I want pie

Good God, Mary-Louise Parker. You are just going to have to stop being this sexy. It’s ridiculous. It’s distracting. It’s ridiculously distracting. How am I expected to get any work done? How am I expected to form complete sentences? I mean, I’ve even broken one of my cardinal (though, really, I prefer bluejays) rules and post pictures of you twice in one week. But if you insist on making cherry pie in black, lacy panties and flashing your business (front and back, you spoil us with your generosity), I will be forced to post the pictures. You leave me no other choice. [NSFW, naturally, but you already looked at the first one so why stop now? And, while you’re at it, click any and all to enlarge. You can thank me later.]

Look, MLP, you’re even making me for the first (and hopefully last) time spontaneously break into Warrant lyrics. Because your cherry pie is most definitely making this grown woman cry. I am going to ignore the fact that these photos accompany a “Thank You Note to Men” you wrote for the August issue of Esquire. Men are so needy, they have to be singled out and praised like puppies (no offense, fellas). But us ladies, we know implicitly that you’re thankful for us, too. And, sweet merciful Zeus, are we ever thankful for you. The only way this could possibly get better is if you tucked us into bed, gave us a nice cup of milk and read us a bedtime story – in those panties. Oh, wait. Well, fuck, now you’ve got me quoting the Eurythmics. Sweet dreams are made of this, indeed.

A holy mackerel story

Hey, lesbians, our leader is back! After a long, agonizing week and one day without her, Rachel Maddow has returned to our television machines. Look, oh great brainy one, you can’t go leaving us for this long again. Who will mock Gov. Argentina’s inability to stop talking? Who will mock Gov. I Quit’s inability to talk in coherent sentences? Who will show up on set wearing … wait for it, wait for it … WADERS!?

And, just in case you had forgotten during to her 192-hours (but who is counting) of absence, Maddow reminded us all why we love her in the first place:

“I am talking to you from New York. I’m gay. My name is Rachel so people think I’m Jewish. And I’m very liberal.”

Oh, Rachel. Seriously, never leave us for that long again. I mean, it’s not like Ana Marie Cox can flirt interview herself.

p.s. On the other hand, if you are to ever go on a (well-deserved) vacation again, please continue to share pictures of your exploits in all of your there’s-nothing-redundant-about-a-lesbian-fishing-expedition, look-even-the-lure-is-pink, nobody-puts-baby-in-a-corner jean-shorted glory.

Tank Top Tuesday

You remember back in the day when radio DJs would actually take live calls from listeners and give long, involved dedications (the more civilized precursor to the shout out)? Well, this is the blog equivalent. This one goes out to tweetbian extraordinaire and Show Us Your Cocktails champ @TruMischief. Me and my friend Mary-Louise Parker (above) want to give her heart a nice big jolt before she goes in for surgery on it Thursday. So (said in my best Casey Kasem voice) gather around, dolls and dudes, and listen look close. This next song post is a special request for TruMischief and all the TruMischiefs out there who like gals, who like tank tops and who really like gals in tank tops together. DJ, drop the needle.

Rachel BilsonIs it wrong that I always confuse her with Mila Kunis?

Erin KellyCatholic school girl uniform or tank top? Either way, you win.

Anna TorvMy favorite things-that-go-bump-in-the-night-chasing FBI agent since Scully.

Mary McCormackShe makes me want to volunteer for Witness Protection.

Elizabeth MitchellThis is really more of a cap sleeve, but I’ll give it a pass because the women got to roll around naked with Angelina Jolie.

Sara RamirezShe hit the trifecta with a tank top, ball cap and gay BFF

Mary Stuart MastersonBack in 1987, you knew with all of your little gay heart that Watts was a big honking lesbian. And, don’t lie, you totally fantasized about her and Lea Thompson making out.

You’re standing on my neck

This just might be my favorite screenshot in the history of ever. That’s right, your eyes do not deceive. “Daria” is FINALLY coming to DVD next year. This news makes me happier than a herd of beautiful wild ponies running free across the plains. That I loved Daria with all of my misanthropic soul goes without saying. Smart snarky gals in combat boots? Be. Still. My. Heart. The show was an oasis of cynicism for the misery chick in all of us. She pointed out the absurd, the superficial, the hypocritical in that delicious dead-pan. I watched and rewatched until I could rewatch no more because it had disappeared from the TV landscape altogether. But now, a full seven years after the show left the air, comes news that we can continue having low esteem for everyone else together.

Oh, and Daria and Jane totally hooked up when they got to college. Don’t even pretend that’s not just stone cold fact. You think they picked Iowa or Vermont to tie the knot?

[Image via deviantART.]

My Weekend Crush

It may seem odd, on a weekend dedicated to America and fireworks and backyard BBQ, to pick a distinctly distinguished British actress. But, bear with me, this is just how my mind works sometimes. You see, whenever I think of Julie Andrews, I think of the holidays. Perhaps it’s because her iconic films like “The Sound of Music” and “Mary Poppins” seemed to be replayed constantly during long holiday weekends when I was a child. Or perhaps it’s because her uninhibited, full-throated, mountain-top spin introducing us to Maria always makes me think of freedom. (Admit it, you totally did that spin in your living room until you were woozy and your parents told you to sit down, already.) Or maybe it’s that I just like being a contrarian and on the day we Yanks celebrate our independence with bombs bursting in air, I have to go pick a Brit.

Whatever the reason, Julie has always been one of my favorite things. Her perpetually pleasant parlance, her wonderfully winsome personality and her resolutely short hair all made her stand out as an independent role model growing up. Her singularly sensational singing abilities are unquestionable, of course. But what I always liked about her was she presented another, more approachable option to girls. We can’t all be Marilyn Monroe or Audrey Hepburn (and, no, we won’t get into the “My Fair Lady” brouhaha here). But perhaps we could be Julie instead. You don’t have to be perfect in every, just practically so. Also, heavens, didn’t she just look supercalifragilisticexpialidocious in a tux? Happy Fourth of July weekend, all.

Gender Fuck Thursday

The art and craft of the gender fuck is not limited to gals dressing like guys. It’s also the natural realm of that once ubiquitous species known as The Tomboy. Now, these days the tomboy seems to be lumped under the larger umbrella of butch. Which is all fine and good. But I’ve always had a soft spot for the tomboy. I was a tomboy, minus any semblance of athletic ability. Now not all tomboys grow up to be butches and not all butches were originally tomboys. Sure they’re intricately intertwined, but it’s still fun to think about the tomboy as her own entity. There is a build-in practicality to tomboys. Her clothes must be climb-a-tree, ride-a-skateboard, beat-up-a-bully ready. She has style all her own that blends the masculine and feminine both simply and seamlessly. Also, tomboys are just damn cute. And, from the look of Kate Moennig (above* and below) and her jaunty chapeau, she knows it too. [*Swapped out that first photo, just in case Google image search was trying to confound me.]

Clea DuVallNote the tomboy staples: the white v-neck and the hoodie.

Ellen PageYes, hon, but boxers or briefs?

Queen LatifahDressed up or dressed to ride, she’s still the Queen Tom.

Jodie FosterOpen a dictionary to “tomboy,” and you’ll find this.