My mom reads my blog (that's why it's always so squeaky-clean and full of happiness and flowers). Whenever you see comments that are from "anonymous," and that end in "love you! - mom," those are from her.
I'd like to give my mom a shout-out today for not only reading and commenting on my blog, but for greatly enhancing its content. She is the astute commenter, dear readers, who pointed out that the picture I shared with you in my last post was (maybe) of Ringo Starr's violinist. This put my mind at ease for a number of reasons, mainly 1) It explained why the first three pages of Google Image search for "sexy violinist" were populated with this woman's picture (she's quasi-Beatles-related! Of course she comes first!) 2) Let's just say I have some theories about Ringo Starr, international espionage and Julia Child, which are confirmed by the presence of hot Asian violinist.
Not only has my mom (maybe) solved the mystery of the Asian violinist, but she has solved the Greatest Mystery OF ALL TIME: Who was that flamboyant fiddler of fiery (f)passions that I saw on the TeeVee?
Yes. My mom watched, and waited, and finally, one fateful (f)Tuesday evening, she saw the commercial for herself. Then, like a good mom, she texted me while I was in class:
From: Mom
Violinist is david garret! I just saw the commercial.
Me: hahahahaha
I took my mom's word for it, and did not try to actually look him up, to match glorious face to name, until this second.
He is real!
He is also German and sort of goofy and endearing (I watched A LOT of YouTube videos to get one that captured the essence of that first commercial. The things I do for you people!), so I feel a little bad about mocking his "Sexy Violins!" schtick. But not too bad. If his handlers really wanted to impress me, they would play up the "stuttering man-boy" part of his persona - that's way more impressive for a VIOLIN VIRTUOSO (TM) to be borne of.
Showing posts with label sexxxxiness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sexxxxiness. Show all posts
Friday, July 23, 2010
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Sexual violins on a Sunday
Per my weekend routine, I was watching CBS Sunday Morning a few hours ago. It was delightful.
The End.
JK dudes! I had to write something because, during the peaceful, simple hour and a half of CBSSM, a commercial came on that nearly shattered my conception of everything CBSSM is about.
There was a dark screen, and a fierce orchestral screeching struck up! Murky, quasi-religious symbols floated in the background, and then excited, deep-voiced announcer guy came on to tell us about, "a new CD, from the most exciting violinist OF ALL TIME."
Bold claim, deep-voiced announcer guy! I mean, there are so many truly thrilling classical musicians running around, titillating America these days!
This particular violinist has a secret weapon, though: he is SEXY. He emerges from the blackness, square jaw clenched, luxurious blond locks swept back into a Fabio-esque ponytail (except, of course, for a single, come-hither tendril, falling over his intense, jewel-like eyes). His black, button-down shirt has been rent apart (no doubt by hormonally crazed female fans) to show his smooth, muscular chest. And thus, HE PLAYS. Rhythmically, forcefully, EXCITINGLY.
I was so blown away, I neglected to catch the name of this classical Casanova, so, sadly, though I wanted nothing more than to share this soul-plumbing experience with you, I cannot find it on YouTube (although I searched "sexy violinist" "most exciting violinist" and even "violin, sexy, long hair"). Nor does this man exist on Amazon, where searches for America's favorite violin CDs (and who knew there would be so many?) yielded only track upon track of Joshua Bell - a floppy-haired child! He cannot satisfy our violin needs!
Readers, please, be alert. If you hear a violin, and it touches your heart in a way no violin has before - take note! This is our man - the man who will lead the sexual violin revolution. Write down his name and then find his commercial. You will not be disappointed.
Post-script: I was looking for a picture to run with this, and, apparently, only women are allowed to be sexy violin players. DID I DREAM OF THIS MAN?
The End.
JK dudes! I had to write something because, during the peaceful, simple hour and a half of CBSSM, a commercial came on that nearly shattered my conception of everything CBSSM is about.
There was a dark screen, and a fierce orchestral screeching struck up! Murky, quasi-religious symbols floated in the background, and then excited, deep-voiced announcer guy came on to tell us about, "a new CD, from the most exciting violinist OF ALL TIME."
Bold claim, deep-voiced announcer guy! I mean, there are so many truly thrilling classical musicians running around, titillating America these days!
This particular violinist has a secret weapon, though: he is SEXY. He emerges from the blackness, square jaw clenched, luxurious blond locks swept back into a Fabio-esque ponytail (except, of course, for a single, come-hither tendril, falling over his intense, jewel-like eyes). His black, button-down shirt has been rent apart (no doubt by hormonally crazed female fans) to show his smooth, muscular chest. And thus, HE PLAYS. Rhythmically, forcefully, EXCITINGLY.
I was so blown away, I neglected to catch the name of this classical Casanova, so, sadly, though I wanted nothing more than to share this soul-plumbing experience with you, I cannot find it on YouTube (although I searched "sexy violinist" "most exciting violinist" and even "violin, sexy, long hair"). Nor does this man exist on Amazon, where searches for America's favorite violin CDs (and who knew there would be so many?) yielded only track upon track of Joshua Bell - a floppy-haired child! He cannot satisfy our violin needs!
Readers, please, be alert. If you hear a violin, and it touches your heart in a way no violin has before - take note! This is our man - the man who will lead the sexual violin revolution. Write down his name and then find his commercial. You will not be disappointed.
Post-script: I was looking for a picture to run with this, and, apparently, only women are allowed to be sexy violin players. DID I DREAM OF THIS MAN?
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Don't you feel clean - oui or non?
I'm writing a lot about shower products lately. Bear with me - I spend a lot of time either in the shower or thinking I should be in the shower because I smell kinda funky (thanks, Tom's of Maine deodorant stick of worthlessness!).
Getting so much face time with bath products has made me curious: why is everything written on the bottle in perfectly clear English repeated in French on the exact same bottle?
This bizarro, French copy-catification happens on soap, shampoos, rasors, lady products - pretty much everything having to do with personal hygiene. These things are not, to my knowledge, being sold to French people. Nor are they created in France, so I am confused about this extraneous and careless use of the French language. If I've learned anything from Pepe LePeu cartoons and/or the type of people who brought us "freedom fries," it's that the French are not anywhere close to experts on the subject of personal hygiene. Love, oui. Wine, bien sur. Soap - maybe once a week if vee can stop zee smooching for long enough! Honhonhon!
Obviously, given the above, extremely factual example, the idea that the French would have any say in America's cleanliness is ridiculous.
This is either some sort of nefarious plot by the French that is too complicated for me to even explain, a kind but misguided effort to encourage more American-like bathroom behaviors among our French brethren, or, even worse, a ridiculous attempt by American marketing people to fancify an American product for American consumers...by talking about it in a language none of these people knows.
My money is on choice #3. Only the type of people who appreciate "Burst"-scented things would think a French is a sexysexy surefire way to sell people on soap. It's not enough for these people that my shaving cream smells like a cabana blender or that my soap is "purifying" me instead of just cleaning me - my shower now has to be French as well. It's elegant, like when a restaurant puts "gateau" on its menu instead of "cake" or when people order "french fries" instead of "freedom taters."
Getting so much face time with bath products has made me curious: why is everything written on the bottle in perfectly clear English repeated in French on the exact same bottle?
This bizarro, French copy-catification happens on soap, shampoos, rasors, lady products - pretty much everything having to do with personal hygiene. These things are not, to my knowledge, being sold to French people. Nor are they created in France, so I am confused about this extraneous and careless use of the French language. If I've learned anything from Pepe LePeu cartoons and/or the type of people who brought us "freedom fries," it's that the French are not anywhere close to experts on the subject of personal hygiene. Love, oui. Wine, bien sur. Soap - maybe once a week if vee can stop zee smooching for long enough! Honhonhon!Obviously, given the above, extremely factual example, the idea that the French would have any say in America's cleanliness is ridiculous.
This is either some sort of nefarious plot by the French that is too complicated for me to even explain, a kind but misguided effort to encourage more American-like bathroom behaviors among our French brethren, or, even worse, a ridiculous attempt by American marketing people to fancify an American product for American consumers...by talking about it in a language none of these people knows.
My money is on choice #3. Only the type of people who appreciate "Burst"-scented things would think a French is a sexysexy surefire way to sell people on soap. It's not enough for these people that my shaving cream smells like a cabana blender or that my soap is "purifying" me instead of just cleaning me - my shower now has to be French as well. It's elegant, like when a restaurant puts "gateau" on its menu instead of "cake" or when people order "french fries" instead of "freedom taters."
Friday, July 2, 2010
Meeting My Needs
There are many things in this life that I truly, desperately need: liquid assets, a place to live, a magical portkey to the world of Harry Potter (minus that trollop Ginny Weasley). These things are serious, and I will not live happily without them.
There are other things, though, that I can admit to not needing. In fact, I would go so far as to say the world does not need them. One of these things is legs that smell like "Strawberry Tangerine Twist."
Yes, I own this. And no, thank God no, my bottle of it does not have a sparkly, lumpy popsicle-thingy (or sea creature?) on it. It has sparkly strawberries - it's new and improved.
But really, world, when and why did we decide, "You know what's too simple? Showering. There are not enough scented things and definitely not enough sparkles in America's showers. Let's jazz that situation up!"
Between the "coconut" in my shower gel, the peppermint in my shampoo and this, all my shower needs is some hard liquor to start a tiki bar with all the mixers. I guess that's where the "twist" comes in.
Please, world, if you love me at all, stop dumping hours of research and millions of dollars into shavescent technology. Let's focus on things we need - like a house for me. It won't smell like My Little Pony, but it will probably be cheaper, and it will get me out of your hair. Especially if it has a portkey.
There are other things, though, that I can admit to not needing. In fact, I would go so far as to say the world does not need them. One of these things is legs that smell like "Strawberry Tangerine Twist."
Yes, I own this. And no, thank God no, my bottle of it does not have a sparkly, lumpy popsicle-thingy (or sea creature?) on it. It has sparkly strawberries - it's new and improved.But really, world, when and why did we decide, "You know what's too simple? Showering. There are not enough scented things and definitely not enough sparkles in America's showers. Let's jazz that situation up!"
Between the "coconut" in my shower gel, the peppermint in my shampoo and this, all my shower needs is some hard liquor to start a tiki bar with all the mixers. I guess that's where the "twist" comes in.
Please, world, if you love me at all, stop dumping hours of research and millions of dollars into shavescent technology. Let's focus on things we need - like a house for me. It won't smell like My Little Pony, but it will probably be cheaper, and it will get me out of your hair. Especially if it has a portkey.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
I don't understand people
Sometimes, I question people's judgment.
And by "people" I don't just mean those that I know personally (though, when Gerard thinks eating a hotdog at 10:00 at night after having had a stomachache all day, I do question him because, really, hotdog = opposite of TUMS); I mean "all people, everywhere - particularly strangers and groups of strangers who don't really care what I think."
Just the other day, I spent many minutes of my precious, personal zone-out time on the subway wondering why anyone would choose to carry a messenger bag with the naked silhouette of a woman prominently displayed on its front. More specifically, I wondered why a person who was not 14 years old (the age where your desire to be in proximity to a naked woman and the likelihood of that actually happening are totally opposite) would even own such a thing, and why that person would carry it IN PUBLIC - in front of the children and the nuns and the actual ladies who are sometimes naked but probably don't look like that.
Hint, dude: having a naked lady on your bag does not act as some sort of homing signal for other naked ladies. It's not like a peer pressure thing, wherein I see your naked bag lady and think, "Man, that lady looks comfortable and awesome, perhaps I should get naked, too." No. No.
Poor misguided man. You are not physically repulsive (though, even without the naked lady bag, you do have questionable facial hair). Surely you can find an actual, flesh-and-blood, sometimes-naked lady to keep you company. You can't carry her naked through the streets, as you do with your current ladyfriend, but I think everyone - you, me...and no one else really matters here - will be much happier if you leave your ridiculous carryall choices at home.
And by "people" I don't just mean those that I know personally (though, when Gerard thinks eating a hotdog at 10:00 at night after having had a stomachache all day, I do question him because, really, hotdog = opposite of TUMS); I mean "all people, everywhere - particularly strangers and groups of strangers who don't really care what I think."
Just the other day, I spent many minutes of my precious, personal zone-out time on the subway wondering why anyone would choose to carry a messenger bag with the naked silhouette of a woman prominently displayed on its front. More specifically, I wondered why a person who was not 14 years old (the age where your desire to be in proximity to a naked woman and the likelihood of that actually happening are totally opposite) would even own such a thing, and why that person would carry it IN PUBLIC - in front of the children and the nuns and the actual ladies who are sometimes naked but probably don't look like that.
Hint, dude: having a naked lady on your bag does not act as some sort of homing signal for other naked ladies. It's not like a peer pressure thing, wherein I see your naked bag lady and think, "Man, that lady looks comfortable and awesome, perhaps I should get naked, too." No. No.
Poor misguided man. You are not physically repulsive (though, even without the naked lady bag, you do have questionable facial hair). Surely you can find an actual, flesh-and-blood, sometimes-naked lady to keep you company. You can't carry her naked through the streets, as you do with your current ladyfriend, but I think everyone - you, me...and no one else really matters here - will be much happier if you leave your ridiculous carryall choices at home.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
I just realized that I use the word "sexy" in 83% of these entries
But don't worry! Such a realization will not deter me from exploring the VERY IMPORTANT TOPIC that is on hand today.
I have been living in New York Cit-ay for about 2 and a half glorious years now, and, after much careful observation and note-taking and rampant judging, I am ready to share with you my very deep thoughts on a disturbing trend: people reading erotica on the subway.
We all know that the NYC Subway is a literal den (n. dark, underground place) of iniquity. However, while I may have adjusted to the idea that bums could pee on me while I'm down there, I will almost certainly see puke and old people are probably going to grope each other (actually, no, I'm still not okay with that last one), I cannot wrap my head around the idea that the guy sitting next to me on my commute is reading crazy SEXY tales of sexiness and intrigue.
Who is this fun for? Nothing against intrigue and sexiness (and probably also pirates and/or lesbians and/or piresbians. Wait, that's not in your erotica?), but how can you really let yourself get super-excited about your delightfully saucy pirate lesbians when you're on a crowded train?
The 8:45 AM F train doesn't seem the best environment for, um, immersing yourself in the story. How will you really give due attention to all the little nuances of the story - the literary easter eggs that I'm sure are hidden throughout the text? Also, how do you feel sexy on a train? All kinds of strangers are touching you, and not in an interesting, naughty way, but more like in a creepy, smelly way. I just don't know how people get in the mood for this sort of thing.
Maybe they actually started reading the night before - in their boudoir, draped in velvet, or whatever would be appropriate - and the story was just SO GOOD they couldn't wait to see what happened next. Like, does the lesbian pirate queen fall for the manly wiles of Raul, the secret castaway and the only man for miles? I MUST KNOW.
A sound theory, but it still doesn't explain why people feel the need to reach the end of their tale RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME. Have you people not heard of book covers? Paper bags? The kindle? Anything that will keep me from having to read titles like "Lesbian Pirates of the Future II: The Treasure is Buried Deeper This Time" first thing in the morning?
Or is that part of the excitement - knowing that people know what you're reading? Is it like the poor man's version of the Mile High Club, where the whole thrill is knowing that everyone else knows what you're doing, and that some poor sap has to sit next to you for the next three hours before landing in St. Louis?
What if it's more than just PART of the excitement, and some of these supposed erotica readers are actually deeply involved in "The Good Earth" but, for the sake of badassery and freaking others out, has replaced that book's cover with "Lesbian Pirates." Probably gives them more space on the crowded commute. In fact, next time you think you see me reading Head Bangers: An APF Sexcapade (Strebor Quickiez) by Zane, don't get freaked out -- I'm just trying to keep the real sickos from bugging me on my commute.
I have been living in New York Cit-ay for about 2 and a half glorious years now, and, after much careful observation and note-taking and rampant judging, I am ready to share with you my very deep thoughts on a disturbing trend: people reading erotica on the subway.
We all know that the NYC Subway is a literal den (n. dark, underground place) of iniquity. However, while I may have adjusted to the idea that bums could pee on me while I'm down there, I will almost certainly see puke and old people are probably going to grope each other (actually, no, I'm still not okay with that last one), I cannot wrap my head around the idea that the guy sitting next to me on my commute is reading crazy SEXY tales of sexiness and intrigue.
Who is this fun for? Nothing against intrigue and sexiness (and probably also pirates and/or lesbians and/or piresbians. Wait, that's not in your erotica?), but how can you really let yourself get super-excited about your delightfully saucy pirate lesbians when you're on a crowded train?
The 8:45 AM F train doesn't seem the best environment for, um, immersing yourself in the story. How will you really give due attention to all the little nuances of the story - the literary easter eggs that I'm sure are hidden throughout the text? Also, how do you feel sexy on a train? All kinds of strangers are touching you, and not in an interesting, naughty way, but more like in a creepy, smelly way. I just don't know how people get in the mood for this sort of thing.
Maybe they actually started reading the night before - in their boudoir, draped in velvet, or whatever would be appropriate - and the story was just SO GOOD they couldn't wait to see what happened next. Like, does the lesbian pirate queen fall for the manly wiles of Raul, the secret castaway and the only man for miles? I MUST KNOW.
A sound theory, but it still doesn't explain why people feel the need to reach the end of their tale RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME. Have you people not heard of book covers? Paper bags? The kindle? Anything that will keep me from having to read titles like "Lesbian Pirates of the Future II: The Treasure is Buried Deeper This Time" first thing in the morning?
Or is that part of the excitement - knowing that people know what you're reading? Is it like the poor man's version of the Mile High Club, where the whole thrill is knowing that everyone else knows what you're doing, and that some poor sap has to sit next to you for the next three hours before landing in St. Louis?
What if it's more than just PART of the excitement, and some of these supposed erotica readers are actually deeply involved in "The Good Earth" but, for the sake of badassery and freaking others out, has replaced that book's cover with "Lesbian Pirates." Probably gives them more space on the crowded commute. In fact, next time you think you see me reading Head Bangers: An APF Sexcapade (Strebor Quickiez) by Zane, don't get freaked out -- I'm just trying to keep the real sickos from bugging me on my commute.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
I WILL get this job
This morning, I was indulging in a favorite pastime of the unemployed. Can you guess what it was? Yes, I was sitting, unshowered, at my kitchen table. And yes, I may have been using the internet and drinking coffee. I was not using recreational drugs or drinking a beer or curled in the fetal position under every blanket I own, but those are all very good guesses.
More importantly, I was perusing Craigslist! For Jobs! Isn't that quaint and so very unemployed of me?
And I think all of my unemployment problems are solved because look what I found:
Date: 2009-08-25, 11:10AM EDT
Reply to: info@sexification.com [Errors when replying to ads?]
Hello Hello
I just started a new site about 2 months ago. www.Sexification.com. It's doing very well. Around 200-250 readers a day, and growing. We have had a few good women columnist, but I'm looking to expand and maybe hire a stable women columnist that the readers can relate to and build a relationship with.
It goes on, mostly filling in two paragraphs of space with the word SEXIFICATION all in caps like that. I will remember this space-filling technique for my next 5-page essay assignment.
Guys, I don't know what SEXIFICATION is, but I think I can do it. I am stable, so, yay, first requirement fulfilled. I will oh-so-calmly and non-eratically perform SEXIFICATION on you, as a sexy women columnist. I don't know if that's a columnist for women or just little old me with multiple personalities (all sexxxxy), but I will soon find out, if I e-mail info@sexification.com. My first point of business will be to suggest that they change that e-mail to SEXinfo@sexificiation.com. See? -- Sexified.
More importantly, I was perusing Craigslist! For Jobs! Isn't that quaint and so very unemployed of me?
And I think all of my unemployment problems are solved because look what I found:
Sexy Woman Columnist Needed (Union Square)
Date: 2009-08-25, 11:10AM EDT
Reply to: info@sexification.com [Errors when replying to ads?]
Hello Hello
I just started a new site about 2 months ago. www.Sexification.com. It's doing very well. Around 200-250 readers a day, and growing. We have had a few good women columnist, but I'm looking to expand and maybe hire a stable women columnist that the readers can relate to and build a relationship with.
It goes on, mostly filling in two paragraphs of space with the word SEXIFICATION all in caps like that. I will remember this space-filling technique for my next 5-page essay assignment.
Guys, I don't know what SEXIFICATION is, but I think I can do it. I am stable, so, yay, first requirement fulfilled. I will oh-so-calmly and non-eratically perform SEXIFICATION on you, as a sexy women columnist. I don't know if that's a columnist for women or just little old me with multiple personalities (all sexxxxy), but I will soon find out, if I e-mail info@sexification.com. My first point of business will be to suggest that they change that e-mail to SEXinfo@sexificiation.com. See? -- Sexified.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
You're gonna want to read this post for at least 18 hours, baby
Reader, you have no idea how happy I am about to make you. Happier than any other blog. Happier than you dreamed you could be, before you met me. The happiest...ooooo, girl...you've ever felt. Sit back, and let the smooth smooth stylings of seminal 90s pop group Color Me Badd wash over your pretty eyes and ears.
Wow. Just wow, and you're welcome.
In case some of you are not technical geniuses like thelaurenbell and cannot watch this video, a brief narration follows:
Girl, I know you miss me. I miss you too, bAbY! Hey, I have an idea -- watch this dance video that my bros and I made, out by the railroad tracks. Doesn't it make you feel all warm and sexy-like?
No? Well, look girl, I know you're classy. How's about this giant office? You know, the one with the candles. Naw, girl, I didn't get those just for you -- we're a candle company -- but you can think that if you want. If it makes you feel sexxxxy.
My boys here, they got the "dangerous/sexy" thang covered. Doesn't being trapped in an elevator with a stranger give you the lovemaking tingles? You know I know it does.
So here's what we got, baby, a smorgasbord of pleasure. At home alone? Bam, got you covered. Boardroom? You know it. Elevator? Ohhhhh yeahhh. Party? Bring it on, lover! We'll go in this closet -- you know I'd go anywhere and everywhere for you!
Baby, we'll do it all night. "Until we both wake up." That's right, I can even do it when I'm asleep, that's the extent of my love for you. I love you so bad, baby, I will physically pleasure you far beyond the point of normal human endurance, until we are both exhausted and pray for a quick end. But I'll keep going because that's what a real man -- a man who loves his lady -- does. OooooOOOoooOOOoo.
Wow. Just wow, and you're welcome.
In case some of you are not technical geniuses like thelaurenbell and cannot watch this video, a brief narration follows:
Girl, I know you miss me. I miss you too, bAbY! Hey, I have an idea -- watch this dance video that my bros and I made, out by the railroad tracks. Doesn't it make you feel all warm and sexy-like?
No? Well, look girl, I know you're classy. How's about this giant office? You know, the one with the candles. Naw, girl, I didn't get those just for you -- we're a candle company -- but you can think that if you want. If it makes you feel sexxxxy.
My boys here, they got the "dangerous/sexy" thang covered. Doesn't being trapped in an elevator with a stranger give you the lovemaking tingles? You know I know it does.
So here's what we got, baby, a smorgasbord of pleasure. At home alone? Bam, got you covered. Boardroom? You know it. Elevator? Ohhhhh yeahhh. Party? Bring it on, lover! We'll go in this closet -- you know I'd go anywhere and everywhere for you!
Baby, we'll do it all night. "Until we both wake up." That's right, I can even do it when I'm asleep, that's the extent of my love for you. I love you so bad, baby, I will physically pleasure you far beyond the point of normal human endurance, until we are both exhausted and pray for a quick end. But I'll keep going because that's what a real man -- a man who loves his lady -- does. OooooOOOoooOOOoo.
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