abigail414's diaryland diary
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The Sexiest Woman Alive
Scarlett Johansson was named the sexiest woman alive by Esquire magazine, and I concur that yes she is hot. But, in an interview with her about it, she wanted to know �what about my brain?�.
Perhaps she was looking for it here, or used it too much when she held up a sign saying �this photographer is harrassing me� (she asked �like 4 people how to spell it and they said there were 2 r�s�). I think we should cut her some slack, because she's sweet and young and famous and not skinny and most of us don�t know how many n�s or s� are in her name. But when you pose like this in pictures, it isn't your brain that people are noticing.
Spoken as someone who usually leads with her brain, but is learning the effect of cleavage. I went Sunday night bar-hopping with Gwen and ended up receiving an uncomfortable amount of attention from a sexy young man. I was sitting and laughing with Gwen and her friend Daniel at a tacky bar after having too much Mexican food, and suddenly there was 'Saul' (his name choice - he knows I will write about him) - a gorgeous black man right up in my face with clear intentions, and an uncanny resemblance to the gay cop on HBO's Six Feet Under. I convinced him to back off enough to play a marginal game of pool, and then he showed me a photo on his cell phone of his huge penis entering some woman's vagina. OK, that last part was very very weird. Always the observer, I had to take a picture of the picture of his penis because I couldn�t believe it was happening. Plus I noted the woman's wax job - ouch. Gwen found the whole thing entertaining and encouraged me to get laid just for fun because it was obvious that it would be.
In truth, I found her friend Daniel, who we started the evening with, more compelling. Not for a short term fix, more the type of guy I'm attracted to over and over again � emotionally unavailable, troubled, probably has a substance problem. He�s a burned-out veterinarian that does relief work a couple days a week, has long graying hair in a ponytail, with impossibly dark eyes that remind me of Hawk my old dog, and is well-read with a dry wit. Gwen and Daniel would be a great pair, but for some reason have never hooked up even though they�ve been best friends for 10 years. He was fun to hang with in the �brooding guy who finds you entertaining and may come out of his shell just a little bit if you work hard� kind of way. Patterns. Sigh. (Interesting side note, Daniel knows Dr. D, the Hungarian surgeon that I swooned over a month ago, and yes he is married - to a transvestite. Hard to believe, but this IS southern California).
Daniel left while I was playing pool with Saul, I managed to extract myself from his tractor-beam focus, and coerced Gwen away from his friend of the same name. (To make the evening more unreal, they were both wearing shirts with their name on it.) No one could believe I was 50, which was fun, but again made me wonder what 50 is 'supposed to' look like. We briefly hit another bar where we were surrounded by Marines. They were manly and wholesome and good looking, and one was particularly attractive so Gwen asked him �do you like men?'. Interesting way to assess if a guy is gay or not, and probably essential around here. He emphatically assured us no, he's from Colorado. We had a brief talk about Iraq, he�s been there twice and is out, and I thanked him for his service (it isn�t his fault that his boss is an idiot).
Saul has called 2x so far, and has the sweater I left in the first bar. He said that even though I was clearly saying �no�, my body was saying something different. I sympathize with Scarlett, and her body vs. mind issues. My body votes for his higher level of testosterone and straightforward approach and ample member - but my brain notes that he is a beautiful black man with shaved head and diamond earrings (aka player), who says I mean yes when I say no, thinks all women lie, and showed me a photo of his penis within an hour of meeting him. It was the eve of his 29th birthday and he wanted to spend it in this 50 year old's bed (I must be older than his mother). I'm starting to see that I don�t work that way -I�ve been presented the opportunity twice in the past month, and pulled back. I don't want to have sex with strangers, I want the whole enchilada. The question is, do I need an affair to take the edge off so I can be patient? I think I may just forfeit my sweater for now.
Other unrelated but quasi-sexual news is that Sebastian my massage therapist is indeed bisexual. I had another great massage from him last week - the kind that you leave totally in love with your whole body - and found out on good authority (the dancing queen waiter across the street) that he's a �switch hitter�. This means that 1) my gaydar is still working because I couldn't figure him out and 2) the apparent pleasure he gets in giving me a massage may be real. No, I am not getting involved with a switch hitter � definitely a kamikaze health proposition in Palm Springs.
As you know, my landlord's recent decision to not renew my lease has got me thinking about staying here vs. going up north. I've been contemplating what I want and what 'community' means, and whether I can create that here or anywhere - or if my lifelong yearning for it is just a way to keep me from committing to anywhere and give me permission to run away. That, plus my recent hypersexual interactions, have prompted me to book a ticket to San Francisco (then Sonoma) for next Sunday through Tuesday. There are 3 (maybe 4) jobs up there (they don't know I'm coming yet), and some houses to look at and some decisions to make. Plus, it is winegrape harvest season. Enough fooling around for now.
P.S. Relief is in sight - it actually rained a tiny bit last night and double digit temperatures are predicted for this week. Hurray for fall in the desert!
6:00 am - 2006-10-02
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