Nevergirl’s

Dear female friends who do not need a man to buy them dresses, diamonds, slinky stilettos, or even a house by the beach:

Have you heard of Dante Moore? If not, it’s high time you do. Moore is the biggest tool to hit bookshelves and worse, his book ‘The Re-education Of The Female’ sold like pancakes in the U.S

In his guide, Moore advices women to “wear sexy clothes while cleaning and cooking and obey men.” He continues, “The fatter you get, the more you decrease your potential single-man pool. Let me give you an example. When you go to the grocery store to shop, do you pick out the nastiest-looking, most rotten, smelliest fruit or meat you can find? Oh you don’t? Why not? It’s the same with men when they see baby-elephant-sized, out-of-shape women. Here’s a little secret, ladies. Men never really ask for anything. They command. And believe me, what you won’t do, ten broads around the corner will.”

I don’t know the demographic of Moore’s readers but I’ll hazard a guess – they’re probably men who bitch about how difficult it is to find a woman who meets their exact requirements, namely: must be thin, have impeccably-groomed pubic hair, wears three-inch heels daily, and is always available for sex, dates, and errands. And dear husband, if you are reading this, do not grin. The day you succeed in making me cook in French maid costume is the day I do a Lorena Bobbit and make salsa out of the family jewels.

The hub tells me not to sweat the small stuff but how could I not? A lot of things annoy me and one of them is the phrase “for future reference.” I mean, really, has any good news ever started with “for future reference”? Has any boss ever said, “For future reference, I will give you a raise every time you ask?” Or, “For future reference, please feel free to ask me to orally service you whenever you need to feel loved and unstressed.”?

No. The phrase “for future reference” will always be followed by something that sucks vacuum cleaners. So the next time I find myself on the receiving end of a “for future reference” sentence, I will answer with a much more polite, non-threatening “for future reference” version. “Dear X, for future reference, please feel free to go f*** yourself.”

Oh, and for future reference, I am blogging like a crazed hoo-hee because the hub has been griping about the wasted monthly dotcom fees and because Vet’s sister visits this site daily only to find cobwebs. For future reference, I will be blogging like mad now so that if I were to be kidnapped, held at gunpoint, and then handcuffed to a MacBook and beaten daily until I could produce a guide for doddering old farangs who want to marry Filipinas 50 decades younger than they are, I can do so without chipping a nail or God forbid, ruining my mascara.

Must.not.sweat.the.small.stuff. For future reference.

Sometimes, I worry about landing in prison. I haven’t broken the law and I don’t plan to. But, I have this sick visualization that one of these days, my life will take a Kafkaesque twist – I will be put on death row due to a sad case of mistaken identity. That, or an administrative error. I am not trying to be comic here (I never am because I was born without a sense of humor but people laugh at me anyway and this appalling lack of respect deserves a post of its own). Landing in prison is one of those things I actively worry about because

a) I’m obsessive about a clean loo;
b) I’m allergic to just about everything – certain perfumes, pollen, animal hair, seafood, dust, even people;
c) I like girls but not that way; and
d) my anus is way too small.

So, even though I am not headed for prison and probably never will be, I am always hatching A PLAN. The government suggests not eating anything with possible Melamine content as the best DISASTER PLAN but how would that help in my tragic false-imprisonment disaster?

Today, I have latched onto a new plan. I will buy all the boring books I’ve cash for but do not have the time or the interest to read right away. When I get sent to prison, they will keep me occupied until it’s my turn to say hello to the needle. I will also convert to some very nitpicky, time-consuming religion like Orthodox Judaism. The dietary restrictions will give me lots of reasons to be a pain in the ass. Plus, I get to be original. I’ll sit shiva for every dead animal or plant in the complex, wear sackcloth, sprinkle my head with ashes, and wail, “Ayeeee-humscarudumbambooyee!” Or, I could do a Joc-Joc and come down with some life-threatening condition which requires that I be protected from light and heat and stored at room temperature.

Oh wow, going to prison now sounds almost fun!