Our Little Secret

Don't tell anyone, but I've been cheating on Gene Kelly.
First of all, there's Farnk Sinatra. Not the Frank Sinatra of Anchors Aweigh - although he was adorable in it - but the Frank of the 50s. By then he was divorced from Ava Gardner and had been knocked around a little by life. He came across on-screen as a world-weary man in need of a good woman's love. It made him irresistibly sexy.
Then there's Errol Flynn. Handsome, swashbuckling Errol Flynn who always got the woman, on screen and off. When I saw him leaping around in green tights in The Adventures of Robin Hood, I looked at my cat and said, "Is it getting warm in here, or is Mommy having a hot flash?" The guy had great quads and a gorgeous smile.
Ladies' men and world-weary brooders. Throw in the emotionally unavailable, and that pretty much sums up my dating history.

Today's Words of Wisdom: Me

Nobody looks good dead.

(I'm like an oracle.)

Dress For Success

I found the perfect thing to wear the next time the lobster fishing company I work for has a party.

I Love Hard Work, But I Can Only Watch It Until 10 P.M.

I've been logging more couch time than usual this week because of the Olympics. I enjoy watching people in the pursuit of their athletic dreams, particularly if I can do it at home in my pajamas. I've been amazed as alpine skiiers wipe out, travel a couple hundred yards flat on their faces, and get up and walk away. It's all in a day's work for them. I have a hitch in my giddyap when I get up off the couch.

My only problem with the Olympics this year is the way NBC has scheduled the figure skating coverage. The network has this annoying way of showing one skating routine and then an hour of skeet shooting or whatever (with lots of teasers about more skating to come) and then a figure skater from Jamaica doing his or her stuff, followed by another hour of people cross-country skiing across the Canadian tundra with bows and arrows on their backs. By the time they show any skaters with possibilities of medal contention, I've seen a hundred Coca-Cola ads, I have snow blindness, and it's past my bedtime.

I appreciate the focus on Shani Davis and Apolo Ohno, the hotties of speed skating. But come on, NBC. Give me a little more of what I tune in for: illusion netting, sequins, and the Russians bitching if they don't win.

Today's Words of Wisdom

Embrace your inner dork.

Ariel Gore, author of Bluebird: Women and the New Psychology of Happiness

Way ahead of you, Ariel.

Godspeed, Alexander McQueen

I'm saddened by British fashion designer Alexander McQueen's death on February 11, 2010. It's always heartbreaking when someone takes his own life. McQueen's best years as a fashion designer were ahead of him - maybe the best years of his life were ahead of him - but clearly, he could not see that through the pain of his recent personal losses.

Love his clothes or loathe them, he was a brilliantly creative and original artist. In October, his Spring 2010 collection featured shoes that can only be described as hooves. They were immediate best-sellers and are still back-ordered for months. They're ugly. They're gorgeous. They're crazy. They're genius.

He will be missed.

Well, Duh!

I finally figured out that Frizz-Ease Thermal Protection Hair Serum works better than the Original Formula if I am using the blow dryer on my hair. What part of the name did I find cryptic?

Honestly, I need adult supervision.

Yogarina 2: Sore Muscle Boogaloo

I've settled into a new routine: Monday night, ballet class; Tuesday, exhaustion; Wednesday, sore muscles. Each week we go over new material, so my body is an ever-changing kaleidoscope of pain.

Today, it's my upper hamstrings and glutes. I'm trying to resist the urge to moan "Oil can..." and walk like the Tin Man in the Wizard of Oz. If I sit for too long, I stiffen up. Then I make old lady noises when I have to get out of my chair. It's not pretty.

My yoga practice for the past two days has been limited to gentle stretching. I'm hoping that tomorrow I'll be feeling up to working my abs a little bit. I think part of my sore muscle problem is that my core is not pulling its weight - and I mean that in a very literal sense.

I'm dancing like an elephant in Fantasia and I'm walking like the Tin Man. Believe it or not, it's totally fun.