Monday, July 11, 2011

Why Didn't I Marry For Money?

I've decided over the course of the weekend that my life is on the wrong path. I was filling in for my cousin at the local farmer's market and I now realize that I should have been a farmer.... or independently wealthy.... either way, I'm not fulfilling my life's prophecy. I need to have one hand in the dirt and the other in a designer bag like a monkey needs bananas. Every two weeks when I am attempting to pay bills on my husband's carpenter salary, I feel my mind drifting to that all to familiar question... "Why didn't I marry for money?"

Guess what? I'm {unfortunately} not a gold digger. I had the chance. I rejected it.
Don't believe me? Read on.

Not long ago, there was a time that a very wealthy man was attempting to woo me. As lovely as the cash would have been, I did not take the bait. There were some basic social differences that will probably always keep me in a category apart from his. I'm okay with that, considering that I believe in using common fucking sense and he believed in excessive use of tooth whitening products, killing cats and bragging.

I'm going to write this in the form of a play.

Scenario:


::Trade-show, big concrete floors in a giant room, hats and dead animals all around. Men milling about.

Monologue:
I was in my late twenties, working my side job in the biggest little city in the world (Reno, for those of you who are not as well-travelled as I), schlepping custom made cowboy hats. I was working 10+ hour days on my feet on concrete at a few trade shows in the area; both of which contained large amounts of taxidermy and large amounts of testosterone ready to blow their wad (Their wad of money, people, their money. Get your heads out of the gutters. Reno is a classy city. bwhahahaha). Anyway, I was working full-time and just able to pay my bills and my rent with no extra to use for crazy things; like savings... or vacations.... or drinks that I didn't make for myself.

One of the hatter's clients was a very wealthy young man from "old money". Apparently, he likes flat-chested, mouthy blonds because he set his sights on this one. He had to look up to do it, because he was also shorter than me. Yes, I am shallow. I will always choose the man taller than me (and with thighs bigger than mine) Rich boy's initial attempt at wooing me went like this:

::A vertically challenged man enters hat booth, shakes my bosses hand and together they approach me. Introductions follow. My boss tells him were I normally work. My boss leaves the two of us together and I attempt to sell the wee man a hat.

Me: Let's see which one of these styles might work for you.
Him, staring deeply into my eyes while trying to look dreamy: How do you like to start your day?
Me, startled, not in a good way: Coffee....
Him, flashing the whitest bleached teeth I have ever seen. They were like sun glare in your eyes. Their unnatural glow would blind you in the presence of a black light. They were whiter than my ass in the middle of January, people.... It was unnecessary: I don't drink coffee, it stains your teeth.
Me, wishing I had a set of those fake Hillbilly teeth in my pocket to slip into my mouth: Oh. I guess it does.
Him, staring intensely into my face: What kind of food do you like?
Me, moving my head back in that attractive way where my neck eats my chin: Oh, I don't know....
Him, moving closer, tilting his head to one side: Chocolate?
Me, sporting major chin cleavage: Not really ( I seriously didn't like chocolate until I turned 30.)
Him: Ice Cream?
Me: No.... I'm more of a baked goods gal.
Him, completely invading my personal space bubble: What else do you like?
Me, stepping back and trying to wrap up the hat sale: I don't know.... decorating.... horses......
Him, with importance:  My house was featured in an issue of Architectural Digest!
Me: Wow, congratulations.
Him, still with the creepy eye contact: I drive a Hummer.
Me, looking at my paperwork: Okay. Let's walk over to this neighboring booth and check out her handmade hatbands. I'm sure you can find something that you like.....

Moments later my boss comes over to the hatband booth says to me: Do you want to meet Tom Selleck?
I practically mow over White Tooth on my way to meet the tall handsome guy by the name of TOM SELLECK. We shook hands. It was awesome. He was really tall. I'm pretty sure he remembers me.

Bow Chicka Now Now...
His thighs are bigger than mine, I saw them when he was sporting
those ball-buster shorts in Magnum, PI.
Image from friends.wikia.com
Then I had to go back to Pearl Drops: Did you find a hatband you liked?
Him, moving his head from side to side in front of my face like a horny goose in mating season, attempting to regain eye contact: There you are, I thought I had lost you.

I nearly vomited into a $600 cowboy hat. Noa Gavin wrote a word on her blog that perfectly describes this type of being: twatwaffle. He was a total twatwaffle.

Then he clinched that title with: The last time I was in Africa, I killed a lion.
I looked him in the face, curled my top lip back over my teeth and said: I have a cat that looks like a lion.


Admitting that you kill lions for sport is not my idea of a
good pick-up line.

MoMo Baby Kiss Kiss
"Me-Roar" and "I like Vodka Martinis with 2 olives"

 ::Two days later in a motel room.
I was ill (airplanes and travel=sinus infection for me) and spent the day in my room at the local La Quinta. My coworker came by late in the day with a full black Prada duffel bag. She was smirking. She told me it was delivered to the hat booth by The Great White Tooth. I hesitantly opened the bag and peered into it to see a four foot tall white teddy bear staring at me. Apparently it was a designer bear.

Lame does not even begin to describe my feelings of being gifted a four foot tall teddy bear. I was 27 fucking years old.

Within the course of two days of meeting this person, he made me feel like puking twice.
To be entirely honest, I was fairly outraged.

What a dillrod. What kind of moron tries to woo a hard-working money-deprived girl with a fucking stuffed animal? I'll tell you what kind; the clueless and perpetually single kind. Note to men: Do not give a grown woman a stuffed animal unless you want her to make fun of you on the Internet. If you want to impress her: Pay her rent for six months so she can put aside some money in savings! or buy her a six pack of her favorite beer! Done.

I looked at my coworker, who was not doing a good job with maintaining her glee at the ridiculousness of the giant bear (I was FLYING home on an airplane. I would have had to pay $50 to get the stupid thing on the plane.)
I looked at the Prada bag, shrugged and said to her: The bag is nice.
She said: He wants the bag back.
I said: Of course he does.

::Two weeks later, back in Colorado, at my other crappy job.

I received a package at work. In it was a copy of Architectural Digest featuring his house, a box of chocolates and about six quarts of Ben and Jerry's ice cream.
A braggart and a bad listener too. Double bonus.

****Whenever I feel sorry for us that we are lacking a substantial amount of funding, I think back on my encounter with the loaded douche canoe and I say to Brock, "Jesus was a carpenter."


We may be eating in for the next 40 years and (I guess) that's okay.

15 comments:

  1. So we'll make this into a major motion picture? We'll get someone like George Clooney to play your now carpenter husband.

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  2. thank you again for expanding my vocabulary.....twatwaffle and douche canoe are perfection squared! And describe to a T the majority of the people in my lovely home state of NJ.

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  3. Ugh! Douchecanoe and twatwaffle is right! Seriously though, it almost (ALMOST) makes me feel sorry for Pearl Drops (which made me literally LOL, by the way). I mean, he clearly thinks he needs to buy his way into the hearts of women - which, judging by his ass-hat-ness, he probably DOES, but still. It's kinda sad, because whoever he did end up with is probably only with him for his moneybags status and will never truly love him in return.

    Ah well, I guess it's just karma for being such a goober.

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  4. I super-duper *heart* Tom Selleck! Now that is a MAN, babay!

    LOL

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  5. For the record I no longer whiten my teeth.

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  6. Sister.....I call you that because clearly, we share some sort of sorry ass gene that makes douchecanoes and twatwaffles worship the ground we walk on.

    The only way this could have been worse is if he sent you a little prick kit so you could send in a blood sample so see if you were genetically perfect before he asked you to be the mother of his children. Now, I'm not saying a certain rich man I once dated had me do this. I'm not admitting that at all......

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  7. You and I just might be living parallel lives. I once tried to date a twatwaffle but dumped him after I saw him eat soup. Although I really love me some Prada (and Dolce, and Burberry, and Gucci, and...) there was just no way in hell I could go throw life sitting next to a man who slurped and sucked up soup with that crazed vacuum suction he managed to produce. Big V works laying tile & flooring... and I buy knockoffs. :)

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  8. @Tricia- Sounds good- do I get to play me?
    @Erin- you are welcome and I agree. He's a real man.
    @Rita- Precisely
    @Lou- My sentiments exactly.

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  9. @Tom- I can only assume that you are "the" Tom S. that I mentioned in the post, because it would be only natural that Tom Selleck read my blog, seeing as I am clearly a big deal (I have 71 followers- I am super popular- I mean, at least 123 people have Internet access and that is more than half...). If you kindly go back and read this post again, you will see that I am in no way making fun of you or your teeth (a little bit the shorts, but that was a fashion trend in the 80's). Thanks for stopping by. Please come again. And please send autographed photos of yourself to all of my hot-for-Tom friends too. :)

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  10. @Elizabeth- Oh no he didn't... At least the super white teeth were a step up from the toothless drunkards that I usually attract. What is my problem???
    @Phoenix- Ew! Soup vacuum= no deal. I won't let Brock (or anyone) eat bananas in my presence. It makes me want to kill someone.

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  11. I married an opera singer with most of a music degree. (Not marrying for money doesn't begin to cover it.)

    and he is at my MOM's house today helping her move. and then he is cleaning the litterbox for the cats. which he does, every day. Some guys are worth their weight in gold!

    <3'd your story

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  12. @Tova- That one IS a keeper for sure!

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  13. I'da married yuh, but you and your sister need to smile more. And listen to Litterer.

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  14. Bahahaha- blast from the past!
    I've been practicing the smiling. It just feels wrong.

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