It's that I'm 39. I feel hot and sexy, actually... I feel it inside myself. I don't feel dried up and tired and no longer interested in sex is what I'm trying to say.
Don't you think I was made for you? I feel like you had me ordered - and I was delivered to you - to be worn. I want you to wear me, like a watch-charm or a buttonhole bouquet.
All that you are, all that I owe to you, justifies my love.
We lie in each other's arms eyes shut and fingers open and all the colors of the world pass through our bodies like strings of fire.
There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.
It's not that I don't see myself as hot and sexy. Don't get me wrong. No, it's not that.
Love consists in this, that two solitudes protect and touch and greet each other.
Your words are my food, your breath my wine. You are everything to me.
There is always some madness in love.
Every girl likes feeling hot and sexy and beautiful and likes hearing it.
I don't want people thinking of me sexually. I don't want people to be like, 'She's hot-looking,' you know? I want them to listen to me for what I am saying. And I think the best way to do that is to sniff my armpits, and like, sit and burp every now and then. It just completely throws people off. I had a couple of offers to do some hot scenes in the shower with some guy and to make it real hot and sexy. The next thing you know, I'd be the next J.Lo or something. But that's easy. I want it the hard way.
I think I'm a very pretty girl. I'm never going to pretend to think otherwise. There are even days I feel I'm fabulously hot and sexy. I'm grateful for my looks. My family is doing well because of them. I can make career choices and turn down movies because of them and I have been making money from them for 17 years. My looks are who I am.
People think updos are so hard, but they're not. Your hair should look tousled and undone. If I'm in a mood to go out and feel hot and sexy, I want long hair that I can feel on my back. But I also like bed head. Ill usually wash my hair and let it air-dry wavy, but if I'm just in a hang-out mood, I wont even wash it. Ill wait until it smells.
By the time I was 18, I had absorbed punk rock from America, Britain, and the West Coast. All of it was so dark and weird and different and cool and hot and sexy and rebellious. It was a fist-in-the-air kind of rebellion that I wasn't getting from the '70s mainstream.
or simply:
