marriage

Tips for a Successful Marriage

Today is my wedding anniversary.

Many people ask me, “Speaker7, why is your marriage so successful?”

My marriage has truly been a partnership as we have raised our two boys with great hope and optimism that they would one day become fine young men. Mr. Speaker7 has often said that God put him on this earth to be a wife and a mother. Our family, of which Mr. Speaker7 is the heart, is testimony that he has embraced that calling. Over the last 28 years, we have loved, cried, laughed, despaired and celebrated. I reveled in featuring my giant pumpkin head, grating Southern accent, and condescending shitball personality on Oprah while making loads of dough exploiting other people’s mental illness.

….Wait a second….Oopsies! I just plagiarized the majority of that last paragraph from Dr. Phil McGraw’s book Family First. My bad, everyone.

The truth is no one has ever asked me about my succesful marriage and Dr. Phil is a colossal fuckstick.

dr.doucheMy marriage is successful because I have no trouble admitting when I’m wrong.

The other day, I ate what I thought was a plain roasted edamame. Instead it turned out to be coated in wasabi, a substance slightly hotter than the surface of the sun.

It immediately felt like I flicked a bic lighter inside one of my nostrils. I dipped my tongue in cleaning fluid to dull the burning hemorrhoid sensation on my tongue.

I knew I had fucked up.

If you would like to know some other tips to a successful marriage, they are these:

  • drink plenty of cranberry juice
  • drink plenty of water
  • avoid consuming irritants like caffeine except for the six to eight cups one needs to wake up in the morning
  • wipe from front to back

Interestingly this will also keep you from getting a urinary tract infection.

Fifty Shades Frogurt (Fifty Shades Freed: 101-150)

I have no strength to write a crafty opener to introduce pages 101 to 150 of Fifty Shades Frogurt, but let’s be honest have any of my openers been crafty? More like crappy, amirite. Up top, subconscious. (For previous recraps of crap, click here)

When we last left our “heroes,” they were being followed by some random car. They still are. Christian Grey is being kept up to date on the car’s location by his henchman Sawyer while Ana floors it. Ana is confused because Christian keeps saying “Luke.” Ana’s all like “Wha?”

“That’s his name.”

“Luke Sawyer?” Ana dumbs, and at this point even Christian hates her. Then Ana dumb-thinks How did I not know his first name?–during a high-speed car chase no less. Christian refrains from grabbing the wheel and driving off a precipice out of irritation and instead directs Ana to a parking garage. He points to a space, and Ana dumb-thinks Shit! He wants me to park it. Crap! What does she normally do? Stick it in neutral and jump? Jesus christ, this goddamned book.

They lose their pursuer, and that makes them want sexy-time so Christian fills up Ana’s tank. After, Ana feels drained and she “mewl(s).” Ugh.

The Greys learn their pursuer is female. Any moment, I expect to read how Ana is jealous of her. Christian sets his mouth in a thin, angry line and Ana tries to give him a hand job. He stops her hand because he doesn’t want to have an accident. Cool, calm, authoritative. . . My Fifty. And for the first time in a while he makes me feel like a wayward child. Gentle reader, do you mind if we pause?

Ana says she feels like a child because she can’t continue her hand job.

They arrive home. Christian wonders if he should fuck Ana on top of the car when a sleek BMW pulls into the garage. A young guy gets out and Ana says he looks like he works in media. What is he wearing a fedora with “PRESS” tucked in the brim? Media guy, who introduces himself as Noah Logan and who cares, flushes when he shakes Ana’s hand. Why is no one normal in these books.

Christian tells Ana she has another admirer–derp–and Ana rolls her eyes. Uh-oh, spanky time and I really think the majority of the punishment is being meted out on me. Ana wants it rough.

So now we’re in the red room of pain. Ana notes its Pledgy-vagina aura. For some reason E.L. James thinks it’s necessary to describe Ana listening to Christian set clothes and shoes on the floor…seriously, she spends a whole paragraph on this. It is hot as fungus. Speaking of fungus, Christian sticks his fingers in Ana, spreads their mix of bodily fluids all over her butt and then sticks his fingers inside her again. There is a reason doctors tell women to wipe from front to back. We will not get into it here because I love you.

Then Christian puts a plug up her butt.

After, Ana wonders who cleans the butt plugs. Either Christian or Mrs. Jones. I would have liked to see how that was broached with Mrs. Jones. “Mrs. Jones, I like my coffee black and my butt plugs sparkling. When can you start?”

We learn Ana and Christian have had a past argument about Ana returning to work. Ana is now an editor rather than acting editor, which makes sense since she was an acting editor for little less than a month before taking a three-week hiatus to get married. I got married during my stint as a reporter and my bosses made me Queen of the newspaper during that time. It came with a sash and everything. She’s not changing her name at work and hasn’t told Christian yet. That should go over well.

Ana uploads pictures from the new Nikon camera she bought Christian and discovers he’s taken thousands of pictures of her sleeping. That would make a great slideshow of their vacation. Here is Ana drooling. Now here is when Ana farts a few times. Here’s Ana sucking her thumb (and that actually is true. I enjoy how E.L. James constantly infantilizes Ana, and by enjoy, I mean I wish I could gargle Drano). She becomes overwhelmed by her feelings for Christian and thinks about all the stupid implausible plot points E.L. James has shoved between the acts of butt plugery and has to see Christian immediately. She bursts into his office while he’s on the phone trying to get security tape enhanced so he can see who set fire to the server room. Ana knows who it is: Jack Hyde.

Da-da-dumb!

Christian is jealous that Ana recognized him from the “line of his jaw,” and seriously I’m kind of with him because what the fuck does that mean? The guy on the other end says they still have the contents of Jack’s hard drive. Ana wants to know what’s on it. Something about Christian, but he won’t tell her what because he’s a withholding butt munch. 

They eat dinner–some twaffle waffle about Ana being barefoot in the kitchen, but Christian hopes not pregnant because he doesn’t want “to share her”–they bore me with architectural plans, and now watch TV, which Christian hates and I didn’t think it was possible to dislike him more. Ana wants to make out. Christian never has, and then creepily wants a complete accounting of all the guys who felt up Ana. I would rather read a detailed history of the Crusades.  Jesus, dude, she married you, okay, and has agreed to be your living Barbie Doll. Lighten the fuck up.

He sticks his fingers in her and makes her taste it. Awesome. “I’m like a starving man at a banquet when it comes to your touch,” he cheeses. He hauls off her top. Ana’s naked beneath it. Seriously? You mean she’s not wearing 400 undershirts? Jesus christ, this goddamned book. I would not be surprised to read My body involuntarily eliminates waste. 

They do it.

Next day, Christian drops off Ana sans butt plug at the publishing company. She encounters her assistant Hannah who is “tall, slim and ruthlessly efficient” so Ana basically hates her. Hannah gets Ana a latte–“the only coffee I let her get me.” Honestly, why is this in here? This offers nothing and I know that pretty much every word in this book offers nothing, but I’m getting a little upset by these meaningless asides of stupidity. The tablecloth in my dining room is yellow.

Ana gets an email from Christian since it’s been three minutes since he’s taken her rectal temperature. He knows she is going by Steele rather than Grey. She emails she’ll explain everything later. And that should be enough to placate him, right?

Wrong, he shows up at her work, shooting her “a blazing look” of douchery. He ssss the Steele in her name like Harry Potter speaking in parseltongue (Oh J.K., I miss you). He farts something about his assets needing rebranding. I am not a freaking asset! Ana yell-thinks, but doesn’t say because, god forbid, she shows a backbone. It goes on for an eternity. Ana tries to reason with him saying she had no idea he would buy the company she worked for and now it makes things a little squiggly for her since she’s married to The Man. He wants everyone to know she is his and the wedding bands and wedding butt plugs are not enough.

He says: “I want your world to begin and end with me.” Yeah, I wouldn’t be surprised if this book ends with a murder/suicide; Ana’s murder, my suicide.

Here’s how that whole name-change discussion went down between me and my then fiancé.

Me: I’m keeping my name.

Mr. Speaker7: Okay.

Me: On second thought, I’m going to take your name.

Mr. Speaker7: Okay.

Blah, blah, blah Christian is going to change the name of the company to Grey Publishing and give it to Ana so that will make it weird since her last name is Steele, he makes up on the spot.

But I’m not a shitbag like you, Ana says. You read, Christian counters. And then Christians wants to stick his shitbag dong in her and Ana cringes “Not here. You can fuck me seven shades of Sunday this evening.”

Jesus christ, this goddamned book.

Fifty Shocking Revelations!?! (Fifty Shades Darker: pgs. 301-350)

Holy cow!

Lots of revelations in pages 301-350 of Fifty Shades Darker: Bride of Chucky. Crap! I just soiled my pants again. Third time since I started this post. That’s because the revelations are just sooooo revelatory. It’s just like in the film The Sixth Sense when we find out M. Night Shyamalan will go on to make a series of terrible movies. Except that one where the trees cause people to stick knives in their faces…no, I’m sorry that was also really, really bad.

(For previous recraps, click here)

So strap on some Depends® because shit just got 60 shades darker. And I don’t even know what that means!?!

Remember Leila? And the “danger”? Yeah, I didn’t either, but holy crap suspense! She’s, like, in Ana’s apartment.

What?

No seriously, the phone call is coming from inside the house. Inside the house! So Ana goes to her apartment to pick up her roommate’s brother, and she gets buzzed inside. But it isn’t her roommate’s brother. It’s Leila.

And Leila’s got a gun.

I’ll give you a second to process that and also change into fresh pair of Depends®. You know what? You might as well forgo the adult diaper and just lay a piece of tarp on the floor to catch the freely flowing defecation.

You ready?

Ana’s hair follicles tighten with terror when she sees Leila. Ana might want to see a doctor because that is a very bizarre physiological reaction–if she survives this incredibly plausible ordeal. Oh my god! This is, like, so tense and crap.

Leila looks like the little girl from The RingShe speaks in sing song and wonders why Ana looks like her and “Why does Master like us like this. . . Master is dark.”

See? That’s why it’s called Darker Shades of Glop.

Christian bursts through the door, and Ana feels the “charge” between Christian and Leila and gets all jealous and refuses to leave because what if he kisses Leila and stuff?

And then Christian orders his man servant to carry Ana out and drive her back to his apartment, and Ana’s all like….Whaatttt!!! He loves Leila! Because she is clearly a giant, fucking idiot and has the emotional depth of a Hot Pocket®.

Ana instead gets her drink on with her roommate’s brother.

She finally goes back to Christian’s apartment for the showdown of the century. This is just as tense as the time Kim Kardashian got her butt x-rayed to prove it was a real butt.

Ana says “Look you clearly like stringy sewer rats and I’m not as good as that.” Christian says “No” and shakes his head and says “No” and clenches his jaw and says “No” and bends his knee and says “No” and squeezes his eyes shut so tightly that eyeball fluid flows down his cheeks.

And then he becomes a submissive.

Huh?

Just go with it, okay. It makes perfect sense.

It does?

Um…yes.

So Ana and her three brain cells have to get him back. She twirls her vagina in his face, but that doesn’t seem to work.

So she opts for confession:

“I just don’t get why (you) like me.”

So, so complex…if one was a 7th grader.

He snaps out of it because E.L. James needs him to, and he explains why he wanted Ana to leave him alone with Leila, which was understood by the rest of the planet when it first initially happened.

Big confession time. This is almost as earth shattering as the time that one Bachelor chose that one person on The Bachelor VIIMCII and everyone was, like, her?

“I’m a sadist, Ana. I like to whip little brown-haired girls like you because you all look like the crack whore–my birth mother,” Christian says.

Jeez, that’s going to make Christian’s sub/dom 2012 reunion super awkward, you guys!

Ana’s all like, does he think his crack whore birth mom is prettier than me?

Then he asks her to marry him.

Zzzzzzzz….

Are you even listening anymore.

Whoops! I meant to say, what?

Yup. And honestly what gal could say no to: “I like to beat girls who resemble my crack whore birth mother. Marry me”?

Ana says she needs some time to process. Christian asks if she’s hungry and his “eyes frost” when she confesses to not eating. I love the whole eating stuff, it’s just so stuff and stuff, you know what I’m saying and stuff?

He gets her to eat macaroni and cheese, which she calls “nursery food” because she’s an asshole. Then Ana decides she wants to know what Christian did with Leila.

He gave her a bath and packed her off to a mental institution. Ana freaks out about the naked bathness. This is the straw that broke the vaginal ball’s back. To hear it in all it’s crap glory, click on the audio: 

Ana goes to bed and then wakes up and thinks Crapballs then she hears Christian screaming. He’s having a nightmare. He lets her touch his chest and they rub genitalia.

Ana says she wants to talk to his therapist about Christian’s private therapy sessions. “Sure, why not?” Christian says.

Ana gets to work late and her boss Jack Hyde is a pissy shitbag.

And that’s where its ends. So much, so much to process. So much feces to clean up, thank god for the tarp, right?

Will Ana marry Christian? Will Christian be able to overcome his desire to beat brunettes who look like his crack whore birth mom? Will Ana get to work on time the next day?

I Now Pronounce You. . . A Giant Turd

When I see gay couples, I can’t help but wonder: Why do you insist upon ruining my life by being in love?

It’s really, really annoying. I want to be married so let me stay married. Don’t try to ruin it by living your own life and engaging in a committed relationship. Don’t you see how this hurts me?

Tami Fitzgerald gets it. She is the leader of North Carolina Has Finally Become Worse than South Carolina Values Coalition, and spearheaded that dandy new amendment that double-banned same sex marriage today in that state. I say “double-banned” because it was already banned so this ban works in the same way a dare becomes so much more of a dare when you triple-dog-dare it.

Tami says it’s all about people who believe in godly values. That totally describes me. Like take yesterday. I struck my slave with a rod, and it seemed like he was going to die, so I expected to be punished because my bad. But then my slave survived for two days and then died, and it was all good because he was my property (Exodus 21:20-21).

Godly values.

Tami’s not anti-gay, you guys. She’s pro-hate of gays marriage.

“And the point — the whole point — is simply that you don’t rewrite the nature of God’s design for marriage based on the demands of a group of adults,” she says.

Exactly. Why should adults decide things for themselves? Who do they think they are? Adults?

God’s design is so clearly spelled out in the Bible, yo. Why mess with it.

Like take last Sunday. My neighbor found a virgin outside and lied with her (which is Bible-speak for “did the nasty”). So he gave the slut’s dad 50 shekels to buy her vagina, and made her his wife (Deuteronomy 22:28-29). I would love to have a proposal story like that.

God’s design.

Lots of North Carolinians want to keep the design, a whopping 61 percent. Like Shane Cowell. He starts off saying “I’m a born-again Christian” and I immediately stop listening.  Then there’s Joe Easterling who says “procreation is impossible without a man and a woman” and gets an A in 6th grade health.

Tami says today’s vote sends a message, and I agree.

The message is this: Tami Fitzgerald, you are the Turd of the Week™.

To Know the Actual Love For You

Wouldn’t that be something–especially today of all days, the 14th day in the month-long celebration of National Bird Feeding? To know the actual love the actual someone has for the actual person who is you? I wish there was a list of actual tips. Maybe written by someone for whom English is a second language. Then I would know if a guy has a love for their girls.

The Internet never ceases to amaze me, whether it be sating my never-ending desire to know all there is to know about adult baby syndrome or helping to master the intricacies of the Shake Weight®, it always comes through for me. Google even made me a video Valentine I never finished watching because I clicked on a link to learn how to get freakishly long eye lashes (cow urine moistened onto the eyelashes followed by dollop of bird urine, cover with gauze). It was difficult to read through the gauze, but I did find a website that answered the age-old question:

How is it possible to know the actual love of the guy for you?

Tip 1 – When he takes interest in your matters like your work schedule.

I asked Mr. Speaker7 if he knew what I did at 10:35 a.m. today. He responded: “No, what did you do?”  I have been giving him the silent treatment ever since, and broke it only to say what I would like to order for take out.

Tip 2 – When a guy keeps a track on your habits.

I break my silence. What is my number 1 habit? I ask my husband. “Sitting in front of a computer screen for hours,” he responds.

The correct response is ribbon sorting.

Tip 3 – When a guy wants to spend more time with you, dates out with you and shares your favorite pastimes, then he is madly in love with you.

Do you want to mix up these ribbons and then sort them by thread count? I ask. “It’s been a really long day,” sighs Mr. Speaker7

Tip 4 – If he tries to be friendly with you, it show signs of love for you.

I think the supermarket cashier is into me because he said “Here you go. Have a nice day” rather than spitting in my face, a clear sign of no love for you.

Tip 5 – Changing of topic when you discuss about your future with him is not a good sign of a healthy relationship with your love.

What is the future of your relationship with my love? I query breathlessly. “…” responds Mr. Speaker7 because he left the room 20 minutes ago to stop answering these questions.

Tip 6 -His every action will make you believe he loves you.

Really? His every action? All humans poop. There was even a book written about it. Should I see if he is or is not pooping on a photo of me? How far do I go here? I mean your tip is very specific and helpful, but where do we draw the line? Ball scratching? Yes, ball scratching.

I think that’s a good tip to end on especially since Tip 17 is “knowing when to end your blog post on a positive love note shows he feels in love with his love over you” and there are 3,259 other tips. And Mr. Speaker7’s action of folding laundry when I hate folding laundry is clearly making me believe he loves me in a sharing of not-favorite-pastimes-kind-of way.

Happy Bird Feeding Month to you all!

A Fish Wrapped in Newspaper… Just for You

This month, Mr. Speaker7 and I will celebrate our wedding anniversary. Eight years….eight, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long years. From what I understand, on the first anniversary, one bestows a gift of paper. The second, a rock followed by scissors on the third and so on and so on until the eighth, which is a fish wrapped in newspaper (reference: Martha Stewart Weddings). But I decided that my eighth anniversary gift will be a gift to you readers. Clearly I have a good handle on marriage because a) I’m still married and b) I’m not divorced.

Just look at this picture of wedded bliss:

Wedded Bliss

The high-fiving of hands is the #5 sign of wedded bliss.

I want you all to learn from my success so one day, you too can write a blog post heralding your successful marriage to my husband.  Here are eight tips for having a successful marriage:

1. Don’t marry someone who sucks. Many people make this classic rookie mistake (reference: Bridezillas). You date someone for awhile, you hate him/her and then you get this idea that you will hate him/her less if you legally bind yourself to him/her for all eternity.

2. Strive for honesty. I say strive because we all have to lie to our spouses at some time. Do you think my saddlebags make me unattractive? Nope, in fact I’d like them bigger. Is my blog funny? Yes, yes it is. You didn’t laugh when I forced you to read my latest entry. I was laughing on the inside. What does that mean? Your saddlebags look really good today.

3. Don’t be that person who says your marriage works because you’re always right and then titter because that’s so original. Have you ever taken a good gander at the people who believe they are never wrong? It’s “people” like Nancy Grace, Dr. Phil and George W. Bush. Yeah, those people are the worst.

4. Please, oh please, for the love of christ, do not put your marital woes as your status update on Facebook. There is a good chance that your spouse is a Facebook friend or if not (why isn’t your spouse your Facebook friend? that’s wrong, man) has mutual friends, and will not enjoy reading “I want to divorce _____ so much right now” and seeing that you changed your relationship status to single. And then your mutual friends and family see this and begin to comment worryingly under your update, and now it’s really hard to explain that you’re mad because your spouse ate all of the Klondike bars and you were really looking forward to one after a long day at the fishhook factory. So since that makes you look petty, you end up filing for divorce, which was truly something you would not do for Klondike bar, but in this case you did.

5. Oh my god, do I really have to say this?..do not, I repeat, do not take a picture of your genitals and send it to someone you met on the Internet. Now men, I’m going to address you now because I don’t know of many stories about women getting into a serious pickle for photographing their vaginas (yes Oprah, I’m using the word vagina. I am empowered). There is no woman alive who wants to see that. No woman. If some special Internet friend is asking to see that, s/he (always he) is likely working for Perverted Justice. On a sidenote, isn’t that just about the worst name in the world. Are they saying the only justice they dish out is perverted? They should call it what it is…a total sham.

6. Make sure your sentences have verbs. I stole this from Dr. Phil’s “A Good Marriage” advice column. I wasn’t aware that people really had a problem with this, but I’m putting it just in case you leaving notes for your spouse that read like this: I with your best friend. I home late. I you.

7. Don’t fall in love with Edward Cullen/Jacob Werewolf (I’m too lazy to look up his last name) from the Twilight series. Don’t lament that your spouse’s eyes aren’t topaz or that his arms aren’t made of marble or that he doesn’t sparkle in sunlight or that he doesn’t imprint on fetuses (I’m not getting into this part, if you want to know what it means look it up online) or doesn’t eat live chickens or doesn’t write the most boring books of all time….Don’t be these people.

8. Do not take advice from people who claim they have the key to a successful marriage. They always have no idea what they’re talking about.

Love is patient, love is kind. . .

I’ve been thinking a lot about the sanctity of marriage. So has this guy. If you can make it past the first sentence, you will learn that God is the author of marriage.  He also wrote the Constitution and the chorus to “We Didn’t Start the Fire.” So God is clearly miffed that man is trying to rewrite His stuff by allowing gay and lesbian couples to marry.

How is marriage to survive?

Fret not, my friend. Marriage is alive and well, as I saw firsthand on last night’s episode of Bridezillas. Last night’s episode featured a sweet wallflower named Suzy who suffers from a terrible condition called Tourette’s syndrome.

Sweet, precious Suzy

"I will rip his f****** dick off."

Suzy, 19, is betrothed to her one true love Taylor. Her impending marriage is causing a wee bit of stress in the young lass’s life. She tells her mother to kindly “Leave me the f*** alone right now” and “I’ll do your make up. Two black eyes and a bloody lip” and “I’m not going to tolerate you, you old bitch.”

She tries vainly to come up with a proper seating arrangement for the reception. She wants both sets of parents to sit with the bridal couple. The only problem? Taylor’s parents have two small children.

“Kids ruin everything,” Suzy sighs. “I hate them.”

So what else can she do, but scream “I don’t give a f*** about this anymore!” and storm off. Her mother follows in the car, telling Suzy to get in. Suzy’s response is to flip her the double bird. Sugar and spice and everything nice…

There are other beautiful moments like the time Suzy tells her fiance “I hate you right now” and elbows him in the chest. There’s the time she dumps a glass of ice-cold water over the best man’s head at the rehearsal dinner. There’s the one time she addresses someone and does not use the word “F***.”

God’s hand is clearly in the vows Suzy writes for her wedding day. She makes no promises of love or devotion, but tells Taylor she will be just as awful as she is right now for the rest of her life. Masel tov!

I should mention that the show also featured another lovely bride.

Beautiful Brittany

"I am completely awful too"

She drank excessively, popped anti-anxiety medication and repeatedly instructed her fiance not to touch her. Sound advice.

There was more, but I do not have the strength to carry on.

I will let God carry on this blog post for me.

. . .

 

.