Your One Stop Procrastination Shop
This week on Roadhouse, we share our beliefs (or lack thereof) and our frustration with religion in the United States.
Posted in Uncategorized
In 2008, I was a healthy- if just a touch overweight- twenty-eight year old when I gave birth to my daughter, Wednesday. Labor was so easy, I actually stayed at home and did laundry until my grandparents and husband pushed me out the door, fearing I would give birth in the car. I arrived at the hospital just four hours before Wednesday came into the world, and I shoved her out with one heroic push. ONE.
With the exception of my slightly premature daughter’s inability to nurse, the entire experience was easy. So easy that I was up and walking around my hospital room within thirty minutes of delivery, to the horror of my doctor.
So you can imagine that it came as a huge shock when, a mere eight weeks later, I could no longer walk, stay awake, or otherwise function.
I believe that all my current medical issues can be attributed to a near-miss car accident that occurred about six weeks after my daughter was born. I was driving my grandmother to the grocery store when the car in front of us pulled a sudden U-Turn into the path of an on-coming vehicle. That second vehicle swerved into our lane, and we went off the road. I ended up with a mild case of whiplash. Since then, I’ve done a lot of reading on the effects of neck injuries on the brain and nervous system, and I’m absolutely convinced that this “whiplash” I left untreated – “It’s not that bad!”- is what caused the health issues I’m battling now.
Live and learn.
Two weeks later, I was walking up the stairs from doing laundry, and my knees quit working. I had never felt so tired. It was like someone had just flipped a switch and I felt awful.
The moment just prior to that incident is the last time I remember feeling “normal.”
When I went to my OB/GYN for my post-natal checkup, I expressed my concern over this. I told her about how run down I was, how tired and weak I felt, and how I was in pain all the time. I likened the pain I was feeling to the day after very strenuous exercise. She suggested that I was still “bouncing back” from childbirth. She wasn’t the doctor who delivered my child, so she didn’t know how easy the birth really was. When she checked her colleague’s notes in my chart, though, she became concerned, and referred me to a GP who took uninsured clients.
The GP I saw was a really smart, really professional lady I will call Dr. Red. There are a lot of doctors in this story, so I’ll just assign them color names. Dr. Red assured me that she was going to get to the bottom of this mystery problem, since it was impacting my life so terribly. She sent me for some blood tests, including a rheumatology panel and thyroid test. When the results came back, I was shocked: it was a mere Vitamin D deficiency! I would just take some supplements and I’d be cured!
Three months later, I was back in Dr. Red’s office. I was walking with a cane now, and I could barely keep my eyes open waiting in her office. Since my mobility had been affected, my activity level had dropped drastically, and I had gained a whopping eighty pounds, just over three months. I’m sure you can imagine what she blamed for my condition: “Of course you hurt, you’re morbidly obese!” When I pointed out that I was not morbidly obese when I first came to her office for the same condition, she brushed me off and insisted I had a Vitamin D deficiency and I needed to go on a diet. I was probably just eating too much junk. I told her I was taking the supplements, I’d even upped the dose, and nothing seemed to be getting better.
Then I told her about a syndrome I’d read about on the internet, a syndrome I had many, many symptoms of. “Do you think it could be Fibromyalgia?” I asked, and she snapped back, “You sound like you want to be sick.”
Let me pause here to explain why some people, when seeking a diagnosis, seem like they “want to be sick.” It’s because when you feel 100% shitty, 100% of the time, you want to know why. You want to put a name to why you feel the way you do, in part because you can then be proactive about it and work toward feeling better, in part because you secretly suspect you might be making it all up without realizing it. To hear, “You sound like you want to be sick,” is devastating to people struggling with an undiagnosed chronic illness. It’s dismissive, unsympathetic, and flat out rude. Plus, it doesn’t make a lot of sense; if a person was so mentally ill that they truly desired sickness or attention from sickness, that’s a serious psychiatric disorder known as Münchausen Syndrome, and these people should be treated as mentally ill, not shamed for their attention seeking.
Side note: Münchausen Syndrome is sometimes referred to as Somatoform Disorder, a psychological illness that some doctors believe is the root cause of Fibromyalgia, aka, “You want to be sick, so you are.” If the doctors who truly believed Fibromyalgia patients had Somatoform Disorder treated it as a mental illness and sought treatment for their patients, this wouldn’t be a problem. Unfortunately, these patients are dismissed and shamed out of hand for being “crazy,” and I’ve found that medical doctors who don’t work in mental health fields have little to no respect for people who are “crazy.” It’s a character flaw, not an illness.
Anyway, because I didn’t know better- and possibly because I was raised Catholic in a “bootstraps!” kind of family- I decided that this doctor was right. I was just making it up. Dr. Red gave me prescriptions for heavy painkillers, lectured me about drug abuse, and I suffered in a narcotic haze for some more long months, feeling guilty all the while, until something… weird happened. You can read about it here, but the gist of it is, I had a softball sized tumor wrapping tentacles around my spine at the base of my neck. If you ever meet me in public, feel free to ask about my scar, I’ll totally show it to you.
While waiting for my surgery day to arrive, I had a seizure. This delayed the surgery while I had other tests done. Dr. Red questioned me about everything I had been doing to cause the seizure; she thought it was self induced. I admitted that in addition to the medicines she had put me on, I had begun occasionally supplementing marijuana for pain. The reason, I told her, was that my husband had quit his job to go back to college, and I had reentered the work force. Remember, at the time I thought I was just lazy and crazy and seeking attention, so I assumed I could totally withstand the grueling pace of fast food work. I knew I couldn’t work at McDonald’s high on Vicodin or Oxy, but I knew from years of experience that I could totally work at McDonald’s high on weed. She told me that my seizure was obviously caused by marijuana- a dangerous, evil drug with no medicinal benefits and yet another clue that I was just a drug seeker- but if it would make me feel better, she would send me to a rheumatologist.
I had the surgery to remove the tumor, my back was a little less Quasimodoish, and I went to see the rheumatologist. We’ll call him Dr. Green. Dr. Green took great delight in pushing on my “trigger points,” extremely painful spots that Fibromyalgia sufferers have all over their bodies. Sometimes, even the brush of your clothing on a trigger spot is enough to launch you into days of agony. My first rheumatology appointment was horrible, but it was also wonderful, because I finally had my diagnosis. Dr. Green was in the room with me for about ten minutes before he said, “You’re textbook Fibromyalgia and hyper-mobility. You need to get a new GP.” He also told me that there was “no way in hell” that marijuana had caused my seizure. He blamed Tramadol, a painkiller I was prescribed by Dr. Red, and told me to immediately stop taking it. He explained that another medication I was on, Gabapentin, was an anti-epilepsy drug, and that in my chart Dr. Red had noted that her reason for prescribing it was to offset the chance of seizure from the Tramadol (I have a mild case of Restless Leg Syndrome, which Dr. Green told me could slightly increase the risk of seizures from narcotic pain relievers… the more you know). None of this was ever discussed with me; I was told to take these medications “for pain.” Frustrated with Dr. Red, Dr. Green gave me the number of a doctor who issued cards for the Michigan Medical Marihuana Program and told me that his Fibromyalgia patients were benefitting from the drug.
I should have saved the name Dr. Green for the weed doctor. Damnit.
No, I kid. I’ll use that guy’s name, because he helped save my life. His name is Dr. Crocker, and he’s amazing. Although, my first visit to his office was less amazing, because I didn’t see Dr. Crocker that time. I saw another physician, a woman who told me I was too fat and Fibromyalgia wasn’t a real disease, but who reluctantly issued the card, anyway. Whatever, I didn’t care. Now when I go to the office, I just make it clear that I need to see Dr. Crocker and not the other one. My cousin D-Rock enrolled in the program as a caregiver, so she could grow plants for me- in my condition at the time, the strenuous work of a grow-op would have been far out of reach for me. D-Rock had a personal stake in this operation; she’d seen family members struggle with and die from addiction to pills like Oxy, Vicodin, and Norco, and she had lobbied long and hard for me to stop taking them.
On the MMMP, my life changed drastically. I no longer used a cane. I started running. I started losing weight! It would have shocked Dr. Red, I’m sure, to find out that it was my pain making me fat, not my fat causing my pain. But she’ll never know, because I’ll never go to her again. After a long time of not seeing any doctors at all- I didn’t need to! What a concept!- I ended up in the emergency room with a crushing headache. Long story short, a very tired resident accidentally broke the news to me that I had a brain tumor.
I did not have a brain tumor. I had a migraine.
I saw a new doctor, because no way in hell was I going back to Dr. Red- it didn’t matter, she no longer practices. I do not know the reason why, but obviously, I have my suspicions.
My new doctor, Dr. Blue, looked over my chart, found that I didn’t have a brain tumor after all- “He was obviously in the wrong room,”- and told me some really awesome information. Like, the fact that the only blood tests Dr. Red did when she promised me she’d done a full panel were for Vitamin D deficiency and cholesterol. She’d never done a rheumatology panel, despite telling me I’d had one and it had come back normal. And as it turns out, I have epilepsy- a condition that wasn’t diagnosed because I was on Gabapentin when I was sent for my EEG. If I had known more about the drug and why it was prescribed, I might have mentioned it to the technician doing the EEG.
I’m pretty mad that lost three years of my life on crazy drugs I didn’t need and suffered through being told I was making things up for attention. I really feel that one sentence, “You sound like you want to be sick,” is what kept me from being proactive about my health for such a long time. Now, I’m healthier than I’ve ever been. I lost sixty-five pounds (I’m still fat, but I’m less fat than I was). I run (at my peak, I was running twelve miles a week, but I’ve backed off now to nurse a tendon injury). I did P90X. I can walk around! It’s a miracle!
What I’ve learned from this experience is: just because someone is wearing a white coat doesn’t mean they’re smart. And as a patient, you have the right to a doctor who listens to you, and who is honest with you and doesn’t lie about what care you’re receiving. And never let your doctor prescribe any medication for you if you don’t know what it does.
I still have my bad days, both due to depression and to Fibromyalgia. But now that I have a good doctor and a good plan for pain management, rather than someone who shames me for complaining about my pain, my quality of life is a lot better. Do I consider myself disabled? Yes, I do; some days, I am genuinely disabled by my conditions, and occasionally I need assistive devices. I definitely can’t drive anymore, because of my seizures. But I suffer from invisible disabilities, so I have the privilege of hiding them, if I want to. I never have to tell anyone I’m sick if I don’t want them to know, and I realize that for many people, this is not the case. My life and my health could be a lot worse, so I’m grateful for the good doctors- especially Dr. Crocker, who is still one of my care providers- and loved ones who cared about me enough to see me through those bad times.
This week’s Roadhouse is a little sad. But we get the sadness out of the way up front, then hit you with an amazing idea for a super cool reality show.
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UGIgDOK-wTs]
NOTE: D-Rock is aware of her legal rights. Due to the sensitive nature of the topic, it would be awesome if we could refrain from offering legal advice or “you should” or “if I were you.” However, we encourage you to share your stories of workplace harassment and discrimination in the comments.
In every generation there is a chosen one. She alone will finish Hemlock Grove and sit there for an hour going, “What the hell did I just watch?” She will also recap every episode of Buffy The Vampire Slayer with an eye to the following themes:
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.
The episode opens with Cordelia and Harmony strolling the hall with some random guy who has his arm around Cordelia. They’re talking about the Spring Fling dance that’s coming up, and how Cordelia is having her dress specially made. And I have this painful and crushing memory of what a bitch I was in high school, when I had my prom dress specially made to copy one that Nicole Kidman wore in Vogue, because I thought I was that damn special. With the money I spent on it, I probably could have bought someone else a dress and a prom ticket. God, teen me sucked.
Anyway, the guy walking with Cordelia says she should wear a dress that’s blue like her eyes, and Cordy points out that her eyes are hazel. She also calls him Helen Keller, and I’m like, “No, Cordy! Bad Cordy!” and I smack her cute little nose with a rolled up newspaper.
Ever the sycophant, Harmony is quick to tell Cordelia and this dude that they’re going to look awesome when Cordy is May Queen. Cordelia is trying to downplay her chances, in a really phony, self-gratifying way when Buffy spills her ass into frame. You know, for a slayer, she’s kind of clumsy, isn’t she? I mean, she can do all this cool arial kick fighting shit, but this is at least the second time she’s tripped and spilled all her weapons out.
Buffy: “You’re probably wondering what I’m doing with this stuff, huh?”
Cordelia: “Wow! I’m not.”
Buffy: “Uh, for history class. Mr. Giles has this, like, hobby of collecting stuff, which he lent me… for… show-and-tell. Did I mention it was for history class?”
If anyone in Sunnydale isn’t guilty of #8, it’s Harmony, who says:
Harmony: “She is always hanging with that creepy librarian in that creepy library.”
Unfortunately, I’m betting money that Harmony isn’t creeped by inappropriate student/teacher relationships, just the fact that Buffy seems to have an interest in knowledge and learning. Still, she shows more self-awareness of the situation than any of the faculty members or Buffy’s own mom.
Cordy, the random dude, and Harmony all walk off laughing at Buffy and the time she attacked Cordelia at The Bronze, and Buffy looks all dejected and hopeless.
In English class, Cordelia answers a question about The Merchant of Venice by calling Shylock self-involved and too wrapped up in his own oppression to see the pain of other, less oppressed people. Did I mention she’s saying this to a woman of color? Because she’s saying it to a woman of color, who appears to be not real impressed:
Cordelia: “People who think their problems are so huge craze me. Like this time I sort of ran over this girl on her bike. It was the most traumatizing event of my life, and she’s trying to make it about her leg. Like my pain meant nothing.”
You want to imagine something wretched? There are probably people who were like, “Yeah, right on!” when they watched this for the first time. Probably the same people who agree with Spike and Giles on the subject of Native American oppression in season four.
But we’ll get there.
The teacher looks super relieved when the bell rings, but when Cordelia approaches her to talk about her final paper, the teacher congratulates her on her “good observations” in class, and Willow does the most epic background eye-roll ever caught on film:
Xander: “What kind of moron would want to be May Queen, anyway?”
And Buffy looks like this:
Snyder: “Where do you think you’re going?”
Buffy: “Um, Mitch wanted me to get his comb. He- He likes his comb.”
Snyder: “I don’t think Mitch needs his comb right now. I think Mitch needs medical attention, and you need to stay away from the crime scene. Always sticking your nose in.”
Man, the Buffster is really not on her game this episode. I mean, of course she was going to get caught. Look how close she was to Snyder when she said she was going to go check out the scene:
Giles “It’s a bit of a puzzle, really. I’ve never actually heard of anyone attack by a lone baseball bat before.”
Xander: “Maybe it’s a vampire bat.”
And this is the response he gets:
Whatever, Xander. I thought your pun was masterful. You combined my love of grisly murder and my love of baseball in a way a baseball bat normally couldn’t. Or… no, you know what, baseball bats can do the grisly murder on their own, can’t they? Especially in Sunnydale.
Giles suggests a few options. Either the bat is possessed, someone is pulling a Carrie, or they’ve got an angry ghost on their hands. Though I’m not sure how angry a ghost you would have to be to give in to the temptation of beating Mitch nearly to death. He gave off a real date-rapey frat jock vibe. If I were a ghost, I’d probably have taken a few swings at him.
Buffy tells Willow that compiling a list of dead and missing students would be a good start. Yeah, Willow, get right on that, and in forty years when you’re done, we’ll pick up the investigation. Giles asks Xander to help with research, but Xander isn’t keen on doing anything extracurricular with regards to vampire slaying. He says he wants Buffy’s job of asking around to find out what happened to Mitch, but when she points out he’d have to talk to Cordelia, somehow Giles starts to look like the better option.
In that cool outside upstairs hallway thing Sunnydale has, Harmony finds Cordelia and asks her why she wasn’t in fifth period. Cordelia says she went to the hospital to see Mitch, and when Harmony asks if he’ll be okay, Cordelia says:
Cordelia: “Well, the doctor says he’ll be fine. They’re gonna send him home tomorrow, but you should have seen him lying there, all black and blue. How’s he gonna look in our prom pictures? How am I ever going to be able to show them to anyone?”
So, once again, Cordelia isn’t concerned about someone else’s suffering, just how it affects her. Mitch was beaten and terrorized by a bat-wielding poltergeist, and Cordelia is just worried he’ll embarrass her with his terrible face. Just as Harmony comforts her about the wonders of airbrushing, we’re invited into a grainy flashback wherein Cordelia tells Harmony of her plans to date Mitch if he makes the varsity baseball team. Then we hear someone (from the POV of the camera) say hello to them, only to be cruelly rebuffed for daring to speak to them. Then we resume the scene the flashback interrupted. Buffy stops Cordelia at the top of the stairs and asks to talk to her, and Harmony is about to deliver some scathing verbal beat down when an unseen force pushes her down the stairs.
Okay, let’s leave poor Harmony falling down the stairs a minute to talk about something I feel is important. I know we’ve discussed how BtVS isn’t the icon of feminist television it gets credit for being, and there are underlying themes that really squick me out now that I’m older and, if not wiser, at least slightly less ignorant than I used to be, BUT. Harmony’s friendship with Cordelia is a part of the show I really like. Yes, Harmony joins in with Cordelia to bully people, and later she turns on her, but in the first and second seasons, we see Harmony being a caring and supportive friend to Cordy, even when she doesn’t deserve it. Should Harmony tell Cordelia to suck it up, at least she didn’t get beaten nearly to death? Well, Harmony can’t, because she’s just as selfish and short-sighted as Cordelia, but that’s beside the point. As crappy as she treats everyone who isn’t in her social sphere, Harmony displays actual care and concern for Cordelia in this episode, and this lays the groundwork for our #10.
Where were we?
As Buffy and Cordelia rush to Harmony’s aid, Snyder comes up and sees just another potential lawsuit on his hands. Cordelia insists that Harmony just fell down the stairs, but Harmony swears she was pushed. The same disembodied laughter from the locker room can be heard again, but only Buffy seems to hear it. She follows it up the stairs and sees a door closing as if it had been opened by no one at all. Inside the room, Buffy collides with something she can’t see. She investigates further, stepping into the band room, where we see a ceiling tile lifting up. Buffy calls out to whoever is there and promises she isn’t there to hurt them, she just wants to talk.
Outside the school, these two super cool characters are hanging out, trying to blend:
Giles: “A girl on campus with the ability to become invisible.”
Xander: “That is so cool!”
Willow: “Cool?”
Xander: “Well yeah, I would give anything to be able to turn invisible. I wouldn’t use my powers to beat people up. I’d use my powers to protect the girls’ locker room.”
Giles: “It must be a fairly heady experience. Having that ability.”
Buffy: “I think Cordelia’s going to be working on her May Queen dress tonight. Maybe there’ll be some action.”
Okay, in a previous scene we’ve already been told in a bit of incidental dialogue that Cordelia’s dress is finished. And also, that someone else was making it. And Cordelia is not the Molly Ringwald, make-my-own-dress-for-prom kind of quirky girl. So what does she have to work on?
The whole thing seems to be a convenient excuse for the next scene, in which Buffy looks wistfully through a window at Cordelia and her friends… well, I’m not sure what they’re doing.
It’s also a cool way of re-introducing the audience to Angel, who has been MIA for a while but is an important part of the next episode in the season arc.
Cordelia: “God! I am never sitting through another one of those alumni lectures again! Two hours of ‘My trek through Napal.’ Hello, there is nobody caring.”
Bathroom mirror Girl: “Did you guys see his toupee? I mean, it looked like a cabbage.”
Cordelia: “And those slides? ‘That’s a mountain. That’s a mountain, too. Now look at some mountains.'”
Harmony: “I swear, he had three slides and just used them over and over.”
Bathroom mirror girl: “I know, but did you see his toupee? I mean, it was like, the worst.”
Harmony: “We’re talking, okay?”
Cordelia: “Oh, and did you guys check out that extreme toupee? Yeah, that’s realistic. It looked like a cabbage.”
Why did Cordelia steal that joke? That joke wasn’t even funny. The dude is a mountain climber who went to Nepal and now does inspirational speaking. There is tons of material there. For example, right off the top of my head:
The bathroom girl looks after the other girls adoringly as they leave, but finding herself alone again, her expression sours.
In the courtyard, in the present, Snyder is declaring Cordelia May Queen, and of course, she takes the whole thing super humbly:
Cordelia: “Being this popular is not just my right, but my responsibility.”
Xander and Willow make little, “Oh, Cordelia” faces as they pass through the courtyard to find Buffy, who’s watching the whole May Queen presentation go down. She believes Cordelia is the key to whatever is going on. Willow gives Buffy the list of dead and missing students, which is multiple pages. Because Sunnydale. #8
Definitive proof that the teen girl is an invasive species.
Willow: “Oh my god. ‘Have a nice summer.’ ‘Have a nice summer.’ This girl had no friends at all.”
Giles: “Uh, once again I teeter at the precipice of the generation gap.”
Buffy: “‘Have a nice summer’ is what you write when you have nothing to say.”
Buffy asks Willow and Xander if they knew Marcie. They deny it, and Buffy points out that they both wrote “Have a nice summer” in Marcie’s yearbook. Okay, in Willow’s defense, she wrote “have a great summer,” but she’s still horrified to realize that they both had four classes with Marcie the year before and still have no recollection of her. Due to something Giles explains with quantum mechanics rather than mystical forces- okay, score one point against #13 on that one- that because Marcie was perceived as invisible, she became invisible.
Of course, Buffy has a throwaway line about living on a Hellmouth and mystical energy, and I’m like, come one, guys. Even the X-Files occasionally had an episode where it wasn’t aliens.
We see a flashback to Marcie in English class with the teacher she just tried to murder. Though she keeps putting her hand up, the teacher is calling on everyone except her. And then shit starts to get real:
Buffy: “This isn’t some great power that she can control. It’s something that was done to her. That we did to her.”
And as Buffy suspected, Marcie’s end goal is doing something horrible to Cordelia. This is something Cordelia has figured out, as well, and she runs into the library to beg for Buffy’s help in a way only Cordelia could:
Cordelia: “I knew you’d be here. Buffy… I, uh, I know we’ve had our differences, with you being so weird and all, and hanging out with these total losers… ooh. Well, anyway, despite all of that, I know that you share this feeling that we have for each other deep down.”
Willow: “Nausea?”
Cordelia: “Somebody is after me! They just tried to kill Mrs. Miller- she was helping me with my homework- and Mitch and Harmony… this is all about me! Me, me, me!”
Cordelia figured from the super strength, the weapons, and the fact that Buffy’s around whenever weird stuff happens, that Buffy is in a gang. She’s looking for protection, because she doesn’t know what else to do. Oh, and Giles points out that she’s never been in the library before. So, I guess Cordelia is street smart, instead of book smart. Buffy gives in and decides to help her. Despite the numerous times we’ve seen Cordelia in the same place as Marcie and interacting with her, when Buffy shows Cordelia a photo, she can’t remember Marcie.
In her hidey hole, Marcie is ranting to no one about how Cordelia and all her “slut friends” ruined Marcie’s life. She’s going to make them “learn,” and as she says this she reveals a rope and a doctor bag.
Cordelia: “Hey. You think I’m never lonely because I’m so cute and popular? I can be surrounded by people and be completely alone. It’s not like any of them really know me. I don’t even know if they like me half the time. People just want to be in a popular zone. Sometimes when I talk, everyone’s so busy agreeing with me, they don’t hear a word I say.”
Buffy: “Well if you feel so alone, then why do you work so hard at being popular?”
Cordelia: “Well it beats being alone all by yourself.”
So now we’re starting to get a sense of what Cordelia is really like. Being popular is only important to her because she’s afraid of being alone. No matter how little we care for Cordelia, we have to sympathize with her here. And as Marcie becomes more destructive, and Cordelia becomes more constructive (opening up to and trusting people who aren’t “in a popular zone”), now the audience should become less supportive of Marcie, and come over to Cordelia’s side a bit.
In the library, Xander, Giles, and Willow hear flute music, and they rush to the source, hoping to catch Marcie and, between the three of them, subdue her. But when they find the source of the music coming from a tape recorder in the school’s basement, they realize they’ve been trapped. They’re sealed in a locked room with a gas leak and the most boring flute recital recording ever.
Marcie: “You should be grateful. People who pass you on the street are gonna remember you for the rest of their lives. Children will dream about you. And every one of your friends who comes to the coronation tonight will take the sight of the May Queen to their graves.”
So, to the pain, then?
Oh, and the reason Cordy’s face is numb? It’s loaded up with local anesthetic so she can be awake for her entire disfigurement.
This is some Red Dragon shit.
While the Scoobies start to valiantly die together, Cordelia tries to talk Marcie out of Why-So-Serious-ing her:
Down in the basement, Giles has nearly succumbed to the gas, and he’s just kind of slapping at the door in futility when out of no where, Angel is there to rescue them. He arrived via basement to give Giles The Codex, and he smelled gas. Because Angel can’t breathe, he’s the perfect guy to fix the gas leak while Willow, Giles, and Xander stumble to safety, gas drunk.
Buffy decides that although she had sympathy for Marcie before, she doesn’t now because Marcie is “a thundering looney.”
You know what I want to add? #14: Mental illness is treated poorly. From everything we’ve seen in the story so far, we should hate Cordelia and love Marcie. After all, Marcie is just a vigilante, right? Getting revenge on the people who wronged her in an unfair system? Cordelia is responsible for Marcie’s invisibility, at least in part. And she’s proven to be a self-centered, cold person, despite a slightly small, kinda chewy loneliness center. But we care about her, because the last time we saw her, she was pouring her heart out as a victim of her own popularity. The last time we saw Marcie, she was raving and jabbering to herself. And nobody likes a crazy person, I think my fellow mentally ill people know that all too well. So, we wind up with our title character declaring that she can’t be sympathetic to someone who is mentally ill, and that’s a good reason to beat her up. No, Buffy. A good reason to beat her up is because she’s attempted to murder people. Not because she’s “crazy.”
Unfortunately, this isn’t the last time we’re going to see #14. It will figure in heavily in season 5, as well.
In order to fight Marcie, Buffy has a very special moment of zen that lasts five seconds, at least:
Posted in Uncategorized
Do you ever have one of those moments where you think, “I should do [x] before [y] happens,” and then, before you can do anything else, [y] happens and you’re like, “Fuck you, self. Why didn’t you warn me in time?”
Something wretched has happened to me. I think I have food poisoning. I’ll be back if I don’t die. Recap of Buffy is on hold. Recap of 50 Shades Freed is on hold, because I’m nauseated enough.
Sorry, guys.
ETA: I am no longer dying, but if I don’t wind up P90X ripped from the workout my chest and abdomen got last night, I’m going to be piiiiiiiiissed. Look for a Buffy recap and a late edition of Roadhouse on Monday.
As for everyone who suggested I was intentionally poisoning myself to avoid reading 50 Shades Freed… that’s actually quite a good idea.
Posted in Uncategorized
And I tweeted it. [View the story “#BreakingJenny” on Storify]
If you follow me on twitter, or if you were awakened this morning by what sounded like the screams of a thousand beansidhe wailing for the future of original fiction and fandom in one long, desperate howl, then you’re aware that Amazon is a nest of fucking vampires who will not rest until they suck the very life out of the industry that built them. I’m speaking, of course, about the new Kindle Worlds program, a venue for fanfic writers who really don’t give a shit about the creations they’re purporting to love to exploit the fuck out of fandom and sell what in the past has always been given away for free out of integrity and a need to not get sued. You can read about the fucking travesty here at The Mary Sue, although they take a much different view of this bullshit than I do.
I was going to come here and write a scathing post about why this is shitty and why it will harm both fandom and original fiction, but you know what? I am tired of feeling like Ned Stark at King’s Landing. I’m not going to be the Hand of the King on this one. If readers and ficcers want to be Robert Baratheon and refuse to see that the boar of paid fanfiction is wearing Amazon’s Lannister colors…
Wait. Let me dial my nerd back a little.
Basically, I’m not going to rant on the subject (at least here; my twitter account is going to be bitter and terrible for A WHILE), because it has yet to do me any good other than getting a nice mad on and whipping you all up in an angry frenzy. Instead, I’m going to do something constructive that I’ve been considering for a little while.
Ever since I started recapping 50 Shades last year (Jesus, a year. A year of my fucking life) I have had requests to read people’s original fiction and fanfiction. Some of you have written to me asking if I can be as critical of your work as I am of 50, and that’s very flattering. However, everyone has gotten a no. Not because I don’t love and care about you all, dear readers, but I just don’t have the time to fulfill these requests. I write about forty-thousand words a month, excluding the 50 and Buffy recaps, so I really just don’t have time left over for stuff like beta reading or leaving the house or showering.
In my spare time (which exists in the same magical realm as dragons and unicorns and plus-sized jeans that aren’t made of stretch material that make them super fall-downish), I’m the president of a not-for-profit group that seeks to help writers at all stages of their careers. We have a mentor program, in which an author further along in their career helps someone who is either just starting out or is stuck and doesn’t know the next step or whatever, and sometimes that turns into a beta reading relationship. I don’t know why this didn’t occur to me before, but you can credit one of the blog regulars, Thea K, with giving me the mental push into, “Oh yeah, I could do this” land.
If so many of you are looking for beta readers… why not pair y’all up HERE?
So, this is how it’s going to work:
The other day, I got the most delightful tweet:
I sit on the barstool beside my husband, who just looks radiant: freshly showered, his hair damp, wearing a crisp white shirt and that silver-gray tie. My favorite tie. I have fond memories of that tie.
And the picture that resulted?
Hanna stands aside, and Prescott enters my office. She’s on a mission, bristling with professional efficiency.
When other people are professional, it’s a positive thing. When Prescott does it, she’s “bristling.”
“Mrs. Grey, Leila Williams is on your proscribed list of visitors.”
“What?” I have a proscribed list?
No, Ana. Nobody is that controlling, right? Maybe that’s why we haven’t seen Jose in a while. Maybe he’s proscribed.
Take a minute to think about how really, truly scary this is. Ana is constantly surrounded by security, allegedly for her own “protection.” But now we know there are a list of people who are never allowed to come near her. Ana didn’t know about this list; for all she knows, people who love and care about her have tried to contact her, only to be turned away, and Ana would never know. Her husband is literally keeping her a prisoner.
There is a reason handcuffs are on the cover of this book, and it has nothing to do with kinky fuckery.
I frown, not understanding. “Is she dangerous?”
Hold up, Ana. She pulled a gun on you, like, three months ago. She broke into your then-boyfriend’s house to watch you sleep. I would say she’s probably not not dangerous.
We find out that the only reason Ana knows Leila is in the building is because she happened to come in when Prescott was taking a pee break.
I realize that even Prescott has to pee, and I laugh. “Oh dear.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Prescott gives me an embarrassed grin, and it’s the first time I’ve seen a chink in her armor. She has a lovely smile.
Ah, Ana. You are nothing if not predictably horrible. She has never had a single nice thing to say about Prescott up until now. Then Prescott fails at something, and Ana can compliment her. Ana can only like other women if she perceives them to be less competent than she is. Now that Prescott has made a mistake, Ana is free to think a single positive thought about her.
Ana knows that Christian is going to be informed of Leila’s presence, and she desperately- for some reason that is never made clear- wants to see Leila. The person she was terrified of all through the last book. The woman who pulled a gun on her and had to go into a mental health facility just a few months before. Time is short, because Ana knows Christian is going to send Taylor and put the whole situation on lockdown. Setting aside the fact that Leila really was a danger to Ana in the past, you are now reading a “romance” in which a woman is playing beat-the-clock in order to talk to someone her husband, the “romantic hero” has forbidden her from talking to.
Furthering our themes of “you have got to be fucking kidding me” and “absolutely none of this bullshit makes sense,” Ana has Hannah show Leila and her companion into the conference room so Prescott can frisk them. This is all going down at work. Now, I know that Ana isn’t worried about getting fired, because Christian plans on giving her the entire company, but she isn’t at all worried about looking unprofessional? Because meeting with your husbands’ ex in the conference room doesn’t exactly scream, “I’m super invested in my career and I won’t let my personal life get in the way of it.”
Hannah reminds Ana she has an appointment across town at four, and Ana tells her to cancel it. Spoiler alert, it’s another appointment for her birth control shot.
What the hell does Leila want? I don’t think she’s here to do me any harm. She didn’t in the past when she had the opportunity.
Except for when she broke in to watch you sleep and when she pulled a gun on you. But let’s face it, Ana has no clue what constitutes harm, otherwise she wouldn’t be married right now.
Christian is going to go nuts. My subconscious purses her lips, primly crosses her legs, and nods. I need to tell him that I am doing this.
I’m sure that will mitigate any damage.
Ana sends an email to Christian telling him she’s going to meet with Leila and she’ll slap her if she has to. No, really:
I’ll use my newly acquired slapping skills with my now-healed hand, should I need to.
Tee hee, she’s tough, tee hee, let’s joke about the woman who committed B&E to threaten you.
I stand, smoothing my gray pencil skirt over my hips, pinch my cheeks to give them some color, and undo the next button on my gray silk blouse.
Is she trying to fuck Leila? Because it sounds like she’s trying to fuck Leila.
Also, don’t pinch your cheeks to put color in them.
Leila looks much better. More than better- she’s very attractive. There’s a rosy bloom to her cheeks, and her brown eyes are bright, her hair clean and shiny.
Because people who are mentally ill are always visibly so, by being unattractive, ashen, and greasy haired, of course.
There’s another woman with Leila: Susi, who is another of Chedward’s ex-subs. Hannah enters and tells Ana that Christian is on the phone, and even though Hannah is just Ana’s assistant, she’s pretty insistent. Which means Hannah probably knows that if Ana doesn’t take the call, her job is on the line, because these two assholes treat people like they’re fucking disposable. Ana doesn’t take the call, and says she’ll call him back shortly.
Susi speaks. “I know this is all kinds of weird, but I wanted to meet you, too. The woman who captured Chris- “
I hold up my hand, stopping her in mid-sentence. I do not want to hear this. “Um… I get the picture,” I mutter.
“We call ourselves the sub club.” She grins at me, her eyes shining with mirth.
So, is this a survivor’s group? Because it kind of seems like they’re there for an intervention or something.
Susi leaves so Leila and Ana can talk alone, and we find out that Leila’s nickname is apparently Lulu, which is fucking stupid because it’s exactly the same number of syllables as Leila and also, why do we need to know her nickname? Why is she even here? What is the point of this?
Susi and Christian… it’s not a thought I wish to dwell on.
But you probably will.
Prescott hands her phone to Ana. Of course, it’s Christian:
“What the fuck are you playing at?” he shouts. He’s seething.
“Don’t shout at me.”
“What do you mean, don’t shout at you?” he shouts, louder this time. “I gave specific instructions which you have completely disregarded- again. Hell, Ana, I am fucking furious.”
Ana tells Christian she’ll talk to him when he’s calmer, then hangs upon him. Let’s all keep in mind, Ana is having all of this go down at work. She’s on the phone to her husband, telling him not to shout at her, as she stands outside the conference room. How humiliating is all of this for Ana? And none of this, not Prescott, not Leila, not shouty phone calls, has anything to do with her. It would be awesome if Ana would get frustrated with this and acknowledge the fact, then come to terms with whether or not this is a life she wants. Then she and Christian could actually work on their relationship, which would be a better and more believable story than constantly running from cartoon villains.
Leila has come because she wants to apologize for breaking into Ana’s apartment and fucking up her car, and to thank her for not pressing charges. Not that Ana had any choice in the matter; Christian is so anti-police that I’m pretty sure his mom’s pimp was a crooked cop or something. Ana asks Leila if her doctor knows she’s there, and the answer is no, because what legit doctor is going to say, “Oh, you want to find the person you tried to kill like three months ago and confront her in person unsupervised? That’s a great idea, pack your bags!”
She looks suitably guilty. “I know I’ll have to deal with the fallout for this later. But I had to get some things, and I wanted to see Susi, and you, and… Mr. Grey.”
“You want to see Christian?” My stomach free-falls to the floor. That’s why she’s here.
“Leila.” I flounder, exasperated. “It’s not up to me, it’s up to Christian. You’ll need to ask him. He doesn’t need my permission. He’s a grown man… most of the time.”
She gazes at me for a fraction of a beat as if surprised by my reaction and then laughs softly, nervously twiddling the ends of her hair.
“He’s repeatedly refused all my requests to see him,” she says quietly.
Oh shit. I’m in more trouble than I thought.
Why are you in more trouble, Ana? You couldn’t possibly have known that Christian didn’t want to see her, because he never once told you that she was trying to contact him.
I’m sorry, but I’m getting to the point with these books that I feel like I’m just saying the same thing over and over again, and that same thing is always just, “Christian is a huge dick.” He’s being contacted, apparently more than once, by his ex who tried to kill Ana. And he hasn’t mentioned this to Ana! What the hell?! If Ana gets a phone call from Jose, Christian acts like she ran out and vengeance fucked thirty-five people, but his murderous exes can call him, that’s fine? I’m so tired of this book, you guys. I’m just tired of this whole thing.
Once again I’m speechless. What does she expect me to say? Surely she should be saying these things to Christian, not to me.
“And for art school. I can’t thank him enough for that.”
I knew it! Christian is funding her classes. I remain expressionless, tentatively exploring my feelings for this woman now that she’s confirmed my suspicions about Christian’s generosity.
And your suspicions that Christian’s money isn’t really your money, after all. My husband and I put our money together; it’s just easier for us than keeping track of who is going to pay what, and it works for us. Our money is our money. If one of us decided we were going to pay for someone else’s education, we’d damn sure have to tell the other spouse about our plans. If Christian truly believed that what is his is also Ana’s, he’d have told her about paying for art school for Leila with what is, according to him, Ana’s money.
To my surprise, I feel no ill will toward her.
To my surprise, too, because it’s completely out of character to the point of being entirely unbelievable. Ana dislikes all women for imagined slights; this woman has an actual connection to Christian.
It’s a revelation, and I’m glad she’s better. Now, hopefully, she can move on with her life and out of ours.
She’s not better. If she were better, she wouldn’t have shown up at Ana’s work in the hopes of seeing Christian. If she were better, she would see how unhealthy her behavior is.
Ana asks Leila if she’s missing classes, and Leila tells her that she is, but only two because she’s leaving Seattle the next day. She also mentions that Christian has two of her paintings.
What the hell! My stomach plunges into the basement once more. Are they hanging in my living room? I bridle at the thought.
That’s a weird word choice, isn’t it? In this context, she could mean she lifted her chin to express resentment, or she took offense. There has to be a clearer verb to use there.
Leila asks Ana if they can speak frankly, then she launches into her personal life, telling Ana she loved her dead boyfriend, her husband, and Christian.
This is not news to me. When she lifts her brown eyes to mine, they are wide with conflicting emotions, and the overriding one seems to be apprehension… of my reaction, perhaps? But my overwhelming response to this poor young woman is compassion.
This sudden shift in characterization makes no sense at all. So far, all we have seen of Ana is that she feels every single woman on Earth is a threat. Even when they’ve had no contact whatsoever with Christian except in very minor capacities required by their jobs. Women whose names he will never even know are out to take him from Ana, so she has to be possessive and give them hateful nicknames. But here is a woman who was not only in an intimate relationship with Chedward, but she was in love with him and willing to kill him. Ana being totally unthreatened by her makes no fucking sense whatsoever, and at this point, we’re reading about a totally different character. And she still sucks.
Mentally I run through all the classical literature I can think of that deals with unrequited love.
Given Ana’s definition of romance as it pertains to classical literature, I assume the books she’s thinking of are Mein Kampf and Frankenstein.
“I know, he’s very easy to love,” I whisper.
Her wide eyes widen further in surprise, and she smile. “Yes. He is – was.” She corrects herself quickly and blushes. Then she giggles so sweetly that I can’t help myself. I giggle, too. Yes, Christian Grey makes us giggly.
Again- and I am loathe to point this out- a waitress even flutters her eyelashes because the air conditioning vent is on too strong and Ana is ready to blind her for the crime of gazing upon the perfection that is Christian Grey. Leila admits to being in love with Christian and it’s happy giggles slumber party times?
Ana’s characterization does a complete 180 in the middle of the last book of the series? Well, of fucking course. Because that’s just how these books roll, and you can either roll with it or get rolled over. So strap in, because Saint Ana, Our Lady of Sisterly Protection, has stepped into the role previously occupied by Ana, Hater of Blondes and Scourge of Seattle.
My subconscious rolls her eyes at me in despair and goes back to reading her dog-eared copy of Jane Eyre.
So, what this is not so subtly trying to tell us is that Leila is the crazy wife in the attic and Ana is Jane.
“You’ll get your chance to see Christian.”
“I thought I would. I know how protective he can be.” She smiles.
So this is her scheme. She’s very shrewd. Or manipulative, whispers my subconscious. “This is why you’re here to see me?”
Reluctantly, I have to acknowledge that she knows him well.
She was probably with him longer than you have been, Ana!
Leila tells Ana that Christian seemed happy with her on those occasions that Leila broke into his apartment to spy on them.
Do I want to hear this? A shudder runs through me. My scalp prickles as I recall my fear when she was the unseen shadow in our apartment.
She wasn’t unseen. You saw her. WORDS MEAN THINGS.
Christian arrives, as Leila was anticipating:
Christian’s burning gray gaze pins first me then Leila to our chairs. His demeanor is quietly determined, but I know better, and I suspect Leila does, too. The menacing cool glint in his eyes reveals the truth- he’s emanating rage, though he hides it well.
Well, if he’s emanating it, he’s not hiding it, is he?
Could you imagine working at SIP? Some random woman just started working there, gets promoted to editor within a week, and now her husband is bursting in unannounced and causing a scene just, you know, whenever? What a stressful environment.
“You,” he says to Prescott in a soft tone. “You’re fired. Get out now.”
I blanch. Oh no- this isn’t fair.
Oh, for fuck’s sake, Ana, make up your damned mind. You have been lobbying for this woman’s termination for fucking ever, now she’s fired, and you don’t want her to be? Oh, wait, I’m trying to assign past Ana’s actions to St. Ana, when she’s CLEARLY not the same character.
Leila peeks up at him through long lashes,
IT’S AN EPIDEMIC, PEOPLE!
He stands, glowering at her. “Leila, if you come anywhere near my wife again, I will cut off all support. Doctors, art school, medical insurance- all of it- gone. Do you understand?”
“Christian-” I try again. But he silences me with a chilling look. Why is he being so unreasonable? My compassion for this sad woman blooms.
Because you’re viewing your own victimization as it’s happening to another person. There’s really nothing else to say about that point. It is what it is.
Christian grills Leila about the purpose of her visit, why Susi is there, and if Susi knew about Leila’s stalking spree when it was going on.
“I had to know.” And for the first time she looks up directly at him.
“Had to know what?” he snaps.
“That you’re okay.”
He gapes at her. “That I’m okay?” he scoffs, disbelieving.
“Yes.”
Okay, this is an example of a writer who needs to do some word economizing. This is an easy hole to fall into, because what’s happening is E.L. is writing the way people talk. A lot of writers do this, I’m sure I’ve done it before, but when you have a conversation like the one above, the reader is going to notice how repetitious it is, and they’re going to get annoyed with it. This is a place that could definitely have been trimmed. It could have looked like:
“I had to know.” And for the first time she looks up directly at him.
“Had to know what?” he snaps.
“That you’re okay.”
and then he could go on to say the next part, about being fine. Or, it could have looked like this:
“I had to know.” And for the first time she looks up directly at him. “That you’re okay.”
So many words could have been trimmed there. So, writers, don’t fall into this very easy trap. Readers don’t like to read characters repeating dialogue, even though people actually talk like that.
“I’m fine. There, question answered. Now Taylor will run you to Sea-Tac so you can go back to the East Coast. And if you take one step west of the Mississippi, it’s all gone. Understand?”
*Raises hand* No. I don’t understand. What’s gone if she crosses the Mississippi? The east coast? Will the east coast be gone? Because that’s what that says. I don’t want that to happen, so I really hope Leila stays put.
“It might not be convenient for Leila to go back now. She has plans,” I object, outraged on her behalf.
Christian glares at me. “Anastasia,” he warns, his voice icy, “this does not concern you.”
“This is the Christian Grey I know,” she says, her tone sad and wistful. Christian frowns at her, while all the breath evaporates from my lungs. I can’t breathe. Was Christian like this with her all the time? Was he like this with me, at first? I find it hard to remember.
He’s like this with you NOW, you daffy- UUUUURRRRRGGGH! This is not how you show character development for Christian Grey! Just having Ana say, “Oh, gosh, I don’t remember how abusive he is and was!” doesn’t make Christian magically not an abuser anymore or not an abuser in the past.
Christian asks when Leila’s flight leaves, and tells her he’ll send someone to Susi’s house take her to the airport. I like how he just inserts himself in other people’s plans like that. Shows he really knows how to be a dickbag.
I glare at Christian. He can’t dictate to her like this… and how does he know where Susannah lives?
There’s the Ana I remember! Weird and suspicious because Christian knows where one of his exes lives. Which is a totally normal thing to know, if you’ve been in a relationship with someone.
Leila leaves- although she says “Yes, Sir,” to Christian on her way out, which made me “What the hell?” because it kind of shows that Leila isn’t as better as she says she is.
After Leila leaves, Ana tries to preempt Christian’s anger:
“Don’t even think about being angry with me,” I hiss. “Call Claude Bastille and kick the shit out of him or go see Flynn.”
I guess this is the first time I’m noticing how obvious a name Claude Bastille is. I suppose Jacques Fromage was simply absurd.
“You promised me you wouldn’t do this.” Now his tone is accusatory.
“Do what?”
“Defy me.”
Well, it probably would have been easier for her to not defy you by seeing Leila if you had let her know she had a “proscribed” list of who is and isn’t allowed to be near her. Which, by the way, is still so fucked up that I can’t get my head around it. But this is a new and exciting area of abuse for this couple; now he gets to make rules without telling her, and emotionally punish her when she disobeys them!
The thing that’s really bothering Ana here is Christian’s attitude toward Leila. She asks him why he was so dismissive and cruel to her, and Christian’s response is pure douchebag gold:
“Anastasia,” he says, as if to a child, “you don’t understand. Leila, Susannah- all of them- they were a pleasant, diverting pastime. But that’s all. You are the center of my universe. And the last time you two were in a room together, she had you at gunpoint. I don’t want her anywhere near you.”
Okay, I get him not wanting Ana around a woman who tried to shoot her. This part, I truly understand. What I don’t get is how he feels it is in any way acceptable to refer to women, to OTHER HUMAN BEINGS, as pleasant, diverting pastimes. No, you simpleton. They are people, with feelings. GOSH I WONDER WHY LEILA WENT CRAZY AND WHY THEY HAVE A FUCKING SUPPORT GROUP TOGETHER.
Look, if there is one thing I’ve learned from romantic comedies, it’s that if your exes need to form a support group because of you, you’re doing something very wrong.
Ana points out that Leila was really, really mentally ill- no one notes that she probably still is, by the way. She’s just cured now. Keeping in mind we’re in, what, August? And she pulled the gun on Ana in June, probably? But I’m sure, I’m absolutely sure, that she’s 100% cured and this meeting with Christian and Ana won’t cause her any kind of setback.
“But you’ve just played right into her hands. She wanted to see you again, and she knew you’d come running if she came to see me.”
So, what you’re saying, Ana, is that Leila is not better at all. Because that was why she was stalking you in the first place, because she wanted to get Christian’s attention.
Christian shrugs as if he doesn’t care. “I don’t want you tainted with my old life.”
A chapter couldn’t go by without discussion of BDSM as a filthy thing only diseased perverts do, right? Ana is too good and pure to be “tainted” by his past lovers, the women who willingly engaged in and enjoyed BDSM.
Ana points out that Leila still cares about him, and his response:
“I don’t give a fuck.”
Again, I can see both sides of this. “I don’t give a fuck,” because you threatened my girlfriend with a gun, but at the same time, “I don’t give a fuck,” about a person you had a relationship with that wasn’t bad until she became mentally ill and dangerous (probably due in part to your abusive actions).
This is the Christian Grey I know. Leila’s words rattle around my head. His reaction to her was so cold, so much at odds with the man I’ve come to know and love.
The man who has a secret list of people who aren’t allowed to get near you, and you had no idea it existed or who is on it? The man who gave you so many hickeys on your honeymoon that you were embarrassed to wear a bathing suit, all because you accidentally sunbathed topless in France? The man who shamed you for your virginity and tried to get you to sign a sex contract so he could beat you in order to take out his anger at his dead mother? YEAH THIS SOUNDS NOTHING LIKE THE MAN YOU’VE COME TO KNOW AND LOVE.
“Look, Christian, I don’t think Leila and I will be swapping recipes and knitting patterns any time soon. But I didn’t think you’d be so heartless to her.”
His eyes frost. “I told you once, I don’t have a heart,” he mutters.
Ana doesn’t laugh directly in his face, which is what I would have done. But at least she sees through his bullshit and thinks that he’s being adolescent.
It’s painstakingly obvious that he cares. Why does he deny it? It’s like his feelings for his birth mother. I like to whip little brown-haired girls like you because you all look like the crack whore. No wonder he’s so mad. I sigh and shake my head. Paging Dr. Flynn, please. How can he not see this?
He has an enormous blindspot, just like you do? Remember that whole, “This is nothing like the man I fell in love with” bullshit you tried to pull just a page ago? Also, it’s “painstakingly obvious that he cares?” As in, “It’s diligent and carefully obvious that he cares?” Yeah, that’s not the right word for that sentence.
Christian tells Ana that the discussion is over, and they’re going home, but it’s too early, Ana still has work.
“Home,” he insists.
“Christian.” My voice is weary. “I’m tired of having the same argument with you.”
He frowns as if he doesn’t understand.
“You know,” I elucidate, “I do something you don’t like, and you think of some way to get back at me. Usually involving some of your kinky fuckery, which is either mind-blowing or cruel.” I shrug, resigned. This is exhausting and confusing.
Christian seizes on “mind-blowing” and runs with it to distract Ana from the very real concern she’s brought up.
Crap! I do not want to discuss this in SIP’s meeting room. My subconscious examines her finely manicured nails with disdain. Shouldn’t have brought the subject up, then.
You’re right, subconscious. She should have just kept her mouth shut and not called Christian out on the fact that he uses sex to punish her. If she just ignored it, it would all go away. Because that’s what’s making her relationship so awesome right now.
So, because it’s worked in the past and will continue to work in the future, Christian decides to seduce Ana, running his finger over her lip and getting real close so he can talk softly in her ear.
Pursing my lips, I strive to appear unaffected by his touch. He is so artful at diverting me from anything painful, or anything he doesn’t want to address. And you let him, my subconscious pipes up unhelpfully, gazing over her copy of Jane Eyre.
I’m torn. On the one hand, her stupid subconscious has a point. Christian is doing this because he’s found this behavior affective in the past. On the other hand, I resent the implication that women should train men like they’re fucking toddlers. It’s a little too close to, “If I love him enough, he’ll change.”
Christian wants Ana to list off all the “mind-blowing” things he’s done to her, because god forbid she cease feeding his ego for even a moment. Then he tries again with the “come home” bullshit:
His lips curl in a slow carnal smile. “Come home.” His tone is seductive.
“I have work to do.”
“Home,” he says, more insistent.
We gaze at each other, molten grey into bewildered blue, testing each other, testing our boundaries and our wills I search his eyes for some understanding, trying to fathom how this man can go from raging control freak to seductive lover in one breath.
He didn’t. He’s still being a control freak, demanding that you come home and fuck him because he wants you to.
“We could stay here.” His voice is low and husky.
Oh no. No. No. No. Not in the office.
Remember in the first book, when they’re in the restaurant and he basically threatens to rape her there? And remember how everyone insisted that he’s suuuuuuch a different person in this book from the first one? He’s done this big emotional journey that turns him into a nice guy? Yeah, so basically if Ana doesn’t go home and fuck him, he’s going to try to seduce her here.
Ana says she doesn’t want to have sex in a room where his mistress has just been.
“Don’t overthink this, Ana. She’s history,” he says dismissively.
I sigh… maybe he’s right. I just want him to admit to himself that he cares for her. A chill grips my heart. Oh no. This is why it’s important to me. Suppose I do something unforgivable. Suppose I don’t conform. Will I be history, too? If he can turn like this, when he was so concerned and upset when Leila was ill… could he turn against me?
Yes. Yes he can.
“Oh, Christian, you scare me sometimes.” I grasp his head in my hands, twist my fingers into his hair, and pull his lips to mine. He stills for a moment as his arms fold around me.
How does he manage that? He’s either moving or not. He can’t do both.
“Why?”
“You could turn away from her so easily…”
He frowns. “And you think I might turn away from you, Ana? Why the hell would you think that? What’s brought this on?”
Then Ana goes, “Uh, just exactly what happened like two seconds ago, right here in this room.” And then Christian goes to the hospital because he has jerknesia.
Not really. What happens is:
“Nothing. Kiss me. Take me home,” I plead. And as his lips touch mine, I am lost.
So basically, his manipulative ploy worked again, and we’re once again being told that this is romantic. That if a woman doesn’t do exactly what a man wants, when he wants it, he can cast her aside like trash and that’s ROMANTIC.
They go home, they have sex, and she gets him to admit that he does care about Leila. Then there’s a section break, some emails that reveal it’s now three days later, and Jose senior calls Ana to tell her that Ray is in the hospital, presumably after an attempt on his own life in a desperate bid to escape this book. Hey. We needed MORE subplots in this mess, right?
Hey there everybody! I’ve got .pdf ARCs of The Boss available for reviewers. To request one, fill out this form.
I’m asking that only people who seriously want to review the book, either on their blog, or another blog they review for, or a GoodReads account, request ARCs. I’m not trying to be elitist or jerky and let some readers have something other readers don’t get, it’s just a signal boost for the book as we near the end and the release of the free ebook and the paperback version.