1. Those tights.
2. That wig.
3. Those collarbones.
4. A bike path leading straight to that lake.
5. A pair of stiletto slingbacks that give me the ability to crouch on water.
6. A vacation to Fashion Fantasy Island, where I am twenty pounds lighter, fourteen inches taller, and can rock a nude tube dress like I was born in it.
(I'll settle for the tights.)
Ha.
"Je ne vivrai jamais seule. Je ne connais pas la solitude et je ne veux jamais la connaître."
NSFW! NSFW!! Click it!!!
Let that be the second and last time I use "internet speak" on this blog. Thank you.
... of course she *could* be singing about this gal... who is quite song-worthy, IMHO.
Let that be the first and last time I use "internet-speak" on this blog. Thank you.
Promised myself I wouldn't post pix of my dudes every few seconds but I saw this and literally couldn't help myself...
YOU try taking that shot and then sitting on it like a secret.
... a shot of Phelp's mom and sister reacting to his RIDONCULOUS photo-finish win for his seventh gold of 2008:
Oh go watch it. It's a piping hot platter of Holy Shit. It'll fire you up. It will make you want to go do some laps at the Y. Just like how the first Rocky made you feel like a boxer, or how the Karate Kid made you want to stand on a stump at the beach and crane 'til you croaked. Or how Flashdance made you run in place in leg warmers, rubbing your thighs and swinging your head until your neck spasmed. (Just me?)
Even if not, you might wanna check this one out. I dug it. I'll lend you my copy if you want.
In other news. I'm looking forward to when I can wear my T-shirts again without looking like a troll porn star from rack to ribs. Just sayin'.
Are your cockles located near your hackles? Can they both be warmed AND raised, at the same time?
Just wondering.
Okay, okay. I shall give you what you crave. But you really must stop begging.
Behold: the greatest posing routine EVER.
I can't stop myself from imagining the conversation between Sam the Man and his tech dude...
SAM: I'm looking for a wash of color here. Something strong, aggressive...
TECHIE: How about green.
SAM: Don't you think that's a little Incredible Hulky?
TECHIE: EXACTLY. We'll use some sound from the TV series.
SAM: I like it. It's edgy. It's virile. Make it happen.
TECHIE: I'll bring it up after the robot-velociraptor and the male-revue-ish butt-pump... But I think you should do a little interpretive weed-growing thing.
SAM: Okay. Can we have smoke?
TECHIE: Sure. Maybe you can fake-fart too.
SAM: Perfect. When will it go back to normal?
TECHIE: Right before your steroidy tai chi.
SAM: Genius. You are gifted.
TECHIE: I know.
SAM: I love you, man.
TECHIE: Stop touching me.
----
Via Ellie...
... but I got the feeling you were wondering what it feels like to get one of these, so I thought I'd break my blog silence to show you...
Yes, it's just like being attacked by millions of sparkles and a tiny little rapper.
The best is that I get to go to this ridiculous gala with A-list celebs, where Sotheby's auctions off Fabregé eggs and reporters ask who you're wearing.
When I went to this event in 2000, I wore an $80 dress from J.C. Penny, took my mom as my date, got very very drunk, made out with a boy in a closet, and rushed the stage when Aretha Franklin launched into "Respect". This year will be decidedly more classy--gown by Vera Wang (purchased on sale, okay), sobriety by motherhood (alcohol gets passed through breastmilk, mofos), and salacious antics kept to a minimum.
Dignity is underrated.
...but tired of that blurry photo being the only entry on this page, as though the babe is the period at the end of my sentence. I mean he's great, totally dreamy, but he's more of an ellipses right now... or more like an exclamation point, with a question mark, followed by a new sentence that starts something like "I'm so fucking tired I could gouge my eyes out with a pencil."
Okay that made no sense. Whatever. Hey, I'm writing two movies! One little, one big, and for people (directors) you may have heard of. But I'll wait until they're made before I spill the beans.
How am I doing this AND breastfeeding, you ask? Well, I'm often covered in milk from aiming too low. And I am not sleeping. I'm barely feeding myself. But I'm drinking a special tea to keep my supply up when my nutrition is down. It's fun being food.
Tell me you care. For the love of god.
