2 posts tagged “hand”

My brain is quiet today, so I don't really have much to post about.  Instead, I thought I'd snag Val's meme for today and play along.  (Although some of her answers were good enough, I don't think I can top them.)

What is a physical feature you admire in both men and women, that you find yourself noticing or comparing when out and about?

Hands.  I love people's hands.  Consider that for the most part, I don't like to be touched.  I don't like to shake hands, but I love to look at them.  When evaluating whether someone's attractive I almost always start with the hands, and I have on several occasions turned down dates with guys who didn't have good hands.  Spatula Finger Guy: no offense.  You were really nice and you were cute, but the thought of you ever touching me with your freaky spatula fingers was creepifying.  Same for you, girl with the impossibly short end joint on your thumbs.

Who is someone we've heard of who possesses this admirable feature?

Hubbicula and Spucko both have lovely hands.  Guitar players.

 

If you could "safely" explore an addictive or otherwise unhealthful or unsafe vice, which one would you choose and why?

Well, I've pretty much already covered this territory, as I think I've tried every drug except Ecstasy and it doesn't really attract me.  So I'm gonna have to think outside the box.  Let's go with sex.  I'd join a swinger's club or something.  (In Tampa we conveniently lived just across the alley from one, but we never checked it out.)  Or maybe I'd just start speeding a lot, since I never do that.  Be one of those people who drive 100 mph on the highway.

In which TV show currently airing would you like to be a regular character? Describe the character a bit.

Since Lost is the only show I watch, I suppose I'd have to be a regular character on Lost.  Knowing my luck I'd just be a red shirt, get blown up or buried alive or something.  The best I could hope for is that I'd be a hot enough chick to get killed.  Probably my Lost boyfriend would kill me.  Well, that sounds a lot weirder than I expected.

If you could be a member of the opposite sex for a day, what you would try out?

Val pretty much covered this one: I'd spend a lot of the day just enjoying peeing while standing up.  (Although I like the idea of getting a raise for a day.)  Of course, I once had a dream in which I was Hubbicula and I think it reveals a lot about how I see men.  Or at least how I see Hubbicula.  In my dream, the first thing I did was shave off my facial hair.  Then I put on one of Hubbicula's many fabulous tailored three-piece suits.  Then I went out to a bar and started hitting on lesbians.  Yup, that sounds like a good day.

I'm always fascinated by what peoples' hands say about them.  When I was dating, one of the first things I looked at was the guy's hands.  (I've never been out on a second date with any guy who had spatulate, tree-frog sucker fingertips.  Just couldn't do it.)  Thinking about the revelatory nature of hands, I snapped a picture of my right hand this morning.  Then as I was browsing blogs (I like to warm up to the idea of work with a little blog reading), I came across a post by Jenna, who had posted a picture of her hands, smudged with press ink.  So here's my hand, and what it reveals about me.

I have big hands, and not just "big hands for a woman."  My hands are larger than the hands of many men I know.  They're squarish and they used to be quite strong, although the abuse I've heaped on them has progressively weakened them.  I've always had big knuckles, but again, too much manual labor has made them even bigger.  Most of my life I had very plain practical hands, until I got married.  I inherited my grandmother's wedding ring and it just looked sad and out of place on my hands.  She had lovely little hands, perfectly manicured, suited to her beautiful ring.  My hands looked like they were more suited to a plain gold band.  In the interests of congruity, and believing that my will was stronger than my destiny, I declared that I would make myself into a petite flower of womanhood.  I did pretty well.  I grew my nails out and kept them polished.  I moisturized my big, ratty paws.  Turned out, I had nice hands and the ring looked lovely.  Then we moved and we bought a new house and we started remodeling the basement. 

Since then I've had to cut the nails down to nothing, but still there's dirt hiding out under there.  This week every knuckle on my hand is raw from being in tight places plastering and sanding and scrubbing and scraping.  Worse, after three long weekends of home remodeling, my hands are like raw meat.  They are chapped and red, and the cuticles look like weasels have been gnawing on them.  (Except in mid-gnaw, the weasels said, "Ptooey!  Ick!  Your hands taste like industrial solvents and other nasty chemicals.  We're not gnawing on those anymore.")  I have cuts on my thumb and cracked open callouses on my fingertips.

Twice I've broken that crooked middle finger, but it is still my pride and joy.  On the left side, just below the nail, is my badge of courage--my writer's callous.  It is thick and indestructable, the skin fine grained and polished by the action of my pen.

So, go ahead, show me your hand.