To Be, Or Not To Be... A Housewife. That Is The Question. I Think?

I have somewhat of a 'newer' inner struggle these days. I'm not talking about my inner fat kid again either... I'm talking about my personal title. When people ask me what I do, I have no idea what to say anymore. Do I throw out the... "I'm a stay at home Mom", "I'm a wife", "I'm a hairstylist a few hours a week", "I'm a professional Bridesmaid after being in 19 weddings", "I could be a competitive eater", (just not hot dogs... but Kobayashi has nothing on this broad...) :) Or, "I'm kind of a professional friend, and I plan Girls Weekends and Christmas parties"? I mean..... all of them would make more sense, and give me more satisfaction than saying the ever dreaded... "I'm a housewife." It really shouldn't make much of a difference what I say, right? After all, my days are spent catering to my peeps, and keeping my house running. There is the laundry, (literally 7 loads a day... I, personally, have a pair of undies in each load. Otherwise, it's allll theirs. How many outfits do these people WEAR a day? Jesus!), I drive kids everywhere they need to go, vacuum every day, scrub floors and toilets, do the Target runs, do the grocery store runs, water the plants, clean some more, weed the gardens, make the beds, do the dishes, make breakfast, lunch and dinner, do more dishes, finish laundry, return emails about camps, classes, teachers, etc... I even decorate, paint walls so well I don't even tape anymore, fix broken toilets, and leaky faucets. Hell, I have even been known to sheetrock my own walls, and build my own furniture. (Ahem... excuse me... I had to scratch my balls for a second...) :) all without monetary compensation. So... why does that have a certain stigma attached that I can't quite stomach? I am a mutha effin' housewife. I need to learn to deal... I'm pretty sure that ain't changin' anytime soon.

I never really thought I'd be this person, in all honesty. I always thought of 'Housewife' like this...

When I was growing up, Women were no longer the 50s, June Cleaver types... aspiring to be a housewife, for lack of other options. Wearing a dress, full makeup, heals and an apron, eagerly waiting for Ward, the Beav (Not to be confused with the 'Biebs') and Wally to come home, so she could dote on them hand and foot, make their favorite meat-and-potato dinners... followed by a from-scratch apple pie that is cooling on the window ledge... and keep her opinions to herself.

Not that there is anything wrong with that scenario... because there truly isn't. It's a beautiful thing. It just wasn't what I ever wanted in my life. I am a product of the 80s and 90s. I always saw myself being strong, intelligent, self-sufficient, and successful. Bitch... I don't need no man! I'm gonna pay my own bills! (I learned that from Latifah, TLC, Beyonce and the ladies of Destiny's Child... I'm not gonna burn your house down... or use correct grammar... but I'm gonna pay my damn bills...) :) Women, to me, were CEOs of companies, making shitloads of money, being almost 'equals' with Men... You clearly had no drive or self confidence if you didn't work your ass off. My Mom gave up her career, and was a SAHM/Housewife. It didn't really appeal to me... until I had kids. :)

Once upon a time, I did have a pretty killer career. For many years, I was a young, single, girl... partying and working my ass off. It was a very rewarding place to be. If I wanted something... I got it. On my own. If I wanted to take a vacation... I booked it and left. If I didn't feel like doing laundry... I went shopping. I paid other people's bills... and took pride in being able to help. People asked me what I 'do'... and I never hesitated to tell them exactly what I did. I was proud as hell! I was the girl who was booked out weeks in advance with people's hair appointments. My clients, whose hair was so important to them, freaked out on me when I left for a month to go to Europe. You should have heard the meltdowns about 9 weeks of maternity leave. They needed me. And I needed them. I was self sufficient, passionate, doing what I had set out to do, and yet... I had this nagging feeling that something was missing. How can that be?

When I hooked up with my Husband (obviously boyfriend back then) I knew that was it. I knew he was the one I was going to build a life with, and eventually breed with. (Again... wanted my kids to have those eyes... I win!) :) He was gorgeous, had an amazing work ethic, was so sweet and respectful, and we had so much fun together. I literally never looked back. He had a good job... but I was making 3 times as much money as he was back then. It was ok in my eyes. His... not so much. When we went to qualify for our house, (We wasted no time... it was within the first year... I also had pushy bitch on my resume) I am the one whose income mattered most. He hated that. Or... he secretly liked it... hard to tell with him... :) Little did he know how quickly that would change. (Like... 'I was pregnant when we bought our house' quickly...) We should probably talk about some stuff.... like... we will never play 'Hid the Pickle' at Christmas again. At least until we are married... capiche!? :)

After giving birth to, who I happen to think is the most perfect, little, specimen to walk the planet, I realized my passions were elsewhere. It started to make so much sense to me how women have such a hard time juggling everything. Maybe those June Cleaver types were onto something, after all. One minute you are a happy, successful, independent woman.... payin' yo bills. The next thing you know... you are dirty, sleep deprived, exhausted like never before,  and what the fuck are you wearing!?! Your boobs are leaking in public, and you don't care... and you are depended upon. Not by some wealthy client, in for her monthly 200 dollar service, but by this little person. Who would actually die without you. Whoa. I have to say, I was still in the mindset that I needed to work my arse off to be 'worth' something. So... after 9 weeks, I returned to work. I was broken hearted... and suddenly... not passionate about people's hair... or anything else for that matter. I wanted to be home with my baby girl. I was actually jealous of my Sister, who was home with her, 3 days a week while I worked. It was nice to get out of the house, and be social again, but my heart wasn't in it. I get it, June. (And Mom...) I would haul ass home, on my 45 minute drive from work, just to have missed her. She was already sleeping. Fuck. I'm not good at this. Tears were flowing regularly. My poor Husband. I mean... HE has to work everyday... but it's different. He knows that now.

 Shortly thereafter, I switched jobs. I moved to a salon a couple miles from my house. I was renting my station, and in charge of making my own schedule... I could get used to this :) After my second child, within 2 years, I gave up working days all together. I worked 3 nights a week, and it was a pretty good deal. I got to still be 'me', and I still contribute enough financially, that I'm at peace, and still can justify the spordic, manic, purchase from time to time. I get to be home with my babies, and I can sneak out for Thursday night happy hour with my work besties, after work, without guilt... cuz I am already out... and you can't stop me :) It's funny... When I became a SAHM, there wasn't facebook to show off their first... everythings, and feel like I was being somewhat 'social' from my living room computer. No Pinterest, to find activities for the overwhelmed mommy. There weren't 'Mommy Blogs' either... to read and find support when I wanted to throw in the towel. It was me, and my babies. It was the hardest thing I ever did, and I started to kind of miss being 'somebody' in the real world. My Husband's job got better and better. We did well for many years, with my little bit of an income. (My clients all ditched me when I moved across town... oh well. That was a good way to weed out the crazies..) I never quit my job all together... that wouldn't work either. I had a good thing going, and kids that napped. I worked out, yapped on the phone, and played till 4... then off to work. Low and behold... I'm balanced :)


I will never be the SAHM/Housewife you see on Bravo. (Or, the city I live in...) Although, part of me is thankful for those broads. They have made the word 'housewife' make a very attractive comeback. Nowadays, you can be at home, work some, take pride in things, and speak your mind.... all while being the 'housewife'. I will never have that opportunity, but I don't hate. I don't have a slew of staff that do my 'grunt work' for me, or a nanny (or 3) to look after my children, while I'm off at the Country Club playing tennis, or out to lunch with my other fancy girlfriends. I won't work out at the elite fitness clubs or live in a gated community. I live in a community that is full of that... excess everywhere you look. I don't let it get to me when I'm driving through stunning neighborhoods, while my kids oooh and aaaah over the castle-like mansions we are passing by... that their friends live in... (Ok... sometimes I let it get to me... but I made a conscious choice to be home. Not that my Stylist income would help us attain that lifestyle anyway... I will never be that chick... I married for love... did they? Wait a minute... I hate these people! Well.. your Husband looks like a Cro Magnun! And your kids are mini magnons... so there!) :) I'm just trying to find the happy medium between this

 
and the new and improved version... Housewife on 'roids...

It's doable, right? :) I mean... Even though I am the staff around here, and the personal chef etc... Who says you need breast implants, mansions, sugar daddies, live in nannies, Botox, Jimmy Choos, Birkin bags, Bentleys and bleach to be a happy housewife. I can throw in the morals, values, cooking skills, etc... (Man... that was a shorter list) and combine the best of June and Tamra. :) I do know the Housewife title in my life is going to be short lived. Eventually, my kids will be gone, and I'll be bored to tears, looking back at this time fondly, and wishing they had an activity or play date for me to bring them to. I have no regrets. Well... that's a lie. I have some regrets. Looking at myself today, I have a long way to go before I'm at my happy medium between June and Tamra. I'm sure my 3 inch roots, mom-boobs, farmer tan, non-botoxed wrinkles, Isaac Mizrahi (for Target) flip flops, and toenail polish that has been dissolved by Deet... because I have to be outside with my kids... cuz my nanny doesn't exist... wouldn't fly in the glamorous O.C.. But I take June-like pride in the fact that none of that actually matters. (Although... not even June would condone my feet right now... get a pedi, you dirt ball. The 'ya dipped those feet in battery acid and walked on hot coals, didn't ya' look is out...) Fresh apple pie IS amazing :) Is that considered balance?

Nobody can explain why some women choose the career path, and some don't. I believe, unless it is strictly financial, (I totally get that) it is a personality thing. Completely driven by need for success. I guess, ultimately, as much as I thought that was my personality, that isn't me. (But it kind of is...) Who knew? I can't say part of me doesn't wish things would have played out differently... I always dwell on the what ifs. For now, as much as I hate saying the word... I am a Housewife. (Part time Stylist... SEE! had to throw it in there!) I'm dealing with it, and learning to accept it. :)

I must run... gotta go pick up a kid, and the laundry blob has doubled since I sat down to type this... Anyone need their hair done? Just get a hold of your favorite Housewife/stylist, Salina/Junemra :) OMG!! Who AM I!?!? I'm calling Latifah.. If she doesn't answer... I'm asking Beyonce! :)

Peaches and Cream and LPs... The Condensed History of Two Sisters

You know... I consider myself somewhat of a lucky broad. I'm so grateful for so many things in my life. I really am. Some more than others, of course, but I still try to count my blessings as often as possible. I have a wonderful marriage, healthy, amazing kids, a cute, (albeit little) roof over our heads, food on the table, a good job (When people have money to spend on their hair), great friends, a loving family... and my relationship with my Sister. That relationship has topped my list for as long as I can remember, and saved me so many times... I cannot even begin to count. I, honestly, don't know how I would have made it through my life without her. She is my best friend, my source of support and hysterical laughter, my shoulder and ear, my sissy/soneji... and for that I will consider myself forever blessed.

 When I was little (Eons and eons ago...) I constantly begged my Mom for a Sister. I named EVERY baby doll 'Sissy', and was relentless. I wanted a damn Sister. Thankfully, I hit the motherload when my Mom got knocked up with Morgan. I was almost 3 when she was born, and I actually have some recollection of it. I hovered over that baby like she was my own. I remember flipping out on other kids when they would hold her... or even look at her. She was mine. My partner in crime. (But that 'crime' part didn't come to fruition till much, much later...) :) For the most part... I was smitten with her. I could feed her, haul her around, help get her dressed, pick out her outfits... you know... she was my living baby doll. It was my favorite! :) But then... people stopped paying attention to me. (Which, if you know me at all, you know didn't go over well) She was the darling, little, baby... with the curly hair and chubby cheeks, and I was just... the 3 year old. What!? Hello? Remember me?! I'm the one that was here first!! And so it begins....

We moved around a lot during the first few years of our lives. She was my only constant. She thought I was funny, and hung on every word I said. (I mean... wouldn't you?) :) I dressed her up in doll clothes and did her hair. (yes, I started early. Perhaps it is my calling?) :) I taught her stuff, we snuck treats together, and collapsed into uncontrollable giggles over absolutely nothing. (We still do that... and we jump/perculate for hoooouuurrss... right, Morn?) :) We stuck up for each other... becoming completely enraged at our parents for yelling at the other one for something, and we held hands... a lot. Our parents dressed us in matching clothes (Thanks for that). We spent our days painting nails, singing Kenny Loggins into hair brushes with Mom, playing outside,  and we were one, big, happy, family. I got my Sister... holla at your girl :)

We finally settled into a teenie, tiny house in Minneapolis. I was almost 5, and she was 2. I started Kindergarten, and was becoming a 'big girl'. We still were besties at home... but I got a little taste of what it is like to be just me... outside of the home. I was making friends, and she wasn't old enough to do all the things I could, and wanted to, do. We still revolved around her nap time and schedule. I got a lot of "No, Salina. I can't bring you to Jane's house right now... your Sister is sleeping."s and I wasn't too thrilled. Again... I was here first! She and my Mom would walk to get me every day after school. She was always so excited to see me. She would run to me and hug the shit outta my leg, when I was saying "bye" to all my new friends. I started to resent the fact that everywhere I went.... there she was.

By the time I finished kindergarten, my Sister and I had been through the unthinkable. We went through something that is one of every parent's worst nightmares. We were violated by someone we all trusted. We had no idea the impact it would have on us... for the rest of our lives. I couldn't save her, and felt like I had failed her. That was a game changer in my 'I wanna be solo' attitude... and from there on out, I had her back... no matter what. You will not fuck with my Sister. Or you will deal with me. Nobody will ever understand that overwhelming feeling of protectiveness. No matter how I try to explain it. It's so on...

Things got kinda weird in our family after that, for many years. We spent most of our time in our basement... playing Barbies, and doing little girl stuff. We were back to being inseparable, and we went pretty much everywhere together. (I wasn't letting her outta my sight...) :) She was Ken... and I was Peaches and Cream Barbie. (Which happened to be the Barbie she got for HER birthday.... but she was the prettiest one... so I just... well... you know... I got to be her. Again, I was here first.) :) She started to become a person... and I liked her. We had neighborhood friends by then, and she didn't always want to join us in our shenanigans. She was pretty attached to our Mom, and didn't have a real adventurous side yet. She didn't want to play kickball... or climb trees... or play night games. Kick the Can was out of the question. :) She loved to yell sing, and had become a little character, though... so when we would put out a sheet/dance floor, in front of the tv, on Friday nights... she would dance and sing her little heart out to the songs on Solid Gold. (And the theme song to "The Greatest American Hero") We had a blast together.

Things continued in that fashion for quite a while. I was busy with an active social life, and she hung out at home, with our Mom. (I'm making her sound like a freakish homebody... she did have friends... and left the house from time to time... I swear. Just not as often as I did. It's still that way...) :) Life had mended itself for the time being, and we were back to being one happy(ish) family. We had buried (Or.... swept under the rug) the past, and we were moving on. And then, suddenly, we were physically moving on... to Edina? A foreign city, that we were not looking forward to blending into. Will we fit in? Isn't everyone there rich and snotty? Are we really moving? What about our friends? Ugh... Thanks Mom and Dad. Jr. High isn't hard enough as it is... let's just add insult to injury, how 'bout...

So... We moved. I sat in my closet for a week... she cried a bunch. But... we still had each other. Thank God. Barbie was a thing of the past... and New Kids on the Block had entered our lives. We wore bras and talked about boys. (Talked a lot... about boys...) We were 4 years apart in school, so we never got to do that part of life together. She was still in elementary school... and I was in 8th grade. We got acclimated fairly quickly, and began to 'blend in' as best we could. I made some really awesome friends right away... with whom I'm still in contact. :) She made a group of good friends as well. She got picked on a lot, however... and it made me mental. I remember going to her school, and staring down kids as they mocked my Sister. Don't you know!? You don't get to fuck with her! Things have been hard enough! Assholes. I made many threatening phone calls, and a few more threatening appearances... but it didn't really help. Once again... I failed her. Something has got to give...

My new friends were awesome to her, and she started to hang with us more and more. By the time she was 12... we would take her glasses from her, make up her face, stuff her bra... and take her with us (Blind and naive) to parties. I got her drunk for the first time, and took her to the lakes with me. Our schools were connected, so my friends and I would go pull her out of school when we were leaving (Unbeknownst to our parents... She had many Dentist appointments... and my 15 year old self was taking her? They bought it... and off we went. Naughty). I introduced her to hot boys from other cities, colored her hair blond, included her in everything, and had my partner in crime back. I even made her change what kind of undies she sported. Boys don't like 'Granny Panties' (Or... GPs)... and that is what is important in life. Right? :)  We took to buying each other what we called 'lucky panties'. 'LPs'. The more stripperish, the better. Tiny, made of string and bling, butt floss. Every birthday and Christmas... we exchanged LPs. (I still have a few of them... for old school, good measure) She was no longer tattling on me to Mom and Dad... because she was with me, and wearing tiny undies. It was a win-win. :) I was still getting straight As, and ended up having a darling (Mmmm hhhmmm) boyfriend. (Yeah... he tricked me...) :) She and I had a lot of fun, and things were good... for a minute.

Meanwhile... back at the ranch...

Our 'happy' family had started to fall apart. Things from the past had reared their ugly heads, and my parents had begun to loathe each other. My Mom was sleeping on the couch, my Dad was angry 24/7... and my Sister and I were teenagers. Hormonal, emotional, teenage girls. Can you imagine the stress level? Holy shit. You could have cut the tension with a knife most days. To make matters worse, she and I had grown into ourselves. We became darling overnight, and there were suddenly lots of boys. Stemming from issues in our past... we definitely struggled with how to deal with that. So... we just... went crazy. Our poor parents. On top of their foul, failing marriage... they had to deal with 2 unruly girls, who had some serious anger and men issues. For the love... ugh. We spent many nights crying on my bed, and solving the world's problems. We were in this together, and we were our main support. None of our friends understood... like we understood. I'm surprised any of them even talked to us at this point. We became even closer, and our bond was what helped us through the next few brutal years.

Our parents divorced when I was 17 and she was 14. It was the beginning of what we remember as... Hell. I took my Dad's side, and moved in with him. My Sister and Mom were living together, and my Mom was losing it. We lost a loooong list of people during that time, including my Grandpa Bud, and Morgan's best friend Henry. He was murdered. It was swell... :( She still cries about it. I'll never forget that phone call. My Mom's best friend and her 3 daughters were killed in a plane crash (The pilot was a man my Mom had recently dated, and flown all over with...) They were our second family, and I'm not sure any of us have even dealt with that. I will leave out a bunch of terrible things that happened... just because it is just too much... but trust me... it was a brutal 5 or 6 years. Nonstop tragedy and turmoil. Rape, money issues, family issues, depression, my 'dark period'. I believe there were even... dog fights? In St. Paul? Somewhere in there, anyway. :) But... the thing is... we had each other. During all of the 'Hell' years, we still found reasons to laugh. Reasons to be happy, and things for which to be grateful. (We reached... believe me... but we made it happen) :) We always joke about finding our inner Polyanna. Sometimes even that bitch won't cut it. :) We still bought LPs, and still sat on beds and laughed. It was how we coped.

Somehow, in the aftermath of all of that madness... we both ended up ok. We only carry some of that with us in life... once again, denial and selective memory work wonders. :) We both married amazing, hard working, kind, hot, only children. (Who needs another Sister anyway?) We both did that fairly young. We both have a beautiful Son and Daughter, and we love each others kids like our own. We, of course,  helped each other deliver all 4 children. I even got to don scrubs, and be in the room for her c-section. We can't do that stuff without one another. It just ain't happenin'. :) She is the first person I call in the morning, and the only person who knows as much about me... as I do. Our Husbands have never really understood our relationship. Only a few of our closest friends even get it. We have our own language, and voices we use while speaking of certain things. We can laugh about the dumbest shit... for hours, and speak in broken sentences. Cuz... "I know what you are saying." I have to admit, I felt like I did my daughter a disservice when I didn't give her a Sister. She and her Brother are sooo close. I might even say 'besties', but it just can't be the same... can it? I never had a brother, so I'm not sure if it will ever be the same bond.  I do know one thing, though... I will do everything in my power to make sure they never have to go through what we did... to build that type of relationship. They will be besties... just because they are. Even trade? :)

People have said that every child in a home has a different 'childhood'. She saw everything from her own perspective, of course, and would maybe disagree with me on a few things. Like... the part when I said it was my 'calling' to do hair. You should have seen her bangs on any given day :) I will never know what it would have been like to go through my crazy life without Morgan. (Or my mom...) I look back at some of the shit storm that was our lives, and think how fortunate I am that things turned out the way they did. I literally am forever grateful. Even if LPs have turned into GPs... and we aren't the darling sissies we once were... and talking about boys has turned into convos about 'obeseness', (that's what we lovingly call obesity... cuz if you don't call it the real name... it can't be really happening... right?) wrinkles, bullies, health scares, dance, bills, husbands etc... we are still the same best friends who have been through the ringer and came out the other side. 2 girls that depend on each other, and are the only constants we will ever have. My Husband could leave me tomorrow (He won't... but... in theory... it could happen) and I'd still have Morgan. We can't stay mad at each other for more that 5 minutes... because we have something really important to tell each other that just can't wait. We don't agree on everything, but we always hear each other out. We cheer each other on through life. And, basically live by the saying "when life hands you lemons... call your Sister." I could go on and on... but I think you get the point. :)

A friend of mine with 2 daughters once asked me how my Sister and I are so close. Her girls are always at each others throats. I simply answered with this "It's never a guarantee that you will be close to your siblings. But... when you go through what we have together... there really isn't another option." End of story.

I Love you, Chunkin. Love, Punkin. :)

50 Shades of... What The Flog Just Happened?

I just realized I haven't written in my blog for a long time. I've been a little 'tied up' with some other things. :) Dance season for one, having a garage sale, (Blog post about THAT to come) a bunch of other stuff... and reading the fucking 50 Shades trilogy that bothered me, intrigued me, bewildered me... and gave me a bad case of the 'what the fucks'. (Not to mention the yeast infection and Bacterial Vaginosis I got... just from reading it)  If you haven't succumbed and read "50 Shades Of Grey" yet... props to you. If you are planning on it... make sure you are ready. As it says overandoverandover in these books "We aim to please".

I gave in about a month ago. I had a few friends reading it, and talking about it non stop. Calling each other 'Miss so and so' and quoting the 6, redundant, phrases that are used overandocerandover in the books. But, what really got me, was all of the dance moms started reading it. I felt left out and kinda curious... and I figured it can't be as gross and BDSMish as I thought, or the church-going mom with 6 kids SURELY wouldn't be reading it. Right? Boy was I wrong. (I never knew I knew so many closet perverts) :)

Book one was obviously the beginning. It went a little something like this:

Awkward, shy girl... who blushes all the fricken time,  is sent to do an interview with a filthy rich, hotter than Hell, bachelor. She even cleverly trips into his office, cuz she is just so awkward. Then she blushes. He is immediately smitten and follows/stalks her and they begin dating. There is a lot of lip biting on her end. (Like... a lot of lip biting) and he runs his fingers through his hair so often that I'm pretty sure he has got to be suffering from self inflicted Alopecia. I'm pretty sure her incessant blushing is going to cause Rosacea as well. They are constantly 'looking through their lashes' at each other, (I mean... is that even physically possible?) and they have a lot of sex. Like a crazy... 4 times a day, every day, 'your lady biz has got to be inside out by now', amount of sex. He introduces her (And most of the female population ages 18-45) to the BDSM lifestyle. She is his sub and he is her dom. There are rules, a pedophile from his past, contracts, lots of fighting about when she will eat, more lip biting (It just drives him crazy and stuff), tons of blushing, and the first time in the Red Room Of Pain. Now, I'm no virgin, and I'm pretty sure I have seen a few things in my day, so I wasn't sure why I had the reaction I did to this playroom part. For that whole week, every person that made eye contact with me, was immediately in my mind, a dirty 'flogger' in the privacy of their own home. Everyone but me. It pissed me off, and made me feel like I was really missin' out on the good stuff. I was even plotting where I was gonna put my own 'Red Room Of Pain'. (Do the kids actually ever GO in the shed? I mean... I've never seen them GO in there... so...) :) There wasn't much of a plot in the first book, just mostly him grabbing her, taunting her, grazing her 'sex' with his thumb, and his 'erection' springing all over the place. (Not sure why those 2 words now bug me more than anything... the Author needed to step it up a bit with the wording. Nobody actually says that. FYI... It's weird.) I was completely fascinated and not yet annoyed by the repetitive writing, and the over usage of words like 'My Mercurial Man' and 'Errant behavior'. I may even have blushed a few times. He is her mercurial, Greek God, Fifty... and she is his errant Ana.. HIS. And it gets real creepy how 'his' she is. (Or... maybe it's just me...) Of course they break up at the end, so you just HAVE to spent 20 bucks on the next book of ill-written smut :) But who wouldn't? He IS sexy... and rich... and  so sexy... and he grabs her 'sex' a bunch. Must. Read. On.

I feverishly begin book 2... in the middle of the night. What is wrong with me?

I believe that book 2 is when they introduce the infamous silver balls. (Don't quote me... it all runs together in the middle of the night). I want those. Anyhoo... They get back together, he makes her eat a bunch, buys her some more stuff, and they have a bunch of sex. She explodes around him... and then blushes. Mr. Bossypants braids her hair, she bites her lip, they look through lashes, they email a bunch, they 'aim to please', and she makes a lot of 'good points, well somethingorother.' (I'm starting to skim) There is a helicopter debacle, and she can't bare to lose him. He can't bare to lose her. It makes her blush. They go have sex. Suddenly, something weird happens. I'm super pissed. Out of nowhere, in my mind, Christian has red hair and cig burns all over his chest... and a hairy... self? And she likes him? He needs to learn how to not be such an overbearing asshole. I'm like... mad at him. He's pouting... then she's pouting... and there is a lot of "SHIT! I made him mad!" And "FUCK.... he's pissed". Who cares, you male dependent idiot? Ok... thankfully the plot thickens (If you can call it that) and I'm still reading. Thank God for that crazy Jack man. There are some more lash peaking episodes and her 'sex' has got to be bruised by now from all the sexcapades. Ugh... She's gonna marry him? But he's so... mercurial. (Again) Self proclaimed 50 shades of fucked up. RUN, ANA! He bought your job! Please let there be a reason for this 'story'.

Book 3... Now I've invested and I have to keep going. Or... do I have to? Will someone just tell me what happens?If I read the words "Laters, baby" one more time... I will croak.

They have gotten married and gone on a honeymoon. She is topless for a hot second... and he almost kills her. She is HIS! I am starting to hate his red headed ass. He calls her fat. I hate him. His erection probably smells. SHOCK... He's pissed again... there is a lot of pouting in the tub and shower. (Ok... maybe his erection doesn't reek... but whatever...) The plot is set aside for some more sex. Then there is some more... sex. Ican'tbelieveI'mstillreadingthis. Somewhere around the part where she has gotten him to let her touch him (On his cig burns.. and she's bawling?)... I lose interest completely. He's all mushy and weird... and they are all emo. I miss the O.C. (Original Christian) the one who was hot, rich, and kind of an intriguing dink. and I'm just plain sick of it. I set aside 2 hours to just get it out of the way, and I skim the last half of the book. I think they have babies... I know they bought a house, they went clubbing? There is that crazy Jack again (To the rescue, from the reader's standpoint) There was some more fighting... and hold on to your hats.... they humped a bunch.

I realize I am no book connoisseur. Nor am I an avid reader. The last books I read were the Hunger Games. And... before that... The Witching Hour. I was in High School. :) These are just my thoughts... and I'm sure not everyone will agree. I know some ladies who were smitten from page one, all the way through to page 6,000. (Or... what felt like that) :) I'm glad I got through it, though... I feel like I accomplished something. And... you should hear my Sister's and my conversations about it. I have never laughed so hard :) I would like to thank Mr. Grey for all of his conversation starters, and ideas. (My Husband thanks him too) :) If you need me... I'll be in the shed... plotting... for my flogging :)

Laters, Baby :)