Special Security Details Needed To Protect Charlie Hunnam From Crazed <i>50 Shades of Grey</i> Fans

The Hollywood Reporter recently, well, reported that extra security surrounded Charlie Hunnam at the premiere for this season’s Sons of Anarchy. Those buff new bodyguards came thanks to his casting as Christian Grey in the forthcoming 50 Shades of Grey flick — and over at The Atlantic, it’s being speculated the reason for the hired muscle is not just to keep Hunnam a safe distance from giddy admirers wanting to nuzzle his sexy beard growth.

Apparently, he also needs protection from fervent fans of the erotic novels who aren’t happy with his forthcoming portrayal.

They aren’t happy at all. Online petitions to replace him with someone more suited for the books’ racy S&M action have exceeded 80,000 signatures.

A sampling of the petitions’ haters: “Charlie Hunnam looks dirty and very unappealing,” –Corinne from Carmi, IL.

“My first choice is Ian Somerhalder but Matt Boomer [sic] would also be a very good choice. Much better than Charlie whatever.” –Emily from Yonkers, NY

“BECAUSE THAT CHARLIE HUNNAM IS A FUCKING FAILURE I KNOW IT I JUST KNOW IT”—Rae from Quezon City, Philippines

I mean, jeez, don’t hold back Rae. Incidentally, this is my favorite signee: “[signing] to keep my wife happy” –Michael from Harleysville, PA And in conclusion, Hunnam needs all the protection he can get.

Photo Credit: Getty Images

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Insider Details on <i>So Pretty It Hurts</i>

Q: Your new mystery, So Pretty It Hurts, is about the mysterious death of a supermodel. Did you pick a model to write about because of your job at Cosmo?

A: My job running Cosmo does include choosing the models that we use but for some reason I’ve been fascinated with models since I was 14. I think it’s because I was so nerdy and scrawny and I used to fantasize about one day becoming a model so guys would regret ignoring me. The funny thing is that I am fairly photogenic. In college I actually ended up on the cover of Glamour magazine, which my brothers laughingly referred to as trick photography. I did some modeling off and on for a couple of years after that. It was interesting to have a peek inside that world.

Q: This is the sixth in a series about a true crime writer named Bailey Weggins, who’s in her early thirties. But you hadn’t written a Bailey Weggins book for a few years. Why the gap?

A: I love writing this series but I ended up taking a break to write two stand- alone psychological thrillers—Hush and The Sixes—and the gap ended up being a bit longer than I wanted. I’ve been getting a lot of emails from readers asking what happened to Bailey, I’m so glad the book is finally out this week.

Q: Though Bailey lives in New York City, So Pretty It Hurts takes place at the country home of a record mogul. Why set it outside of New York?

A: I always wanted to write a story about a murder that occurs when people are in some fairly deserted location and can’t leave. Those kinds of stories scare the pants off me. In this case, Bailey and a close friend are weekend houseguests, along with the supermodel Devon Barr and her entourage. Saturday night, after dinner, Bailey discovers Devon’s dead body. It appears she might have died naturally, but Bailey has reason to suspect foul play. A bad snowstorm develops and no one can get out. Bailey knows she may be trapped in a house with a murderer.

Q: Why do you like to write about murders so much?

A: I’m not totally sure. I was a Nancy Drew fan when I was young, but those books were never about murder, just mysteries. Crime stories have always fascinated me. When I was in high school, a man killed seven nursing students one night in Chicago and that crime haunted me. Though I lived on the East Coast, the crime made me feel very vulnerable. I think it also led to me becoming intrigued with why people commit murder.

Of course another aspect of writing murder mysteries is creating the whodunit aspect. I love creating a puzzle the reader tries to solve because I love that kind of puzzle myself. The greatest compliment someone can give me is to tell me that they didn’t go to bed until 2 a.m. because they needed to finish the book and find out who the killer was.

Q: You’ve got a full time job with a lot of responsibility. When do you find time to write?

A: I write mainly on weekends. I also try to write a little bit every day during the week, early in the morning. Even if I only have ten minutes, I do it. This helps keep the story fresh in my mind and also prevents me from getting too far away the task. The thing about writing is that it’s sometimes hard to make yourself to do it, and if you haven’t written for five days, it’s even harder. I also write on vacation but I love doing that. One of the greatest thrills for me is getting up in the morning in a strange place and writing.

Q: If writing is hard, how do you make yourself do it?

A: I learned a great trick from a time management expert called ‘slice the salami.’ He pointed out to me that we often resist important tasks because we make them too big. So I started by writing just fifteen minutes a day. That way I couldn’t say no.

Q: Bailey works for a magazine. Have you met people like her in your business?

A: Not exactly like Bailey, but there are plenty of people who do what she does. We have a crime story in Cosmo every month and we use some terrific reporters. Recently we hired a new editorial assistant at Cosmo named Amary Wiggin. I thought it was funny that her name was kind of close to Bailey Weggins.

Q: What's the main thing Cosmo offers that writing doesn't?

A: A fun, zany place to work, where hunky male models really do come in and take off their shirts!

Want more? Click here to buy So Pretty It Hurts.

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A Riveting Date Recap—And All Those Break-Up Details

Okay, you know that scene in No Strings Attached where Ashton Kutcher brings Natalie Portman a “Congratulations” balloon, for doing such a good job in bed?

Yeah, my date was not getting one of those from me.

First of all, *Dave (names have been changed to protect the terrible) was wearing a trucker hat. A trucker hat. Aside from that, his personality was just so...meh. Sample conversation:

Me: “So you work in advertising?”
Him: “Yup.”
Me: “Do you like it?”
Him: “Yeah, it’s okay.”
Crickets…….
Me: “And, um, what do you advertise?”

Ughhh! What do you advertise? I resent Dave for being so boring that I was reduced to asking such an inane question. Anyway, we called it a night after one drink—clearly, I wasn’t exactly rocking Dave’s world either—and I went home, buried my head in a pillow, and listened to Adele’s “Someone Like You” on repeat. Did anyone see that SNL skit where a bunch of co-workers just sat around crying to that song? #Storyofmylife.

So I know I mentioned in my last post that I am boyfriend-less for the first time in five years, and that I also promised to explain what went down. As evidenced by my slight overreaction to my awful date, I’m clearly still having a rough time with it. But that’s actually a major reason why I’m doing this blog—the writer in me thinks that “expressing” myself will help with the healing process. Totally cheesy, but here goes.

*Eric and I met just over five years ago, during the fall semester of my sophomore year, his junior year. He was cute, but I just wasn’t feeling it. Part of my problem was that up until that point, I was going through that thing that every girl goes through where you’re only attracted to aloof assholes, and Eric was just so…interested in me. At first, I blew him off, but he was relentless—zeroing in on me at any party we went to and stopping by my dorm just to hang out and watch The Office. I’d never been chased that hard before, and it was kind of hot. When he asked me to his fraternity’s formal, I said yes, and by the end of the night, we were making out in the coat closet. Cliché but awesome.

Like most long-term couples, we had our ups and downs over the four and a half years we were together, but the good times (and fantastic sex) far outweighed the bad ones, and I really believed we were solid. When I graduated a year after Eric and moved to New York (where he was also living), we made the executive decision not to live together. We knew we wanted to get married some day, and so it was important to both of us to maintain our independence now, so that when we did tie the knot, we wouldn’t feel like we had missed out on any major life experiences.

Fast forward to several months ago, when the shit hit the fan. Eric showed up at my apartment one night, and admitted that he had feelings for a co-worker. He swore up and down that nothing had happened between them—which I’m still not buying—but more hurtful/rage-inducing than that was Eric’s assertion that we “really needed to experience this city on our own.” Just…no. Maybe you really need to experience this place on your own, but don’t patronize me by assuming you know what I “need.”

Since then, Eric has become someone I don’t even know. I finally de-friended him on Facebook after seeing one too many pictures of him and some hussy who I assume is his co-worker tonguing each other all over Manhattan. Vomit.

So that’s where the ex and I stand, and after retelling this, I need to go look at some pictures of puppies and kittens or something. But seriously, the light at the end of the tunnel is the same thing my mom keeps telling me: I’m young, single, I live in New York, and this is the time to Whoop. It. Up. Bonus: I’ve lost eight pounds in the break up and the bod is ready to be poured into a skintight little dress so I can go out and prowl with my friends this weekend.

From Cosmopolitan.com. Visit Amazon Beauty Ceneter here

A Riveting Date Recap—And All Those Break-Up Details

Okay, you know that scene in No Strings Attached where Ashton Kutcher brings Natalie Portman a “Congratulations” balloon, for doing such a good job in bed?

Yeah, my date was not getting one of those from me.

First of all, *Dave (names have been changed to protect the terrible) was wearing a trucker hat. A trucker hat. Aside from that, his personality was just so...meh. Sample conversation:

Me: “So you work in advertising?”
Him: “Yup.”
Me: “Do you like it?”
Him: “Yeah, it’s okay.”
Crickets…….
Me: “And, um, what do you advertise?”

Ughhh! What do you advertise? I resent Dave for being so boring that I was reduced to asking such an inane question. Anyway, we called it a night after one drink—clearly, I wasn’t exactly rocking Dave’s world either—and I went home, buried my head in a pillow, and listened to Adele’s “Someone Like You” on repeat. Did anyone see that SNL skit where a bunch of co-workers just sat around crying to that song? #Storyofmylife.

So I know I mentioned in my last post that I am boyfriend-less for the first time in five years, and that I also promised to explain what went down. As evidenced by my slight overreaction to my awful date, I’m clearly still having a rough time with it. But that’s actually a major reason why I’m doing this blog—the writer in me thinks that “expressing” myself will help with the healing process. Totally cheesy, but here goes.

*Eric and I met just over five years ago, during the fall semester of my sophomore year, his junior year. He was cute, but I just wasn’t feeling it. Part of my problem was that up until that point, I was going through that thing that every girl goes through where you’re only attracted to aloof assholes, and Eric was just so…interested in me. At first, I blew him off, but he was relentless—zeroing in on me at any party we went to and stopping by my dorm just to hang out and watch The Office. I’d never been chased that hard before, and it was kind of hot. When he asked me to his fraternity’s formal, I said yes, and by the end of the night, we were making out in the coat closet. Cliché but awesome.

Like most long-term couples, we had our ups and downs over the four and a half years we were together, but the good times (and fantastic sex) far outweighed the bad ones, and I really believed we were solid. When I graduated a year after Eric and moved to New York (where he was also living), we made the executive decision not to live together. We knew we wanted to get married some day, and so it was important to both of us to maintain our independence now, so that when we did tie the knot, we wouldn’t feel like we had missed out on any major life experiences.

Fast forward to several months ago, when the shit hit the fan. Eric showed up at my apartment one night, and admitted that he had feelings for a co-worker. He swore up and down that nothing had happened between them—which I’m still not buying—but more hurtful/rage-inducing than that was Eric’s assertion that we “really needed to experience this city on our own.” Just…no. Maybe you really need to experience this place on your own, but don’t patronize me by assuming you know what I “need.”

Since then, Eric has become someone I don’t even know. I finally de-friended him on Facebook after seeing one too many pictures of him and some hussy who I assume is his co-worker tonguing each other all over Manhattan. Vomit.

So that’s where the ex and I stand, and after retelling this, I need to go look at some pictures of puppies and kittens or something. But seriously, the light at the end of the tunnel is the same thing my mom keeps telling me: I’m young, single, I live in New York, and this is the time to Whoop. It. Up. Bonus: I’ve lost eight pounds in the break up and the bod is ready to be poured into a skintight little dress so I can go out and prowl with my friends this weekend.

From Cosmopolitan.com. Visit Amazon Beauty Center here