Gold Digging: Like a Hooker, Just Smarter

“I don't do head games. I hate them. How can you have a relationship when the other is screwing with your mind? She tells me.

I've known her just long enough to know she's a Zen Master at head games, as evidenced by her subtle, conniving moves. Your inexperienced ones come off as coarse and blunt, way to green to play the game which requires a certain touch; and you can dismiss them as rookies. However, the adept ones, the ones who are as sly as a snake, are harder to tease out of their holes. If they had a Gold Medal for being sly, she'd win it.

In some ways I admire these girls. Or rather, their hideous talents. I can appreciate a talent whether if be used for good or ill.  When I see it displayed and I quietly measure up my ability to take it on, there are times I discover my own abilities at the that game are woefully inadequate to meet hers. I'd be dead meat. I'll stand down against that.

My comment to the guys, about girls like this, in a sing-song voice is: “Watch it, she's dangeroussss!”

But, like a lot of men, the allure and the attraction of a cute face, a lithe body will intoxicate and cloud our reason and suck us in.

I watched as D. was being sucked in by some girl I met over at rollerway a few months earlier. It had taken me some time to learn the reality about her. I had to first shake off that “high” I had about her first before I could figure her out finally.

I sat there, watching his face and could see it. Hook, line and sinker. He bit the bait and was being reeled in. The girl had no other interest in him except to play her game, hone her skills and much like a cat, play with the mouse for a while before she killed it.

“Yes, you'll do for the week or two, as I am bored and am waiting for better prospects to amble by.” I read her face too. I recognized the look. I was one of the many mice she toyed with and learned.

In time, he found out there was no prospect there to work on or develop. On occasion, he would feel himself being egged on by his own feelings again that were en-flamed by the newer bait she would entice him with. I thought in time D, you'll get sick of this game, like I did.

*****

What was weirdly gratifying to me, and surprising at the same time, was to hear this girl bemoan to me the way she was poorly treated by an ex and how he lied to her face. I sat there, without throwing any of her selfsame crimes she commits into her face and listened like I can always do.

“How can he do it! I trusted him! He said it was over with that girl..and he WENT BACK!”

“Really?” is what I said. I sat there, watching her act gut shot and knowing, just knowing she had NO clue as to the same insult she'd given a dozen other guys in her past.

“Why her? Why does he like her more than me? I'm not ugly!” she went on.

“"Oh yes you are!" I thought. “Your ugly as sin on the inside! You're selfish, immature and have no problem stepping on others feet as rush to claim what you think is yours. MINE! MINE! MINE!” She was your basic spoiled brat.

I also knew, there was no way of her growing out of that. It's a personality trait she's learned long ago and probably a profitable one from time to time. The problem is that eventually, the persistent selfishness is found out. Any love intoxicated guy will find that pretty repulsive in enough time and move on. Or, she comes across some guy who is even better at conspiring and uses her like a Shake 'n' Bake bag.

“No one cries louder than a thief who has been robbed” the old saying goes. This girl sure could cry FOUL when she was sorely used.

Too.fucking.bad.

I've said before, people are like computer programs, they repeat the same instructions over and over again w/o being aware of it. So will she. Uh oh...probably so won't I if I don't wise up.

I've always loved Little Feat's Dixie Chicken song. I hear it and it reminds me of those times when female artist played me like a violin.

I seen the bright lights of Memphis
And the Commodore Hotel
And it was there beneath the streetlamp
Where I met a southern belle
Well she took me to the river
Where she cast her spell
And it was 'neath that Memphis moonlight
She sang this song so well
“If you'll be my Dixie chicken...
I'll be your Tennessee lamb
And we can walk together
Down in Dixie land

It's been a year since she ran away
Guess that guitar player sure could play
She always liked to sing along
He was always handy with a song
Then one night in the lobby
Of the Commodore Hotel
I by chance met a bartender
Who said he knew her well
And as he handed me a drink
He began to hum a song
And ALL the boys there at the bar
Began to sing along
“If you'll be my Dixie chicken...
I'll be your Tennessee lamb
And we can walk together
Down in Dixie land