Catherine Zeta-Jones: Welsh Witch Who Stole My Heart (With a bit of Stevie on the side) Or, I gots “Cat-Scratch-Catherine-Fever” You decide.

I have been recently chastised for writing too much about women.

Well, fuck me!

What would you have me write about?

I am a Red-Blooded Texan-American Male who still has a pulse.

This is not abnormal behavior from such a man.

Well-documented how much I love/respect/admire/lust after women I find interesting/strong/sexy/attractive…

Need I go on?

No?

Well, thank you then.

Let’s get on with the show.

Catherine!

First time I ever saw her was in the movie “Entrapment”

Well, she surely ‘entrapped’ me and took my heart.

(and some other parts of my anatomy—But I will spare you the details on that—suffice to say, I watched her in that movie five times in a row. All in one day)

And ever since, when I want to look / listen / drool / I revisit her.

And thanks to the magic of our age, our  wonderful internet age, I can satisfy my needs.

Ain’t much into porn, but I sure as shit am into women that I admire and if they are really beautiful… and smart…and talented…. and foreign… Welsh, Brit, French, Italian, Israeli, Kenyan, Oklahoma-en…

OK, not Okie—been there—done that—married that. Divorced that.

(Which was the worst mistake I ever made. Monumental fuck up on my part.)

Read more about it here. If’n ya wanna:

Screw it.

Moving on…

I am desperately trying to build a respectful tribute post to Catherine by showing you some stolen clips from the internet.

Thank you

Watch and then drive through.

***

“Sexy” as a word fails here.

There are no adequate words to describe this….

Entrap Me Baby!

Welsh Witch

Stevie Nicks

“Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night
And wouldn’t you love to love her?
Takes to the sky like a bird in flight
And who will be her lover?”

***

“All your life you’ve never seen
A woman taken by the wind
Would you stay if she promised you heaven?
Will you ever win?
Will you ever win?”

***

“Your life knows no answer”

“Dreams unwind
Love’s a state of mind”

Stevie, I love your hair.

A man could get lost in there.

Never to be seen again.

For those who like to ‘read more about it’:

Catherine Zeta-Jones was born September 25, 1969 in Swansea, Wales (and raised in the nearby town of Mumbles), the only daughter of Patricia (nee Fair) and David James “Dai” Jones, who formerly owned a sweet factory. She attended Dumbarton House School (Swansea). Her father (the son of Bertram (1912-1970) and Zeta Davies Jones (1917-2008)) is of Welsh descent and her mother (the daughter of William (1921-2000) and Catherine O’Callaghan Fair (1920-2001) ) is of English, Irish, and Welsh ancestry. Her brothers are David Jones (born 1967), a development executive, and Lyndon Jones (born 1972), who works at her production company. Her birth name was simply Catherine Jones, but she added her paternal grandmother’s name (“Zeta”) so as to stand out from the many other young women with the exact same name.

***

And Yes.

I have seen this one.

And I have read the book it was based upon:

And here is a fun fact:

Late one night…. dark and stormy—Some high school friends and I were stuck at a railroad crossing. There was a storm. It was fucking dark. I had a paperback copy of the book in my hip pocket. I pulled it out and using a BIC cig lighter, read from it to my friends. Just to pass the time as the train took it’s sweet time to get the fuck out of our way…

Scared the shit out of my friends.

(They were not familiar with the story)

I really enjoyed that moment and was sad when the train finished going by…. I had not even gotten to the ‘good’ part yet.

And I have seen the original movie…

Yada

Yada

Yada

But this ain’t about that.

That belongs in one of my ‘Film Posts”

She ‘Haunts’ My Feeble Mind:

Verily Related:

Bonus!

Catherine Fever!

True Grit Redux

This is, I think the third post I ever published.

Thought I would resurrect it for some who may not have seen it, as it is buried deep in the archives. And not that it is particularly that good, but is is all I have, waiting on Thursday…

(And because I am working on a new project, but it is not yet ready)

True Grit (Or, Almost a Cowboy, Or, What You Will)

Thanks for reading.

*****

Being a Native Texan, I decided to become a ‘Real Cowboy’ in the late Summer of ’70, as opposed to being a ‘ranch hand’, which by the way is different and which, by the way, I was actually pretty damn good at a couple of years later. I’m talking ‘bout haulin’ hay, buildin’ fence (BoB Whar—Texan pronunciation), drivin’ tractors, feedin’ cows; chasin’ cowgirls, drinkin’ whiskey, you know: that sort of thing. But actually before I found my niche in western employment, I did dream of riding the open range astride a great galloping beast.

cowboy

Here is how “that worked out for me.”

Madelyn had a horse once: a cross between a Shetland pony and a Welsh mare. Now, I really don’t know much about horses and during that time I knew even less, but I really did want to play cowboy, so I decided to make friends with the local “real cowboy” and have him teach me how to ride this animal. I was about twelve going on thirteen at the time.

The problem with this horse was that it was a pet. Madelyn had talked my father into buying it for her not long after she and her mom moved in (I was not yet on the scene; was still living with my grandparents.

I suppose I arrived some months after the horse). Anyway, she soon lost interest in Gretchen (is that a proper horse name?) hence, she (Gretchen) never ever got ridden; (I cannot speak for Madelyn.) This will become important later in my story.

Not long after making friends with said local cowboy (he was sixteen, much older and wiser…well, older anyhow) James Griffin, (Funny how I still remember his name.) we went to the pasture, which was actually inside the city limits of Honey Grove and took damn near an hour just to catch this beast. Gretchen did not apparently, want anything to do with cowboys, experienced or neophyte. Once we had her, James proceeded to teach me how the saddle and all the other kit went together. He grumbled something under his breath about the “hackamore” bridle I had provided along with the saddle that he was none too impressed with either. I told him that this was all the gear my step-sister had in our garage, and what was the problem,

“This stuff is brand new,” I said. (And of course, I was NOT wearing my varnished boots)

“Never mind,” he said while showing me how to mount the horse. He told me I always had to mount from-the-left-side. I asked him why, and he said that is what the horse expects. I certainly was all about living up to that horse’s expectations, so I did as instructed.

Continue reading

True Grit Redux

This is, I think the third post I ever published.

Thought I would resurrect it for some who may not have seen it, as it is buried deep in the archives. And not that it is particularly that good, but is is all I have, waiting on Thursday…

(And because I am working on a new project, but it is not yet ready)

True Grit (Or, Almost a Cowboy, Or, What You Will)

Thanks for reading.

*****

Being a Native Texan, I decided to become a ‘Real Cowboy’ in the late Summer of ’70, as opposed to being a ‘ranch hand’, which by the way is different and which, by the way, I was actually pretty damn good at a couple of years later. I’m talking ‘bout haulin’ hay, buildin’ fence (BoB Whar—Texan pronunciation), drivin’ tractors, feedin’ cows; chasin’ cowgirls, drinkin’ whiskey, you know: that sort of thing. But actually before I found my niche in western employment, I did dream of riding the open range astride a great galloping beast.

cowboy

Here is how “that worked out for me.”

Madelyn had a horse once: a cross between a Shetland pony and a Welsh mare. Now, I really don’t know much about horses and during that time I knew even less, but I really did want to play cowboy, so I decided to make friends with the local “real cowboy” and have him teach me how to ride this animal. I was about twelve going on thirteen at the time.

The problem with this horse was that it was a pet. Madelyn had talked my father into buying it for her not long after she and her mom moved in (I was not yet on the scene; was still living with my grandparents.

I suppose I arrived some months after the horse). Anyway, she soon lost interest in Gretchen (is that a proper horse name?) hence, she (Gretchen) never ever got ridden; (I cannot speak for Madelyn.) This will become important later in my story.

Not long after making friends with said local cowboy (he was sixteen, much older and wiser…well, older anyhow) James Griffin, (Funny how I still remember his name.) we went to the pasture, which was actually inside the city limits of Honey Grove and took damn near an hour just to catch this beast. Gretchen did not apparently, want anything to do with cowboys, experienced or neophyte. Once we had her, James proceeded to teach me how the saddle and all the other kit went together. He grumbled something under his breath about the “hackamore” bridle I had provided along with the saddle that he was none too impressed with either. I told him that this was all the gear my step-sister had in our garage, and what was the problem,

“This stuff is brand new,” I said. (And of course, I was NOT wearing my varnished boots)

“Never mind,” he said while showing me how to mount the horse. He told me I always had to mount from-the-left-side. I asked him why, and he said that is what the horse expects. I certainly was all about living up to that horse’s expectations, so I did as instructed.

Continue reading