Who told my body it turned 50?

OK, yeah, I had the big five-oh a month ago. No big party really – there were some things I wanted to do that I didn’t do.

So I carry on with my life. The Little Treasure (my daughter) is moving back out next weekend, which is a beautiful thing. About 2 weeks ago, I started to wake up with a pain in my hip, but I took Aleve and was rid of it.

In a couple days, it was Aleve twice a day.

By the weekend, the Aleve wasn’t cutting it. Went to the doctor – well, this looks like bursitis. Better give you a steroid shot in your ass.

Pain went away for about three days, and then came back just as bad. I’m looking things up and still trying to work. A lot of programming is about being motionless, so that was working against me.

Then I’m hit last Monday with the worst, most searing pain I could imagine, and I’ve been shot AND stabbed. I can’t stand, I can’t sit, I can’t move without real, unignorable, razor-blade pain in my ass, which is because I have a hemorrhoid. Oh, hurray.

For me at least, this is the most humiliating and least tolerable experience I could imagine. I go buy Preparation H (which does nothing), and it’s like every eye in the store is on me. Putting it in place also involves an act which I’m pretty much not into. I spend four days during which I’m in worse and worse pain, and of course the Little Treasure, on hearing of this, minimizes her time here, because she has better things to do than to take care of me.

Last Thursday I finally get to the doctor again, and of course every single person in the office is female. She takes a look and yeah, it’s a hemorrhoid alright. I’ll prescribe you a topical to kill the pain, but you may need surgery on this.


Even better: the dumb ass assigns me a suppository. I’m ready to throw myself out a window. I try to work with this, I try taking these ‘sits’ baths, I can BARELY program. LT shows up finally and I tell her, “Look – you’re either going help out, or pack your fucking bags,” which actually encouraged her to help out.

On Friday I just say to myself, “Look – you’ve got to drop everything and take care of yourself.” I take a long bath, put one of those dam pills in place, and go to bed early, telling the LT to make sure she feeds and walks the dogs.

In my sleep that night, the ‘rhoid bursts. I wake up not-in-pain for the first time in weeks. Took a while to figure out what happened, but I was so relieved I didn’t care. Spent the day just goofing off and actually healed. Got some work done around the place on Sunday, making the LT and her idiot boyfriend do some actual work while I watched them from the new tractor.

Now I’m sitting here with a hand cloth in the back of my underwear, and although this did nothing for the pain in my hip, I could frankly care because as Nietzsche said, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” and this made me pretty frigging strong.

Well, that’s where I’ve been, my droogies. Sorry this post is kind of a gross-out. At least there was no woman here to go through it with me



Worst scammer EVER

Oh, my droogies – she was just terrible at scamming. It was a shame to see.

She friends me, and then she does nothing. I’m about to delete her, so before I do, I ask why she friended me, and I’m informed that it’s because “I’m so hot!”

OK, my droogies: lesson one: if you’re going to lie, fold a little truth in there. No one 50 is ‘so hot’.

She’s trying to be a long term kinda Sugar Baby, looking for her man. She wants to live on a farm and have animals – this is all according to her profile, so I give her some credit for legitimacy. She spends the afternoon blowing up my email and wow, does she ever like everything I do.

So we should meet – what’s your schedule like.

Big thing, she’d rather drive the 10.5 hours from Orlando, FL, than fly for the first meeting. Problem is – she has no money. $200 would be fine for her to come here.

Warning bells! Warning bells! No one wants to do that, even if you don’t like flying. Either she’s fleeing something and ANYTHING has to be better than her current situation, or she has no intention of leaving once she gets here, because she want’s to trade all of the convenience of flying for all of the security of driving, if she can’t afford to go home when she wants.

Meanwhile, they’re about to turn her phone off. Any minute – definitely today. She needs me to pay her phone bill.


Seriously? If you’re going to scam, you scam for $60? She could go dance for that. OK, she’s sent the “This is me” pictures of her that I insist on. I’m beer-money interested. I PayPal her $60

She IMMEDIATELY needs more for rent. She’s been kicked out, but her landlord (with whom she’s got no lease) won’t let her back in. I tell her, “That’s illegal, all you have to do is call a cop and he’ll let you back in to your room,” but “IT’s easier just to pay.”

This escalates to “I’m crying and I’m starving and I don’t know what to do!”

Seriously? I met you on this day, you have no interest in fixing the situation, just give you, a stranger, a bunch of money?


“Sure – send me naked pictures of you,” I say, because she’s supposedly in her car.

I immediately get a pussy shot. No, no – something more all over.

A couple pictures of her in a bikini, in different places. Whoops!

“I – I can’t send you more pictures. I’m in my car. Pay my rent!”

Now I’m bored of it. At least I wasn’t mean to her. I told her she was running a really bad scam and she didn’t have the chops for it. She starts sending me more pictures. Wow – is this chick ever emaciated, and the ones that seem newer don’t have her showing her teeth.

Probably a meth-head. It’s a shame that there’s a market for these broads, but come on! You have to have a brain to trade on your looks. Don’t hunt in the place where smart people go to meet women.

It’s all a part of the game, my droogies.


Another speed bump on the journey

So, I saw the SB again today.

First she couldn’t show up until after 4pm, then it was 5:30pm. That was irritating, but it’s just a second date for dinner, and she plans to hit the hot tub with me.

She comes over and we decide to walk the property first. First thing I see – the Little Treasure (my daughter) has left the water running to the horse trough (again). Thing is, now we have a well, and she’s had it on all day.

Pump that well dry and you get to drill another one. That is thousands of dollars. I swallow this and go on with the tour. She really likes the horses.

We go back inside the house and she sees Booger – my daughter’s cat, one of three.

She’s allergic to cats.

We went on to have dinner as her allergies start to catch up with her. She was here two hours and left wheezing – no hot tub. She’s wanting to see me again, but it’s a no-win. Even when the Little Treasure is out of here (and that’s going to happen SOON), I have a cat named Marley and he’s not going anywhere. He’s earned his place here.

So she doesn’t know it yet, but the new Sugar Baby is on her way out. Damn shame, too, because she had all of the other check boxes checked. I have no respect for someone who’d bag one of his/her pets for a relationship, and I’d never do it myself. Meanwhile there’s no work-around for this. The cats go everywhere, their fur ends up everywhere, it’s a fact of life.

Oh, well. It happens. Probably a few more dates to let her down easy

More adventures as we go!


Wives, Beef Stew and Why I’d Rather be a Sugar Daddy

So the other day, I’m shopping in WalMart for my weekly groceries.

The Little Treasure (my daughter) moved back in with her boyfriend and a fist-full of apologies (and four horses). Feeding them is no small chore. At the same time, I kind of ballooned up while the house was being built, so I’m more sensitive about what I eat.

That said, and I just have no reason for it, I’m in the ‘canned meats’ aisle and I see that super-big can of Dinty Moore Beef Stew, and I had to have it.

If you want to see something every woman will turn her nose up at, it’s Dinty Moore Beef Stew. It’s seriously big chunks of beef and potatoes and carrots in caramel-dyed gravy, it looks and smells like Alpo out of the can and while it tastes great (once cooked), it’s probably worse for you than beer and a cigar.

So I grab a can, and a guy standing there with his wife sees this, grunts and picks up the can next to it.

“Put that back,” his wife tells him.

He looks at me, looks at her and says, “What?”

She actually takes the can out of his hand, puts it back on the shelf and says, “You’re not eating that. That’s no good for you.”

Again, he looks at me, and I look away, biting the inside of my cheek so that I don’t crack a big smile at him. She couldn’t have humiliated him more if she’d have dropped his pants right there in the store and grabbed his balls. Personally, I’d have picked up three more cans and left HER at the WalMart, but I don’t have any marital commitments to worry about.

This poor guy had nowhere to go. He’s married or committed to a person who sees him as a child, she clearly doesn’t care about dressing him down in public and she has no stake in his dignity – all over a can of beef stew which he isn’t exactly trying to make into a staple for his family.

Ladies – this is why men of means don’t want wives. Sometimes, we just want to do something we used to do when we were in our teens, just to see if we can still do it, or to relive those times. Women, on the other hand, get it into their heads that they are the guardians of rational and that men need to be saved from themselves. Now, maybe this guy has a heart condition, or he has five boys at home who are now going to want the same thing and she’s trying to keep them off of it, or 100 other completely logical reasons for her to put that can back on the shelf.

This guy now has something to prove, and either he’s going to stress over it or he’s going to do something more belligerent later. Either way, she’s going to end up wishing he’d just eaten the stew.

Imagine if she’d said instead, “If you eat that, there’s a pair of jeans I’ve been wanting,” or “If you’re going to relive your past, I want a night where you do me like you did in the past,” or something similar. Men understand cause and effect. These are your actions, take them but this is what I want. Maybe he puts the can back on the shelf, maybe she gets this thing she’s been wanting.

More likely she just bitches about her sex life and treats herself to whatever she wants. Two more reasons to be a Sugar Daddy

Just some things to think about, my droogies.


View from the saddle – the new girl

Said it before and I’ll say it again: there’s three types of Sugar Babies:

1. Women who can’t manage their own lives
2. High priced whores running a better scam
3. Women who just want to meet a guy with money

The new girl is a clear-cut number three. She’s one of those girls who has a really pretty face, but has packed on weight. 32 puts her in the prime age category.

She doesn’t want an allowance, she just wants a guy who can treat her well. Where I am right now, that’s a good thing. I just spent five figures in addition to borrowing a quarter mil on the new house, and my credit cards are declining from 50% usage (and if ya know me, I just don’t do that). The house was a HUGE gift to myself and I didn’t hold back.

We met for a drink and I got there first, so I got us a table at the bar. I had a beer and she had a vodka drink (can’t stand that flavored vodka, but it’s a phase everyone goes through). Right off the conversation is great. She DOES have a nice rack and she’s showing a tasteful amount of it. She’s a nurse, she knows the score with Sugar Babies, she’s cool for a once-a-week at least meeting. She’s a good kisser.

She wants me to trim my beard, but any woman would. The thing would get me on Duck Dynasty at this point.

I don’t see this as a ‘wild sex in the hay barn’ relationship – more of a ‘really looking forward to seeing you again’ relationship. Like I said, after this year, it’s what I need.

More as it happens!