31 Oct 2008, Posted by jay rusovich , 2 Comments

“Men are Pigs First, Human Second…” Psychatrist Catherine Vaginetti, Unloads

I recently had the opportunity to catch up with my friend and colleague, Dr. Catherine Vaginetti; a published author and renowned expert in the field of female behavior. The following conversation took place in my office, and concerned a growing complaint amongst women that men are, in so many words, “pigs first, human second.”

Jay:

Good morning, Catherine. Thanks for dropping by.

Dr. V:

It’s always a pleasure, Jay.

So, what could I possibly tell you that you haven’t already exposed about male superficiality and opportunism?

Jay:

My female readers wanted your take on it. They want a female perspective.

Dr. V:

Okay. Women enjoy male attention, but not at the expense of everything else that distinguishes them from primates. It’s annoying when the only satisfying conclusion to an evening with a man is a conscious or unconscious battle over whether or not the woman agrees to copulate. In this context, one could argue that men are pigs first, human second.

Jay:

Since women possess such humanity, they should start splitting the bills - not offer to split the bills -but actually cough up a credit card. From a man’s perspective, if a woman agrees to go on a date, there’s the presumption of sexual interest. If not, why are they on a date? If it’s business or friendship, that’s different.

When two men go on a first date, they understand the rules. Why else would they go on a date? It doesn’t preclude the possibility of a relationship. In fact, it determines its probability. So why is it any different for women; particularly in this blessed age of egalitarianism? It’s a double standard. And unlike lesbianism, it doesn’t work for both parties.

I hear men complaining all the time about women who go out with them just to get out of the house; thinking that maybe they’ll meet somebody else in the process. Of course, if she happens to be indigent – or completely psychotic – the man pays the bill by default, but not without questioning his own mental health in the process.

So who’s the hunter-gatherer now?

Men have grown soft and confused. Can you imagine a 21st century man having to actually hunt for a living?

The woman would have to slay the fucking meal before [whatever it happened to be] tore his head off.

Dr. V:

This objectification is pathetic. A man spends a lovely evening with a woman, and the only thing that determines whether or not it was fulfilling is whether or not he has an orgasm. Women have other things to think about, like children. They want to know a man’s true motives. Is he solely interested in sex, or is he interested in something more? Can he go the long haul or not? You’re always talking about Darwin, so from an evolutionary perspective, the nester wants to know whether or not the hunter will ever return.

Jay:

The hunter’s not returning without the orgasm, believe me. He’s not putting his ass on the line out of the kindness of his heart. And I didn’t say she had to sleep with him on the first date. What I am saying is that sexuality is a part of the experience; if she’s being honest. The guy would be overjoyed with something along the lines of “Hey, that was fun. How about letting me cook for you on Friday night?”

Men want to know whether or not it’s worth investing their time in someone who isn’t going to be a satisfying sexual partner…or a partner at all. If the sex isn’t good, the relationship is doomed no matter what the extenuating circumstances happen to be. The emotional resonance is an enormous part of it, but not all of it by a long shot. My female readers agree with me on this, by the way. The approaches are different, that’s all.

Dr. V:

Perhaps, but women still bear the brunt of the emotional beating, no matter what the outcome. Let’s not kid ourselves, here. Women are working with limited time frames. Men can go on and on like they’re immortal. Once their looks fade, money and power become the new veneer.

Jay:

Yea, well I’ve never heard women complain about it.

Dr. V:

The biggest problem with women is that they confuse fantasy with reality. Men are better at separating the two. Women buy into the images, the resumes, the line items…all without facing the actual person. But they don’t want to see that person, because if they did, the fantasy would disappear.

Every decision a woman makes is tied to the prospect of security. But you can’t win if you’re always playing not to lose. I tell all of my female patients to look beyond the veneer. But most opt for the fantasy and then end up on the couch.

Jay:

Men respond to beauty first, and sort everything else out later. Women go for the line-items first, and then complain about the lack of orgasms later. It’s completely backwards.

I like the male approach because you get everything out of the way before you’re emotionally  [and some would argue, pathologically] invested. Then they decide whether or not to pursue things further. It isn’t the stuff of romance novels, but nothing ever is, which is why we have romance novels in the first place.

Men get to transcend their base elements and enter the realm of humanity for the discounted price of $19.95, with a Borders card.

Dr V:

You know, Jay, 20 years ago I would have put this chair over your head. Today, I want to put it over mine.

[end]

31 Oct 2008, Posted by jay rusovich , 0 Comments

Annoyed Reader Responds to “Letting Go…”

“Again, I love your blog.Now as I see it, here are the rules:

If a woman looks good, she’s likely to be anti-social in one way or another. This seems to be prevalent among exceptionally pretty women.From my experience this particular disorder commonly involves narcissistic and borderline tendencies.

The former can be recognized by statements like:

“Don’t you want me to be happy?”

This is code for: I want to do whatever I want to do whenever I want to do it.

“But that wouldn’t be good for me!”

This is code for: It’s really all about me.

“Trust is essential in any relationship.”

But don’t ask where she’s been when she comes home at 3am because then you’ll be violating that trust.

Got the code now? I’m gonna do what I wanna do whevever I wanna do it and it’s all about me. However, this may be a little more sophisticated [less primitive] than the idealization/devaluation artist, who will also turn everything around, and who has major difficulties defining boundaries.

In my experience they also project like crazy. I agree that the lack of boundaries is why sex with a ‘borderline’ is pretty damn good. They like to wear your clothes, give great blow-jobs, and all their relationships are turbulent and intense. They too are self-absorbed, and while they may at first appear giving, they give only by virtue of projecting an idealized vision of who they think you are. But it’s not long before you fail to measure up. The idea is that you will give her everything, but then comes the devaluation wherein you’re worthless sack of shit.

But, alas, neither of these characters will ever get what they say want unless they are confronted by a smart therapist. That therapist may be the catalyst to make these individuals face themselves honestly enough to begin the process of frank self-examination — as opposed to self-justification.

But it takes years and is too hard for most. They say they want intimacy, but are so fragile and wounded that they end up just protecting themselves. They grasp for the straws they think will save them from drowning…only to choke time and again.

I think you made the point before that insanity is doing the same thing again and again but expecting a different outcome. So this is, indeed, insane.

Borderline Personality Disorder [BPD#1] Devalued Dad. My Dad is worthless. He’s like cauliflower – I can’t stand cauliflower. He abandoned Mom and the rest of us kids and we never hear from him unless he wants something. We got nothing from him. He’s such a narcissist. Well there may be more to the story as presented above and while that Dad is likely to have his own antisocial personality problems he is still nonetheless a Dad devalued.

In some circumstances, perhaps, rightfully so.

[BPD#2]: The Idealized Dad I have a wonderful relatonship w my Dad. He’s a gifted, brilliant, scholarly, artistic compassionate individual and he just loves me. We are so close. Dad the ideal but hardly real. Well, Dad has never challenged this daughter about her most simple actions. So, of course, Dad is wonderful.

Her quest is for the unique and ideal mate.  But for both these presentations, which I’ll call BPD#1 and #2, it’s like dealing with an infant who soiled her diaper at 3am. It was changed at 3am because she was crying and parental needs were of no concern. Dad’s needs were just irrelevant (sleep,work the next day) at that point. There was really only the infants dirty diaper and her need for it to be changed.

Fast forward to adult life. Now the BPD is trying to deal with career, marriage or romance, fantasy, sex and can’t grasp the idea that a relationship requires giving consideration to someone else who actually has needs and wants and fantasies too. But that would require her to understand that the fundamental purpose and meaning of his existence is not changing diapers at 3AM.

BPD#2 can never find the right guy because he can never match up with that projected paternal fantasy of selfless support. For BPD’s the problem is that they set up that familiar – but failed – Daddy template repetitively, and can’t figure out why men are ‘all the same’. As some of them may see it they get laid and abandoned by one man after another but that is dishonest, self-deceiving and lacking insight.

They refuse to acknowledge they can actually control whether or not getting laid will occur in the first place. One way this kind of personality ultimately keeps moving on is to pull out of the relationship such as it is, when she devalues her man to the point there is nothing left in it for her. Her projections have all failed and gone. If she’s not very effective in holding onto a job or unless she can manipulate (which is often her major resource) someone wealthy enough she may end up living in a trailer park with (God forbid) her kids, which she may have gotten from the sperm bank.

And so onto another generation of anti-social behavior. Marriage to these women is almost guaranteed to fail. Sooner or later they will devalue their men (‘I just don’t understand it; I must have loved him’ they say.) But there’s nothing left in the end because there was never anything in them from the start. All they ever did was project a fantasy from the very outset.”

They are as individuals stable in only one respect which is their own instability. It is painful and sad to see them as flotsam and jetsam uncontrollably tossed in the sea of their chaotic existence. And even sadder is that for fleeting moments they seem to know.”

Amen. Insightful letter. Thank you.

28 Oct 2008, Posted by jay rusovich , 0 Comments

On Letting Go: A Requiem, of sorts

Hookers, escorts, grifters, con artists, strippers, sociopaths, ex-cons, escaped felons, leeches, stalkers, dope heads, alcoholics, the utterly hopeless, the scarred, the bleeding, and the dead:

Welcome to single life in the 21st century [for people who can’t - or choose not to – accept life for what it is, rather than the place they see in their heads after 1500 milligrams of Vicodin]. 

“Hi, my name is Cindy and I’m psychotic. Stop looking at me like that! At least I know who I am! Everybody has problems. Would you rather date the woman across the parking lot over there, trying to get out of the Mercedes without breaking the axel? Yea, she graduated from Yale. She has a lot of family money…blah, blah, blah… but you wouldn’t be caught dead with her. Case closed. I want another bottle of wine.”

Cindy is a gorgeous 32-year old woman on weekend furlough from a local mental hospital. Her case is considered marginal because she doesn’t pose a direct threat to herself or others. This seems to be what distinguishes sanity from insanity these days. But of course, it doesn’t include the psychological impact she has on people who get personally involved with her; the ones who don’t care about the pandemonium that ensues when she cocktails alcohol with her medications, and then starts speaking in a foreign language she doesn’t know.
 
See, the outrageous sex [which tends to be endemic in the absence of boundaries] overshadows all the chaos, including the disappearance of personal items from one’s home, like watches and jewelry; but not excluding CDs, DVDs, keys to the back gate…and a psychiatric manual or two.
     
Ironically, this is where many men search for their blessed “Grail;” a soul mate that’s about as distant as the nearest star system.
 
But there has to be a way around this, right? Not all women are insane. Where’s everybody else? The ones who refuse to do battle with the miscreants of the streets?

I’ll tell you where they are: They’re at HOME!!! Bored out of their fucking minds…but HOME!

They’re the ones you see immediately after work – generally in groups – at wine bars and planned events; the same ones who vanish without a trace after 8:30pm as if they didn’t exist in the first place.
 
These women are more accepting of life’s fundamental tenets, while men fight it tooth and nail as though they somehow had a hand in creating it. Women who don’t play by the rules end up under bridges; but not before dragging hoards of men down with them. This is why I continue to question the validity of their furlough programs.
 
Anyway, here’s how life is supposed to work:

You go to college. You graduate from college. For the next couple of years, you date someone you met at college. You marry this person. The two of you work for another couple of years. You start a family. You take vacations. More time passes. You have an affair or two…and then you die, period. That’s it.

End of story.

Not go on and on and on and on as though the passage of time was meaningless, and then wonder why it doesn’t feel [meaningless] when it broadsides you. But still it doesn’t change your behavior, one ioda, as you tear through the poppy fields like a banshee.
 
Go live in suburbia with some average woman your own age, you idiots! Go find a lonely beach in South Florida and fade away with the rest of the beach erosion. Go to fucking Arizona.
Just let go and die like everybody else.
 
…Or not.
 
I mean, you can always purchase more psychiatric manuals…and so what if you still feel like an adolescent in the company of adults your own age.

26 Oct 2008, Posted by jay rusovich , 0 Comments

When [and why] Narcissists Collide

“No object is so beautiful that, under certain conditions, it will not look ugly.”
Oscar Wilde

Narcissism is loosely defined as a psychological condition that includes “excessive self-love, admiration and preoccupation, coupled with a lack of empathy and unconscious deficits in self-esteem.”

Sounds like a lot of people I know, but let’s move on.

Narcissistic people are always searching for positive reflections of themselves; a practice which diverts attention from their insecurities. But don’t bother broaching any of this with them, because they can’t hear you. 

In the context of dating, it plays out like this:

The narcissistic man or woman of 25 eventually reaches 40. And while most of us notice – and adapt to – changes along the way, they keep on living their lives as though the 40 part of the equation doesn’t exist. One would think that the growing list of defeated expectations [the ones that continue to pile up like an urban landfill] would get they’re attention. But they just ignore it, in spite of the fact that it does, in fact, get their attention.
  
The 40-year old female demands [from her mate] an equal measure of eternal youth, beauty, wealth and blind devotion. Such behavior includes keeping one’s mouth shut when her grandiosity takes off like a space shuttle; particularly at cocktail parties after a few drinks. Again, don’t bother getting into it with her, because she’ll look right through you like a pane of glass and imagine you’re a tree off in the distance.
 
As for career, many of these women work in areas like film production, alongside the industry’s indigenous subculture of bikers, hippies and social drop-outs. They believe that just being in the industry distinguishes them from average people who must suffer through life as attorneys, physicians and rocket scientists.
 
As they see it, everyone else wallows in obscurity, as they fabricate even more fantasies that might include Dove detergent commercials, for those of you who think I’m talking about something along the lines of Star Wars.
 
Nonetheless, these women love their renegade status. They act out like eternal adolescents; binging on Absolute and screwing frat boys who affirm their enduring sexual allure, without questioning their sanity.

As far as I’m concerned, they just as soon work for the circus.
     
So here’s where the collision part comes in:

The 40-year old male narcissist doesn’t want to date a woman his own age because he doesn’t want to be reminded of his own mortality. So he goes for 25. The female narcissist is then stuck dating either someone older [which she won’t do because she doesn’t want to be reminded of her own mortality], or dating someone younger, which she most often chooses, until she can no longer pull it off. At this point she goes straight for the heroin, as long as she can swing the hefty price tag. If not, she’ll stick with the methadone.
      
In short, beautiful young women who grew up valuing their physical beauty above all else, still want – and expect – the same things they were handed at 17.

Note: Two rock stars cannot occupy the same space at the same time unless they’re collaborating on a song they intend to donate to something like World Peace. Other than that, they kill each other.

Further note: There are exceptions wherein the guy is handsome, driven, egocentric and filthy rich. But his narcissism is tolerated because the filthy rich part tends to overshadow the obnoxious part. Of course, we’re talking about money so large it becomes an abstraction, including his wife.

Final Note on this: One occasionally finds the female narcissist in the company of say, a famous artist; someone who she thinks everyone else idolizes — in spite of his repulsive appearance and over-extended bank account. Remember, it’s about reflection; both physical and otherwise.
   
These are just a few ways most competing narcissists achieve harmony.

The rest find mates who look the part, but take a back seat to them. In short, the female runs the show, even if, together, they’re broke. This is because her narcissism always takes precedence over things like food and shelter.
 
Okay, so let’s say the guy is now in his 50’s, and has all the other requisite attributes. In his mind, the woman he sees himself with is a beautiful 40-year old with a flawless ass. But the same woman sees the same reflection, only 12 years younger. So, neither one of them win. They can’t come together because they have opposing reflections…or opposing wounds, depending on how you look at it.
 
This is why we see beautiful hookers in the arms of wealthy male narcissists. The hooker just wants the money. That’s her affirmation. Fuck the narcisism. 

Brief excerpts from an interview I conducted with a 40-year old, female narcissist:

Jay:

So what’s the problem? You’re fucking beautiful and bright. Why can’t you find a man?

Woman:

Because there aren’t any. All I get are these old guys coming on to me wherever I go. What makes them think I’d give them a second look? Their money? Think again. I have handsome 20-year old guys dying to sleep with me.

Jay:

As long as you’re marginally attractive, you will always have 20-year old guys dying to sleep with you; particularly if there aren’t any 20-year old girls in the immediate vicinity. What about dating someone, say, 10 or 15 years older?

Woman:
 
Why don’t you date someone 10 or 15 years older, Jay? Because you’re not attracted to them, that’s why. And just because you see women doing this all the time, you assume that I’m gonna do the same. But I won’t. I expect more for myself.

Jay:

But I thought that women weren’t as wrapped up in the beauty thing.

Woman:

You’re wrong. We want everything just like you do; only some of us actually deserve it.

Jay:

Then where is he???

[end]

In summation, if you’re a narcissist with expectations of finding the Holy Grail [otherwise known as the ultimate delusion] I suggest you get a new med check - or a new shrink - which ever you can get your hands on first.  

24 Oct 2008, Posted by jay rusovich , 0 Comments

Jay Talks Existential Angst with “Joe Six-Pack”

I get a lot of mail from divorced, middle-age people who want to know what life on the streets has in store for them. The following exchange is a good example:
 
JSP:

“Hey Jay, I was wondering if I could get some advice about dating? I’m a 48 year old guy, with a decent job, decent looks – maybe a little extra padding around the waist – and two grown kids. My wife left me for her boss a year ago and I’m finally ready to start dating again.

Anyway, my question is what are my chances of getting back in the game at this stage of life? It’s not like I’m some kind of loser or something, but I don’t even know where to start. Thanks.” 

The following IM exchange was edited for grammar, only:

Jay:

“Thanks for writing. How can I help?”

JSP:

“Well basically, I have no idea how the hell to get back in the dating game and not look like an idiot. I don’t even know what to wear, for Christ sake! I haven’t done this stuff in 20 years…”

Jay:

“What are your expectations? Do you have some fantasy woman in your head?”

JSP:

“Hey, like other guys, I have a good imagination when it comes to that. Nice looking, good figure; somebody I can look at in the mornings – lol – and be proud of when we go out.”

Jay:

“What’s this woman’s age?’

JSP:

“I’d say maybe 38 – OR YOUNGER -to around my age.’”

Jay:

“Do you have any money?’

JSP:

‘”I have a decent job. Why?”

Jay:

“Because the “nice looking, good figure” part of your fantasy costs a lot. You’re not 25 anymore, and because beauty is a woman’s most expensive – and most sought after – commodity, the ones who look like what you describe aren’t handing anything over to a guy who can’t deliver the goods. 

Your appearance is irrelevant, no matter what women will tell you to the contrary. They expect you to fulfill your end of an unspoken bargain. I suggest you read Evolution of the Species.”

JSP:

“Read what?’

Jay:

“Never mind. Just know that they expect you to have the money, first; the same way you expect them to have the looks, first. That’s how the two of you pass GO. Of course, if you’re a yoga guru and/or cult leader [feel free to use the two interchangably], you can exploit a damaged woman’s insecurities and hand her the Koolaid no matter what your bank account looks like.    
 
This notwithstanding, step number two in the dance is trust. The guy has to make the woman feel comfortable, and trust is a good place to start. Only then does she go in.”  

JSP:

‘”So what kind of money are we talking about here?”

Jay:

“To explain this you have to put yourself in the head of a woman whose entire life has been driven by fantasy. Generally speaking, she sees something large; two floors, 3 bedrooms, an entertainment room, a pool, and of course, a nice neighborhood. So 7 figures for starters.

Are you cool with that?’

JSP:

‘What the fuck do you mean ‘am I cool with that?’ Who the hell can go out and buy a million dollar house? Are you nuts?’

Jay:

“Then move to Kansas where the average 400-pound woman is cool with the double-wide, because in big cities, you’ll be dismissed as the help at cocktail parties, rather than an invited guest.’

JSP:

‘So you’re saying a guy my age, without money, doesn’t have a shot in hell of landing a good-looking woman?’

Jay:

“Some people win the lottery, but not many.”     

JSP:

“It can’t all be about money.”

Jay:

“If you’re 25 it isn’t. But you’re not 25, so it is. At least the first step is. You’re still seeing life through the eyes of a young man. Women are infinitely more pragmatic. They slice and dice reality like a physicist. They have higher pain thresholds when it comes to depression, anxiety and all the other existential crap we face as we age. Men never grow up. So they battle reality the way they did when they were playing rugby 25, which was a long time age…as opposed to now.’
   
JSP:

‘So basically, you’re saying I’m fucked.’
 
Jay:

‘Yes, you are. It sounds to me like your fantasies outweigh your ability to fulfill them. Either change your expectations or put a bullet in your head.’

JSP:

“Thanks for the help, asshole!”

[end]       

22 Oct 2008, Posted by jay rusovich , 0 Comments

Bending Reality like a Cocktail Straw [in 18 Months or Less]

“There are no facts, only interpretations.”

- Friedrich Nietzsche (1844-1900)

Existential discussion on the topic of fantasy:

Man 1:

“So what you’re saying is that we have a collision of fantasies. A woman has hers; you have yours…and neither intersect. They just cancel one another out and that’s the end of it.”

Man 2:

“Yea. An attractive 32-year old woman may have a fantasy of meeting an attractive, 32 year old man, with whom she will marry, bear children and die in the arms of. She wants it all, and thinks she deserves it by virtue of her physical beauty, alone. She’ll add other things to the mix, but the beauty sets the tone for debate. She has no obvious handicaps, so as she sees it, she doesn’t have to sacrifice anything in order to get her specific needs met.”

Man 1:

“Let’s do some math here: If a 32-year old woman is attractive – but, say, overweight – she has to give up something. Now the guy can be as old as 40. If she’s really heavy – or maybe missing a finger or something - she forgets about the age thing altogether, and instead, focuses on the mind because she has no other choice. Of course, he’s still focusing on the body [all of it], but she’s hoping the disparity in age will mitigate things; that he’ll work with the numbers and still come out ahead. He’s 50. She’s 32. Looks reasonable on paper. So he takes the bait hoping he can find a way to fix her down the road; excluding the finger, for obvious reasons.”

Man2:

“It’s all a formula. A woman’s fantasies are directly proportional to how physically attractive she considers herself to be, like the baboon population. Her other attributes are farther down the food chain. A man’s fantasies are directly tied to his money and percieved power. He considers his age irrelevant; as long as he doesn’t look like Keith Richards. So if he happens to have a lot in either category, his expectations are high. This goes back to your comment about ‘collision of fantasies.’ He expects everything, and so does she. So while he can’t understand why she isn’t interested in him [given his attributes], she is indignant over his presumtion that she has to settle for anything less than everything; including an age disparity. Hence, the collision. There are exceptions, albeit few. In most cases the man ends up dating a beautiful young woman who is also a sociopath; or a borderline with psychotic delusion. Others include maladjusted art school students in search of fathers they never knew. Or some ubiquitous gold-digger, without a traceable past. And then there’s the Russian internet thing. You get my point…”      

Man 1:

“Men don’t ever seem to outgrow their fantasies. They continue to hunt in spite of the endless frustration. They examine life through a world of windows, where they see all these mismatched couples; all this unmitigated bullshit; unions that are based solely on math, rather than emotion. But they can’t break through because they’re outside of the formula.”

Man 2:

“When I was 45, I met a beautiful 30-year old woman who happened to be dating a man her age. She and I shared a strong mutual attraction, but she wasn’t willing to jeopardize a relationship that, in the context of line items, appeared to be flawless. They married a year later, and divorced 18 months after that. Fantasy over. After a few years she tried to reconnect with me, but the fire was gone. It happens like this all the time.”

Man 1:

This is so depressing. I had this affair with a 27-year old self-proclaimed artist who fabricated her entire history. She assumed that her beauty would blind me to the realities of her actual life. She never attended Ohio State, for example; much less graduated with a Bachelor of Arts degree. She was a fucking stripper down in New Orleans. The dangling modifiers and string of sentences ending with the preposition, “at,” should have blown her cover. But I focused instead on the porcelain skin, white teeth, pink guns and all the other narcotics. She’d send me love letters while carrying on affairs with random women, and prominent artists, who she assumed could help her career. The drug use and bipolar mania were just incidentals. I never fell in love with her, principally because I’m not that blind, but she did put in a good effort. ‘Who am I,’ she would say. ‘I ‘m the person you want me to be.’ Not really, but that’s what it felt like. The deception was extraordinary.”

Man 2:

“Again, we get back to the fantasy. In her case, she had a demolished personal history, which became her handicap; like the ‘lost finger’ analogy. So how does she get her needs met? She finds a much older man who’s willing to overlook everything else in exchange for a 27-year old in his bedroom. She conducts what appears to be a normal relationship with him, while carrying on behind his back, in a desperate attempt to fill in the blanks; to somehow overcome the handicaps and recapture the fantasy. Whenever I’m trying to figure out what’s happening with someone I’m dating, I go back to Darwin’s ‘Evolution of the Species.’”
       
Man 1:

“It’s all just a series of checks and balances; like the fucking stock market. As I see it women operate from the perspective of fear; fear of abandonment; fear of losing their dreams; fear of losing themselves; fear, period. The irony  – and pathos – in all of this is that age-appropriateness is short-lived. As a man’s wealth and power increase, the value of his age-appropriate mate tends to decrease. So women who operate from the perspective of line items should choose men based on modified criteria; like finding someone older. This way they don’t end looking like their perfect husband’s mother, which tends to obliterate his fantasy, sending him running for the hills with a woman half his age.    

In the end, none of us can have it all; but some of us can get close enough to make it seem that way…”  

21 Oct 2008, Posted by jay rusovich , 0 Comments

Flotsam and Jetsam in the Urban Estrogen Zone: Another Riveting Interview with Dr. Catherine Vaginetti, Ph.D.

Note: In the context of human behavior, Flotsam and Jetsam, colloquially refer to people who hail from street gangs, abusive households, detention facilities and the parking lots of Stop-and-Go’s. They carry enough emotional baggage to knock the earth off its axis, then migrate to less hostile settings, like upscale urban enclaves, where they hunt for food and shelter in 5-star restaurants and expensive health clubs.
 
They tend not to self-examine, but rather, self-justify. This is part of a unique protection mechanism consistent throughout their population. Taking ownership appears to be too painful – but most importantly – inconvenient.

In the end, however, they over-sell themselves and their insatiable demand for self-gratification becomes too onerous…even for the most superficial among us. Their populations are increasing at approximately 3 times the national average.
 
Jay:

“Good morning, doctor, and thanks for being with us today. As we’ve discussed many times before, large urban centers have become virtual warzones for older men trying to find women who aren’t psychiatric outpatients…or drug-addicted sociopaths who seem to do quite well on their own.”       

Dr V:

“Yes, many young women today exhibit what I would consider fluid moral and ethical boundaries. Everything’s relative; including life and death, in some cases. I’m not necessarily referring to female attorneys, though some may be using that alias.

Nothing matters but their needs; their desires…and so on. This often gives the impression of a child trapped in an adult’s body. Everything goes in, but nothing comes out. In some circles the problem carries a clinical diagnosis: Borderline Personality Disorder. Everything’s absorbed; nothing returned. And if empathy’s one of the traits that separates us from sociopaths, then, yes, you can that disorder to the list.”
 
Jay:

“Dr. Vaginitus,I like to think of them as interstellar black holes; collapsing stars that drag everything down with them. And there’s still no evidence that anything makes it out the other end.”

Dr. V:

[laughing]

“That’s a reasonable analogy. Many of these physically desirable young women are so spiritually sand-blasted that nothing is ever enough to cover the wounds. Personally, I like to use the “Frankenfish” analogy.

[Frankenfish is an aggressive and opportunistic predator that has threatened the Potomac River ecosystem. The creature also exhibits other adaptations , including an ability to wiggle its way out of tough situations like a snake].

If you’ve never heard of Frankenfish, look it up and then compare your findings with the person you’re dating. If you find more similarities than you’re comfortable with, run.”  

Jay:

“Using the Frankenfish analogy as a working hypothesis, would it not seem logical for these women to seek out older men with a penchant for youth and beauty that rivals heroin addiction?”

Dr. V:

“Yes. Older men want to believe that younger women date them because they’re attracted to them, both physically and emotionally. And in some cases, this is true. But more often than not, the truth lies elsewhere. And as a result, many older men complain that women they encounter are almost feral. This is because they gauge their behavior from the perspective of people they dated back at Wesleyan, Brown and Vanderbilt; women with integrated families and balanced perspectives.”

Anyway, getting back to the flotsam and jetsam thing, one must understand that because women in this category never got their needs met growing up, they hunt “soft targets” in an older demographic of men who – in an act of blind faith – are often willing to hand over their entire lives to something that ends up feeling more like a crucifixion. Many of these women have nothing to lose and everything to gain – no matter what they do – so they use what they have and take it from there. They use their appearance as a weapon, which helps them gain access to men they would not otherwise ever encounter, much less date.” 

Jay:
 
“It’s amazing to me how precisioned these creatures are…almost alien.”

Dr. V:

“They hone their survival skills through self-help books and network television. But because these mediums tend to bend and shape reality at will – particularly those operating under the pretense of things like reality television – they discover early on that the only way to win is to hide their true identities, which makes them angry and bitter towards men in general. This is something they must carefully monitor, because it is the one trait that exposes them as outsiders; particularly when in the company of people with degrees earned in classrooms, rather than, say, the internet.
  
They know that pieces are missing, so they try to take up the slack by recreating a past that never existed in the first place. But it never really works because eventually some private investigator discovers the existence of more than one social security number assigned to the same person.
 
So they must develop a tough veneer, which helps them through the blows; not that they haven’t been to hell and back a thousand times already. But it also damns them to life on the fringes. This is because the veneer’s as tough as elephant hide, and it doesn’t shed.
 
The bottom line is that dating at middle-age is a minefield of risk; particularly for the affluent. The prom queens are long gone. The Stanford graduate students got married, bore children and moved to Boston or San Francisco. Forget them. You wouldn’t look at them now, anyway. All the 20-year old track athletes are now middle-age housewives.”

Jay:

“At 50, you think you have it all; but you never seem to get everything at the same time. All those women back in school are now just historic footnotes. So we end up substituting them for women who are willing to play stand-in for cash and a shot at emotional redemption. Ironically, we’ve become the little boys trapped in the bodies of men.” 

19 Oct 2008, Posted by jay rusovich , 1 Comments

Deconstructing Leigh [42, single]: Opening Salvo

Leigh:

“When I opened my eyes this morning life hit me with the force of falling concrete. I’m supposed to be at work in an hour, but I can’t find the strength to face a world that feels like I’m staring down the barrel of a loaded gun.
 
After 20 years, the persona everyone knows as ‘me’ is unraveling. The emptiness is blowing it apart and fanning the flames of self-loathing. I can’t go on like this. It feels like a crucible. Will I become one of those women who slams the door on life and moves to Tibet? Women who reach a point where they realize they’re still strung out on a fantasy that’s outlived them…”

The doorbell rings. It’s Benjamin, her close friend and neighbor, stopping by for coffee and conversation before heading to the office.

Leigh staggers over to the door and opens it. She looks like hell. It’s hard to miss.

Benjamin:

Great weekend…or pneumonia? 

Leigh:

Not funny. Would you like some coffee?

Benjamin:

As long as you’re not contagious.

Leigh:

Get the fuck in here before I close the door on your dick.

Benjamin:

Another bad date?

Leigh is silent as she leads him into the kitchen where she starts grinding coffee beans.

Leigh:

So, how was YOUR weekend?

Benjamin:

I had a date on Saturday, got laid and spent the rest of the weekend watching movies.

Leigh:

Did your date have any interest in watching the movies with you, or was your performance less than stellar?

Benjamin:

Actually, she did want to hang out on Sunday, but I wanted to be alone to do whatever I felt like doing without having to feel responsible for someone else’s amusement.

Leigh:

Why didn’t you just hire a hooker? Then you wouldn’t have to think about anyone but yourself.  

Benjamin [playing along]:

Ya know, Leigh, that’s a good point. But I like knowing there’s a physical attraction ,as opposed to someone who pretends to be interested in exchange for cash. Not all men are sociopaths. A lot are, but not all.

Leigh:

You guys think it’s okay to play with women’s feelings the way technicians expose lab rats to experimental antibiotics, and then discard them once the outcome is determined.

Benjamin:

Wanna talk about your weekend?
   
Leigh starts to tear up and Benjamin walks over, hugs her.

Leigh:

Fuck my weekend. Every night of the week I plan something. I fill up every square inch of time so I don’t have to think about how pathetic my life has become. 

Monday night… book club.
 
Tuesday…an internet date.

Wednesday…dinner with my mother.

Thursday… singles night with the girls.

Friday…a play with an old friend.

Saturday…another internet date.

It’s insane. I can never fill up the void. Life’s getting emptier and emptier. I’m not young anymore, Benjamin. And that’s what all men want – youth and beauty. They can’t live without jamming the needle into their goddamned aging veins. Another day, another injection of arrested adolescence. And some of these young women  actually fall in love with them not realizing they’ve actually fallen for the fathers they never had!

It’s sick.
   
Benjamin:

Men are wired differently, Leigh. We’re superficial. Our immediate needs are different. It’s not that we don’t want to feel love, or to share love, or the journey with someone else. We’re opportunistic…like women, only it manifests itself differently.

Leigh:

Look, I’m 42. I’m very attractive. I’m in great shape. I have a great career. I’ve always believed in myself. And I’ve never questioned my ability to find an intelligent and attractive mate. But now when I go out into the world, no one approaches me, except for 25-year old frat boys looking for free pussy, or alcoholic geriatrics, with rot in their breath and midsections distended like water buffalo. And those fucking Bentleys blocking the front door.
 
Men my age are not interested in me, unless it’s a fling over a bottle of vodka. They want a woman in her twenties. They want her to remain beautiful forever. And if the age spread is wide enough they get their wish.

I don’t want someone half my age. I don’t want to be someone’s mother. I want a man. A real man. An adult. My equal. But there aren’t any. 

It’s over.

Do you have any idea how humiliating this is? People can see the pathos in my eyes. Every day I feel exposed to scrutiny. I’m like a disease to younger women. I was once in their shoes. Flawless. Perfect. And I know what it feels like to have an endless line of suitors standing in line with their propositions. But I wanted something more for myself. Does it look to you like I made the right choice?

[Benjamin hesitates]

Just say it, Goddamnit!
 
Benjamin:

Your married friend, Janine, with the age-appropriate husband and two kids in private school, met 12 years ago…when you were climbing the corporate ladder.

She didn’t discover her life yesterday. You chose different paths. That’s it.  

Leigh:

And your point is what? That it’s over because I decided 12 years ago to pursue a career over family? Is this my punishment? The price I pay for my horrendous self-indulgence?

Leigh walks calmly over to a cabinet above kitchen sink and pulls out a 32 caliber pistol. She places the barrel in her mouth, closes her eyes…and pulls the trigger.

Unbeknownst to Leigh, her house-sitter loaded the weapon the week before while she was on a 5-day business convention held at the Ritz Carlton in Pebble Beach.

15 Oct 2008, Posted by jay rusovich , 0 Comments

God’s Lotto [As if you existentialists didn't have enough to think about]

In the beginning, there was earth, sea and narcissism…only the order was reversed. 

Call it God’s Lotto.
 
So the decision as to who got what was rigged.

To this day you’re either born with exceptional “gifts” or you aren’t. And for you yoga people, the alignment of the stars has nothing whatsoever to do with your life other than to entertain you, or provoke panic attacks when you think about all the empty space and then swallow a bottle of Xanax.
 
So who gets the pay-off…and why? Who gets the keys to this sacred path? Who knows before it’s too late to know? Who is blessed with the ability to separate the dreams from the reality? And what the fuck is the reality, anyway?

Yesterday I had a conversation with a retired pro basketball player who claimed that the heart and soul of success is “personal conviction.” And that if you didn’t believe in yourself, no one else would, either.

But as I looked up at his muscular, 6’7” frame, I knew the answer was deeper. His response was simplistic, and he knew it. The business about “wanting something more than anything else and the willingness to sacrifice everything else to have it” was tied to the realization that he wasn’t starting from scratch.

He had the physical gifts necessary to fulfill the dream. Without these gifts, he’d still be dreaming; like the people who attended his games, wore his name on their t-shirts…and lived vicariously through his celebrity.

But what about people who grew up in environments where parental narcissism clouded their judgment, leading them to believe they are entitled to things they didn’t necessarily deserve? Or where parental pragmatism prevented them from pursuing piano in favor of a steady factory job?

Is the next Hemingway, for example, working as a staff engineer for Haliburton?

Or should Osama Bin Laden, instead, have been be a goalie for the Boston Bruins?

And then there are those who rocket themselves to the top by sheer force of will, because they want it so badly that they would prefer death to life in the absence of fame. 

With this in mind, is it possible that in God’s Lotto, narcissism is the way, the light and the truth?

If not, why do we worship Madonna?

13 Oct 2008, Posted by jay rusovich , 0 Comments

Strippers and “Fauxcialites”: An Army of One

[Brief exchange with a Houston Socialite]

[The following individual has no traceable past. It is what she says it is…and most people leave it at that. This is all part of the game that so many in the “new money” scene play. And because of the sheer volume of participats, you’d need a full wing of the Pentagon to keep track of the all the questionable social security numbers.]
   
Me: Hey, Jennifer. How’s it going?

Jennifer: Great! I just got back from Fashion Week in New York!

Me: How’s the economy affecting things up there?

Jennifer: [perplexed] What do you mean? Everything’s great. It was fashion week.

Me: Yea, I got that part. I was just wondering if you noticed the impact of the market melt-down in Manhattan?

Jennifer: Everything seemed fine to me. Whatever.  I was just in Paris with Joselyn Meninbacker. We had brunch with Christian Lacroix. He showed us his new line…which was, of course, exquisite. Anyway, I’m here for a week before heading back to Aspen.

Me: Sounds like a busy schedule. You should get a job as a financial correspondent for Fox. I’m sure people would appreciate all the good news for a change.

Jennifer: Hehehe… It was nice seeing you! Bye!
 
Comment: Bringing up anything that exposes a ’”fauxcialite” to realities other than the one she has acquired is a waste of time; especially now that she’s off the Lithium.   

[Brief exchange with a Houston Stripper]

[The following individual has no traceable past, principally because she can’t remember most of it due to post traumatic stress disorder, along with numerous concussions. This is the reality for most strippers, and everyone accepts it in a world where survival hinges on denial.]     

Me: How’s business these days?

Sindy: Great. Last night a girl walked out of here with 5 grand in her pocket.

Me: Are you kidding me? Is anybody worth much in the middle of a recession?
 
Sindy: I guess he thought so.
 
Me: Who the hell are these guys? Do they use corporate cards, or is it all cash?

Sindy: Both. A week ago a regular dropped 10 grand on the table – in hundred dollar bills.
      
Me: For that kind of money he should have gotten a weekend package. So what does a stripper usually earn here on a decent night?

Sindy: It depends on what they do. A thousand on up, usually. But the real money’s upstairs.

Me: So they have to turn tricks?

Sindy: Pretty much. Come on! You think those socialite bitches in River Oaks don’t do the same thing? They just work from home.   

Me: Good point.
 
Sindy: A girlfriend of mine was just flown out to Aspen in a private jet by a guy who’s married to a girl who used to work here. She’s in this month’s “W.” I need clients like that.

Me: Topless clubs to private jets…Amazing. They just white-wash their pasts, and the next thing you know, they start showing up in the social pages.

Sindy: They earned it. Shit, I know one girl who had two ribs removed so she could go down on herself. Her new husband was blown away. You think men don’t do whatever they have to do to get to where they are?

Me: If you’re referring to the CEO’s with the golden parachutes… probably.

Sindy: That kind of money doesn’t come easy. Women who were born into money are usually divorced because the husbands get bored. Men like the the idea of education and breeding, but not in the bedroom.

Me: Classic Whore-Madonna paradigm. The irony here is that there never is an actual Madonna.

Sindy: Not if you want the money.    

Comment: Bringing up anything negative to a stripper is a waste of time, because the admission that things are bad isn’t good for business; especially when a guy’s about to hand over twenty bucks for a 2-minute lap dance; and perhaps, several times in a row.