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Posts Tagged ‘sexy’

[experienced and written on Thursday 3/21]

the air lightens around us

1. I do not expect you to understand this post. There are bits that I have left purposely un-puncuntuated and one part that I left flimsy, poem-like. Not that I want my or anyone else’s poetry to be flimsy, but sometimes I like flowy words for no reason but the sound and feel. So we call it poetry and let it pass. Not all of life need be tidy and tight.

2. because you don’t have to number something if there’s only one

you know me as the [sometime] bike ‘n’ bitch, but I’ve got a new pair of high-heeled sneakers on; yes, I’ve been a dabbler in running, but there’s a new phase a’comin’. I just know I will be able to run the whole stretch of my block and back without stopping within the next little while, few months, year. To be honest, I’d settle for being able to do yoga again first. It’s the longest I’ve gone without a class in over 4 years. Sigh and fuck inexplicable injuries!

the neighbor who bikes to the racquet club was walking in the ‘hood with her husband

a woman was stopped at the end of the street, probably standing right in a pothole, with her Great Dane who did NOT have its ears or tail cut (hooray for humane decisions). The dog was so good, so patient. The owner was training her (him?) and it was a sweet sight. Who’s a good dog?

what is this?

it’s a dog snood

After her mom stopped her car at the end of their driveway, a small child opened the passenger door, ran to the mailbox, and flew back with the mail. So small and wee, jet-black hair waving in the current her speeding body created. Was it a boy with long locks? I waved and said “you are helping; that’s a good thing,” and he, rightly, took a little step back toward his mom and squinted across to me and shyly asked “what?” and I repeated what I said. I waved to the mom, too, so she knew that I knew that we all knew it was safe. It’s good thing when children are taught to be cautious of strangers.

On my way back from my very short “beginner’s loop” (though I’ve been a beginner for years), I cursed the sidewalk that our neighbors seem to feel is beneath them to shovel. I’ve actually heard the wife chide her husband for shoveling too much. Isn’t that backward? I thought hen-pecking happened because men didn’t do enough around the house, but somehow, she thinks that anyone who walks the neighborhood doesn’t deserve a clean, shoveled, safe stretch of sidewalk. Now I know I’m bashing a sista, but when it comes to sidewalk safety and being a good neighbor and doing your part, especially if you are able-bodied and home much of the time, I got no patience for ya.

In fact, in the last few years, this is only the second time I’ve seen their stretch shoveled and on my run, the path was EXACTLY ONE SHOVEL-WIDTH across. You gotta have some balls to shovel only one shovel-width, but I think the wrong kind of balls. The snow was heavy as water, yes, but only about an inch-and-a-half deep by mid-morning on Tuesday. Their stretch of sidewalk is about 20 feet across. You know how much sidewalk we have? about 75′. Fuckers.

with the sun behind me, I made a shadow-shape on the blue snow and I watched the motion of my hips, unmistakeably me; no matter how much weight I gain and cringe to think of how I look, it’s me. Unmistakeably sexy, me. This is my walk, this is my gait, this is what people see.

The grief point where my rib meets my sternum, over to the left, above my heart, where the voodoo darning needle was plunged, still brings a rush of pain and tears. But it’s getting better.

Running and me? Two steps forward, one step back.

My health? The same.

Aging is a motherfucker, but sometimes I fight the good fight. Today was one of those days.

Look how James Brown seems to float above the floor. That is about how I felt today when I walked out of my acupuncturist’s office and my ribcage was pain-free.

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The sounds and songs of my childhood weren’t always on CKLW. Sometimes it was what the grown-ups listened to. Cocktails. James Bond. The 4 o’clock Movie on Channel 7 (Detroit).

Side burns, wide lapels, the dry look, Herb Alpert.

Bouffant hair-dos, platinum blond. Mini skirts, fringe, go go boots. String bikinis. Long breezy unkempt hair, parted down the middle. Playboy centerfolds, green, red, and yellow hues, a hazy patina on the pages. Penthouse, much dirtier.

I had no idea Dusty Springfield was English because, you know, people named “Dusty” come out of the Old West and “Springfield” is also decidedly American.

Guys, you want to get lucky tonight? Put on your cotton flannel pajamas, dim the lights, fire up a smoke (Lucky Strike? Winston?), and spin this on the turntable.

Okay, so smoking is no longer sexy. Do you think these are made of flame retardant fabric?

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I have not seen every film that Viggo Mortensen* has been in, but I have seen the three in which he appears buck naked. I know you know Eastern Promises, but I bet you can’t name either of the others.

And so, a challenge, my pets. Which is the other movie in which Viggo appears fully naked? Yes, that’s full frontal nudity, though I suppose in slo-mo you’d get an eyeful in Eastern Promises.

I have a couple of hints if no one gets this in a day, but the internet being what it is, I suspect y’all will come in lickety split with your answers.

(DISCLAIMER: As usual, there aren’t any prizes for contests on twinklysparkles. The challenge of sinking your teeth in should be reward enough)

I usually hate these compilation vids, but this was done professionally and it’s not bad, not bad at all. This guy’s got a pair of solid brass balls, just the kind of acting we Americans like best.

Behold the beauty of Viggo:

(yes, I wanted the little kid to shut up in that scene from The Road, too. I thought this was about VIGGO)

Another thing, when someone says she (he?) has a crush on Aragorn, here is my response:

*Hubby’s nickname for the Vig-Meister? Vigorous More Tension, of course

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Not to dissuade you from my earlier Thanksgiving post, but I was just reminded of this fabulous video due to a Facebook thread….

It seems to me that I used to post sometimes twice in a day. I’d be so eager to share things. Especially back when I did regular Music Mondays and Thankful Thursdays. The obligatory would inspire the spontaneous.

Have I posted this before? I sure hope so. If you have never watched this, here’s your chance.

Alan Cumming exudes sexy like a turkey in the oven at Thanksgiving (fill-in-the-blank).

From an Alexander Technique perspective, he has got it going on. The beautiful poise of his head, neck, back relationship, his amazing presence throughout the entire song. I could watch this all day.

Yes, his voice is shot, but who cares? He is a thing of beauty to behold. Sexy motherfucker.

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I know I’ve stated on numerous occasions that I refuse to use emoticons.

I got an email from a friend yesterday and it was prefaced with a little yellow smiley-guy blowing a kiss. I laughed. I keep looking at the thing. Is this how emoticons are supposed to work? I guess I finally get it. It is hard being an emoticonazi. I’m not saying I’ll start using them, but who knows? I can change.

Thankful for

the dental practice I frequent. I had a cleaning on Monday. I do love them all so much there. The new dentist, Dr. Wilson, who replaced the fabulous Dr. Brookes, gets a high thumbs-up from me. She’s got the same gentle touch that Klepacki has and that Brookes had. I am, however, trying to avoid x-rays to the head but I know one of these times they will insist and I will say yes. I have a friend who’s gone her whole life without even one cavity, who has never needed braces, whose children don’t need braces or glasses, and who, between her and her husband, still have 4 living parents. How does that work? And does this kind of information really belong in this post?

I love this bowl with its funny blue flowers

I love pink

I love spring today, even if it’s a bit cold out. It’s rainy and cool and the plants LOVE it.

I love the dream I had about a month ago in which Heath Ledger (alive) was standing just behind me, breathing and leaning in very close to my left ear. He lingered there, warm and dusky, saying something in his low Australian voice. He was slightly unshaven, scruffy; he had a hat on. I know he was gonna kiss me. But he didn’t.

I love when famous men visit my dreams. I am a lucky woman to have such a generous imagination.

Here it is people

:-* kiss

Kiss my ass

Not as easy as it looks: this is what happens when you are the family photographer. You have to keep taking photos of yourself. In the mirror. the same mirror. You look pretty much the same. Except for the pink lipstick and pink shirt. Am I right? wait, I know how to do this, I’ve seen it before, alongside some emoticons: amirite?

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I still use a spiral-bound appointment book for keeping track of important dates and appointments

I take most of my writing notes in a notebook with a pen

I do not have an iPhone (Smartphone, Blackberry, etc) yet

as a family, we share one cell phone, an old-fashioned one without texting capabilities

I have never texted and no Twitter for me

I have been on Facebook for 4 years and think every change they’ve made since I joined has been a change for the worse

I have never printed a digital photo

I have never scanned a photo (but Hubby has done this for me)

I still own three 35mm cameras. One of them has film in it from 2 years ago. One, a Pentax, I’ve never used.

I still have fantasies of using my oldest camera, a camera my mother was given before she immigrated to the US in 1958. It is a simple and beautiful camera, a Retina, made in Germany (by Kodak in some roundabout way–follow the link). It doesn’t have a full range of f stops. It came with a hard-cover book for learning to use it. A hard cover, bound book. Can you believe it? The camera is all metal and a bit of leather. No plastic. It is fucking awesome to hold and to behold, to play with, to turn the dials on, to feel the clicks and grooves of metal-on-metal.

I used to use the Retina, even with its limited settings. It was my go-to camera for black-and-white photos. Beautiful. I miss it and I miss real black-and-white photos. I never mastered it as I wished because I switched to a (not so great) 35mm Minolta that did everything for me. I completely stopped using the manual settings even before I had kids. After kids, forget it.

I used to love to hand-crank the film in order to rewind it

Remember flash cubes? I love that.

My family never owned a Polaroid camera as far as I remember, but I confess, I did own a Kodak disc camera in high school.

I love the old black-and-white square photos from my childhood, the date right in the white border. Classy. God I love those.

In college, I took 3 semesters of film in the Art Department with the great instructor and filmmaker, Richard Myers. That was an amazing time. We would all smoke in class. Unfuckingbelievable.

In high school, we had a smoking area outside and we were allowed to smoke on school grounds (I think we needed to be 16 and have a permission slip).

My first cigarette was from a sample pack sitting on the edge of the built-in bookshelves in my father’s office. It was a pack of Kools. I went into the bathroom and watched myself smoke. I remember the cough and the headache, the menthol and the buzz.

Until college, I smoked Marlboro Greens. I eventually became a pack-a-day smoker. I quit smoking, cold turkey, at least 2 times (once for about 4 months, once for 8) until I quit for good many, many years ago. For a number of years before I quit, I had switched to Marlboro Light 100s.

I had smoking dreams for years after I quit. Those were very, very, very satisfying.

This reminds me that I also used to take a bottle of red wine to a lot of high school basketball and football games. I carried a large purse that could fit a whole bottle with ease, would down half a bottle in the bathroom stall and share the other half with my pal in the stall next door. Look, it’s not as glamorous as Larry Craig, but that was me, the budding alcoholic at 15. Where did I get the wine, you ask? Stolen (sometimes given to me by my mother if I was heading to a party, no jive) from my parents’ supply from a constant stock of cases.

I can’t believe I remember this shit.

Yes, thankfully I never had sex in a public bathroom. But did you see a movie called Captives with Tim Roth and Julia Ormond? Because that movie was not good, but it had the sexiest sex-in-a-bathroom scene that I have ever seen. The scenes between Tim Roth and Julia Ormond should convince any heterosexual woman that a man need not be good looking, tall, or have good teeth to be smolderingly sexy. Just try it. Tim Roth makes me melt. He deserves his own twinklysparkles‘ blog post.

I have never seen American Idol or Survivor, nor any of the current reality-dating shows, though I did see about 20 minutes of one once (these have been airing for about 10 years, right?). I have watched a little bit of Dancing With the Stars twice and I liked it.

I do love a good TV show, but I only watch on Netflicks.

Remember I said I would never tire of Led Zeppelin’s version of In My Time of Dying? Well, my kid played it in the car on the way to New Haven last week and guess what? It was once too many and I finally heard all of the silliness of Robert Plant’s singing in the third quarter (or is that the fourth fifth?) of the song (I still love the song and his pleading, but I had an epiphany).

I can tell that the labyrinthine pathways of neural connections in my brain don’t work like they used to. I don’t miss my sharper mind, but I can’t understand math or complicated instructions about mechanical things any more and that I don’t like.

When I took my One-to-One training section with Kevin, the blue-shirted Genius at the Apple store, he told me, “keep learning new things” when the subject of the elderly and technology came up.

Kevin was especially cute and kind, so I will take his advice and will try to learn Italian and fencing, African drumming and African dance. First, I have to get the damn taxes done, finish taking One-to-One classes for my Mac, continue to organize our finances, finish raising my kids (4-and-a-half more years ’til the little one is done with HS), apply for that new, less evil and less expensive credit card, continue my new exercise regimen, build my iron stores, make sure I don’t bleed for the next 6-8 months so help me god….

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Norah Jones sort of makes me wish I was gay. I also wouldn’t mind to have three men with good, slow rhythm backing up my chick lead vocals.

I know I should shut up, but her hands on the piano are so ridiculously beautiful. One rarely sees a wrist and fingers with that kind of poise on the keys. Lovely. You can hear the amount of control she has in her playing.

Non-doing is an important principle in the Alexander Technique, what FM Alexander called Inhibition. Learn it and reap; oh, yeah.

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