THE RUTHLESS RULES OF ROMANCE,
or HOW TO BE A PICKY POLLY
What' s in it for me?
When you look at a man who's
offering you a romantic relationship, (other than marriage) you need to take a
beat and think WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME? And if you’re really a sensitive, caring,
brilliant, magical woman, you’ll ask ‘what’s in it for my children one day when
I have them?’’ Is he tender, sentimental, loving? Did he come from a loving family? Does he even want children
one day? Is he a giver? Is he generous? Did he fill your gas tank before he
sent you home? Did he spot that tire with no tread and, with concern, tell you
how dangerous that was and make you take his Sears card to
go get tires? If he didn’t, date him only when you’re free, when there’s
nothing else to do, but mentally place him on a back shelf with a little
warning sign on him saying ‘test drive a while to make sure’.
If he did show concern and make
an offer, that's a man you want to drag home to meet Momma but I’m afraid that
today, girls value other qualities in a man. Like – can he buagaloo? Does he
have a great bomber jacket? And oh, here’s one: Is he a good listener. Yep.
These girls actually talk about their high school adventures and put perfectly
good men to sleep and then they won't date the snore twice (when they're
really the snore,) and they go give their passion to some greasy
disco dancer because he listens and makes these wonderful
comments when she talks and talks and talks. And he has a bomber jacket.
Disco Duckling may make these
sensitive cluck and chortle sounds when you talk because his head doesn't hold
a real idea. He's glad for one from you. In high school, he learned to smile at
the teacher and look attentive and that game works to this day and even gets
some poor fool's heart hot with it. Someone listened to her. OH, MIRACLE OF
MIRACLES.
Stupid Girls never imagine, hope
or expect that a man could care about your road safety and be willing to pay
for tires. No, stupid girls dream that a greasy coif date will show his proof
of love for you by listening to you TALK, respecting your brains and wit, your
HILARIOUS stories as if you were the Guy. You hope this man will even LOVE you
or get HOT for you and also never stop wanting you to tell him ALL about your
childhood. Well, that actually may happen with a vacant idiot who can fake
interest but it will never happen with a real man and should never happen. Tell
me, would you fly an airline where the pilot had listened to your dumb story
with great absorption?
Maybe boys in high school did but
real men in big cities don't! MEN in cities have big brains. The cute story
about the Home Ec class where your soufflé fell and your meatloaf burned and
you got a D is pathetic. Put it to rest.
You do not need a man to listen
to you. Believe it or not, that is not proof of love in the male animal.
Proof of love is he sees a tire with no tread and sends you to Sears to get 4
decent replacements. Proof is, he sees your WATER AND POWER bill is on RED and
they're going to cut the heat off and this gentleman asks with great concern,
"Sweetie, what's up'? And proof that you're a real woman and not
some GLASS CEILING scraping career girl growing mini balls, is that you
answer….'not my bank account. I'm a little short.' And he hugs you and
your eyes tear up with genuine gratitude and astonishment that God sent you a
real man and then he passes you a check made out to DWP! I don't know about you
but that makes my heart beat faster. REALITY handled! Stop. I'm all Ferklempt!
BIG deal if Travolta listened to
the burnt meatloaf story and faked a laugh. Fine . Well, ODIOUS really. Tell
me, What's in it for you with Mr. disco Grease who can bat his eyes? Is he
going to pay your light bill? NO. He spends all his money on poly suits so he
can enter Travolta contests.
So take a beat and ask yourself.
What's better? What's in it for me? A lifetime with Mr. gold chain-wearing,
hair on chest Greasy coiffure and spotted poly suit is going to be a lifetime
of electric light bills on red but this other nice man noticed the bill on my
desk. The smart girls says, next ten times the Mini-Me Travolta calls, I'm not
in. And when The Sears card calls. I am in. Why? Because? I want something to
be in it for me.' And if selfishness isn't your thing. And you insist on
wearing a halo… Do it for your unborn child. Say one day my little baby girl
will be shivering in her crib with the heat turned off, or my infant, baby boy
will be riding in the carseat on four tires that explode throwing him and his
ma off the bridge and into the icy river. Too horrible to contemplate so as I
have a TENDER HEART, I will make an effort to like the Sears Card guy not the
Disco hunk. Cuz of that unborn kid. Ain't I an altruist! Gimme the halo. I
earned it.
BE
HOT INSTEAD OF COLD. (DUHHH)
Girls today are bad at marketing
themselves. You don't have your own best interests at heart. You show up in
slacks, Adidas, a windbreaker. Gimme a break. Make it a complete look, wear
jockey shorts so when he undresses you he gets the real picture. Want to know
how to be alone? Dress comfortably and sensibly. Want to drive another man into
hypergear smashing furniture to get to your side? You don't have to be Einstein
to know that Sex sells. If tomato sauce came in a black can, who'd buy it?
American girls are mini-men.
Prideful. They have an arrogant attitude. Know how this manifests? They don't
flirt. They send out zero signals. Do you expect men to be mind readers? If you
do, your going out is the same as your staying home. Save
your money.
Have you ever seen a French girl
flirt? Her body language is vivid. She's not sitting immobile, knees crossed
like Aunt Agatha. She's standing and moving in a way that shows she hears the
music and she'd rather be dancing. Her flouncy skirt swings, showing knees, and
great calves as she's wearing high heels. Her wisp of a blouse is stretched
across breasts with a good bra holding them somewhere they belong…a blouse that
shows their form, not a gunny sack.
In that outfit, even if there's
no music, she still has a fluid, graceful body language. She's glancing across
the room, boldly, and when she sees him looking at her, she pauses in a way
that says she's been shot through the heart with how awesome he is. She's not
just waiting to catch a man's eyes. She's not waiting for a man
to go from zero to sixty and come right up to her. Cuz miracle and the tooth
fairy don't exist. No, she's carefully invited all eyes to delight themselves
at her expense. She's watchable, alive. Maybe ten men look at her --as, heck,
she's moving….but you know what? She has control. She gets to pick one
man out of the crowd by her eyes alighting on him and looking that little extra
bit stunned which says, I may be so pretty you're struck dumb but you are
awesome to me, Mister. I would not reject you.
Then she does the feint. She
turns away quickly as if she's having an embarrassing lightning bolt heart
flutter and it's too much for her. She's gone. And it's as if she's never
coming back. That wakens urgency in him. His heart is pounding. She's just
turned away and he really wants that girl.
Now while this mini-ballet is
going on, the American girl is still sitting like a clay pigeon waiting to be
launched into space so somebody can shoot her down. That and the American debt
going away --both ain't gonna happen.
Meanwhile, the French girl has
turned her back on him, right?. That really pierces his heart. Now she kinda
peeks -- like I remember you. Oddly enough you linger in memory and I'm still
thinking about you. She catches his eye again and then she blushes twenty
shades of red, as if they were sharing a joke at how silly and excitable and
alive she is. She glances back at him as if, 'did you see the consternation you
caused when I saw you, you big hunk you??' No maybe he didn't catch it the
first time but even if he's the dullest spoon in the drawer, now he's beginning
to. His feet are heading toward her only she's turned away again so all he sees
as he swims through the crowd is her small waist, great butt, swinging to the
music. We have a motivated customer.
Meanwhile pan back to the
American girl who is porking out at the buffet in sheer frustration and pouting
and drinking a whiskey and smoking a cigarette.
In the Olympics for Love that
little European has already got the guy's pulse racing and his hands sweating
and his feet moving across the room. He never even saw the American girl. Give
La Francaise ten minutes and he will be sitting with her, staring into her
eyes. She'll be parting her lips, that extra awe-struck lay-it-on-with-a-trowel
look, and admiration is the highest emotion we have on this planet. She'll be
laughing at his nothing jokes, hanging on his nothing words. No wonder foreign
women land men. Know why they do it though? Because back in Paris France, they
got one refrigerator for two families and one john for nine. They are what we'd
call motivated to nail a guy.
Now, you and I know you have to
nail l00 guys and run their credit report (30$ online) to find one who is not
an ex con, not bankrupt, not with ten judgments against him. You have to kiss a
hundred frogs to find one prince. That means you gotta come to the Big City
with Streets paved in Gold and be prepared to roll up your sleeves and make an
effort. Not just wear mascara well and pout sullenly on a chair, then pork out
at the buffet when life doesn't go your way.
So while the French woman is
giving out her card to Mr. Trembling hands, and then trading glances with that
stunning 40 year old peruque guy in the Armani, who will be her next conquest
tonight, yes, the same night….and maybe nine more….all of that driving Trembly
Heart wild with jealousy, driving the knife already tearing at his gut, ----
while that's happening, the preening, infantile American woman in the black
windbreaker and slacks looking as NEW YORK cool as oh, say Ellen De Generes, --
is stuck in the corner with her cool act, wolfing two pieces of quiche….
feigning disinterest, isolated, as if she were inanimate mascara ad model
hanging on the wall only she's got grease on her chin. Great if she's an ad on
a bus, bad if you're marketing yourself as a vivacious, animated, loving, alive
love toy that men want to compete for.
Cut to next week. TremblyHeart is trying to book her entire weekend for a Yankee game only the Guy in the Armani is bidding to take her to Jamaica on his corporate jet. In TWO rooms like she insisted because she won't give it away just for some-dumb-jaunt to a beach. The price of her AFFECTIONS is going to be a lidddle bit higher than JAMAICA. WHY? Because 'what's in it for HER just a shabby trip to JAMAICA? Huh? WHAT IS IN IT FOR ME, BUSTER?? Sand in my ear?
DUMB
THINGS WOMEN DO. BAD HABITS = BAD LUCK.
I see more stupid things done by
women than the Warden at a woman's prison. I had a pal who used to be a Beverly
Hills Meter Maid. Oddly, she later became the top Beverly Hills Matchmaker,
(after a stop off being a Gossip columnist for a trade paper in Hollywood.) She
told me that she considered getting a little ticket book and when she made her
rounds of the city finding girls to marry off, giving TICKETS to Stupid women
who do Dumb Things.
I learned from her and have become
a real hand slapper. Young, beautiful girls who have unlimited futures and who
are ruining their lives with their dumb tactics -- get corrected by me. I’m a
realist. I'm telling you how it is out there. I truly believe that when you
have the correct maps you can devise the correct strategy. I'm here to guide
you, keep you from making mistakes. And boy, do I see the mistakes. In my work
as the fortuneteller for this Hollywood Matchmaker I have seen a thousand girls
a year, up close, seen their errors, heard their tales of woe, sometimes
re-educated them and sent them off to become the wives of very rich men but
mostly not. Why not?
Olympic trainers say all the time
that they'd rather have a girl who's never even been on a bar or sawhorse so
they don't have to break them of bad habits. I don't have it that lucky. I not
only had to break a lot of bad habits, I had to break obsessive patterns that
were so sick and demented and deeply carved in their habit patterns that you'd
be shocked. To hear about them and shocked that I could repeat them. But who
said I'm a lady? I'm going to share them with you, now.
The TEN DEADLIEST SINS A WOMAN CAN DO.
#1 FIRST DEADLY SIN -- or, HOW NOT TO GET INVITED TO THE PALACE,
CINDERELLA. We all
read the story of Cinderella. Where does it say that on the first night,
somewhere between the glass slipper and the pumpkin, she got knocked up?
It doesn't say that. It couldn't. Getting impregnated by the
Prince is not only against nature, it is 100% irresponsible. It's unforgivable,
as you're cursing a living human kid to 9 months of agony inside your grieving,
rejected, terrified stomach, putting the baby’s hormones in a permanent cinch,
then at BIRTH cursing the child to being unwanted by life and last, DESPISED by
an angry, resentful shotgun father!
Amazingly enough, stupid women attempt this nasty trick all the time.
They do it when the potential father is very rich and powerful and oh yes. Did
I mention? They do it when they're super stupid.
SHOT
GUN PATRIMONY is a huge
life-and-death risk! One chance in a million you'll get the arrow through that
wedding ring at a thousand meters. Generally, the fouled shot creates a
horrific downside. You will end up maiming the mind of a very intelligent sensitive
kid (obviously, cuz that father's rich, smart and powerful!) You will poison
that child with an immense load of personal sorrow and with all of that ---
chances are you will not nail the Tycoon. So don't even go there.
Elizabeth Hurley, the most beautiful girl in the world today did this to
Stephen Bing -- Mr Bing (which rhymes with Sing which rhymes with BLING ) who
denied before the world that it was his. Published a list of her other pals.
Liz got the DNA of all of them, proved in court that Bing did the Thing. And
Devilish Liz pulls out the evidence, winks at the judge while her other
boyfriends parade down the aisle and give blood and Liz wins in court. Know
why? Cuz DNA rhymes with "PAY" She and the beautiful son Demian who
is the replica of the father will have the grinding lifetime of sorrow that
parental rejection is and oh yes, some bucks to wipe their tears with. Good
thing she named him Demian the Omen. Gives him something to live up to at least.
In the musical ANNIE GET YOUR GUN, they sing 'You can't get a man with a
gun." That means shot gun. You can't nail a HUBBY with a
baby. Most men feel about a baby as they do about measles. It's on their
Christmas list of a hundred things they'd LOVE to have, one day, but this one
is just a little below the measles. They don't want CHILDREN.
Stupid Women don't understand that of course, because they want a
baby. Girls, think for a second: Did you ever see a boy child play with a baby
doll? NO. Doesn't that tell you something? Men play with guns that shoot stuff
out. That's what they want to play with.
And as they do shoot things out, today rich guys who feel they might be
shotgun targets all use rubbers. OK so ladies are smart. They thought they
could outwit them and began taking the spent rubber home after the party, using
a turkey baster and impregnating themselves. So what did the rich bachelors in
Hollywood start doing? They all began to keep a bottle of Tabasco sauce by the
bed to douse the interior of the rubber before they threw it away. Marlon
Brando needed a dozen bottles of Tabasco sauce with that resourceful Guatemalan
maid he had. Til the day he died he was making payments to her for the last
five of his 32 kids.
SECOND DEADLIEST SIN - PUTTING ROMANCE OVER FINANCE
Bonding early even when he has not. DO NOT GET AHEAD of him in the LOST
IN LOVE LINE. No Jonesing for the guy, putting out too easily for guys with
nothing to offer. Girls say, Anita, how can you know? Maybe he’s the hero of
tomorrow. Well if he is, there are signs today. Those signs are available for
30$ online. It’s called a credit
report. I can’t tell you how many girls I know who’ve been snookered by guys
with phony claims of a big career, who in the end had to borrow hundreds or
thousands from the GIRL for some great career opportunity. And the girls bit
down on all this phony seductive criminality! So, hold off on getting involved.
Investigate his behavior, test him, see if he's good tempered, generous or
maybe pathologically jealous, a stalker. Or someone with no career at all.
Because when they lie to you and you find out, then they have to kill you. Yep.
You know about Scott Peterson.
He killed Stacy and her unborn child because she found out the truth. He wasn’t
in Med School. LIES. The point is: No more bonding early. If you're Jonsesing
for the guy, get a vibrator and watch Sean Connery Movies. GET OFF the horn
with some porn. Do anything but keep your pulse slow, your eyes on reality and
your palate clear.
A single dating girl is something like a coffee taster at the Bean
factory. You take one sip, gargle, see if there's aroma, richness, warmth, and
then you spit. You rinse your mouth with water. You try another grind, another
bean, a little Kenya, rinse spit. Maybe a little Blue Mountain. You Rinse and
spit. Rinse spit. That is your new mantra. Date rinse spit. DO NOT give the
third sample back a moment of thought. And what else is, GO HOME AND DRINK TEA.
NO getting addicted. No taking home FREE SAMPLES.
The reason Why is cuz girls get badly hooked by good sex. You can lose a
lot of good years on a good man. Well, you can lose more good years on a bad
man and frankly there is no bad sex. Even if it's no bell-ringing sex, it's
still some great cuddling and the guy is all over you. You're wanted. WORSE is
if it's GOOD sex and bells ARE ringing, you're hooked for years. He could be
raping nuns and you'll loyally be jonesing over him and making his breakfast
before he left to go out on a day of foul play and waiting for him to return so
you could jump him. That's how loyal women are. We're like an automatic wind-up
monkey that can't stop ringing that cymbal. KNOW that you are THAT automatic
and avoid having any man turn your key fully. Stay distant. That doesn't mean
stay on the shelf. It means date rinse and spit*. Don't get attached.
(*wine taster terminology)
THE
PRICE IS IMPORTANT. THE PRICE IS NEGOTIABLE. BUT…Never try to put a price on
what you're already giving away for free. Cuz you can’t. You can’t take
back the years, calories, juice and tears you spent on that guy. There’s no
REFUND at the Love Gate over at the back door of Heaven.
Think of it as a rodeo. Woman
pitted against BULL. Once your lariat is out and it misses, and you don’t trip
and catch the bull, that bull catches your l’il rope in his horns and runs. Not
only are you pulled out of the only saddle you have, you’re outta rope, kiddo.
Good luck catching the next rodeo. You’re laid up in double body casts and
crutches.
Maybe Rodeo is too vigorous a
metaphor. Think of a man as a shopping expedition. Women pay huge amounts of
money, love and time on a suit they have never really got the feel of. Maybe
they tried it on for a second or two. Now that’s dumb. You spent a lot of time
to earn that hundred dollars and now it’s blown. What is your precious time
except money? Money lost, money gone downstream, unrecoverable. Get to know
the suit before you buy it. You get to know it by wearing it out
once or twice. I had a girlfriend who could never tell in the store if the suit
was going to work for her. The department store always let her put it on a
credit card, she’d wrap it up and take it home and wear it to a few parties,
business meetings with the tag in her sleeve. If people didn’t comment
favorably, if she didn’t feel kill in it, she’d return the suit and get her
money back.
It's slinky but women are
creatures of whim and will VERY CAREFULLY tread into moral ‘GRAY’ areas ---if
they’re only slightly slinky and if it’s for the Good of God and
Country! Anyway, my stylish chum knew how to wear those little perspiration
pads you pin inside the sleeves under her arms and she’d hide the tag way up in
the sleeve when she tested it out. So she had thoroughly test marketed that
suit by the time VISA was going through.
If she did ALL this for a hundred
dollar suit, how much more careful should we be, and how much MORE should we do
a test run on the man we let into our hearts, bed and baby nursery! Kick the
tires, take it around the block a few times. See what your girlfriends say. If
one of them reports he hit on her, that’s a useful thing to know. TEST DRIVE
your boyfriends without getting emotionally involved too fast. That’s my point.
*
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