Narcissists want to know about narcissism too


I had an epiphany. Call me a late bloomer if you want or maybe I just had too many margaritas tonite  but I just realized that it isn’t just women that are interested in reading about narcissism. It’s narcissists as well. I’m sure they find this information riveting. Afterall, I am talking about them. I am giving them what they truly want and so desperately need; adoration, attention and an audience. Hence narcissistic supply.

All this mumbo jumbo about their psychotic manipulations and evil machinations to cover the fact that they are really just very insecure and lonely, even tormented human beings, is driving them into an orgasmic frenzy. Me, me, me, me! It’s always about me. Even if it’s bad or horrible or sociopathic, still, it’s always about me. I am a super star. Or so they think. Those poor, pitiful souls.

Dear N,

I am writing about your disorder, your psychopathic, unconscionable selves. I am writing to alert women primarily to your sick and twisted games. Read my posts if you like. You are even entitled to bask in the limelight, which you will do time and time again, because you are a narcissist. That is the nature of the beast. It is a vicious cycle and I am feeding into it. So be it. Maybe we will all learn something here.

After doing this research, absorbing the clinical material in the DSM IV and reading the pages of true accounts and the very sad tales of broken families, broken and shattered dreams and the  total devastation that you cause, I really pity you. It is the saddest thing to know that you must live with yourself. I have empathy as a normal human being and perhaps even more so in my case, which is something you are unable to grasp. However, disordered and damaged souls such as yours do deserve pity. Just as we do not understand you, you do not understand us. We are of the same species, but yours is of an alien genus. Something to do with a missing part of your amygdala I think…I’ll get back to you on that.

Your mother idolized you so you grew up believing you could do no wrong. You learned at an early age how to get around all the “rules” we all had to play by. You learned early on how to charm others to get your way. You mimicked others responses and behaviors and mirrored them back to seem just like them. How unbelievably sad for you to endure a life of torture that is repeated over and over in your own head.

At some point in your childhood no one was listening to you. No one noticed you. Someone discarded you so badly in some way that you reverted to this monster that sought to exact revenge on the rest of us unsuspecting mortals for the rest of your life. Every mirror in your home reflects an image back to you that is of your own making. You have no idea of what you truly look like. You have no idea whose soul inhabits your body. You could never benefit from the words of the Oracle of Delphi, know thyself, because you are a created and tormented soul.

The saddest part of all is that there is no help for you. Even a crack addict when faced with what he truly is can get help. Even if it takes an intervention. Your psychopathy is so engendered that you cannot escape you. How terrifying. And to think, we the victims, cannot comprehend what you are. But it is so simple really. All we need to do is to think and become just like you. Just as you mirror us, we can mirror you. That is how we can understand you. That is how we can battle your destructiveness and protect ourselves from the pain and misery that you inflict.

This is that aha! moment. What better way to understand you than to employ the same techniques that any decent FBI criminal profiler would employ. Emulation. Get your head inside the killer so to speak. To understand a narcissist, is to become one.

I hope you are reading carefully and taking copious notes. Maybe even trying to perfect your craft. We are doing likewise; studying, mirroring, guarding our secrets and covering our tracks as well. When you attempt to employ your manipulations and lies to us in the future, we will be ready for you.

Very sincerely yours,



Islands in the stream


Something magical happens as soon as you get to Florida City. The United States of America ceases to exist. It is where, at the first gas station, it is a common ritual to crack a beer and head towards the Overseas Highway with a Keys state of mind. You are now entering the Conch Republic. Mind you, I don’t condone drinking and driving. But this is different. This is a rite of passage.

If ever there was a place to let the world slip away it is the Keys. You only need a few bathing suits, some shorts and tees and maybe a little sundress or wrap. In fact clothing is optional all together in many places. Where I just spent three days, it was.

The “Rugby” camp is located on the ocean. In the Keys you have two options, be on the ocean or be on the gulf of Mexico. Since I had never been to the “camp”, I assumed we were staying on the ocean side. I was surprised to find that the camp is literally on the ocean with the deck hanging over and into the ocean. We are abutted directly against a small sea wall. It’s the closest thing to being on a boat while still being on dry land. Waking  every morning on the ocean is intoxicating. Watching the sun crack through the horizon is a sanctifying experience. A comforting solitude.  A great heron greets me and my coffee. Water is all around you from every angle except for a small point of land stretching out a few hundred yards. It’s more of a jetty than anything else and just slightly breaches the vast turquoise briny sea all around you.

There is no one at the camp now. The entire place is deserted and so we had the whole place to ourselves. It’s a great place to come to get centered with who you are and to let your mind wander free. My cohort on this excursion is an ex pro Rugby player from New Zealand and I recently found out a pretty darn good photographer. Although he wasn’t interested in taking photos of the natural surroundings like I was, he prefered to do a partially nude photo shoot of me with the ocean and coral scree as a backdrop. I must say they are the best and most aesthetically pleasing shots I’ve done to date. I’d place them here on my blog because they really are so beautiful and so artistically done but I think it may come as a shock to many of my readers. He captured something in me I haven’t seen in quite some time. Au naturelle in Islamorada. He wants to submit them to Conde’ Nast. I’ll have to think about that. For now, they’re safely tucked away on my hard drive.

For three days we lived on cracked conch, fresh fish and “dark and stormies“. We visited some museums but I was most impressed by a full sized model of Ernest Hemingway’s boat, Pilar. I could visualize him, motoring in the back bay catching snook or mangrove snapper, or to and from Cuba smoking his pipe and plotting his next great novel. I felt the wood, the decking and all along the transom. It seemed to vibrate back to me the words and images so that for a second or two, maybe I could tap into it; tap into Papa directly. Even though the real Pilar is in Cuba, I still picked up his essence and imagined even more vividly his adventurous and colorful life. I strive to live life just as he did. There’s always an adventure waiting.

Islands in the Stream was part of a trilogy, the last being The Old Man and the Sea,  and was published post-humously. In the novel there were to be three parts, “The sea when young“, “The sea when absent” and the “the sea in being“. Somehow they are indicative of me as I’ve grown through the many changes in my own life. I feel now I am the sea in being.  A knowing, a constant flowing. Vast and fertile. To place my dreams within this vessel and to know that they teem with life.

Woodfish opening for Blue Oyster Cult, Three Dog Night, Pat Traverse, LA Guns!

Woo Hoo! I’m extremely proud and very excited to be attending this 3-day event. Woodfish, if you will recall, is a an indie band from New Jersey that I profiled a couple months ago on Blogcritics. They’re very good friends of mine and I’m looking forward to this gig.  A few years back they opened for Foghat in NYC and that was a really good time. I spent my time backstage with them and Foghat and if I had played my cards right at the time, instead of using Charlie’s dressing room to take a call from Vancouver,  I probably would be dating Charlie by now. He looks great wrapped in only a towel from the waist down by the way…

My plan is also to meet up with the members of Blue Oyster Cult, specifically Buck, and ask him if I may write a review of the band for Blogcritics. If I’m going to write a review, I prefer it be after attending a live event; just listening to the material isn’t quite the same. I met Buck several years ago at Nicki Beach. I wonder if he’ll remember me? Charlie did. He was at the same gig. How very weird.

Three Dog Night will be a child’s dream come true. If there ever was one band that formed my childhood listening experience, it would be them. Just hearing, the songs, One, I’ve Never been to Spain and Shambala, transport me back in time. A time when the sun was always shining and skies were always blue.

Drowning Mona, a very quirky film with Bette Midler and a whole lot of Ugo’s, that I absolutely love, uses Shambala as the theme song throughout. A must see flick. Apparently, I’m not the only one that sees the irony in that song.

LA Guns??? Now this will be a trip. Sleaze Rock was definately not in my repertoire, so I have no idea how I ended up with a heavy metal guitarist in leopard tights for 5 years, but none the less, it happened and I did, so this show will be a voyage back down memory lane as well. With a somewhat creepy feel. Something about a man in leather pants after 50 that is just wrong. In so many ways. But what the heck!

Pat Travers? What can I say. Just another Canadian down the long line of the many I’ve known, worked with, been married to and had kids with. Here we go again!

Well, tthhhaaat’s all folks!!! 😉

Right now I’m heading down to the Keys for a few days of fishing and snorkeling. We’ll catch up later.

Summer Savory Salad

This is not just a summer salad. It is an any season salad. It is a salad that is a meal in itself though. But it is a Summer salad. I’m leaving out the amounts because it’s not hard to figure out how to feed 1, 2, 4 or 20+ people. Adjust as needed. 😉


Spring Mix, Baby Greens or Mesclun.

English cucumber, another burpless variety or a regular cuke, sliced, seeded and chopped.

Grape tomatoes.

A small bunch of  whole fresh basil leaves.

Cooked baby ears of corn.

3 or 4 bean salad: (kidney, green and wax beans and chickpeas).

Dry oil cured olives.

Cooked artichoke hearts.

Hearts of palm.

Stone crab claw meat cut into chunks, (this is a Florida seasonal delicacy,substitute lump crab meat if need be) lobster tail meat cut into chunks, cooked peeled whole shrimp and squid, (cephalopod) rings.

2  or 3 fresh mangoes cut into chunks.

Several (5 or 6) large fresh strawberries quartered.

In a large bowl, (I like to use a big pewter one I have shaped like a cabbage leaf that stays nice and cool in the fridge until served), gently place all of your salad ingredients.

**Leave some of the mango chunks, strawberries and seafood to garnish the top**


1/4 to 1/2 half cup of Apple cider vinegar

1/8 to 1/4 cup of raw honey.

2 tablespoons juice from fresh squeezed orange.

Sea salt and fresh cracked pepper to taste.

A good pinch (1/2 teaspoon) of Summer savory.

2 sprigs of fresh finely chopped mint.

Extra virgin olive oil.

In a small mixing bowl whisk together the apple cider vinegar, honey, seasonings and fresh herbs. It should thicken up a bit. While whisking, stream the virgin olive oil into the bowl continuously. Continue whisking until the dressing has a medium consistency, not runny but not thick either. Somewhat syrupy.

Serve salad in large salad bowls and drizzle dressing lightly over top.

Bon Appetit!

How the narcissist picks his prey


He looks for a nurturing, conscionable person. The more innocent, honest, humble and kind hearted the better. These type of people cannot recognize the narcissist’s ulterior motive. How could they? The facade he presents is nearly perfect in every way. Charming. Successful. Well liked. Charismatic. Great sense of humor. He says all the right things at all the right times. He is able to do this adroitly because he takes an inventory of the victim. Their likes and dislikes, their behavior and the emotions they reveal. He mirrors all of this back to the victim. He becomes “just like you”.  Each and every time with each new victim, conquest, mate or spouse. It is the narcissist’s modis operandi.

He always has an answer and it is always reasonable should you question his motives or intentions.  To think otherwise would be an aberration. This is not a person that has a bad bone in his body. Kind, caring and considerate. Oozing charm and charisma. You believe him and so do many others. He keeps a collection of supporters (minions), near and dear to him. But they don’t get to see the inside of the narcissist’s world. Only a victim who is pliant enough, trusting enough and humble enough will get to see that. If he senses that anyone is on to his games, they are abruptly discarded in cold, cruel callous fashion. He never looks back. He never apologizes. He has no conscience so he feels no remorse. His motive is for complete and total adoration. He is a dictator, an oligarch, a tyrant. His motive is to find someone that makes him look good in the world’s eye. Someone he can continue his charade with. He believes he is a king that deserves complete reign over all his kingdom, including the subjects in it. But, the king wears no clothes. And he knows it. He hopes no one else will notice.

He repeats the same patterns as he has always done before. For a narcissist, a sociopath who knows his victim better than they can recognize the predator, the above is the perfect scenario. Con men cannot con another who can see through the mask they project or who may have the audacity to question what is or isn’t real. The narcissist will  back up their lies, with more and more lies. They are very charming. Extremely convincing, and the victim believes wholeheartedly, that this tale he spins is fact, not fiction. It will be a rare day to ever find any proof of his true colors. Covering their tracks is a natural behavior. They are very predatory. But rarely violent. They kill differently.

They do not marry or get involved in relationships for love. They do it to appear “normal” to outsiders. They look for a cleat to tie their boat to; an anchor to make them feel safely secured in a turbulent sea. It is not properly anchored however, the boat is adrift. They don’t care whom they hurt or manipulate for their own ends. They do not feel what normal people feel. Once the victim is in place, in the drifting barge, the narcissist goes about his merry way, engaging in promiscuous sex and extra marital affairs, appearing to be every man’s man, every woman’s dream, covering their tracks well and leaving a wake of devastation behind them. They brush the dust off and move on swiftly. Other people mean nothing to them. They possess no moral code or conscience. They do not answer to a higher power like the rest of us mere mortals. They do as they please always and even brag about how they “always get what they want”.  If the victim does not abide by the game the narcissist plays, they will be severely maligned, abused, and destroyed.

Once the victim is safely secured in the narcissist’s prison, there is no escape. The narcissist will consume the thoughts, the functions  and beliefs of the victim. In their own conscience, the victim recognizes all the red flags, that something is very wrong. Something is not natural and the gut instinct that all is not true about this person, infects their thinking. There is a war going on inside the victim. A constant roller coaster of emotions. Hot and cold. Charming and cruel. The voice is tiny though. The louder voice, proclaims, he is wonderful, a prince, my soul mate because this is what she needs and wants to believe. He knows this. He knows because of their good conscience and moral compass, the victim can only believe absolute good in the narcissist.

The narcissist is a professional at appearing to be a soul mate to everyone he encounters. When caught in a lie or anything that negatively may impact the narcissist’s facade he projects, he cries. He pleads.  The tears and pleas for forgiveness are merely a ruse. Another disguise. The narcissist only cries for himself. The mask is slowly falling away and he knows this and he cannot bear being exposed. In time, he ultimately will discard and abandon the victim.  At first through a devaluation phase. He begins to see the faults in that person and clings tightly to them. A sublte shift in emotional attachment. Then the snide comments and insults. There are more waiting in the wings that the narcissist already is priming and will quickly move on to, to obtain the only thing he seeks. Narcissistic supply.


My mother-in-law and previous business partner passed away at 4 am today. I will always consider her my mother-in-law even though I have been divorced from her son for over 10 years. She was an incredible woman.

Born and raised in the Canadian Maritimes she met and married a pilot from Saskatchewan. After the birth of their children, they moved to the States where he was a pilot for Mohawk airlines which became Eastern Airlines and she began a career in modeling. From developing the New York Fashion Couture Group, her career spanned the globe taking her to Paris, Egypt, Spain and countless other countries and all over the states and Canada. When her husband died she was left with 3 small children and began a career in the cosmetics and beauty industry.

She was my mentor, good friend and business partner for over 15 years. She taught me how to open and operate my own business while still only in my twenties. She gave me courage by believing in me. The knowledge, experience and confidence she gave me will last me a lifetime.

With Eleanor I attended several incredible functions.  I’ve had dinner several times with exiled Romanian Prince Paul, the owners of the Times Square building in NYC and a dinner party for the retirement of the Ambassador to Bahrain, hosted at the United Nations in NY.

She adored my children and as they grew, she brought them along with her on many of her journeys. When my son was 9 years old, she took him skiing to the Horn of Kitzbuhl, in Austria with Olympic gold medalist, Tony Zeiler. Today my son is a film maker, traveler and skier. My daughter has Eleanor’s ethereal grace, elegant looks and when she glides into a room, just like Eleanor did, all eyes are upon her.

This was a woman who taught me that anything is possible and to believe in myself. She was a beautiful, strong, intelligent, capable and exciting woman and her memory, her teachings and her gift will remain inside of me, all of us,  forever.

We will always love and miss you Eleanor and never forget that we are of this world and not merely in it. You taught us all to spread our wings, to believe in ourselves and to live without fear. You gave us your strength and beauty and the knowledge that you cannot have one without the other. I think of you often and though I will miss you, I cherish that you were a large part of my life and that part sculpted me into the woman I am today. I could never thank you enough.

Me, Google and the Stanley Cup riots

OMG! I’ll make this quick, but this made me laugh pretty hard. Someone Googled, “name moron vancouver” and landed on my blog! So I tested it and sure enough it goes right to a post about  someone I once knew from Vancouver. The funny thing is the only other links in Google’s search results were for the Vancouver riots after the Stanley Cup. So I had to really laugh hard at that.  And to think this particular person told me once that Hamilton, Ontario was the “***hole of Canada”. Probably because I have relatives there and was visiting for a wedding.  Au’ contraire . ***holes and morons DO come from Vancouver! Just like my relatives in Toronto and the Maritimes told me.  Not only am I thrilled Boston beat the piss out them,which was inevitable, (although I was briefly a Canucks fan when I thought I should be supportive) but I mean honestly, that must have been something huh? Imagine living across the street from that scene. Tear gas, flames, overturned cars…Sounds lovely. I’d like a glass of Primitivo with that please… 😉