(The hot saga of Justin continues after this thankful interruption.)
IN WHICH I ENJOY A BODICE-RIPPER — THANKS TO A DAY OF CARBS.
I love the beautiful message of Thanksgiving, and not just because for a change I’m eating — and not dating — a turkey … or because I let myself gorge on a carb heaven of mashed potatoes, stuffing, and pecan pie. READ MORE
(The salacious saga of Justin continues with the next post.)
IN WHICH I CONSIDER THE BENEFITS OF BEING STRANDED.
Hair is sexual, plain and simple. When Delilah cut off Samson’s, he lost his power, a metaphor if there ever was one: what’s more sexually attractive, on either sex, than a nice head of hair?
I'm a gorgeous goddess of a certain age who transformed from shot to hot, a feminist playa refusing to go into the sunset without a Mojito in one hand and a hunka hunka burnin' love in the other! Because sixty IS the new forty or even thirty I will not be dying with my boots on, but with my Jimmy Choo stilettos, thank you very much. I, a sexually liberated woman, stand defiantly against ageism and sexism, adamantly asserting not only is it possible to maintain and even enhance our sexual allure as we ripen, we women have the same right as men to vibrant vitality and romance at any age.