Certain women, because of their power and seductiveness could bring destruction to a family. -Margaret Way

Although the words you're about to read may come as a bit of a shock to you, I must admit that I inherently possess something of an addictive personality. I can't have just one of anything. I need more, crave it even. Almost to the point where I can actually taste it. And as such, I'm an easy target for seduction's sensual distraction. And I don't mean that in just a physical sense. It's just my genetic make up to fall hard and become instantly obsessed. Addicted. (Which is why, to my credit, I've never experimented with drugs or cigarettes. I'd either be in rehab ten times over or a pack a day lifer...) But this preface applies to anything: Alcohol. Sex. School. Books. Music. Different flavors of almonds. I can't get enough once I've savored the taste.

There is quite another brand of seduction, however. It's equally as addicting and it turns men into infants. It's a different species of human being all together. Ladies fraught with sex appeal reminiscent to that of Jessica Rabbit. (... from Who Framed Roger Rabbit? Tell me that I didn't just date myself.) To this day, I strive to be that vixen I've just described but the incessant neurotic tendencies that engulf my life tend to just kill that persona from jump.

I even put the effort in, friends. I'll put on some Barry White, light some candles (I'm really weird about candles. They're all over my house. It's a disease.), put on something slightly risque, spritz some Boyfriend by Kate Walsh perfume all over myself and then I start thinking about things that are super ridiculous. For example, what I'm going to wear to Christie's boyfriend's birthday dinner. Or what I want the announcer to say in the preview of the movie that was adapted from my book. Or if I'll die from refreezing previously frozen boneless, skinless chicken breast.

I don't have it, friends. I never have. The alleged sexy gene that all the women on both sides of my family have was totally lost on me. I fail each time I try. But in my defense, not everyone can pull the Jessica Rabbit thing off so easily. Well, except for maybe Joan Hollaway... (There is just something about redheads.)

You want sensitive and understanding, stick with the therapist. -Jennifer Cruise

But unfortunately, this particular issue of Crazy Face for Hire isn't about my ever present neuroses, no matter how charming they may (or may not) be. This installment is about a delicious brand of lady. One that men have fantasized about for literally ages. One that is so incredibly devious, you aren't even aware of when she's deceiving you. She reads Cosmo and Playboy like they're the Old and New Testaments. She wears red, patent leather pumps and curve hugging ensembles. She sips Vodka martinis like the suavest of men but never exhibits any sort of low class drunkenness. She's educated by both college and the streets. Her lipstick is perfect, her hair unruly and wild but in a vivacious, sexy way.

She is a temptress with many faces and she'll conquer you with one bat of her long, black eyelashes. She could be your boss, your lawyer, a barista at your favorite Starbucks, a trainer at the gym or, more commonly is the standard in my country of origin, even a stripper! But she's out there, boys. And she's got her sights set on you. Ladies, you better hold onto your husbands.

It's like that old Ray Charles song, Heartbreaker. This proverbial temptress spins her alluring web in a way most would least expect. Strong and impossible to unnerve, said seductress gets everything she wants while she pensively sips her coffee and makes bedroom eyes at you over the rim of her mug.
The thing is that she isn't conniving as much as she is focused on self-preservation. Why is it fair that men can parade around, without a single care in the world, taking ultimate advantage of women the world over? They can eat whatever they want without gaining weight, pass women off as believably crazy when he gets dumped (after the realization that he's a jerk face), showcase their abs effortlessly and bang virtually all the pretty ladies they want without even slightly damaging their reputations. Stereotypes, friends. They exist for a reason.

Saints and sinners may be separated by their actions but they are united by their reaction to passion. -Gaiven Clairmont

I think what I value so much in the Temptress persona is that she gives very clear meaning to the phrase Men want her and women want to be her. For lack of a better example, the Temptress is most comparable to Mad Men's Joan Holloway. For those of you that are unfamiliar with this amazing show, shame on you! But the thing about Joan is that while literally every existing male character on the show wants to get into her tight, bold garments, she is virtually the only woman that they truly trust and respect.

To be honest, I don't think that they hold their own wives in even as close to the same regard. (Not that I can totally blame Don Draper because althought Betty is incredibly beautiful, she is suprisingly certifiable.) And the same is true for the ladies in the surrounding Sterling/Cooper/Price cubicles. I would say the majority of them are insanely jealous of the male attention that Joan is given but at the same time, there's no one else they would trust with their secrets. There isn't a single other woman in that cramped Madison Avenue office that they would ever consider asking for advice.

Accusations fly like bullets do. Here we go again. -John Legend, Again

So what happens when these classy seductresses inevitably find love? Have these alleged unsuspecting men met their delicious demise or can this temptress be capable of true love? Does her spicy demeanor make for entertaining recreational activities or does it create mistrust? While it may seem incredibly trivial, these are most certainly things that have crossed the love sick gents' minds.
For another, more accurate example, I give you the newly minted New Year's Eve marriage of Playmate Crystal Harris and Playboy founder and Chicago born mogul, Hugh Hefner. I won't bore you with the details of their sordid affair because after all, my celebrity knowledge knows virtually no limits. (I am, in fact, full of useless information.) But I'm sure you can find something about it on Twitter or PerezHilton.com (my personal lap top's homepage). Needless to say, she's been accused of being a great many things throughout all of this but the most commonly flung insult if that she's a gold digger. (Cue the Kanye West song...) Because let's be real: What else would a gorgeous, big breasted Playmate be doing with a geriatric billionaire? I hope for Hef's sake that she really does love him, in some form or another. And not for anything, but who are any of us to judge?

Moral of the Crazy: Maybe there's a little bit of temptress in all of us. And just because some women are able to conquer, or influence, powerful men simply by seductively nibbling their bottom lip doesn't mean they can't be trusted. Perhaps those men aren't yet fully formed adults. And my personal opinion is why be pretty when you can be gorgeous? Why choose one man when you can have the adoration of many without ever lifting a finger for any of them? It seems like an easy answer to me. After all, Jessica Rabbit didn't seem to have difficulty finding a loving husband.

Besides, all the world really needs is a pretty shade of red lipstick and a sexy pair of four inch pumps.

The next time you try to seduce anyone, don't do it with talk, with words. Women know more about words than men ever will. And they know how little they can ever possibly mean. -William Faulkner