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eighton Meester, Megan Hauserman, Olivia Palermo, and more.

I’ve been monitoring this blog’s progress over the past month or so using an outside analytics software. I’m happy to report that people are reading and the readers do grow exponentially as the days go by. Keep in mind, I only really hope for one enthusiastic reader per post. That isn’t why I’m posting now, though.

Instead, I’d like to make it known that I apparently get about five times as many readers for a post about a hot girl than I do about anything else; hollywood, movies, news, music, quotes, etc. As a thank you to those girls who have made the blog more popular than I thought it would be, and a lot more fun to write, here’s an extra helping of each!

Charisma Carpenter

Mary Louise Parker

Jordana Brewster

Megan Hauserman

Leighton Meester

Blake Lively

Olivia Palermo

PS: I had to turn on the google safe search when getting some new Megan pics… so here’s an extra pic of fan favorite Hauserman! Also, Megan has been especially supportive of the blog, so sign her petition for a new VH1 show below.

Petition

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lthough I’m not yet pushing 30, I appreciate your gratitude, Parker.

A Thank-You Note to Men

By Mary-Louise Parker

from Esquire Magazine

To you, whom it may concern:

Manly creature, who smells good even when you don’t, you wake up too slowly, with fuzzy, vertical hair and a slightly lost look on your face as though you are seven or seventy-five; you can fix my front door, my sink, and open most jars; you, who lose a cuff link and have to settle for a safety pin, you have promised to slay unfortunate interlopers and dragons with your Phillips head or Montblanc; to you, because you will notice a woman with a healthy chunk of years or pounds on her and let out a wolf whistle under your breath and mean it; because you think either rug will be fine, really it will; you seem to walk down the street a little taller than me, a little more aware but with a purpose still; to you who codifies, conjugates, slams a puck, baits a hook, builds a decent cabinet or the perfect sandwich; you who gives a twenty to the kids selling Hershey’s bars and waits at baggage claim for three hours in your flannel shirt; you, sir, you take my order, my pulse, my bullshit; you who soaps me in the shower, soaks with me in the tub; to you, boy grown-up, the gentleman, soldier, professor, or caveman, the fancy man with initials on your towels and salt on your chocolates, to you and to that guy at the concession stand; thank you for the tour of the vineyard, the fire station, the sound booth, thank you for the kaleidoscope, the Horsehead Nebula, the painting, the truth; to you who carries me across the parking lot, up the stairs, to the ER, to roll-away or rice mat; to you who shows up every so often only to confuse and torment, and you who stays in orbit, always, to my left and steady, you stood up for me, I won’t forget that; to you, the one who can’t figure it out and never will, and you who lost the remote, the dog, or your way altogether; to you, wizard, you sang in my ear and brought me back from the dead, you tell me things, make me shiver; to the ones who destroyed me, even if for a minute, and to the ones who grew me, consumed me, gave me my heart back times ten; to most everything that deserves to call itself a man: How I do love thee, with your skill to light fires that keep me warm, light me up.