start to happen she said, "Sex and cussing are habits. Once you start it is hard to stop." Ahh Nan. You were right.

I guess the thing I love about my Nan the most is that no matter what outlandish idea of the week I come up with..she believes I can do it. She thinks everything I write is brilliant. She thinks I'm a good mother. She also thinks I am the most hilarious person in the world. But, the truth is, who I am now is due much to her. Because of her I could probably survive a natural disaster and then come up with some witty joke about it.

And, I'm also positive that nobody else on this earth could watch Steel Magnolias with me 3 times in a row and seriously consider a 4th.