The Hands of Time
The Hands of Time
Bazongas. Tatas. Melons. Chichis. Years ago, when I worked in the porn industry these words were part of my daily vocabulary. Now, in case you get the wrong idea, I was not in front of the camera, but rather that creative voice behind the box cover blurb.
In order to get a gist of the plot, I would watch each movie until I had a total understanding of the intricate emotions driving the action
Often times during this work, my husband would come up behind me and do a bit of his own driving, which of course made concentrating on the story almost impossible.
And yes, there were stories to some of these films. Even if they were as simple as: Bored housewife sits by the pool. Horny pool man arrives. Wife takes off her top. Pool man takes out his pole.
But more often than telling the story, I had to entice the viewer by describing the lusty bustiness of the actresses.
Thus my knowledge of every conceivable synonym for that ever talked about body part: breasts. The job also became a study in human behavior.
Boobs sell. I discovered that there are more “breast man” in this world than “leg man” or “butt men.” This fact led me to the question – Why men are like this in the first place? Breaking down a woman’s body into favorite parts, sounds like one is talking about a product that can be purchased at your local grocery store.
I rarely hear a woman announce, “Oh, I’m a penis girl.” Or “I’m a hairy chest girl.” Of course, women do favor different parts of their lover. I always loved arms, strong, muscular arms. But if they didn’t come with a good personality and some brains, well, those arms soon lost their sex appeal.
But, back to the boobs. My favorite alternative word is “breasticle.” I have no idea why. I suppose it sounds rather sophisticated. Or maybe because it rhymes with testicle.
In any event, I actually miss those days of conceiving alluring blurbs and in fact, I haven’t even seen any porn in a very long time.
I’m sure the actresses have changed. The ones I watched are now middle aged. Who wants to see that on screen? Get hot and heavy with horny Grandma Maybelle. Her banana boobs will bring you to orgasmic pleasure. Not!
But I wouldn’t mind viewing some of those older films. I’ll have to read the box covers and see which ones promise a night of orgasmic pleasure.
I never thought this could happen, but it has!
I hope everyone had a very Merry Christmas.
And that 2015 brings you everything you ever wanted and lots of happy endings!
THEN: Changing the Time
NOW : Changing the Time
With the end of Daylight Savings, I’ve been thinking a lot about Time. That elusive concept that always seems to pass too slowly when you’re young and way too fast once you’ve crossed the half century mark of your life
I mean, really. One minute you’re walking down the aisle in a cap and gown and the next you’re wearing a backless gown and being wheeled down the corridor for a colonoscopy.
So, I’ve been thinking. What if instead of simply turning the clocks back an hour in March and then gaining that hour in October, we could actually save time itself?
If all those hours of Daylight Savings were actually saved in Personal Time Bank accounts.
Every Daylight Savings we would add another hour, not be used until we turned forty or of an age when we could really appreciate time. Our hours would accumulate and then each fall when we turn the clocks back, we could go to our time bank and withdraw whichever hour we wanted.
Think about it. You could withdraw an hour from a day in high school when you followed your crush around, waiting for him to smile at you. To remind yourself of how young love felt. To help you relate to that hormonal teenage daughter sulking at you from across the kitchen table who wants only to send a text to her boyfriend and not have to listen to you bitch about her lack of respect.
You could withdraw an hour from the day your child was born and relive how it felt to cradle her in your arms. Before she learned how to talk back.
Or maybe an hour from when you were laid up in bed with a broken bone. An hour that would remind you to slow down, take a deep breath. You don’t need to be there for everyone, all the time.
If you were sad over something, you could take a “happy” hour from your bank to remind you of life’s ups and downs. Perhaps withdraw an hour to help you through a tough situation. Or even an hour to spend with someone who is no longer with you.
You could revisit the days when we called each other to say hello instead of sending emails. When a text usually meant a book, a virus referred to something attacking our bodies, and a window was a large opening looking out onto the world.
And let’s take it one step further. How about being able to withdraw against these hours whenever you needed a few extra minutes to meet a deadline? Instead of rushing from the market to the soccer game to the doctor’s to the office, you could borrow from your Time Bank and make that tightly squeezed day, just a bit easier.
Or maybe even trade hours with your friend to see how it really feels to walk in someone else’s shoes. Oh, how we could learn to stop judging and just accept each other.
Best of all, we could loan hours to someone whose life is being cut too short.
Oh, the possibilities are limitless.
If only this were possible. But, it’s not. So, I’m going to use this hour for some “me” time.
How about you?
Read me today on Huffington Post and learn what my husband taught me about friendship.
And love those around you, will all your heart!
What with everyone’s particular tastes, allergies and food fetishes, throwing a dinner party these days gets pretty darn complicated. Menu planning can take days.
One good friend is allergic to wheat. Another is allergic to peanuts. A third guest can’t swallow anything too smooth or too grainy. Another one is allergic to sea food. Yet another to diary products.
And me? Well, I’m allergic to cooking itself. Which poses the biggest problem of all.
How can you have a dinner party, if you don’t cook?
Well, I do have a secret weapon. My husband. Not only does he love to cook, he loves to plan and prep and put on dinner parties extraordinaire, taking everyone’s allergies into consideration. (even mine)
Here is a sampling of some of the hors d’eouvres from our last dinner.
Sweet with Heat and no Wheat (for our gluten free guests)
This one so simply beautiful. Stab a red pepper. Add a mango. A purple onion. And a jalapeño pepper. Remember to cut them all about the same size. A treat for your taste buds.
Liverwurst (don’t make that face. I wasn’t sure about this either, until I tasted it) spread on an organic cracker. Add a dollop of horseradish. Top with a sprig of chives.
Homemade pesto (made with walnuts, not pine) spread on whole wheat cracker. Add a very thin slice of proscuitto. Add a deliciously juicy apricot.
Thrill of Dill: Dill mustard sauce spread on the cracker of your choice. Place a slice of yummy lox. Add a little more dill sauce. Top with fresh dill.
Compliment the meal with the cocktail of your choice.
As you can see, there was something for everyone.
And whether vegan or carnivore. Carb or calorie counter. Lover of wine, water, soda or vodka…
No one is allergic to a view this this!
Stay tuned for the main course….