I’ve been playing Lego Harry Potter so long purple rings are surrounding everything I look at. I promised myself I would not buy the second one until I absolutely complete this one and now I have a lot of level grinding to get through as I’ve just reached 50% completion.
On the plus side, I get a break to review Anita Blake. For once, it is a plus.
Anita is going out for a date with JC. It’s difficult because he’s booked a table at a fancy restaurant and women’s ‘dress clothes’ (why do you keep using that phrase?) can’t conceal weapons.
Susan Sto Helit does not approve.
Anything form-fitting made it difficult. Tonight I was wearing a spaghetti-strap formal with slits so high on either side, I’d had to make sure that the hose were a matching off-black, and the underwear was lacy and black. I knew myself well enough to know what sometime during the evening I’d forget and flash the undies. And if I had to go for the gun, I’d certainly flash. So why wear it? Answer: I had a Firestar 9mm pistol tucked inside a bellyband.
What is with your obsessive attachment to guns? And tacky, tacky clothes? The slits are so high she is able to reach through them to grab the gun in her bellyband. I wish I was joking.
I wouldn’t wear something like that to eat. I’d be worrying so much about whether I was comfortable and that my stomach wasn’t bloating that I wouldn’t enjoy my meal, which is supposed to be the point. And that I was showing my bum off to everyone, and that’s not something people should have to see.
She then explains her bra in great detail, revealing in how she’s wearing lingerie (which is a catch-all term for any item of intimate clothing worn by women, so I guess she goes commando all the time) and that her heels are too high. It was that or hem the dress, but ‘I refuse to sew’.
I was going to take a picture with all my craft ephemera around me, but it’d take waaaay too long to set up. Here’s this instead:
Now aren’t you a pathetic mess.
I do consider sewing to be an essential life skill. When your t-shirt rips or your cuffs are half an inch too long, then boom, get a needle and some thread, and the job’s done. It’s not hard to do a good job. This is just another way for Anita to say something ‘feminine’ is beneath her contempt.
Then there are two pages of description of JC. Two. Pages. I do not want two pages of this rapist asshole in my face, fawning over little details that mean fucking nothing and add nothing. Here’s what JC is wearing in handy bullet points. Hope you’re paying attention – it has no relevance to anything.
- JC’s hair is not curly, but straight tonight.
- He has a feminine face, but not so you would ever think him a woman, because women are fucking useless and ugly trolls.
- He is wearing blue and Anita goes into raptures about how she’s never seen him in this colour. Apart from the last book, you mean.
- He is wearing a blue jacket and a blue frilly shirt.
- He is sipping wine from a fancy crystal glass.
- All the blue he is wearing makes his eyes extra blue and amazing.
- He is wearing black form-fitting trousers that show everyone he is not wearing underwear. He’s flashing the imprint of his penis to everyone as that’s where all his self-worth lies.
- He is wearing knee high boots.
There. Now we all know.
Anita strolls over in her heels, which gives us another colossal load of how sucky women are.
You had to sort of throw yourself into it, a sling-back, slouching, hip-swinging walk, or the dress wrapped around your legs and the heels twisted at your ankles. You had to walk like you knew you could wear it and look wonderful. If you doubted yourself, hesitated, you’d fall to the floor and turn into a pumpkin. After years of my not being able to wear heels and dress clothes, Jean-Claude had taught me in a month what my stepmother couldn’t teach me in twenty years.
Apart from the fact that she clearly did teach you, as you have worn heels in each of the past books. But, no, Judith is a woman so FUCK HER AND HER FUCKING FEMININE STUFF.
The sight of JC makes Anita feel like a big ugly hoebag and she huffs at him for looking handsome. They then talk about his hair. Anita then says that instead of this being something as nice and simple as taking his girlfriend out to dinner, this is actually all about JC using her mind to taste food.
In private he’d roll on his back like a cat, hands pressed to his mouth as if trying to drain every taste.
That’s because he’s just the servant of Puddykins. All hail Puddyinks.
They talk about his food fetish and how all this is making Anita gain weight, as JC is forcing her to eat more. That’s healthy. That’s very healthy. Anita bitches about how she’s gained four pounds and isn’t that dreadful.
The waiter then comes over and this happens.
“The petite cut,” I told the waiter.
The cheapest and smallest cut. That’s the slice on top of the gristle. Why would you ever order that? I may not eat steak any more (I refuse to eat beef until the British government abolish the badger cull) but I wouldn’t eat the shitty end of the steak that ends up in dog food.
“How would you like that prepared?”
“Half well-done, half rare.”
The waiter blinked at me. “Excuse me, madam?”
… do you even know how steak is cooked? Getting it half rare and half well-done is not only barbaric (it should be on the pinker side of things, over-cooked beef is awful) but really, really difficult. Do restaurants even allow this? I have never seen this as an option, probably because the steak would be ruined.
“It’s an eight ounce cut, right?”
“Cut it in half, and cook four ounces of it well-done, and four ounces of it rare.”
He frowned at me. “I don’t think we can do that.”
“At these prices you should bring the cow out and have a ritual sacrifice at the table. Just do it.” I handed him the menu.
there is no need to act like an imperious cow at the waiter because you ordered your skag end of meat to be prepared in a ludicrous way that the restaurant do not do. The waiter is not there as your fucking servant. He is not to be commanded around like that.
Ha. I used to work as a waitress. I know what’s really going to end up in her food. Heh heh heh.
The poor waiter then asks what JC wants. JC refuses to order, so the waiter asks him if he would like more wine.
“I do not drink – wine.”
YOU’RE SO WITTY
I THINK I DIED AND WENT TO HEAVEN FROM THE WIT
Anita laughs and JC laughs and they laugh until they cry and the waiter just leaves, presumably to add his contribution to Anita’s meal.
I hate Anita. I seriously hate Anita and her fucking attitude.