Author: JennyTrout

Trigger warning: I’m going to talk about the bombing. There will be no pictures, if that makes a difference for you.

Today, I got up and went running.

It wasn’t the smartest thing to do. I haven’t been running in weeks, I haven’t been in tiptop shape, and I really overdid it.

But I’m totally grateful.

Last night, after promising myself that I wouldn’t go looking for graphic images of the aftermath of the Boston Marathon bombing, I went looking for graphic images of the aftermath of the Boston Marathon bombing. I always do this, whenever there’s a national tragedy. I’m not a ghoul (well, I am a ghoul, but my gleeful celebration of the macabre doesn’t extend beyond gory fiction); I just always find myself imagining in the worst things possible. Then I seek out photos to prove to myself that whatever I’ve imagined is far worse than the reality.

This has never been a successful tactic. Often times, the things I am imagining have a dramatic, Hollywood tone to them. For example, in the aftermath of 9/11, I sought out pictures of the jumpers. Because that was the most horrifying aspect, to me, that fabled rain of bodies the media kept talking about. I went looking for pictures, expecting to see fear and panic on the faces of the people plummeting to their doom. What I saw were grainy photos of tumbling bodies, and some horrific images of pools of blood and torn clothing on the ground. The fact that the reality looked so unreal, that it didn’t fit my Hollywood perception of what a disaster should be like, made it even more difficult to cope.

Yesterday, I vowed I wouldn’t let that happen again, and yet again I couldn’t keep my promise to myself. Those of you who struggle with mental illnesses like depression and obsessive thoughts will understand what I mean when I say I had no choice in the matter; the longer I avoided the news sources, the more graphic and morbid my thoughts became. And even though I knew that looking would not make me feel any better, I did. I found pictures of people covered in blood and dust, bodies laying on the ground, first responders checking pulses. There was blood, too, so much of it that it didn’t seem real.

And I saw a photo of a young man in a long-sleeved t-shirt, being pushed in a wheelchair by three first responders. And the flesh of his calf was gone. It was just gone. The bone was still there, sticking out surreally from the ragged end of his knee. But the injury wasn’t the most shocking thing about that photo. It was his face. He wasn’t screaming. He didn’t look shocked or horrified or even in much pain. He looked like he was grieving. As though the moment that photo was taken, he was just realizing how his life, his body, had been irrevocably changed. That only minutes before, he was standing, or walking, that he had the ability to stand and walk. That only minutes before, he had legs.

I don’t know if he was a runner. It’s hard to tell, from his clothing. Maybe he was a spectator, cheering on a friend. Maybe he was thinking, “Gosh, [friend/relative/partner] is so crazy, I can’t believe anyone would do this to himself,” in the gentle way we non-marathoners think about our marathoning friends. Maybe he had dreams of qualifying one day, himself.

My husband tried to comfort me by reminding me about prosthetics and physical therapy. All I could think about was the time table involved in that. It isn’t like this guy is going to go home tomorrow with a new plastic leg and life will be normal. It’s going to take weeks of surgeries and rehabilitation to walk again. Not to mention the life-long mental devastation of being the victim of an act of terror and forever being branded “that guy with his legs blown off in that photo.”

So, when I got up today, I decided I would run. Not because I could change anything that happened, or because I thought I was doing something supportive or helpful or anything like that. It wasn’t a prayer or “sending energy,” it was my own selfish expression of how grateful I am to have legs. And, again selfishly, I hoped that if I could appreciate the fact that I can still run, I would forget that picture, and that man’s gray, mournful face. That I could actually outrun what I had seen.

I don’t know if that man died. Traumatic amputation is one of those things very Hollywoodized in our minds as a survivable injury. But often, it’s not. That man could be dead now. He could be alive.  I don’t know. But that picture, and the expression on his face, are going to be in my memory forever. I can only imagine how affected the people on the scene were, the kind of images they will try to outrun. For the rest of us, maybe rather than seeking out more about the tragedy, more speculation, more rumor, more graphic images, maybe we should protect ourselves. Be good to ourselves. And never stop appreciating how fragile our lives are, and how quickly everything can change.

Hey everybody! My ongoing medical bullshit has sidelined me again, and I’ve been partially bed-bound for four days. I try to not too talk a ton about my super fascinating personal problems, but in case I haven’t mentioned it before (I feel like I mention it constantly), I have Fibromyalgia, a fun syndrom marked by chronic, widespread pain, debilitating fatigue, and roughly 50% of everyone you meet offering you advice on homeopathic remedies that worked for their aunts. It also affects how your brain functions, so basically for the past four days I’ve been sick and stupid, which is an awesome combination that doesn’t make for getting much work done, but I am tearing my facebook games UP. As such, the recap is delayed until I can get out of the grips of this flare up that has knocked me down.

However, in the interest of not just saying, “I’m sick, shit isn’t getting done,” for the forty-billionth time this year, let me offer you a selection of what I feel is my finest blogging work, that you may not have seen before:

• Dora the Explorer visits the Underworld
• My son’s Hearst-like commitment to crushing his enemies
• That time my kids alienated the entire neighborhood with a Nazi salute
• Sweeney Todd cupcakes
• My stupid dog

Hugh Howey, author of the phenomenally popular book Wool, made a blog post today (were y’all aware that it’s not April 3rd today, but is, in fact, April 12?) that is making the rounds on twitter. And not in a positive way.

The post is titled: The Bitch from WorldCon.

Now, I’m not a big fan of men using the word bitch. I feel that coming from a man, it’s never going to be anything other than a misogynist slur used to denigrate and devalue a woman. Yes, even you, gay men. Stop doing that. So, right off the bat, I thought, “You know, he’s made a misstep here.” But then the post went on. And on. And on. And I got more and more angry. I sat there thinking, “Oh, so you’re FINE with “crazy” people, huh? We’re all so RELIEVED that you like us. Oh, you can tolerate people with austism? Let me help you pin this medal to your chest.” By the time I got to the part where he’s openly mocking the woman’s appearance by comparing her unfavorably to Mayim Bialik (really, you gonna crack on Blossom in front of God and everybody?!), I was ready to hit the comments and rip him a new one.

And then I thought, you know… there’s no point. There are already tons of people commenting about how great it is that he’s refreshingly un-PC (can we just take “PC” as a term out to the woodshed and pull an Old Yeller? Because it’s clearly spreading disease at this point). They can’t be reasoned with, and they’re the only voices that Howey is going to hear.

So I decided instead to use his blog post as a teaching tool for other author/bloggers. Since so many of you are writers or aspiring writers, and I know a bunch of you blog, we can talk about how to avoid his missteps.

For starters, he could have used his WorldCon story as a way to explain what is/isn’t appropriate behavior when approaching authors at cons. I don’t think anyone would disagree that what the woman in his story did was rude. It was. You don’t walk up to someone and say, “Hey, you’re self-published? That’s a totally invalid choice. Let me, a stranger, tell you how to run your career.” It’s super rude. As a self-pubbed author who has done extraordinarily well in his career, Howey has a platform he could use to give good PR to self-published authors everywhere. While self-publishing is gaining ground, there are still hold-outs who feel it’s unprofessional and kind of a joke. Rather than proving them right with a blog post about how that “bitch” at Worldcon can “suck it,” he could have made a post calling out that kind of behavior and how wrong it is for people to disrespect self-pubbed authors. Not because some far-off day a self-pubbed author might win an award and tell all those rude haters to suck it, but because making assumptions about a stranger’s success or lack thereof is super duper shitty.

Second, he could have just told the story without referring to the woman as a bitch, insinuating that she’s ugly, and comparing her to a woman on tv he finds unattractive. If this woman at the con had been conventionally beautiful, if she had been a sexy cosplayer, would he have not found her behavior so offensive? What if she had been a he? Furthermore, why the need to include that his wife thinks it would have been okay for him to “slap the bitch?” Leaving any of this out wouldn’t have hurt his point in any way: that it’s shitty for strangers to make assumptions and criticize your life when they don’t even know who you are. In fact, I think a lot of people would have valued his point a lot more if it hadn’t been obscured by his vitriolic, gender-specific hatred.

Third, dude, why the bizarre pre-apologies to “crazy” people and people with autism? Especially if in the next sentence he was just going to go on and stereotype them by talking about bad skin, comic books, and D&D? What did that have to do with anything in the story? Nothing. And I know that his characterization of the mentally ill and non-neurotypical turned off at least one potential reader today.

Look, I understand the desire to get the big movie scene comeuppance. I have revenge fantasies about at least 108% of people in writing business. “Just wait until x happens, I’ll show her!” But I recognize that these fantasies are fruitless and destructive, and they’re not helping me get anywhere.

Case in point: I was at a con last year. At cons, my fashion sense falls somewhere between “shut in” and “mall goth.” I was leaning toward the latter at the first icebreaker of the week. Standing in line behind me and my friends was an author and an editor from a New York publisher. They looked smart. They were dressed professionally. Because we were in line a while, I introduced myself (because that’s what I’m there for, right?), mentioned that I was an author, too, and they asked me about my books, where I had been published before, etc. The moment our conversation ended and I turned around, I caught a glimpse in the mirror beside us of the author leaning over to the editor to say something in her ear. The editor responded, “No, I don’t think she is, either,” and they smirked to themselves. Basically, they were looking at me and saying, “I don’t think she’s really an author.”

Was my first reaction super kind and not at all full of gendered insults? I’m not even going to try to lie. The first word in my head was, “Bitch.”

Later that week, I did win an award. But when I got up to accept it, I didn’t think to myself, “Ha, I’m showing that bitch.” It was, “Oh. my. god. My readers are the fucking best. I can’t believe they turned out and voted for me. I can’t believe I won this. Shit. I didn’t write a speech. Maybe I should have taken Stella’s email about writing a speech more seriously. I hope I don’t swear. I really hope I don’t swear.” I got up, I swore, I was elated, I sat down.

But you know what? If I had gotten up there and thought, “SUCK IT, BITCH!” that would have robbed me of the entire experience. All that joy would have just been gone. Because revenge isn’t satisfying. Showing people up just makes you feel more mean, and it makes your accomplishments all about them. That’s no fun.

I think about that a lot when people say, “When your book is bigger than 50 Shades you can tell E.L. James to suck it,” or whatever. Holy shit, guys. If I ever wrote a book that got bigger than 50 Shades, the last thing I’d want to waste my time on would be running around trying to make sure everyone I didn’t like (especially people I’ve never met in person and who have never personally wronged me) knew I felt that I was better than them.

And that’s how Howey’s post came off. “Look at me, I’m better than this ugly, possibly mentally ill, probably autistic (because autistic people act like that, amiright?!) bitch that my wife wanted to slap! I am validated!”

Mr. Howey. You were already validated by being a really good writer. By the success you have, and the support of your readers. There will always be someone who wants to make themselves feel important by acting like they’re “in the know.” There will always be that guy at the book signing who asks you how long it took to get your book published, and then follows up that question with, “But what if it’s good, how long does it take then?” There are going to be people who offer their really good ideas to you, who want to tell you about this awesome new way to publicize your book, or who loftily offers to see if they can maybe get your story into their friend’s zine “if there’s space.” But their behavior doesn’t take away from your success. It’s a sign of your success. Ignore it. Roll with it. Call them out if you want, because that woman needed someone to say, “Hey, it’s not cool to bash self-publishing in front of a self-published author.”

But don’t write a blog post calling her a bitch, calling her ugly, calling fucking BLOSSOM RUSSO ugly (she is the voice of a generation, goddamnit!) and making assumptions of your own about the importance of an intern experience. You alienated a lot of readers today. You alienated women, crazy people, autistic people, Canadians, Blossom fans, interns… all those people probably would have bought and enjoyed your book. You didn’t “show” the bitch at WorldCon anything, but you sure showed your ass to a lot of people who are now regretting buying your book. What did you gain from that? A momentary sense of mean satisfaction you could have easily gotten from just having this conversation in private with friends who won’t ask you to explain your “tone.”

And P.S., this:

And you can find it here.

New 50 Shades recap will be up on Sunday, as I have a Saturday obligation this week. So you can read it on the lord’s day.

Several weeks ago, I was contacted by Firmoo.com to try out a pair of sunglasses and review them. I said okay, they sent me the glasses and…

 After: Gorgeous, high-quality Firmoo.com sunglasses:

In every generation there is a chosen one. She alone will complain nonstop about the cramps she’s having. Jesus, when will this whole reproductive thing end?! She will also recap every episode of Buffy The Vampire Slayer with an eye to the following themes:

1. Sex is the real villain of the Buffy The Vampire Slayer universe.
2. Giles is totally in love with Buffy.
3. Joyce is a fucking terrible parent.
4. Willow’s magic is utterly useless (this one won’t be an issue until season 2, when she gets a chance to become a witch)
5. Xander is a textbook Nice Guy.
6. The show isn’t as feminist as people claim.
7. All the monsters look like wieners.
8. If ambivalence to possible danger were an Olympic sport, Team Sunnydale would take the gold.
9. Angel is a dick.
10. Harmony is the strongest female character on the show.
11. Team sports are portrayed in an extremely negative light.
12. Some of this shit is racist as fuck.

WARNING: Some people have mentioned they’re watching along with me, and that’s awesome, but I’ve seen the entire series already and I’ll probably mention things that happen in later seasons. So… you know, take that under consideration, if you’re a person who can’t enjoy something if you know future details about it.


Look, episode, right off the bat, I don’t like you. You know why? Because you go, “Previously, on Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” and it’s NOT GILES SAYING IT. If you’re like me, dear reader, and you’ve watched the entirety of this show over and over again to the point that your family has considered staging an intervention, then you’ll know that on most episodes, the voice over line, “Previously, on Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” is delivered by Anthony Head.

You know how I feel about Mr. Head.

So, obviously random voice over guy must go. PISTOLS AT DAWN, RANDOM VOICE OVER GUY!

So anyway, after the “she alone will stand against the vampires” part, we see the Anointed One throwing rocks into a sewer hole for fun. Like you do when you’re a newly made vampire in the body of a child, forced to live in a subterranean, possibly Hellmouth prison with a creepy old vampire who’s got a bad case of bat face. Darla enters, and The Master informs her of another vampire who’s died at the hands of the Slayer, despite being strong and careful. He asks the Anointed One (whose name, we learn, is Colin) what he thinks they should do, and his answer is, “Annihilate her.” Ah, the simple wisdom of a child.

Darla asks The Master to let her kill Buffy. Oh, you mean you want to kill the chick you straight up ran from last time you fought? Yeah, you really proved yourself, go get your second chance. But rather than rub her nose in that horrible failure, The Master cites her “personal stakes” in the death of the Slayer as a reason to send The Three instead.

Cut to the very, very naughty act of smoking a cigarette. Smoking cigarettes, by the by, will become shorthand for evil many times in this series. We see a mean-looking skull zippo, the end of a ciggie, and the camera pans out for a classic Buffy misdirect, in which three big, tough dudes, standing around and smoking (OMG THEY’RE THE THREE, RIGHT?) scatter at the sight of three bigger, tougher dudes with vamp faces and various pieces of armor on.

At The Bronze, Cordelia is seen frantically stomping a cockroach, which she then cheerfully hands over to the bartender in payment for a drink. Then we see the sign over the bar, which declares it’s a fumigation party, and anyone who finds a roach gets a free drink.

More troubling, however, is that Cordelia is picking up a half-smashed, still somewhat wriggling, cockroach. And she’s smiling about it. As the series go on, we learn that Cordelia is, if not the richest, at least one of the richest kids at Sunnydale. She can afford to buy a damn drink. We also learn that she’s terrified of anything even marginally gross. So I just don’t think it’s an in-character move for her to handle a squished bug for a drink she could have easily paid for on her own.

At another table, Willow is explaining the annual fumigation party tradition to Buffy, who is clearly not listening. When Willow calls her on it, Buffy admits she was spacing out and ignoring her because she was thinking about the lack of a romantic partner in her life. Willow suggests that Angel could be that romantic partner, but Buffy rejects the idea. She likes Angel, but he only shows up to warn her about grave danger, and she doesn’t see that as a lot of potential for romance times. Buffy says that when Angel is around, it’s like all the lights dim, and Willow understands what she means, because she still has it super bad for Xander.

Speaking of Xander, what’s he up to? Dancing very badly up on a girl who is clearly not interested in him. Only her giant boyfriend can scare him off, and scare him he does. Xander tries to bad-dance casually away and ends up colliding with Cordelia. They have this exchange:

Cordelia: “Ouch! Please get your extreme oafishness off my two-hundred dollar shoes!”

Xander “I’m sorry, I was just -“

Cordelia: “Getting off the dance floor before Annie Vega’s boyfriend squashes you like a bug?”

Xander: “Oh, so you noticed.”

Cordelia: “Uh-huh.”

 Xander: “Yeah, thanks for being so understanding.”

Cordelia: “Sure.”

Xander: “You know, hey, I don’t know what everyone’s talking about. That outfit doesn’t make you look like a hooker.”

The two-hundred dollar shoes line backs up my earlier assertion that Cordelia wouldn’t stomp a roach, but there’s some more important to cover here. Throughout the first and for part of the second season, Xander treats Cordelia like total shit. The audience is supposed to believe that it’s because Cordelia isn’t nice, and she deserves this treatment because she’s a bully. And yes, she does bully people. When we see Cordelia bully people, her insecurity is stemming from a need to establish herself as the economic better of her classmates (for example, when she belittles Willow about her clothes coming from Sears). That’s not okay, it’s still bullying, but something about the angle Xander is coming from seems squickier to me.

Xander knows Cordelia is out of his league, in terms of dating and sex. He’s never going to “get” her. Willow and Buffy, however, he feels he might have a shot with them. So, he’s nice to them. Immediately after insulting Cordelia, he joins Buffy and Willow and makes another crack about Cordelia. This is after being brutally rebuffed by two other girls on the dance floor. He can’t have those girls, he’ll settle for the company of these girls. Then, he makes another crack about Cordelia. He seems to view women only in terms of what they can do for him. “Will this girl have sex with me? If yes, be nice to her. If not, call her a hooker.” Classic. Nice. Guy. (5)

Buffy decides her bad mood is catching, and rather than ruin her friends’ evening, she’s going to go home. Xander practically begs her not to go, and he’s clearly not happy to be left with Willow, the one girl who actually is interest in him. But Willow isn’t good enough, because she’s Willow. Ever notice how, instead of sitting her down and saying, “Hey, Willow, it’s obvious you’ve got this crush on me, but we’re never going to happen,” Xander lets it go on and on, giving her false hope and such? (5)

As Buffy leaves, we see Angel just lurking behind the stairs at The Bronze. So… has he been listening to their conversation this whole time?

Buffy: “You know, I’m the chosen one. It’s my job to fight guys like that. What’s your excuse?” 

Angel: “Somebody has to.”

Buffy: “What does your family think of your career choice?”

Angel: “They’re dead.”

Buffy: “Was it vampires?”

Angel: “It was.”

Giles: “You must first become proficient with the basic tools of combat. Let’s begin with the quarterstaff. Which will, incidentally, require countless hours of vigorous training. I speak from experience.”

We’ve talked in the past about how Giles will sometimes say or do things that hint that he’s somehow secretly badass, but none of the other characters pick up on all these weird skills. This is a prime example. He just told Buffy he’s had countless hours of vigorous training with a quarterstaff. This is not the experience of most people.

Buffy makes fun of Giles for suggesting such an archaic weapon, while Giles puts on a ton of safety gear but doesn’t take off his glasses. Do we ever see him actually break his glasses during the run of the show? It seems like that should be happening once a week, minimum. He tells Buffy to put on protective pads, and she laughs it off and says she won’t need them to fight him. Giles is pretty confident that he’s going to kick her ass, but things don’t go as planned. She straight up brutalizes him, and he winds up on the floor.

Buffy: “Can a vampire ever be a good person? Couldn’t it happen?”

Giles: “A vampire isn’t a person at all. It may have the movements, the memories, even the personality of the person that it took over, but it’s still a demon at the core. There’s no halfway.“

Willow: “So, that’d be a ‘no,’ huh?”

While his friend is in her time of need, Xander is of course, super supportive.

Just kidding, he tells Buffy she should kill Angel, and he does so almost gleefully. Buffy’s broken heart isn’t a big deal to him, just the promise of competition removal. (5)

Giles somewhat reluctantly backs Xander up on this. Xander says that since Buffy obviously doesn’t love the guy, it’s no big deal, and when Buffy doesn’t have an answer, Xander shouts, “You’re in love with a vampire?!” super loud. Behind them, Cordelia exclaims “What?” in total disgust, but she’s not reacting to their conversation. She’s reacting to the fact that another girl is wearing the same dress she is, and hers is supposed to be one-of-a-kind. She chases the other girl down, shrieking about knock offs and free trade agreements. At least Buffy can laugh about it.

Angel heads home to his apartment, which is surprisingly nice compared to the shitty hallway he enters from, He finds Darla waiting for him. He asks her what’s up with the school girl outfit, she asks him what’s up with the school girls.

• Two nights ago, when I stumbled wearily to bed, I used the last of the toilet paper in the upstairs bathroom. Because I am a loving wife, I used my lipstick to make a note on the mirror, to warn my husband of the situation: “TP BEFORE U POO.” This morning, husband I found the message neatly corrected, in a different shade of lipstick, in our eleven year old’s handwriting: “TP AFTER YOU POO.”

• Firmoo, an online eyeglass store, contacted me about reviewing a pair of their sunglasses. I accepted, received the glasses, and… we haven’t had even a little bit of sun since.

• Yesterday, D-Rock, Mr. Jen, and I made the biggest Secret Breakfast yet. Pancakes, bacon, candied bacon, chorizo breakfast burritos, chicken fried steak and gravy, hash browns, scrambled eggs, and orange juice hand-squeezed by D-Rock. And we ate it up before the kids came home from church. Behold the insanity:

• D-Rock spat in my eye.

My tweep Purva alerted me to this really dumb slide show. Let’s all suffer together, shall we? I think the most frustrating one was the cupcake one. Since when do cupcakes need a fucking backstory to enjoy them? Also, who the fuck wants to eat a pile of fondant as big as those decorations were? And they’re sex themed cupcakes. The only way that’s okay is if there is some kind of gooey, salty filling in them. That’s the only way I’m on board.

Tweep Anna sent me this link to David Bunce’s review of 50 Shades of Grey. It’s definitely worth a read.

Okay. Let’s get this over with.

LOL, remember when recaps used to start with, “On to the recap!”? All enthusiastic and shit because my soul wasn’t irreparably withered? Just for reference, when I started reading these books I was a church-goer. Now I’m an atheist. I’m not saying they’ve destroyed my faith in God all on their own, I’m just suggesting they may have been a contributing factor.

When we last left them, Chedward had just told Ana that he was born in Detroit, and it is apparently a mind-blower:

“I though you were born here in Seattle,” I murmur. My mind races. What does this have to do with Jack?

I don’t know, maybe your crackerjack narrative will tell us at some point. You know, after you murmur and muse about it for seven or eight chapters, and then the big reveal ends up being something incredibly stupid. But yeah, no reveal in this chapter.

Since it’s been two weeks, I’m going to remind you guys that at this point, he’s done orgasm denial that caused her to safe word and she broke down crying. He’s yet to ask her if she’s okay or if she needs anything, and we’re now talking about his traumatic childhood and the conversation is all about him.

Christian explains that he and Elliot were both adopted in Detroit, but Grace wanted to leave, to be on the west coast and away from “the urban sprawl.” Which is pretty rich, considering Seattle’s geographical size is about half a square mile less than Detroit’s. Ana asks Christian how he knew Jack Hyde was from Detroit:

“I ran a background check when you went to work for him.”

You know, like any non-psycho boyfriend does.

Of course he did. “Do you have a manila file on him, too?” I smirk.

Christian’s mouth twists as he hides his amusement. “I think it’s pale blue.”

I’m glad they can joke about Christian’s repeated and obsessive invasions of privacy against people in his life and people who are only marginally connect to people in his life.

Ana asks what’s in Jack Hyde’s file, and Christian is all, “‘You really want to know?'” like it’s going to shock Ana so badly he needs to protect her fragile female brain from the terrible reality of who Jack Hyde is. When Ana asks how bad it is, Christian immediately reminds her of his horrible childhood:

“I’ve known worse,” he whispers.

No! Is he referring to himself?

HE FUCKING SAID “I” IN THE SENTENCE, ANA. WHO THE FUCK ELSE DOES HE REFER TO AS “I”? DOES HE HAVE A FRIEND NAMED “IGOR” WHO GOES ONLY BY INITIALS?

Christian stiffens. “I wasn’t talking about me. I don’t want your pity, Anastasia. That part of my life is done. Gone.”

“Except for when I need to manipulate you into doing something or staying with me when I’ve treated you like shit,” he definitely did not say next. “So let’s never talk about it, because if you think I’ve gotten over it, I won’t be able to use it as a weapon against you anymore.”

Even Ana knows that’s bullshit, and she calls him on it:

“That part of your life is not done, Christian – how can you say that? You live every day with your past. You told me yourself – fifty shades, remember?” My voice is barely audible.

But before you’re like, “Right on, Ana, call him on his bullshit so he has a microscopic chance of healing or whatever, as if I even gave a shit what happens to this guy,” she continues:

“I know it’s why you feel the need to control me. Keep my safe.”

“And yet you choose to defy me,” he murmurs, baffled, his hand stilling in my hair.

I frown. Holy cow! Do I do that deliberately? My subconscious removes her half-moon glasses and chews the end, pursing her lips and nodding. I ignore her. This is confusing – I’m his wife, not his submissive, not some company he’s acquired. I’m not the crack whore who was his mother… Fuck. The thought is sickening. Dr. Flynn’s words come back to me:

“Just keep doing what you’re doing. Christian is head over heels… It’s a delight to see.”

That’s it. I’m just doing what I’ve always done. Isn’t that what Christian found attractive in the first place?

Oh, this man is so confusing.

So was literally ALL OF THAT. What thought is sickening? The thought of his mother? Of being his sub? Of him acquiring companies? And no, dummy, your personality isn’t what Christian found attractive. The fact that you looked like his mother is what made you attractive to him. You already know that. He could have never been attracted to your personality, because in the first book you never said more than a few words at a time to him, because you were terrified of him. He found you attractive because he thought you were going to be a fuck doll he could manipulate and abuse until he got tired of you and threw you away.

Ana tells Christian that she’s just doing what Dr. Flynn told her to do, and she defies his orders to get him “‘away from your past,'” which would make sense if she didn’t bring up his fucking past every time they had the slightest argument. We’re in Ana’s head, so we know how often she’s thinking of him as being some grubby, abused toddler. Christian is not impressed that his psychiatrist suggested something that he feels might actually help him, and Ana says:

“Christian, I know you loved your mom, and you couldn’t save her. It wasn’t your job to do that. But I’m not her.”

He freezes again. “Don’t,” he whispers.

“No, listen. Please.” I raise my head to stare into wide eyes that are paralyzed with fear. He’s holding his breath. Oh, Christian…  My heart constricts. “I’m not her. I’m much stronger than she was. I have you, and you’re so much stronger now, and I know you love me. I love you, too,” I whisper.

Okay. First of all, Christian’s mother was a single mom, a drug addict, a prostitute working in unsafe conditions and under the control of her abusive pimp. She was trying to raise her son in abject poverty in Detroit in the 1980’s (not one of the city’s finest decades). She was not weak, Ana, you ignorant, privileged asshole. Strength has nothing to do with that situation.

I fucking hate, hate, hate this book.

Second, you tell Christian it wasn’t his job to save his mom, and you’re not her, but then you tell him you’re strong because of him. Which completely contradicts the point you were trying to make about not needing to be saved in place of his mother.

I fucking hate, hate, hate this book.

And let’s keep in mind, the experienced, careful Dom STILL HAS NOT INQUIRED ONCE AS TO HIS SUB’S MENTAL STATE AFTER SHE SAFE WORDED AND STARTED SOBBING.

His brow creases as if my words were not what he expected. “Do you still love me?” he asks.

“Of course I do. Christian, I will always love you. No matter what you do to me.” Is this the reassurance he wants?

She will always love him, no matter what he does to her. So… he doesn’t really need to change. He can keep abusing and isolating her, forcing her to make “choices” that are already pre-decided, and run her off from her dreams and aspirations until she’s exactly the person he wants her to be. That must be a load off his mind.

Christian tells Ana that when she asked him earlier in the day if he hated her, he didn’t understand why, and Ana asks if he still thinks she hates him. He says:

“No.” He shakes his head. “Not now.” He looks relieved. “But I need to know… why did you safe-word, Ana?”

What the hell kind of question is this? Wait, let me clarify: what the hell kind of question is this for Christian Grey to ask? Because a good Dom is going to ask, “What was it about the situation that made you feel unsafe or uncomfortable, and is there anything I can do next time to avoid making you feel that way?” That’s not how Christian is asking it. He’s asking why she safe worded because he sees it as an act of betrayal against him. The implication here is that she used the safe word because she hates him or wants to punish him.

What was Ana’s reason (Trigger warning):

What can I tell him? That he frightened me. That I didn’t know if he’d stop. That I’d begged him – and he didn’t stop. That I didn’t want things to escalate… like – like that one time in here. I shudder as I recall him whipping me with his belt.

If the control issues in their relationship were confined purely to their sex play, if they had a healthy BDSM relationship in which one partner didn’t expect their D/s roles to continue outside the bedroom when the other partner didn’t have that same expectation, this would be a fine and a sensible answer. In this context? It’s Ana admitting that she’s afraid of her husband and the fact that he uses BDSM as a way to abuse her.

I swallow. “Because… because you were so angry and distant and… cold. I didn’t know how far you’d go.”

She doesn’t trust him enough to submit to him. End of story. They should not be engaging in D/s play at all. Lack of trust is what makes their sexual relationship abusive, because Christian has been aware of her lack of trust and has done nothing to build her faith in him. He prefers her frightened, so he can manipulate her.

Ana asks Christian if he was eventually going to let her come, and he says no. Which is totally shitty, because he never said, “Hey, are you cool with some orgasm denial?” before they started. In fact, he made it seem like they were going into the Red Room for mutual satisfaction. He can’t get Ana’s consent if he doesn’t ask for it, so once again, we read a rape scene dressed up like sexy sexin’ times. He also tells her that he’s glad she safe worded:

“Yes. I don’t want to hurt you. I got carried away.” he reaches down and kisses me. “Lost in the moment.” He kisses me again. “Happens a lot with you.”

Oh? And for some bizarre reason the thought pleases me… I grin. Why does that make me happy? He grins, too.

“I don’t know why you’re grinning, Mrs. Grey.”

“Me neither.”

Me neither.

“It means I can trust you… to stop me. I never want to hurt you,” he murmurs.

I love how he always says this RIGHT AFTER HE HAS DONE SOMETHING TO HURT HER. And by love, I mean I want to set myself on fire.

There’s nothing wrong with a Dom expressing gratitude for the trust he has in his sub’s ability to stop him from crossing the line unintentionally. But I think we’re all aware that Christian is making Ana solely responsible for controlling him when they’re together. If she forgets to safe word because she gets into a bad place mentally, well, open season I guess, because we already know from the belt incident that Christian feels the onus is on Ana to keep the scene from going too far. Which is really funny in a “this writing is so fucking pathetic” way, because Christian goes on and on about how much he needs to control Ana in every aspect of her life, but he can’t exert any control over his own actions in his role as Dom. It’s another case of the author telling us what kind of a person the character is, while showing us tons of evidence to the contrary.

This is the heart of our dilemna – his need for control and his need for me. I refuse to believe these are mutually exclusive.

This is the heart of every abusive relationship. One partner’s need to exert control over the other partner, through any means necessary, and the abused partner’s utter refusal to accept the reality of his/her/zir situation.

“I need you, too,” I whisper, hugging him tighter. “I’ll try, Christian. I’ll try to be more considerate.”

Moving on, because I’m not going to be able to handle the rest of the fucking scene in which Ana earnestly apologizes to Christian for not being a good enough abused wife for him, Ana wakes up, still in the playroom, and Christian is, predictably, having another manipulative, thrashy nightmare.

“Ah!” I cry out, not from any pain, but from surprise at his alacrity.

Alacrity means being ready to do something in an cheerful way. Like, “The alacrity Jenny showed sprinting toward the liquor store was truly impressive.” It’s not the right word to use when someone has just woken up from a violent, screaming nightmare and starts desperation fucking the nearest available hole. They fuck, he comes, she doesn’t, and finally, FINALLY, he asks her if she’s okay:

“You okay?” I breathe, caressing his lovely face.

Oh, shit, no, HE STILL DIDN’T ASK HER IF SHE’S OKAY, SHE ASKED HIM. Because he is the most important.

Now, a lot of people have been like, “Oh, he fucks her again and leaves her hanging,” but he really doesn’t. When he realizes she didn’t come, he immediately heads south and gets her off orally, and then, with practically no refractory period required, fucks her again, and this time they both come. So, he does take care of the orgasm thing. And that’s where she could have used the word “alacrity.”

They get up and head back to the bedroom, and I’m not sure why we need a scene of them discussing this, especially since the scene takes up approximately a page of text. Other than to show them going from the playroom to the bedroom, which could easily have been done in a single sentence in the next section, which begins:

My eyes spring open. Something is wrong. Christian is not in bed, though it’s still dark. Glancing at the radio alarm, I see it’s three twenty in the morning. Where’s Christian? Then I hear the piano.

You know why she had the feeling something was wrong? Because there wasn’t an “Edward plays Bella’s lullaby” scene in this book yet. It’s weird that Ana is waking up all the freaking time to find Chedward not in bed with her (this is because Edward Cullen, a vampire, never slept, and in Breaking Dawn Bella wakes up to find him not in bed with her, so it has to be a theme E.L. beats to death in her fanfic) and yet she always finds it so alarming and crazy. “He’s not in bed with me? This has only happened a hundred and fifty other times! SOMETHING IS WRONG OMG HYDE MURDERED HIM.”

Also, why is it important for us to know that the alarm clock has a radio in it?

Quickly slipping out of bed, I grab my robe and run down the hallway to the great room. The tune he’s playing is so sad – a mournful lament that I’ve heard him play before. I pause in the doorway and watch him in a pool of light while the achingly sorrowful music fills the room. He finishes, then starts the piece again. Why such a plaintive tune? I wrap my arms around myself and listen spellbound as he plays. But my heart aches. Christian, why so sad? Is it because of me? Did I do this?

Yes, Ana. Your abuse is all your fault and you should feel bad about making him do that to you. OMG THIS BOOK IS SO FEMINIST BECAUSE IT MAKES ME PLAY WITH MYSELF.

When he finishes, only to start a third time, I can bear it no longer.

That is a really long time to stand and creepily watch someone play piano. After Ana goes over and sits by him, he tells her the piece he’s playing is Chopin’s “Prelude No. 4 in E minor (Suffocation),” so that means Ana stood there for like, almost six minutes listening to him before she said anything. Go stand and silently watch someone do something for six minutes. It’s a long time.

Also, it’s pretty funny that we’re supposed to be all, “Oh, he’s so talented, playing the piano in the night like some tortured genius,” because that’s actually not a very complicated song to play. A friend who teaches piano told me she uses that piece to strengthen an intermediate student’s left hand timing. And I was all, “That’s what she said,” and then she hit me. But whatever. Christian’s playing a pretty simple tune and we’re all supposed to be impressed at his skill.

 Reaching over, I take his hand. “You’re really shaken by all this, aren’t you?”

He snorts. “A deranged asshole gets into my apartment to kidnap my wife. She won’t do as she’s told. She drives me crazy. She safe-words on me.” He closes his eyes briefly, and when he opens them again, they are stark and raw. “Yeah, I’m pretty shaken up.”

More proof that Christian Grey should never, ever Dom. Ever. EVER. He takes the use of a safe word as a personal insult, a thing that shakes him up. Remember, Ana was sobbing, she didn’t want him to touch her, she felt violated, but he’s shaken up by it?

I squeeze his hand. “I’m sorry.”

She’s sorry. For safe wording, for not mindlessly obeying him. She’s apologizing, again, for him abusing her.

“I dreamed you were dead,” he whispers.

Hard to believe that the man lying beside me, looking so serene and young in his sleep, was so tortured last night… and so tortured me last night.

So, file “tortured” away with “beat” and “hit” from the first book.

But am I strong enough for both of us? Strong enough to do what I’m told and give him some peace of mind? I sigh. He’s not asking that much of me.

Just that you relinquish all personal autonomy and live in his glass castle, never leaving or having any contact with the outside world but always ready to sexually service him and listen to him cry about his childhood. That’s not too much to ask at all, is it?

I flit through our conversation of last night. Did we decide anything other than to both try harder? The bottom line is that I love this man, and I need to chart a course for both of us. One that lets me keep my integrity and independence but still be more for him. I am his more, and he is mine. I resolve to make a special effort this weekend not to give him cause for concern.

That’s right, Ana. You need to shoulder the burden of fixing your relationship, and be a better person for Christian so he doesn’t have to do anything. Because he didn’t decide to try harder the night before. He just let you apologize over and over for making him abuse you.

This book is fucking sick. I remember when I was first reading them, and everyone was like, “You’re going to change your tune when you get to book three, because he’s sooooo different and gets sooooo much better.” No, he doesn’t. He doesn’t change at all. If anything, he gets slightly worse, but only because with a ring on her finger, he’s emboldened to let his diseased personality run wild. The only person who changes is Ana, because she makes a concerted effort to put up with his abuse.

Christian wakes up and they have their intensely belabored dialogue, as is standard for their mornings:

“Good morning, Mr. Grey.” I smile.

“Good morning, Mrs. Grey. Did you sleep well?”

Every time they wake up, they remind me of the fish from Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life.

He looks dreamy, all tousled hair, white T-shirt, and black jeans. Not CEO-like at all today.

There’s that damn description again. He either looks exactly like a CEO, or not at all like a CEO. At this point, I’m begging for just one variation on the theme, like, “He looks nothing at all like a rodeo clown,” or “he looked every bit the guy who obsessively brushes his teeth.”

He takes my hand as Taylor glides to a stop at the foot of the jet steps.

“I have a surprise for you,” he murmurs and kisses my knuckles.

I grin at him. “Good surprise?”

“I hope so.” He smiles warmly.

Hmm… what can it be?

Considering you ran into a bit of pronoun confusion and this tender exchange has taken place with Taylor, not Christian, I hope the surprise is that Taylor is going to murder your husband and steer that jet to Europe.

But you know what? Taylor doesn’t deserve to put up with your bullshit, Ana. He can stay with Mrs. Jones.

They get into the plane:

Christian and Stephan shake hands. “Good morning, sir.” Stephan smiles.

“Thanks for doing this on such short notice.” Christian grins back at him. “Our gests here?”

“Yes, sir.”

This week, Seattle’s hottest club is GEH Jet. They have everything: a sadistic billionaire, a timid brunette, her nosy best friend –

I turn and gasp. Kate, Elliot, Mia, and Ethan are all smiling and sitting in the cream-colored leather seats. Wow! I spin around to Christian.

Uh… if they’re RIGHT THERE, why did Christian have to ask if they were there? Just for the drama?

Ana is speechless to find her friends there. Okay, not strictly her friends. Her friend, her friend’s brother, and Christian’s brother and sister. But still, more people than she’s usually allowed to associate with:

“You said you didn’t see enough of your friends.” He shrugs and gives me a lopsided, apologetic smile.

If he was really apologetic, Jose would be there, right?

“That was fun, Mrs. Grey.” And his grin widens. Oh boy. He looks so young.

 He is 27. In what universe, even to a twenty-two year old, is twenty-seven not young? As Kody Thomas points out in her analysis of the plagiarism in the series, both Edward and Christian are depicted as seeming older than their years. But that’s because Edward is a vampire. It makes no sense for Christian to be thought of as old. At all. Except for the part where he was plagiarized off a vampire.

They have a moment in the bedroom of the jet, and Christian reveals the reason for the trip:

“[…] I thought it would be easier to avoid the press in Aspen than at home.”

The paparazzi! He’s right. If we’d stayed in Escala, we’d have been imprisoned. A shiver runs down my spine as I recollect the snapping cameras and dazzling flashes of the few photographers Taylor sped through this morning.

Leaving aside the part where I imagine Taylor actually speeding through hapless photographers, their bodies exploding like water balloons filled with blood and bone chunks, and the part where we’ve already discussed that Americans don’t give a shit about the day-to-day lives of industry tycoons who aren’t fictional,  WTF? You’re going to Aspen to get away from paparazzi? Great plan, because as everyone knows, NOBODY FAMOUS EVER GOES TO ASPEN, RIGHT?

Christian and Ana rejoin their friends, because it’s time for takeoff. Now, I know I just told you that, but I’m also going to let Stephan tell you that, so you can imagine Bill Hader is on the plane with them:

“Please be seated, ladies and gentlemen, as we’ll shortly begin taxiing for takeoff.” Stephan’s voice echoes calmly and authoritatively around the cabin. The brunette woman – um… Natalie? – who was on the flight for our wedding night appears from the galley and gathers up the discarded coffee cups. Natalia… Her name’s Natalia.

“Good morning Mr. Grey, Mrs. Grey,” she says with a purr. Why does she make me uncomfortable?

Because she’s female?

Maybe it’s that she’s a brunette. By his own admission, Christian doesn’t usually employ brunettes because he finds them attractive.

So, because Christian can’t trust himself to behave ethically around an employee he finds attractive, he actively discriminates against certain types of women? HE’S SO DREAMY I NEED TO TOUCH MY NO NO.

But Ana is distracted from further misogynistic musing on the subject of bitches who want to steal her man, because she’s going to think about Christian instead:

He seems relaxed and happy, even though we’re with company. Idly, I wonder why he can’t always be like this – not controlling at all.

No, not controlling at all, even though you’re on a last-minute surprise trip out of state that he planned so he could micromanage your socialization. Not controlling at all.

Remember how in the first two books, and to a lesser extent, in this very book, everybody described Ana as “bright” or “intelligent” within two paragraphs of meeting her? Keep that in mind during this next exchange:

“Hope you packed your hiking boots,” he says, his voice warm.

“We’re not going skiing?”

“That would be a challenge, in August,” he says, amused.

Natalia runs through the plane’s safety procedures in a clear, ringing voice. She’s dressed in a neat navy short-sleeved shirt and matching pencil skirt. Her makeup is immaculate – she really is quite pretty. My subconscious raises a plucked-to-within-an-inch-of-its-life eyebrow at me.

Ana starts to think something complimentary about another female, and her subconscious puts the lid on that right quick. Plus, I love that we just got this detailed description of the flight attendent, but I still have no fucking clue what Elliot looks like. I mean, from any of the information in any of the books, not just in the scene. There are minor characters I could draw a police sketch of, but secondary characters who are just faceless blanks shambling around in the story.

As they taxi out, Kate asks Christian questions about Jack Hyde. Because, you know, the guy she’s been with for exactly as long as Ana has been with Christian (longer, because she and Elliot didn’t break up due to him going sickhouse on her with a fucking belt) is at risk of being murdered by Jack, as well. But Ana doesn’t see it this way. She sees Kate’s questions as an intrusion, so when Kate asks why Christian fired Jack, this happens:

“He made a pass at me,” I mutter. I try to kick Kate’s ankle beneath the table and miss.

She tries to physically assault her best friend because Christian wants to be in complete control of the information flow regarding Jack Hyde.

I also want to point out that Christian beefed up security for Mia and Elliot, but Kate never mentioned anything about getting security for herself. If Jack is so deranged that he wants to hurt the Greys at any cost, wouldn’t he go after Elliot’s girlfriend? But Christian doesn’t care, because let’s be honest, if Kate dies, he gets Ana all to himself.

They keep talking about Jack Hyde, and there’s no new information revealed, really. It’s all about how Kate is so exasperating and terrible, asking all these questions. Even when Elliot gets in on it, it’s unacceptable:

“What do you know about him?” Elliot asks, oblivious to the fact that we are hurtling down the runway in a small jet about to launch itself into the sky, and equally oblivious to Christian’s growing exasperation with Kate.

Elliot, who has to have extra security because of Jack’s secret and horrible internet search history, isn’t entitled to information about what makes Jack a threat to his safety. Christian explains Hyde’s background:

“We know a little about him,” Christian continues. “His dad died in a brawl in a bar. His mother drank herself into oblivion. He was in and out of foster homes as a kid… in and out of trouble, too. Mainly boosting cars. Spent time in juvie. His mom got back on track through some outreach program, and Hyde turned himself around. Won a scholarship to Princeton.”

Yeah, I’m not buying that someone who had a record and spent time in juvie would be admitted to Princeton. It seems like that would be one of the things they’d use to weed out applicants.

I’m getting a little pissed off at the stigma against single mothers and low-income families in this series. Christian and Jack were both kids from impoverished backgrounds who became successful, but they’re both emotionally fragile, apparently because of their upbringing. Their childhoods were marked by violence – Jack’s father died in a bar fight, Christian was abused by his mother’s pimp – and addiction – alcohol; crack – and they were both “saved” by money. Christian was adopted by wealthy parents, Jack got into a prestigious school. And yet both of them are still so scarred by their upbringings that they fall apart at the slightest stress. Christian snaps and whips Ana with a belt, Jack loses his job and decides to start sabotaging helicopters and stuff. Because growing up without two parents in a heteronormative nuclear family environment leaves you irreparably damaged, and every person who comes from a background of poverty or fatherlessness is in the same situation.

Think about it – Ana’s parents are divorced, but she’s “normal” because of the presence of Ray or Charlie or whoever in her life (I honestly can’t remember which dad is in which book) and his masculine influence. Everything useful that Ana has ever learned, she learned from Rarlie. What has she learned from her mother? A legacy of bad decisions about men. Because of this masculine influence from her stepfather, Ana is a whole person. Christian and Jack are incomplete, because their mothers weren’t “strong” in the way Ana is.

OH. MY. GOD.

“Princeton?” Kate’s curiosity is piqued.

“”Yep. He’s a bright boy.” Christian shrugs.

1. Kate’s curiosity was already piqued, it’s why she’s been asking questions the whole time.
2. Further down the page, we learn that Jack Hyde is thirty-two. So Christian is only calling him “boy” because Edward was a vampire.

Much as I’d like to know what’s going on, I don’t want to encourage Kate’s questions. I know they’re irritating Christian, and I’m sure she’s on his shit list since Cocktailgate.

If a friend told me I was on her husband’s “shitlist” because she chose to go out for drinks with me when he’d asked her not to, I would never speak to that person ever again. I am not submissive to other people’s men, thanks a bunch and go fuck yourself.

Ana asks Christian if he thinks Jack is working with Elena “the bitch troll.” I will never tire of that delightful phrase, let me tell you. Christian says:

“You  do like to demonize her, don’t you?” Christian rolls his eyes and shakes his head in disgust.

Yeah. People tend to demonize adults who prey on emotionally damaged teenagers in the hopes of grooming them into the perfect sex slave. Something about that doesn’t sit right with most people, for some reason.

There is some back and forth between Christian and Elliot, and Elliot and Kate are suddenly not getting along great – because obviously, Elliot needs to rein her in and make her stop annoying the billionaire important man with questions about the guy who might end up killing her – and Ana thinks about how since she’s Christian’s first real girlfriend, Mrs. Robinson and the fifteen subs don’t matter.

“Okay, ladies and gentlemen, we’ll be cruising at an altitude of approximately thirty-two thousand feet, and our estimated flight time is one hour and fifty-six minutes,” Stephan announces. “You are now free to move around the cabin.”

Natalia appears abruptly from the galley.

“May I offer anyone coffee?” she asks.

OMG I HAVE TO KEEP READING DO THEY HAVE THE COFFEE OR WHAT DO THEY PUT CREAM IN IT WHAT ABOUT SWEETENER OH GOD I MUST KNOW RIGHT NOW.

Masterful. Positively masterful.

If you’re reading The Boss, chapter ten has been posted! It’s here.

In every generation there is a chosen one. She alone will never, ever try the Burger King turkey burger because it sounds awful. She will also recap every episode of Buffy The Vampire Slayer with an eye to the following themes:

1. Sex is the real villain of the Buffy The Vampire Slayer universe.
2. Giles is totally in love with Buffy.
3. Joyce is a fucking terrible parent.
4. Willow’s magic is utterly useless (this one won’t be an issue until season 2, when she gets a chance to become a witch)
5. Xander is a textbook Nice Guy.
6. The show isn’t as feminist as people claim.
7. All the monsters look like wieners.
8. If ambivalence to possible danger were an Olympic sport, Team Sunnydale would take the gold.
9. Angel is a dick.
10. Harmony is the strongest female character on the show.
11. Team sports are portrayed in an extremely negative light.

WARNING: Some people have mentioned they’re watching along with me, and that’s awesome, but I’ve seen the entire series already and I’ll probably mention things that happen in later seasons. So… you know, take that under consideration, if you’re a person who can’t enjoy something if you know future details about it.

So… “The Pack.” I’m torn, y’all. I’m torn because it’s one of the most problematic episodes in terms of racism and rape culture, but… poor, poor Principal Flutie…

It’s also one of the most boring episodes, so let’s just do this one, okay?

First of all, the kids of Sunnydale High are on a field trip to the zoo. Because somebody thought it was a fucking brilliant idea to build a zoo on a Hellmouth. What could go wrong?! (8) And before you argue that it could be a zoo in another town, check the sign:

So, they’re at the Sunnydale Hell Zoo, and Buffy is walking around by herself, taking in the sights, when a wild clique attacks!

They mock Buffy for having no friends and being unpopular, then one of them makes a crack about Buffy beating one of them up. Instead of beating the jerk to death and dumping his body in the crocodile lagoon like I would do if I were a superhero villain, Buffy takes their teasing pretty much in stride. Which is one thing I’ve always liked about Buffy in this show. You get the sense from the way she deals with bullies that she probably was the nice popular girl at her old school. She doesn’t seem too fazed by going from May Queen to the weird kid. Oh, wait, you didn’t hear about her being May Queen yet? We’ll get there.

So, where were Xander and Willow when all this was going down? They were watching the zebras mate:

Willow: “It was like the Heimlich. With stripes!”

Buffy tells them she was looking “at the fishes,” which signals an alarming need for more classroom time vs. field trips for Sunnydale students, if you ask me.

The clique that teased Buffy finds another student hanging out by chimp island. And I noticed something really bizarre about this scene that I never noticed before: when one of the jerky kids says, “Lance,” to get the non-clique kid’s attention, one of the chimps responds with like, a “Who, me?” kind of noise. And he looks up. So… that monkey’s name is Lance.

The really funny part is that when I was labeling my screencaps, I labelled that one “Lance.jpg” and all the ones of the human Lance are labelled “geek01.jpg” or similar.

Poor Lance (the human, not the ape) is the target of some pretty unclever monkey jokes, until Principal Flutie overhears and demands to know what the bad kids are up to. Because Lance is a nerd, and he wants to live through this field trip, he adopts pack mentality and tells the principal that everything is cool, the bad kids weren’t bothering him. Flutie warns the clique kids that he’s watching them, and stalks away looking like a fat Jerry Orbach.

 Because they’re assholes, the cool kids dupe Lance into believing they really like him, and he should go check out the hyena exhibit with them. Even though the hyena exhibit is closed with some pretty serious looking cones. Buffy, Xander, and Willow watch as Lance and the clique head into the forbidden hyena house, and Xander muses that every school has mean kids. The mean kids at this school appear to be in their late twenties, but whatever. Their jokes were pretty bad, so I guess that’s an indication that they’ve been held back a lot?

“Are you blind, or are you just illiterate? Because hyenas are very quick to prey on the weak.”

As we continue in the episode, you’ll note that this is an important plot point. But it’s stated so strangely. Not only does it imply that blind people and the illiterate are inherently weak, but it kind of seems like he’s saying that literacy would save you in case of hyena attack. Which is an unnecessarily bizarre and ableist way of promoting reading to high schoolers.

If the dialogue and story seem kind of off to you in this one, keep in mind that it was written by Matt Kiene and Joe Reinkemeyer, a writing duo who only wrote two episodes, both uniformly horrible, Xander-centric stories for the series. The Pack and Inca Mummy Girl both feel like particularly well-written, but not entirely in-character, fanfic.

Bill Oddie’s brother tells Buffy and Willow that the hyenas are in quarantine because they just arrived from Africa. He goes on to share some pretty specific information about how hyenas will hunt the Maasai by imitating their names to lure them away from their camp fires at night. And this guy? He is really into hyenas.

The mean kids pass Xander by to make fun of a fat kid, which Xander finds super funny, though he is somewhat chastened when Willow and Buffy aren’t impressed. Then we cut to Sunnydale high, where Buffy finishes kicking Giles’s ass in training, in a scene that goes literally no place before he sends her off to class (fanfic, anyone?). Then we cut to the legs of frightened, fleeing students and a panicked Principal Flutie. What’s causing all this commotion?

“You remember. You fail math, you flunk out of school, you end up being the guy at the pizza place that sweeps the floor and says, ‘hey kids, where’s the cool parties this weekend?’ We’ve been through this.”

So, no pressure, Xander.

Xander: “I guess you’ve noticed that I’ve been different around you lately.”

Willow: “Yes.“

Xander: “I think, um… I think it’s because my feelings for you have been changing. And, well, we’ve been friends for such a long time that I feel like I need to tell you something. I’ve um… I’ve decided to drop geometry. So, I won’t be needing your math help anymore. Which means I won’t have to look at your pasty face again.

Willow. Is. Crushed. As she runs away, Xander and his friends laugh uncontrollably, and Buffy, having overheard the exchange, angrily asks Xander if he has anything to say to her. He just laughs and walks off with his new friends.

Giles: “Xander’s taken to teasing the less fortunate?”

Buffy: “Uh-huh.”

Giles: “And there’s a noticeable change in both clothing and demeanor?”

Buffy: “Yes.”

Giles: “And otherwise, all of his spare time is spent lounging about with imbeciles?”

Buffy: “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

Giles: “It’s devastating. He’s turned into a sixteen year old boy. Of course, you’ll have to kill him.”

 Buffy demands that Giles take her seriously, but he just talks down to her about how testosterone turns all men into morons. Which is interesting. With what we’ll learn about Giles’s teen years in season two, it seems like he’s projecting a bit here. Buffy tells him not to “Scully” her, and I flip the fuck out because ZOMG SHE JUST REFERENCE THE X-FILES! Though Buffy urges Giles to check his books, and tells him about Xander scaring the pig, Giles goes on and on about teenagers preying on the weak. This triggers Buffy’s thought process, and she realizes that Xander has been possessed by a hyena. Giles doesn’t take her seriously until Willow bursts into the library and tells them that Herbert the Fauxzerback has been eaten. Giles admits defeat and starts researching.

Meanwhile, Principal Flutie knows exactly who is responsible for Herbert’s demise. He confronts the four bad kids – who are sans Xander at the moment – and orders them into his office, promising they’ll have “so much detention, your grandkids will be staying after.”

Buffy, Willow, and Giles are researching hyenas, and Giles suddenly knows all about this sect of animal worshipping Masai who allowed themselves to be possessed by animal spirits. Somehow, this did not raise alarms when Buffy was first talking about the hyena thing? Someone is getting Watcher dusty, methinks.

Because mutilation and decapitation is apparently a side effect of animal possession, Buffy knows she has to get to Xander right away. She goes to the room where Herbert met his tragic demise, and she’s inspecting the remains when Xander shows up. He tries to block her from leaving the room and she knocks him down. So he tries to rape her. Interspersed with Xander’s attempted sexual assault, we see the rest of the pack in Flutie’s office, where they rip the phone off his desk and surround him. Xander tells Buffy that she’s only been pretending she doesn’t want him, and back in Flutie’s office, well… RIP, Flutie. Actually, yeah. Literally. To shreds.