Meep Meep

I've just realized I never blogged about my student show over the summer, which is incredibly convenient as I had no idea what I was going to write about today (I am at StereoNinja's office right now as both of us needed to get some work done. It is not very exciting, despite there being a flamingo standing in the corner and goofy little puppets everywhere. Though the arm fell off one of them and we did turn it into a penis.)

I ended up going with a temporary stage name that I came up with myself, Phoebe Moon, after Saturn's irregular and probably captured satellite, because I am a massive, massive geek.

Phoebe. Sexy as FUCK

I also got StereoNinja to edit my music and add the Merrie Melodies theme to the beginning and end of my song (Bo Diddley's Roadrunner): at the beginning to compliment the title cards for my number that StereoNinja designed for me, and at the end for maximum ridiculousness whilst twirling the tassels on my pasties (followed immediately by a cartwheel. Seriously.)

Sorry, Warner Brothers.

I'd had a bit of trouble pulling the costume together. The woman I hired on Etsy to make my bustier and frilly panties did a beautiful job, but the fabric wasn't the right color, which is exactly why you don't try to color match things over the internet. I bought another cheap, shitty bustier that the zipper immediately fell off of, and took it to the world's most incredible tailor to cover in appropriately colored fabric and sew a better zipper on, which he accomplished with less than three days turn around (finding a new zipper in the correct color and length was also an adventure and ended with me in the basement of L Z Fabrics poking around in the zipper over stock section, a portion of the store I had no idea was there until that exact moment). My biggest costuming issue was my tail and how to attach it to me. The final solution was to wig tape it to my ass, the process of which is the least attractive thing ever to happen to stripping. I also had to spray paint some heels orange since the first pair I bought was far too high to dance in comfortably, let alone do a cartwheel. Similarly, I ended up dying several pairs of fishnets before I got them to the correct orange for the roadrunner's legs.

My legs are blurry because I am running REALLY FAST. Because, you know, roadrunner.

StereoNinja and the cake master both flew into town for the show, and BrownsFan and her husband, my former boss and his partner, and the CEO all came as well, because the first time you take all your clothes off in public, you should definitely invite all of your former co-workers. I was the last solo act to go on (StereoNinja says it's because I was one of the best acts, but I think it's just because it was the most ridiculous) before the finale group act, which was 10 women dancing to the Scissor Sisters' Filthy Gorgeous doing the choreography from Michael Jackson's beat it video and opening up our legs like Christmas, among other things. I can't show you my number because my normally rule flouting boyfriend was afraid to video it after Michelle said not to (in fairness, she is a bit terrifying), but I do remember everyone laughing in all the right places and audible surprise over the cartwheel (I had decided I was doing a cartwheel long before I decided what my number was going to be).

Wile E. Coyote knew something the kiddies did not, evidently. 

After the show, the bar was having a 90's hip hop party, which some of us stayed for, and during which I recited all the words to The Humpty Dance from memory approximately 10 minutes before they played the song because I once got busy in a Burger King bathroom.

I haven't performed since I moved to the U.K., in part because I'm still waiting for the shipping company to send me my things, one of which is my tail, but allegedly it will be here next week, if anyone knows of a burlesque show they think I should try to get booked for. I've also been working on a BDSM themed number with a flogger because of course I have.

(All show photos by the wonderful Ethan Coal. He recently took some other photos of me, but they are in no way appropriate for a general audience or anyone not into soft core porn. But if I know and trust you, email me and I might give you the password to the online gallery. Maybe.)

I Fucking Told You So

BrownsFan sent me this link today to an article that basically takes everything I said about how horrible Ana and Christian's relationship is in 50 Shades of Grey and backs it up with genuine data.

RESOLVED: Every aspect of this relationship is a textbook case of partner abuse and every behavior Ana responds with is classic behavior for an abuse victim. SCIENCE, MOTHERFUCKERS.

'Fifty Shades of Grey' promotes violence against women, study says

Unintentional Hiatus FAQ

Were you kidnapped and killed at the 50 Shades meet up?

No, no one has been kidnapped and nobody died. Unless you mean OF LAUGHTER. We had an absolutely awesome time, once we completely abandoned the 50 Shades party game, which sucked horse cadaver balls, and switched to Cards Against Humanity (which is also when we found out that we are all terrible people). I am excited about the real post when I will actually tell you about it.

In that case, where the hell have you been?

All over the place, both mentally and figuratively. I was in England and in France for a good while, during which I was somehow remarkably busy, and then I came back to Chicago to an unbelievable amount of crap going on. I have so much to do that sometimes I get overwhelmed and I call up StereoNinja and cry at him. Not to him. AT him.

What kind of crap?

Oh well, let's see...there's the part where I'm losing my job at the end of this month and I'm frantically putting together notes for the handover to the people who are going to start doing my job and also my boss is panicking and making me INSANE and also BrownsFan is already gone and I CANNOT COPE WITHOUT HER. There's also the thing where I spent Sunday to Wednesday of this week systematically calling everyone in my family and telling them that a) I am leaving forever in a few months, and b) I have been hiding information and/or lying to them for MONTHS now, for a very good reason but lying nonetheless, which fortunately they were all really, really, REALLY understanding and very nice about. And let's not forget the part where I'm making up a dance and a costume and a new name so I can get on stage in less than three months and take my clothes of to music, which reminds me...in related news, I seem to have become involved with a group of very nice people who spend their Tuesday nights drawing pictures of a naked person for two hours. (The naked person is me.)

What ever happened to that thing where you claimed you were moving to England?

Well, that's actually the thing that is taking up all of my time and energy and preventing me from blogging. I can tell you now that I have been accepted into my first choice of graduate school, which is in London, and will be starting my program in October. Which means that in between now and then I have to get rid of 95% of my earthly belongings, sort out shipping and/or storage for the other 5%, gather all the cash up front that I will need for both tuition and living expenses and then prove to both the school and the British government that I have it just sitting there in cash and that they won't have to support my freeloading American ass through social services, apply for a visa, go to an interview for said visa, buy a plane ticket, and literally dozens of other tasks both big and small that come with the decision to move to a different country.

Are you ever going to blog again?

YES OH MY GOD YES. I miss it so, so much, I can't even describe it. But seriously, I am completely wiped out right now. I think if you guys can just give me til the end of April, I can get back to more regular posting and shenanigans. I'll still have all this moving and dance stuff to do, but I won't have a job anymore starting May 1, so that should free up some time, stress, and brain space for the shit I actually LIKE doing.
Don't get me wrong - everything is GREAT right now and I am happier than I have ever been in my entire life. It's just that there's TONS of work involved with my life being this great, and a looming deadline to get all of that work done. I'm trying really hard to get back here, I really miss you guys.

50 Sobs of Anguish

I read and review Fifty Shades of Grey so you don't have to.

Sorry for the delay in getting to the next review. I was in danger of walking out in front of a bus over this book, so I did some other things for a few days such as heavy drinking and my job. I thought I was ready and started reading again last night. Wrong. I will never be ready.

Chapter 9 begins with the typical bullshit: Ana wakes up in Christian's bed and describes his resplendent face which is all the more beautiful for him being asleep, then goes looking for the bathroom but wanders into a closet first which she describes in detail, the sole purpose of this being to once again remind us that he is rich. WE KNOW. WE FUCKING KNOW ALREADY. HE HAS MORE MONEY THAN GOD, I THINK WE CAN ASSUME HE HAS A GIANT CLOSET OR FIVE THAT ARE FULL OF EXPENSIVE CLOTHES. MOVE THE FUCK ON. She is also about to ramp up this thing she's been doing throughout the book where she personifies her subconscious and has conversations with it. I have notes about this from earlier in the book, but there are so many other things wrong with it, I've mostly glossed over this. But now I can't anymore because it's in every other sentence. This is exactly how she tries to process the night before while she is making breakfast, to wit:

• "My subconscious has woken. She's staring at me with pursed lips, tapping her foot. So you've just slept with him, given him your virginity, a man who doesn't love you."
• "My subconscious scowls at me...Fucking - not lovemaking, she screams at me like a harpy."

I am not fucking kidding you guys, there is something similar to that on nearly every page I read last night which is THREE. FUCKING. CHAPTERS. Not only is this incredibly irritating, it also makes no sense. You can't have a conversation with your subconscious because you are not aware of it. THAT IS WHAT THE WORD SUBCONSCIOUS MEANS.

In the meantime, she has complained about her hair (she will now begin using the term "just fucked hair" over and over and over and over and I wonder if she misplaced her thesaurus or just shoved it up her ass for the time being) and decides to put it in pigtails thinking maybe Christian will find her less attractive that way, thus proving my theory that she has never seen any porn. Christian shows up during the breakfast making and they have an entire conversation using exceptionally ridiculous innuendos i.e. "How would you like your eggs?" "Thoroughly whisked and beaten." Right. I remember my first "whisking". This is asinine. He asks how sore she is, which she thinks is an extremely personal question for some reason. Later in this same conversation, she will ask him if his family knows about his "predilection" which I found at least equally personal and also stupid because who in the actual fuck tells their family the details of their sex life no matter what kind of sex they are having? There's more foreshadowing about wasted food because every time he's in the room she loses her appetite. I'm pretty sure she hasn't eaten in about three days.

After breakfast Christian decides they should take a bath together. She has several freak outs in her head during this scene over the fact that she is naked, and that he is naked and JESUS YOU JUST FUCKED HIM IT'S A BIT LATE TO BE WORRIED ABOUT WHETHER OR NOT HE CAN SEE YOUR TITS. He washes her and it's idiotic and makes me wonder if she's ever seen a washcloth before. Then he tells her it's her turn to wash him and I don't even want to describe this scene to you guys because it starts out fucking awful and progresses to preposterous. First of all, she turns around to face him and he has his dick in his hand. She gasps and her mouth drops open. That is her actual reaction to that. No idea that penis touching was a thing. None. I was about to roll my eyes until I read the next sentence, spoken by Christian: "I want you to become well acquainted, on first name terms if you will, with my favorite and most cherished part of my body. I'm very attached to this." Now I can't roll my eyes because they have just fallen out of my head onto the fucking floor. NO ONE TALKS LIKE THIS. AND IF THEY DO YOU SHOULD LAUGH AT THEM BECAUSE THAT IS A JACKASS THING TO SAY. He starts showing her how to jerk him off, or trying to, but she's not watching because she can't stop gazing into his eyes (hand jobs: the most romantic of jobs!). She is so amazed by this entire process that "My lips are parted to accommodate my breathing." ACCOMMODATE. YOUR BREATHING. STOP WRITING LIKE THIS, I AM RUNNING OUT OF SWEAR WORDS TO SHOUT AT YOU. That was the awful part. The preposterous part is when she instinctively starts sucking him off, despite twelve seconds ago being completely paralysed by the very sight of a cock, AND guess what? No, seriously, guess what you guys? Just guess.

ANA DOESN'T HAVE A GAG REFLEX.

Yes. Anameoba (I just thought of that right now and I am super proud of myself), of Thefirsttimeieverthoughtaboutsexwasyesterdayland, is multi-orgasmic, has hypersensitive nipples, and NO gag reflex. I WILL CUT A BITCH. According to Wikipedia, about one third of healthy adults have no gag reflex. Ana is one of them because OF COURSE SHE IS, SHE WAS BUILT FOR SEX. The most annoying part of this is that it isn't at all hard to learn to suppress a gag reflex, and having Christian actually teach her that could have potentially been an extremely sexy scene (in the hands of another writer, anyway). But no, James doesn't have any interest in writing characters that are in any way believable, let alone relatable. They all have to be the most extreme example possible of whatever it is she wants them to be and she wants Ana to be a Realdoll with sound effects. The crowning jewel of this scene is this line right here: "He's my very own Christian Grey-flavored popsicle." OH FUCK PLEASE STOP THINKING THINGS BEFORE I LOSE THE WILL TO LIVE.

Afterwards, he takes her back in his room, and we get the first bit of bondage in the book. He has her put her hands together and then ties them WITH A NECKTIE FROM HIS CLOSET. EVERYBODY GET INSIDE QUICK BEFORE YOU GET HIT WITH THE CLICHES THAT ARE RAINING DOWN FROM THE SKY. So he ties her hands together and tells her to leave them over her head, which she sucks at, and he tells her to hold still, which she sucks at, and right before he goes down on her she says "My heated blood pools low in my belly, between my legs, right down there." I don't even know where to start. 1. Your blood is the same temperature it's always been. 2. If blood is pooling in your belly, then you are hemorrhaging internally and you require medical attention. 3. STOP SAYING THERE. IT'S A VAGINA. IF YOU CAN'T SAY THE WORDS THEN YOU ARE NOT READY TO DO THIS. VAGINA. She comes from the oral and she comes again approximately 30 seconds later from the sex.

As they are laying there recovering, they hear voices in the hallway. It's Christian's assistant telling his mother she can't go in his room because he's with someone. For some reason, Christian is super excited to introduce Ana to his mother. He gets dressed in a hurry, much to Ana's shock: "...pulls on his jeans - no underwear!" OH MY GOD I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW YOU COULD DO THAT. Ana has a self obsessive freak out because she has no clean clothes and her hair is a mess and her subconscious has just called her a ho (seriously). She finally gets her shit together and goes out to meet the mother.

Christian's mother is Dr. Grace Travelyan-Grey. Ana's first thought at this introduction is that Christian's middle initial is T, which must be for Travelyan because what else could T possibly stand for? Not an assessment of this woman's demeanor, not more than a perfunctory description of what she looks like - just "I bet his middle name is Travelyan! Wow!" AS IF IT THAT'S WHAT WOULD FUCKING MATTER TO YOU WHEN BEING INTRODUCED TO YOUR BRAND NEW LOVER'S MOTHER. While they are chatting, Ana's phone rings. She excuses herself and answers it without bothering to look at the phone, which absolutely no one ever does in this day and age, but it has to be that way because if she'd SEEN it was Jose calling and not Kate she wouldn't have answered it and that doesn't fit the story E. L. James is trying to kill me with. She quickly ends the call, but not fast enough. Dr. Travelyan goes to leave (how long has she been there, five minutes? Who does that?), offering her cheek for Christian to kiss, but not touching him (so I guess we'll be finding out at some point that part of why he's "fucked up" is that his mother is not affectionate). As soon as she's gone, Christian's whole demeanor changes. It is glaringly obvious that this is due to Jose's phone call to Ana, which lasted less than one minute and during which she was very short with him and eventually hangs up on him, but it is still all her fault that he called somehow, and Christian is INFURIATED. Ana, clueless as usual, can't put her finger on why he's being such a dick all of a sudden. HEY FUCKWAD, YOUR NEW NOT BOYFRIEND IS A VIOLENTLY JEALOUS AND POSSESSIVE STALKER WHO WILL SOON START INSISTING THAT YOU HAVE NO MALE FRIENDS BECAUSE IF YOU DO HE WILL KILL YOU. THIS IS EXTREMELY CONTROLLING BEHAVIOR, NOT IN A BDSM WAY, BUT IN AN UNHEALTHY ABUSIVE WAY. IT IS FUCKING INSANE THAT YOU DON'T SEE THIS COMING. WHERE THE FUCK IS YOUR PERSONIFIED SUBCONSCIOUS NOW? I cannot, CANNOT believe at this point that there are thousands of women out there reading this book and thinking this is somehow romantic. This is making me hate my entire gender.

As they get ready for him to take her back home, he hands her an envelope with the contract in it and tells her to read it and to do some research. And then has to specify "on the internet" because she is confused, after four years of college, about what research means. Even armed with this instruction she's stymied - she doesn't have access to a computer. Apparently on the WHOLE CAMPUS, there is not ONE public computer. Not in the library, not in the student center...no computers available for students who don't have or can't afford one of their own to use. Or, in fact, at any off campus location in the entire city of Portland. No public libraries. No internet cafes. Nothing. This book is set in 2011 in a city. I started college in 1996 in a very small, very rural town in southeast Ohio and let me tell you something: there were computers everywhere. There is zero chance that this girl went through four years of college without access to any computers. This plot point is entirely contrived so that Christian Grey can buy her an awesome new computer. I can never go to West London again, because if I accidentally run into this author on the street I am going to lose my shit and it's going to start an international incident that could lead to a third world war.

They begin heading back to Portland in one of his cars, I can't be arsed to go back and look up exactly which one. On the way they stop at a restaurant, for three reasons. The first is so she can foreshadow more crap about Christian's issues with eating everything on one's plate for about the sixth time. The second is to give her a chance to reminisce about the way his pants hang from his hips (5). The third is to give them a chance to have another ridiculous conversation touching on the following points:

• Ana is the first girl he has ever introduced to his mother.
• It is the first time EVER IN HIS LIFE he has had vanilla sex.
• An explanation of the term vanilla sex, leading Ana to think to herself "I thought it was chocolate fudge brownie sex that we had, with a cherry on top." You guys have no idea how much I wish I was making that sentence up just to amuse you.

And also the following MAJOR PLOT POINTS:

• Christian was seduced by a friend of his mother when he was 15 years old.
• He went on to be her submissive for SIX YEARS.

I'm trying to withhold judgement on this until I know more, but I'm having trouble wrapping my head around this. While there are certainly people in the community who enjoy taking both Dominant and submissive roles (lesson of the day, vanillas: these people are called switches), I believe it is pretty rare to have been very rigidly one of those things for years, and then suddenly give that up entirely and only be interested in the opposite. Maybe that's not what's happening here, but so far it looks that way - Christian spent six years being a woman's full time submissive and when that ended, he decided he was a Dominant and appears to have never looked back. I also dislike Ana's thought about this, "he knows what it's like", due to the implication that because he knows what it's like, he's can't be capable of going too far as a Dom. I feel like she's preemptively excusing behavior from Christian for which there is actually no excuse. We'll see, but I don't like where this is going.

When Ana gets home, she does her best to tell Kate about her night with Christian without really telling her much of anything, still under the impression that the NDA she signed is somehow legally enforceable. Kate has spent that whole time boning Elliot. From the conversation, she is clearly in love with him despite having known him for two days. Then Jose calls again. Ana immediately forgives him for being a piece of shit the other night because she doesn't have a lot of respect for herself and so James can set up a situation that will be a source of continued conflict between Ana and Christian for the entire rest the book. HE IS JEALOUS, THIS IS HOW YOU KNOW BOTH THAT HE IS A DOM AND THAT HE IS IN LOVE WITH HER.

Both girls are exhausted from their "carnal exertions". I am exhausted from dry heaving. Kate goes off to bed, and Ana goes to her room but stays up to read through the contract Christian gave her to look at.

The beginning of Chapter 11 is the contract. The first several pages of it, I have only written one note: "I AM BORED". It is written very much like a legal contract, despite the fact that it is in no way legally enforceable (BrownsFan says that this explains the language in the contract capitalizing submissive - Submissive referring specifically to Ana to differentiate her from other unnamed submissives that might be mentioned in part of the contract. Since it's not an actual legal document though, I still think this is pretty much bullshit). It's all pretty boiler plate stuff that I don't really feel like going over, so feel free to google it if you're interested in how a D/s contract is worded. I do want to point out one thing, however: a clause on page 169 that reads "The Dominant shall maintain his own good health and seek medical attention when necessary to maintain a risk-free environment." There is absolutely no such thing as a risk-free environment. I don't even know what this is supposed to mean. The appendix with the hard limits is repeated, followed by an appendix with a list of soft limits. There's a lot of them, but the one I make note of is anal fisting, because I can't imagine a person like Ana calmly reading something like that on the same day that she nearly passed out because Christian lightly touched his own penis in front of her. You'd think I'd be used to her reacting in ways that no reasonable person with her level of experience would react, but I'm not. No, she can handle reading about anal fisting - it's the food list she can't bring herself to consider.

She reads all this and she is outraged. This is the first thing she has done in this book that has made any sense. Anyone with no natural submissive tendencies and virtually no knowledge of sex of any kind ought to react that way. Her personified subconscious is now arguing with her "inner goddess" while I try to dig a hole through my leg with a letter opener. Subconscious says this entire idea is ludicrous. Inner goddess says "Please let's do this...otherwise we'll end up alone with lots of cats and your classic novels to keep you company." YES BECAUSE IF YOU DON'T BECOME A SUB ON YOUR FIRST TRY AT ANY KIND OF RELATIONSHIP, YOU WILL NEVER GET ANOTHER CHANCE AND YOU ARE DOOMED TO THE LIFE OF A SPINSTER. I hope inner goddess drowns in the fucking bathtub.

The next day, Kate wakes up Ana because there is someone at the door with a large package for her - Christian has bought her the "latest" MacBook Pro. The guy tells her these MacBooks aren't available in stores yet. He isn't kidding. Allegedly, Ana's new MacBook Pro has 32 gigs of RAM and a 1.5 terabyte hard drive. Aware of the author's tendency to exaggerate things in order to prove Christian's extraordinary wealth, I get on apple.com to check the specs of the current MacBook Pro and as I expected there is no such MacBook. CHRISTIAN GREY IS SO RICH HE JUST BOUGHT HER A MACBOOK PRO FROM THE FUTURE. Not only that, but all she's planning to do with this incredibly fast machine with practically limitless storage is google shit and check her e-mail. I'm no tech geek, but I do believe that's overkill. SPEAKING OF E-MAIL, as her door to door Apple Genius is setting up her Me account, he explains that it's her new e-mail address and she is totes startled because oh em gee, she has an e-mail address. Ana, we've been over this: It is 2011 and you are a college student. You HAVE an e-mail address, IT COMES AS A FREE GIFT WITH YOUR EDUCATION. It has been that way for AT LEAST 15 YEARS. Stop acting like it's still the late 80's, YOU WEREN'T EVEN FUCKING BORN THEN. The author of this book has never met anyone born in 1990. There is NO WAY this girl never had an e-mail address before.

What follows is a series of idiotic one line e-mails between Ana and Christian where they are replying to each other so quickly I write in my notes "WHY DON'T YOU KNOW WHAT INSTANT MESSENGER IS?" She gets some direction from him on what specifically she should google, but she phrases it as "What would you suggest I put into a search engine?" instead of "What should I google?" because E.L. James is worse at writing dialogue than George Lucas. And when she's done, she sighs happily because Christian Grey e-mailed her. HE IS SO FUCKING DREAMY, YOU GUYS. HOLY SHIT, WAIT UNTIL YOU SEE HOW AWESOME HE IS AT WEARING PANTS.

I need a handle of tequila. And an ice pick.

50 Stabs of Disgust

I read and review Fifty Shades of Grey so you don't have to.

There are two things that are getting me through reading this book: the amazing and wonderful comments from everyone encouraging me to go on (THANK YOU SO MUCH) and this mantra I keep repeating in my head: "Publishers don't pick things that are good, they pick things they know they can sell. Publishers don't pick things that are good, they pick things they know they can sell."

Chapter 6 begins with Christian driving Ana home from kidnapping her the night before. In case we weren't sure that he is the most perfect and sophisticated man alive, he has been listening to opera in the car. But he's not stuffy you guys! He also listens to Kings of Leon! Sophistication AND coolness? MOTHERFUCK THIS GUY IS THE WHOLE PACKAGE. The entire ride to her place his phone keeps ringing. He is curt and rude to every single employee that calls. She makes a point of explaining that he never says please or thank you, he just issues commands and hangs up. Ana is SUPER IMPRESSED by this because he is SO IMPORTANT. I have a different reaction: Christian is a complete and utter dick, and STOP FORESHADOWING FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. He knows where she lives without being told because he is a stalker. In the meantime she can't stop thinking about that kiss. She is OVERWHELMED. She's not even sure it happened except that her lips are swollen from it. He'd held both of her hands up over her head and she wanted to touch his hair "but I'd been unable to move my hands. I am retrospectively frustrated." I don't know why you guys are making me read the rest of this book WE ALREADY KNOW WHAT HAPPENS.

At home, Kate is sitting with Elliot. Elliot is Christian's brother who had come with him for the kidnapping but decided to stay and bone Kate instead. Elliot is regoddamndiculous. He and Christian are about to leave when he turns to Kate for a kiss, dramatically DIPS HER so far her hair is on the floor and then says "Laters, baby." Thankfully I was reading this alone, otherwise I would have crotch punched anyone within range.

Kate and Ana discuss their evenings in no detail whatsoever and Ana informs Kate that Christian is picking her up after work and flying her to Seattle to talk about what he meant by "get written consent". IN HIS HELICOPTER. They make a joke about it being all about the money. We are meant to understand that it isn't, even though we already know Paul at the hardware store isn't good enough for her because he's not a literary hero and that to be as dramatic as a literary hero you have to be rich enough to afford fucking helicopters and shit, so really it's fucking ENTIRELY about the money. Kate decides that Ana has to be totes perfect for this meeting and sets about fixing her up to be presentable. This apparently means teaching her how to shave her legs and underarms, which presumably she's never done before. I write down "Again, 21 YEARS OLD".

She works all day and does her normal foreshadowing/self deprecating that I can't even bring myself to make fun of anymore because it is so fucking tedious. Christian shows up and drives her to the helipad, which is in the middle of the city, which confuses her because she doesn't know shit about anything, ever. "...and even I know helicopters need space to take off and land." NO THEY GODDAMN DON'T THEY ARE SPECIFICALLY FUCKING DESIGNED TO TAKE OFF AND LAND VERTICALLY HOW THE FUCK ARE YOU SO FUCKING STUPID AND SUPPOSEDLY A COLLEGE GRADUATE AND HAVE NEVER SEEN A RERUN OF M*A*S*H OR FOREST GUMP OR BLACKHAWK DOWN OR SAVING PRIVATE RYAN OR LITERALLY THOUSANDS OF OTHER MOVIES OR TV SHOWS THAT HAVE A HELICOPTER AND JESUS FUCK YOU ARE THINKING OF AIRPLANES, ANA. AIRPLANES. SHIT.

Sorry about that, where was I? Oh yeah. They get in the helicopter and Christian straps her in with a dirty look on his face because I WONDER IF HE'S THINKING ABOUT TYING HER UP. Christian will obviously be piloting the helicopter himself because no man since the dawn of time has been his equal. Speaking of which, not to get off topic, but I was thinking about how they are obviously going to make a terrible movie out of this, but I am wondering how they plan to do that since there is not a man alive today or ever that can possibly be as beautiful as Christian Grey. I think he's going to have to be CGI, there is no human male that is up to the task. Anyway, not the point. The point is, she continues to be breathtakingly stupid during the flight because HOLY SHIT HOW IS HE FLYING AT NIGHT IN THE DARK? HE MUST BE MADE OUT OF MAGIC. He ACTUALLY EXPLAINS to her about these super neat thingys called instruments that allow you to see where you're going in the dark. She asks him how many women have been in his helicopter and of course he says she's the only one. This follows on him having told her earlier that he never sleeps in the same bed with anyone except that time he brought her home drunk and didn't rape her.  I wonder if he's going to fall in love with her you guys. My note reads: "oh em gee SHE IS THE MOSTEST SPECIAL." Blah blah blah, beautiful profile, blah blah blah square jaw...oh through the whole book she keeps saying she peeks at him through her eyelashes. She either has eyelashes like the Snuffleupagus or she is constantly stoned. Either way it's fucking annoying.

Christian's place is ginormous and everything is state of the art and shiny and new and I'm not even going to describe it because by now you know what to expect. She does say about the room she's in, "It's not a room - it's a mission statement." I write, "No, it's a room." They have a whole conversation about Tess of the d'Urbervilles and I think to myself this is futile since the audience for that book and the audience for this one are two completely different sets of people and no one actually enjoying this book has the faintest clue what she's talking about.

Before he can tell her what he flew her all the way to Seattle to tell her, he insists that she sign a nondisclosure agreement. "It means you cannot disclose anything about us. Anything, to anyone." I have legal questions about this and I need to speak to BrownsFan because unlike E. L. James, I like to know what the shit I'm talking about before I say stupid things that can be debunked in the time it takes to type them into Google. But I'm questioning how enforcible this actually is. What if he rapes her? What if she gets some kind of crotch rash and needs to tell her gynocologist what she's been up to? I feel like this only works in business situations, not in interpersonal communications. But again, I need to check because that's what you do when you write shit. Research.

Anyway, he asks her to sign this thing and she's like "Whatevs" and he's like "No, read it first" and she's like "No I'll do anything swoon swoon" and I'm like "SHUT UP you idiot read things you are going to sign" but she doesn't hear that because I'm not in the book so she just signs it without reading it because it's more romantic that way and I hate this so hard you guys. Once she's signed it, IT IS TIME. Time for her to find out Christian Grey's Big Secret that is in no way whatsoever a secret to anyone reading this book. He takes her down a hall, opens a door and she thinks "holy fuck".

And then it's Chapter 7. SURPRISE HE HAS A SEX DUNGEON. Christian's sex dungeon is equipped with everything you would expect to find in a sex dungeon: rope, chains, shackles, whips, and yes, YES! Riding crops! It says riding crops right here! I am so excited because I did actually write the review where I predicted this before I read this part so I wrote in my notes: "Riding crops! HA! I WIN AT LIFE!" There's a big giant bed covered in leather and a couch facing it. Ana No Sex and her wide eyed innocence take all this in and she runs screaming from the room.

Oh wait, no. No, she DOESN'T run screaming from the room. I'm sorry about that, I made the mistake of thinking there would be some sort of continuity in the personality of the main character, since anyone else with zero sexual experience and the emotional maturity of an 8 year old would, in fact, have run screaming from the room. MY BAD. Ana STAYS in the room looking at the impressive assortment of torture instruments and her reaction is to....(spins wheel)...fixate on the fact the the couch is facing the bed because THAT'S the part that's weird, and...(spins wheel again)...describes the room as, I am not fucking kidding you guys, "kind of soft and romantic." Fuck. You.

She asks a series of actual legitimate questions and I'm mildly relieved because at this point I was terrified she was going to be all "Wheeeeeee! Let's go play!" and I really, REALLY don't want to go to prison for murder. So he tells her basically this is what I'm like and this is what I do and if you're interested I'd really like to hit you with sticks (et cetera). As she's taking this in, this happens: "Kate has said he was dangerous; she was so right. How did she know?" She probably just read the first chapter of the book, it's spelled out as clearly as if he'd said "Hi, I'm Christian. Would you like to visit my sex dungeon for some romantic bondage and torture?" at the interview.

They go back downstairs because he thinks it's a good idea to have this conversation over food. She asks about the other paperwork he mentioned and he explains the concept of a contract to her. "I need to know your limits, and you need to know mine." Yeah, well, here's the problem with that: she has no goddamn idea what her limits are. I try to restrain my rage because it's clear he doesn't actually know this yet, despite the fact that a normal person would determine some sort of common sexual interests with a person before showing off their sex dungeon. But it's not his fault she apparently grew up in a convent. There's a really annoying conversation, half of which is him telling her to eat and her telling him no. She asks for his number, which is 15, and this disappoints me because I really wanted him to have banged hundreds of broads before he falls in love with this completely worthless one as it would suit the totally implausible story. There are more questions about has he hurt anyone, will he hurt her, all completely reasonable, and then she asks "Have you ever been beaten?" and he says "Yes" at which point I lose my fucking mind. I know she's going to make this a central plot piece to how he got this way and I am dreading it because it's going to legitimize the idea that people are interested in this kind of sex because there is something wrong with them and it is NOT TRUE. It is so completely and entirely off base and there are not enough words for me to convey to you what a steaming pile of horseshit this is. And I know it's going to lead to writing a lecture instead of a review, and I don't want to lecture people, I just want to rescue as many people as possible from reading this book.

Moving on, he takes her to his study so she can have a look at this contract. The very first sentence in this contract starts with "The Submissive will obey..." and I sigh because the lecture is starting right now and because I have to ask my family members reading this to please leave. Family members: for everyone's sake, please go back to what you were doing before I drop some knowledge you don't want about me on all your asses. Ok, good. So here's what's wrong with that: in circles where these terms are freely bandied about, "Dom" or "Dominant" are capitalized. The words "sub" or "submissive" are all lower case. Now, some people give a shit about this and some people don't, but for the most part, everybody uses these conventions out of respect for the people who are serious about it. There is no way, none, on the earth, that a fellow like Christian Grey wouldn't know that. She can't have run this text past ANYONE in the BDSM community without this being pointed out to her. I hate this book. I hate this author. I hate, period. And just when I thought I couldn't hate this thing any more than I already do, she gets to the part in the contract about hard limits (well first they have a debate about how many times a week she'd have to work out with a trainer, which is fucking stupid as shit, but right after that). Hard limits are things that are absolutely off limits, no exceptions, which you probably could figure out on your own since you're not retarded. Christian has eight of them. Five of them would also be on my list (one of those is illegal). Two are things I haven't tried, but might under the right circumstances with the right people. And one is something that I fucking LOVE. (And no, I'm not going to list them here, that would be stupid. If you want to know that badly, google it exactly the same way E. L. James didn't.) And here is Ana's reaction to this list: "Any sane person wouldn't want to be involved in this sort of thing, surely."

OH FUCK YOU, YOU JUDGMENTAL BITCH. NOW IT'S PERSONAL.

You guys, if you think I was mean about this book before, you have no idea what is about to happen because Ana Steele is a fucking cunt and EVERYONE NEEDS TO KNOW ABOUT IT. I WILL CRUSH HER SO HARD THAT SEX DUNGEON WILL LOOK LIKE A PILE OF PUPPIES AND MILKSHAKES. I AM COMING FOR YOU, ANA STEELE.

But before that, she's supposed to be adding anything to this list she feels strongly about. And she can't think of anything because she has NO IDEA WHAT SHE'S GETTING INTO. And after a very uncomfortable exchange between them, she finally admits to him that she is a virgin.

And that's it, right? That should be the end of the book. Because any responsible Dom, on hearing how breathtakingly unprepared she is to try out this sort of lifestyle, would have walked away right at this moment. So I'm done then, I don't have to read any more of this crap. Why are there still so many pages? Why does the page right after this one say "Chapter Eight" at the top? WHY THE FUCK IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME?

I suspect I will be isolating the next chapter as a single chapter review. Because my sources tell me this is where the first sex scene happens, despite the fact that in no way should there be any sex scenes in this book unless Ana gets hit by a bus and the rest of the book follows Christian's story line and he starts making better decisions about who he ties up and fucks.

Jesus crap, this book. Please oh please let me off the hook and don't make me keep reading this. I don't want to die like this.

There's Not Enough Nerds At Work To Fill A Space Cruiser

By tomorrow afternoon I will have been home from my latest trip to England for an entire week. I haven't posted about it yet, and it's not because I'm lazy (though I am), nor is it because I didn't do anything worth writing about (because I did). It's mostly because I'm struggling with the format for writing it. Normally I would write it up chronologically, you see, but in this case, my activities for all of both Mondays, Tuesday afternoon, most of Wednesday, the second half of Friday, a good portion of Saturday and the following Wednesday morning are the kinds of things better covered on an entirely different sort of blog (and they will be as soon as I remember to do some blogging at a time that I'm not at work). Anyway, recaps of the best trip anyone has ever taken to England ever will be along shortly.

In the meantime, this just happened:

BrownsFan (to the new guy): You're not into Star Wars at all, are you?

New guy: I wouldn't say not at all, but no, not really. (pause) This has something to do with Amber, doesn't it?

As he said this, I was standing in the hallway of my office holding up a massive sleeping bag shaped like a tauntaun that I bought from Thinkgeek late last week and had shipped to the office because it's where I tell people to ship things. It is the single greatest stupid-ass thing I have ever bought in my life and I was determined to force everyone to observe my joy, so I dragged the entire box into BrownsFan's office where she was suitably impressed because she is fucking awesome. New guy, on the other hand, was spectacularly disappointing. He only had a vague idea what the hell we were talking about, but not only that, he has no recollection AT ALL of Princess Leia's metal bikini (which was brought up by BrownsFan who wanted to know why, if I was such a big Star Wars fan (I had just announced that no one is a bigger Star Wars fan than me which is probably bullshit but whatever) I had done a photo shoot in a Star TREK costume instead of a Star WARS costume, an argument I totally won by pointing out that the only reason I didn't have a Star Wars costume for that shoot is that the metal bikini I am having custom made for me at a cost of literally hundreds of real American dollars wasn't ready at the time of that particular shoot. OBVIOUSLY.). And then I described it to him, and the fact that she clearly had no underwear on, and then openly speculated about how they kept her cooch from popping out when she went flying through the air hanging onto Luke. And then I sat down to write this and re-read that last sentence and was as surprised as ever that I remain both gainfully employed and free of sexual harassment charges.

An Idea Worthy Of Einstein's Birthday

BrownsFan: And can I just say, marshmallow vodka....?

Me: I know. It's like, if you want your booze to taste like candy, then you probably don't really want booze.

BrownsFan: Says the woman who orders wine based on what tastes the most like candy.

Me: RIGHT. You know why? Because I don't REALLY want wine. Marshmallow vodka, no. Just make yourself some Kool-Aid, pour some vodka in there and be done with it.

BrownsFan: Or, couldn't you just pour the Kool-Aid packet directly into the vodka?

Me: .......I have to go email someone.

And Yet I Continue To Have A Job

BrownsFan: So where are you off to?

Me: Oh, I thought I'd head over to Charlotte Russe and see if they had any cheap underwear people can rip.

BrownsFan: You realize you're at work, right?

Me: Well, but...I mean, it's not like it's a real company.

Less than one minute later...

PCA: Have you ever been to see Buckingham Palace?

Me: Yeah, lots of times.

PCA: Do those guys really not move?

Me: They just stand there.

PCA: Could I dare you to show them something?

Me: You mean *show them something*?

PCA: Yes.

Me: .....You realize I'm a stripper for a hobby, right? Just saying, that's not much of a dare.

Note: Technically this is a real company, I just have a hard time believing that anyone willing to employ me could possibly be running a serious enterprise.

Amberance: Camera Whore

So waaaaay back in August I did a calendar shoot at VaVoom Pinups. I had originally scheduled it for a project that had to be cancelled (email!), but I decided to keep the appointment anyway, mainly because I am a massive narcissist of long standing. I sincerely mean that. Where almost every other woman on the planet is ducking out of candid photographs telling you how hideous she is, I have never met a camera in my entire life that I didn't immediately jump in front of. I have loved having my photo taken from birth, which is obvious to anyone who has seen any childhood photos of me as I am standing in some sort of ridiculous pose in Every. Single. One. I have never outgrown this habit.

Me at age 7 posing in lingerie and a stupid hat.

Me at age 33 posing in lingerie and a stupid hat.

I obviously enjoy being looked at. In related news, I am now immortal: my amazing friend Charlie so loved the photos from the shoot I did prior to this one, he went and had one of them tattooed on his arm two weeks ago:

IMMORTALITY. Unless Charlie dies, that is.

That's beside the point really, I just felt like mentioning that I AM A TATTOO YOU GUYS.

But back to the story: for the more recent shoot I'd done 14 outfit changes, mostly based on suggestions from those of my friends who are known to be perverts. This made for photos that were a little more risque than the results of the the first photo shoot I did. When I got the proofs I sent them out to a handful of trusted advisers, among them MrTrivia. When I saw him the next day, I asked him what he thought of the photos. He looked uncomfortable. "Ummm...you know there's, like, full frontal in some of those photos, right?"

"Yes. I was there."

"Ok. I just, you know, wanted to make sure you meant to send me that."

I pointed out that my current aspiration was to take all my clothes off on stage in front of strangers and he conceded that I had a point.

I had the whole finished package shipped to me at work because I am ridiculous and because it's now almost a game to see how much I can get away with before they fire me (a couple months ago the CEO mentioned he was tired and I offered him the pillow from under my desk so he could take a nap. I still work here). BrownsFan suggested I put Post-it notes over the bad parts before she looked at it, by which she meant specifically my belly button because she thinks they're gross. Tits and ass, no problem. Navel, GTFO. She's awesome.

This is not the going to be the end of the "take awesome shiny photos of me" thing and here's why: one of the outfits I'd planned to wear for this shoot was Leia's metal bikini from Jabba's palace. There's a guy on the internet that custom makes them for way more money than any sane person would spend on a costume, but they are excellent and so I am getting one, but I didn't have time to get the order in before the shoot so OH WELL I GUESS I WILL JUST HAVE TO GO BACK AND DO IT AGAIN. I really, really, REALLY like having my picture taken you guys.

You'd Think They'd Have Learned To Stop Asking Me Questions By Now

The day before this conversation I had been accused of walking around the office with a shit eating grin on my face after I'd had a very nice chat with a boy.

The CEO: Are we still giddy today?

Me (giggling like a complete jackass): Yes.

The CEO (to BrownsFan): I hate it when she gets new ones.

Day 30 And We Made It, Dammit, We Made It

I would like to have written something brilliantly profound or hilarious for the last day of NaBloPoMo, but unfortunately I went to Victoria's Secret at lunch because I needed a nice nightie and robe for my show.

I don't know if it's like this at every Victoria's Secret, but the one on Michigan Avenue has some crazy-attentive sales associates. Five, count them, FIVE different people came up to me inside the first five minutes I was there. It was an insane parade of helpfulness that was not helpful at all. "Zomigod, hi! Welcome to Victoria's Secret! Can I help you find something? Did you know this whole thing right here is on sale? Do you know what size you are? I can totally measure your boobs right now in the middle of the store! We have a new perfume! All of our whatever-the-shit collection is buy two get one free! Do you want to get discounts in your e-mail because we will totally send you coupons! How about a new bra? Do you need a new bra? Because we TOTALLY sell bras here!" The thing they all seemed the most excited about was this t-shirt* they were "giving" away: "If you spend $75 in the store today you get this free t-shirt THAT PREMIERED AT OUR FASHION SHOW!" Four out of five helpful associates pointed this out. I ended up getting one because let's face it, you buy a lipstick in there it's going to cost you $75. It is awful. It is some kind of slate color and has metallic/sparkly writing on it that says something like "HOLY FUCK WE HAD A FASHION SHOW AGAIN". It's as thin as a piece of paper, has a seam up the middle of the back (ok I don't know a lot about clothes, but I do know that is not how you sew a t-shirt) and they only had mediums left, which is interesting because the medium could fit on an elephant.

I came back to the office and rushed into BrownsFan's office to show her my new underpants (as I'm sure you do with coworkers at your job, right?) and also try to pawn off the train wreck of a shirt on her. She didn't bite, though she did sit there helping me make fun of it and pointing out other problems with it I hadn't even noticed, like how the neck is all stretched out weird and it has some sort of bizarre flap hanging down in the back. And that is when she showed me the link to the fine gentlemen over at Project Rungay who have kindly reviewed the Victoria's Secret Fashion show, starting with the brilliant line "Your heterosexual mating rituals are just so darn hilarious and confusing to us." This entire blog post is really just a set up to the link for their two part review, which you can find here and here. Enjoy.

Thus ends NaBloPoMo 2011.

Fin.
*I wanted to put a link here to this absolute piece of shit of a shirt, but I can't find it on the VS website anywhere, not even under "Supermodel Essentials", a heading that pissed me off in a major way, in large part because it's a bunch of fucking sweatpants. In fact, the whole website seems like it's designed to make me angry. There's a section called "Very Sexy Seduction" which I guess is as opposed to the other kind of seduction that isn't sexy at all. Also, underneath a giant banner ad for free slippers is a note that reads "Watch the supermodel slipper video, then meet the matching pajamas" (emphasis mine). Meet them? MEET the pajamas? Oh my god, go fuck yourself, I am not watching a video of goddamn slippers and I certainly don't want to have a fucking conversation with any pajamas. What is wrong with you, seriously?

UPDATE: BrownsFan read that I couldn't find the shirt on the website and thought to herself "CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!" It's this one, except mine is grey rather than black. This piece of crap apparently retails for 45 real fucking American dollars. They have got to be kidding.

Day 28 And It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like They Shouldn't Have Given Me An Office

The CEO came in my office last week asking where all the Christmas decorations were. I told him it would be a motherfucking Christmas wonderland in here if it were up to me, but that if I started decorating the office before Thanksgiving there is a good chance that someone might stab me. He agreed that this was a legitimate concern.

Today, though, it is officially the first office day after Thanksgiving, so my first order of business was to start setting up the few things I already had left over from my Cave of Wonders days (this is what I called my cubicle at the old office space, but only in my head - they know I am crazy but it's fun to keep them guessing just how much): little felt stockings were tacked to the wall, my somewhat sparse Christmas village was arranged on top of my overhead cabinets and three wire trees covered in glitter were placed on a shelf (and now everything in my office is covered in glitter because glitter is the herpes of craft supplies). It wasn't nearly enough crap. Emergency decoration shopping was in order.

The nearest place where I knew there to be Christmas swag was downstairs at the CVS, so I headed down and grabbed the first few random things I saw, bagged them up and came back upstairs. COO and BrownsFan were sitting in the conference room when I came in, so I stopped to show BrownsFan what I'd gotten - a nutcracker, an old style German Santa, and a mealy little two foot "lighted" (in quotes, because lighted usually means the lights are already on the tree when you buy it. Not this time, they were just shoved in the box with the tree and a bunch of shitty plastic ornaments, but what do you want for $9?) tree. BrownsFan and I then briefly discussed potential wiring configurations for the various things I was planning to set up that would require a flow of electricity. This was the point at which COO finally realized what was actually happening. "Wait, so some of those things are going in your office?" he asked me, gesturing to the two GIANT bags I was struggling not to drop.

"What do you mean 'some'? ALL OF THESE THINGS are going in my office. Plus more things. I'm going to turn the air vent into a giant candy cane, and an office that size needs at least two trees. This is just what I managed to find at CVS."

BrownsFan turned to the now gaping at me in shock COO and told him what she'd known in her heart all along: "We never should have given her so much space."

Day 22 And Irresponsible Spending Month Has Started A Bit Early

I poked my head in at Claire's this morning to see what they had because I'm a girl now and I'm told that one of the things girls do is accessorize. And wouldn't you know it? The place is filled with Christmas trinkets AS THOUGH THEY WERE EXPECTING ME. So I went in and pretended to mull over the things I wanted to purchase, even though I pretty much knew that in the end I was going to be like "One of each, please". When I went to the counter with all 7,000 or so small shiny objects, the salesgirl made what for anyone else would have been a pretty sound assumption. "Oh! Are you having a Christmas party?" she asked me.

"Nope, I'm just crazy," I replied with absolute honesty.

Anyway, long story even longer, I'm now sat at my desk in my office dressed in completely normal office attire* with the exception of a tiny black sequin fascinator top hat with glitter covered holly on it. This is significant, because as BrownsFan can attest, I think fascinators are the stupidest fashion trend pretty much ever. Oh, hey ladies! Hows about we all start wearing hats that are nowhere near big enough to fit on our heads? Because that's what hats are for, not making sure your head is covered! WHAT A GREAT FUCKING IDEA! It isn't. At all. But if you stick a piece of holly on it and add some glitter, well then I am ALL IN, MOFOS.

Then there's the rest of this stuff that is still in the bag next to me, such as ornament shaped earrings (earrings? When have you ever seen me voluntarily wear earrings?), a hair clip with a mini santa hat on it (santa hat fascinator? Whatever, I don't care),  candy cane striped braces (suspenders, ya tools) and the crowning jewel: false eyelashes WITH TINY CHRISTMAS BOWS ATTACHED TO THEM. I don't even know who thought of this. I've never woken up in the morning thinking "You know what I need? Bows for my eyelashes." But as soon as I saw them I knew I'd needed them all along. And I've just recently learned how to apply false eyelashes! It's like a sign! Seriously, how could I NOT buy them?

Anywhore, I will now be accessorized like a proper girl for a while. A proper girl who is CHRISTMAS AS FUCK.

*Normal for me. There's not actually anyone else walking around in here wearing Chuck Taylors and a hoodie from a band called Dead To Me.

Day 20 And I Illustrate A Few Commercials That Don't Suck

"Are there any commercials that you actually like?" asked BrownsFan the other day when I was complaining about the one where the guy gets a good deal on a messaging plan and new phones and his cuntrag of a wife responds by tell him she should have married someone else because apparently advertisers think that we think it's fucking hilarious when a perfectly nice guy is married to a verbally abusive cuntrag (it isn't. Stop doing this).

As a matter of fact, there are several, particularly the overwhelming majority of promos for anything on ESPN. The one I'm liking right now is the College Game Day Man Satchel promo, but honestly, except for the ones where they desperately try to convince me that NASCAR is interesting, they rarely mess things up (speaking of screw ups, did anyone else see Lee Corson say "Aw, fuck it" on live television yesterday? Because it. Was. Awesome.).

I also love, and have always loved, The Most Interesting Man in the World. There's not a bad one in the bunch. In fact, even when he says nothing at all, it is still some of the best advertising on television.

See? It can be done!

Day 18 And I'm Still Cramming Christmas Down Your Throat

I was casting about today for something to write about because NaBloPoMo is seriously hard, especially when your life consists mainly of things you can't or don't want to talk about anyway (though there are hints about it on my twitter feed sometimes). BrownsFan suggested that since I posted something on the internets someplace else that should count for NaBloPoMo, but that actually happened yesterday and anyway, most of you aren't even supposed to know about that.

Instead, I remembered that I'd said in an earlier post I would profile a Christmas song every day for the whole 40 Days of Christmas. It occurred to me shortly afterwards that such a series might get really boring for everyone but me really fast, so in lieu of that, I'm instead going to do one every Friday. This would be that post.

Eric Idle - "Fuck Christmas": Let's face it, I'm going to buy anything with Eric Idle and Christmas in the same sentence, but it's wholly worth it even if you're not obsessed with Monty Python (though if that's true, you probably have no soul). You could also make an excellent drinking game out of it - if you drink every time he says "fuck" you'll be wasted in under two minutes.

Straight No Chaser - "12 Days": Ok, number one, SHUT UP - the rules of what music it is or isn't ok to own DO NOT apply to Christmas music, ever, with the possible exception of Justin Bieber because I simply have no tolerance for that kid for some reason. As long as I don't have any non-Christmas music by these people then I have not committed any errors by owning things like Barenaked Ladies or Dan Hicks (or Chris Isaac. Kiss my ass, Simon). Number two, yes, I KNOW this is the single most irritating Christmas song ever penned, but that's what makes it so great: they skip verses, incorporate other songs (including the "Boar's Head Carol" which I've never heard anywhere else other than the Madrigal Dinner at church growing up) and other funny things that I don't want to say because it would ruin the surprise.

The Pogues - "Fairytale of New York" - You are honestly an idiot if you don't own this song. I shouldn't even need to talk it up - it's a classic, often cited as the best Christmas song of all time, and it's the fucking Pogues for Pete's sake.

Day Four And I'm Talking About Christmas Already, Natch

"Did you see the window at Bath & Body Works downstairs?" asked BrownsFan in an incredulous tone earlier this week.

This is one of my favorite times of year - when I am completely ready for Christmas, right on schedule with retail, and everyone else is appalled. H-town was complaining the other day about Sears being the first retailer to air a Christmas commercial on television. This was fully a week after I had been to Sears and purchased several new pairs of Christmas socks (I almost bought a "sexy Santa" apron too, until I remembered I already have, like, five of those).

Truth be told, I've been slowly adding Christmas music to the playlist on my iPod since August. For some reason I had pointed this out to the stranger when I met him in September (I'm not sure what possessed me, especially given that I hadn't told him about this blog until after we'd met in an attempt to keep him from finding out that I'm crazy). Apparently it made an impression, because a week ago he e-mailed me asking for a list of non-traditional, non-cheesy Christmas songs that rock for purposes that were not specified. I was happy to oblige - "Hey, can you help me with some Christmas music?" being up near "Would you like some chocolate?" and "Hey, wanna fuck?" at the top of the list of questions I like to be asked. I'm not sure he was expecting The Vandals to have a Christmas song, let alone a full length album.

The 40 Days of Christmas is less than two weeks away, FYI.

Learning Curve

My company moved our offices last week, which has been quite educational as far as getting to know my co-workers and finding out which of them are crazy and which are not, something I will not go into here, less out of privacy issues than out of my not wanting to relive the experience because, seriously, oh my god.

On the whole this has been good. I now have an office of my very own with an actual door and a window and a desk made out of wood. Also I have a weird diagonal beam in the back of my office that half covers the windows and truncates the usable space. Obviously I requested this particular office because I thought it was awesome, not to mention the fact that it is also the last one on the far end of the space, meaning that anyone coming this way is doing so on purpose to see me rather than walking by on their way to somewhere else, thus retaining my status of having the most private space of anyone here, which is good because I take naps under my desk Costanza style on a semi-regular basis (I have a pillow and everything). It is also gloriously RIGHT NEXT TO BROWNSFAN'S OFFICE. On moving in, I promptly tacked up a paper ceiling cat to watch me calculate because the CEO thinks it's really stupid. On the other side of BrownsFan is the CEO's office, in which he has laid out his furniture in a way that causes there to be a long alleyway of empty space to one side of his desk that everyone has had a suggestion as far as how to fill. Bowling alley was an idea. I went pinball machine after learning that he has a Star Trek one IN HIS HOME which he should obviously bring here so that I can play it. He has boringly gone with his own idea: tree. I was disappointed until he told me I could decorate it for Christmas at which point I started jumping up and down and squealing. I WILL DECORATE THE CRAP OUT OF THAT TREE FOR CHRISTMAS. WATCH ME.

Our new offices are located in the office tower portion of a train station, which I explored last week in an attempt to educate myself about my new surroundings. Here's what I've learned:

• There are no less than three Hudson News stores in this one train station (that I've found so far), two of which are directly across from one another. I bought a 20 oz. Coke Zero and a small bag of Chex Mix in there for over $7. It would have cost me less than $3 if I'd walked a few more feet to the CVS. I learned not to shop at Hudson News.
• There is also an Auntie Anne's Pretzels in here. Dangerous this may become. I am trying to forget that I know that.
• The trek to and from the office level floors involves a ride on the escalator. It is a huge pet peeve of mine when people get on an escalator and then just stand there, particularly when it's going down. People: The escalator is NOT A RIDE. Please either walk your lazy ass down the magical moving staircase or move the fuck over so I don't have to kill you.
• There is one major drawback to working in a commuter train station, which I discovered almost immediately: at quittin' time, absolutely everyone in the world is trying to get into the place you are trying to leave. And since it's the end of the day and everybody just wants to go home, they will mow you the hell down if you get in their way. Since I am leaving the train station I am, by definition, in their way, and getting home for me is now similar to a very frustrated salmon getting pelted with massive rocks on its way to spawn, except at the end I don't get to spawn. This strikes me as a very cruel joke. 

Remember when I said I wasn't going to talk about my co-workers at the beginning? I lied. Back in our old space, all of the offices had glass walls and the rest of the space was a sort of open architecture dealy-o, meaning everyone was pretty much all up in each other's business because you could hear and see everything that was happening. If you wanted to have a private conversation or scratch your ass this was not a good thing, but if you wanted to get someone's attention three desks away you could just call to them whatever it is you wanted. Apparently after 20 some odd years, this practice is a hard one for a few people to break. Despite the fact that we have these amazing walls now and that the layout is not at all designed for line of site to anyone else in the place, there are a few people who continue to yell into the hallway when they want to talk to someone. This is usually met with a yelled back "What?" which in turn leads to louder hallway screaming. BrownsFan and I have been supporting one another in our attempts not to strangle the others, who have not yet noticed, despite our reminders, that we have these amazing inventions called "telephones" and that proper usage of said "phones" would allow one to speak in a regular tone of voice whilst still being heard by the person five rooms away one would like to speak to without disrupting everyone else by screaming at the top of one's lungs. The technology is amazing, it's way beyond our time.

More on this later, and photos when I remember to take some. Currently it is time for my desk nap.

The Highest Level Of Laziness

BrownsFan: Did you like that link I sent you?

Me: Yes. So I tweeted it and said "That's my dinner sorted." At least it would be, if I ever left the house.

BrownsFan: You want to be slutty but you're too lazy?

Me: Exactly. Why can't I just be slutty from the couch?

PROOF!

I was talking to BrownsFan last week, because I would spontaneously combust if I didn't talk to her every day, and she showed me an article she found on the interwebs she thought I'd be interested in. This one. She also kindly covered up the photograph so I could read the article without having a nervous breakdown.

That's right people: 52,000 cars are being recalled on account of an obviously coordinated attack by the spider nation's Arachni-terrorist division, and I have one thing to say about it.

I FUCKING TOLD  YOU SO.

One type of car? Just the one? And I'm supposed to believe that this is some sort of accident of fate? This is no accident, this is the work of a CREATURE WHO SCHEMES. And these creatures are scheming to GET ME.

"But amberance," I hear you asking, "if the spiders were out to get YOU specifically, wouldn't they be building webs in the exhaust systems of MINI Coopers, such as the one you yourself drive?"

Oh you poor, naive little things. Of course not. That would be too obvious. Don't you see how a direct attack would create too much risk of me just going out and buying a different kind of car? No, no, children, they are way to cunning for that. No, they are building them in Mazdas for a reason. You know who drives a Mazda? MrSteve. A Mazda I've been in a number of times, such as when we used to go for long drives on gorgeous summer afternoons, enjoying the weather, relaxing, my guard completely down...yeah. Do you see it now? The creepy bastards are trying to get to me through my friends, and their efforts have escalated now to a pinpointed attack on Mazdas because I hang around with one. What will these foul creatures think of next? Hiding in the rims of beer kegs so they can get to me through the bartender? Gathering their forces inside bags of cat food so as to ambush me when I go to feed my kitty (she's evil too. I need to be on guard for this plan, she may cut a deal with them.)? Massing inside the floatation devices of planes used for international flights so they can jump out and devour me on my way to England (it worked for the snakes)?

One thing is for sure: they are coming for me. The proof is in the Mazdas.

The Post That Is More Of The "Holy Fuck It's Finally My Birthday" Variety

The holidays are officially over and that can only mean one thing: it's about to be my muthafuckin' birthday, y'all. In fact, it's Wednesday, but feel free to start getting your drink on RIGHT NOW. As Supreme Ruler of the month of January (because that's when my birthday is) I officially give you permission and encourage you to start celebrating my birthday right this minute, as well as retroactively back to the beginning of this year, and for the duration of this entire month.

As crazy as I normally am about my birthday, and as many of you know about my birthday celebrating, you can't stop me, you can only hope to contain me, this year I have been particularly looking forward to it ever since June. Why June? Because that's when my beloved Chicago Blackhawks won their first Stanley Cup title in 50 years, and almost immediately after that I made the decision to build my own confectionery Stanley Cup out of cake for my birthday (really it was almost immediately. Toews hoisted the cup, and passed it to Hossa, who shares my birthday like the fucking rockstar he is, and I looked at my birthday twin holding the cup over his head and thought, "I'm fucking eating that on my birthday." I don't know how my brain works, I only know that it does.)

Since then I've been doing a lot of research. The actual Stanley Cup is approximately a foot and a half wide at its base and about 3 feet tall. Duff made a full size replica Stanley Cup cake for a wedding on whatever the fuck cake making show he's on (I don't watch it, I just found a clip of it when I googled "how to make a Stanley Cup cake". They had the actual Stanley Cup brought into the bakery to use as a reference which is flat out fucking unfair, in my opinion) and was expecting it to serve 300 people. I don't actually know 300 people, nor do I have the kind of resources to make that huge of a cake (I had to buy a tiara and a princess wand so everyone would know it was my birthday, after all - I'm not fucking made of money people) so I had to scale it down. My cake will be 9 inches wide and about a foot and a half tall and I expect it to take 5-7 boxes of cake to complete. By the way, don't even think about getting up my ass about using boxed cake for this. I'm making the frosting from scratch because I make the best fucking frosting in the world and also, I'M BUILDING THE STANLEY CUP OUT OF CAKE which is a lot of work as it is, and I am not going to also make cake batter from scratch because believe it or not I have other shit to do, such as my job. Besides, boxed cake is moist and delicious and spongy and I have absolutely no reason to be ashamed.

Even scaled down that much, there's no way I can transport that tall of a cake from my third floor dwelling to Tai's and have it stay in one piece, so I'll have the additional challenge of having to assemble, ice and decorate most of it sitting at the bar. I've also had to work out a great deal of structural engineering for support, because anyone who bakes tiered cakes knows, if you don't secure them with cardboard and sticks on the inside, it will either start to resemble the leaning tower of Pisa or collapse in on itself like so many legendary Vegas casinos torn down in the interest of newer, shinier Vegas casinos. Keep it tuned here for photos, kids - this cake is going to be legendary, regardless of whether it turns out to be my greatest triumph or most soul crushing failure (it won't be - it's my birthday, and on my birthday there is no failure, only magic and rainbows and kittens).

But enough about cake - let's talk about the other things that make my birthday the most awesome day on the calendar. Such as the tea party I'm having at work on my birthday. BrownsFan suggested it jokingly when I mentioned I didn't want to make a cake for work because I am making such an enormous one for the bar. "You know, with scones. And cucumber sandwiches," she teased. She really ought to know better, because instead of being all "haha motherfucker", I gasped with joy and immediately began making plans to subject my co-workers to tiny cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off. I will also be eating crab legs for dinner on Wednesday because that's what the bartender and I have for dinner any time it's one of our birthdays (or half birthdays. Or if we just found some money lying around. Or if one of us goes to Costco on a Saturday. We like crab legs, ok?).

And then there's the presents. The comic has had some sort of stroke or something and decided a birthday gift was in order, which I am suspicious of, because he rarely buys people things that aren't booze and it is obvious he's up to something. Also, the bartender keeps hinting at a gift that is going to trump my Christmas gifts (many of which actually were booze because my roommate totally gets me). As for myself, I've bought an ensemble of frilly red things, the aforementioned tiara and princess wand so everyone will know it's my birthday (the bartender: "Right. Because there's any possibility that people aren't going to know whose birthday it is.") and I am going to the toy store on my way home tomorrow for a new toy (or seven, you can never have enough toys). I will NOT be buying myself another 3000 piece puzzle, possibly ever again, because I can't build them anymore - the cat steals pieces out of the box and hides them and also she likes to knock the parts I've completed onto the floor as if to say "That's what you get. Now get your shit off my table." Even the TV executives wanted to get me something nice: tomorrow, on my birthday eve, Comedy Central starts airing new episodes of the brilliant Tosh.0 and it is totally because they KNEW it was my birthday and they wanted me to be happy (that is also why the new Social Distortion album comes out next week. For real). Fuckin' A.

I'll keep you guys updated on the progress of the greatest birthday cake of all time and about how awesome the next few days are going to be as time allows. I don't know if you heard, but it's my birthday and there will be too much awesome happening to really be online much. But don't worry, you'll be too busy celebrating my birthday to really notice.