Author: JennyTrout

Let me say thank you, dear readers, for your patience with my spotty updating lately. And thank you for being understanding about the fact that today is 4/20 and I observed it heartily, watching alternating episodes of Little Britain and The Aquabats Super Show and that’s why this isn’t posting until 9:15pm EST.

So, I really hate this fucking book.

We land smoothly at Sardy Field at 12:25 p.m. (MST).

Damn. I can never catch a break.

“Good landing.” Christian grins and shakes Stephan’s hand as we get ready to file out of the jet.

“It’s all about the density altitude, sir.” Stephan smiles back. “Beighley here is good at math.”

I wish Beighley would have been good at science, instead, and then all of these characters would be dead now.

There is a silver lining, however, in that I can totally imagine Stephan as Stefon, dropping double entendres and maybe not-so-subtly wiping the corner of his mouth when he said the math thing.

I giggle. Who is this man, and what has he done with Mr. Unbelievably Angry of the last couple of days?

I’m no psychologist, but that’s not going to stop me from diagnosing Christian Grey with Dissociative Identity Disorder.

For some unfathomable reason I feel shy with him today. Why? Last night? Being with company? I can’t put my finger on it.

It’s because you’re used to being completely isolated with him, and now there are people around, so you don’t know how to behave or what your role is supposed to be, and you’re afraid you’re going to be punished if you don’t do everything exactly right. And gosh, I don’t know where you got that idea from, when Chedward has been such a supportive and understanding partner so far.

Hey, have you ever overheard someone criticizing a piece of art by saying, “My kid could draw that?”

The trees are green, but a whisper of the coming fall is evident here and there in the yellowing tips of the leaves. The sky is a clear crystal blue, though there are darkening clouds to the west. All around us in the distance loom the Rockies, the highest peak directly ahead. They’re lush and green, and the highest are capped with snow and look like a child’s drawing of the mountains.

I’m a bit confused at the description of Aspen mountain. Because as mountains go in the United States, it’s not that big. It’s probably not even in the top 100 tallest mountains we have. And it’s certainly not the tallest of the Rocky Mountains. That’s Mt. Elbert. And I’m not sure there’s snow on Aspen mountain in the summer. Anyone from Aspen want to confirm or deny the presence of snow in August?

But the statement that it looks like a child’s drawing is just so classically Ana. She cannot be impressed with anything. Ever.

We’re in the winter playground of the rich and famous. And I own a house here. I can barely believe it. And from deep within my psyche, the familiar unease that’s always present when I try to wrap my head around Christian’s wealth looms and taunts me, making me feel guilty. What have I done to deserve this lifestyle? I’ve done nothing, nothing except fall in love.

There’s nothing I like more than a little Dutch Reform Protestantism in my poverty shaming porn. Let’s talk some more about worldly wealth and how if you’re not “deserving” of it, you should be ashamed to have it or aspire to it. This does not sound classist at all.

Ethan asks Ana if she’s ever been to Aspen, and it turns out Kate and Ethan came there all the time as kids to go skiing.

“I’m hoping my husband will teach me how to ski.” I glance up at my man.

I struggle to hold back my vomit.

“Don’t bet on it,” Christian mutters.

“I won’t be that bad!”

“You might break your neck.” His grin gone.

Oh. I don’t want to argue and sour his good mood, so I change the subject.

“Husband, I would like to do this activity that, while carrying a high amount of risk at advanced levels, is safe enough that a child can do it as a beginner. That’s okay, right?” “NO! Now get back into your plastic bubble, and don’t even think about standing and walking anywhere ever again. You might get a blister and my fragile psyche couldn’t bear even the slightest injury to your person.”

Yeah, that’s totally sane, right?

On the car ride, Ana notices something not right about Kate’s mood:

[…] Kate is quiet, and I wonder if she’s brooding about Jack Hyde or something else. Then I remember. Aspen… Christian’s house here was redesigned by Gia Matteo and rebuilt by Elliot. I wonder if that’s what’s preoccupying Kate.

This paragraph really shows us how selfish and self-centered Ana is. She’s making the assumption that Kate is as consumed by Christian Grey drama as Ana is. I can understand the thought that she might be concerned about Jack Hyde, since Elliot is affected and they were just talking about it on the plane. But seriously? Why would Kate be worried about Gia Matteo? Ana’s taking it for granted that Kate is as threatened by this woman as Ana is, and that Kate is as insecure about the fidelity of her relationship as Ana is. The fact that Kate has just been treated with open rudeness and hostility by Christian doesn’t cross Ana’s mind; since she thinks Chedward is the most amazing person to ever live and because she’s content to let him treat her like an underling, Kate will automatically share the same opinion. At this point, I can’t tell if it’s a coping method born from denial, or if Ana is just a horrible human being.

Ana asks Christian why he bought a place in Aspen:

“Mom and dad used to bring us here when we were kids. I learned to ski here, and I like the place. […]”

“Ana, I just really want to drive the point home here. I don’t think you’re capable at age twenty-two to safely engage in an activity that I, the almighty Chedward, mastered as a child.”

He also tells Ana that if she doesn’t like the house, they’ll just sell it and get another one. Remember how his brother, you know, built the place? And he’s in the car with them while they’re having this conversation? Just pointing that out.

They arrive at the house, there’s a description of it, but all you really need to know is that it’s modern and sleek like every other place Christian Grey has ever lived in/been to. I wonder if he sends someone ahead to the dentist’s office to report back on whether or not it’s minimalist enough for his tastes.

A woman comes out to greet them:

She’s tiny and her raven-colored hair is dusted with gray.

So, she’s old, and therefore she may live without constant death glares and conflict over imagined slights from her new employer. Christian tells Ana that the housekeeper is Mrs. Bentley, and I double over laughing because he’s a billionaire who drives an Audi and has a housekeeper named Bentley.

We learn that Mrs. Bentley and her husband live at the house in Aspen full time to take care of it. Why not, and this is a fucking crazy idea, just close up the house, get an alarm, pay a security company to check it out every now and then, and have Mr. and Mrs. Bentley open the house when you want to use it? I need to be in charge of managing Christian’s finances, because it’s a fucking vacation house. It’s not Downton Abbey.

They go inside, and of course we have to hear how humble Ana is:

How much did this place cost? And I have contributed nothing to it. Briefly I’m transported back to the first time Christian took me to Escala. I was overwhelmed then. You got used to it, my subconscious hisses at me.

I am getting so tired of this whole, “Oh, I’m so uncomfortable with wealth” bullshit from Ana. We already know that Kate’s family is rich, and that Ana has benefited from that wealth. She lived rent free all through college because of it, and moved (briefly) into another free apartment because of it. She had no problem taking from Kate, even going so far as to borrow Kate’s Mercedes and drive it super fast on the highway for fun. But Christian’s wealth is somehow sacred. Why? I get a moment or two of, “Holy shit, this guy is super rich,” when they get on the private jet or whatever. But at this point she’s seen his house, he’s bought her two cars, they’ve gone out on his sailboat, they spent weeks in France on a yacht, he bought her a house… why is she still bowled over by how rich he is?

My theory is that by having her subconscious snark at her about money, the author is trying to convince us that Ana is a “good person,” since “good people” should be uncomfortable about money they didn’t earn. Instead, it comes off like Ana has short-term memory loss: “What?! My husband is RICH?! How do I even deal with this?!”

Speaking of Ana’s subconscious, I’m officially imagining these two as her subconscious and inner goddess:

Christian gives her a tour of the place, everything is marble this and sleek, modern that, and when he shows her the den and she sees the billiards table she gapes and blushes because OMG THEY ARE SO NAUGHTY AND SEXUALLY ADVENTUROUS THEY HAVE FUCKED ON A POOL TABLE BEFORE.

The master bedroom has a view of the mountain:

“That’s Ajax Mountain… or Aspen Mountain, if you like.”

“Because I own it and can name it whatever I choose! If you don’t like it, I’ll knock it down and put up a rainforest instead! We’ll level the whole town and fuck on any pool table we like! THE WORLD IS OURS!” Yes, I know locals call it Ajax, but I don’t care. It’s funnier to imagine our Master of The Universe renaming mountains as he pleases.

Ana is like, obsessed with Gia, because she brings her up again. I’m really starting to believe the theories about Ana’s latent homosexuality you guys have come up with, because she cannot let Gia go in this chapter. She asks what she did to the house, and she asks if Christian knows that Elliot slept with her, which leads to another homophobic conversation. You know, since we haven’t had one of those in a while:

“Elliot’s fucked most of Seattle, Ana.”

I gasp.

“Mainly women, I understand,” Christian jokes. I think he’s amused by my expression.

“No!”

Christian nods. “It’s none of my business.” He holds his palms up.

“I don’t think Kate knows.”

“I’m not sure he broadcasts that information. Kate seems to be holding her own.”

I’m shocked. Sweet, unassuming, blond, blue-eyed Elliot? I stare in disbelief.

I can’t even with this nonsense. First of all, why does Ana assume that Kate must not know about Elliot’s sexual past or bisexuality? The thing about relationships that aren’t with Christian Grey is, people talk to each other in them. Second, is Ana implying that if a woman finds out her guy is bisexual or has had sexual experiences with men in the past, that’s an automatic break up? Third… what the hell does being blond and sweet have to do with anything? I didn’t realize hair color had anything to do with sexuality.

Christian tilts his head to one side, scrutinizing me. “This can’t just be about Gia’s or Elliot’s promiscuity.”

“I know. I’m sorry. After all that’s happened this week, it’s just…” I shrug, feeling tearful all of a sudden.

She’s tearful after talking about Gia, this woman she’s obsessed with, and Elliot being bisexual? Yup, you guys called it. Ana has some major confusion over her own sexuality.

“I know. I’m sorry, too. Let’s relax and enjoy ourselves, okay? You can stay here and read, watch god-awful TV, […]”

Read a god-awful book, start drinking just to cope…

Christian advises Ana to forget what he said about Elliot, because apparently someone’s sexuality can totally ruin someone else’s good time. Ana thinks Elliot’s sexual past is why he teases Christian:

“He really has no idea about my past. I told you, my family assumed I was gay. Celibate, but gay.”

I giggle and begin to relax in his arms. “I thought you were celibate. How wrong I was.” I wrap my arms around him, marveling at the ridiculousness of Christian’s being gay.

Yeah, how fucking ridiculous! A gorgeous guy who is attractive to women being GAY.

“Christian, you are the state lottery, the cure for cancer, and the three wishes from Aladdin’s lamp all rolled into one.”

We are sitting around the dark wood table in the kitchen, having consumed an Italian feast of a mixed antipasto, prepared by Mrs. Bentley, and a bottle or two of Frascati. I’m replete and little buzzed from the alcohol.

Antipasto isn’t a feast. It’s a starter. Now, you may be thinking that two bottles of wine between six people isn’t enough to get a routine alcoholic like Ana buzzed, but they’re at a higher altitude now. See also, Jenny after ONE DRINK at the Harlequin sales conference in Colorado Springs.

“There goes our hike,” Elliot mutters, sounding vaguely relieved. Kate scowls at him. Something is definitely up with them. They have been relaxed with all of us but not with each other.

You mean, not as relaxed as, say, a woman who feels “shy” around her own husband, Ana?

It takes about a page for them to decide that the guys are going to go fishing (I know I have some city slickers who read this blog, so let me assure you, fishing in the rain is not as stupid as it sounds), the girls are going to go shopping, and Elliot is going to go buy a watch battery.

Ana, Kate, and Mia go into a boutique where they get Ana to try on a really skimpy dress.

I glance down at The Dress in my hand. Dress is perhaps an overstatement. It’s backless and very short, but Mia has declared it a winner, perfect for dancing the night away. Apparently, I need shoes, too, and a large chunky necklace, which we’ll source next. Rolling my eyes, I reflect once more on how lucky I am to have Caroline Acton, my own personal shopper.

She’s actually Christian’s personal shopper, remember, and bought all of Ana’s clothes based on Christian’s tastes. But because Bella doesn’t like shopping (and this scene is clearly the stand-in for the prom dress shopping scene in Twilight), Ana can’t, either. While Mia and Kate try on clothes, Ana looks out the window and sees:

Through the boutique window I’m distracted by the sight of Elliot. He has appeared on the other side of the leafy main street, climbing out of a large Audi. He dives into a store as if to duck out of the rain. Looks like a jewelry store… maybe he’s looking fo that watch battery. He emerges a few minutes later and not alone – with a woman.

Fuck! He’s talking to Gia! What the hell is she doing here?

As I watch, they hug briefly and she holds her head back, laughing animatedly at something he says. He kisses her cheek and then runs to the waiting car. She turns and heads down the street, and I gape after her. What was that about?

Mia and Kate don’t see this exchange, and when they come out, Ana doesn’t tell them about it. Which is a wise move on her part, I think. They go to pay for their stuff, and Ana gets all weird about the sales assistant:

The young sales assistant – who has more gloss coating her lips than I have ever seen in one place – smiles at me. “That’ll be eight hundred and fifty dollars.”

What? For this scrap of material! I blink at her and meekly hand over my black Amex.

“Mrs. Grey,” Ms. Lip Gloss purrs.

Why is Ana so snarky about this woman?! There is absolutely no reason this exchange had to be included in the book at all! We don’t care about her purchasing the dress. There is more important (relatively speaking) shit going on right now! The only reason E.L. James included the sales girl with the lip gloss was to give her heroine yet another chance to openly disparage another female! That’s all! It’s there ONLY FOR THE MISOGYNY.

They go and buy thousand dollar shoes and an eighty dollar necklace, and Kate and Ana discuss how uncomfortable Ana is with spending money, because that hasn’t been talked about enough in this chapter. Ana asks Kate how things are with Elliot, but Kate doesn’t want to talk about it, and Ana starts mentally referring to him as Elliot Manwhore Grey, because there isn’t enough misogyny in this book, either.

Back at the house, Kate makes strawberry daiquiris and they sit around in front of the fire. IN AUGUST. I checked in with my husband and read him this passage:

Once back at the house, Kate decides we deserve cocktails after our shopping extravaganza and whips up some strawberry daiquiris for us. We curl up on the sitting room couches in front of the blazing log fire.

Now, keep in mind that Mr. Jen is a bit… fiery, before you read his response: “Everything about that sounds awful. The imagery of strawberry daiquiris in front of a fire makes me uncomfortable. Imagine trying to suck down a goddamned sweet as shit daiquiri in front of a goddamned bonfire in your goddamned living room in the middle of the goddamned summer. Boy is that classy! And who goes to fucking Aspen in August? Does he have the shitty slot for the time share?”

I pretty much have nothing to add to that.

“Elliot has just been a little distant lately,” Kate murmurs, gazing into the flames. Kate and I finally have a moment to ourselves as Mia puts away her purchases.

“Oh?”

“And I think I’m in trouble for getting you in trouble.”

“You heard about that?”

“Yes. Christian called Elliot; Elliot called me.”

EXCUSE ME? Let’s examine the reality of what Ana calls “Cocktailgate.” The actual reality, not the one the author wants us to accept as fact.

1. Ana decides to go out and have drinks with Kate.
2. Christian gets mad at Kate because Ana decided to go out.
3. Christian calls Elliot and confronts him.
4. Because Elliot is dating, and therefore owns, Kate.
5. Elliot gets mad at Kate on his brother’s behalf.
6. Because Elliot is dating, and therefore owns, Kate.

I resolve not to mention Gia, though I might mention it to the manwhore himself. How dare he mess with my friend’s affections like this?

No, Ana. Elliot isn’t messing with Kate’s affections, Christian is. He’s trying to drive a wedge between Kate and his brother because he doesn’t like Kate. And it would be a great one-two punch to Ana’s friendship with Kate. “You can’t see her anymore because of how things fell apart with my brother.” Then Jose and Kate would both be out of the picture. He’s systematically cutting her off from everyone she knows.

Ana goes out to the garage get more wood for the fire, where she runs into Elliot. He suggests she try out the dirt bikes, and she says no because, of course, Christian wouldn’t like her to do something dangerous:

Memories of Ethan bravely endeavoring to teach me how to ride last summer flash through my mind. Unconsciously, I rub my arm where I badly bruised it in a fall.

Oh, you mean when you were Bella Swan and Jacob taught you how to ride dirt bikes? But notice how Ana is a far superior wife compared to Bella; even though Bella knew Edward wouldn’t want her riding dirt bikes (because Edward Cullen was also a controlling ass in the beginning of that series), she did it anyway. How DARE she.

“Christian has, um… issues about my safety. I shouldn’t.”

“You always do what he says?” Elliot has a wicked sparkle in his baby-blue eyes, and I see a glimmer of the bad boy… the bad boy Kate has fallen in love with. The bad boy from Detroit.

That last part is so silly. Elliot was a child when they moved away from Detroit. It’s not like they were hanging out in street gangs or something. The most “bad boy” thing Elliot probably did in Detroit is color on the walls.

Christian and Ethan get back from fishing:

“You’re wet,” I murmur.

“It was raining. […]”

“Ana came to fetch some wood.” Elliot arches an eyebrow. Somehow he manages to make that sentence sound smutty. “I tried to tempt her to take a ride.” He is a master of double entendre.

So, he’s not only making innuendos about his brother’s wife in front of his brother, but he’s doing it in front of his own girlfriend, who is also Ana’s best friend. Elliot is just as much a catch as his brother is, I guess.

“Listen, I”m all for standing around discussion what Ana did next, but shall we go back inside?” Kate snaps. She stoops down, snatches up two logs, and turns on her heel, stomping toward the door. Oh shit. Kate is mad – but I know it’s not at me.

At least one character in this shit show can hang their anger on the right peg. JeSUS.

Just in case you were looking for resolution on the whole dirt bike thing:

You can ride a motorcycle?” he asks, his voice laced with disbelief. 

 “Not very well. Ethan taught me.”

His eyes frost immediately. “you made the right decision,” he says, his voice much cooler.

I look forward to book four of this series, in which Christian learns that Ana had a male math teacher in seventh grade, then has the the guy killed and Ana’s memory of numbers erased so that she has never learned anything from any man other than Christian.

“[…] You’re wet… Let me run you a bath.”

That’s not really going to take care of the “wet” problem now, is it?

Ana runs a bath, but she and Christian have sex while it’s filling up. It’s off-screen sex, and we come back from a section break to find:

“Shit, the water!” I struggle to sit up, all postorgasmic and dazed.

Christian doesn’t release me.

“Christian, the bath!” I gaze down at him from my prone position across his chest.

He laughs. “Relax – it’s a wet room.”

Yeah, relax, Ana. Listen to Christian “I care sooooooo fucking much about Africa” Grey, running a ton of fresh water all over the place while all over the world children drink contaminated water and get horrible diseases.

We sit at opposite ends of the bath, which is very full – so full that whenever we move, water laps over the side and splashes to the floor.

“Ana, they’re just friends. I think Elliot is pretty stuck on Kate.” He pauses, then adds more quietly, “In fact, I know he’s pretty stuck on her.” And he gives me his I-have-no-idea-why look.

“Kate is gorgeous.” I bristle, championing my friend.

He snorts. “Still glad it was you who fell into my office.”

Just in case you were worried that Ana saying something nice about Kate might make Christian fall head over heels in love with her, rest easy. The author reassures us once again that Edward Cullen is fully, truly in love with E.L. James and not some blonde hussy. Erm, I meant… oh, never mind.

It’s time to go out and party. Let’s see how Ana looks:

My hair is full and straight, my eyes ringed with kohl, my lips scarlet red. I look… hot. I’m all legs, especially in the high-heeled Manolos and my indecently short dress. I need Christian to approve, though I have a horrible feeling he won’t like so much of my flesh exposed.

Because she’s a fucking prisoner in her own marriage, she picks up her BlackBerry and emails the warden. The warden who, by the way, is in the same house, but god forbid a chapter go by without a page long email exchange between the two of them.

As I read his e-mail, the bedroom door opens, and Christian freezes on the threshold. His mouth pops open and his eyes widen.

Holy crap… this could go either way.

“Well,” I whisper.

“Ana, you look… Wow.”

“You like it?”

“Yes, I guess so.”

Oh Chedward, but you do know how to turn a girl’s head.

He stands behind her and makes her look in the mirror while he hikes her dress up and fingers her, talking all the while about how short her skirt is:

“This is mine,” he murmurs in my ear. Closing his eyes, he moves his finger slowly in and out of me. “I don’t want anyone else to see this.”

This is another one of those disappointing lines that could have been hot, if we didn’t know that by “this” Chedward doesn’t mean her vagina in the context of their D/s relationship, but literally every single facet of her life in the context of their fucked up, controlling marriage.

But listen, everybody. Remember when we kept hearing from various anonymous commenters that in the third book, Christian actually gets better and is totally swoon worthy? This is the chapter where it happens:

“You approve?” I whisper.

“No, but I’m not going to stop you from wearing it. You look stunning, Anastasia.”

Christian seems at ease. He’s been talking animatedly with Ethan. They obviously bonded over the fly-fishing. They’re talking about psychology, mainly. Ironically, Christian sounds the more knowledgeable.

Of course he does. Ethan is only going for what, his masters? Of course Christian “know it all” Grey knows more about psychology than Ethan. Ana chalks this up to his numerous therapists. Is that how it works? You just have enough interactions with someone and you become an expert at their profession? Congratulate me, everyone, I have just become a medical doctor AND a bartender.

Ana thinks Kate and Elliot seem like they’re not having a great time:

Have they had a fight? What’s eating him? Is it that woman?

I glance at the entrance, half expecting to see Gia calmly saunter her well-groomed ass across the restaurant to us.

God, Ana, why are you so interested in how Gia grooms her ass?

You know, it occurs to me that “well-groomed” is used as an insult quite a bit in these books. That’s a really bizarre thing to look down on someone for, isn’t it? “Oooh, I hate Marjorie, she’s always so clean looking and nice smelling! The nerve of her, I hear she brushes her teeth twice a day and puts on clean socks. The cow.”

Then Elliot proposes to Kate with the corniest, most fake-sounding proposal in the history of shitty writing:

“My beautiful Kate, I love you. Your grace, your beauty, and your fiery spirit have no equal, and you have captured my heart. Spend your life with me. Marry me.”

And naturally, Ana’s reaction is:

Holy shit!

Thus ends yet another chapter. But now I’m over halfway done! HUZZAH AND HURRAH ALL AROUND!

I meant to post this last night, but YouTube was still processing the video at like 1:30 AM and I had to call it quits and get some sleep. But it worked its magic in the night, so here it is! Roadhouse, season 2, episode 1: “Gone Too Soon” in which we talk about shows that were cancelled before they had a chance to gain a following or explore their story arcs fully.

Oh, who are we kidding, D-Rock just wanted to talk some more about Firefly.

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D4f3BdU4kOw?list=UUvXmvayN9vgiTU8vjUhriCw]

If you’re following my free serial, The Boss, chapter twelve has been posted here.

That’s all I’ve got. Monday, Bronwyn Green and I will be co-blogging a celebration of our 10th Friendiversary. There should be a 50 Shades Freed recap tomorrow, and season 2 of Roadhouse starts tonight.

That is all.

If you downloaded my short story Sex, Lies, and Inventions, you may have noticed the dedication to Stella Price. Stella is an entire romance industry unto herself who runs the insanely fun Authors After Dark conference (I just confirmed I’ll be at the 2014 event in Charlotte, NC and I wish it were already here!), designs covers (including the one being revealed today), and writes scorching hot stories with her sister, Audra, under the name S.A. Price. Stella and Audra have a new book out, and I was so pleased to be included in their cover reveal and give away for This is Forever, a New Adult novel in their Thirteen Shades of Red series. So, I’m going to let them take it from here, and if you know other readers who enjoy New Adult, pass on the news!

Maybe you have seen this little graphic about?

 

Did it get you curious? Winter is the very sexy bassist for the band 13 Shades of Red, and his book, THIS IS FOREVER will be releasing December 2013. Wanna see the cover? 

 

Now isn’t that just sexy? From now till December if you check out some of your favorite blogs that are rocking the mini graphic on the side column, we will be giving some teasers, excerpts and interviews about the book, on the 10^th of the month. 

 

Believe me; it really is going to be a Long Hard Winter. *wink*

 

And now… for a sexy sneak peek at THIS IS FOREVER…

(sneak peek and give away announcement after the jump!)

 

Seeing Lola after eight months was a fucking kick in the teeth. She had changed her hair, it was purple with black streaks, and she was wearing one fucker of an outfit. Platform Mary Jane’s, her signature, purple torn fishnet thigh highs with garters that ended in bows with skulls on them, micro mini in black satin with a lace trim. She had tripled up on her belts, her little baby tee molding to her torso like a second skin. It was razor cut in places, showing skin and the purple of her lace bra. Her arms warmers were knitted with little skulls on them. He was pretty sure she wasn’t wearing underwear also, the girl just loved to shock. Dare he think it was for his benefit? He wasn’t sure he even saw her, thinking he was dreaming the perfection before him.

But dreams don’t blow you off… at least his didn’t. His dreams, her especially, blew him. When dreams blew you off, those were called nightmares, and those sucked. Sucked like life was sucking right now. She had walked in with the rest of her band, greeted everyone but him, her gaze lingering a little too long on Colin, Rhys’ little brother, but then moved on as she kissed cheeks and hugged people.

 He had to adjust his groin, discreetly of course, when she and Saffron hugged and snuggled. Apparently over the past several months Saffron and Lola had become quite the BFF, with Lola staying at Saffron’s place in New York when she had to go in for several shoots and meetings with her record company. Rhys had teased him about getting face timed and seeing both of them in little booty shorts and white tank tops… but he didn’t think they were that close.

And worse, he didn’t think seeing her all snuggly with Saffron would illicit the images rolling through his head. Not that Saffron wasn’t hot, but he just didn’t dig his best friend’s girl like that.  He grabbed a tootsie pop and unwrapped it, sticking the thick ball into his mouth. He watched her move from person to person, but never to him.

What. The. Fuck.

When everyone sat down, she sat at the other end, didn’t even bother to look at him. He went through dinner in a blur, his anger getting to him more and more. What the fuck was going on? He was beginning to feel like he was invisible. Maybe it was a nightmare?

When she got up and went to the bathroom, he followed, after exchanging a meaningful look with Rhys.

“So you’re just not going to say anything to me?” he said as he caught her coming out of the bathroom.

She looked at him and then sighed. “I didn’t want a public thing to happen.”

Public thing?

He cocked his head and scowled. “And what the fuck does that mean?”

She looked him up and down. “I don’t know if I’m ready to say hi like I want to.”

Winter rolled his eyes. “So you can wrap yourself around Saffron, eye Colin up like he’s a steak, which by the way he’s not even eighteen yet, eww,” he ticked off on his fingers, “Yet you can’t even just turn and wave at me?”

Lola shook her head. “It’s not what I wanted. And Colin is going to be very popular…”

“You just didn’t wanna talk to me at all?” he asked, thoroughly confused. She was the one that pushed for the tour, and by all accounts she didn’t have issue with their past. It was what gave him hope.

She moved closer and shook her head. “That’s not it.”

“Then what’s it?” he bit out, his hands clenched at his sides. Gods, only she could infuriate him like this. Fuck she smelled good. All honey and warm clover… no one smelled like Lola.

Her voice lowered. “Do you like my outfit Winter?”

He growled. Fuck yes he liked her outfit. Loved. Wanted it crumpled on the floor of his bedroom. Wanted to peel it from her slowly, kissing every inch of skin he exposed.

She reached for him, her fingers tugging him closer by the belt loops of his jeans. “Good. You’re supposed to. You don’t get anything from me Winter Tulane. No greeting, no, little wave, no explanation. Eat your heart out baby.”

She got closer, her lips just against his, a slight almost imperceptible move of the hoop through the middle of his lip and then she was gone, back towards the party, her ass shaking with a sashay that had blood rushing from every place in his body to his cock. Fuck. What the hell was going on?

“Hey Lo,” he called after her. She gave him the finger and kept walking.

Game on. Game fucking on, he thought as he followed her back into the room. Confusion didn’t even convey how he was feeling about what happened, but holy fuck the signals she was throwing off were so convoluted he didn’t know if he should fist pump for getting her so close to him or brood over her words.

 

LIKE? Add it to your TBR pile at GOODREADS: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17672271-this-is-forever

 

Books before this: Giving Up the Ghost (#1):

http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17312362-giving-up-the-ghost

  

Wanna Win something awesome? Well easy peasy!

 

Add THIS IS FOREVER to your TBR pile on goodreads and you will be entered to win:

A Merch Package: t-shirt, Poster, Pin, Card, Door hanger, tote bag, and Keychain, a 25$ GC to Amazon.com, a Print copy of Giving Up the Ghost with a special short story from Saffron’s past and a Print copy of You Burn Me. Book MUST be ADDED between April 19 and April May 1st. Winner will Be announced on May 4th!

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.