Week 40:  down 1.5 pounds (-34.5 pounds total!)

I know what you’re thinking.  You’re sitting there drinking your coffee, doing your Monday morning HMD check in before it’s time to dive into your workday.  You’re probably pissed at me because an entry I promised would be up and running on Wednesday never, ever materialized.  So now you’re looking at this entry and you’re looking at the title and you’re looking at the date and thinking to yourself that THIS is the most bass ackward thing I’ve done in a looonng time…

You’re right! 

I am here to say that YES this is Sunday and YES I am totally cereal because YES I intend to combine my Weekly Speak and my monthly HMD R & D and do them both, together, on a Sunday freaking night!!!  Holy crap!!

But honest and for reals ya’ll, this past week was crazy!  I had the best Mantentions in the world, was gonna be so “good” and “responsible” and “not a drunken whore” for my week o’ birthday celebrations.  I was!  And, to a certain extent, I managed to control myself.  Gone was the crassness of last year’s birthday party Moment of the Night, which consisted of a slightly soused me having the following interchange with that evening’s Hot Bartender - Me: If your cock were a margarita, which one would it be?  Hot Bartender (excitedly): Rolls Royce baby!  Me: Then that’s the one I want. 

Classy, eh? 

Gone, too, was the vomiting that occurred about an hour or so later (thank God!…I mean, I’m a world class boot and rally-er, but I’d like to think I’m old enough now to hold my liquor…besides, who the hell carries extra scrunchies in their purse anymore!  I wouldn’t have anything to hold my hair back!  Sometimes a girl just needs a stinking scrunchy!!)

Don’t get me wrong, I did drink.  I opened the hatch and let the ships sail in.  I hopped off the wagon and it ran over me in its haste to leave town.  I tapped kegs, uncorked bottles, twisted off caps, told the liquor to pour thee in me and let me be as I sat on barstools, stadium seats, bike seats, as I enjoyed myself with friends at a bowling alley, an outdoor pub, a Lakers game and a Long Beach dive…in short, I had some good times, GOOD TIMES!  And so some things HAD to be sacrificed to the birthday event gods…first to go - my Wednesday HMD R & D entry.  Second thing  - working out.  Yikes!

But here are two things I managed to do correctly -  1) I ate my veggies (seriously, I tried to cram as many veggies as possible into every non-celebratory meal) and 2) I said 2008 is all about the date and I meant it, dammit!  I may have been a drunken something this week, but I was most certainly NOT a drunken whore!  (Baby steps, people.  You gotta walk before you can run.) 

Anyhoo, out of panic and fear that my imbibing would spell doom come Monday, I hopped on the scale this morning to see the damage.  To my utter shock, the numbers came out in my favor.  So I’m running with it.  I wrote it down, it’s in the books and this week my job is to make sure that last week’s hoochfest yields no palpable aftershocks on my personal richter scale.  Why not just write the entry at the same darn time and give myself a few extra zzz’s on a Monday morn?  Hell, why not just combine this entry with the uber-late and counting February R & D that is so special I dare not skip it?  Speaking of…   

Aaahh, our Hot Man Diet Requests and Dedications - February…hmmm, I wonder who they are?  I wonder who requested them?  To whom are they dedicated?  Funny, that dashing gent in the suit looks to be none other than George Clooney himself…hmmm…has he ever even been on Hot Man Diet…he really wears that suit…Oh wait, don’t I recognize that feller in the swim trunks, haven’t I seen that picture of him before…yeah, that’s Craig, Daniel Craig…something about the cut of his chest makes me believe in heaven…and yes, of course that’s Derek Jeter…I mean, this is the side of him I PREFER, but I still recoginze the eyes and the smile and the dimples and the glory hallelujah of the rest of his body…but why these three?  And again I ask, WHO requested and/or dedicated them?

I DID! 

Clooney.  Jeter.  Craig.  How can a girl truly celebrate her birthday without celebrating the three men from which all Hotness flows?  This month I requested my Original Trifecta of Hotness, and this month I dedicate their Hotness to me and me alone!  (If you haven’t met my OTH check out How The Hotness Began.)  ‘Tis my bday present to myself…so Hot…so very Hot…I love them all…and yet, something is missing…

Aha!  Gerard “I’ve got the accent and the body, clearly I was sent here by the devil himself” Butler.  NOW the celebration is complete! 

(And over.  My liver just went on strike.)

Week 41: down 1.5 pounds (-36.0 pounds total!)

From the desk of Her Hotness:

To my ever present, ever faithful and loving Hot Man Dieteers,

Her Hotness is sick.  Ill.  Consumed with consumption, exhaustion, dehydration and a host of other ailments too numerous to name here.  I am wracked with fever, bereft of strength (mental AND physical - oy!) and o’ercome with congestion.  I have not left the house, save for an emergency grocery run (why is it that one’s cupboards are always empty when one is felled by a cold?), for almost 48 hours now.  Kiddies, you can imagine how such a cloistered existence takes a toll on one as social as Her Hotness!  If I am to be housebound for much longer I may lose what few marbles I have left…my health!  Oh my health.  My kingdom for my health!

Dearies, think of me fondly and send me good wishes of health and wellness.  How is it that this cold can hit me again and again when in all other respects I am in the best shape of my recent life?  Blast this illness!  Let me be!  Unhand me and send me back to the land of the living so that I may have something of substance to report this time next week.  Spring has sprung here in La La Land…am I to merely watch it from the sidelines?!  I feel the quiet awakening of Summer Leah taking place in my innards…she comes with such good times, good times…do not stunt her with sneezes and aches and coughs, do not!  There is so much Hotness out there for the taking…give me my health so that I may take it!

Aaahhh cable, my friend and constant companion lo these past few days…in the absence of real Hotness you have offered up some Manjoyment, indeed…and yes, even though he failed to win Project Runway, Rami Kashou did not fail to win my heart…Rami, Rami, Rami…something about you spoke to me from the very beginning…is it the arms, so big and strong and well built…and yes, I know you don’t play for my team but I don’t care because Hotness is as Hotness does and you are the Hottest thing, gay or otherwise, to be in my life this week…and if it weren’t for those lame color choices you might have beat Mr. Fierce…there was a green dress in there that I MUST have come Oscar time (my Oscar time, dearest, which shall hopefully come sooner rather than later)…may I drape myself in your glorious nips and tucks and strut down your runway?  I may not be in the desired package nor may I possess your desired package but I might be a desirable package nonetheless…think about it and call me, mmkay?

Aaaahh, HGTV…I used to obsess over the Food Network but when it became abudantly clear that such an obsession was not “healthy” for my “weight management issues” I switched over to you, you home decor slut, you landscaping lush, you house hunting whore…I LOVE YOU!…thanks to you I’ve decorated and re-decorated my imaginary home a gajillion times…thanks to you I totally understand that no kitchen redo is truly up to par without stainless effing steel appliances (like, duh!)…and thanks to you I know that carpenters are officially the Hottest Men on Earth.  (Did you guys know that Jesus was a carpenter?)  Seriously, just like every ADA on Law & Order is uncommonly beautiful, so too is every man with a hammer on your channel…and we ALL know how I feel about men who can fix shit…holy crap!…I have a shelf that needs hung…can you send Carter Oosterhouse over to mount me…I mean, mount it…cause I suspect he is well hung…I mean, hangs things well…I mean, his show is called Carter Can, so let’s find out if Carter really can…mount things…well…

Aaah, models…I am usually a huge fan of televised model competitions…from the early days of Star Search “spokesmodel” challenges (doing intros to commercial breaks is hard!) to my typically slavish devotion to America’s Next Top Model (I haven’t gotten into this season yet, dunno why), I love a walk-off, a pose-off, a face-off.  So why oh why am I completely ignoring Make Me a Supermodel?  Tyson Beckford alone should be enough to get me on board…add to that some seriously Hot and rarely clothed male contestants and you’d think Her Hotness would hop on board…but the three hour nap I took during yesterday’s marathon is but a symbol of my lack of passion for this show…save for one of the young uns angling to be a famous catwalker…I don’t know anything about him…I had to do some research to even find out his name (Ben)…I’m not sure if he’s been voted off the island yet and I’m not sure if he’s the a**hole of the show…all I do know is that when I see the promos (and there are MANY) and I see these cheekbones and this face and this body my loins perk up and do a little jig in my nethers…for this one is HOT…and he’s probably an idiot but who cares…and he probably won’t be a supermodel but who cares…he is all kinds of Mantacular, he is all kinds of Manjoyment, and for me right now he is all kinds of Manspiration - a silent, chiseled hulk of Man Meat to be Manhandled in between my doses of Tylenol Cold…can such Manificence bring one back to health?  Let’s find out. 

Week 42: down 3 pounds (-39 pounds total!)

Happy St. Patrick’s Day to you all, my lovely Hot Man Dieteers!  Are you bedecked in your finest green attire?  Are your livers ready for the many obligatory pints to come?  (Mine is!)  Are your ears prepared to listen to ”Zombie” a gajillion times?  (According to Wikipedia, “Zombie” is a protest song written by The Cranberries in response to the ongoing conflict in Northern Ireland…a heady topic, to be sure, but one that certainly deserves a song that doesn’t…well…absolutely SUCK!) 

Erin Go Bragh!

Ya’ll know that Her Hotness celebrated a birthday last month.  What you also may have noticed is that Her Hotness failed to mention the specific year she was ushering in.  An intentional omission or an innocent oversight?  In my day to day life I am quite frank about my age but when the time came to possibly announce it to the world I must admit I got a lil’ scared.  I ain’t no spring chicken, peeps, but I’m also not Methuselah.  I feel young and I look young, with most people pegging this solid thirtysomething as a late-twenties gal about town upon first meeting.  Woo hoo!  (I cannot take complete credit for this because of one undeniable truth - black don’t crack.  My mother looks a good decade younger than her actual age as does my grandmother…I may not have gotten my 40 acres nor my mule, but dammit I’ll take this!  It’s cougar time!) 

Also, I am in the rare position of becoming, at the age of…thirtysomething (Damn!  Scared again!), the healthiest and fittest Leah of my life.  Most women soar through their teens and twenties on the carefree heels of high boobs, slender waists and smooth thighs…I soared through my teens and twenties on the backs of cheeseburgers and pizza with nothing slender nor smooth about me.  And now when most of my friends are lamenting the passing of their effortlessly hot young bodies, I am gleefully watching my shrinking, shifting shape and am daydreaming of the me that will be in the next week, month, year! 

With these two great reasons to fearlessly embrace my age why do I continue to hesitate?  I’d like to think I’m the kind of gal to attack life head on.  Why let age define me?  Why must I think of it as a limit of some sort?  Why must it be a judgement against me?  Look at the women who have allowed themselves to age like a fine freaking wine, look at the careers they are enjoying long after Hollywood would put them out to pasture, look at the Julie Christies and the Helen Mirrens and the Judi Denchs and the Phylicia Rashads.  (Mrs. Huxtable has become one of Broadway’s most ferocious talents!)  And then look at the Nicole Kidmans and the Courtney Coxes and the Meg Ryans…beautiful once, each of them, but none of them strong enough to say no to the knife…and now they’re painful to look at, absolutely painful, because there’s so little of them left in their face…isn’t it obvious that the untouched portrait becomes the masterpiece?  Isn’t it obvious that the big man upstairs is a helluva better sculptor than all the docs in 90210?  Isn’t it?!

And isn’t it obvious that I’m gonna tell ya’ll my age? 

Before I get to that I’d like to quickly address the title of today’s entry.  HMD’ers, I don’t claim to know much save for Hot Men and baseball and the Hot Men of Baseball…I’m a work in progress with a brain in progress, but I have discovered one thing throughout this journey that I’m pretty sure is the secret to aging like a fine freaking wine - love yourself.  Simply put, not so simply done…and yet it is the very thing this THIRTY FOUR YEAR OLD has found to be the answer, the apex of life, the alpha and the omega of happiness. 

Love yourself. 

(And NO plastic surgery!)

Hot Manspirations of the Week:  Oh Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling…they’re calling on me to provide some Hot Irish Lads for your St. Patty’s Day enjoyment.  And I shall oblige, oh yes I shall!  Liam Neeson, step right up.  You’re first in my Emerald Isle Extravaganza, the first Hot Irishman Her Hotness thought of when whipping up this minty green treat.  So tall, with a face chiseled like the breathtaking rocks of his homeland…and yes, this pic is pretty old but there’s no denying it is also pretty Hot…Mr. Neeson has aged himself like a fine freaking wine, like a perfectly poured stout…sigh, drool, sigh…

Speaking of fine freaking wines…aaahhh Pierce, you pierce my heart with your piercing blue eyes…the only Irishman to play James Bond (Sean Connery is Scottish, people) is also the only Irishman to make me wish that Remington Steele was still on tv.  (I loved me some Remington Steele!!)  Talk about aging well - rent The Matador and enjoy some full bodied Pierce Brosnan in the prime of his life…

And a young ‘un shall lead them home…Jonathan Rhys Meyers is one of those Hot Men that actually err on the side of pretty.  You know what I’m talking about…he’s got those perfect effing lips and that sexy heavy lidded eye thing going on that often makes him seem more feminine than masculine…he’s definitely capitalized on this gorgeous androgyny with the roles he’s chosen, but there is kind of no denying that homeboy is smoking Hot.  He’s currently starring in Showtime’s The Tudors, and this pic is him in character.  I usually try to avoid character shots, but I couldn’t deny this one…it moves me.  A friend of mine lent me the first season of The Tudors on DVD but I never watched it because I was too busy watching HGTV (see last week’s entry)…who’s feeling a might bit foolish right now…such Hotness o’erlooked?  For shame, Her Hotness, for shame!

Happy St. Patrick’s Day everyone!  Have a pint (or two) for me!

Week 43:  down 1.5 pounds (-40.5 pounds total!)  Holy crap!  40 pounds!  I know I made a huge to-do with my first 20 pound loss…perhaps you’re expecting a similar such celebration?  Nah, ‘taint gonna happen.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m ECSTATIC right now, tickled pink with such great results.  But I’ve got my eye on a bigger prize.  I’ll haul out the big guns when the big 5-0 cometh.  Will it be before the Memorial Day One Year Anniversary of Hot Man Diet?  Only time will tell…actually screw time!  I’ll say it right here - it WILL come before then because I WILL it.  Ha!  I just put the ass in sass, didn’t I?

Hola people!  I’m late.  I know.  I suck.  You hate me.  I know.  Whatever.  You’ll live.

I want to tell you guys a quick story about the BEST idea I’ve come up with recently.  It’s not about my new favorite drink - vodka soda with a splash of cranberry and a lime twist, a mouthful indeed and a pain in the arse to order at a busy bar but still incredibly refreshing and incredibly strong and a million gajillion less calories than a margarita, if you make it at home use diet tonic instead of soda and it is EVEN better - nope, it is a fantastic way of dealing with the poor boy choices you’ve made on the road to meeting Mr. Right/Hot.  First off, ya’ll know that I’ve declared that 2008 is all about the date.  No more Mr. Right Nows…only potential Mr. Right/Hots.  Well, this can lead to a certain…well let’s just say it takes plenty of discipline, plenty of fortitude and plenty of self love (unfortunately).  Her Hotness’ womanly needs must needs take a backseat for a ‘lil while, whilst her greater life’s happiness be pursued.  To that end, about a month ago I decided to purge my Evil Vessel of Temptation (i.e. my cell phone) of all poor boy choices.  I am a drunk texter of scandalously bad proportions…I could risk it no longer!  But I was concerned - what if, after deletion, one of these poor boy choices decided to text or call?  What if I accidentally answered the phone?  How would I be able to identify the text?  And then the lightbulb moment hit - I would put the names and numbers of ALL of my poor boy choices (a motley crew, to be sure…I SO don’t have one “type”) on an index card AND would give the index card to my friend Kara.  Two objectives achieved in one effing brilliant stroke - poor boy choices deleted from my life, but still identifiable if needed.  Effing.  Brilliant. 

And so I give to you all as a belated Easter present (I don’t do candy anymore, you’ll have to go elsewhere for the chocolate bunny) the Index Card.  Poor boy choice strings you along with an avalanche of texts but nary an actual date?  Index Card him.  Poor boy choice tells you after the fact that he’s really poor married boy choice?  Index Card him.  Poor boy choice slobbers all over you so you finally give in and invite him over and he shows up drunk AND high and then proceeds to be the sloppiest sex partner and the loudest snorer EVER?  Index Card his ass!  Life is too short.  And there’s too much Hotness out there for us to put up with bullshit, right?  I’m just saying is all.

Index Card him!

(P.S.  To all the menfolk out there in HMDland - this totally works for poor girl choices, too.  Index Card those hos!)

Hot Manspiration of the Week:  I feel like my pics have been a little milky-white lately, haven’t they?  I know Mom, you’re wondering what’s new, but I’m feeling the need to inject some flava up in this piece.  I want to get the juices flowing, I want a little spice, a little picante, a little something something to make my lady parts dance.  I want a little…no, a LOT of Alejandro Sanz.  Oy, ohh, this one’s a keeper.  I am ashamed to state that my introduction to such Hotness came as late as a year ago when I was the HUGEST fan of La Tortura, the single he recorded with Shakira.  I still absolutely love that song and still maintain that Shakira is the one woman who might make me turn.  (Why, WHY pick Angelina Jolie when there is Shakira in this world?!?  Have you seen this woman’s body?!?  Have you seen her move?!?  Come on!)  Check out their video and enjoy ridonkulously Hot Hotness in action - he’s simply super smoking Hot, the second Spaniard we’ve featured in 2008 (between him and Javier Bardem, I want to book a ticket to Madrid ASAP!), a slightly scruffy, perfectly built, uber-talented Hottie Hot Hot HOT MAN…whatever you do, whatever he does, do not Index Card him! 

Week 44: down 2 pounds (-42.5 total!)

Well, well…I finally managed to get an HMD R & D done on time.  Kudos to me, kudos to me!  And yet, ’twas ever so easy, considering I had some great suggestions.  Aaah, my lovely beauties, my Hot Man Dieteers, for whom does my heart beat?  It beats for thee, for you all make my life so easy, so effortless, so very stinking HOT!  And so if you request Hot, I shall provide it.  If you dedicate Hot, I shall comply.  It is the least I can do!

This month we have a gentleman, a geek and a stud.  Which one is Hot, Hotter and Hottest?  You decide!

Let’s start with this request from L. in New York City.  (By the way, if you feel the earth shaking it is because my loins are afire and aflame…it is Opening Day at Yankee Stadium, my baseball season has officially begun, and I am already o’erwhelmed and o’ercome with Hotness…Here we go Yankees, here we go!  Clap, clap!)  L. writes, “Seriously, the first person I thought of (who I don’t think you’ve covered already) is the kid that plays Betty’s boyfriend on Ugly Betty.  He’s hot in that boyish geeky way (have you guessed that I like the geeks? tee hee!)  I just love watching him- maybe I’m just in love with his character- and there was one episode when he took his shirt off… Um, Hello!  There is some major hotness under that accountant shirt and tie.  So there you go, my first HMD request: Christopher Gorham”.  You know, I love me some Henry, too.  He pulls of Hot Geek better than anyone else on tv right now, save for that Hot Bald Dude who hosts Cash Cab - anyone know that dude’s name?  Anyhoo, I couldn’t agree with your choice more, L. from NYC (Go Yanks!).  And yes, you clearly like the geeks…but tell your hubby you said it, not me!  P.S.  Here’s the topless moment referenced earlier.  Holy crap!  I wish my accountant looked like that!  Hell, I wish my geeky neighbor, whom I suspect harbors a slight crush on Her Hotness, looked like that.  Wait - maybe he does…

Next up we have a dual request  - E. from Long Beach and T. from Echo Park sent a tandem request for “ the hot guy who plays Kirby on Lipstick Jungle“.  Apart from my surprise that someone actually watches Lipstick Jungle - seriously, it looks kinda crappy, although Brooke Shields looks FABULOUS, you go girl! - I have to admit that I had no idea who in the hell this Kirby kid was.  And me not knowing Hotness is like a flower not knowing the sun…or something like that (I suck at analogies, don’t laugh!).  But I found him, oh yes, Her Hotness found the Hotness that is Robert Buckley.  He’s young ya’ll, so young.  My heart hurts when I yearn for someone whose birth date includes the number eight where the number seven or the number six should be.  And yet, my lady parts know not of age and are in complete agreement with E. and T. that this young ‘un might just be the second coming of Scott Speedman…and you know how much we LOVE Scott Speedman…when does this Lipstick Jungle air, anyways?  Maybe I shall give a try after all…in the name of research, of course…my, oh my…I must open a window…

My last request comes from A. from Venice, long time reader, second time requester.  She didn’t write but instead made her request over the phone.  She asked if Don Cheadle had ever been featured.  I was ashamed to admit he had not.  We then launched into a ten minute conversation about Why Don Cheadle Rocks.  Seriously - Don Cheadle rocks!  Why does he rock?  Let me count the ways - 1) he’s undeniably one of the most talented actors working in Hollywood today, 2) he is held in such high esteem by his peers that Crash director Paul Haggis allegedly cast Don first, knowing that other high caliber actors would sign on for the chance to work with him, 3) he managed to pull of the Rick James braids ‘n beads look (for a ’lil bit) in Boogie Nights, 4) his performance in Out of Sight still scares the bejesus out of me, 5) his performance in Hotel Rwanda still makes my heart hurt and 6) he’s putting his money where his mouth is and is actively raising awareness about the devastating situation in Darfur, traveling to Sudan with members of Congress and co-authoring “Not on Our Watch: The Mission to End Genocide in Darfur and Beyond”.  This is quiet humanitarianism at its best, a true gentleman, classy, talented, worthy of every accolade anyone could ever give him…a Hot Man for the ages, one of the very best men we have.  What more could you ask for?

Haven’t seen your favorite Hot Man on HMD?  Send your Request and Dedication to herhotness@hotmandiet.com today!