Wednesday, August 23, 2006

My "Type," aka There Are No Types, My Sistah


People say, "Hey, hey. Hey, you. Howcome you like people who're, like, totally different? Howcome you like wee skinny nerds but also giant brick walls with tattoos? Why? Why? Why?" And I say, It's all about the money, stupid. God. Wake up.

Actually, this is a very important subject, because my current beau is belongs to the religion of Cash Money, Honey. And it disturbs me because he thinks all people are like that, but particularly women. Before you get your shortpants in a bunch and say, "Oh you are such a fine person, a spiritual, self-sacrificing monk, you little shit," I'd ask you to see it my way. He likes to tell me how lucky I am to have a man like him. He will buy me things, provide food when I come over, all the DVDs I could want to watch, and a car from time to time, to boot. This is fab living, for sure. I am grateful to receive gifts, eat food, watch movies, and get a ride to work twice a week. I really am. I just don't like having my nose rubbed in it. Nor would you.

I can be materialistic, but I cannot be bought. See the difference? Because a person who buys and buys but forgets to treat you nicely has bought nothing but a higher debt and one increasingly pissed off better half. Who is also one philosophizing, monk mothertrucker.

So, it is not about the money, honey. Rather, it is about the great divide between the physical ideal (tat man) and emotional ideal (sweet nerd, untouched by ho's, especially stripper ho's) and where the two meet somewhere in between. And, for the record, if he has money to sustain himself and buy me a hotdog once in awhile, we're golden. Just be nice.

2 Comments:

Blogger Adairdevil said...

It's never a good thing to have to resort to JLo--it speaks of a lack of complexity in one's issues, as well as a dearth of commentary from more desirable sources--but it can't be helped:

All that matters is that you treat me right
Give me all the things I need that money can't buy

Think you gotta keep me nice? You don't
Think I'm gonna spend your cash? I won't
Even if you were broke, my love don't cost a thing

[snip]

You think the money that you make
Substitutes the time you take


Et cetera, et cetera.

I hate that I know this song.

I also hate that as much as that song sucks, I was so relieved to hear it in the wake of "No Scrubs", "Bills, Bills, Bills" and all the other top 40 songs that made a girlfriend out to be a long-term hooker.

Welcome to the new backlash.

4:47 PM  
Blogger snarkygirl said...

As much as Ring the Alarm made me dance in my chair, it is another chapter in the girlfriend as hooker saga. Here's a sample. The thing that makes this song new and terrifying is the desperation. She will possibly commit two acts of violence to keep her man and her chinchilla coats.

She gon' be rockin' chinchilla coats
If I let you go
Get in the house off the coast
If I let you go
She gon' take everything I own
If I let you go
I can't let you go, damn if I let you go

She gon' rock them VVS stones
If I let you go
Get in the 'Bach or the Rolls
If I let you go
She gon' profit everything I taught
If I let you go
I can't let you go, damn if I let you go

Ooh
How can you look at me
And not see all the things
That I kept only just for you
Ooh
Why would you risk it babe
Is that the price that I pay
Ooh
But this is my show, and I won't let you go
All it's been paid for, and it's mine
How could you look at me
And not see all the things

10:54 AM  

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