What it feels like to pick up Britney Spears by Neil Strauss

It's all here.

The interview was going nowhere. She was on autopilot. I looked at her,
crossing her legs and fidgeting on the hotel-room couch next to me. She didn't
give a shit. I was just an amount of time blocked off on her calendar, and she
was tolerating it -- poorly.
Her hair was tucked under a white Kangol hat and
her thighs pushed at the seams of her faded blue jeans. She was one of the most
desired women in the world. But in person, she looked like a corn-fed southern
sorority girl. She had a beautiful face, lightly and perfectly touched with
makeup, but there was something masculine about her. As a sexual icon, she was
unintimidating and, I imagined, lonely.
A gear slammed down in my head.
There was only one way to save this interview: I had to sarge her. No matter
what country I was in or what age or class or race of woman I was talking to,
the game always worked. Besides, I had nothing to lose.
I folded my list of
questions and put them in my back pocket. I had to treat her like any club girl
with attention deficit disorder.
The first move was to hook her
attention.

And another interesting article : "A Totally Scientific Guide to Seduction" from the same author Neil Strauss:

When it comes to meeting and attracting women, many men are
resigned and complacent. We figure some guys were born with that particular
power and other guys weren't. I wasn't. So, to compensate, I did something so
embarrassing, I didn't even admit it to my friends: I embarked on a two-year
course of rigorous study and training on the subject of women for my new book,
The Game: Penetrating the Secret Society of Pickup Artists. Guided by men who
claimed to be the world's greatest seducers (men known by names such as Mystery,
Toecutter, Sin, and Juggler), I plunged into an international underground
seduction community and approached more than a thousand women around the world.
In the end, I was transformed from student of seduction to reluctant guru. I
offer you now something I never thought I'd be able to provide: a step-by-step
primer on attracting women, compiled from the collective knowledge of the
world's greatest ladies' men.

Must try...

First Love and FHM

Can't wait for the book FIRST LOVE to be out. Got a story in there called "Whatever Happened To...?" Publishers did say it's supposed to be on the shelves by 3rd wk July, but where? oh where could they be?

I thought it would be a good idea to coincide First Love's release with the much-hyped HP7 yesterday, to take advantage of the high traffic coming into the bookstores. Then again, I would have to trust the Cozy Reads folks with what they're doing. Let's cross our fingers and toes.

By the way, a friend of mine told me Heartbreak was on the latest FHM issue. Gave me a good excuse to buy that (wretched) magazine (and finally see what all men were drooling over, aside from the obvious -- gigantic boobs and sexual fantasies which only an Olympic gymnast could do.)

(It was funny you know, how me and my girlfriends read that FHM magazine in Serendra, in a place as wholesome as Krispy Kremes. I was trying to make sure that no toddler would be staring in our direction, and then asking his mom what we were reading. It brought a whole new dimension to covert reading when you're in your thirties. Anyway...)

And I can't believe that my daily paper, PDI, the one paper my family reads, has never mentioned, not even once, Heartbreak. Not even a line? Not a whimper? And to think the book was launched internationally in the last World Book Fair in Singapore! What could possibly convince them to write a review, or a feature, anything! to drum up interest. Haay... Buti pa ang Cebu's Freeman, supportive.

Hmmm.

To -----

I'm sorry you haven't met my witty self. I c.an be fun too, you know. And interesting.

And interested.

Anyway, I should have stopped blabbering about myself and asked more questions about you. That's the advise old women gave on how to charm a man. I forgot about that. (I've been forgetting a lot of things lately, really important ones like my nephew's birthday, my parent's anniversary, the topsecret plans in my job, my common sense, my middle name...)

If I could start over, I should have said, "Oh, that's wonderful (what you do)! So how do you do (this) and (that) and that must be so exciting, don't you think?" The old women say men like their egos fluffed up like pillows every now and then. I'd do that gladly, but only when there's enough fluff in the pillow.

Then we could have ended spending the rest of the night having a gabfest in a cozy cafe until 3 in the morning, instead of writing this letter you'd never get to read.

Story of my life. Another one got away.

S.M.

"Sing Like Yamin It!"

I MISSED ELLIOT!

Loved him on AI 3, and I'm so happy he's back with a great CD, a great 1st Single (Number1 position on most radio stations for Wait for You), and a great make-over!

Check out the before and after pictures:

At the AI compet, I used to refer to Elliot as The Faun (after James Mcavoy's character in Narnia. Btw, James is also a hottie...)

The Boy in Vienna

Before you get started, no, I am not turning into a pedophile. Or a thirty-something spinster with an overbearing mothering syndrome.

And no, the boy I took a fancy on wasn't this cute adorable Italian kid (who started out as a silent train co-passenger, but two hours later, was pulling my hair as if I were a head of brocolli). I just posted his pic because he's a charming thing.

The "boy" happened to be the twenty-year old son of my mother's Pinay friend who stays in Vienna.
He was tall, spoke sexy German, had dark curly locks on his crown. Had biceps the size of which were illegal for his age. Shy. And oh-my-fancy-pants, soooo young. Young-ER! Damn.

He called me Ate.

After that, nothing was the same anymore.

The Guy in Paris

Alright, I don't really remember how everything happened (because Europe happened in just three weeks, three years ago, and mom and I just spent under 48 hours in France), but let's say, it was right after we visited the Notre Dame cathedral. Mom and I had nowhere else to go after going to the base of the overcrowded overrated Eiffel, and the Champs Elysees. So we went this little English rose garden somewhere in the area, and I saw this handsome male specimen reading (such a turn on - he reads!) an art history book (okay I made it up). I wasn't my brave self that day, so I just pretended to be checking my camera and clicked a shot in his direction. But I could have said, "Monsieur, volez vouz (... ay, pwde English na lang?) Bonjour. Do you come here often?"

Duh.

But then he could have answered, "Oh, of course, Mademoisselle. I am a locale... I surmise you are still Mademoiselle with your pretty face and gorgeous body."

"Oui, cest moi une, solo, singulare. Available (wink wink)." The last one said with a French accent.

"Ah, then you are in luck. I am une as well. Maybe we could be au pair?"

Oui! Oui!

Of course, these are just figments of my hyber caffeineted imaginacion. Back to reality.

TOP TEN THINGS To Say To...

1> Old Boyfriend, now married to prat: "You deserve each other."

2> My two lovely underlings: "I dread the day I'd f*ck it up big time."

3> Dean Alfar: "What do I have to do to make you publish me?!"

4> My excess 60 pounds: "Here's a one-way ticket into the next solar system."

5> Mom, Dad: "I love you. May I please be exempt from washing the dishes?"

6> AD: "Break up with TC. He doesn't deserve you."

7> JK Rowling: "You'd better make Book Seven amazing, or else..."

8> My boss: "Can you move the planning conference, to like, the next millenium?"

9> JK Rowling: "So, does anyone die in Book Seven?"

10> Future Husband: "Brad, you don't have to match the color of my hair."