Sex, Life, and Hannah » flirting

Things gone missing

hannah — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 23:31:23 +0000

This morning, I received this response in my inbox regarding Wednesday's post from Dr. Sex:

That was the best advice I've read about ANYTHING, in a long fucking time! Awesome and so, so, SO TRUE! I do know this about myself. My desire for women usually comes when I'm feeling unfulfilled with men, but I'm pretty darned sure it's more about me. Being with women makes me feel powerful in a different way than when I'm with men. I know I'm made to get a man off, but to get a woman off requires more, a lot more. I'm sure there's deep-seated stuff there that I may never recognize, but at least now I know it's more than just a sex thing.

...

RULES! Part 13.

hannah — Tue, 26 Apr 2011 16:13:20 +0000

78. Older men hit on younger women, younger men hit on older women.

79. Pretty men are fun, smart men are an experience.

80. Brain sex can lead to really hot sex.

81. It doesn’t work without love. But love isn’t enough.

Cyber Sex.

hannah — Mon, 04 Apr 2011 20:15:16 +0000

PeeWee: Taking a mistress vs. a lover. Me: What's the difference Alex? PeeWee: I think you have to be more committed to a mistress. Me: The less committment the better, especially if you're married, hence, the one night stand. PeeWee: I miss having a fuck buddy. No strings. Me: I think even fuck buddies are too much committment, unless you're both married.

Men I’d Like to Fuck Part 3.

hannah — Thu, 17 Mar 2011 17:31:31 +0000

Last night I had a dream involving David Duchovny. I was laying on a big white circular bed in a big white room and he walked in; stopped when the crotch of his pants was at the top of my head, and stood above me for a moment. Then he leaned down for one of those kisses...you know, one of those kisses where you're both upside down from one another...maybe you're getting ready to slide into a 69... And then his mouth left mine and lingered on my chest for a while, and then he started to make his way down, and all I wanted to do was pry open his pants, but instead I said, "you can't, I'm about to get my period." And then I woke up thinking: What the fuck? When has that stopped me before? And I wasn't even on my period, I was about to get it? If parallel universes truly exist, I think I fucked that one up. This is what happens when you do one too many Californication marathons.

No Strings or Guilt Attached.

hannah — Thu, 03 Feb 2011 23:43:46 +0000

The night before I left for Vegas I watched Up in the Air, where the climax of the movie is centered around this unattached, unemotional man realizing he’s fallen in love with a women he wants to make a home with, only to find out she already has a home, with a different man, and family. I found myself relating to the woman; understanding the need for a family yet also the need to get carried away by a moment, a different circumstance, a different man, woman, threesome... Did ‘til death do us part have to mean to never flirt with spontaneous attraction again? Of course your husband is supposed to be enough, supposed to complete you, so that you don’t ever crave getting carried away by a spontaneous attraction, but I’ve read enough about the biology of lust and love to know it’s not always so. At least I don’t think it’s that way for me. I got to Vegas, checked into my suite, flipped the TV on, and layed down. A Sex and the City episode was on; the one where Carrie is dating Aiden and ends up fucking Big. It’s hard for one man to satisfy everything we need. Although I wondered whether somehow it was more alright for a single woman in a relationship to have multiple lovers than a married woman. And then my mind wandered to another time I had taken a trip to Vegas by myself.

Shopping and adventuring.

hannah — Thu, 16 Dec 2010 19:02:14 +0000

I'm not sure what's been going on with me lately. I feel like I've lost complete focus. True, this project I started with a client in October that was supposed to be long term is now up in the air. But instead of, oh, I don't know, working on the third Sex, Life, & Hannah book, or the Lila book, or my mom's craft book, or any of the number of other tasks that have not been completed yet, like taxes, I'm...shopping. And cleaning and blogging...but mostly shopping. This is not typical for me. I mean, I shop, but not as a daily activity. It's like I've become this housewife, but I don't even have a kid to justify my actions. I need some kind of balance in my life. I'm starting to feel, again, that a structured corporate environment might do me some good. Although I suspect I'd take issue with the hours, as I always do. It's not the office I mind going to, I'll go into an office for a client every now and then, it's the hour I'm supposed to show up and leave the office at that I've always taken issue with. So I should be looking for work, or new clients, especially with all this time on my hands, but instead...I'm thinking about that Victoria's Secret coupon burning a hole in my wallet, or that scarf I really like at Taylrz Joynt, or that sweater dress at Indexx... Things with hubbie have been going well. Except for my freak out this weekend over him volunteering to work a production. I thought he was just making the prop, but it turned into a nearly entire weekend thing. We didn't get to put up our christmas tree, and I turned into a raging bitch housewife.

Would you pick up?

hannah — Mon, 22 Nov 2010 22:11:28 +0000

It was a Sunday filled with a ridiculous amount of highs and lows. Morning high: OMFG I love waking up next to you baby. Afternoon low: Why the fuck do you have to be a dick every time we go shopping? Early evening high: So you're avail and able? I was at the Single Tease launch party at Clever in Santa Monica, standing next to Mr. Available, and found myself falling for what I like to call the sneaky reverse, where instead of picking up on you, the guy does something, or in this case, wears something, that inclines you to pick up on him.

Ready to party.

hannah — Tue, 16 Nov 2010 15:48:38 +0000

photo: www.lainspiration.com

I love this girl. And I'm really jealous of her hair. If I had her hair I don't think I'd ever have a bad hair day. Luckily I had my hair pimped out that day by Gigi, so I wasn't doing so bad at her one year anniversary blog party. And she called me a snow bunny. Love her.

What else happened at the party...I learned I wasn't the only teen to spend their summers glued to General Hospital. This makes me feel better. I met fans of Sex, Life, & Hannah, which is always a HUGE thrill. People reading my books, and loving them, I couldn't ask for anything better. And, a bunch of fashion girls (I think five) told me they loved my nails. I guess that means I have to do this light nail polish thing more often...

Sparks fly in a steam room.

hannah — Wed, 29 Sep 2010 22:22:55 +0000

From Sex, Life, & Hannah::Volume 2, Spring Season (CHAPTER 16: RACY FICTION) A ball flies past my head. “Forty-thirty.” Mr. Smyth calls out the score from the opposite side of the tennis court. The last time I played tennis was at USC with Ace. And since we’d spent as much time fornicating off the court as practicing on the court, my game was mediocre at best—which is why Mr. Smyth was currently beating me six games to zero. The ball comes at me and I give it a solid whack…right past the back line of the court. Mr. Smyth runs up, having obviously enjoyed whipping me at his game. “You look pretty beat up, kid,” he says, smacking my ass in congenial sportsmanlike fashion. I stick my tongue out at him in snooty unsportsmanlike fashion. Mr. Smyth gives me a sweaty kiss. “What do you say we rinse off and I meet you in the steam room?” I raise an eyebrow. “Don’t worry, we’re not doing anything bad—it’s unisex.” Doing something “bad” with Mr. Smyth wasn’t what I was worried about…

Celebrating my birthday, Part 1.

hannah — Mon, 20 Sep 2010 20:25:30 +0000

I probably shouldn't be writing today. Still very tired, and still probably feeling the effects of the snickerdoodle cookies... So. Vegas. Me and Coco went to Vegas Saturday night because she needed a getaway and I had some leftover miles that were expiring at the end of October. And since my birthday is only a week away, I decided to start the celebration early. Vegas is a very different place when your status is married versus single. Especially is you don't have any special kind of "arrangements" with your husband. And last night, during a quick dinner debrief with my friend Ruby, she tells me those types of things end badly anway, at least they have with all the married people she's known. "Someone gets emotionally attached to the person they're supposed to be having unemotional sex with." A fair assessment, and to be honest, I'm not sure about the kind of arrangement I really want with hubbie. What I really want, is probably what every other married person really wants: the ability to time travel. I'm in Vegas, I'm partying, eating a snickerdoodle cookie at Rehab, sipping on a 20 ounce marg, letting go, I snap my fingers, and I'm single. I'm at home, hung over, lonely, desperately needing a foot rub, I snap my fingers, and I'm married. If only the Quantum Leap theory was more advanced... "Where are you from?" Cute guy with faux hawk yells in my ear. Coco and I were at one of the most obnoxious clubs I'd ever been to, Tao, and had momentarily lost one another in the crowd; not difficult.

Superman Charm

hannah — Wed, 01 Sep 2010 22:36:59 +0000

From Sex, Life, & Hannah::Volume 2, Spring Season (CHAPTER 15: DOCTOR BIG LOVE) Tonight is the first night I am going out on a real date with someone other than Mr. Smyth. Cain is driving down from Calabasas to pick me up, and then he’s taking me to Koi on La Cienega. This is no small feat. He lives an hour north of me and I, in L.A. traffic, live an hour away from Koi. His wanting to spoil me like this doesn’t surprise me, however. Cain is a true gentleman. He’s intelligent and witty, sophisticated, and extremely thoughtful. He discreetly snuck me two extra pieces of chocolate cake at his sister’s wedding. He also paraded me around like a princess on his arm, introducing me to all the wedding guests as his “lady.” And he didn’t once try to kiss me—even though his broad shoulders and blue eyes looked amazing dressed up in a suit, and the mounting sexual tension between us was as heavy as a Bible lying on a blackjack table. Any woman would die to be in my Stuart Weitzman Fevers and Allen Schwartz halter dress right now, waiting to be picked up by a gorgeous man of solid pedigree. And yet, I felt…uneasy. I had gone to the Benson wedding not expecting to have all that much fun—but I did. I thought the most amusement I would have was watching Celeste squirm out of her comfort zone all night—except she didn’t. She was too busy trying to fend of Cain’s brother, Jake, who became completely infatuated with Celeste after she crossed her legs next to him and exposed the bottom of her lavender garter belt. I had never seen a man throw himself at a woman as much as Jake did that night. He catered to her every need, meaning he got her a fresh Perrier with a slice of lemon every hour on the hour, and begged her to dance for four more, even though she kept saying “No.” By the end of the wedding, Celeste wasn’t speaking to me and I had agreed to a date with the doctor. My Blackberry chirps, and I reach for it with my free hand, the other twisting large curls into my hair with an oversized curling iron. “I can’t hide the truth from you any longer,” Jack begins dramatically. “The lies, the deception…it’s killing me.”

He’s like Lenny Kravitz and Taye Diggs all mixed into one juicy love stick.

hannah — Thu, 10 Jun 2010 17:40:50 +0000

From Sex, Life, & Hannah::Volume 1, Spring Season (CHAPTER 11: TALLER, PRETTIER, BUSTIER, CURVIER) He has skin made of dark chocolate and muscles made from either good genetics, weight lifting, doing triathlons, or maybe…bar-backing. I get a ping on my new Blackberry. It’s a text from Ireland: I had sex! I smile, happy Ireland is finally getting some action. But my attention quickly turns back to… He’s tall and smooth; an array of dreads fall just past his chin. He’s like Lenny Kravitz and Taye Diggs all mixed into one juicy love stick. I lower my sunglasses, my gaze skipping past the dazzle of the pool, to get the full effect—again. “Lola has it all, doesn’t she?” I sip my Mai Tai, wondering when my über-rich paternal father I never knew will suddenly croak and leave me all his millions, including a vacation house in Maui. Then I could make passionate love with a Jamaican god on virgin white furniture in front of picture windows for days, maybe even weeks, on end. I text Ireland: Wish I was having sex. “I don’t know.” Jack responds from the lounge chair next to mine. “She looks like she’s put on a bit of weight.” I adjust the extra-large sunglasses I purchased to cover as much of my healing (yet still not socially acceptable) face as possible, and look over at my best friend. He’s playing with his phone with one hand, popping bon bons with the other. “Stop being bitter,” I say, disapprovingly. Jack retorts by shoving another chocolate-covered something into his mouth. After Jack and I exchanged emotional hugs and kisses midway between our arrival gates at the Kahului Airport, we walked down to baggage claim, and Jack confessed he was having a hard time finding work. Apparently, after Dr. Sanchez’ wife “forced” herself onto Jack (again), she started gloating about it to everyone—including Dr. Sanchez. Jack had managed to wedge himself—sexually and otherwise—into the middle of an ugly battle between the Sanchez’, and the gossip had spread like wildfire amongst the nouveaux riche of San Francisco. No one wanted to touch Jack with a ten-foot pole—or come within ten feet of touching his pole, for that matter. This had left Jack very stressed. And Jack deals with stress only one way: comfort food. “Oh my god!” Jack yells out. “My popularity meter is at 2.6! I am so over!” “What the hell is a popularity meter?” I scan my e-mail for anything non-work-related. “It’s this new iPhone app that tallies all your texts and phone calls against how many people you have in your address book. This is such a disaster.” Jack licks what looks like pink caramel off his fingers as Lola struts over in her silver lamé bikini with her bon bon.

Kissing the shampoo boy.

hannah — Wed, 24 Mar 2010 16:19:50 +0000

From Sex, Life, & Hannah::Volume 1, Winter Season (CHAPTER 7: FRIDAY NIGHT CUTS) It’s Friday night, and all over Los Angeles people are getting ready to go out: some, on a hot date; some, to a hot club; others, to Blockbluster. I’m at Chopper’s hair salon about to get my hair cut, hoping it will help inspire a hot date—one of these Friday nights. Ben is washing my hair. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since he left the bouquet on my doorstep. “I loved the flowers.” Ben smiles and keeps massaging my head. “We should hang out again sometime.” Ben continues smiling and nods. And then he straddles my reclined body, his hands continuing to rub tingling conditioner into my hair. My hands grasp the arms of the chair in anticipation—of something. He looks at me, still smiling and rubbing. And then he leans his head close to mine and brushes his lips against mine. I part my lips and feel his tongue. His tongue swirls around my tongue, and my tongue swirls around his tongue. I don’t understand how someone can be so great at foreplay but so bad in bed.

The Art of Pick-Up and the X Factor.

hannah — Fri, 26 Feb 2010 22:29:08 +0000

Maybe I should have read the book before writing this blog post, and maybe I'll pick up the book this weekend to further my musings; but, my experience of last night compels me to write about this today. As I drink lemon-ginger water to cure my hangover. Last night a pick-up artist tried to pick me up. Yes, one of these secret society guys that classifies himself as a geek or loser that has little chance of ever scoring with the chick of his dreams. Or did at one time. Until he went through the twelve-step "become a stud" program and reversed his ill fate. I was standing in a line at a club (hell), but I had promised an aquaintence I'd be there for her birthday party. There was some confusion with the reservation (surprise) and she wasn't there yet, so I was stuck (lame). Suddenly a crew of four guys walks by. One of them opens, with some kind of compliment. OK that's always nice to hear. And then tells me, he can get me into the club. I agree, because I'm pissed about the line, and this birthday chick is nowhere in sight.

Chapter 3: The Agony Of Ecstasy

hannah — Thu, 23 Aug 2007 19:29:23 +0000

Sex, Life, & Hannah::Volume 1, Winter Season (Chapter 3) CHAPTER 3: THE AGONY OF ECSTASY. I am bent over grabbing one ankle. The Yoga Instructor is coaching us to breathe deeply so that we can form our bodies into perfect triangles. But what we’re all really doing is checking out The Yoga Instructor. The Yoga Instructor has long blond hair, a perfectly chiseled body, and a hip-hugging sarong tied around his waist. He reminds me of the men who adorned the romance novels I used to find in my mother’s bedside table. “If done correctly, this pose will remove tension from your lower back and your mind,” he says, gliding around the room. It may also cause my head to explode from checking out his biceps while inverted.