Laters, Baby

***This post is rated NC-Christian Grey. If you’re not old enough to watch the movie, scroll on.*** 

Ropes,  and cable ties, and whips…oh my! Don’t get your panties in a twist, or maybe do. I’m about to talk Fifty Shades of Grey, the movie.

I saw it last night. My panties are still…never mind.

My friend, Nikki, and I have anxiously awaited this movie since we read the book series way before the masses flooded Sara’s Secret in search of silver jingle balls. With anticipation of our fun night out, we exchanged text messages throughout the day of our impending plans. We discussed hand cuffs, penises, and of course…sex, which is typical on any normal day but a definite on Fifty Shades of Grey Day.

I arrived at the theater an hour and a half early to stand in line in hopes of securing seats  before all of the horny housewives took all of the good ones. I was shocked to see that there were only thirty-ish people in front of me. I love people watching, so I looked around and observed my fellow bondage movie goers. I noticed first the expected groups of women sitting in circles, giggling and talking all things Christian Grey, and then there were the couples. The men obediently sat next to their wives/girlfriends scrolling through their phones as visions of nipples and orgasms danced through their heads.

One group of women who turned out to be elementary school teachers wore shirts that said “Laters, Baby” on the front and “Mr. Grey Will See You Now” on the back. Totes adorbs. When they opened the doors to the (very tiny) theater an hour before showtime, I chose to sit next to them because fun is contagious, and I’m hot for teacher.

I guarded my five seats that I was saving for part of my book club until Nikki finally arrived to help. Bitches with lady wood be crazy and more than once I had to summon my inner doberman and mark my territory with a growl to keep the pre-masterbaters away from my sweet seats.

Finally, after all of the anticipation, the lights turned down, and it was time for us to watch a little S & M a film.

The opening scene seemed to be in line with what I remembered from the book. Clumsy and awkward Anastasia Steele subs (no pun intended) for her sick roommate to interview the mysterious sexy millionaire, Christina Grey for their college newspaper.

“Mr. Grey will see you now.”

She stumbles (literally) into his office. He falls in love, takes her to his red room of pain and spanks her ’til she comes….or something like that.

Here is my review.

Dakota Johnson (the beautiful love child of Melanie Griffith and Don Johnson) completely stole the screen. She portrayed the naive, vulnerable, blushing/lip biting virgin beautifully. Plus she looked really good naked. The perfect Anastasia Steele. My favorite part of the book was the interjections of her inner goddess, which is basically her thoughts when Christian tells her his rules, expectations, etc. Because we couldn’t hear her thoughts, her facial expressions were key. She nailed this. In addition to that, her timing of her comic relief was spot on. She was a nice surprise.

But what is Fifty Shades of Grey without our Christian? Jamie Dornan landed the role, which left him with big ahem shoes (and ripped up faded jeans) to fill. The first thing, and I mean very first thing I noticed was his inability to hide his native accent. It drove me crazy. I have several pet peeves, and one is fake accents. Could we not have found someone with a natural American accent to be our fifty shades of fucked up leading man? I guess not.

Christian Grey is confident and stoic, brooding and sexy, a larger than life character which Jamie Dornan fell short in capturing. He seemed to be spitting out lines rather than embracing the darkness behind this highly anticipated character. He did grow on me throughout the movie and not just when he was naked…wait, what? I thought several times about Robert Pattinson’s portrayal of Edward Cullen in the first Twilight movie. Just like Pattinson, I think Dornan has potential to be very big. *insert teenage girl giggle*

Another part of the book that I loved was the way their relationship grew through text messages and emails, which made the story relevant and current, and I was happy to see that they kept that in the movie version. Ana’s and Christian’s back and forth banter was playful and adorable and probably the way a lot of real life relationships start out now that almost everyone keeps a smart phone in their pockets.

Let’s talk about sex, baby. As most of us know, the bones of this story center around a lot of steamy often risque sex. Dakota and Jamie had incredible on screen chemistry. They brought the sexual tension with full force. There were several moments when I had to gasp for air, and more than once, I squirmed in my seat…in a good way. They brought such intensity to the first sex scene, the vanilla sex and came together seamlessly (mind out of the gutter, people)  which they carried throughout the rest of the movie. They even managed to make the red room of pain moments tastefully hot without being raunchy.

I rolled my eyes several time at the instrumental score that coupled some of the scenes. Maybe I kept thinking about Edward Cullen because the music sounded almost identical to the soundtrack from Twilight. Pianos are sexy, and I wasn’t mad about a naked scene that took place on the piano bench, but come on. Haven’t we already seen the long pale fingers playing Bella’s Lullaby (or insert cliche melancholy song) once already? A little more creativity here would have gone a long way.

Overall, I enjoyed the movie. I laughed. I squealed. I had fun. If I had to give it a rating, I would give it 3 1/2 moist panties stars. If you don’t like nipples, you should go ahead and sit this one out because it is nip city up in Christian’s high rise apartment.

Now for all of the haters. Haters gonna hate. I know, but let’s get one thing straight. If you haven’t read the book, you really don’t have enough facts to be critical. E.L. James took a story from her imagination and put it on paper. Isn’t that what writers do? We can say that it’s poorly written or that it lacks depth, and lots of other unnecessary comments, but her pocketbook would disagree.

As for the fact that this book is about abuse and rape:

SPOILER ALERT! SPOILER ALERT! SPOILER ALERT!

This is a story about two adults who enter into a Submissive/Dominant relationship.  He gives her a contract that details everything he expects from her. She negotiates the contract and determines what she is willing and what she is not willing to do. He tells her the safe word for “be more gentle” and the safe word for “stop,” and they both sign the contract, which was written by a (fictional) attorney. If that is not a consensual (fictional) sexual relationship between two adults, I don’t know what is. Plus, a romance brews between them that frankly is pretty believable and more than a little swoon worthy.

In addition to that…spoiler alert…she tells him…spoiler alert…that he can never do that to her again, and spoiler alert….she walks the fuck out on him, and he watches her go.

“Anastasia.”

“Christian.”

Laters, baby.

And now some photos of our night:

The Before Grey

The Before Grey (all smiles)

The After Grey (meh face)

The After Grey (meh face)

Our Anastasia Lip Bite

Our Anastasia Lip Bite

A random condom siting

A random condom siting

Did Somebody Say Cake?

I may be a little late to the party, but there is no way I’m missing this one.

Happy Frist Birthday to the Ten Things of Thankful hop!!

I may not write a post every week, but I do in fact read several of the thankful posts, and I am always so inspired by all of you who are able to find the sunshine through some rather rainy days and post about gratitude.

Having a bit of a rainy week myself, and not just because it started out in fact raining, but because…pfft…life, I thought it might be difficult to summon ten things, but as it turns out, I have a lot for which I should say “thanks.”

My mother is going through the mean stage of her dementia this week, so I’ve spent most of the week on the phone to her getting berated and feeling terrible and helpless and wondering what I can do to help my father. In the middle of an almost all out breakdown on my part, I decided it was time to check my mail, which I’m pretty sure had not been done in over a week because…pfft…life.  I sifted through bills and catalogs and junk mail, and then laid my eyes upon an envelope that was addressed to me in writing I did not recognize, and I instantly knew that my favorite Brit in the entire world sent me something.  Immediately, my frown turned upside down and I ran into the house and carefully opened the package excited that there might be my first official glitter bomb waiting to explode. Inside was not just a glitter bomb, but a very pretty decorative ornament that is just so Lizzi, a beautiful and kind letter written way before my mother started her downfall, and a poem that is so perfect and so beautiful that it should in fact be song lyrics.  Wow. To be loved by Lizzi, how did I get so lucky? And the timing was just perfect.

My son plays baseball with other kids his age (7), and although he had a rather good season last season, he has struggled this year and had a difficult time finding his mojo among his team who all seem to be more advanced in skill than he.  I worried for a while that he was going to want to give up with all of his strike outs and missed outs, etc., but this week, something clicked in him as we made up three rained out baseball games, and he found his mojo. He hit the ball, and scored, and even got a kid out on second base, but most importantly, he scored the  tie-breaking winning point, which with aged 7 year old boys is not that big of a deal, but his coach made a huge deal about it, and my son’s esteem soared. He said to me on the way to the car as I was forcing him into a hug with mom, “Hey, Mom. Did you know that won the game for my team?” And the smile that spread across his face, and the pride in his shoulders almost made my heart leap out of my chest.  That boy…sometimes I wonder if he makes the world turn.

Having had such a great game, we treated him to a late dinner at his favorite restaurant, where he got to tell the waiter about his glory and order the dessert of his choice, and while we were there, my three year old daughter finished her dinner and with a messy face and sticky fingers climbed into my lap, and fell asleep in my arms. I’m not sure there’s any better feeling than having your sweet child sleep on your chest.

 

Sleep Baby Sleep

Sleep Baby Sleep

Early in the week, my best friend, Kimberly, called and invited me to the first official “sister day” with her and her two sisters. Being that I have no sisters of my own, I adopted Kimberly and her sisters the minute that we met. These girls and I share our childhood. We grew up next door to each other and lived in each other’s homes. Where they were, I was. Where I was, they were. Without them, I wouldn’t be me. We’ve been through everything together: first loves, first heart breaks, first marriages, teenage pregnancy, loss, so much loss, and we’ve held each other’s hands and loved each other and cheered each other through every heartache and every milestone. This is our 30th year of friendship. That’s right…Thirty Years.  And I have no doubt that thirty years from now, my pseudo sisters will still call me and invite me to sister day. I am so thankful to share my life with these gorgeous amazing women.  Oh, and we watched Dream a Little Dream (a childhood favorite of ours), from which I’m pretty sure I learned life’s most valuable lessons.

So happy birthday to the most uplifting blog hop I’ve seen in the blogosphere.  Cheers!!!

 

TenThingsBanner

Aside

Horseshoes and Hand Grenades

She paces back and forth in her bathroom in nothing but a sexy bra and panty set, heart pounding in her chest.  Just do it. She tells herself, taking a quick peek at her reflection in the mirror.  Not bad.  She adjusts her bra for the 27th time.  Just do it. She silently says again, taking a deep breath.  She walks into her bedroom, picks it up off her nightstand and holds it out in front of her at arms length.

Click.  She looks at the photo.  Ick no.  She shakes her head and ruffles her hair, pulling it over her near naked shoulder.  Blonde hair splays across her chest.   She stretches her arm out again, holding it a little bit higher than the last time.

Click.  She tilts her head.  Click.  She looks up.  Click.  She looks down.  Click.  She looks to the side.  Click.  This time straight at the camera, pouty lips.

She holds her phone close to her face  and goes through the camera roll.  Delete.  Delete.  Delete.  Delete.  Delete.

She growls and throws her phone on her bed.  Why is this so hard?  He’s your husband.  He’s seen it ALL before. 

Deep breaths, back to the phone.  Click Click Click Click Click.

Camera roll. Sigh.  Okay, that one’s not so bad.  She bites her lip and stares at the photo for few more minutes finding every single possible flaw, anxiety billowing deep in her belly.

Ding dong…ding dong…ding dong.  She drops the phone when she hears her best friend, Kimberly’s, signature ring.  Then she laughs and picks it up answering with a chuckle.

“Hello.”

“Hey.  What are you doing?”

“Taking sexy selfies of myself, ” she says holding the phone with her shoulder as she pulls on her jeans.

Kimberly lets out a breathy laugh.  “Why?”

“To send to Huz.” She puts her arms through her shirt and pulls it over her head.

“Send it to me.”

“Dude, no way.  I can’t even look at them.  I’ve taken at least 30 pictures.  One is just okay. ”

They talk for 30 minutes about 247 different subjects, their typical daily chat that takes place every day during Kimberly’s commute home from work.

“Okay, I’m here at the daycare.  Talk to you tomorrow.  Oh, and send me that picture.  I’ll tell you if you should send it.”

“Okay, whatever.  Bye.”

She waits the 20 minutes it should take Kimberly to get home before she hits “Send” along with the message, “You better fuggin delete this.”

Nothing.

Another text.

No response.

Then she paces back and forth, stomach twisted in knots, and waits for her alleged “best friend” to respond with…anything.

She convinces herself it’s terrible and decides not to send it.

Then she hears the ding on her phone.

Kimberly text

 

She responds with a sigh of relief.  Huz leaves for the store, so she decides it’s the perfect time to send it to him.

Send. Sigh.  Done.  Wait.

Tic toc.  Tic toc.  Tic toc.

Huz comes home, says nothing.   She waits until the kids are in bed and says, “Did you get my text?”  He smiles a half smile  “Yeah.  Why did you send that?”

“Really?”

She looks at him, rolls her eyes, and walks into her room.  If he only knew.  Later he says, “I like it.”  Too little.  Too late.  Not good enough.  She grabs his phone and deletes it after already deleting it from her phone and vows to never ever take a sexy selfie again.

Remember children, “Naked selfies almost always work.”

But almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.

Lovepocalypse Take 2

That phone call set my heart to flight.  Brendon, who I had a huge high school girl crush on, just called me at my mom’s house and asked me on a date.   It was Friday.  He suggested that we go to dinner on Saturday night, but I had to waitress at the piano bar, so I begrudgingly said “no.”  He thought for a second and then told me that he already had plans that night with some friends to meet at Blues, the bar next to the hospital.  He invited me to join them.  He didn’t know my age.  18.  He offered to pick me up, but I told him I would meet him there.  I was nervous and socially awkward, and I wanted my own car in case I needed to bolt if my anxiety got out of hand.

I drove to my apartment giddy with excitement about our impending date.  I appealed to my best friend/roommate to find me the perfect outfit since I had/have zero fashion sense, and Brendon had never seen me in anything but my hospital uniform:  Green polo shirt and khaki Dickies.  She found something she said was perfect “first date at a bar” attire that most definitely would make him swoon.  I looked at the outfit, bit my lip, and shrugged my shoulders.  I had only been on a few dates and had very little experience with men, and Brendon was a man.  A beautiful Latin man.  So I took her advice and donned something other than my usual t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers.

I walked into the bar feeling out of place without my normal gang of hospital friends, tugging at my shorts that I was certain were at least 2 inches too short and pulling at the shirt that hugged me a little too tightly.  Then I saw him.   He was sitting at the bar, drinking a Bud Light wearing a white Nike baseball cap, a perfect contrast to his tawny skin.  He turned around and noticed me standing in the doorway.  His smile reached all the way to his dark eyes as he walked over to greet me.  He pulled me into his chest in a surprisingly comfortable hug.  “Wow.  You’re here,” he said offering me that killer smile.  “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”  What?  He wasn’t sure I would come.

He guided me to the bar, his hand barely grazing my lower back.  He ordered me a Bud Light and another for himself, and we sat side by side sharing familiar and easy conversation.   We talked about college and classes.  He told me he was 23 and almost finished.  I hesitated but told him I was only 18, that I had just completed my second semester.  He looked at me and said, “You’re just a puppy, Kiddo.”   “Kiddo” would become his pet name for me, a name that I would grow to love being called.

He introduced me to his friends and his brother who met up with us later, and we all talked and laughed, and I found myself floating in his attention.  He was smart and funny and unbelievably sexy.  We closed down the bar.  He insisted that I let him drive me home…in his jeep…with the top off, which took his hotness D&B to a whole new level.  On the drive home, we learned that we shared a passion for music of all kinds.  When we got to my apartment, we sat in his jeep in the parking lot, listening to Fleetwood Mac.  When the last song ended, I reluctantly said, “I better go in.”  He walked me to my door where he planted a soft, sweet kiss on my lips and said, “Goodnight, Kiddo.” He pulled me into him in a warm embrace and let out a quiet sigh that went straight to my…ahem.   I wanted to invite him in, but I didn’t know how.  I was young and dumb, and incredibly naïve.   I opened the door and walked into my apartment, trying to summon the words to tell him that I didn’t want the night to end, but the words never came.  Instead, I just said, “Goodnight.”  He winked and turned to walk to his jeep.   I went to bed smiling, with his scent still lingering on my skin.

The next morning, my roommate drove me to my car.  I started to pull out of the parking spot when I noticed something on my windshield.  A note.  From him.

Can’t wait to see you again. –B        

Just like that, he hooked me even more, and I was in my first “grown up” relationship.  We took advantage of every free opportunity we had to spend together. It was challenging since I worked most nights, but we made it work.  We didn’t see each other often, but when we did, we cherished the time.  We shared a twisted sense of humor and spent most of our time together laughing.  He had the best laugh, and anytime I said something funny, he would grab me either by my arm or my hand, and hold me while he shook with laughter at something witty that I said.

His touch ignited my skin.

He told me I was way too funny to be a girl, which was even better than all of the times he told me I was pretty and smart and perfect.

He took me to his childhood home, introduced me to his mom, and called me his “girlfriend.”   She made us jalapeno muffins and told Brendon to be nice to me when he made fun of something that I said.   After she went to bed, we cuddled on the couch and watched some old movies on her big screen TV.

Another night, he took me to an abandoned mansion rumored to be haunted.  We crawled through the window and crept through the dark empty rooms, waiting for a ghost to jump out at us, my heart pounding in my chest.  But nothing made my heart stutter more than when he pushed me up against the grimy wall, wrapped his arms around my waist, and kissed me.

We spent countless hours at our favorite music store, standing side by side at the listening stations, ears covered with huge plastic headphones, smiles plastered on our lips discovering new music together…all before iTunes and immediate internet downloads.   Our love of music became our bond, another pull to my heart.

He often surprised me and showed up at the piano bar to listen to me play, which was a huge adjustment for me since I preferred to play for strangers.  That first night, he sat at a table by himself.  He didn’t order anything to eat or drink,  just sat there.  Listening to me.  I forced myself not to look in his direction.   I didn’t even notice that he left before I finished.  I was hugely disappointed when I discovered his empty chair until realized later as I counted my tips that he snuck  a comment card in my tip jar that said:

I didn’t think it was possible for you to be more beautiful, until I heard you play. ~B

That night, when I left the bar, he was waiting by my car.

“I got you this,” he said and handed me a CD.  George Winston:  December.  “It’s really a Christmas album, but I think you’ll like it.”

I suggested that we hop in his jeep and go for a drive to listen to it.  As we drove through our West Texas town, the sound of George Winston’s piano mingled with the warm summer breeze.  Then I heard a familiar song, Variations of Johann Pachelbel’s Canon.  He said that he loved this version and that it was his favorite song to hear on the piano.  We drove for hours that night until he took me back to my car.  He gave me a simple kiss, and said, “Goodnight, Kiddo,” handing me the CD.

I drove home listening to my new album and made it my mission to learn his song.   I listened to it incessantly, always playing it in my head.  I spent hours at my parents’ house practicing it over and over.  When they went to bed, I went to the one place that I knew never closed, the hospital chapel, and I banged my way through it until it was…perfect.

The next time he came to listen to me play, I surprised him and played it for him.

That night, I didn’t have to invite him into my apartment.  He practically pushed me through the door.

heart-music