Fifty Shades of Ridiculousness

The latest pop cultural phenomenon is the Fifty Shades of Grey franchise. In this book, a young woman, a virgin (naturally-because we can't have our heroines be sluts!) meets a billionaire who sweeps her off her feet and it's first love for both. This is a man who is accustomed to being a dom. Which I suppose is all right if that's what you're into. But the point is: she changes him so that he can and will do vanilla sex. He is also, emotionally speaking, incredibly pathetic.

What I feel I must address is those persons who place ads that say they are "like him"-but turn out to be total uggos. I mean, I am sorry, but if you are FAT and UGLY you are not Fifty. You just aren't. One bloke posted up a picture that was clearly not him (it was a 1950's sepia colored photo)-of course the dude in the photo was VAR VAR cute. Anyway, down near the bottom of the ad was the actual picture of the perpetrator. He was fat. AND he was ugly.

'Nuff said.


H.S.

"Is it live, or is it Memorex (TM)?"

It is the book club meeting:

And we are discussing the old commercial. Lane insists that it was shot in black and white. Thor and I disagree with him. But he insists. And then I remember why I'm better off without him.
The food is, in keeping with the season, turkey, three different varieties of mashed potato and a dressing baked in a pumpkin shell. Salty. Most of it is, except the turkey and potatoes. But out of the mist, a dish arrives that is totally vegan. Beans. Cooked with various veggies and perfectly salted. It is served as a dip with corn chips and is amazingly delicious. The last item of note was the German onion cake a.k.a. white pizza. Brutally yummy. Oh. And there was a whiskey cake. Also fabulous. So moist and sweet, it made me forget I don't eat dessert unless it's chocolate. Over all, it was a feast to be reckoned with.

The next day, I discovered that La Perilla Suiza, a Mexican restaurant on the other side of town, makes the best chunky salsa ever. There were real chunks of veggies: tomatoes, green peppers and onions-and the green salsa was awesome too. The red? Not so much. The Caesar salad? (I have become a real aficionado of the Caesar.) OH MY GOD. Other than the homemade dressing (or perhaps well BOUGHT dressing-who really knows?) it was awful. First of all, the dressing just came on the side. Right. Like I'm such a bitch, they automatically assume I want it on the side. And the croutons? CLEARLY from a cheap supermarket brand, along with the black olives (which really have no place in this kind of salad unless they are YUMMY!) which must have come in an industrial sized drum. Truly the worst. But I guess that's what I get for ordering something non-Mexican. The salsa made me want to marry the chef sight unseen, while that salad make me want to deck him. So it all evens out.
From across the bar, I saw a man who looked almost exactly like Lane, except he was normal sized. He tried to buy me a drink, but I had had enough of his ilk.
I went home and slept soundly in the arms of the Captain.
Now there's a man who TRULY understands.

I remain,

Hilda Stinson

Shout out to my new fan! Now there are 11!

I just noticed that there is a new fan! Not to embarrass you or anything, but welcome aboard and we're glad to have you. (I won't mention you by name. Okay?) Good. Welcome to StinsonWorld. (Yeah, I just made that up.)

Ours is a world of food and fantasy. Mostly one or the other, depending on my mood.

Lately, I've availed myself of the latest scientific research and am about to go vegan. I shall miss cheese. Lucky for me chocolate is a vegetable!

I remain,

Hilda Stinson

The Disappointment Continues...

Last weekend, I met Brad the Bad. And, you know something? He really was. But I suppose I can say one nice thing about him. He looked really great with his shirt off, which is so much more than I can ever say about Lane, who really looks kind of scrawny with his shirt off. Mainly because he's so freakishly tall that it's impossible for him to put on weight.

Brad told me all the things that Lane never did: I was beautiful, I was intelligent (wait, Lane did mention that. I think). Well, anyway, he just wasn't Lane. It was sad actually. He kept grabbing for me while I was trying to sleep. A genuine guarantee that I would never sleep with HIM again.

But onto the next, I always say-and bring on the cream cheese.

That's right, my new favorite food is cream cheese. I like it on everything. Being that I'm near menopause, it's probably for the hormones, but no matter, last night I had a dirty bird martini (dirty martini with cream cheese stuffed olives). And I drank that thing down desperately, because, let's face it, I REALLY REALLY needed a drink after the day that I had had. And the olives were delicious. I do love olives.

My date and I discussed the horrible traffic. We had both "gone around" it, by driving through a parking lot. In fact, I even threw a small tantrum on the way over. Because, let's face it, Hilda don't DO traffic. Nawsuh. 

He was a normal kind of tall, six foot two-and stocky enough, well over 200lbs, which was kind of nice.( I am most tired of meeting men whom I outweigh.). After spending half the evening with me, he handed me a tiny chunk of Adderall because, the fact is, darlings, Hilda is very ADD. And this hot doc "could tell".

After feeding me drugs (which, to be fair, is always welcome because you know, I am always a wee bit out of sorts), "a pediatric dose", he said. I felt, you know, able to function. Still had a headache, but I was able to not be comatose from the food.

For apps, we had cream cheese filled won tons (ordered by guess who?  (ME!) And he ordered something with salmon in it, which we didn't finish. Let's face it, it if 'ent raw, I'm not eating it (salmon). 

Next, I had a craving for fettucine alfredo, which was somewhat blunted by the crappy unseasoned noodle they saw fit to serve. But the caesar salad was good. I ate all of it. I really liked it. Very fresh.

For dessert, we had Godiva(TM) chocolate cheesecake. Very rich. And the decaf I had was also good. Yay Cheesecake Factory(TM).

The other thing that happened was that I got very comfortable with D. I put my feet up-and he massaged them! Very gently, I might add. Perhaps TOO gently.

We walked and talked and seemed to be hitting it off. The key word being "seems".

Later that night he wrote that we didn't have anything in common, but he'd be happy to just fuck me (because I was SOOOO sexy (rolls eyes)), but that a relationship was out of the question because I couldn't abide his beard growth and was an early riser.

Yeah. Well. What can I say? 

 At least I got a decent meal out of it.

I remain,

Hilda Stinson