Madonna and warren beatty dating 100 lonely women dating scam


The reality was nothing that the America of that time could imagine, or that Hollywood would have wanted to know. I used to tell myself, “That’s a stranger who’s doing this to me.” That’s how I rationalized it. Afterward my dad patted my stomach and said, “Whoops, too many pancakes.” I was horrified. When I was 10, we moved from Long Island to Manhattan. I was rushed to UCLA Medical Center in cardiac distress. My mother and a doctor fed me red meat around the clock. A doctor later told me that they were due to the horrible way I treated my body. But my mother, Bobby and Universal had other ideas. When I got home I didn’t want to take care of the baby, I wanted to go out. The divorce became final in December 1967, but Bobby kept coming back. They were never serious—just an excuse to stay over, I thought. One night I couldn’t control the pressure any longer. A saint he wasn’t.” My mother started defending him, and I said, “Well, guess what your saint did to me? I had so much anger toward her for not doing something to help me. Here, for the first time, Dee candidly discusses the daunting, dark side of her private life, which led to a decades-long plunge into anorexia, drug-and-alcohol addiction—and her eventual disappearance from the public eye. My dad’s remark was said in jest, but it bothered me. Because we traveled a lot, I was enrolled in the Professional Children’s School, made up mostly of kids who were performers, which let me have a flexible schedule. In 1956 my stepfather died during surgery to correct a heart condition. A few days later, in the middle of his wake, I got a call from my agent that producer Ross Hunter wanted to meet me. I read a few lines of a script and thought I would never hear from him again. It turned out that the Epsom salts had depleted my body of potassium. My first year and a half in Hollywood I did three films. But it was my mother who really loved all my acclaim. They all knew that if they put Bobby and me in the same movie, he’d convince me to do it, which is exactly what happened. The only thing that would bring me down was a drink. It never interfered with my career, but to Bobby I was different. Bobby didn’t see the meaning of performing anymore. He started Wayne Newton off, and he continued to write songs. That’s why I didn’t believe him a few years later when he got so sick. My mother and I were at home with a few of her close friends, and she started eulogizing my stepfather. He had sex with me.” My mother was shocked, then angry. But she ignored me, and the subject never came up again. “I don’t know how people are going to feel about me talking about all this,” she says. At least they’ll know the truth.” Although I’ve been out of the limelight for more than 20 years, I still get dozens of autograph requests every month. I received a letter that read, “If only I could live your life….” That’s when I decided enough was enough. The Sandra Dee I was promoting was a creation of Hollywood.

A successful model from the time she was 10 years old, she parlayed her nubile poutiness and the sweetest smile on the beach into instant stardom. We were at a party, and I was talking to Warren Beatty about our doing a film together. But it was the first time Bobby observed me with a handsome man who had a reputation in Hollywood.

She wasn’t sultry or even particularly sexy; Madonna would have had her for lunch.

But when it came to budding femininity and doe-eyed vulnerability—the kind of pom-pom cuteness a boy would ask to the prom—no actress, past or present, could ever compete with Sandra Dee.

These are the kind of shit links you get when you Google this to the smug shit up thread.....

Just about all but Jon Hamm and Jay Z are dead, dead ugly, or too gross to conjure a mental image of their cocks....

Unless, you're a necrophiliac - and again, we're not here to judge you - the living/dead thing goes without saying...

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