Friday, June 29, 2012

50 shades of same ol', same ol'

Okay, so I bought 50 Shades of Grey, don't judge me, I wouldn't judge you.  Not true, I would rather judge you than pull you out of an active volcano but you already knew that.

I had been reading reports that retailers were having trouble keeping this book on their shelves so when I saw it at Target with a 20% off sticker I felt incredulous because I got something other people missed.  It's an American kind of thing, our devotion to competitive shopping.  So I put it on the counter facedown of course and snuck it out of the store, sneak sneak.

It is a story concerning a virginal nincompoop and a wealthy tycoon with slutty grey eyes and his name is Grey and he entices her into his whitewalled cavern of a condo full of expensive art work and sterling silver plumbing.  His dirty little secret is in the lower chamber complete with whips and canes and shackles and what girl can resist that combination. And the lady does not protest upon discovery of the secret which I find confusing because virgins want nothing more than quick and simple, get it over with already, right of passage.  It takes awhile to build up to the kinky stuff.

I smelled a rat when the heroine kept using the words "double crap" because if you're a college graduate which she was and cannot say the word shit then you took the wrong classes. The plot stinks royally of Danielle Steele, Harlequin romance, soap opera mediocrity and characters that just can't convince me they could be real.  Grey refers to himself as the Dominator and the virgin as the Submissive and I tried skipping all that to get back to what might represent a plot but that was not to be.  Lordy, lordy no substance here.

No matter how soft the level of porn, it's porn and it sets us all back, men and women and we should be better than this and sadly we're not and the only convincing argument for porn that research provides and it's a poor one is it reduces the level of violence in prisons.
Submission invites cruelty and a victim objectified must be silent and can set no limits and it's a terrible thing when weakness inspires desire.
No wonder educated professional women are always in a bad mood.  And Gloria Steinem said, "I think we need to get much angrier." 

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

grandma's here

Some people say I should not be caring for young children but you know how some people are.  All right I did lose the four-year-old in Kohl's but I had to linger and finger those Jennifer Lopez sheets, they are to die for.  I had several clerks searching for the kid and they kept giving me dirty looks.  So I could not  remember what she was wearing, it was something sparkly, jeesh. Then a light bulb blinked and I knew just where the infant diva was and I zoomed over to the shoe department. There the little princess sat donning the pinkest, girliest, laciest tennies ever.  I do know my toddler.

And then we drove over to the pool and yes, the life guard did scramble down her chair in pursuit of my granddaughter but she really wasn't drowning, it just appeared that way.  She was sputtering and gasping but that's what she does when she's having a good time.  Christ, they're so fanatical about their jobs. And then I had to beat back the grandsons with water bombs, it's them or me, and I don't surrender easily and now the lifeguards are seriously watching me.

And who needs sunscreen, I didn't use it as a kid, why waste precious swimming time just to get slicked up.  I lost track of the amount of ice cream consumed.  It seemed easier to say yes than that other word.

As a grandparent I'm sadly lenient when it comes to the endless snacking and sugar overload that children demand.  I am not paying their dental bills so I say, keep'em happy, makes my job easier.  I once had a grandson walk off with a bar of margarine but I'm a butter face and I know the addiction, enjoy enjoy..

At last 5:00 and my daughter's silver van comes cruising in the driveway and I have completed my day's work and I will soon be delivered. The children  are somewhat smudgy and over stimulated and under napped and seriously sunburned but they're still alive and that's what's important.  My daughter is content in her ignorance and that's the way it will stay.

What can I say, my services are cheap.

Friday, June 15, 2012

sonny talks

I have ingested an insane amount of sirloin steak, $6.99 a pound, and the stuff will sit in my gut for the next three days refusing to digest.  When you don't eat meat much your body forgets how to process it and flatulence follows you around like a faithful puppy.  My father was here for supper and I prepared his favorite, shish kabob and normally I would concentrate on the vegetables but Dad had something serious to discuss and I did what any normal human being does when confronted with uncomfortable news, I overeat.

Sonny has been in this relationship with a woman he has known for sixty years. They play Scrabble in the park, have fish dinners on Friday nights and go to organ recitals at some church.  My father says their together time has lessened in the last several weeks and he is not liking this.  But Cathy is her own woman and a contemporary one at that and she tends her garden and makes silk flower centerpieces for banquets and is a member of a bridge club, a reading club and the Red Hat club.  Okay, we'll forgive her that last one.
"There were eighty people at her birthday party," Dad tells me clearly annoyed, "I'd be lucky if eight people showed up for mine."  Wow, I say, eight, woo-hoo, that many and I'm trying to divert the man with a little humor, very little humor it seems.

And I would rather be diagnosed with rectal worms than have this conversation with my father.  "So you want to take it to the next level?" I ask and I cannot believe I just uttered this inane sentence but there it is  "There isn't much more level to take it to," he replies clearly misunderstanding the question thank god.  My mother was content clipping recipes out of magazines sitting across from my father night after night after night.

So Sonny will be at Cathy's home tomorrow for yet another fish dinner and he will have a talk with her, a talk, and the word hangs above us in the air heavy and dreadful and worrisome. I know he doesn't want any advice from my position but only that I agree with him, that's what men of his generation require from the rest of us subordinates.

"Just make sure you have the talk after you eat, Dad" I finally say. And it's a wrap.

Saturday, June 9, 2012

he says he can, you know

I am shredding the cooked chuck roast and tossing it into the crock pot, gristle and gooey stuff coating my fingers. I hate this, I mutter to myself and I am one step closer to a vegetarian life style. Oh wait, a life without bratwurst? Scrap that idea. Totally disgusted with these animal parts I wrap the remains of the carcass in newspaper and stuff it in my city compost bin. Somewhere this summer geraniums will bloom wildly and beautifully thanks to my defunct beef roast. My mother would have turned ashen and said, "I can't believe you're throwing that away," her Depression roots blaringly out there. I can only deal with animal flesh up to a certain point and then I need to spend time with a carrot.

My oldest son will be home in a few weeks and he is vegan. Much of our time will be spent chopping up stuff for the dinner table because chopped stuff equals healthy diet, think about it.  I eat and feel better when he is here, my cleansed body is light and buoyant, no nasty animal flesh weighing me down and my digestive track chock full of fiber practically hums as it does its job.  But ever so quietly I will steal out for a cheeseburger because the flesh can be weak and really hungry for protein other than almond paste.  God, please let him not smell this meat coming out of my pores. He says he can, you know.

 He and I are planning a trip in September to the United Kingdom for several weeks. My doctor has told me if Jason mentions the word hostel he should call him and Doc will explain why his 60-year-old mother should not be considering this as a nightly stopover. "Some of those kids haven't bathed in two or three weeks," says Doc. That would be my son I am silently thinking.  As I collect my paperwork to schedule my next appointment  he grabs it back and erases 30 minutes up in the corner and puts in 45. "I will need extra minutes to hear about your trip," he says.
Please Lord,  I silently pray, please let me have some really good stories to impress my MD.  If not, I just may have to stay in one of those hostels.

I said I wanted the bed by the window.

Tuesday, June 5, 2012

bridal shower

I am off to a bridal shower. I am not a party person but my niece is a special woman and needs to be recognized for this. She lives in Florida and I found a book at the supermarket, Married Fifty Years, tips and quotes from couples who have been in the marital institution that length of time and I will bring that along.  I will not be listed in the book as a contributor.  If I could add all my relationships together I could easily do fifty years since I sometimes dated more than one fella at a time.  Hey, I was always upfront about all that, most of the time anyway.  Why have just one flavor of ice cream, I say.  I try to think of something profound and memorable to write inside the book's cover and all that comes to mind is "Marriage is like getting your teeth cleaned.  It's necessary yet vaguely uncomfortable."  I think I'm done talking on this topic.

On the way I listen to a radio talk show about the ancient Mayan prediction, the one that says the world will end on December 21, 2012.  I don't know about you but doesn't this put a whole different twist on the daily schedule?  Just how much time and effort do I want to put into Christmas shopping?  Is it okay to skip a few workouts in the weeks preceding?  Will the market bottom out on magazine renewals?  Can you see where I'm going with this?  I don't want any loose ends or unanswered emails when the planet explodes.

Once at the party I see a lot of my favorite foods and I invent reasons to keep passing the laden table to scoop up some dip with a carrot. At last my lovely niece makes her entrance and she is nervous. Who wouldn't be surrounded by all these yakking midwestern women looking her up and down and asking the same questions. She is gracious and patient with us all and I meet the fiance, definitely the best ice cream flavor on the list.

And I hope the Mayan prediction does not ring true.  My niece's wedding is before that fateful date so if it happens I still get one more walk on a Florida beach.  I want her to catalog her happinesses under many tabs and chapters and that capacity is available to her. She will figure it out.