Fifty Shades of Shut My Mouth

So.....have you heard about the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy?  Better yet, have you read any of the books?

Confession #1.  I downloaded the books on Saturday and had book #1 read by Monday afternoon.  And I am the person who NEVER has time to read.....I mean, never.  I have books on the shelf dog-eared on page 12 collecting dust.  I have downloads on my Nook collecting dust.  I never have time to read, but oh did I find time to read Fifty Shades of Grey.  And am finding time to now read Fifty Shades Darker.

I heard plenty of scuttle around the mommy blogs over the books, but it took a few friends mentioning them to really raise my eyebrow.  I didn't want to miss out on anything, especially if it really was as good as I was hearing! 

Ummmm, and yeah, it was that good!  At least the erotic scenes were that good.  I was impressed. 

Confession #2.  This is not my first run-in with erotic literature.  I am no stranger to Penthouse Stories, Erotic Journals and other short, sexy stories.  You see, reading has always been an indulgence for me.  A way to escape and relax.  So why shouldn't it have found a way under my covers as well!  I will say I have never actually bought a 'sexy' book at a 'real' book store, so maybe that was a first with Fifty Shades. 

BUT, and if you blindly love EL James and Fifty Shades, you may want to turn away now.

I do struggle with the actual content and writing in the series.  (SPOILER ALERT)

I mean, who would ever really say, "I am going to take you now in the shower."  Really?  Seriously?  Just when I am getting into a scene, she has to throw up this grandiose remark from the 1800's!?!?  Ahhh, it just killed the mood for me. 

Confession #3.  Only relevant to Christian Gray fans, but Mr. Grey is not my hero.  At least not by the end of book #1 anyhow.  While I may be willing to sign his contract with a few edits, I just find him to be an arrogant asshole.  I mean really, don't touch me.  Keep your eyes looking down.  Wear what I buy you.  Because I am a control freak and I know it.  GAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.  I want to punch him between his beautiful grey eyes!

As the ladies and I in my 'Fifty Shades of F'ked Up' book club discuss, it is enlightening that a book has caused so many candid, open discussions on erotic reading.  There are oodles of books with graphic scenes in them that we all have been sneaking off of library shelves for years, but this book has jumped up, front and center, and stolen the stage when it comes to a little freaky love.  Not sure what the catalyst was/is, but I am amused to see the conversations, and the fifty shades of blushing many women have from it all.

I'm off to tackle Mr. Grey....ahem, I mean a few more chapters in my book. 

laters, baby.

Squash and body parts: It's whats for dinner.

I love fresh veggies straight from the garden.  We try to shop every Sunday at the local flea market from a guy who brings in his produce daily from local farms. Nothing beats the taste of home-grown and fresh from the dirt.  Last Sunday we stocked up on two of our favorites - yellow 'crook neck' squash and zucchini.  We like to slice them thin and pan saute them with EVOO and a bit of salt and pepper. 

Monday night, my husband was making roasted chicken and our squash veggies.  He works from home so often does most of the weekday cooking.  I try to head home from the office to be home for dinner by 7pm.  Around 5:45pm, he calls me....which is rare as he almost always just texts me. 

"Don't be mad, but I have to go to the emergency room," he says.  In an instant, I am mad, upset and worried all at once.  'What the heck did you do??', I offer - knowing immediately from the apology that it clearly was a self-inflicted issue.  He had sliced the tip of his finger off slicing the squash on the mandoline.....without using the guard. 

Now, as I have had to explain to at least a half-dozen people this week, no, he doesn't play a mini guitar and no we don't use musical instruments to slice our vegetables.  He was using a mandoline of the vegetable slicing variety.  The one with the 'e' on the end. 

I rush to the ER where I find my Mom waiting among the 25+ other people in the waiting room.  He was back for an e-ray and she was feebly attempting to reassure me that it was ok.  When Shane came from the back, he was white as a sheet and had his hand wrapped in a now-stained bathroom hand towel.  Seriously, he had to grab one of our only 'good' hand towels was my immediate reaction.  Bad wife moment #1.

I let my Mom go home and settled in for what would be our 5-hour ER visit.  It was an especially busy night we would later be told....perhaps a full moon (??)....but all I saw were people that should have seen their regular doctor earlier that day.  None had a bloody towel on their arm like Shane did.

Busy night in the ER meant I had to literally scrub-in and assist the doctor with containing the bleeding and cleaning his hand.  I wasn't sure if I was good with blood and such, but apparently I am, or at least I am when I have to be.  Despite only cutting off the side portion of his finger, the amount of blood that came out looked as though a shark had mangled his whole arm.  Really un-necessary. 

With sterile hands and arms and purple doctor gloves on, it was my turn to now feebly assure Shane it was fine, and not that much was gone, and I would make it stop bleeding.....with all the medical prowess I could muster based on my years of webmd.com training.  After about 10 shots, one of the tetanus variety, pain pills, antibiotics that could cure death and a to-go medical kit in case of new bleeding, we were sent on our way. 

Arriving home, our son was in bed, having left the kitchen exactly the way he found it....and the way Shane left it.  Including the sliced up squash in the pain with an extra piece of fingertip on top.  Shane promptly threw away the sliced squash, his fingertip and the over-priced mandoline with the guard....that was on the counter NOT being used. 

The next night, I proceeded to slice the remainder of the squash and served it up sauteed without any body parts or emergencies.    And also took the liberty of grossing out the kids offering a prize to whomever found the missing fingertip.  Hey, what's parenting about if not to torture the kids on occasion?  It's not like they eat squash anyhow. 

Gimme my space.

Wouldn't this look great on your chest?

After years of piddling around with different blogs, different feels, different themes, different platforms; here I am.  My new space.  I feel like I just closed on a cute little bungalow in small antiquing town with 1800's hardwood floors and a cast iron tub.  Ohh, that tub - with the painted cast iron, the claw feet and the elongated shape.  Ahhhhhh, bliss.

I suppose you can consider this my Open House!  Welcome! 

I think I may have finally grown into my blogs; or maybe grown out of all the others.  I have found a place of my own - I don't have to Wouldn't this look great on your chest?choose between 'parenting' or 'Southern style' or 'DIY'.  My hashtags can be whatever I want, whatever I feel like talking about today.  Boo-ya.  Take that my blogger past. 

I am Southern, and proud.  I have a bad attachment to the f-word and all of his friends.  I am crafty, like Martha Stewart in hot pink pants and knee-high boots.  I am addicted to Pinterest, I mean, seriously, I have an entire imaginary world on there that I kinda think is real sometimes.  I play the part of wicked step-mother every two weeks.  I love being a wife, maybe its because the new-ness hasn't worn off yet.  I am a creative genius, if I do say so myself.  I design jewelry and tee shirts.  I drink sweet tea and eat fried pickles.  I write so I can breathe.  Seriously, writing is my release, so pardon me if I make you blush.  Oh, and I use the word 'seriously' way too much.  Seriously. 

Welcome to Southern Fried Sweet Tea.   Where the sweet tea flows as much as the sarcastic dialogue.