American Psycho: An Unfunny Book Review

I finished reading American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis last night. It's the story of Patrick Bateman, a twenty-six-year-old rich kid living in the eighties who only works at his company to "fit in". He and his associates spend their time dining at expensive restaurants, frequenting trendy clubs, going to the gym, getting massages, facials, and manicures, casually cheating on their partners, and having in-depth discussions on the rules of fashion. Patrick also likes to murder people in his spare time.

This was a difficult book to read. Along with the extremely violent actions and thoughts of Patrick which the reader must endure, we must also be engulfed in the 'significant' things according to Patrick's yuppie view of the world: detailed descriptions of what every person in the book is wearing each time he encounters them; two pages devoted to his morning routine; two pages for his gym workout; three pages, five pages, eight pages devoted to various musical acts he admires; two pages describing stereo equipment; an entire chapter in which he and some friends comically jump in and out of call waiting with each other for three hours trying to decide where to have dinner and whom to invite.

I had seen the movie adaptation and had read reviews stressing the overly violent and sexual content of this book, but I merely shrugged it off thinking it was just the same old stuff I'm used to and some people are more sensitive to these things than I am. Well... There is very disturbing content in this book. It was nauseating at times. While I strongly believe much of the violent and sexual encounters should have been edited, I can't help but try to understand that there's a reason those scenes exist. Patrick describes everything else in excruciating detail to us, the readers, so why not this? He seems to think we need to know all the details of his self-absorbed lifestyle... But then there's a part of me that thinks, Really, Bret Easton Ellis, are you addicted to porn and gore? It really was too much.

That being said, I found the book very well-written and beautiful at times. It's written in first-person perspective, so we know exactly what's going through Patrick's mind. He is irresistibly charming, someone you can't help but identify with at times. I started out being entertained by Mr. Bateman, but then became sickened, offended, shocked. I found myself reading with mouth agape on many occasions. I went through a great deal of emotions while reading this book: admiration, shock, hatred, sympathy, glee, fear, sadness, hope, frustration, confusion, grief, amusement, appreciation, fascination.

I love this book because it plays with your emotions; it's not all black and white. It makes you think in levels and fill in some gaps yourself. I suppose that's what satire is all about. With all the painstakingly descriptive material, there are a few instances when you catch a glimpse of something Patrick can't identify and explain away. It's in these moments when he describes a foreign emotion or feeling, usually involving love or hope or compassion, that you identify with him, root for him, and feel sorrow for him because it seems he will never grasp any of these concepts or be able to experience them. He has a couple of opportunities to love women and have that love returned, but he quells his chances by brutally killing one and callously ignoring the other.

I struggled with this book, going through a cycle of loving and then despising the main character over and over. I love the movie, which I plan on watching again now that I've read the book. I enjoyed being sucked into the shallow world of Patrick Bateman and his associates. One iconic scene which I particularly love is when Pat and some business associates are comparing their business cards. Patrick becomes seethingly jealous over one man's card, even though they all look pretty much the same. The dark humor and matter-of-fact way they speak of ridiculous topics makes it worth enduring more than unfavorable violence, gore, and disregard for other humans, especially women and the homeless. However, this book is about more than a murderous man lost in a material world, falling into a spiral of mad violence. It's a look at what we've become and what we choose to ignore in our society and in ourselves. It comes to a very poignant close, but leaves the door open for introspectiveness and discussion. It left a big impression on me and I will surely be pondering it for a long time.

I'm Going To Take A Nap

Every morning for the past, oh, as long as I can remember, my husband has awakened at six. Weekday mornings, fine (gotta get to work on time, right?) Today is Saturday (which is a 'not-weekday'). He awoke like clockwork at six o'clock, got up and made some pancakes, ate them, and eventually got back in bed with me.

At this point, it was about eight and I had, as I most often do in this situation, been lying awake the entire time.

I'm a bad sleeper. When I crawl into bed at night, it takes around an hour for me to fall asleep. Then if I'm awakened in the middle of the might, it takes about as long to fall asleep again. Let's say my sleep is interrupted at six in the morning after getting in bed around eleven or midnight... You do the math; it's enough slumber to have gotten a night's sleep, but after not getting much sleep the previous week (or previous weekend) it's just not enough to satisfy a grouchy, morning-challenged person such as myself.

This morning was no different from the rest. This morning, our humble home was filled with the sleepy, scratchy-voiced, profanity laced rantings of a woman in desperate need of "just one %#@& good night's sleep".

I'm amazed at how friendly James is in the mornings. He's his usual self, teasing me and being cute with the dogs. He thinks it's funny when I'm grumpy in the mornings and most of the time is able to make me smile or laugh instead of groan and throw a tantrum. Any given weekend, he's more than happy to get up, whip us up some breakfast, watch a soccer game, and then fall asleep for a couple hours. I would love to be able to say, "I'm going to take a nap" and then actually accomplish just that. But my brain will not shut off and napping only comes on those rare occasions when I'm running on absolute empty.

Thankfully, my adoring husband is being patient and understanding with me this morning. He's currently snoozing in our bedroom with the dogs. At one point, he even jumped out of bed to come to my aid when a rogue ketchup bottle leapt to its death from our fridge and onto my foot.

I'm in a much better mood now though. My belly is getting full, I'm more awake, and I can laugh at myself. Life goes on, and of course there's always hope that maybe tonight will be the night I get a %#@& good night's sleep.

Give Me Chocolate Or Give Me Death!

About a month ago, I decided I was going to eat better and exercise more and read labels and love my body. I'm trying to avoid high fructose corn syrup and anything with trans fat (FYI: "0 grams of trans fat per serving" does not equal "zero trans fat"). I've been trying to lay off sugar. Especially chocolate. But it's so hard! I've found that I'm addicted to the stuff. Out of desperation, I've turned to semi-sweet chocolate chips as a little snack when I feel the need.

But then I ran out.

A few days ago, I dramatically announced to James that there was no chocolate to be found in our house and I was now going to give up and die (well, no chocolate except for the reject Whoppers that came in the variety bag of candy I purchased for myself the trick-or-treaters. I'll never eat them; that'd be like someone lost at sea desperate for water and settling for sea water). He just rolled his eyes. How could he possibly understand the personal anguish I was experiencing?

After debating in my mind whether or not to bake some brownies from a mix (we had that too), I ultimately decided I was stronger than that. I could beat this thing!... (Could I just eat the mix without baking it..? NO!)

I went about my un-chocolate-filled business the next few days. Just today after work I went to the grocery store to get some pies for Thanksgiving, and I didn't buy any treats for myself. I told myself I could live until the next day, when I would allow myself to eat whatever I darn-well pleased - hydroginated oils? Ok!

I arrived home, triumphant and proud. My hubby greeted me and marveled at how I hadn't bought any candy while I was there. I beamed. "That's right," I said, "I'm being good!" He then told me he couldn't believe it, but he'd found a lost Kit Kat hidden among the hoards of terrible, terrible Whoppers. "What...?" I asked, "Really?" I went to inspect the contents of the rejected bag and found, to my shameful delight, two Kit Kats, Two Reeses Peanut Butter Cups, a Snickers, and a Crunch Bar, all of them King Size. He had picked them up for me while out and about because he loves me and can't stand to see his woman without chocolate. Or he just wanted me to shut up about having no chocolate to eat. No, I think it's because he loves me.

You better believe I pounced on that candy like there was no tomorrow. As I type, half a Kit Kat lies beside my keyboard. At least I waited until after dinner. I don't care if I'm going to stuff my face tomorrow. Today is for chocolate. I've been good!

Things You May Not Know (and May Not Wish to Know) About Me

I have no middle name. In middle school, my friends and I would make up a different one every week or so. The only one I remember is 'Love'.

Quite a few people have mistaken me for a Spanish-speaking gal. I have English, Scottish, Irish, Welsh, Swedish, and Danish blood. Did I forget any...? I suppose those folks from Wales migrated from Spain ages ago, and that's where I get my coloring. Now you know!

My two nicknames when I was a baby were "Thunder Thighs" and "Cuddle Bunny". I think it's pretty obvious which one I prefer... Thundercats are GO! Totally kidding - I'm very insecure about my thighs, thanks to my verbally abusive family.

I lived in England for five years, and have traveled all around Europe, but have never been further east in the United States than the Chicago airport.

I got married in Las Vegas. I wasn't drunk at the time; I actually planned it! Looking back, I still don't know why I decided it would be a good idea to get married in Vegas. But, despite all the smut and loudness of that city, the wedding was perfect for us.

I follow the rules a little too well. For example, when another driver crosses over the double white line of the carpool lane, I am amazed that they were physically able to do such a thing.

I don't like the way I talk. I have a very "interesting" accent, which I am constantly trying to control. I learned how to talk in Oklahoma. I briefly spoke with a British accent (my husband wishes I still did) while living in the UK. Then I moved to Utah and that accent took over. Big time. Add in a dash of "like, totally, whatever!" and that's me. Ugh.

I'm terribly afraid of spiders, yet I chose to place a gigantic, furry (fake) one in my window for Halloween. Side note: Take that, everyone else in my condo community! My window spanks you guys!

I'm now 26, but many people assume I'm much younger. It shouldn't, but it bugs the CRAP out of me.

I have a visual condition casually referred to as "visual static". Basically, think of one of those magic eye pictures plus static/snow on a tv. That's what I see all the time. It's really no big deal in the daytime, vision-wise. It's clearest at night in the dark and it's crazy (who needs LSD?) I've seen this stuff for as long as I can remember. Until about a year ago, I thought I was the only person on Earth who had this, but then I found a website with a bunch of people describing the same things. Thank you, Internet! (Who needs doctors?)

I can move the knuckles on my left hand back and forth at will. I've never met anyone else who can do this. Yes, I am a freak.

I don't drink, don't smoke - what do I do? My hubby James tells people who inquire my one vice is chocolate. I've never had the desire to start drinking, as I fear I'd end up being "that girl" who drinks way too much and ends up spewing annoying things and too much information, as well as the contents of her stomach. I've never had the desire to smell like an ashtray either. And drugs are bad, m-kay? (Did anyone get the South Park reference? Just wondering). I've decided I make a good Designated Driver, so I'll stick to it. Besides, I'd rather spend my money on chocolate.

My husband James and I are 90% different from each other, yet we get along like peas and carrots. I love that about us.

We named our dogs, Ofelia and Simon, after characters in two different Spanish films, of all things. Pan's Labyrinth and The Orphanage. Note: Simon's 'o' has an accent over it, but I'll be darned if I can't figure out how to accomplish that in this text.

I like my name. Even though I've heard endless 'Rocky' quotes and no one can say, spell, or remember my name, I still love it. In school, I was never Adrienne 'last initial here', unlike the many Jessica's, John's, and Megan's in my classes. I was my own person. I have plans of naming my children after a musician, a character in a novel, and a day of the week. Depending on my kids' genders and my future sensibilities, these names may never come to pass. *Bonus points if you can correctly guess all three names. I'll be impressed, but feel thwarted and probably hold a grudge against you for it.

My grandma and this lady at her church once got into an argument over which one of my parents I resemble the most. Sorry, Grandma, but I think I look more like my dad. But only slightly *wink*.

I'm fairly vocal about my loath for "Hollywood Cookie-Cutter Movies" (I just came up with that, just now!) My favorite movies don't usually follow a predictable, old storyline. In other words, I like to use my brain when watching a movie.

I wanted to be a detective when I was a kid. I didn't read a whole lot when I was younger, but I loved Agatha Christie books the most. Solving mysteries AND going on fabulous vacations while mingling with the rich and famous? Sign me up! Then, as I got older, I realized how messy, tiring, frustrating, and horrifying it must be to be a detective.

Speaking of finding dead bodies, yesterday I noticed a large, mysterious barrel lurking behind a dumpster at work. A co-worker and I examined it, and upon closer inspection discovered it was empty. Sigh. Maybe I watch too much Dexter and Cold Case Files, but I kinda wanted the barrel to contain something more sinister than just - nothing. Does that make me a bad person? Probably. But life is more exciting when you add some drama. For example, I'm pretty sure my neighbors below me are drug dealers...

As you may be able to tell by now, I have a very dry, obscure sense of humor, and I'm sorry about that. It's difficult to tell sometimes if I'm being sarcastic or not... Good luck with that!

Wow. That's everything and more you could ever, EVER possibly want to know about me, right? These are things you can never un-know!

Hello World! (or The 14 People Who Will Actually Glance at This Every Now & Then

My name is Adrienne, and this is my blog.

I wanted to jump on the band wagon of sharing hours and hours of my ramblings and useless information with the masses, so here I am!

I began writing less and less in an actual journal as grew up and my relationships became more stable (ie: Does he like me? Do I like him? He's a jerk! I hate school!). For the past few years, I've felt too busy to find some quiet time and write down my thoughts and feelings. Turns out I was just lazy. Scratch that - I still am. But now I've discovered it's easier to type than write, and I get to be an exhibitionist at the same time!

So here I am, sharing my life with whoever will have me. At least I know my mom will read this!