This blog is my corner of the internet. There are many corners of the internet, but this one is mine. Here, I share thoughts, opinions, memories and feelings, for both my own benefit, and hopefully the benefit of others. Here, I practice my writing skills, in the hope that one day, I might become a published author.
That being said, I would like to issue a warning. I say what I want on here. My words are frank and candid. Because of this, some readers will be offended. Some may find that they will dislike what I have to say. They may disagree with an opinion. They may find my prose too dense for their tastes. It doesn't matter, what it is, they will be offended.
If you are offended, you have several options. Firstly, you may unfollow my blog (if you follow it) or click the 'back' button on your browser. You may block my account too, if that is your wish. No one is forcing you to read my words. Least of all me.
I do not want to get into an internet flame war. Flame wars are pointless and childish. Nobody truly wins a flame war. If you want to comment on something you dislike, please do so in a calm manner without being rude or condescending. Last year, on varying parts of of the internet, I had several people treat me with cruelty and condescending disdain, merely because they disagreed with my posts, or thought I had offended them in some way.
Oh, but Faerie, you just insulted me on one of your older posts, I am so butthurt! Oh, but Faerie, your opinion is wrong, let me educate you! Oh Faerie, I think I know more than you so I'm going to spout Tl;Dr nonsense at you and try to sound smarter than you, when really I'm not! Oh Faerie, you've damaged my precious ego! You've offended my delicate sensibilities! Rabble rabble rage!
OK. You're offended. You're butthurt over something somebody said on the interbutts. OK. That's cool, homeslice. You can have your feelings.I'm not saying you can't. I'm just saying that I am not responsible for them. Anything I say on here comes from my heart. And my ovaries. My beautiful, shiny ovaries. How you respond to me, is all on you.
So I'm warning you. If you have a precious ego, and get easily offended, you may not want to linger here. If you don't like foul language, or big complicated words, you may not want to on this blog. If you're gonna start shit on MY blog, expect your ass to get blocked. Simple as that.
If you can handle the truth, and behave maturely to incendiary words, by all means, stay. But when it comes down to it, I'm in no mood for nobody's bullshit but mine.
Thursday, January 17, 2013
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
2012- A Year in Review
2012 was a fucking roller coaster. Some really awful things happened that year, but so did some really good things. Epic things. So you know, read all about it.
January- January sucked. January really sucked. First of all, we'd just moved into a new apartment, and I had to get used to everything. I was recovering from my breast reduction, and had popped a stitch. And if that wasn't bad enough, I was still pining over my ex, Robbie. I even went to Mr. G's to talk to him. I awkwardly asked him out. He told me he had to 'check his schedule'. I thought he was being literal, and actually needed to check. Nope. He was going to the movies with The Missing Link and didn't know how to say no to me. As a result of this deception, I become very depressed. I spend my time drinking and crying. Then, on the night of January 23rd, I went for a walk to clear my head. Big mistake. I got mugged. Two assholes took my wallet and ran off into the night. I was unharmed, but badly traumatized. That night, two 'friends' also decide to jump my shit over inconsequential facebook crap. I spend the rest of the month trying very hard to recover from the incident. I find solace in watching RuPaul's Drag Race and My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.
February- The month is eerily warm. I visit my Dad in Manchester and spend time with both him, and my sister, Cele. My sister and I go shopping at several malls, but I can't remember any of what we bought. We go to malls all the time, so it all kind of blends together in one orgy of Orange Julius and Cinnamon Pretzels. Maybe there are crepes, though that could have been in April. I don't fucking know. I'm still recovering from getting mugged. When I find that I can walk 3 miles from the Manchester Library to my Dad's house after dark, I know I'm going to be OK. Two bitches I knew from Repo! Chat Get their panties in a bunch because I speak out against wearing pajamas in public. Because apparently, thinking it looks sloppy is a crime against feminism and I'm a bad ol' misogynist. Abortion? Not a problem? Domestic violence? It's cool. PJs in public? ZOMG RABBLE RABBLE RAGE.
March- March is very quiet. My muggers get arrested, and I still seethe over Robbie. My friend Dalton and I talk very briefly about dating, but eventually decide we'd be better as friends. My obsession with My Little Pony grows.
April- As far as months go, this one is pretty awesome. I go to my Dad's for my birthday. I explore the local cemeteries, and on my birthday, he and Cele take me out to Olive Garden.Then, I go to Cele's apartment and the next day we have a fun day in Portsmouth. I buy cool new jeans, in wild colors like hot pink leopard and cherry red. I see a hawk, and make friends with squirrels. My dad and I have a very nice Easter dinner, and he gives me an Easter basket filled with candy and pretty things. I go back to VT in my scarlet jeans and gummi bear necklace feeling confident. I meet my best friend's fiance, Chase.
May- Not much happens in May. My friends and I go out a lot. I finally get my own fucking computer. I write my own song for the Drum that I call Abenaki Squirrel song.
June- Summer begins. I get a pool membership, and learn to swim underwater with my eyes open, no goggles necessary. My friends and I make plans to go to Canobie Lake Park, but they fall through. Instead, Cele offers to go with me. Kittens. Lots of kittens.
July- The months starts out great, but on the 11th, my cat Kirby falls ill. The next day, he dies. I am heartbroken by this loss, considering he is one of my best furry friends. We bury him in Lincoln, and I go swimming with my aunt's dog. When I get home, I get very sick from stress.
A week later, I go to my dad's. The day I leave, I get my period, a rare occurrence, considering the type of birth control I use. I have bad cramps all the way to Manchester. Once I am ensconced at my dad's, my sister Cele comes to kidnap me. She has an entire weekend planned, ending with our trip to Canobie Lake. On Saturday, I get to go to the ocean for the first time in twenty years. It's a lot of fun, except when I fall, and cut my leg up on some asshole rocks. And then I get sand stuck in my bathing suit. We have a picnic on the beach. That night, we go to see some fireworks at the Exeter Revolutionary War fest. We get fried dough, and watch her boyfriend almost blow his foot off with a firework. The next day, all three of us, Cele, Jonathan and I go back to the beach. Then we go to the Stratham fair. We go on rides, and eat more fried dough. I make friends with a goat and a really adorable chick named Kate.
Finally, we get to go to Canobie Lake Park, just Cele and I. It's the coolest day ever. I ride a roller coaster with a motherfucking vertical drop. I eat funnel cake. Fucking funnel cake. Then I go back to Dad's. My period gets suddenly heavy and painful. It won't stop. In fact it doesn't stop until I return to Bellows Falls.
August- The month starts off with Old Home Days. They kind of suck. I blow almost all my money. I drink ginger limeade and eat maple cotton candy. All the town elitists, think Old Home Days is mighty successful, but it was not. I swim more and more. At the end of the month, I finally get to have a powwow. It rains, and all my shit gets soaked. I do a shawl dance and make four bucks. At the very tail end of the month I reconnect with Arthur. It is very random. We talk and talk and it feels like we had never parted, even though we hadn't heard from each other in years.
September- I go to the fair with Becca. It rains like a bitch and I freak out on the Skymaster. That weekend I have a powwow. I help light the Sacred Fire, and my parents come see me drum. It rains again. All my shit gets wet and I sleep badly. As the weeks pass, I grow closer to Arthur and start to develop feelings for him again. I try to resist, because he's in Florida. Then he comes back to VT and I can't hold that shit in anymore. I blurt out derps, and he's like let's wait till my shit's together until we do this. And even though I have to wait, I feel ridiculously happy and confused.
October- My friend Gary dies in the beginning of the month. We have a gathering, but it rains, and I cry for Gary while we drum. Talking to Arthur, and knowing I'll get to see him hold me together. The hurricane hits, and then he misses his train to come see me on Halloween. Even so, I have a fun Halloween. I take my landlady's foster daughter trick or treating. My Cutie Reaper costume looks epic. We get shit tons of candy, then I get drunk.
November- I want to see Arthur, but don't get a chance. We all go to Cele's for Thanksgiving. I get into Game of Thrones. I start to worry about Chrimbus.
December- I worry about Chrimbus. I am very stressed. I pull out my hair, and get sleep paralysis. I get to see Arthur. We spend an entire day riding the bus to Essex and back. We kiss for the first time on the bus. Afterwards, I miss him a lot. I am totally surprised by the depth and intensity of my feelings. I stress about Christmas. The world doesn't end. Christmas happens. I eat, and I drink vodka. I get some presents. I celebrate New Year's eve by going to a Chinese buffet. It's the five year anniversary of Grand Carol dying, but I don't get sad. I buy lacy underwear. The year ends. Finally.
January- January sucked. January really sucked. First of all, we'd just moved into a new apartment, and I had to get used to everything. I was recovering from my breast reduction, and had popped a stitch. And if that wasn't bad enough, I was still pining over my ex, Robbie. I even went to Mr. G's to talk to him. I awkwardly asked him out. He told me he had to 'check his schedule'. I thought he was being literal, and actually needed to check. Nope. He was going to the movies with The Missing Link and didn't know how to say no to me. As a result of this deception, I become very depressed. I spend my time drinking and crying. Then, on the night of January 23rd, I went for a walk to clear my head. Big mistake. I got mugged. Two assholes took my wallet and ran off into the night. I was unharmed, but badly traumatized. That night, two 'friends' also decide to jump my shit over inconsequential facebook crap. I spend the rest of the month trying very hard to recover from the incident. I find solace in watching RuPaul's Drag Race and My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.
February- The month is eerily warm. I visit my Dad in Manchester and spend time with both him, and my sister, Cele. My sister and I go shopping at several malls, but I can't remember any of what we bought. We go to malls all the time, so it all kind of blends together in one orgy of Orange Julius and Cinnamon Pretzels. Maybe there are crepes, though that could have been in April. I don't fucking know. I'm still recovering from getting mugged. When I find that I can walk 3 miles from the Manchester Library to my Dad's house after dark, I know I'm going to be OK. Two bitches I knew from Repo! Chat Get their panties in a bunch because I speak out against wearing pajamas in public. Because apparently, thinking it looks sloppy is a crime against feminism and I'm a bad ol' misogynist. Abortion? Not a problem? Domestic violence? It's cool. PJs in public? ZOMG RABBLE RABBLE RAGE.
March- March is very quiet. My muggers get arrested, and I still seethe over Robbie. My friend Dalton and I talk very briefly about dating, but eventually decide we'd be better as friends. My obsession with My Little Pony grows.
April- As far as months go, this one is pretty awesome. I go to my Dad's for my birthday. I explore the local cemeteries, and on my birthday, he and Cele take me out to Olive Garden.Then, I go to Cele's apartment and the next day we have a fun day in Portsmouth. I buy cool new jeans, in wild colors like hot pink leopard and cherry red. I see a hawk, and make friends with squirrels. My dad and I have a very nice Easter dinner, and he gives me an Easter basket filled with candy and pretty things. I go back to VT in my scarlet jeans and gummi bear necklace feeling confident. I meet my best friend's fiance, Chase.
May- Not much happens in May. My friends and I go out a lot. I finally get my own fucking computer. I write my own song for the Drum that I call Abenaki Squirrel song.
June- Summer begins. I get a pool membership, and learn to swim underwater with my eyes open, no goggles necessary. My friends and I make plans to go to Canobie Lake Park, but they fall through. Instead, Cele offers to go with me. Kittens. Lots of kittens.
July- The months starts out great, but on the 11th, my cat Kirby falls ill. The next day, he dies. I am heartbroken by this loss, considering he is one of my best furry friends. We bury him in Lincoln, and I go swimming with my aunt's dog. When I get home, I get very sick from stress.
A week later, I go to my dad's. The day I leave, I get my period, a rare occurrence, considering the type of birth control I use. I have bad cramps all the way to Manchester. Once I am ensconced at my dad's, my sister Cele comes to kidnap me. She has an entire weekend planned, ending with our trip to Canobie Lake. On Saturday, I get to go to the ocean for the first time in twenty years. It's a lot of fun, except when I fall, and cut my leg up on some asshole rocks. And then I get sand stuck in my bathing suit. We have a picnic on the beach. That night, we go to see some fireworks at the Exeter Revolutionary War fest. We get fried dough, and watch her boyfriend almost blow his foot off with a firework. The next day, all three of us, Cele, Jonathan and I go back to the beach. Then we go to the Stratham fair. We go on rides, and eat more fried dough. I make friends with a goat and a really adorable chick named Kate.
Finally, we get to go to Canobie Lake Park, just Cele and I. It's the coolest day ever. I ride a roller coaster with a motherfucking vertical drop. I eat funnel cake. Fucking funnel cake. Then I go back to Dad's. My period gets suddenly heavy and painful. It won't stop. In fact it doesn't stop until I return to Bellows Falls.
August- The month starts off with Old Home Days. They kind of suck. I blow almost all my money. I drink ginger limeade and eat maple cotton candy. All the town elitists, think Old Home Days is mighty successful, but it was not. I swim more and more. At the end of the month, I finally get to have a powwow. It rains, and all my shit gets soaked. I do a shawl dance and make four bucks. At the very tail end of the month I reconnect with Arthur. It is very random. We talk and talk and it feels like we had never parted, even though we hadn't heard from each other in years.
September- I go to the fair with Becca. It rains like a bitch and I freak out on the Skymaster. That weekend I have a powwow. I help light the Sacred Fire, and my parents come see me drum. It rains again. All my shit gets wet and I sleep badly. As the weeks pass, I grow closer to Arthur and start to develop feelings for him again. I try to resist, because he's in Florida. Then he comes back to VT and I can't hold that shit in anymore. I blurt out derps, and he's like let's wait till my shit's together until we do this. And even though I have to wait, I feel ridiculously happy and confused.
October- My friend Gary dies in the beginning of the month. We have a gathering, but it rains, and I cry for Gary while we drum. Talking to Arthur, and knowing I'll get to see him hold me together. The hurricane hits, and then he misses his train to come see me on Halloween. Even so, I have a fun Halloween. I take my landlady's foster daughter trick or treating. My Cutie Reaper costume looks epic. We get shit tons of candy, then I get drunk.
November- I want to see Arthur, but don't get a chance. We all go to Cele's for Thanksgiving. I get into Game of Thrones. I start to worry about Chrimbus.
December- I worry about Chrimbus. I am very stressed. I pull out my hair, and get sleep paralysis. I get to see Arthur. We spend an entire day riding the bus to Essex and back. We kiss for the first time on the bus. Afterwards, I miss him a lot. I am totally surprised by the depth and intensity of my feelings. I stress about Christmas. The world doesn't end. Christmas happens. I eat, and I drink vodka. I get some presents. I celebrate New Year's eve by going to a Chinese buffet. It's the five year anniversary of Grand Carol dying, but I don't get sad. I buy lacy underwear. The year ends. Finally.
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Aftermath
In a previous entry I described being in an abusive relationship. Naturally, I didn't describe everything. There are some things that are too humiliating to share. But today, I do want to talk about the aftermath that was the disaster called Scott.
In late summer, I reconnected with an old flame I dated in 2006. I may have mentioned him before. Let's call him A. A and I have known each other since 6th grade. We didn't get along when we first met, but our feelings changed and by the time we were 17 and 18, there were sparks. But, long-distance, and other varying factors did us in, and we parted ways.
So yes, we reconnected. It was like six years had never passed. We re-cultivated a friendship, and by the end of September, had managed to develop feelings of a romantic nature for each other once again.
As we get to know each other all over again, and reforge the bonds of passion, I often find myself feeling something akin to post-traumatic stress disorder. It's not A's fault mind you, these past months he has been sweet, and understanding. Even though we are not officially in a relationship, he has treated me more kindly, and tenderly than Scott ever did in our four years together.
So you're wondering, what's going on in my head?
Scott used to get mad at me for inconsequential things. Things, that a lover who is secure in the knowledge that they are adored, would not get angry over. He did not like it when other men flirted with me, even if I ignored their attentions. He did not like it if I mentioned, or even thought about an ex-boyfriend, because he thought it meant I wanted that person back. He wanted to know what I was thinking about all the time. He wanted me to tell him everything. For four years, I was conditioned, and dare I say, brain-washed into being a good little soldier and reporting back to him every event, every thought.
So here I am. Getting involved with someone again. And old habits die hard. I feel like I have to report to A about everything I do. If somebody hits on me, I expect him to get mad. I sit on my end of our facebook conversations, flinching, expecting a verbal blow, a command, that will never come.
But he doesn't get mad. And, after four years of verbal and emotional abuse, this is surprising, and refreshing.
It's strange, figuring out how a man is supposed to treat a woman. That the things Scott was doing didn't mean he loved me, or he wanted to protect me, but that he wanted to own me, control me.
Scott's self-hatred, also exacerbated my own self-esteem problems. With him, I felt fat and ugly. I was miserable, and you could see it in my face. Sometimes, I still feel like this, even with the ego snacks I receive from A.
At the time, I was aware that my relationship was abusive, but I was unwilling to admit it. When I eventually tried to confront Scott, he denied it, and then said I treated him far worse. This counter-accusation made me shut up and endure it.
But then I was free. It was over, and it didn't have to happen again. It wasn't going to happen again.
So imagine the surprise and agony I felt when I realized that I was getting anxious, when A was giving me no reason to feel so! He's not Scott. I don't get the same sick vibes I get that I had when I met Scott for the first time. When my gut tried to warn me, and I ignored it. When I am with A, I feel happy and safe. I feel like I'm with somebody who I can ultimately trust.
After you've been in an abusive relationship, you have to learn how to trust people again. Not only that, you have to learn how to trust yourself again. That's important. If you can't trust yourself, if you can't trust your own decisions, then you're fucked. But I'm working on these issues. Some cynics would say that my feelings of anxiety are occurring because I'm making a bad decision.These people don't know me, and they don't know what I went through. No one will ever really know what it was like to be there, except me, because it was my battle. It was my fight.
Here's the thing. This time, I listened to my gut. My gut only grumbled because I wanted a sandwich. It said nothing about A. Unless he's a turkey sandwich, then in that case my gut told me he's delicious and goes good with Miracle Whip.
A lot of people ask me why I stayed with Scott for so long. I hear the blame in their voices. They act like I'm a stupid little girl, who can't make her own decisions. Fuck that noise. The abuse was NOT my fault. Maybe I should have left, but I didn't. That was a mistake, and I paid for it. At the time, I did love Scott, and I did want to make it work. Even the strongest feminist can be felled by her chemical reactions.
So sometimes, I get scared when I shouldn't. Or have a flashback to something Scott did or said. It happens. But I'm not going to let it ruin my joy. If I let bad memories sully one of the best things in my life, then ultimately, Scott wins. He would still own me. I have gotten my ovaries back, I have reclaimed the fort and I'm not going to allow myself to be treated like shit again. I deserve respect, I deserve to be happy and I deserve to have a healthy relationship.
In late summer, I reconnected with an old flame I dated in 2006. I may have mentioned him before. Let's call him A. A and I have known each other since 6th grade. We didn't get along when we first met, but our feelings changed and by the time we were 17 and 18, there were sparks. But, long-distance, and other varying factors did us in, and we parted ways.
So yes, we reconnected. It was like six years had never passed. We re-cultivated a friendship, and by the end of September, had managed to develop feelings of a romantic nature for each other once again.
As we get to know each other all over again, and reforge the bonds of passion, I often find myself feeling something akin to post-traumatic stress disorder. It's not A's fault mind you, these past months he has been sweet, and understanding. Even though we are not officially in a relationship, he has treated me more kindly, and tenderly than Scott ever did in our four years together.
So you're wondering, what's going on in my head?
Scott used to get mad at me for inconsequential things. Things, that a lover who is secure in the knowledge that they are adored, would not get angry over. He did not like it when other men flirted with me, even if I ignored their attentions. He did not like it if I mentioned, or even thought about an ex-boyfriend, because he thought it meant I wanted that person back. He wanted to know what I was thinking about all the time. He wanted me to tell him everything. For four years, I was conditioned, and dare I say, brain-washed into being a good little soldier and reporting back to him every event, every thought.
So here I am. Getting involved with someone again. And old habits die hard. I feel like I have to report to A about everything I do. If somebody hits on me, I expect him to get mad. I sit on my end of our facebook conversations, flinching, expecting a verbal blow, a command, that will never come.
But he doesn't get mad. And, after four years of verbal and emotional abuse, this is surprising, and refreshing.
It's strange, figuring out how a man is supposed to treat a woman. That the things Scott was doing didn't mean he loved me, or he wanted to protect me, but that he wanted to own me, control me.
Scott's self-hatred, also exacerbated my own self-esteem problems. With him, I felt fat and ugly. I was miserable, and you could see it in my face. Sometimes, I still feel like this, even with the ego snacks I receive from A.
At the time, I was aware that my relationship was abusive, but I was unwilling to admit it. When I eventually tried to confront Scott, he denied it, and then said I treated him far worse. This counter-accusation made me shut up and endure it.
But then I was free. It was over, and it didn't have to happen again. It wasn't going to happen again.
So imagine the surprise and agony I felt when I realized that I was getting anxious, when A was giving me no reason to feel so! He's not Scott. I don't get the same sick vibes I get that I had when I met Scott for the first time. When my gut tried to warn me, and I ignored it. When I am with A, I feel happy and safe. I feel like I'm with somebody who I can ultimately trust.
After you've been in an abusive relationship, you have to learn how to trust people again. Not only that, you have to learn how to trust yourself again. That's important. If you can't trust yourself, if you can't trust your own decisions, then you're fucked. But I'm working on these issues. Some cynics would say that my feelings of anxiety are occurring because I'm making a bad decision.These people don't know me, and they don't know what I went through. No one will ever really know what it was like to be there, except me, because it was my battle. It was my fight.
Here's the thing. This time, I listened to my gut. My gut only grumbled because I wanted a sandwich. It said nothing about A. Unless he's a turkey sandwich, then in that case my gut told me he's delicious and goes good with Miracle Whip.
A lot of people ask me why I stayed with Scott for so long. I hear the blame in their voices. They act like I'm a stupid little girl, who can't make her own decisions. Fuck that noise. The abuse was NOT my fault. Maybe I should have left, but I didn't. That was a mistake, and I paid for it. At the time, I did love Scott, and I did want to make it work. Even the strongest feminist can be felled by her chemical reactions.
So sometimes, I get scared when I shouldn't. Or have a flashback to something Scott did or said. It happens. But I'm not going to let it ruin my joy. If I let bad memories sully one of the best things in my life, then ultimately, Scott wins. He would still own me. I have gotten my ovaries back, I have reclaimed the fort and I'm not going to allow myself to be treated like shit again. I deserve respect, I deserve to be happy and I deserve to have a healthy relationship.
Saturday, October 13, 2012
Cemetery Review #4
I don't think we really need an introduction by now, do we?
1. Broad Street Cemetery, Claremont, NH-
Broad Street cemetery is also known as The Village Burial Ground. It is located behind the Fiske Library and the Claremont firehouse. It appears to have been founded sometime in the late 18th century. It is no longer active.
Almost all the gravestones are slate or marble. In fact, I only saw ONE granite monument! Most feature carvings of weeping willows, urns, leaves and gravestones (an etching of a grave, on a grave, how very meta!), but there are also some soul effigies, and some very interesting geometric designs and sunbursts. I didn't get to see all the graves, but I read a few interesting epitaphs, one of which belonged to a man who 'died of a burn'.
As with any old cemetery, there were several broken gravestones. Otherwise, Broad Street cemetery is in very good condition, with well-kept grounds, and mostly legible stones.
I did not experience anything paranormal in this cemetery and do not have any reason to believe that it might be haunted.
If you enjoy local history, old slate gravestones and local folk art, I would highly recommend Broad Street Cemetery. The geometric sunbursts and leaves are worth a trip, seeing as I've never seen them in any other cemetery.
2. Sacred Heart Cemetery, Bellows Falls/Westminster, VT-
Sacred Heart is a small Polish Catholic cemetery that is still active. It is on Cemetery Road, and is adjacent to St. Charles Cemetery and the high school. In fact, you can hear the school's intercom and bells from the cemetery!
The cemetery dates from the late 1920's. In fact,the earliest graves all date from 1928. The majority of early graves have Polish epitaphs. Most monuments are made from granite and cement, but there are also some marble ones.
The majority of the carvings and statues are religious in nature. There are a lot of crosses, and carvings of Jesus, Mary and the saints. There are also several gorgeous statues of the Virgin Mary, as well as lambs, and a very large monument with a statue featuring a child sitting by the holy cross.
Sacred Heart is in excellent condition. The grounds are very well kept, and ALL the gravestones were intact! There weren't any broken or damaged graves!
I do not think Sacred Heart is haunted, though I did feel uneasy a couple of times. That may have been because I was so close to the high school, though.
This is a beautiful well-kept cemetery. I was very impressed.
3. St. Charles Cemetery, Bellows Falls/Westminster, VT-
St Charles is a moderately sized Catholic cemetery next to Sacred Heart. It appears to have been found in either the late 19th century or the early 20th. It is still very active. When I visited it had three fresh graves.
Most of the monuments are made of granite and marble. There are several made of concrete. There are a lot of large crosses and two beautiful statues. The newer gravestones have very interesting etchings, some of which are very colorful. There are also a few interesting epitaphs, some of which were in foreign languages. It had less religious iconography than Sacred Heart did.
Like Sacred Heart, Saint Charles is in excellent condition. The grounds are well-kept, and I saw only two broken gravestones, and one illegible one. My favorite grave had a statue of a woman mourning by the cross.
I do not think St. Charles had any paranormal activity. It was a very calm, peaceful place, and I did not feel unwelcome. All in all, I was very pleased with this cemetery. If it hadn't been raining, I would have looked at more.
1. Broad Street Cemetery, Claremont, NH-
Broad Street cemetery is also known as The Village Burial Ground. It is located behind the Fiske Library and the Claremont firehouse. It appears to have been founded sometime in the late 18th century. It is no longer active.
Almost all the gravestones are slate or marble. In fact, I only saw ONE granite monument! Most feature carvings of weeping willows, urns, leaves and gravestones (an etching of a grave, on a grave, how very meta!), but there are also some soul effigies, and some very interesting geometric designs and sunbursts. I didn't get to see all the graves, but I read a few interesting epitaphs, one of which belonged to a man who 'died of a burn'.
As with any old cemetery, there were several broken gravestones. Otherwise, Broad Street cemetery is in very good condition, with well-kept grounds, and mostly legible stones.
I did not experience anything paranormal in this cemetery and do not have any reason to believe that it might be haunted.
If you enjoy local history, old slate gravestones and local folk art, I would highly recommend Broad Street Cemetery. The geometric sunbursts and leaves are worth a trip, seeing as I've never seen them in any other cemetery.
2. Sacred Heart Cemetery, Bellows Falls/Westminster, VT-
Sacred Heart is a small Polish Catholic cemetery that is still active. It is on Cemetery Road, and is adjacent to St. Charles Cemetery and the high school. In fact, you can hear the school's intercom and bells from the cemetery!
The cemetery dates from the late 1920's. In fact,the earliest graves all date from 1928. The majority of early graves have Polish epitaphs. Most monuments are made from granite and cement, but there are also some marble ones.
The majority of the carvings and statues are religious in nature. There are a lot of crosses, and carvings of Jesus, Mary and the saints. There are also several gorgeous statues of the Virgin Mary, as well as lambs, and a very large monument with a statue featuring a child sitting by the holy cross.
Sacred Heart is in excellent condition. The grounds are very well kept, and ALL the gravestones were intact! There weren't any broken or damaged graves!
I do not think Sacred Heart is haunted, though I did feel uneasy a couple of times. That may have been because I was so close to the high school, though.
This is a beautiful well-kept cemetery. I was very impressed.
3. St. Charles Cemetery, Bellows Falls/Westminster, VT-
St Charles is a moderately sized Catholic cemetery next to Sacred Heart. It appears to have been found in either the late 19th century or the early 20th. It is still very active. When I visited it had three fresh graves.
Most of the monuments are made of granite and marble. There are several made of concrete. There are a lot of large crosses and two beautiful statues. The newer gravestones have very interesting etchings, some of which are very colorful. There are also a few interesting epitaphs, some of which were in foreign languages. It had less religious iconography than Sacred Heart did.
Like Sacred Heart, Saint Charles is in excellent condition. The grounds are well-kept, and I saw only two broken gravestones, and one illegible one. My favorite grave had a statue of a woman mourning by the cross.
I do not think St. Charles had any paranormal activity. It was a very calm, peaceful place, and I did not feel unwelcome. All in all, I was very pleased with this cemetery. If it hadn't been raining, I would have looked at more.
Cut-Off Points and Limits
Today, I had a stranger in McDonald's butt into a conversation my sister, mother and I were having about using pillow cases for trick or treating. We were discussing it, without actually mentioning trick or treating. She wanted to know why I would need a pillow case. Feeling cornered and annoyed, I reluctantly told her that my friends and I wanted to go trick or treating this year, adding that one is never too old for free candy.
The woman primly and stiffly replied that there was a 'cut-off point' for trick or treating? I was embarrassed. It was bad enough to have this lady butt into a conversation I was having with my family, but now it seemed like she was judging me as someone hopelessly immature and stupid. Or maybe she was just expressing her opinion, but still it sounded judgmental to me.
I tried to defend myself, explaining that I lived in a town where there wasn't much else to do on Halloween. My mother backed me up, saying that she'd rather have me go out and trick or treat, than go out bar hopping. I finished the defense by adding it's either trick or treat, or do drugs with the other kids. The woman didn't reply.
Today's little event had me pondering the whole stigma of teenagers and young adults going trick or treating. It's frowned upon. Trick or treating, by the expectations of our society is for little kids. Anyone older than twelve shouldn't be doing it. Teenagers and young adults should either stay home, or go to parties.
But what if you live in a town like Bellows Falls? A small town that has few Halloween events aimed at young people? A small town where the majority of parties end in the cops showing up?
Why should I have to give up doing something I enjoy just because some people think there's a 'cut-off point'? Why should there even BE a cut-off point? Detractors will give you a lot of excuses as to why:
They'll tell you it's creepy, they'll tell tales of teen delinquents, they'll claim it's immature.
Well, I am immature. I have ASD. I am emotionally behind my peer group. I don't feel like an adult 90% of the time. A lot of people in their teens and early twenties are in the same boat I am, ASD or no ASD. Childhood is still a fresh memory, and adulthood seems strange. So it's easier to fall back on doing something familiar, doing something you know and love. At least that's how I worked it out in my head.
Regardless of my own excuses, the point is, no one should tell you that you're too old, too young, to fat or thin, too this or that to do what you want. If you love doing something, then do it. No matter how old you are, or what you look like, or if you have a learning disorder, whatever. Do it. Go ahead and do it. Me, I'm going to celebrate Halloween the way I want, no matter what some busybody in McDonald's says, or what's considered socially acceptable.
As Eric Cartman says:
"Whateva, whateva, I do what I want."
The woman primly and stiffly replied that there was a 'cut-off point' for trick or treating? I was embarrassed. It was bad enough to have this lady butt into a conversation I was having with my family, but now it seemed like she was judging me as someone hopelessly immature and stupid. Or maybe she was just expressing her opinion, but still it sounded judgmental to me.
I tried to defend myself, explaining that I lived in a town where there wasn't much else to do on Halloween. My mother backed me up, saying that she'd rather have me go out and trick or treat, than go out bar hopping. I finished the defense by adding it's either trick or treat, or do drugs with the other kids. The woman didn't reply.
Today's little event had me pondering the whole stigma of teenagers and young adults going trick or treating. It's frowned upon. Trick or treating, by the expectations of our society is for little kids. Anyone older than twelve shouldn't be doing it. Teenagers and young adults should either stay home, or go to parties.
But what if you live in a town like Bellows Falls? A small town that has few Halloween events aimed at young people? A small town where the majority of parties end in the cops showing up?
Why should I have to give up doing something I enjoy just because some people think there's a 'cut-off point'? Why should there even BE a cut-off point? Detractors will give you a lot of excuses as to why:
They'll tell you it's creepy, they'll tell tales of teen delinquents, they'll claim it's immature.
Well, I am immature. I have ASD. I am emotionally behind my peer group. I don't feel like an adult 90% of the time. A lot of people in their teens and early twenties are in the same boat I am, ASD or no ASD. Childhood is still a fresh memory, and adulthood seems strange. So it's easier to fall back on doing something familiar, doing something you know and love. At least that's how I worked it out in my head.
Regardless of my own excuses, the point is, no one should tell you that you're too old, too young, to fat or thin, too this or that to do what you want. If you love doing something, then do it. No matter how old you are, or what you look like, or if you have a learning disorder, whatever. Do it. Go ahead and do it. Me, I'm going to celebrate Halloween the way I want, no matter what some busybody in McDonald's says, or what's considered socially acceptable.
As Eric Cartman says:
"Whateva, whateva, I do what I want."
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
The Most Wonderful Time of the Year...
Brace yourselves, Halloween is coming. It's going to be a long wonderful month of scary movies on TV, Simpsons Halloween special reruns and Ghost Adventures marathons. The one time of year it's perfectly OK to be obsessed with weird, creepy things. The one month of the year where I'm not a freak.
Well actually, that's not true. Unlike most people, I take this holiday seriously. So seriously, that I overthink it, get too many expectations, and end up having an anxiety attack, thus ruining my night. I've had too many Halloweens end up like this.
Last year could have been better. It also could have been worse. Instead of trick or treating as I'd been doing for most of my life, my Sassy Gay Friend, Kenny and I decided to throw a Halloween party. It was going to be in the barn. We were going to decorate the barn's creepy old loft/attic and have our friends come over. There was going to be food, music and games. We planned on having some beer and Smirnoff Ice, but no hard liquor.
It didn't turn out like that. It snowed a day or two before the big night, prompting Kenny to move the party to his heated bedroom. Most of the people we invited canceled on us, and we decided against the booze, considering the fact that some of the guests were under 21.
I exhausted myself planning the party too. I'd already- wait, why am I telling you this? Do you even give a fuck? Honestly? I mean, who reads this blog? Oh, whatever, anyway...
On cabbage night, I did indeed exhaust myself. I dragged my pumpkin in from the freezing cold to thaw it, only to find that it had begun to decompose. Regardless, I carved it anyway, despite the overpowering stench of rot. Then after giving it a happy face, I covered it in fake blood.
I also spent a good chunk of my evening baking. I made two kinds of cupcake. First I made several batches of what I considered classic Halloween cakes, white cake mix dyed orange, with vanilla frosting dyed black. I used too much black dye however, and the runny mess ended up tasting like vanilla ink. I also made a few batches of 'Totally Hardcore Goth cakes'. Red velvet cupcakes with cream cheese frosting dyed purple. I decorated all the cupcakes with Halloween themed sprinkles.
Then, back aching, hands stained with fake blood and food coloring, I cleaned up and went to bed at 4 in the morning.
The next afternoon, I went to Kenny's house to help him set up the party, and get into my costume. Besides cupcakes and a jack o' lantern, I had the punch bowl and ingredients, more decorations and some party games. And on top of THAT, I had my costume pieces, and overnight gear.
Kenny's Aunt Jean had decorated the porch in high style, complete with a caged skeleton that screamed and shook. Kenny was not to be outdone, for he had decorated the stairs and his room with lights, cobwebs, caution tape and spiders. Everything looked good. The goodie table was laden with candy, Halloween themed jello wigglers, and more. I put the cupcakes on the table. As the evening progressed, I would make the punch.
After putting final touches on the decorations, Kenny and I got ready to put on our costumes. I was going as an evil fairy, he was going as a flapper.
I'm sure you don't give a shit, but first I did my hair. I put it up in a half bun, let curls run down my back. I sprinkled it all in gold glitter, then sprayed it down with hairspray. The makeup took some time. The eye makeup: eyeshadow primer, then a coat of glitter green liquid eyeshadow. I lined my eyes with black liquid liner, putting swirls and streaks down my cheeks. Then black glitter mascara (lot of fucking glitter here) And gold glitter eye creme on my brow bones. After five harrowing minutes, that part was done.I finished up by adding gold glitter to my cheeks, and then putting on black lipstick, followed by a coat of black lip gloss.
Then the dress, a black and green confection, made in stretch velvet, brocaded polyester, and fishnet. The wings, black, glittery, curling. Jewelry followed, and I was finished. It looked good. I felt good. I felt gorgeous. Kenny and I showed off to his aunt. She took pictures. Then she fed us dinner. She makes a kale and sausage soup that will send you into fits of rapture.
Our guests all seemed to be running late, so we helped Aunt Jean give out candy. It was fun. A lot of kids had very creative homemade costumes. One little girl bitched at Kenny for wearing a dress. It was chilly.
Our first guests arrived. Allison, dressed as a vampire. Then Arielle, wearing an upside down sign that said "I am Australian. This is my Costume". Ryan, wearing bloody scrubs.
The party could finally start.
We danced, we ate pizza. We played Apples to Apples. But the air was tense. Ryan and Arielle had broken up, and Arielle was ready to move on, while Ryan wasn't. Things turned miserable after an awkward game of Never Have I Ever. Allison bailed on us, needing to get home in time for curfew. I did a few tarot readings, we played with glowsticks.
The night was over before it really started. The party was a bust. The fighting was part of it, the lack of guests was another.
After Arielle and Ryan both went home, Kenny and I settled in to watch some horror movies. We watched Pet Sematary and Sleepy Hollow. Then we feel asleep.
I don't want Halloween to be a disaster again. I don't want another Halloween filled with awkwardness and tension, the fun fizzling out quickly. No fights. No hurt feelings. That's not what Halloween's about. Halloween is supposed to be about celebrating the veil between worlds, it's about food, drink and costumes. It's about magic, and feeling scared. It's the best day of the year, better than Christmas.
This year, I'm going to relax. I'm going to do what I love, with people close to the shiny red organ I call a heart. I won't promise myself that this year will be fun or perfect. If I do that, then I set myself up with expectations, which will only lead to disappointment. It'll be what it'll be. I'm gonna dress up, get free candy, have some vodka. How that will turn out, is up to fate.
Well actually, that's not true. Unlike most people, I take this holiday seriously. So seriously, that I overthink it, get too many expectations, and end up having an anxiety attack, thus ruining my night. I've had too many Halloweens end up like this.
Last year could have been better. It also could have been worse. Instead of trick or treating as I'd been doing for most of my life, my Sassy Gay Friend, Kenny and I decided to throw a Halloween party. It was going to be in the barn. We were going to decorate the barn's creepy old loft/attic and have our friends come over. There was going to be food, music and games. We planned on having some beer and Smirnoff Ice, but no hard liquor.
It didn't turn out like that. It snowed a day or two before the big night, prompting Kenny to move the party to his heated bedroom. Most of the people we invited canceled on us, and we decided against the booze, considering the fact that some of the guests were under 21.
I exhausted myself planning the party too. I'd already- wait, why am I telling you this? Do you even give a fuck? Honestly? I mean, who reads this blog? Oh, whatever, anyway...
On cabbage night, I did indeed exhaust myself. I dragged my pumpkin in from the freezing cold to thaw it, only to find that it had begun to decompose. Regardless, I carved it anyway, despite the overpowering stench of rot. Then after giving it a happy face, I covered it in fake blood.
I also spent a good chunk of my evening baking. I made two kinds of cupcake. First I made several batches of what I considered classic Halloween cakes, white cake mix dyed orange, with vanilla frosting dyed black. I used too much black dye however, and the runny mess ended up tasting like vanilla ink. I also made a few batches of 'Totally Hardcore Goth cakes'. Red velvet cupcakes with cream cheese frosting dyed purple. I decorated all the cupcakes with Halloween themed sprinkles.
Then, back aching, hands stained with fake blood and food coloring, I cleaned up and went to bed at 4 in the morning.
The next afternoon, I went to Kenny's house to help him set up the party, and get into my costume. Besides cupcakes and a jack o' lantern, I had the punch bowl and ingredients, more decorations and some party games. And on top of THAT, I had my costume pieces, and overnight gear.
Kenny's Aunt Jean had decorated the porch in high style, complete with a caged skeleton that screamed and shook. Kenny was not to be outdone, for he had decorated the stairs and his room with lights, cobwebs, caution tape and spiders. Everything looked good. The goodie table was laden with candy, Halloween themed jello wigglers, and more. I put the cupcakes on the table. As the evening progressed, I would make the punch.
After putting final touches on the decorations, Kenny and I got ready to put on our costumes. I was going as an evil fairy, he was going as a flapper.
I'm sure you don't give a shit, but first I did my hair. I put it up in a half bun, let curls run down my back. I sprinkled it all in gold glitter, then sprayed it down with hairspray. The makeup took some time. The eye makeup: eyeshadow primer, then a coat of glitter green liquid eyeshadow. I lined my eyes with black liquid liner, putting swirls and streaks down my cheeks. Then black glitter mascara (lot of fucking glitter here) And gold glitter eye creme on my brow bones. After five harrowing minutes, that part was done.I finished up by adding gold glitter to my cheeks, and then putting on black lipstick, followed by a coat of black lip gloss.
Then the dress, a black and green confection, made in stretch velvet, brocaded polyester, and fishnet. The wings, black, glittery, curling. Jewelry followed, and I was finished. It looked good. I felt good. I felt gorgeous. Kenny and I showed off to his aunt. She took pictures. Then she fed us dinner. She makes a kale and sausage soup that will send you into fits of rapture.
Our guests all seemed to be running late, so we helped Aunt Jean give out candy. It was fun. A lot of kids had very creative homemade costumes. One little girl bitched at Kenny for wearing a dress. It was chilly.
Our first guests arrived. Allison, dressed as a vampire. Then Arielle, wearing an upside down sign that said "I am Australian. This is my Costume". Ryan, wearing bloody scrubs.
The party could finally start.
We danced, we ate pizza. We played Apples to Apples. But the air was tense. Ryan and Arielle had broken up, and Arielle was ready to move on, while Ryan wasn't. Things turned miserable after an awkward game of Never Have I Ever. Allison bailed on us, needing to get home in time for curfew. I did a few tarot readings, we played with glowsticks.
The night was over before it really started. The party was a bust. The fighting was part of it, the lack of guests was another.
After Arielle and Ryan both went home, Kenny and I settled in to watch some horror movies. We watched Pet Sematary and Sleepy Hollow. Then we feel asleep.
I don't want Halloween to be a disaster again. I don't want another Halloween filled with awkwardness and tension, the fun fizzling out quickly. No fights. No hurt feelings. That's not what Halloween's about. Halloween is supposed to be about celebrating the veil between worlds, it's about food, drink and costumes. It's about magic, and feeling scared. It's the best day of the year, better than Christmas.
This year, I'm going to relax. I'm going to do what I love, with people close to the shiny red organ I call a heart. I won't promise myself that this year will be fun or perfect. If I do that, then I set myself up with expectations, which will only lead to disappointment. It'll be what it'll be. I'm gonna dress up, get free candy, have some vodka. How that will turn out, is up to fate.
Saturday, September 22, 2012
Fifty Shades of Fail
This week, I tried reading the pop culture phenomenon Fifty Shades of Grey. For those of you living under a rock, Fifty Shades is an erotic novel that originally started off as a Twilight fan fiction. Really. I am not joking. This mysterious housewife, named E L James, wrote a long dirty story about Edward and Bella bumping uglies and spanking each other. Some asshole thought that if it weren't a fan fiction, it would sell decently on the sexy fuck stories market. Unfortunately, they were right.
The revamped story now features a plain, clumsy but oddly intriguing young dumbass named Anastasia Steele. Who stupidly signs a contract making her the love slave of a mysterious, sexy CEO named Christian Grey. Sounds hot, right? Apparently some people thinks it's hot.
So why did I hate it so much? Oh, let me count the ways...
1. The prose is atrocious. E L James tries to be descriptive and witty, but just falls flat. It reads like it had been penned by a naive 13 year old girl. Or an uneducated housewife with no writing skills. The characters are bland and predictable. Especially the milk toast protagonist, Ana. Of course she likes to read British literature. Of course she's clumsy. That's the cliche flaw of every boring, helpless heroine these days, thanks to the popularity of the Queen of Klutz, Bella Swan. Of course she's a shy virgin. Oh, and Ana's inner monologue? Redundant. It's always "Holy fuck" or 'Holy Hell" or "Oh my God". She's about as exciting as going to the DMV. You can tell this was originally a Twilight fan fiction, there's a definite lack of smooth transition from dirty internet smut to dirty commercial smut.
2. The sex scenes are hilariously awful. This ties in with the bad prose. E L uses the anatomically correct terms during all of her sex scenes. Penis, vagina, clitoris, pubic hair. She doesn't use any euphemisms or slang terms common in erotica. Using all these clinical terms makes me think of biology class. It's like my old biology teacher is telling us about sex while he's wearing black lace lingerie. That's how unsexy it is.
What's more, is that her scenes are unrealistic. Sex is not usually good the first time. At least it isn't for most people. And very few women actually have orgasm from having their breasts fondled, but not having any genital stimulation. Like I said earlier, it sounds like a naive teenager wrote this. I understand that it's supposed to be fantasy, and maybe if it were written better it wouldn't be so horrendous.
Also the tampon sex scene near the end? No. Just...no. Having a guy yank out your tampon and fuck you is not erotic. It's just creepy.
3. From what I've heard, the relationship between Ana and Grey is inaccurate as far as Dom/Sub relations go. Grey would lead one to think that all doms are controlling, abusive and are this way because mommy didn't love them or some shit. Frankly, FSG makes BDSM look bad. The lifestyle already gets a bad enough rap, why make it worse, E L, why? I don't think the author knows too much about BDSM. Many have pointed out that a lot of the sadomasochistic practices in this book are portrayed in an unsafe manner. Ana is ill-informed of the things she must do, and according to an blog I will post at the end of my entry, ill-cared for in the aftermath. I also get the feeling that most doms and subs leave the commands and the orders in the bedroom. Grey controls every aspect of Ana's life. I am concerned for the idiots who think that FSG is an accurate depiction of the BDSM lifestyle.
4. Like the series it was inspired by, FSG seems to glorify the idea that control equals love. That true love will soothe the hurts of having an asshole partner. It does not. Having been in abusive relationship, I know love conquers shit, and soothes nothing. Grey is abusive. He pretty much brainwashes an innocent girl (though she was bland to begin with, so there's not much to wash away in THAT brain pan.), and makes her his slave both in the bedroom and out. He keeps her like a fucking pet and does not allow her to make her own choices or have any control. She is utterly dependent on him, just as he wants it.
What concerns me is that there will be stupid women who think that these things are OK in a relationship, or that this how BDSM works.
I couldn't even finish this book. I was that disgusted. I tried reading from the beginning. I was bored by the bland prose. I tried reading the sex scenes. I was disgusted, and amused by how badly written they were. All in all, I found Fifty Shades of Grey to be bland, cliche, misogynist drivel. Anyone who thinks it's well-written or sexy needs to get their head checked.
Maybe I wouldn't hate this book so much if it were well-written. If it were well-written, the concept of a naive girl selling herself into erotic slavery would be an interesting read. Especially if, when she leaves Grey at the end (whoopsie, spoiler alert) she stays gone, and doesn't go crawling back to him in the sequel.
But alas, FSG is badly written, cheap smut and Ana's 'Inner Goddess' (she uses this term erroneously in my opinion) is really just an inner doormat, so none of that shit is gonna happen any time soon.
The end. If you disagree with my harsh opinion of a ridiculous attempt at literature, and actually think Fifty Shades of Grey is hot shit, please leave my page and promptly fuck yourself. Probably while pretending you're Ana and your vibrator is Grey. You sick wanker.
The revamped story now features a plain, clumsy but oddly intriguing young dumbass named Anastasia Steele. Who stupidly signs a contract making her the love slave of a mysterious, sexy CEO named Christian Grey. Sounds hot, right? Apparently some people thinks it's hot.
So why did I hate it so much? Oh, let me count the ways...
1. The prose is atrocious. E L James tries to be descriptive and witty, but just falls flat. It reads like it had been penned by a naive 13 year old girl. Or an uneducated housewife with no writing skills. The characters are bland and predictable. Especially the milk toast protagonist, Ana. Of course she likes to read British literature. Of course she's clumsy. That's the cliche flaw of every boring, helpless heroine these days, thanks to the popularity of the Queen of Klutz, Bella Swan. Of course she's a shy virgin. Oh, and Ana's inner monologue? Redundant. It's always "Holy fuck" or 'Holy Hell" or "Oh my God". She's about as exciting as going to the DMV. You can tell this was originally a Twilight fan fiction, there's a definite lack of smooth transition from dirty internet smut to dirty commercial smut.
2. The sex scenes are hilariously awful. This ties in with the bad prose. E L uses the anatomically correct terms during all of her sex scenes. Penis, vagina, clitoris, pubic hair. She doesn't use any euphemisms or slang terms common in erotica. Using all these clinical terms makes me think of biology class. It's like my old biology teacher is telling us about sex while he's wearing black lace lingerie. That's how unsexy it is.
What's more, is that her scenes are unrealistic. Sex is not usually good the first time. At least it isn't for most people. And very few women actually have orgasm from having their breasts fondled, but not having any genital stimulation. Like I said earlier, it sounds like a naive teenager wrote this. I understand that it's supposed to be fantasy, and maybe if it were written better it wouldn't be so horrendous.
Also the tampon sex scene near the end? No. Just...no. Having a guy yank out your tampon and fuck you is not erotic. It's just creepy.
3. From what I've heard, the relationship between Ana and Grey is inaccurate as far as Dom/Sub relations go. Grey would lead one to think that all doms are controlling, abusive and are this way because mommy didn't love them or some shit. Frankly, FSG makes BDSM look bad. The lifestyle already gets a bad enough rap, why make it worse, E L, why? I don't think the author knows too much about BDSM. Many have pointed out that a lot of the sadomasochistic practices in this book are portrayed in an unsafe manner. Ana is ill-informed of the things she must do, and according to an blog I will post at the end of my entry, ill-cared for in the aftermath. I also get the feeling that most doms and subs leave the commands and the orders in the bedroom. Grey controls every aspect of Ana's life. I am concerned for the idiots who think that FSG is an accurate depiction of the BDSM lifestyle.
4. Like the series it was inspired by, FSG seems to glorify the idea that control equals love. That true love will soothe the hurts of having an asshole partner. It does not. Having been in abusive relationship, I know love conquers shit, and soothes nothing. Grey is abusive. He pretty much brainwashes an innocent girl (though she was bland to begin with, so there's not much to wash away in THAT brain pan.), and makes her his slave both in the bedroom and out. He keeps her like a fucking pet and does not allow her to make her own choices or have any control. She is utterly dependent on him, just as he wants it.
What concerns me is that there will be stupid women who think that these things are OK in a relationship, or that this how BDSM works.
I couldn't even finish this book. I was that disgusted. I tried reading from the beginning. I was bored by the bland prose. I tried reading the sex scenes. I was disgusted, and amused by how badly written they were. All in all, I found Fifty Shades of Grey to be bland, cliche, misogynist drivel. Anyone who thinks it's well-written or sexy needs to get their head checked.
Maybe I wouldn't hate this book so much if it were well-written. If it were well-written, the concept of a naive girl selling herself into erotic slavery would be an interesting read. Especially if, when she leaves Grey at the end (whoopsie, spoiler alert) she stays gone, and doesn't go crawling back to him in the sequel.
But alas, FSG is badly written, cheap smut and Ana's 'Inner Goddess' (she uses this term erroneously in my opinion) is really just an inner doormat, so none of that shit is gonna happen any time soon.
The end. If you disagree with my harsh opinion of a ridiculous attempt at literature, and actually think Fifty Shades of Grey is hot shit, please leave my page and promptly fuck yourself. Probably while pretending you're Ana and your vibrator is Grey. You sick wanker.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)