Being Smart AND Sessy

Ingredients for this My Time: your big brain, destroying your big brain, a young man, an old desire, "multi-tasking."

I hear you, Honey. It's hard to be smart and sessy at the same time.

Hawking at a CA. sex club

It's hard, but you must. As an elegant, rich woman, it is your duty to present yourself to society as it expects you to be: fabulous, glittering, witty, and a look that says, "Society, I'm a demon in the sack." Oh, but you ask, how do geniuses like Stephen Hawking find the time for a cocktail and three-way? How do glamazons like Geena Davis manage to wax until their body's nerves are gorgeously deadened and keep up a Mensa membership at the same time? Well, I understand your problem. I may not empathize with you (because I'm rich enough to act like a sociopath and get away with it) but I have too wondered how to do this thing that the lowers talk about called "muliti-tasking." Sessy and smart? Can we, ladies, CAN we? As an elegant woman from the upper echelons of society, I only attended the finest private schools and universities before I decided to (continually) marry my way into mo' money, mo' problems.

she didn't learn "multi-tasking"

And then, after so much heartache and so much money and so much balls, so much of them swinging throughout my life like pendulums counting down the days until I become "A Cougar," I moved to Missouri to take a break (read: house arrest) before jumping into my next marriage. While here, of course, I managed to get into a little trouble while negotiating a marriage contract with someone with IBS, and then a fucking classy man. Yatta yatta, amIright? Oh, and then everything fell apart when the fucking classy man left me because he's proud to know his limitations (ta-da! manhood!) or because I'm a terrible, ugly woman and lover or whoknowswhythat'swhyIdrink, and my side-piece RODRIGO! cleaned out my bank account (temporarily: alimony from Huz #2 comes on the 1st, RODRIGO!), and you know what I was left with? Do you, Honey?

A lot of this:

the key is by the question mark

And never enough of this:

my friends!

It's hard to be smart, isn't it? I mean, if you're smart, you can simply critique the sessy right out of your shoulder pads. Well, that's what alcohol is for. I mean, friends. (seriously, you want to click on that link.) I mean, oh whatever, they go hand-in-hand when you're sociopathically rich like me. Anyhoo, it's important to know the real truth, Honey: society doesn't care whether you're rich or sessy unless you're fucking totally godawfully attractive, and that's the truth. Obviously I am (thank you Dr Constanzo, ASPS member 20 years!) which is why I don't stand still unless I'm adorned by attractive men

and why I don't dance unless it's with a lot of attractive AND foreign men.

Notice how my CLUTCHES are holding on to all these stunners, keeping them CLOSE because I'm TERRIFIED of losing them, but also notice how my EYES only say "Society, I'm a fucking demon in the sack." That's smart and sessy, Honey. Keep your enemies close, and keep their balls closer (seriously, when are we going to evolve away from them along with wisdom teeth, hymens, tonsils, and appendixes? It's like, get those out of my face, already.) So, while the truth is that no one cares unless you're fucked-up-good-looking, you can make them care by being smart (holding on to the last pound of flesh you can grab with your life) and by being sexy (never showing fear. Or any emotion really. Just showing FUN. I'M SO FUN AND HAVE NO FEELINGS IT'S SO FUN I'D DO ANYTHING YOU CAN DO ANYTHING TO ME BECAUSE IT'S SO FUN

even in small socks, we must perform

and that's the real truth behind the truth. Oh, but there are those nights, aren't there? Where you can't muster the maniacal smile nor the foreign men to add intrigue to your shoulder-padded amazingness?

no men. no emotionless smile. just dog to stand next to. but this too is ok. you will look sessier than dog. maybe.

Well, Honey, I'm here to tell you: it's ok. It's your prerogative as an elegant women of society (read: town) to have a down night. Only God and Dolly Parton can keep it up all the time. It's ok. You're kind of human, after all, and sometimes being partially human is about feeling. Sometimes you will go out in society and have to work with what's around you and what's in your heart. Let me tell you something that will make you less suicidal about your terrible life: last night at a charity function I ran into the cutest 21-year-old.

Awash in blonde tones and a budding mustache, he looked exceptional underneath the chandelier. A smart whip, he was even a good conversationalist and a writer. Now, I was having some "feelings" all day that I was "feeling" and even my best friends (read: red wine spritzers) couldn't keep "them" from coming to "the surface." You know what I mean? So anyway, I did what a resourceful woman does. I drank them away. But still, they remained, and I didn't act as though they didn't. I slammed several ex-husbands (large donators to this charity event, but a woman needs some bitterness and scandal surrounding her discourse to be intriguing) along with shots of gold-flaked champagne, spoke of my incredible hopes for the future (hilarious) and encouraged said young man to also experience hope for his future as an attractive, talented penis. Then, Honey, that old desire scrambled through my emotionless veneer at the same time I "got tired" from drinking. At some point while this young man was speaking of his desire for a particular young woman, who did I become?

I was that woman. I simply replied that the young man might like to come home with me instead. Now, because I was TIRED, I don't quite remember his response, but it was something like "You've been very helpful to me. And I'm only 21-years-old, ma'am." Like a woman without ears, I protested and he repeated. Eventually he HAD to excuse himself. Nay a pound of flesh did I have in my clutches that night, even when the world OWES it to me. Sorrow!

Now, here's where it gets interesting. Upon waking up the next morning tangled is 6,000 count cotton sheets, hot sauce packets, and Taco Bell wrappers (I SUBBED LETTUCE FOR CHEESE, OK?) I realized I had no idea if this young man was employing sarcasm or sincerity in his speech. Was I actually helpful to him by providing him with wisdom from my years of foreign intrigue, loving, and heart ache? Or did he find that I had patronized him by suggesting that his young, supple body had years and years of learning and sexing to do? Honey, I just don't know. All I know is that I think I hit on him. And perhaps your loyal Dag is embarrassed that she was TOO TIRED to discern "sarcasm" or "irony" or "youth." And his father is on the board of the charity! Oh, my. So, what I'm saying, Honey, is that being sessy and smart is important, but it's ok to have a night or a lot of nights where you aren't either. Instead, you're a primitive human being experiencing desire and loss, and that's ok, too. You know the first thing human beings find sessy and smart? Being a human being. You are one, you're amazing, and sometimes, sometimes, you're not amazing. But that's ok, too, because you're alive, and that's better than any young tail for an hour, any day of the week. So make sure you stay that way, and we'll worry about your abs and logic later.
champers on me,
Dags

ps--email me with your questions for the advice column, your experiences with hitting on young men, or some feedback on whether or not this young lover was indeed sincere or sarcastic: mytimebydagmar@gmail.com. Better yet, leave some comments!