You Know It's Been Awhile When...

Inspired by Joey Lawrence joining CHIPPENDALE'S, and can we PLEASE mention how smug he is acting in interviews about it? Dude, you're the "whoa" guy. That's your claim to fame. Deal with it.
Me on the other hand, Honey, I'm fam-us for my games. Emotional, sexual, card and dice, I'm always game. Ha ha see what I did? I used a word as a noun and as an adjective-like thing. That's an adjective, right? Or. Wait. That's another noun, a state of being. Ha ha who am I kidding? I HAVE NO state of being. I'm all adjectives without a noun to associate the characteristics with. Let's play a game.

First, let's prepare for the game. After days of not eating due to an illness caught in Mexico NO IT'S NOT HEP C I've been, as ladies like to say with their calories, "catching up." I have DIET cheese and crackers in front of me, a lazy too-rasiany tasting Italian red in my glass, and a stupid food show on the television that I am inhaling because it's like celery--negative calorie intake. Can you imagine that? Celery is like negative calories. It is truly God and God's other at the same time.

Now, here's a fun game. It's called Shame. I'll start.

You Know It's Been Awhile When...

you put on mascara before going to get a massage.

you have more than one kind of bubble bath in your bathing area.

a man as gay as a unicorn with a rainbow mane and a black leather studded saddle grabbing your breasts made you feel funny

you call your cat "my lover, my baby"

YOU ARE THINKING ABOUT BEING IN YOUR 30S WITH NO MONEY, NO PROSPECTS, SUPPORT BRAS, AND BACK ACHES

you are making a list about your lack


NOSE HAIR!!!!

you spread out on your bed and sigh every night

you hold your Mr. Knife tight under the pillow

you hold a selenite orb in your left hand and act as conduit

you are more magickal because of the last time you weren't in lack

you are watching television without worrying if YOUR SMART LOVER IS JUDGING YOU because, well, you don't have one

you found a line on your face that you think looks cool

you don't care as much what you look like anymore

you worry about dying, sure, but you aren't worried about forcing it

eh, you're fine, so have another drink, because NO ONE IS JUDGING YOUR LACK OF MODERATION, and deal with this, you fucking freak who's having a good time with your games

The Truths About Elegant Women

Ingredients for this My Time: Innuendo, listing, a Puglian red.

Honey, you know it's true. A lady on the verge of summer, and experiencing the hours of lights down there, likes a few choice things:

1. Ladies like innuendo. Give them some. Then deliver.

2. They also like gifts that express YOUR FEELINGS. But, they don't like it when you present such gifts then try to be like "cool, whatever, I have a penis, doh-duh-doh" about them.

3. Halter dresses with boob support, botch.

4. A summer of spankings!

5. Ladies like when you order food for the table with the word "stuffed" in it. Ladies do not like you not knowing they do not like to point these food items out and/or order them themselves.

6. A lady always starts a meal with a cocktail before she can bare to look at the dinner menu. AND SNACKS.

7. Ladies like foreign travel, and foreign intrigue.

8. Ladies do not like your ironic pants.

9. An elegant lady always has a strand of real pearls, and can wear a "pearl necklace."

10. No, don't do that. Whatever you're thinking of doing for some "effect" you've identified, just stop.

11. No, seriously. Stop.

12. Drinking before 5 pm is the new black.

13. An educated swarthy man always orders the lady an moderately priced bottle of champers ($100-$60) to not be a show off and to also presume that a lady has had fine things, but might come from less fine things, OKAY?

14. We want to join your stupid band and harmonize up the yin yang.

15. A man told me once "You think differently from anyone I've met, and I love it." Let's examine how this is the right move. 1. He didn't say the typical, "wow, I think you might be smarter than me..." and he didn't compare me to other women, but other people. Re-examine number 9.

16. We want to have sex, like anyone else. But an elegant woman has no problem packing it in at the dinner table. So plan to have an hour ahead of time where you get it on. We'll thank you for it later, before we pass out after a bottle of reasonably priced champers and creme brulee.

17. I once had 3 creme brulees in one week. An elegant woman will present this fact to you without comment.

18. We've seen men, once they get comfortable, jump up and down to show how their items down there can flop up and down. So you don't need to show us again.

19. An elegant woman loses her shit. This is a sign that she has a ferocious heart. It's terrifying. It's crazy. It's hard. It's not fun. It's arousing. It's a woman who can speak her needs. It's right.

20. An elegant lady celebrates the anniversaries of the men she has lost. An elegant woman embraces ritual and magic and love and loss. 

he was Will Oldham before Will Oldham, and DUH, so much more

The best you can do is proceed, willingly and gracefully. Grace is something the elegant woman still might be learning.

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!