Tales from the Gold Mine

During the course of writing this blog I have noticed that there is a price to pay for being open and honest about your life. Listen, when people claim that I am a chronic exaggerator, a ultra violent maniac, and even a persistent complainer(here), all I can do is respect their opinion but respectfully disagree. But one thing that I can agree with though, is that I have shown a tendency to be an outright pig sometimes. From my rules to cheating, and my sexual encounters(and here), I can see why people would think that I am the male equivalent to a farm animal. But when I look at myself seriously, I might talk a ton of shit, but I still believe in a few things. 1: Chivalry 2: Paying for dates 3: Respect(that's a two way street though) and 4: Never calling a woman out of her name.(Unless she tries to kill you, smack you, says her favorite song involving Q-Tip is "Vibrant Thing", or voted for George Bush strictly because he opposed abortion. Bitch.) One thing that has baffled me during the tenure of my dating career is the infamous "Gold digger." Here are a few personal examples when I have encountered them.

Renee: I should have known that Renee would be trouble because when I met her in a club, she looked very uncomfortable. Not in a "this club is wack" kind of way, but in a "these silly Negros are beneath me kind of way". I never thought uttering the phrase, "What stick is up your ass lady!?", would spark off a impromptu conversation that would lead to me getting her number. Flash forward about a week, and since she said she liked Sushi I took her to one of the best places in town. The whole time she complained about how the "Sushi here doesn't compare to the Sushi in Japan", which would probably be very true if the cooks names were "Billy Bob" and "John-boy". But the two chefs were straight off the "Orient Express", just got to Virginia, so when I informed her of that she acted like she didn't hear me. We get to her house and it is decked out, the best furniture, expensive rugs, chandeliers, and I can't forget the brand new Mercedes in the driveway. I asked her what she did for a living before but I think she changed the subject, so I asked her again, "What do you do?" She had stated that she was in between jobs at the moment. I asked her, "OK, what DID you do?" Her answer, still vague, was "A little bit of this, a little bit of that." What the fuck?!! I knew she wasn't into drugs because of the horrified look she gave me when I lit a joint on the way to her house. So the next couple of weeks were spent not trying to get to know her better, and build a strong foundation for a relationship, but to find out how in the fuck does she made her money!!

She was like "Tommy" from Martin's sitcom, has money but doesn't have a job to show for. Through my investigative skills, OK-my nosy ass poking and prodding, I found out that Renee hadn't had a real job since the first Clinton term. She, for lack of a better word, turned out to be a Gold Digger.

Sandra: Just like I said in a previous post that women should believe me when I tell them that I'm an "asshole", well I should of believed her when she said that men couldn't handle her. I couldn't handle her, or shall I say her expensive tastes. The first date we went on was this snooty french restaurant where everyone there looked very uptight, or in desperate need to take a shit, regardless this wasn't my scene. The waiter was a pretentious prick named Pierre, who knew Sandra pretty well, because the whole night they were bouncing "inside jokes" off of one another. About 30 minutes into our time there she finally introduced me to Pierre, with Pierre saying "Oh, how do you do" with a "so-fucking-what" attitude. I have to say, as a man, I despise a weak ass handshake. His hand felt like a bowl of jello, or a newborn baby's ass, so to be an asshole I shook his hand with the same force you use to crush a beer can as hard as you can. To hear that jackass lightly whimper in pain gave me an enjoyment that you wouldn't believe. Anyway, when she ordered the food she asked for some old ass wine, but I was so transfixed on her breasts that she could have ordered anything. We eat our food, drink the wine, I listen to her tell me that "her body doesn't touch anything but silk when I sleep", and other booshy bullshit. I get the bill and the wine she ordered was 200 bucks! What I said next offended her, but I think that her ordering wine that expensive without checking with me was rather offensive. Anyway, I said, "I see we're fucking tonight huh?" She was "appalled" and asked me "What kind of man can't pay for $300 dollar wine?" I said, "A man who is on a first date with some broad he just met, that's who!" It was apparent that I would never see her naked, make her count the tiles on her ceilings, or give her 3 minutes of pure Ecstasy, so I started saying wildly inappropriate things to her. Like "I guess you can work off that 300 dollars in a 'I come by and hit that when I want' payment plan." Whatever I said was irrelevant though, because I still payed the bill. I sure can be a schmuck sometimes.

Marilyn: There are always signs when someone is absolutely trouble. The sign this time was when Marilyn and I went to a movie one night. After the movie, as I waited for her to get out of the bathroom, this disheveled gentlemen quickly approaches me. He informs me that he is Marilyn's ex-boyfriend and that he doesn't wish me any harm, just to warn me that she was a gold digger who is more problems than she is worth. Usually I would curse out ex-boyfriends, or simply chop them in the throat, but he had a weird sincerity in his voice which made me actually half-way listen to him. He bolted off as soon as Marilyn came out of the bathroom and I didn't think about what he said until about a week later. The first time Marilyn saw where I was living at the time, even though I had only known her briefly, she started making plans for my place of residence. She would say, "We could add a whole new wing there, a game room would look excellent there, we could really use a bar right there!" What is this "we" shit, I just planned on going on a few dates with you, leaving you unsatisfied as I tip-toe out of your house at 5 in the morning, not become roommates with benefits! As crazy as that was, I thought I could brush that off as a sporadic moment of craziness. But I knew shit was absolutely real when a guy came by to do measurements, saying that he was a carpenter who was hired by Marilyn to "make some changes". I politely told the carpenter, along with Marilyn to "Fuck off!"

Pamela: When you are in a committed relationship, there is absolutely nothing wrong with you helping your partner out financially when they are in a bind. I may be an asshole, but I'm not cheap when it comes to supporting a loved one. But if you aren't on a girlfriend status, just some miscellaneous woman that I am randomly renting my "man-hood" to, don't treat me lie a fucking ATM. Pamela was obviously used to guys giving her what she wanted because she had a big butt and a smile. Listen, a huge derriere and some pearly whites are a sight to be seen, no doubt about that, but it doesn't stop my brain from functioning either. It seems that just because we had sex she wanted me to pay her rent, seriously. There were two things that I desperately wanted to say to her but didn't have the balls to say it at that moment. 1: "Give you 800 dollars for some mediocre ass, I could have gotten that for around 100" and 2: I wanted to quote Ice Cube when he said, "Give you money why bother/Cause you know I'm looking nothing like your father!" Anyway, when I refused she acted like I wasn't deserving of the title "man", and to be honest she was rather convincing because I even considered helping her out. Right when I pulled out my ATM an image of my father appeared, like a ghetto Obi Wan! Dad: I know I taught you better than that! Don't let that girl gank you for all your cheddar son!" Me:Why are you talking like that? Dad: I've been hanging with Tupac, nice kid, kind of excitable though.

My dad, or my vision of my dad which hopefully was really him and not a schizophrenic episode, was right. It was over as soon as I realized what I had to do, along with the fact that in a hour time period she asked me to buy her mother groceries and give her little sister money for prom. Parrish Smith of EPMD was right, when he said in the song "Gold Digger": "So to fellas, who wanna keep they cash /Beware of the jack hammer and the helmet that glows/Cause she's a gold digger"