I aint sayin' she a gold digger...But if the shoe fits...Well...

Money, as the saying goes, is the root of all evil.

For me, it's also the root of all happiness.

Yep, I'm a (designer) flag-waving, (platinum) card-carrying Gold Digger. And proud of it.

Why? Because I am sick to damn death of being broke as fuck. Sick of uttering the phrase, "It'll have to wait until payday." To buy store-brand $1.96 Wal-Mart wipes. I'm sick of not even having the cash to buy myself a coffee if the mood strikes me. Sick of relying on the kindness & generosity of others for the basics like clothing for my child.

See, I grew up upper-middle class. My parents made well over $100k. I never heard the phrase, "...wait until payday." If we wanted something, we bought it. Occasionally, my parents worked overtime but that was pretty damned rare. We ate out quite a lot, always had new things. And before you start blaming Bear & Wolf for not teaching me Financial Planning 101...Fuck the fuck off, they did. They explained the concept of budgeting, of not going into too much debt, and also explained that this shit didn't exactly just happen overnight.

Nonetheless, where they were at my age and where I'm at are WORLDS apart.  By my age, I expected the following:

-$40k job, with my own office, with people answering to my bitchy ass

-Either a high-rise luxury apartment in the city or a 3 bedroom, 2 bath house in the middle class burbs.

-A walk in closet, filled with the latest Nordstrom had to offer

-A drop-dead gorgeous husband, who worshiped me. Also making $40k

-Twin girls, with a Martha Stewart-esque nursery, attending the best daycare

-Getting Starbucks every morning, with dinner out 3 times a week

-Annual vacations

-Fairly large Christmases

Call me materialistic and a money-hungry bitch. 1) See my bio: don't give a flying fuck and 2) I never claimed I wasn't a materialistic, money-hungry bitch. But a honest materialistic, money-hungry bitch. "Can't buy me lo-ove." Um, actually, Paul, you can buy me love.

But at my age, what I got was the following:

-$20k a year job, answering to a boss who can be decent...If she's taken her Midol

-A rented, shitastic house that is one (very small) step above the ghetto

-A walk in closet, filled with the latest Goodwill has to offer

-A lanky, self-centered, abusive assfuck who more or less hates me

-A daughter I ADORE, with a third-hand nursery, attending a state-funded (read: shitty) daycare

-Yuban coffee, dinner out 3 times a YEAR off the Dollar Menu from McPukes

-Vay-cay-shun? Huh? The fuck's that?

-Christmas, made possible by our latest sponsor: charity

I've been told that if  you truly love someone, money doesn't matter. Horse shit. I cannot think of one single woman who says, "I know he can't hold down a job to save his life, and he's making minimum-wage, has a single-digit credit score, and double-digit debt that I'll be legally responsible for half of...BUT AH LURVE HIM, MAMA!" No. Doesn't fucking happen. No woman wants to live in a 300 square feet studio, budgeting down to the goddamn dime, depending on state assistance and charity, driving a piece of shit car. It just...happens. What, you think I fucking wanted it to be this way?!

Truth is, money matters. A LOT. I know what kind of lifestyle I'd like to lead. And face it: you working your $10.00 an hour job just ain't gonna cut it, dude. In the words of one of my favorite songs, "Wanna get with me with no money/ oh no I don't want no scrub." I want a man who can not only sufficiently support himself, but me, my child, and our future children AS WELL AS the lifestyle I want to lead.

Oh, please, do sit there, thinking how you're better than me. How the simple life is better and how I need to learn to appreciate what I've got, and cherish the small things. Aside from my catch-all FUCK YOU...I never have and never will like the simple life. Glad you like it, but I just don't. I wasn't raised to like it, and surprise, surprise I don't. I do appreciate what little I have because I am all too aware that this could disappear tomorrow. It's happened to me before, and I'm well aware it could happen again.

As for cherishing the small things? Do you know what gives me more happiness, more sheer joy, more unadulterated, undiluted contentment and love? What melts what little heart I have left? What makes me marvel every time at the unconditional, pure beauty of it? What is guaranteed to make me break out in the largest smile you've ever seen?

My daughter in my arms, or hugging me or kissing me, and whispering sleepily, "Ah wuv you, Mimi."  

Also, if you're a single male between the ages of 25-150, email is on the bio page. Just throwing that one out there.

Kisses, and, as always dearies...do fuck off.

-Mad Merlot Mama