Love For Sail: Dignity Given Away for Free

I have long made fun of Lifetime for being Bravo's poor country cousin when it comes to reality shows, and with the Tuesday, April 10th debut of Love For Sail, I will continue to tease them.  I don't know why Lifetime just can't seem to pull it all together with these shows, but they are always the lady at the party who should've taken off one accessory before leaving the house, i.e., not quite right.

The Executive VP of Programming for Lifetime Networks, Rob Sharenow, must've been sharing some crack with his brain when he said, "A generation of viewers grew up watching the scripted series The Love Boat, and, inspired by that program, Love for Sail captures the fun and adventure of what it's really like to find romance on the high seas."  First of all, the Cruise Directors Bucko and Carmen combined couldn't add up to one Julie McCoy.  And secondly, I want to share now with Rob that Love For Sail is waaayyy more like the short-lived FOX show Love Cruise from the fall of 2001 (which featured 8 men and 8 women battling for $250,000.  The original air date of Love Cruise was September 11, 2001, which is kinda like naming your diet pills Ayds), than my hallowed Love Boat.

The premise for Love For Sail is actually a good one:  Trap 10 adventurous, love-lusting, fair to middling attractive grown ups on a cruise ship with lots of booze and roll the cameras. Period.  No one has to pack their knives and go, no one has to lip synch for their life, they are not fired, and the tribe hasn't spoken.  Just show up horny and drink. That's Reality TV 101, right? And you would think that the dynamics- 4 women and 6 men looking for love port side and starboard coupled with beautiful sunsets on the water in the background and amazing ports of call (which I have never seen) would inspire us to set our DVRs to tape every Tuesday night at 10, but they don't.  Why?  Because Love For Sail doesn't give us the chance to meet any of the contestants well enough to care whether they "find love" or fall into the deep blue sea. Yeah they show us the woman who's fallen into her cups at a deliciously awkward dinner, and yeah they show us the two chicks who choose the same dude for a date and the delusional slightly demented, somewhat funny arguments that ensue about who should step aside. But ultimately we know nothing about any of them and because of that we don't relate to them; if we don't relate, we don't care. And they present 10 new people each week for us not to care about.

My best advice to Lifetime is that they need to take a page out of the MTV/ FOX/ Bravo book and get people on their shows that we either want to be friends with, party with, or have sex with- and give us a chance to get to know them over a season.  If they are adamant about bringing newbies in each week, give us dynamic women who we want to be or be friends with- not seemingly whiny, self absorbed broads who have a skewed sense of their attractiveness and/or too much plastic surgery.  No one wants to hang out with those bitches in real life or watch them on television. (Oh, and make sure the dudes are hella funny and look good with their shirts off.)

Hot with a Chance of Sexy: Simon Cowell

Err'body knows how much I love my dream baby daddy, Colin Farrell, or El Farrell as I have christened him on the fake birth certificate I had made up although I don't have kids.  If I ever have the opportunity to meet him, I'm sure the sounds of his security team screaming, "Ma'am put your clothes back on and step away from Mr. Farrell!" will be forever seared in my brain. Sigh.

What not many people know is that even though I have so much mad love in my heart for El Farrell, I still have room to love another.  And I do- but since I know how divisive he is and how strong people's opinions are about him- I haven't told many people.  Today, since we're all friends here, I will proudly tell y'all his name:  Simon Cowell.  That's right, bitches. Former American Idol judge, X Factor dude, one night stand robbery victim, he of the bizarre Shower Head looking hairstyle, short ass Simon Phillip Cowell makes this hooka feel like a grown woman in my Black Iris area every time I see him.

And it's not because he's a bazillionaire as I'm sure some of the more cynical among you have assumed- at least not in the way you have assumed.  I love that he has had his financial ups and downs and yet he never quit- what can I say?  I find tenacity sexy.  I also love that though he might be brutal in his opinions about people and their talent- or lack thereof- he has managed to remain friends with many of his exes, he definitely has a sense of humor about himself (voice on The Simpson & Family Guy episodes- as well as other comedic turns & self mockery), and he likes kids and puppies (giving to children's charities and a video for PETA), and I'll bet he's nice to waiters.

Simon was born on October 7, 1959 in Lambeth, London & raised in Elstree, Hertfordshire and given he's  a Libra Pig it's no surprise he likes things in excess.  His father was a real estate developer and his mother is a former ballet dancer and socialite.  His father actually helped him get him a job in the mail room at EMI Music Publishing, and helped him get re-hired later as the assistant to an A & R man.  After working his way up, Simon was eventually promoted into music publishing.

He left and went to work with Iain Burton at indie label Fanfare Records.  He worked with Burton for 8 years, becoming a partner and building Fanfare into a successful pop label with lots of different artists including Sinitta.  They did well for a while, but by 1989, the label fell into the hands of BMG and a seriously in-debt Simon was forced to move back into his parents' house.  And now look at his ass 23 years later worth about $320 million dollars (according to biographer Tom Bower and the Sunday Times Rich List).  It must've taken an almost possessed drive to come up with his money making ideas and actually bring them to fruition- which makes for a great businessman, but a lousy boyfriend (which he concedes).

Speaking of Tom Bower, he just released his Cowell biography called, "Sweet Revenge:  The Intimate Life of Simon Cowell" in which he says that Simon had, "...20 years- more than 20 years- of humiliation."  I would like to amend that to 20 years and 1 night, because Bower reveals in the book that Simon had a one night stand with some hooka he met at Drai's in Hollywood (mistake #1), took her home (mistake #2), and she stole his wallet and his laptop, which had X Factor secrets on it.  He got the computer back, but (shockingly) all the money was gone from his wallet.  Oh, Simon.

In the book Bower also says that Simon had an affair with Kylie Minogue's sister Danii while she was a judge on the X Factor.  Yawn.  More interesting to me is that Sharon Osbourne is squawking that he cheated with multiple chicks while he was engaged to Mezhgan Hussainy. Hold on!  An incredibly wealthy man who is constantly surrounded by beautiful women actually cheated with one or more?  Wow!  The next thing you know the sun will rise in the east.  First of all, Sharon Osbourne needs to shut the fuck up considering she is married to a man who was in a little rock band called Black Sabbath.  Now, I am not a betting woman, but I am pretty sure five will get me ten if I say he was dirty dickin' around on her quite a bit back in the day.  She knows what wealthy, famous men are like & even more, she knows what women can be like around those said men. If Simon did cheat, which he probably did, he ain't exactly planting a flag in newly chartered territory.

And I have to say that although I am sad that the groovy kind of love we all look for didn't last for Simon and Mezhgan, I didn't want him him to marry her.  Not cos I thought he should come for me- I am not that delusional (besides, what would Colin say?)- but because I want a big personalitied, I-will- take- off- my- earring- and- fight- you kinda broad for Simon.  She's gotta be beautiful, graceful, and well mannered of course (remember his mama was a ballerina and a socialite)- but she's gotta be able to say "Not me & not today" with just her eyes to him. Like ghetto fab smizing.  And I'm sure Mezhgan's broken heart is slightly less cracked as she contemplates life and love in the $8 million dollar mansion he tossed her the keys and title to as she watched his $400,000 Rolls Royce get smaller when he drove off and left her in Iquityabitchville.

Are Gold Diggers Bio-Evolutionary Truists?

Like many Americans, you probably don't follow European football and so you're not familiar with Mario Batolli, a 21-year-old Italian striker who now plays for Manchester City (though perhaps not after they lost to Arsenal today and he got ~at least~ a 3-game suspension for a couple of dirty fouls). Batolli, sporting a shaved head with a mohawk down the center and dressing like a runway model, is a flashy personality in the divisive vein of T.O. and the insane vein of Rodman. Though he's never publicly called a teammate the "f" word, or tried to marry himself, Batolli is probably more famous for his activities off the pitch than on. And his latest is the most titillating for me: He admitted that he cheated on his girlfriend with the same hooker who had a threesome with Wayne Rooney 2 years ago when Rooney's wife was 5 months pregnant.

Much like the celebrity cheaters before him, Batolli didn't admit his infidelity out of a sense wrongness. In fact, a few days before the story broke, he revealed a jersey on the pitch in front of thousands of fans on which he proclaimed his love for girlfriend Rafaella Fico (an Italian lingerie model and television personality). No, the truth kicked its way out of his mouth because (word on the corner) was that the hooker he got with, Jenny Thompson, was threatening to blackmail him. Batolli must've shocked the shit out of her by punching her in the purse, basically saying, "Bitch, not me, not today," and telling on himself. I think Mario slowly realized that there's veritably a limitless amount of pussy available to him and a very finite number of pounds in his bank account, and chose not to give Jenny another sixpence. Again, like cheaters before him, as of now Batolli and his girlfriend are still together.

I told y'all all of that to tell you this, and though I am loathe to admit it, I will because it's true (& y'all probably picked up on it already): I am fascinated by celebrity gossip. Not all of it. Hell, not even most of it. But let my nosey ass hear about one of the endless revelations and accusations of infidelity, and I am all over that shit like a priest at a playground. Not that I expect beautiful, wealthy, and oftentimes psychologically jacked up people not to cheat- it's the opposite: I am drawn to the "every man-ness" of cheating. I am continually amazed that I am continually amazed by the fact that these cats live in a world where every word and action is watched and scrutinized, and they still dirty dick around knowing that they are more likely than not to get caught. That just tells me there has to be something to that base biological need to spread the seed.

And then of course you have to factor in the person he's caught with, and I repeatedly find myself wondering (assuming his tryst was with a woman), "What is she thinking? What was this to her? What did she really want?" Most people just call them gold diggers without giving it a second thought, and click to the next website. But I think that the true gold diggers are being viewed in a societal way and not biological, and I don't think that's fair. If men have a biological need to spread their seed, and some are more prone to act on it, then there have be female equivalents.

Firstly, let me clarify what I don't consider a gold digger: It's not the bitch who's at the club every night trying to get at good looking younger actors and athletes, it's not the girl who watches Million Matchmaker like it's a digital bible, and it's not the broad who has Gloria Allred's office number programmed in her phone already just in case. To me, these Hoellas and Sluttishas are women who want money and status so they can feel like they're better than everyone else, but are too lazy, greedy, and unimaginative to do it for themselves. These dirty legs are trading sex for money, and I don't care how much you pretty it up with Louboutins, Chanel, and expensive weaves, that's being a hooker. Straight up. And there's really nothing wrong with it (other than it being illegal) because trading sex for money is an exchange of power, but these bitches will never admit that. In fact, they get indignant and sometimes violent at the suggestion. Start talking about how much they "really liked" said dudes and thought something serious was going to come from their hook-ups. In fact, the only reason they are speaking out at that point is because they "feel bad" for the WAGs (yeah, that and the 5 & the 6 figure deals they got or will get. And it's not shocking. If you're gonna sell sex for money, there's pretty much nothing else you won't sell). Suddenly, these hos become gold diggers and that's not the right term to me.

In my opinion, a true gold digger is a maternal materialist, and from a biological stand point that's what she is supposed to be (though I am no scientist, I play one on a TV show in my head). Biologically speaking, men want young, healthy looking women who look as though they can bear and raise young. On that same base, primal level, women want men who will pass on the genes to ensure those young will be healthy and live long- and what better immediate proof than an older man? And an older wealthy man has shown he is physically strong enough and smart enough to survive and thrive: He's a biological genetic jackpot and women who want kids need him to win (from a very singular bio-evolutionist view point).

These women should be praised for helping to propagate the species and bumping us along evolutionarily- not scorned and mocked. At least not by other bitches like me who know we aren't gonna do it.

Coregasms: I Worked Out, I Saw, & I Came

According to an article at thebodyodd.msnbc.msn.com, women have reported having exercise-induced orgasms, called "coregasms" because of their apparent link to exercises for core abdominal muscles.

The online surveys conducted by Debby Herbenick, the co-director of the Center for Sexual Health Promotion at Indiana University, and her colleagues might not have been the most scientific ever conducted, but the results were interesting nonetheless.

Herbenick's data included 124 women who had experienced exercise-induced orgasms (when they weren't having a sexual fantasy or thinking of someone to whom they were attracted) and 246 women who revealed that they experienced exercise-induced sexual pleasure. Most of the respondents identified as straight, they were married or in relationships, and the average age was 30. Roughly 45% of the women said that their first experience was linked to abdominal exercise-mostly after multiple sets of crunches in which they really exerted themselves- while a significantly lower number replied that their "coregasms" were linked to biking/spinning, climbing poles/ ropes, weight lifting, running, yoga, swimming, elliptical machines, or doing aerobics.

It's not surprising to me that women can experience orgasms or sexual pleasure after working out, particularly after intense core work outs. Pilates looks to create a strong foundation for movement, which engages the pelvic floor muscles, including the PC (pubococcygeus muscle) muscles. The PC muscles are also essential in strengthening the Kegel muscles, which reputedly help with incontinence as well enhancing sexual pleasure. Even without doing Pilates or specific Kegel exercises, when we work out our abdominal muscles, particularly when we move into certain angles or positions, it has to affect our pelvic floor muscles as the muscles are all related.

And it's also not surprising that the vast majority of the respondents were of an average age of 30 and in relationships because I think that the older we get and the more sex we have, whether alone or with someone, we learn how to move our bodies and become more aware of how to achieve orgasm.

For me personally, while I learned how to best achieve orgasm with my ex-boyfriend, since I have become single again I have become an "onan-artist", and have learned (for me) that I can intensify my orgasms by flexing my abdominal muscles before I come. Since I have become aware of that sexual component of abdominal/pelvic floor/ PC muscle flexing, I have definitely noticed that when I do lots of core stomach exercises, there is a very real element of sexual pleasure. I haven't reached the apex of wondrous bliss of the 124 women in Herbenick's study while working out, which is good because I'd probably have a 24 pack on my stomach, but an underdeveloped everything else.

The Blind Item that Helen Keller Could See

Over at blindgossip.com the other day, they posted this teaser. Anyone who has recently glanced at the internet figured it out about three words in:

[CDAN] This B-list foreign born always movie actor just recently got engaged to a very high profile actress. Does she know about the two employees he is sleeping with whenever he comes to town?

I don't understand why they just don't come out and say that according to unnamed sources, "Olivier Martinez is dirty dickin' around on Halle Berry" and call it day? I also don't understand why, why, why after all this time and all these bad relationships she is still even willing to date any man in the entertainment industry? Supposedly Wesley Snipes (and not the one from 30 Rock) tried to force feed her a knuckle sandwich- in her ear- and deafed a bitch up a bit. And who knows all the strange and dirty she bullshitted around with before she became really famous, although we all know the unfortunate end-times she had with David Justice, Eric Benet, and Gabriel Aubry.

Don't get it twisted- I am all about love. I heart love a lot, and I understand that your heart doesn't listen to reason. In fact, recent studies have shown that the part of our brain affected when we're madly in love is also the part that's affected when we're madly doing lines of booga sugah. Robert Palmer was right, "...might as well face it you're addicted to love..." I understand all of that, but at some point, you have to take a step back, look at the entire wide screen, and see all of the flags on the field. Halle seems to have a thing for French/French inspired dudes (Benet, Aubry, Martinez) and sports dudes (Snipes-he's a martial artist as well as acting & not paying taxes, Justice-former baseball player). They are just not working out for her. In the words of Liz Lemon, "Shut it down."

And we're all thinking it, so I am just gonna say it: Olivier Martinez was probably born with a condom on because as soon as he exited "mom south", he began his never ending quest to get back in. And there are lots of women- I'm sure from a very young age- who are/were more than happy to oblige. He's one of those cats who just brings sex out of a bitch. You could slam your pinkie toe in a steel door, see a picture of him, and forget the pain because you're thinking about what he looks like naked & tied to your bedpost. I mean look at him in the picture above. I dare you to not think about sex. Maybe not sex with him (yeah, right), but some part of you is thinking about sex with someone. He brings that-with chocolate and ice cream- in pictures and movies (I wanted to kill Richard Gere for killing him in Unfaithful), can you imagine what he does to a bitch in person? Even though he's been lookin' a little raggedy lately, he still fairly drips sex.

And if we all know this and can see this, why can't Halle? Olivier is dirty hot like a stripper & should be dealt with accordingly: Get some mindblowing sex from him, buy him some cute trinkets, and then send him on his way so you can focus on a serious potential partner. Don't marry him, girl- he's gonna break your heart- just ask Kylie!

I believe that some people can change some behaviors, but this dude has seen more pussies than a veterinarian- I don't see that changing soon considering it already seems like bitches are getting naked when they stop him on the Rue de Voulez-Vous to ask directions to the metro. I am not hating on Olivier- I'm sure he's a good cat in many aspects, he just seems to have too much testosterone to be monogamous. And she seems to have a little too much crazy to deal with that.

What Smells So Good? You!

When I was a junior in high school, I experienced my first "sneaky hooka" naughtiness: I went into the elevator with a boy and made out during our lunch break. It was good innocent teenage- hormone-fueled-fun. He was a really good kisser (and so I was I for that matter). Ever since that day, I have loved the smell of Drakkar. I loved it so much that when it became Eau de Douchebag and dudes I would want to sleep with wouldn't be caught dead in it, I bought some so I could smell it when the mood struck. Even now when its grandson, Axe, is clogging sinuses all over the land, the rare whiff of Drakkar I get in passing brings a sly smile to my face because that happy high school elevator scene is seared into my nose's memory forever. For the longest time I thought the primary reason I liked Drakkar so much was because of that wonderful, original "scent memory", but according to a recent study, that may not the reason.

Past researchers have discovered that a group of genes called MHC (major histocompatibility complex) is related to whether or not a person is sexually attracted to another based on his/her scent. They found that people are most drawn to people with different MHC genes than themselves.

August Hammerli, a researcher at the Federal Institute of Technology in Zurich and also the first author in a study published online in the International Journal of Cosmetic Science, believes that MHC genes determine our preferences for other smells. While Hammerli theorizes that people prefer scents that may best best enhance their own natural odors to potential partners, his latest study seems to indicate that your genes determine what perfume scents you like best. It also suggests that it may be tied in to the scents you find attractive in others.

Hammerli's study included 116 males and females who were asked to smell 10 different things including cinnamon, moss, rose, and cedar, which were varied with different concentrations and in different settings.

The ratings varied with clear winners and losers, but for each scent the intensity of each participant's preference depended on their particular set of MHC genes.

I always thought that I went into that elevator to be naughty and then realized that I liked how that kid smelled (and kissed). But maybe I smelled him on a more innocuous, primal level and I liked it so much I then decided to go into the elevator with him to learn more about it. Or perhaps I am just a sneaky hooka who likes to make out with men in elevators.

Palace of Broken Hearts: A Museum of Lost Love

When I think of Eastern European people, two words immediately come to mind: passion and perseverance. So when I first read about The Museum of Broken Relationships, it wasn't surprising that the idea was born of two artists in Croatia.

The couple, Olinka and Drazen, were in the process of breaking up after four years. In sorting their possessions, the valuables with monetary meaning were easy to divide up- you take the TV and I will take the computer. It was the emotionally valuable objects that they found hard to let go of: like the Little Wind-up Bunny that they put in each others' suitcases for trips, and photographed doing wildly amazing things on said trips. Who was going to get the Little Wind-up Bunny?

Instead of battling each other, they put their feelings on display let the world take ownership as they began collecting mementos of break ups from others as well. After entering their collection into a local art festival, they soon found themselves putting up installations in Berlin, San Francisco, and Istanbul. Seems like the splitting of a broken heart resonates deeper and further than an exploding Krakatoa.

Back in Zagreb, Olinka and Drazen refurbished a palace to permanently display all of their "I loved you so much, why aren't you dead?" mementos of formerly lava hot love. Each room of the palace is arranged by theme, and holds a couple of dozen items.

For the grand opening of The Museum of Broken Relationships, the mayor of Zagreb offered to do a ribbon cutting, but was shut down in favor of two high-profile Croatian actors who had famously split up. The artists told the mayor if he wanted to cut the ribbon, he'd have to leave his wife first.

To find out more about the museum, please check out their website here: http://brokenships.com