"Fifty Shades"

Tonight I headed out to go see what the "50 Shades of Grey" fuss was all about. I'd like to preface this review by saying I do not condone emotional or any other abuse or violence (domestic or otherwise), and that if you might find this post triggering, perhaps it's not for you. Also, if you are easily offended, perhaps now is also a good time to turn away. I'd also usually ask my mum to turn away now as well, but as she was sitting beside me as I watched it, I'm going to let you keep your eyes open for this one Mum.

Today I have read bad review after bad review of the movie. And every time it was written by someone who had scored freebie tickets to a showing, but had not actually read the book. FYI, if any movie peeps are out there reading this, I actually have read the books, which makes my review a little more well rounded I believe.

So I took my mother (#awkward #argh #webothhavekidssowhatevs) to a Gold Class showing of '50 Shades of Grey.' We had decided that if all else failed, at least we would have a comfy chair and food and drink to fall back on.

*This actually was great forethought on our part.

See here we are all 'hey, lets have a drink to cool our jets etc.'

At first we wondered WHAT KINDS OF PEOPLE ACTUALLY GO TO WATCH THIS MOVIE?! And then we realised that it was just people like us, and so we buried ourselves in a deep dark corner of the room and finished our drinks quickly.

The two girls who were serving us drinks were asked to don some kind of 'mask' for the whole '50 Shades' thing. (Or 'Fitty Shades' as I like to call it). To be honest, it wasn't only me who found that completely degrading (none of the male staff were asked to wear them and the girls were clearly uncomfortable themselves), but thankfully they removed their masks before I jumped over the bar and flogged some sense into them. (Again, I do not condone violence, I am merely making a point).

Eventually we found our way inside the Gold Class cinema and made ourselves comfortable.

Getting comfortable.

As the movie opened I was curious as to how closely it would stick to the book. To be honest, I really didn't mind the books. They were easy on the brain, and I am a 30-something year old mother of three, eleven years into my marriage. They were right up my alley.

*A few late entries into Gold Class - two men with their girlfriends arrive after lights out. Poor fellas. (Or maybe LUCKY fellas depending on how the movie goes I suppose).

It only took five minutes for me to IMMENSELY dislike the character of Anastasia. For those not in the know, Anastasia is the underwhelming, lead female, lacking in self confidence, but witty enough to give readers of the book a few chuckles here and there. Yes, the script was basic (pretty much like the book) and the acting was mediocre (but again, maybe that's just making the best out of a bad situation), but the thing that I just could not take my eyes off and that drove me to ultimate distraction, was ANASTASIA'S HAIR!! It was bloody awful. Mum and I actually couldn't tell if it was just a bad wig, or if the costume department had gone nuts, but that hair took on a life of it's own. And I didn't like it.

Her hair actually looks GOOD in this pic.

Christian was not how I had imagined, but not completely awful - another foot note... I totally think my hubby was WAY hotter when WE met than the character of Christian was; and I had kind of pictured it the other way around when I read the books. Again, is it a case of bad acting? Or just a bad script/novel?

As I mentioned above I had read so many bad reviews going on and on about how it objectifies women, promotes emotional and domestic violence and blah blah blah. And seriously, I get where people are coming from, and there were definite FLASHES of that in the movie (especially if you take the sex out of the equation), but I really don't think it's as bad as everyone made out. If you've read the books, you better understand character development. I also don't believe that it constitutes abuse in the extreme ways I have read. Yes, he stalks her. Yes, he shows up at her house and lets himself in. Yes, he makes her sign a non-disclosure contract. Yes, he gets jealous and possessive. Yes, he is emotionally crazy to her. And all that sucks. BUT, he allows her to leave if and when she wants to. AND, he doesn't want to hurt her. AND, it's consensual, blah blah blah. (Either you agree or disagree - I couldn't care less, this isn't the page to vent).

 I didn't watch the movie to get any tips for my own relationship. My husband and I are quite happy the way we are, but to each his own. I also don't actively seek a relationship akin to that of Anastasia and Christian. You'd be crazy if you did, and maybe young girls and women actually DO (and maybe that's a problem). I personally hope I spend more time raising mentally happy and emotionally strong girls who would know that this is not a 'normal' relationship, and less time trolling review writers of the movie on the internet. I also believe that if you removed the 'violence' and made it a gay relationship with sex and all, people who watch the movie are in no way going to 'turn gay' any more than they are going to 'turn into a violent relationship' by watching it. I don't buy into 50 Shades any more or less than I buy into the Bible (also full of degrading women and violence etc).

Speaking of which, there WAS nudity. At least, there was definitely female nudity. And pubes. (Can I add how refreshing it is to see pubes on a young woman these days? Might start a trend...) I'm sure that there MUST have been male nudity (surely...? anyone??) but as fate would have it, JUST as Dakota and Jamie stripped off into their birthday suits and were about to go at it like rabbits, our first round of food arrived! As my mother and I began to feast on tapas and Arancini balls (and everyone who knows me knows how much I LOVE my food) I almost completely missed the first sex scene of the movie. Did Jamie get 'his bits' out? And am I mature enough to watch this movie if I refer to 'his bits' as 'his bits'? In any event, Dakota's hair stayed unmoved throughout... from what I can gather through my mouthfuls of cheesy goodness. I made a few awkward jabs to my mother about how I definitely wouldn't let her watch this movie if I was the lead female etc - Assuming of course that they would be interested in casting a late 30-something year old mother of three in the role of a 21 year old virgin). After all of that I definitely needed another drink, and right on cue, our next round arrived.

By now I was lamenting my late night out at a One Direction concert last night. I contemplated having a quick nap between sex scenes, and then reflected on how unimpressed the character of Anastasia would be with the 'Red Room of Pain' after ten years of marriage and three kids. And especially if Christian wanted to try it on her after she'd spent the night before out late with her kids at a One Direction Concert. And I don't care how hot his body is, ten years of marriage and three kids can be a real buzz kill. Yawn. WAIT! MORE SEX! Still no full frontal or anything that isn't pretty much 'vanilla sex', but I am reminded of a time I went to a movie with my brother and his friends, who yelled and shouted in excitement when they movie ratings came out. "YEAH SEX!" "Yeah! Violent themes!" Except I had to restrain myself from yelling out... because I was sitting next to my mother tonight.

Plot development... Anastasia is going to go along with this whole punishment thing. All is going well. More talking. Yawn. I start wondering about whether or not I should download the soundtrack once I can get outside the cinema - it's pretty good. DESSERT ARRIVES! I am so excited by the waffles, ice cream, churros and brownie tasting platter in front of me that I am certain I miss Jamie Doornan's 'bits' again (or did I? because surely they wouldn't leave them out of this movie?) and most of another sex scene. Clearly my priorities are skewed.

Another side note - I totally never in my wildest dreams imagined watching a movie with my mum that contained the words 'anal fisting'. An interesting turn of events. Life is full of surprises. Like the fact that now I am also going to have to go and watch the sequels! I had hoped they'd squeeze all three into one happy little movie. But no. The potential revenue of a franchise was just too appealing I guess. Sucks to be me... especially as I need the food to keep me going throughout a movie these days.

So all in all here is my final say on the matter. If you liked the books, you will probably enjoy the movie. I say PROBABLY because maybe Anastasia's hair will put you off as much as it put me off. And maybe Christian doesn't look how you thought he'd look. But it's not too bad. OR, if you are the kind of person who posts "how to peel an egg correctly" links to your Facebook page, you probably won't enjoy this movie either. It's certainly not to everyone's tastes. But it's not porn - anyone who think it is clearly hasn't ever seen porn before. And maybe there is a smidgen of domestic and emotional abuse in there, but I'm not going to get bogged down in semantics.

It's a movie. And the Bible is a book. Go live your life and just be a good person. x 3 out of 5 stars from me. Easy on the brain. Not going to win any awards. Only recommended to people who have read the books.

Taking Direction

When we are in the car together, The Farmer and I are a formidable team. I am an ace when it comes to giving directions, reading maps and following instructions (slash, giving instructions). Ie. I am a control freak. The Farmer is more comfortable at the driving side of things, and is a better listener when we are in the car. Ie. He knows better than to argue with me.

I've spent eleven years living on a farm that I am still known to get lost on. I have drawn up new and improved maps over the years, and have a ballpark idea where most things on the farm are, but when The Farmer says 'Can you come and pick me up from the water trough in the ‘L’ paddock?' there is still that moment where I suck my breath in sharply and feel the rapid beat of my heart quicken.

 Many moons ago, I heard the slightly panicked voice of my mother-in-law (MIL) over the two way radio. I was the only person left at home at the time.

 "Are you on channel Jessie?" I rushed to the receiver.

 "Yes!"

 "Oh good. Your FIL and I are out in the lane way. We're just west of the sorghum, and we have two flat tyres. Would you be able to come and get us?"

 "Ummm...." A long pause... "Yes..."

 "Okay." There was still an unconvinced, slightly concerned, tone in my mother-in-law's voice. "Do you know how to get here?"

 Again, the quickened heartbeat. "Ahhh... I think so. I've been there with The Farmer before." (In the winter, when the sorghum hadn't grown and the grass was dry). I had a huge job ahead of me, finding my way amongst paddock upon paddock of long, green grass and sorghum, tall and thick surrounding me. I didn't really have a choice. I only knew one way to get there and I'm sure it was 'the long cut'. I hoped my in-laws weren't in any great hurry.

 "I'll be there soon!"

 As I headed out in to the first of many paddocks, I realised how utterly futile this was going to be. I drove past the first shearer’s quarters, and then the shearing shed. I opened several gates, and wound my way through a myriad of green fields. Kangaroos jumped haphazardly around me. Emus scattered as I meandered around them. I had found the sorghum and knew I was close. After a good 15 minutes of driving, I heard the two way crack into life again.

 "We can see you! We're west of you, south along the fence line." Was that relief in her voice? "The gate is just west of you."

 

Yes, but I still had no idea which way west was. I took a wild guess that it was in front of me. Thankfully it paid off, and in seconds I had located their vehicle and was making my way along the fence line.

 My in-laws were sincerely grateful that I was able to assist them. I felt nothing but relief.

Now I make sure I keep a map of the farm in my car and in the house at all times. I have become more familiar with where certain places are, and am coming to terms with the fact that ‘near the eagle’s nest’ is a valid direction. It’s a tough pill to swallow given my obsessive need to be in control.

New Year Celebrations

As a side note, we arrived home this New Year's Eve after 8 hours in the car. The last thing we wanted to do was head out for a late night! As it turned out, there was a huge party up the road that saw the sun in on a new year, and part of me wishes I'd had the inclination. The other part of me was happy to hit the sack early. Here are my thoughts of the end/start of New Year Celebrations...


Back in my younger days I was a big fan of ‘ye old New Year celebrations’. In the city I could be found dancing on tables with hordes of friends and strangers, having paid an excessive amount of money to enter a non-descript bar, singing at the top of my lungs and partaking in a drink or two. *wink wink nudge nudge* I had all the energy and stamina in the world, and New Years Eve was the best night out in the calendar year.

After I moved out west I found it harder to really relax when I was out. I had become more anxious about the classic small town concern, whereby parents of students (or god forbid even students themselves) could see what I was like after a few drinks, and as such I always erred on the side of ‘less is more’, much to my friends’ disappointment. Once bitten, twice shy I guess.

One New Year I even found my way to Nindigully. I spent my first night in an actual swag (I had no idea what one even was before I moved out west), and saw how crazy a New Years party could actually be. It was hot (like STINKING hot), crowded and loud. There were cars and bands and so many people. And even more flies than there were people. It was a huge culture shock for me.

Now that I am old (er) with young children, New Years celebrations are like an elusive friend. I’d like to catch up again and reminisce, but life seems to keep getting in the way.

The irony is that now I have the money and ability to afford to head out and have a big one, I have less inclination to do so. “We live so far away…”, “I can’t be bothered driving…”, “But who will mind the kids…” You name it, I’ve probably used it as an excuse. Mostly I find myself fighting the urge to sleep and finding that by 10pm I have reached my limit and trot off to bed for a full night of sleep. I don’t even remember the last time I was awake to see the New Year in.
Perhaps this year will be different. My children are all old enough to get their own breakfast in the morning. They know how to work the television. Maybe a big night out is on the cards after all.

Christmas

I was fortunate enough to head away this Christmas (another blog to follow). It meant I have become a bit slack on the blogging front. Here is my Christmas edition! (With pics).



The silly season is almost upon us. There is so much that I love about Christmas. I like to get as much done as I can before December or else my blood pressure worsens and I go into a little meltdown. This year I think I am actually ready for the onslaught.

A thousand rum balls have been made and are waiting to be consumed. Nectarines, plums and cherries are about to be digested at rates fast enough to guarantee we all stay regular until well after New Years. I am still happily anticipating eating enough M and Ms, chocolate, mango smoothie, pavlova, trifle, ham and salad to last me a lifetime. And I have two big family functions coming up faster than I can say 'loosen that button please!'

Our Christmas Tree is up and decorated – I did it earlier last month and am thankful I did because my Christmas mojo is slowly fading. The tree will probably stay up until school goes back. We have adorned our house, and it will stay decorated. Indefinitely. Several years ago, my mother bought us a fake Christmas tree after I whinged and moaned about the ongoing clean up that a real tree necessitated. This is why I feel justified in keeping it up for about three months of the year. The clean-up is always minimal. Eventually I will come to look at it as a giant pot plant; only without the pot, or water, or soil.

 

We also decorate our mailbox...

We try to alternate Christmas between our families, and this year we are having Christmas away.  This means my entire family will all squeeze into a house, stock up the cold room with drinks, fruit and meat, (in that order), and sit back by the pool and beach to relax. The day will begin at 4:30am; thank you children.

 As far as tradition goes in our family, it's always about food. I ALWAYs glaze a ham. We ALWAYS make a potato salad. We ALWAYS make a pavlova and trifle. We ALWAYS eat about 4kgs of prawns. And we wash this all down with a cool room full of alcohol.

 

We always leave Santa a selection of goodies.

 

Thankfully the children are still buying into the man in red. This is no mean feat, given how many parcels have arrived in the post in the lead up to the big event. Online shopping can be both a blessing and a curse.

What I love most about Christmas is being with people you love. It's family that makes Christmas, 'CHRISTMAS'. It's the love, the laughter and the happiness that I love; that, and the 'Christmas play' the kids put on every year. Yes, Mr 6 is in a dress. Yes, Miss 9 bossed everyone around and told them what to do and say. Yes, Miss 7 is Lady Gaga. And not because Miss 9 told her to be.

I love Christmas. And I am actually, definitely, possibly, maybe ready for it this year!

 And now it's all said and done for another year. And I'll start the online shopping frenzy right after New Years. Only this year I'll have to hide my presents in better places. We had a few close calls this year...

Raining In The Bush

This was this week's instalment in the QCL. I actually wrote parts of it three years ago when we had a surplus of rain. Sadly, we missed all the rain in Queensland this week, but I submitted this piece as many people across the state DID actually see some good falls. Also, the roads around our house have been fixed up well enough that I no longer fear the inevitable 4WD adventure after heavy rain! But this is the story anyway.

.....

 



This week we had some rain. I know this because The Farmer woke up and announced loudly that it was raining. And then I was annoyed. Not at the rain, only at The Farmer for waking me up. He then proceeded to tell me every five minutes that it was still raining, or (if it was no longer raining) then he would speculate on how much rain we had already had, or how much he was still expecting. As it turns out, the storm was all bark and no bite, and sadly, we only ended up with about 1/8th of an inch.

If you live on the east coast of Australia (or in the tropics, or in fact any place where rain is common place) this means bugger all. If you live where I live, an inch means something else entirely. An inch (or 100 points, or 25 ml) means our tanks and dams get a little fuller, our stock get a little more feed, and our crops get a much needed watering. An inch also means that if the dirt road into town (all 20km of it to the bitumen) has been recently graded, there is every chance I will need to put the car into 4WD. And compacting this, is the unwritten rule of the bush that you can't complain about rain under any circumstances. Rain is good. Even when it's flooding. And an inch is perfect. Despite any inconvenience that it has caused me personally.

I'm truly not complaining. Friends of mine can't even leave their property with an inch of rain. So I consider myself lucky. But I am a city girl at heart, and the mere thought of engaging in any 4WD activity is enough to put a thin layer of sweat on my brow.

When I was a kid, my Dad was a member of a 4WD club. This seems to give my husband endless hours of pleasure, imagining me and my siblings strapped into the back of a 4WD, unwilling recipients in my father's quest for excitement. It was actually fun, I think. But now that I am all grown up and in the driver's seat, it's very different.

The Farmer would be rolling his eyes and snickering at my apparent ineptness in the world of driving in the wet. I consider myself to be a good driver. I should be, my father is a driving instructor. In fact, The Farmer probably could have handled the road today without the use of 4WD. But not me. My legs start that uncontrollable "knock knocking", my knuckles turn white and my brow creases for the duration of the trip. I don't breathe properly, and the mere whisper from a passenger is enough to send me off the deep end.

 I know some of you reading this actually might even get off on 4WD-ing, but it's not my thing. Not with three children in the back and not on my own. Even though I am very grateful for the rain, I prefer it on days when I am staying home. And although I am always happy for good seasons, as a mother of three small children, I am just as grateful for a good night sleep. Rain and sleep in equal measure.

First Impressions

This was another post featured in The Country Life. For those of you who have read my online book, this post will be a bit familiar. For new readers, who might like to check out my book, you can find it on the tab above. It's the story of how I met and married The Farmer.

 

......

 

Three weeks into my teaching position a colleague invited me out for drinks. Apparently the local rugby team were in town for training. Apparently that was exciting. I didn’t want to go. I had been out all day and was hot and tired. But it was just going to be one drink. One drink.

They say that first impressions count, and as I slunk into the Sports Bar dressed in tight, sweaty jeans, and a green and white baseball shirt, I clearly wasn’t worried about that. I managed to brush my hair, however the sweat still permeated my brow and face. I had only planned on staying out west for six months. I was saving money, teaching, and country boys held little to no interest for me at all. Thankfully, the bar was packed with a sea of red and white sweaty rugby shirt wearers, oblivious to my aversion to the heat. Apparently the post-training drink was something of a ritual for them.

I had mastered the art of entering a room without making eye contact with anyone, and thankfully I located my colleague fairly quickly. I sat and made pleasant chit chat with my colleague and some other teachers, sipping on a cold drink. One drink.

I scanned the room quickly; the anxious behaviour of someone in a place where they feel uncomfortable. I saw my colleague had moved and was sitting at a tall, circular table with four of the rugby players. I didn't pay any attention, and hurriedly sipped down the remainder of my drink. I reached for my purse, said a few goodbyes, and stood, as if to make my quick getaway from the bar. My colleague friend met me before I could move anywhere.

"Jess, come and meet these guys. They are all keen to meet the new school teacher." Her eyes were sparkling. I was like a shiny new toy.

"I'm sure they are. Just tell them I'm tired. I want to go home. Goodnight!” I tried to side step her and escape before this got even harder.

"Please. Last time I'll ask. Promise." So I put on my best polite smile and followed her to the circular table.

The four males were watching every step. It had gone desperately quiet at their table. I was sure that all four of them were very decent guys, but I was just so desperately tired.

"Hi!" I smiled again. I offered an extended hand to shake as she introduced all four by name.

 I smiled and shook the first one’s hand. And then another smile, and another shake.  And another…

"And this is The Farmer."

And suddenly I realised I wasn't going anywhere.

Thirteen years later I am still here, and to think that that night it was only supposed to be one drink. Perhaps there’s something to be said about first impressions after all.

 

 

 

The Long Drive

As I have started submitting a column in the Queensland Country Life, I thought I would start posting the articles that are published on here, with the addition of pictures, so that you can see what and where I am talking about.

 

. . .

I had been dating The Farmer for about a week when he invited me out to the farm to see shearing in action. They were winding up the following week and so I had to decide quickly.

I explained to my boss about how shearing was finishing up that week and how I may never have the opportunity to see it again. The Principal agreed that it was a worthwhile occasion, and I completed all the relevant paperwork to take Friday afternoon off work.

The Farmer gave me the easiest directions to the shearing shed. They weren't necessarily the quickest directions, but they were by far the least complicated ones, and as this was to be my first foray into the world that was 'country driving', we agreed that this was for the best. The Farmer told me to pack my 'work clothes' for the trip.

Friday came around faster than I expected. I had put aside a pair of jeans (new) and a check shirt I had borrowed. Neither were what I would classify as 'work clothes', but as my 'work clothes' mostly consisted of dress skirts and pants and blouses, this was foreign ground for me. It would have to do. I left work at 1pm, and tried to recall the directions as I drove.

I was busy concentrating on counting the grids (was it six or seven I was supposed to cross?). I couldn't believe that I was driving on a 'road' with grids! Soon I had been driving for over an hour and I was starting to fret about the definite possibility that I was lost. In the very likely event of that happening I would either be forced to drink my own urine or eat a kangaroo carcass in order to survive before anybody would EVER find my fully dehydrated and emaciated body on this road to nowhere. For all I knew, I was already a goner. The road was less than ordinary. It was too far from anywhere, and I was really starting to wonder if The Farmer was even worth all this effort. Surely this couldn't be the road he lived on? It was rough. Pot holes were scattered haphazardly from one side to the other. The corrugation left me sore and tingly. I couldn't imagine myself driving on this road on a permanent basis. This would probably be my first and last visit to the farm.

 

Example of a corrugated road.

 

Just as I was about to give up and turn around, there it was in front of me. Across the roof of the shearing shed, clearly visible from the road, was The Farm. I visibly relaxed. I had survived, and was then able to see shearing in all of its magnificence, all explained to me by The Farmer.  It’s something I still love to see all these years later, I just don’t have to take time off work to do it anymore.

 

The Farmer doing his thing. Worth the drive!

 

I’ve also come to realise that it’s not the journey (all corrugated and long), but the destination that matters anyway.