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Hot with a Chance of Sexy: Alessandro Gassman

Look!  Up on the screen!  It’s a bird, it’s a plane!  It’s a super sexy man.  And his name is Alessandro Gassman.  If it  weren’t so freaking impossible to find information in English on the interwebs about non-American or British-ish actors, I could tell you a lot more about this thoroughbred of a man called Alessandro. As it is now, I could probably find plutonium easier than bio info about this mo’fo.  So even though I am about to wax poetic about this man, I seriously know nothing about him.  I guess sometimes a girl just has to buckle down and force herself to be vapid, shallow, and presumptive, and I am up for the challenge.

Alessandro Gassman was born in Rome on February 24, 1965- which makes him 48 and a Pisces/Snake. Along with the Dragon, the Snake is my favorite Chinese sign.  His father was the super famous and talented Italian actor Vittorio Gassman, and his mother is the former French actress, Juliette Mayniel.  The couple was never married, which I would assume must’ve been a bit scandalous back then, even for actors.  While Alessandro is the only child of his father’s union with Juliette, he has quite a few half siblings running amuck from his father’s other marriages, including one to Shelley Winters briefly in the early 1950s.

Alessandro started acting when he was 17 and has done lots of films, as well as television, and thankfully for us bitches, some modeling. In 2001 he was chosen as the face for Yves Saint Laurent’s Opium cologne.  He also- thank you, Jesus- posed for some breathtaking shots in Italy’s Max Magazine in December of 2000.  His body looks so lean and strong and long in these pictures, I can’t help but think again of a thoroughbred, and I just want to mount him and ride him.  I am hoping that since he has already made one movie based on a Turkish tradition, Steam:  The Turkish Bath (originally called Hamam) in 1997, that when some brave director finally makes the 21^st century Spartacus- which will be about Turkish Oil Wrestlers- they will include Alessandro.  He might be 48, but he’s still got it.  And I would like to see more of it.

                            

On the personal front, Alessandro has been married to Sabrina Knaflitz since 1998 and they have one son named Leo who was also born in that year.  Bully for them, they seem happy, but it’s interesting to note that immediately prior to marrying Sabrina, Alessandro was reportedly engaged to a French chick named Beatrice Dalle who, from the scant information I have found, is a model turned actress.  When I initially read that she got in trouble for going Naomi on a meter maid in France and then got busted for possession of cocaine in Miami, I assumed she was just born crazy.  But if it’s true that he put a bun in Sabrina’s oven, wifed her up, and dumped Beatrice in the process, then not only does my boy have hoecakes frying in his slut skillet, but Beatrice’s crazy is probably Alessandro-made.  I would pound on a parking cop and haul booger sugar to Miami too if that panther of a man dogged me out like that.  He’s just so much dude that the idea of losing him like that to some other broad would probably make me go nine kinds of crazy as well. 

While Alessandro is definitely good looking, he’s not the best looking man in the world admittedly.  He’s got those big ass teefs (his teefs are fucking huge, like a character on the Family Guy or something), and at the end of the day, he could probably use some Proactiv (who couldn’t?), but put it all together, and it works for me. In fact, if he Hollywooded himself and fixed either of those things, he wouldn’t be as magic to me anymore.  Something explodes out of that man’s soul spirit like a star going supernova and it sets me on fire.  He’s manly in an old school way to me and when I look at him, I immediately think of Anthony Quinn’s “uber” man character in La Strada and Diego Abatantuono’s character in Mediterraneo merging and coming to life in him.  If Alessandro’s masculinity were a voice, it would be a dark cognac of a baritone that didn’t know how to talk softly.  He unintentionally beats me in the head with his staminate virility, and I savor every blow.  He seems so powerful -almost regal- like he should’ve been born a caliph or king.  And though I can’t capture the essence of my thoughts in exact words, I know what I mean and how much I would love to kiss his ring.

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Quote of the Day: Christian Nestell Bovee

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Ovulating Women and Pretty Boys

I should’ve known that something was going on- I wore red shirts to work twice during the week with lipstick to match- and I never do that.  Not that I can’t pull it off, at least I can in my mind, but I normally feel as though I am drawing too much attention to myself.  Then, when I got home, I subconsciously decided that I wanted see some dudes muggin’ down when I consciously started perusing Netflix for gay- themed movies to stream.  I wasn’t looking for porn- some hot dudes, PG-13 sexual situations, an actual story, and my imagination would do.  I was feeling a little voyeuristic and I needed to act on that.  Everyone reading this probably realized that I was ovulating, but I didn’t.  Not until I had chosen a movie, watched it, and wondered if my special area was broken for my lack of grown woman response to the beautiful star.

The movie I chose to watch was called David’s Birthday, and I am not going to lie to you kids, I chose it because this man in the picture on the synopsis page was simply breathtaking.  I immediately found out that the 6”1 ½, tawny-skinned, green-eyed Brazilian model/actor was named Thyago Alves.  He was so good looking in this movie I wanted to fly to Brazil and shake hands with his parents, grandparents, and anyone else who had a hand (or other body parts) in bringing this Michelangelian creation to life.  Seriously, the movie was originally called Il Compleanno, but I am willing to guess when the production team saw all of Thyago’s immeasurable beauty on the screen, they also saw the unquestionable resemblance between him and that statute and changed the name of the movie to be more fitting.  I would’ve.  A model named Cameron Russell recently said that she is the winner of the genetic lottery because she is tall, fair, and pretty. All I know is that if she is the winner of said lottery, then Thyago Alves is the winner of the genetic Powerball. 

The weird thing was though, as beautiful as I found Thyago to be in that movie- seriously, I could write a whole thesis about how his face is the golden ratio personified- it wasn’t a sexual appeal (and I’m sure he’ll be so sad to know that).  His beauty is androgynous to me with a whispered kiss of masculinity.  Obviously, he’s a man- there’s no question about that, but his is a delicate, almost feminine look and while I can appreciate it and be so awed by it that it makes me cry a little bit, I don’t want to hit it.

Then I remembered the studies that I read about that have determined that many women prefer men with more feminine shaped faces and darker skin when we’re not ovulating, however, we want more “manly” men when we’re fertile.  I had never experienced such concrete evidence within and about myself until I watched this movie.  Even though things weren’t getting erect or saturated for Thyago, I still sat through that whole flick with drool on my chin and my hand in my pants.  Why? Because of the man who played his father, his co-star, Alessandro Gassman.  

This motherkisser made me feel funny for realsies.  He’s good looking to be sure, but he’s not Thyago good looking (who is?)  He’s tall as hell, but he’s got a rather long, equine-like face, big ass teeth, and I would happily have this man throw me onto a pile of furs (from the animals he hunted and killed obviously) and make me happy that he was a man and I was not.  There’s something about him that just screams that he doesn’t bruise easily and that he would bite you.  He seems to bleed masculinity and in a different time in our human history, even though I would worry that he might eat our babies, I would risk it because I’d want to have a Cro-Magnon Alessandro’s aggressive, potentially long living children.  Of course I would want an Early Modern Human Thyago to raise them, but that’s a whole different sexy fictional science piece that I should write for Hardwired to be a Ho, a journal of human sexuality for grownups that I created in my head which uses tawdry sexual interludes to help explain human reproductive evolution and desire.

Quote of the Day: Sensible Woman

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Notes from My Journal (Lessons)

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Coitus Interruptus Zimbabwe Style (I Ain't Lion)

Forget Romeo and Juliet and picture this:  Kariba, Zimbabwe- resort town on the northwestern end of Lake Kariba in the Marshonaland West province.  It’s the center of tourist industry for the Lake Kariba region with two casinos and several restaurants.  This is where you live, you’ve been working all day at the local market, and can’t wait to get off so you can see your man and get off.  You have a bit of the home-brewed mahewu, some Mukumbi, or if your customers were truly making the year round heat unbearable, some doroluthwala.  The embers of your passions are sparked in a way you can’t control, and when said fisherman/boyfriend comes a-calling, y’all retreat to your favorite love nest in the secluded, bushy area near town.  You’re making your own amateur porn without the camera, when suddenly you hear a lion roar, and you become an episode of “When Animals Attack”. And it all gets hella real all of a sudden. 

It sounds like a ngano (fictional folklore) told through the ages, but no, unfortunately, it was the reality for Sharai Mawera.  Ms. Thang had an itch that only her man could scratch like he had done many times in the past, and they met in the quiet, hidden heat of the African bush.  Only this time, a rogue and obviously riled up lion, made himself the ménage of this a trois, and the “household of three” quickly became dinner for one. 

The fisherman boyfriend, who has remained nameless though he arrived at the police station and told the full story of the incident, managed to get away while the lion mauled the unfortunate Ms. Mawera, also known- for some bush reason that I don’t understand- as Mai Desire.  I do understand that the human fight or flight instinct kicks in, but damn yo, you left a bitch like that?  He was naked and unarmed, so I guess his only option was to outrun her, but it just sounds so cold.  It’s probably safe to say that Mustafa’s attack probably destroyed the boyfriend’s desire for outdoor sex, but even if it didn’t, 5 would get me 10 if I bet that no women in the town will ever again listen to his call of the wild to bang in the bushes.  As though it wasn’t enough that he lost his lady in such a horrid fashion, he walked naked-but for a condom- (yay, Africa) out onto the main road for help and no one would stop for a while because of the aforementioned fact.  That alone makes me makes me wonder what the hell goes on in the bush of Kariba which makes looking at naked people running in the road seem normal enough that folks don’t stop their cars and immediately question what the deuce they are seeing.  Is Zimbabwe Africa’s Florida?  "I’d like to stop and help you, but I don’t wanna get my face chewed off …"

The rangers shot at the lion, but he got away.  In their search, though, they found an arm and remains of a second corpse which they think is a man the lion attacked and ate last week- hence his not completely devouring Ms. Mawera.  People around the area of Kariba are being warned through flyers and common damn sense, “beer drinkers to avoid moving at night on foot”.  

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...And A Child(ren's Medicine) Will Lead Them

I don’t drink much anymore but I used to throw down, y’all.  I once drank a little concoction called a Flaming Dr. Pepper.  There have been explosions at refineries caused by less combustible liquids.  For the uninitiated:  You drop a lit shot of 151 and Amaretto  into a mug of beer, and when it starts to foam, you gulp it down and it takes like Dr. Pepper.  After about the 3^rd one.  Because after that 3^rd one, you could drop a lit shot of Elmer’s glue and soy sauce into a mug of dirty bath water and it would taste like Dr. Pepper- that is how hammered those things get you.  I had 5 and forget blind drunk- I was Helen Kellered.  I couldn’t see, I couldn’t hear, my words made no sense, “Shhhh! Listen!  Did I just vomit on myself?”  “9-1-1?  What does that spell?!”  Evidently, that night, it spelled a trip to the Emergency Room.

Not surprisingly, because of that night and too many others like it, my liver has turned on me.  Not only has that bitch given me the finger, she enlisted the rest of my body to join the coup.  I remember when a hangover meant I’d need greasy ass McDonald’s for breakfast and 4 hours of sleep instead of 3.  Now if I even look at hard alcohol for too long I know that I am going to hurt so bad the next day that I will want to bring myself up on charges.

Because of my body's rebellion, I was actually prepared to give up booze.  No, seriously, I was.  But the universe, knowing I still had a little drinking to do, whispered "not yet" and led me to the holy grail of hangover cures:  Pedialyte.  Who knew that a children’s oral rehydration therapy would be the magic that allows me to continue being a goddess who bar hops?

Pedialyte comes in various flavors as well as a powder form.

                                                      

Why is it such a good hang over remedy?  According to Wikipedia, Pedialyte has less sugar but more sodium and potassium that Gatorade.  In fact, the same Wikipedia article states that some athletes are now using Pedialyte as a hydration alternative to sports drinks.  After a night of consuming no-no juice I drink two glasses of plain Pedialyte on the rocks (don’t think it would taste very good warm), pop a couple of Advil, and then I lay me down to sleep.  I not saying that this pediatric ambrosia is going to confer immortality upon those who imbibe, but it definitely helps my big ass get up the next day and function like normal human instead of lying there like a bump on a nauseous, head pounding, death-wishing log.

On a final note (because I know you’re so curious), even though I found this remedy, I am still keeping the drinking on the calm down.  Not only did the right to use the southern girl mating call (“I’m so drunk!”) expire a couple of years before my Saturn last returned, I have realized that it’s better to wake up with no hangover at all than even with a tiny one. Besides, researchers  are now saying there’s scientific proof that alcohol destroys brain cells, which is interesting, but do you really need a government grant and a lab to figure that out?  No, you don’t.  All it takes is getting to the point when you start forgetting what time you got home, how you got home, and that sex with a minor is a major crime.  You can hang up your lab coat and free the mice at that point because your research is finished (and so is your time of having a felony-free record).

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