IN WHICH I CONSIDER EXORCISING MY INNER COUCH POTATO.
An indispensable component of the all-important Presentation — and the GAS: Glamour, Attractiveness and Sexiness, that fuels it — is a smokin’ hot, healthy body. Toned and taut in some places, with that extra female va-va-voom of soft ‘n’ curvy in others, our body is the temple to Venus we live in 24/7.
IN WHICH I ENJOY A BODICE-RIPPER — THANKS TO A DAY OF CARBS. (The saga of Brian continues after this thankful interruption.)
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.
IN WHICH I COMMIT TO EAT HEAT.
As I’ve told you in my earlier posts, dear readers, I, Mrs. Hot, transformed from shot, to hot — losing a ton of weight, and then having cosmetic surgery to alter my too-large birthday suit, skin fillers to fill in lines and Botox to numb away the railroad tracks between my eyebrows.
Now my challenge is to maintain the weight loss — the most difficult part for most, considering 95% of dieters gain back the weight, then add even more. I had yo-yoed myself several times in the past. Now, however, I know I’ll keep it off forever, because I’ve finally made my peace with making not just a temporary fix, but forever lifestyle changes.
Maintaining the “Attractiveness” component in our goddess vehicle powered by GAS –Glamour, Attractiveness and Sexiness — requires vigilance. I weigh myself everyday, and write the number down in my calendar — that way, good or bad, I force myself to own it. Should that number rise three pounds, well, that’s my red flag to get back on mainly protein, that day: I have zero tolerance now for spiraling out of control and out of my favorite hot dresses.
When faced with every food decision, every day, it’s important to ask the essential question: Is this worth wearing? Because how many muffins, in fact, are worth sporting as muffin tops? Sure, you might be able to balance it by starving yourself the rest of the day (UNhealthy, plus wrecks your metabolism) or burning it off in the most sadistic bootcamp on your gym’s class schedule. But I find that I make better choices if I assume I’m going to wear it, which has, in fact, been the usual outcome. I mean, I may as well just rub French fries on my inner thighs!
But I was a Girl Scout and as such, follow the motto “Be Prepared.” So I never leave home without my antioxidant, anti-aging armament: a baggie of organic raw pecans, almonds, walnuts (three nuts highest in antioxidants); another with cut-up veggies in bright colors; and a couple part-skim mozzarella cheese sticks. A big organic apple is also always in my bag; carby, yes, but the lesser, low-glycemic kind that’s chock-full of nutrients, plus the fiber fills me up. Whenever hunger strikes, but especially in the late afternoon, these nutritious weapons zap the low blood sugar that used to send me to the candy aisle for a — that’s right, you guessed it — Chunkie (irony seems to be just plain inescapable in my life) … or several.
Eating well is the best revenge — you’ll see when you go to your high school reunion.
Yours truly,
IN WHICH I CONSIDER THE DRIVE-BY HIT.
I must admit, even an unapologetic hussy like me, Mrs.Hot, seldom derives much pleasure from one night stands. They were, of course, a typical, casual feature of my Seventies coming of age — as emblematic of that era as the Hustle. On those Boogie Nights when the disco was closing with Donna Summer’s Last Dance, it was, indeed, your last chance for romance tonight — and if that was with a stranger, whatevs.
IN WHICH YOUR FAIRY GODMOTHER TURNS OUT TO BE…YOU!
Humans are visual creatures — we experience the world through our eyes, and we make our first immediate judgments about people based on how they present themselves. Whether they’re happy, sad, rich, poor, cool, nerdy, attractive, unattractive, love themselves, or hate themselves.
IN WHICH I CONSIDER THE DICKTATORSHIP OF SEXIST LABELS: WORDS MATTER.
Dearest Reader: To get you into the mood, the soundtrack for this post is the beyond hot “Age Ain’t a Factor” by Jaheim — and watch the sexy video after for continued inspiration, as well.
When Madonna was on the Ellen Show speaking of dating a twenty-two year-old, Ellen De Generis pointed out that when men do that, nobody bats an eyelash. That’s because the double standard is entrenched — it’s a given, plain and simple, that older men dating younger women is absolutely acceptable. Unfortunately, through our acquiescence and hesitance to challenge the status quo, we women have been unwitting accomplices in perpetuating this myth that men dating younger women is appropriate, while women doing the same is somehow improper.
Why, so foreign, nay creepy, a concept is an older woman with a younger man, it’s attracted a vicious label: “Cougar.” Indeed, such a sense of entitlement is attached to the concept of men dating younger women, and it’s considered so normal, there isn’t even a like label for them: yet another double standard.
We allowed this “C-word” to slip, unquestioned, into mainstream acceptability and familiarity. Now it’s up to us to liberate clueless men from the delusional viewpoint that only THEY are privy to the privilege of dating younger. As noted previously, the sexist “C-word” must be banished from our vocabulary; just as the label “Man” has proven enough to describe a male who dates younger females, the label “Woman” is sufficient to describe a female who dates younger males.
Activate your activism — I do, 24/7. For example, when a young twenty-something who’s hitting on me online refers to me as a “Cougar” (that’s right, hitting on me and says that!) I say, “Nope, I’m a Woman.” Then I delete his sorry ass. You bash? Then you trash, dude.
We women must, moreover, embrace our healthy, natural inclinations. (What is hotter than a strapping young buck, rock hard and ready to rock it downtown till we scream for mercy?) Besides, young things are so tender and yummy — baby carrots, baby peas, baby back ribs, baby lamb chops — when we consider the ever-delicious hot meal of male, succulent young entrées deserve a place on that buffet!
I salute those already-liberated of our sex who choose theirs fresh-picked. But those sexy heroines who pioneered the way deserve to be honored, as well.
Here’s to you, Mrs. Robinson.
Yours truly,
IN WHICH I CALL FOR WOMEN TO RIDE THE NEXT HOT WAVE OF FEMINISM, SURFING THE SWELLED.
When promoting her tour this spring on the Ellen De Generis show, Madonna was asked the age of the youngest man she’s dated recently; she was fifty-six.
“Twenty-two,” Madonna replied. The response to this was a smattering of claps, then more, then many, as applause built, peaking in a full-on burst of enthusiastic, thunderous approval.
That applause crescendo illustrated the light of consciousness beginning to dawn, then taking hold, then triumphing, in the women there: in the beginning, the majority experienced a knee-jerk reaction of outrage, the familiar one from the trench dug in their subconsciousness by society’s “norms;” yet when confronted with the prospect of sex with a twenty-two-year-old, their prejudice was busted by the unavoidable truth, and their secret, primal attraction to hot, young men prevailed; the validity of Madonna’s choice could not be denied and, moreover, deserved downright celebration.
They clapped in approval, solidarity, admiration and most certainly, envy. But there’s no need for jealousy, in any instance in life: abundance in all things — material, physical, emotional, indeed, all of our needs — is our birthright; we just have to open ourselves to it, and believe we deserve it. And that abundance includes plentiful doses of whatever our heart desires, including smokin’ hot sex — and with men of any age. What could be better than a workout for EVERY aspect of your heart, including a calorie-burning cardio one!
When asked why she likes younger men, Madonna said she likes their “energy.” And I would agree, in the sense that their perpetually forward-looking state of youthfulness is a powerfully positive vibration to be around. But knowing Madonna, she’s at the very least also giving the thumbs up to their hot physical energy and drive. After all, what’s not to love about a rock-hard throbber, the ability to reload quickly for another round, and the stamina to go long and hard into whatever overtime is necessary, even an epic all-nighter.
With an Energizer Bunny like that, I’ll never need to toy with that Rabbit again.
Yours truly,
IN WHICH I TAKE ISSUE WITH SOCIETY’S ISSUE WITH OLDER WOMEN DATING YOUNGER MEN.
In this time of hyper political correctness, and at the same time, an explosion of growth in tolerance and rights for all, how archaic is it that older women who date younger men are pejoratively referred to as “Cougars?” This not only implies them to be craven predators, with their “cubs” as victims, but pretends they are a twisted subset of females as a whole — sexual perverts.
Indeed, “Cougars” have been maligned to the point where some sensitivity would actually be refreshing. But I know the prejudice would simply continue behind the mask of “age-impaired,” “estrogen-challenged,” or “growth hormone-challenged;” as such the perceived handicap of preferring young men would inevitably spawn support groups: a Cougar Anti-Defamation League, an Association For the Advancement of Cougars, a Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Cougars. Naturally, telathons and walks to raise money for researching a cure for the Cougar disease would be ongoing.
But in my opinion, however, there are, in fact, just two types of women: “Cougars” and Liars. What red-blooded girl of any age doesn’t respond to the vision of a hot stud on the cover of a romance novel? What female with a pulse would repulse the thrilling advances of such a vision, in the flesh and hitting on her with all his powers of persuasion? Are we not, in all honesty, helplessly wired to see beauty in — and be attracted to — youth, as the perpetuation of the species is dependent on that fresh DNA?
I believe the state of “Cougardom,” then, is one of just plain normalcy. In that regard, I’m replacing the label “Cougar” with the more appropriate, “Woman.” The capitalization is deliberate, distinguishing Her as evolved and self-possessed — she has accessed and celebrates her Inner Goddess. A Woman not only insists on her right to Life à la Hot, but exercises that right.
Many Women have sauntered confidently and blissfully down this path, among them Joan Collins, Cher, Demi Moore, Jennifer Lopez, Denise Richards, Salma Hayek, Naomi Watts, Susan Sarandon, Gwen Stefani, Kate Beckinsale, Jada Pinkett, Elle MacPherson and Madonna.
But if you must insist on writing me a check for my “disease,” well, far be it for me, Mrs. Hot, to stop you — New York cocktails have gotten so expensive.
Yours truly,
IN WHICH I CONSIDER VITALITY TO INFINITY — AND BEYOND.
It’s true that age is just a number, and it is our energy that vibrates outwards that determines a life — or non-life, for that matter. As I’ve said, I believe I’m a wise, experienced twenty, and I vibrate that same vitality — the best match for me is either someone young, or one who vibrates at an equally youthful rhythm. Because, especially now that sixty is the new forty or even thirty, we need to jettison the tyrannical limitation of a number and all the prejudices that go along with it, in favor of a better, more valid measurement: vitality.
I’ve noticed vitality and youthfulness depend upon the ability to look forward — a hopeful, optimistic outlook. Think about it — young people are forever seeing life this way, always looking into a future. When such a future is considered already spent, and no longer open to possibilities, old age, then, sets in. The mere prospect of life is shut down, so is it any wonder our bodies and minds go along for the ride? The downward spiral — with its accompanying infirmity and indignity — is an inevitable, one-way journey — and a very unhot one.
Attitude is the foundation: Expect fabulous. Expect the best. Expect health, wealth, self-fulfillment and joy. The poet Walt Whitman said of his mother, that she behaved every day as if a wonderful surprise were about to arrive — and one usually did. That is the difference between an existence, and a life.
Never stop looking forward, moving forward and embracing the new. Keep expanding yourself into the best possible version of you; this is the M.O. at the very core of my being. My ever-bright outlook for the future and interest in all things new makes me — at any age — no different than a teenager with her entire life ahead of her.
So then, every day, carpe diem and carpe hot. Expand, explore, adventure, travel, take classes, build skills, create, give, laugh and love. Welcome the new and the unknown, for that’s where the excitement lives. When we’re on our deathbeds what we’ll regret most is not what we did, but what we didn’t do. Everybody has a dream, and that is what should make you jump out of bed to greet the sun everyday! That’s why whenever I meet someone new, of any age, I ask them who they want to be when they grow up.
Let’s turn off those screens and stop watching other people living. Time to get busy…on our own fabulous reality show.
Yours truly,
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.