Incidental Acts of Spontaneous Cerebral Violence

Monday, September 13, 2004

When Splenda™ just won’t cut it

At around 3:30 am Saturday morning, I found myself in a very focused and very intense conversation with a stunning 21-year-old model-cum-actress. One of the myriad of topics we touched upon (and I use “touch” in every sense of the word) was her last boyfriend, aka her sugar daddy (her words). It appears this older gentleman (his exact age and occupation have apparently escaped my superpower of keen recollection; c’mon, folks, this girl was smoking---all details will, by definition, by hazy and/or rose-colored at best) would, on a whim, take this deserving young lady to the boutiques on Robertson, Melrose or Rodeo or to the great Wilshire triumvirate (Barneys, Saks, NM) and think nothing of dropping $10K on clothing for her. She said that she ended it with him when he started to get “too possessive.”

Now, don’t get me wrong; I don’t begrudge anyone the opportunity to use their genetic advantages to their benefit (superficial or otherwise). And I can certainly understand why trust fund beneficiaries would utilize every dollar at their disposal to blow away 21-year-old models who recently moved to LA from a small town within spitting distance of authentic Pennsylvania Dutch: when you lack a personality or anything remotely interesting to say or are truly scary looking when exposed to natural light, your AMEX Centurion card may be your only asset, so pull that sucker out.

That said, I see the problem as two-fold:
1. All these “trophy-girls” are fucked when the well runs dry. There are hundreds (if not thousands) of women throughout LA who are attractive-enough and willing to do almost anything to live the life. There certainly are not an equivalent number of men willing to play the caretaker role. If a young lady is “fortunate” enough to lasso one of these guys, the second he walks, she is, in all likelihood, in a worse position than if he never entered the picture. Not only is our formerly nubile heroine not-as-young-as-she-once-was, she is now accustomed to a semi-destructive lifestyle in a truly-destructive city that will be impossible to duplicate without the backing of the bank account. And since most, if not all, of her acquaintances will be tied to this former life, her friendships may be fleeting. One thing I have noticed, the other 20-something women in similar circumstances are awfully quick to cut the cord when someone in their peer group can’t keep up. Women are definitely more vicious than men. No question.

2. I have a functional Y-chromosome; therefore, I can’t play the same game (and I also can’t afford to be a sugar daddy, but that’s a whole other post). I’m sure there are scores of “kept-men” out there servicing the Mira Sorvinos and Britney Spears of this world, however I am not, nor do I truly think I could ever be, one of them. I have dated at least three women (and by dated, I mean multiple dates/carnal knowledge) who personally could buy-and-sell me and most of you without blinking (one of whom is a legitimate 9-figure heiress), yet I refuse to let them (or anyone) pay for anything. The intermittent splitting of the bill is o.k. The special occasion dinner or present is cool, too. However, when it comes down to it, the one gender stereotype I have never been able to overcome is that it’s the man’s job to provide-- to provide food, shelter, clothing, presents, flowers, NFL Sunday Ticket and at least 20 minutes of attentive foreplay. Yep, I’m old fashioned that way. I’m all for dating a successful, professional, multi-dimensional, wholly-independent woman. I just think I need this one little guideline to reaffirm the existence of my cojones.
Damn it. I guess I’m feeling my age this morning.

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