Monthly Archives: April 2013

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My Angel,

I’m signing my just-received dividend check over to you. Just because.

Not that I think you’re a better money manager than I, though I appreciate your being one of the most fiscally/financially shrewd women ever to grace my life. No, I won’t quite concede you’re better; skilled, no doubt. Turns me on. But I’m not ready to relinquish my title.

The enclosed check has an extra zero before the decimal . . . for extra pampering. You deserve it.

Remember when I told you about Wendy’s being under $5 per and paying a handsome 4-cents-per divvy to boot? You hesitated. Your socially and health-conscious-investor principles just wouldn’t allow you to pull the trigger.

I did. After studying the books, the new marketing push, and total food and store makeover, I moved on it.

Funny how the economy is painfully slow to heal. The conservatives and countless others blame Obama. Others, Congress. Still others blame the ‘greedy’ banks and the ever-hungry, nothing-else-matters-but-the-dollar Wall Street.

Sure, there’s enough blame to go around. But, despite the rhetoric and vitriol, those same people are making a killing in the market. Thousandaires are now millionaires; millionaires have turned billionaires; and billionaires, well, let’s just say they aren’t wanting for anything. ANYTHING!

JCPenney had brought in Apple Stores’ Ron Johnson to work his wizardry on the Middle-America retailer. Well, disaster struck. The people who crave Apple pods, pads, and phones don’t necessarily crave JCPenney attires and wares. The stock plummeted from the mid 30s to $14.

I took a risk and got in. Of course I didn’t recommend it to you–I swore an oath never to lose my babygirl money. But my instincts spoke to me in silence. I scooped up a nice lot at $14.70 and sat quietly. Still sitting.

Until news hit the wire yesterday that European billionaire George Soros recently staked over 17 million JCP shares. Damn. Is that a nice play or what? And now today’s business news has it that JCP just lined up a $1.75B loan from Goldman Sachs. Nice!

As you’d expect, the stock’s up handsomely. I’m sitting. But not sleeping.

Businesses are built to be immortal. I read that in Michael Eisner’s (former Disney head) autobio, ‘Work in Progress.’

Just like romance. And pampering. Immortal, in my book.

Let’s not let this love end. Let’s keep investing and partaking in the mutual ROI.

Enclosed is my recently cut dividend check–with an extra zero. Signed over to you.

Do what you will. Pamper yourself, by all means. And then be prepared to be pampered some more, tonight. And this weekend.

Why?

It’s Pamper-Her-Friday, Love.

Yours,

Rg2

***

If you want the highest returns, pamper the woman. -Rg2

© 2013 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

ROI = Romance on Investment (by Rg2)

image: © Mossad

La Verne, Calif.–Friday Afternoon Delivery, Pamper-Her-Friday:

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My Sweet,

Men don’t write love letters anymore.

Is that true? If so, it’s a sadly lost art. Or is it that times–technologies–have changed, evolved? Maybe we’re a bit reluctant because, after all, the internet is written in ink, not pencil. Once it’s out there in the ether, we can’t take it back. Can’t erase it.

Women, on the other hand, will write love-letter circles around men. If I were to challenge you to a love letter-writing contest–the longest wins–yours, no doubt, will be several pages in length.

Mine? A page and a half at best, if that. OK, so we’re lacking in exposition, fully fleshed expression with a little embellishment to fill the white space.

Yes, you’re so much better at expressing the inner lockings of your mind, heart and soul. Your vocabulary more extensive than mine. Your overall composition more professorial than my own.

You’re worthy of an A+ based on overall literary quality.

I? I’m worthy of an A solely based on effort. I won’t challenge you to a love letter-writing contest. No. But a love-making contest? Oh, it’s on.

I know what you’re thinking. Sure, that’s all men think about: love-making. Let’s squash that misperception right here, right now.

There’re two forms of love-making: The Physical. And the Emotive/Creative*.

The simple man succumbs to the first–it’s all he knows, all he’s been taught, all he’s gotten away with from women who didn’t know any better.

The latter? The Emotive/Creative? He may not be the most gifted, the most versed in the prosework art form. But his mind is teeming with ideas to pamper his woman.

He’s a “touch prince.” There’s majesty in his fingers. There’s nobility in his conviction that a woman should: 1) Be made to feel comfortable in his presence; 2) Can’t wait for Friday to arrive; 3) Welcome him (and him only) in her comfort-heart-soul zone.

We don’t have to make love. It’s not a deal-breaker on my end. Not one solitary item of clothing has to be removed if that’s not your Friday pleasure.

But I’m gonna make love to you all the same. Emotive/Creatively.

Yes, your love letter is several pages. And I read each one with bated breath. Mine? A page and a half–if that.

But there’s a man behind Pamper-Her-Friday. The idealist, the innovator, the creator, the love-maker behind that genius concept of Pamper-Her-Friday is . . . a man.

Yes, my love letter is brief. But my love for you is anything but.

And I’m expressing it right here, right now. On the unerasable internet. Ink, my Love, not pencil.

I’m writing, ‘I love you.’

On Pamper-Her-Friday.

Endlessly,
Rg2

***
* True Romance is the second form of love-making: Emotive/Creative. -Rg2

© 2013 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

image: © cap juluca

Sunset Beach, Calif.–12:16 p.m., Pamper-Her-Friday:

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My Angel,

I haven’t made love in days. Nights, twilights, and sunsets on end.
I might as well be a nuptialed man.

What am I implying?

I won’t take no as an answer. Especially on Pamper-Her-Friday, woman.

The package is due to arrive early this afternoon. Yes, I took the liberty of selecting a seaside dress: white sand tone, ankle-length with shawl accessory. The perfect complement to the cloud-white khakis you chose for me.

You’re on for a pampering at Nadine’s World at Sola Salon. Once Nadine has performed her wondrous hair magic on you and you’re ready to leave the chair (to come to me), she won’t dare accept a payment, tip neither.

Why?

Because it’s Pamper-Her-Friday, Love. And you’re the ‘designated pamperee.’

I finished writing chapter 14 last night and, afterwards, became engrossed in a wee-hours movie entitled “Bella and the Beast,” a romantic tale about a middle-class, college-enrolled, girl-next-door sweetheart who finds herself falling for the town ogre–a self-made multimillionaire with a granite exterior masking a heart of stone masking a buried need to love again.

We’re a needy, emotional people–all of us. Most of us just don’t want to give way.

I haven’t made love in days, what seems like weeks . . . eternities.
I may as well be a married man.

So busy revenue chasing and living-making. Just haven’t made time for my “Bella.”

Let’s talk about it at sunset. You’re the only one I’m willing to have the conversation with.

Yes, you, woman.

Why you? I think we know that.

Why tonight?

It’s Pamper-Her-Friday, Love.

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***

Romance lives. -Rg2

© 2013 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

Nia & Larenz: Chemistry Unrivaled

Hollywood Hills, Calif.–7:19 p.m., Pamper-Her-Friday:

” . . . we had fun, didn’t we?”

“Ooh yes, we did. It wasn’t even like work on the set. Just imagine if all our movies could be like that. People actually thought we had a thing going on off-camera,” she blushes into his eyes.

Their interaction is fluid, easy, effortless.

“How you know I didn’t?” he throws a slider she doesn’t expect.

She looks askance then returns his gaze with knowing eye language.

“So what are you saying?”

“What I’m sayin’ is . . . maybe we should do it again. We both know that no other couple on this chocolate earth can match our on-screen heat, woman.” His swag and charisma, intense as ever, tugs at her, rendering her near helpless.

The proposition doesn’t take much thought.

“You know people are talking about a sequel on social media. They’re workin’ on trailer apps already . . . and our own ad platform on the new facebook Home phone . . . .” he adds.

She begins talking contract figures, box-office/DVD/internet streaming/cable revenue, including Netflix, and urban media.
She’s grown since that breakthrough project and is now a fierce businesswoman as much as a can’t-take-our-eyes-off-her actress.

“I’ll tell you what,” she slips into her mesmerizing, captivating character. “You’ll be the blues in my left thigh . . . and . . . ” she pauses, leaving him suspended in her melt-inducing brown eyes.

“And?” he can’t wait.

“. . . and I’ll be the funk in your right.”

DAYUM!

They both break out in laughter.

And a jones, once immortalized on film, resurfaces.

***

I got a jones for you, woman. -Rg2

Coming soon: “Love Jones 2: The Pamper-Her-Friday Affair”

© 2013 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®