Tag Archives: 50 Shades of Grey

Royal Rumpus, Day Five: Selling crazy somewhere else and what, exactly, I’ll do for pageviews. No, not that. Ew.

Well, we made it to the weekend. We ALSO made it to the LAST THREE DAYS OF BLOGGIVERSARY WEEK! Whew, home stretch now, kiddos. Deep breaths. Deeeeep breaths.

I am very pleased with the weekend ahead of me. No part-time job; wedding shower for friend K. tomorrow; shopping and writing and reading and staying up late and sleeping in and television-watching and all good things. It’s my last full weekend off until the end of July so I’m living it up, baby. Also, I’m totally going to buy some cute shoes. LIKE A GIRL. But they will have no heel and be practical. LIKE A GROWN-ASS WOMAN. I’m an enigma. Don’t try to pin me down!

This is the type of shoe I favor from April to October every year, pretty much. Practical yet cute. Yep. That's me.

This is the type of shoe I favor from April to October every year, pretty much. Practical yet cute. Yep. That’s me.

(Side note: when I told Dad I was going shoe-shopping, he said, in a horrified tone, “You’ll be sure they’re not SLIPPERY shoes, right?” “What are you implying, beloved father?” I asked him. “Um. Just that…well, you in shoes that are slippery…could be catastrophic…because of falling…” “I’m a walking disaster zone. Just say it,” I said. “Well. Maybe a little,” Dad conceded. I assured him that every pair of shoes I’d ever purchased in the past ten years, no matter how cute and girly on top, had very practical rubbery/sneakery soles. “That’s smart,” Dad said. “Yes. I know my limitations,” I replied.)

So, what shall we talk about today? What sarcastic wisdom shall I pass down to you, oh readers of the Football?

Today, gleaned from two years of blogging goodness, let’s talk about…

Here Be Crazies

And also dragons. Also maybe dragons. One can never tell, on the interwebs.

And also dragons. Also maybe dragons. One can never tell, on the interwebs.

OK, you know how old people are all, “You’d never catch me on the intertubes. Because of the crazymurderers. That’s where the crazymurderers hang out. They would stab you in the eyeball if you talked to them.” (It doesn’t have to be crazymurderers. It could also be sexmurderers or pornomurders or stabmurderers. It’s usually something velcroed to “murderers,” though.)

Well, I’m happy to report I have not yet met a stab/crazy/sex/pornomurderer yet on the interweb. I think that might be a little old-person overkill. Just a little. Plus it doesn’t help that there are all those Dateline and 20/20 episodes about people being sex-trolled or killed by internet denizens. Old people get scared by such things. (Hell, *I* get scared by such things, if I watch them right before bed. I always imagine there’s a stabmurderer in my closet. *shudder* It’s mostly the announcer’s voices that get to me. They’re all rumbly bass and creepy as shit like a horror movie.)

However, there are a lot of people on the internet. And, just like in real life, some of those people you’re going to connect with, some of those people you’re not going to connect with, and some of those people are…um. Well, some of those people have…what I would nicely describe as a tenuous grip on reality.


But here’s the thing. THEY don’t think they’re holding onto reality by finger- and toenails. They think they’re FINE. And when you don’t engage with their particular brand of…whatever it is they’re doing…they don’t take the rejection well. No, not well at all.

I’m not going to go into personal detail, because a., that’s tacky, and b., I know for a fact that some of these people still read my blog and make passive-aggressive comments about me elsewhere. And you know what? Cool. That’s cool. If that helps you sleep at night, go to. I know I sleep better at night knowing I no longer engage with your particular brand of lunacy all up in my face on a regular basis; so if for whatever reason you feel the need to blast about me on the internet, have at it. Once and a while I see these things and I have a momentary flash of “I SHOULD DEFEND MYSELF!” but it passes. Because hanging onto that for this long…well, it’s not healthy. But you know what? It’s cool. I can’t say I wish you well, but I can say I wish you to get well.

As a blogger, you put yourself out there. You make friends. That’s the good part. You make honest, true friends. Real friends. People who would, at a moment’s notice, go to the mat for you. Without a second thought. I’ve been humbled time and again by the selfless actions of some of my friends I’ve met through blogging. You also build a community – maybe not close friends, but allies. Like-minded individuals. The crazy people are few and far between. And you meet them in real life, too. It’s just on the internet, they’re a little more concentrated. And they don’t seem to know when to stop.

They seem to have a little Bachmann-crazy going on. Very avid. Worrisome.

They seem to have a little Bachmann-crazy going on. Very avid. Worrisome.

Andreas and I talked about this when we met in New York in March. Up until that point, we had both been just internet people, you know? Albeit very close internet people. We discussed the craziness on the interwebs, as we know some of the same people. “People are very lonely,” Andreas said, very wisely. “And they don’t know how to relate to people. And they don’t realize how they’re coming across. I mean, we’re all a little weird. But some people are a little…well, MORE weird.”

(Andreas has the best advice and/or observations, seriously. He’s my go-to when I need someone to set me straight on something. Well, let’s be honest, he’s my go-to for just about everything, because he’s one of my dearest friends in all the world. But when it comes to advice, he’s pretty unparalleled.)

It all boils down to this. You’ll relate to some people you meet online; you won’t relate to others. You cannot take this shit personally. Unless they start making it personal, of course – trolling you, threatening you, being way too personal and/or creepy with you – anything that makes you feel uncomfortable – none of that is ok, and of course that’s personal. If it’s a low-grade annoyance, just cut it off and let it go. If it’s a bigger scale thing – well, still cut it off. Still let it go. Do it as well as you can. The other person is not likely to take it well; that’s a risk you run. However, it’s either that, or that person is in your life, well, forever, and maybe you can be BFFs for LIFE with this person, which I think you can agree is not the best option? So it’s best to end it, whatever way you need to do that. Just try to be classy, if you can? Classiness is best. Always. Except for when you’re eating ribs. Then it’s every woman for herself.

Om nom nom.

Om nom nom.

(Also, and this might be just me, but if you hurt one of my friends, you’re pretty much dead to me. I just want to put that out there. My friends are very important to me, and I’m very loyal to them. If you aren’t careful with their heart? I no longer want to know you. Sorry. There are, of course, exceptions to that rule; if I’m friends with members of a couple separately before they get together, and they break up, I could potentially stay friends with them both after the breakup. But those exceptions are few and far between. So be as careful with my friends’ hearts as you are with mine, current and potential friends. Warning delivered.)

And of course watch out for the stabmurderers in your closet, because what a way to go that’d be, right?

OK, let’s see. THIRD-most popular post on the Football, here, over the past two years. This one was where I did something PERSONALLY PAINFUL for HUMOROUS RESULTS. No, not the time I blogged about going to see the gynecologist. Although that was not funtimes, either, for me OR my ladybits.


…over the past two years…

…with 884 hits in the past little-less-than-a-year…

Yep, you got it. It is “Truly, I am a marionette, and he is a master puppeteer.”



I totally suffered through the first book in the 50 Shades trilogy for you guys. And look, apparently it was ALL WORTH IT! It’s ALL FOR THE INTERNETTY LOVE, BABY!

(Yet, not enough to read the other two books. Sorry, guys, apparently I’m slightly masochistic, but not masochistic enough to force myself through two more books of that garbage.)

Apparently, this post made you guys laugh. A lot. And I do so like to make you laugh. So, thanks for that. It made suffering through “arghs” and inner goddess monologues and “laters, baby” totally worth it.

Well, mostly.

Back tomorrow. What WILL our top two posts be? Are you totally on pins and needles here? If so, get off those, you’ll get tetanus. Happy Saturday, my little cheese doodles.

Many and many a year ago, in a kingdom by the sea: Adventures in Baltimore, Part Three Point Five

This isn’t a REAL “adventures in Baltimore” post. It’s more of a continuation of yesterday’s post, which just got too crazy long. Plus I got really tired. I have to get normal amounts of sleep one of these days, yo. I’m in a weird walking-through-mud not-enough-sleep-space lately. That does not make for a cheery Amy.

OK! So if you’ll remember back to yesterday, we went to the zoo, then came home to see how A. did in his race. How did he do? JUST AS WELL AS HE WANTED TO, YAY! Also, he got a crazy sunburn. The best part of his sunburn was that he was wearing a biking outfit? They probably have a name, I don’t know what it is. You know, the spandex one-piece biking suit, like they wear in the Tour de France? And so where the suit was and his arms and legs came out was a VERY CRISP LINE where the sunburn started because those suits are tight. I fretted at him that he needed to wear sunscreen from now on. I think he ignored me. WEAR SUNSCREEN FROM NOW ON, A.!!! Look, I found this for you. It’s a spray, it dries DRY, not STICKY, so all the road-dirt will not get all over you, and please use it from now on because I like you very much and sunburns are scary.

See? Neutrogena is the good stuff! GET SOME OF THIS PLEASE!

See? Neutrogena is the good stuff! GET SOME OF THIS PLEASE!

So when we got home, A. was there, and A. was on Baby CeeVee duty for the evening, and R. and I got all ready for our NEXT adventure, which was…


R.’s friend S. met us at the house for our adventure. I did not change my clothes. R. and S. looked ADORABLE so probably I should have but I didn’t bring anything stylish so I told them I could be their country cousin who’d never been to the big city before. Also, S. had the cat-eye glasses that I covet, and also the most adorable stylish shoes and tights. I was kind of impressed with S.’s sense of style, yo. Want to know the secret of my sense of style? It is A., what is clean? and B., will these shoes be comfortable if I’m walking long distances? That’s it. That’s the entirety of it. Oh, also I like necklaces. That’s all. Fin.

So first, we went to a teeny-tiny tavern for dinner. What was it called? Well, it was Baltimore…and who do they love in Baltimore? Edgar Allen Poe…and so it was called…

The Annabel Lee Tavern!

I didn’t take photos at ALL that night. I’m totally ganking all of these from the internet. Sorry, world.

It was so perfect, this place. I was crazy in love.

Look how pretty! The walls were all this mauvey color, and it was all mismatched furniture and Poe quotes and candles and Poe-paintings and it was totally moody and amazing. Seriously, THIS is how you do a themed restaurant. I hope it makes all the money and stays open for years to come.

R. knew I am attempting to have The Year of Trying New Foods so with that in mind, we decided to have three appetizers and share them, rather than three meals, so we had:

  • Baked Brie en Cruet! This was brie in pastry with what seemed to be jam on it but the menu says it’s brown sugar and pecans. This was ok, but you’d think with all of these things, it would be AMAZING, right? I wasn’t sold on this. But I’m not a huge Brie fan (is Brie a capitalized thing? It looks weird if I don’t capitalize it) so that might be why I didn’t love it. It wasn’t BAD, it just wasn’t AMAZING.
  • Crab Dip Flatbread Pizza! R. said I couldn’t leave Baltimore without having SOMETHING with crab it in. This was good, but again, not amazing. I think it needed more crab. I’m very crab-oriented. I could eat crab, with crab topping, on a bed of crab, garnished with a little crab, and be happy, you see. But, again, I liked it.
  • Duck Fat Fries with Herbs de Provence! O.M.G., you guys. OH. EMM. GEE. WHY DIDN’T YOU PEOPLE TELL ME ABOUT SUCH A THING BEFORE NOW? OK, here’s the thing. I don’t like fries much. I could live the rest of my life without eating fries again and I wouldn’t miss them much. I know, a lot of you are gasping right now; fries are a thing that some people crave. Like pasta. I could live forever without pasta and would be a little sad, but ok. (Now, take away chocolate, or bread, and we’d have a fight, yo.) But THESE fries? They were perfectly crispy. The seasoning was salty and herby and just right. And I don’t know if the magic was in the duck fat, or what was going on there, but seriously, I wanted to put my face in the dish and just start chomping. I don’t know that I’ve had an appetizer EVER that has been this good. So, yes. Instead of crab, the thing I discovered that I am in love with while in Baltimore (other than, well, Baltimore, and Baby CeeVee) is DUCK FAT FRIES WITH HERBS DE PROVENCE FROM THE ANNABEL LEE TAVERN.
This is not them, but close. If you are not a vegetarian-type, get yourself some of these, yo.

This is not them, but close. If you are not a vegetarian-type, get yourself some of these, yo.

Next, it was off to the theater!

The theater area was GORGEOUS. It was totally a mini-Broadway. I was muy impressed. Our theater was called The Hippodrome.



It’s an old-timey theater. It looks a little like our Proctors here, maybe a little smaller. I am a sucker for a pretty theater.

Pretty inside, right? S. said it was like being on the Titanic. I liked that.

Pretty inside, right? S. said it was like being on the Titanic. I liked that.

Now, what do you think we saw at this theater? (Mom? Dad? If you are reading this, because I know you’ve been following adventures in Baltimore, you should stop now. Well, Dad, you can stay. Mom, please read something else. Maybe a nice book about kittens. Or the Bible. Dad, you know I’m vulgar. And it alternately makes you laugh and/or shake your head. So you can stick around, I suppose.)

Well, I don’t know if you remember, but last year around this time, I posted a review of what is possibly one of the worst books I’ve ever read. It remains one of my most-read posts. People apparently love reading about terrible books and me ripping them to pieces in a snarky way. Also, do you know what else people love? Bad porn.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen; we went to see…


Listen, this was a big theater. I should have been more worried when I realized it was completely full. Mostly of giggling women. Wearing inappropriate clothing like hooker-shoes and very low-cut tops. Here or there was a man, but the men did NOT look excited to be there. No they did not.

So we got to our seats, but not without trials and tribulations. Apparently the ushers were not sure where the seats were. Even when we showed them our tickets. (Well, I should say “ticket”. Or even “piece of paper,” because when R. went to the will-call window, apparently they were out of tickets so they gave her a piece of paper with our seats written on it.) One man told us to go to one door and another man sent us further on and a woman told us we were in the wrong place and SIGHINGLY led us over to OTHER seats. Sorry we’re bothering you, ushers! Whose job is to ush!

So. The show.

Well, in good news, it was a parody, which I didn’t know going into it. I was picturing that it was going to be actually a serious theatrical version of the worst book EVERRRR.

Here’s the plot in a nutshell: three book-club ladies, two married, one sad-sack whose husband just left her (everyone keeps saying “Oh, CAROL”) read 50 Shades of Grey as their monthly pick. They then daydream about certain scenes, and actors playing the characters come out. Oh, also they talk about sex and masturbation a lot. And fisting. There’s a lot of talk of fisting.

The actor playing Christian Grey was a short, overweight Asian man, which was supposed to be super-funny, especially when he came out and the actress playing Ana was all “HE WAS SO TALL AND HOT AND DREAMY!” There were songs like “I Don’t Make Love” (with lines like, “I don’t make love, I fuck”) and “There’s a Hole Inside of Me” (this song was FILLED with euphemism) and “Red Room of Pain” (this one had lots of props, like whips and dildos.)

The audience LOVED this show. I don’t know that I’ve heard laughter like that in ever. There was one guy who may or may not have been drunk who was loudly heckling. The actors had nice voices. And they were acting, and not badly. There were some dancers. Who danced well. No one got naked, and the dreaded tampon scene wasn’t represented (whoo) but there was some down-center doggy-style action, and some disturbingly animalistic cunnilingus which made me feel terrible for both of the actors involved.

I’m a terrible theater snob, you guys. I think it’s gotten to the point I can’t enjoy something like this. I know. I KNOW. I’m one of those snooty assholes who says things like “stage picture” and “believability of character” and such. I don’t know if it’s the show, or if it’s the book the show’s based on and my hatred of it, or the fact that the theater was FULL, and would the theater have been full for something like A Streetcar Named Desire or Fat Pig or A Midsummer Night’s Dream? My guess is no. No, it would not be. And should I just be glad that people are SEEING theater, or should I be upset that this is all the theater some people see? And should I be upset that this kind of thing tours, but good shows close all the time because they don’t have audiences?

And this is what I thought about for an hour and a half, while the actors mimed oral sex and put dog-collars on each other and talked about giving up all of your personal freedom to someone just for some really rough sex.

Is it a good or a bad thing that being a theater snob seems to have taken away my ability to enjoy something stupid for a couple of hours? Or HAS it taken that away? Was it just that I hated the book so I couldn’t force my brain to like the show? The whole audience was really digging it, yo. I was the only sourpuss.

R. and S. enjoyed it, though. And the theater was REALLY pretty. Also there was popcorn for sale, so I totally bought some and ate it while I was watching the show. You could also buy alcohol. I think they wanted you to be drunk to watch it. Although R. said the wine was terrible, and also it was like $9 for about 4 ounces. Not a good deal at all.

Here, I found you this so you don’t think I’m making this all up.

Then we went home and played CSI. Why was the dining room chair in the computer area? Why were there two water bottles on the stove? Why was there a half-eaten piece of pizza on the counter? We thought maybe A. and Baby CeeVee had been kidnapped by ne’er-do-wells, but no. They were asleep. It was just a very long night and A. got tired because he’d been racing in the sun all day long.

OH, also, I totally ALSO got a sunburn, even though I put on all the sunscreen. Guess where? The stupidest place ever. THE PART IN MY HAIR. Who would think to put sunscreen in their HAIR? Not me! And now my head hurts there. Nice. I’m going to be the first person to die from skin cancer of the scalp.

Off to bed, chicks and chicklettes. One more of these, but you might not get it until…um…Sunday? Monday? Big week coming up. Three plays to see! Dinner with friend N.! Work all day tomorrow and Saturday! A review to write! Hanging with The Nephew! Auditions for the next show at my theater! SO SO BUSY!!!

Until then, remember: duck fat fries, good. Anything 50 Shades of Grey related: no. Not good. Not at all.

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