Thursday, January 25, 2007

Planet Manola: Sex and the City

Random news, commentary and photographs. Updated at least once every menstrual cycle, if not more frequently.

manola blablabanik hawking motor oil

Manola hawking motor oil back in the day when she met men in Miami who were running dry on respectability.


My boys are getting all Carrie Bradshaw on me!

White Dade confesses to a love hate relationship with Miami, or as I call it, the new MILF: Miami I'd Like to Fuck. Or have fucked. Or have been fucked by.

Because you see there are cities you marry and cities you fuck. And Miami, well, Miami is the city you fuck. A lot of people come to Miami and fuck her for a weekend and go home. And they swear it's the best sex they've ever had. Many get a taste of her and make the mistake of trying to make her theirs. But most, after a few months, realize her inherant sexiness wears thin pretty quick. They learn about her insanity, her volatility, and her constant abuse, wise up and leave. But man, it was a good time, wasn't it?

And Duran at Miami Nights confesses he too is a masochist for Miami:

I don’t think anyone loves this city more than me, but White Dade speaks the truth when he states Miami is the city you fuck, not the city you bring home to your mother. Read his post, because it couldn’t expose more the abusive relationship we are all in with this city. I’m one masochistic bitch.

Now, a funny thing happens after a thirty-something woman who has lived in Miami all her life reads this sort of commentary. First, a really good laugh, because it's true. I never married the crazy dipshits I met in this magic city whose charms wore off faster than a slippery condom; however, I never approached my native city with the same Henry Milleresque bravado of a gringo in a foreign city. Miami was and is my hometown and so I couldn't fuck Miami for the weekend. If we even ever made it to bed after the shmuck told bad Cuban jokes and talked about his car all night, I'd have to wake up with him on Monday morning and then kick him out of bed.

Miami is only a backdrop now and so I wonder: as you get older, doesn't sex eventually become a state of mind? A physical manifestation of your unconscious self? If you are what you eat, aren't you also who you sleep with? Still, I'll be damned, if I ever tie the knot, the marriageable man I bring home to my parents had better be doing the best job ever at releasing my root chakra!


And speaking of Sex and the City, Liz Doup at Sun Sentinel reports that in Palm Beach, Manolo Blahniks are coming dangerously close to stepping on equine dung!

First, it was Sex and the City. Now, it's boots in the saddle.

Manolo Blahnik, the sultan of sensuous shoes, is trotting out paddock boots for the well-heeled horsy set just in time for the Winter Equestrian Festival. That's Wellington's high-falutin' horse show that pairs pricey horseflesh and top-tier riders starting Wednesday.What next? Tiffany sterling silver bridle bits?


And speaking of unusual finds in unexpected places, you know it's a good week when you're a straight woman working out at your fabulous no-attitude gay gym on South Beach, which you love because the gay meat market is lost on you (imagine a vegetarian who has come to peace with bacon and still invests in pork futures), which makes working out just that: working out and nary a thought about all that delicious flesh being off limits!

Then, out of the blue, a man who could be at least 25% straight (I have the WORST gaydar) sweet talks you up about going to see his show at La Bare. Heck, not only does he give me free passes, he also regales me with tales from stripperdom, such as his rivalry with a French dude who knows how to be suave with the ladies and isn't in it for the art; or the private VIP rooms where one can touch ass even though it's illegal to remove boy shorts from the boy. CAN'T REMOVE BOY SHORTS FROM THE BOY! WHAT? And so as I did my leg extensions, I also wondered if I could telepathically extend this thought to him: why yes, honey, that's all I'm thinking about while pumping my humble little iron -- I can't wait to get out of here and go stick dollar bills down your sweaty crotch!

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Duran said...

Manola, is it so bad that I'm waiting for my own Mr. Big?

Balou said...

I'm just NOW catching up in my blog reading. I'm so glad you're back! I've missed you!! xoxo!

Sinfonian said...

Now that's the Manola we know and love!

I see it didn't take you long to find the sweet spot again.

So to speak.

Talk to you soon! :)

P.S. Nice oil pic. (Never thought I'd say that to anyone ... at least not since that unfortunate incident I had with Wesson and Florence Henderson in 1985 ...)