Rose's Cantina

Bobby Orr turns 65 this week. Huh. Another one of my schoolgirl crushes is becoming a pensioner. This does not fill me with great joy. It reinforces the fact that I'm getting old myself. That's not the worst of it. Ilya Kuryakin turns 80 this year. Ditto Michael Cain. Robert Redford is 77. WTF? I pride myself on being young minded. Many people think I'm much younger. Because I'm immature and I have a potty mouth. But deep inside, I know the truth. I'm crushing on seniors now. I take blood pressure medication. I actually bought my own blood pressure cuff at Costco this week. I watch CTV News at Noon. I know how reverse mortgages work and I'm thinking of getting one of those tubs that Pat Boone is selling. If only I could find someone to crush on who isn't a geriatric time bomb. Like Ryan Seacrest. Or Matthew Perry. But they're kids. And I'm no pedophile. Besides, being menopausal, I have low hormones, therefore I have lost m...

In the end, I couldn't finish it. For the past two weeks, I've tried -- in the interest of blog journalism -- to slog through Filthy Shades of Grey. At one point, I thought there was something wrong with me. Perhaps it was time to get my hormones checked. Fact is, I didn't find anything remotely erotic about the damned book. It's like E.L. James went to the library and checked out Letters to Penthouse and cribbed the worst parts. There was nothing titillating about the descriptions. It was just stupid. And mildly alarming. This kind of sexual guidance is likely to get a girl raped. Or worse. What kind of young woman would ever fall for a guy like this, trust him before knowing him, allow him to do all manner of shit to her and beg for more? No woman I have ever met. Police arrest guys like this. The suits in Hollywood made a television show. It was called Law and Order: Special Victims Unit. It's puzzling to me why women read this drivel. I only rea...

"Anastasia," he drools. "Your helicopter is ready." Those words make me horny. I bite my bottom lip, an action I repeat for dramatic effect. I know it drives my host crazy and gives him a party in his pants. I climb into the seat beside his hirsute-chested loveliness and blush over and over again as he expertly fits my seatbelt and hear muffs. "We'll get to my lair soon, but first we have to make a short stop," he explains darkly, running his fingers through his tussled hair. I had to suppress a squeal. Within minutes we were setting down on a rural highway, the scene of a horrific accident. A paramedic opens the cabin door and nearly surprises me out of my jeans. Several others spring out the door. "What's going on?" I quiz the man who will soon be my first lover. "Oh, I own ORNGE helicopters -- that's how I made my billions cheating the government -- and we need to make this pitstop to pick up a couple of patients....

I agree to meet Kate and Jose in a little bar down the street from our apartment to celebrate the end of the school year. As Jose gets ready to order a second pitcher of margaritas, and I find myself weaving a little, unaccustomed as I am to drinking large volumes of Mexican libations. Or maybe it was the crackpipe I smoked earlier. On the way to the john, I have an idea. I pick up my cellphone and dial the last number. It's Christian Gray's number, his private number, the one he scribbled on his business card. "Grey." "Hello, Christian, this is Ana. I'm sitting in a bar here, thinking about your snake trouser and wondered if you'd like to show it to me once and for all. You've got a lot of competition, here. Jose is just about to jump my bones so if you want to see me, just follow the signal." With that, I hang up, just before I lose my cookies. Nice. I wipe the drool off my face and comb my dampened hair, then re-enter the ba...