Same girl, same road

One thing will never fail you: people don’t change.

They’d like to, I’m sure, but change is hard, and most people won’t do anything hard anymore.

Take ‘new girl,’  who I let back in the door.  We had a few new baselines to keep us from repeating history:

1. If she felt she was being ignored, she could call and come over
2. If she wanted something, ask for it.
3. Don’t take it to heart if I don’t call or text you – I work a lot

That’s not real hard.

So after not seeing her for a few weeks, I see that I’ve missed some texts.  They’d petered out and I figured she was on to someone else, which didn’t really bother me.

Last week she wanted to come over, I told her ok, and she texted me early on Saturday.  I called her when I woke up and she’d already let her babysitter go – could she come over at 8pm.

Which means show up, make out on the couch, get a blow job on the couch and then she asks for something.

Sure.  By 9pm I still hadn’t heard from her, so I went to bed and read for a couple hours, then fell asleep.  She texted me again at 9:15pm but I didn’t catch it, and I got a text from her the next morning which made it seem like I blew her off.

Yesterday she texts me and I catch it.  “Call me when you have time.”

So I call, and she’s been sick for a week.  She’s got Lupus of some kind.  My first thought was, “Oh, man!  Don’t be contagious!” but it’s not.

“Are we still seeing each other?” she asks.

Well, as much as two people who never see each other are seeing each other, I suppose.

“Good, because I would want to ask you for help if we weren’t in a relationship.”

Wow, how’s a good way NOT to do that?

So she plans to get better and ask for a big donation.  Thing is, I’ve been spending the summer working and getting the Little Treasure’s wedding paid off.  The last three pay checks have been spend completely, which is why I’ve had no interest in seeing someone and really didn’t miss her that much.

Certainly not willing to pay for a blow-and-go.  The big part of this, tho, is that she turned into a whore and I don’t want a whore, so she’s set up to get the worst possible news at the worst possible time.

Oh, well – it didn’t have any promise to begin with

Sorry for so depressing a post, my droogies.  It hasn’t been a real good spring



Wow – where did May go?

May went by with a blur, so thank the latest person who loved this blog for me writing in it.

Here’s a jaw-dropper for you, my droogies. Remember the New Girl (the one who cost me $3000 in one month and who thought that I was going to rescue her whole family from themselves? Well, I went out to dinner alone for the umpteenth time, was sick of it, and gave her a call to join me.

Yeah – I can hear you all now. “You keep playing the same tune, you keep hearing the same song.” I didn’t have any illusions that she’d changed, and we ALL know I don’t, but lonely is lonely and frankly, after the wedding, I just didn’t feel like meeting anyone.

So she shows up (because, you know – she wants stuff), and she starts to act like she’s going to read me the riot act for dumping her, and I simply cut it off.

You know me, my droogies – I don’t argue, and I don’t like to argue. I take charge and then that’s it. I told her if she wanted to keep coming around, I didn’t want to hear any more about her family. She’s also off of the payroll. Honestly, I expected her to bail but she likes that sort of abuse so I saw her a few times last month.

Not too bad – she DID manage to get $500 off of me to make her bills one week, and an old air conditioner I wasn’t using, and a box spring that I was too lazy to throw out. Seriously, that is a CHEAP SB if you can even call her that.

Then we fucked liked bunnies in the hot tub and I didn’t call her for two weeks, and she messaged me yesterday that if I didn’t want to see her any more, I should just say so.

So for the month of May, I was a pretty crappy SD. Really, I’ve been more focused on programming and getting my credit card limits down to a reasonable amount than anything else since the wedding. That and the fact that East Tennessee has had very little rain for the last month, and that means I’ve got to try to get hay for the horses when I didn’t expect it, just had me not thinking of anything like sugaring for the last month.

I think I’ll have the New Girl come over this week to keep that alive. You can’t beat an SB that’s close by.

Oh, and for those of you who are fans of the Little Treasure – she didn’t take long to distinguish herself. She’s discovered the Pina Colada as her drink of choice, and her husband, the Human Tool, as her pussy-esque serving boy. I swear, I would smack the taste out of that kid’s mouth if he were my son and he just obeyed his wife like he does. They come over, he does their laundry, fetches her drinks, sits where she tells him, watches what she tells him to watch, and she controls the conversation.

The one time he seems to have asserted himself was Saturday night. You see, the Little Treasure wants to bring another horse over here, which I haven’t been too ecstatic about. To do that, she has to help be build a new run in shed, and that means she has to come over here with him and sweat.

I tell them I have to run some errands – if they want to go to lunch with me, they can, and then we’ll do the shed. Well, they come over, we do the errands, we eat the lunch, we get back and THEN they tell me they have plans in an hour.

Well, then no point in the shed. We ride a little. If the shed doesn’t get built I’ll never see that mare so I’m not crying. Then at 11pm I get a text from the Human Tool: “We forgot our cell chargers there. Can we come over in a little bit and get them?”

Sure. So I watch an old episode of Law and Order. An hour later, they’re not here. So I text back, “How much longer?”

I hear back, “Around 1/2 hour.”

Fu – huck that! And I tell him, “No, come get them on Sunday. I’m going to bed,” which I do.

I hear from the Little Treasure the next day – they are going for hay at 5pm or so, do I want to come?


And they got that horse, when can they bring it over?

“When you finish the run in shed.”

“Well, I’m just going to put up fencing around it.” “No,” I tell her, “you’re not.”


“And by the way,” I add, “what the hell happened the other night?”

And she has the nerve to act like she doesn’t know. When I press her on it, I dare to say, “Call” instead of “Text” (as in, he called me instead of he texted me), and she gets into this whole semantics argument, clearly leading to some idea that if he texted it, then it shouldn’t count.

Screw that. Keep your hay, keep your horse, don’t come around here any more. I see that night that she’s looking for someone to buy the horse off of her.

So, in case you’re wondering, no, marriage didn’t change the Little Treasure. Some times, you just have to cut the kids lose. LT and HT are officially cut loose. Let’s see them run their own lives for a while

Love always, my droogies. I’ll try to be more active this month


Well, the Little Treasure got married

Hello, my droogies.  Again, sorry it’s been so long.  It’s been a hellish month (probably something some of you were counting on) so sit back and relax as I bring you up to date.

First of all, the wedding: my daughter, the infamous Little Treasure, finally married the Human Tool, who is my now-son-in-law.  He’s still working as a temp some place trying to figure out how to get through an interview for a programming job, except for this week, when he’s on his honeymoon.

First of all, we learned that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree when his dad decides that his idea of a reception dinner is going to be himself, his son, my ex-wife’s husband and I at Famous Dave’s on a Sunday afternoon.  They call it a bachelor party, they aren’t drinking and, frankly, I’d have rather been cutting the lawn.

Ladies, your did is going to shell out a lot of money for you to walk down that aisle.  If you’re marrying someone who wants to cheap out on the reception dinner, your dad is not going to forget that, no matter what he says.

What gets better is when he get closer to the event, and we decide to actually HAVE a reception dinner.  Now we go to an Italian restaurant that doesn’t serve wine, he (the Human Tool’s father) decides not to show, and we all end up going dutch.

That was the day before the wedding, and the Little Treasure is going to drop off her cats so that they are here when she leaves on her honeymoon.  She’s coming over in the morning.

Oh, not the morning.  Later this morning.

Well, by lunch.

And they show up at 2pm, and I have 2 hours to get my tux for the wedding, and make it to the practice event.  When I pick it up, there’s a little kid with a tux on, saying, “I don’t like it,” and a line of people behind him checking their watches and exhaling in anger ad the poor fitter tried to make it better.

Once I’m sure I’ll be at least 10 minutes late, I just cut off the like, show my ticket for the tux I already paid for, and leave, letting them know I’ll come back tomorrow morning if it doesn’t fit.

So now it’s the morning of the unGodly event.  I think that I’ve actually increased the per-capita income of East Tennessee at this point, when what happens but: brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!

What is that, you ask?  At 7am, that’s the high level alarm going off on septic tank, and my daughter is getting married at 3pm.

Not here, thank God.  But this is a serious problem that can REALLY honk up your house.  So while I’m getting ready and making plans to pick up my parents at the airport, I’m trying to find a septic guy who works on weekends.

In East Tennessee, that’s going to be some bubba who still advertises in the yellow pages.  I’m more of an Internet guy, and it’s not an easy interface.  I get some feelers out and then address the tux.

You know – the one that didn’t include black socks?

So I’m over to WalMart to get those, when I get a call from dad.  Can you pick us up and take us to lunch before the wedding?  No, 73-year-olds.  Go starve.  Well, I’ve got my socks and my tux, so I’m off.

The wedding is at 3p, I get there with the parents at 2:15pm and put on the tux for the first time.  It fits by some miracle.  I’m ready just in time for the wedding planner to find me on a freak out and tell me that the family of The Tool are drinking their own alcohol, and that’s illegal.

Fucking rednecks.

But we get through the wedding, with 10 people who RSVP’d not showing up.  And, of course, me finding out that the people whom I didn’t think drank only do so when someone else is paying for it.  I thought I’d overbought the bar and it was a break-even.

To finish the blessed event, we watched the Kentucky derby and my horse came in.  I wish I’d bet $10,000 on him, because then … no, still wouldn’t have helped me.  He was a 3/5

So I go drop the parents off at their hotel so they can get a plane home at 5:30am.  That’s my dad – an idiot.  I’m kind of surprised that he survived the Days Inn (which I don’t rent on a dare) but he did.  I go home, and I get a text message from my daughter, now Mrs Tool.

“Want to go out and drink?”

What?  You don’t drink.  Well, after seeing 1/2 of her friends get plastered on daddy’s dime, yeah, now she wants to try it.  So we bar hop until 1am.  I’ve never heard so many bar tenders say, “Maybe drinking isn’t for you!” because she thinks it all tastes like show polish.

I go home (again), sleep with Beau the Wonder Dog and three cats, and get up at 6:00am to meet the only septic guy I could find, to pump out the tank.  That bought me a week, and on Tuesday I learned that it was actually a problem with an EFI outlet that they have to use now.

Now she’s on her honey moon, five days in the Caribbean paid for by yours truly.  The family-of-the-Tool gave them about $100 for expenses. They’re back on Saturday, I’m really surprised I haven’t gotten the big call for cash.

Maybe tonight.

Take care, my droogies.  Next post will actually be about a sugar baby


Some common mistakes I see Sugar Babies making

Ok, my droogies, let’s get off of the topic of the disaster which is the Little Treasure’s wedding, and focus back on the whole topic of Sugaring.

As I look through the personal ads on various media where SB’s post their stats, I see some mistakes that happen over and over, and which usually mark those ads that are up for about six days and then end in frustration.

First of all, your nick name. Don’t call yourself, “Princess,” “Goddess,” “Queen” – you likely think they’re empowering. In fact, you’re telling prospective Sugar Daddies, “I am REALLY high maintenance.”

Second, in the body of your ad, don’t say, “I deserve this lifestyle.” Now you’ve just loudly proclaimed, “I’ve got issues and, most likely, baggage from other guys who’ve wronged me, and you’re going to pay for their crimes.”

If you’re going to put up a profile pic, smile in it. Do something fun. If you’ve got nice cleavage or a firm ass or seductive legs, then let’s see them! And, seriously, what the hell is up with you girls who take pictures of yourselves behind the wheel of your car? Do you not understand that there is NO WAY to look good with a seat belt on?

Putting in your description a list of things you hate or won’t do is an exceptional turn off and, again, you’re telling the world you’re carrying a lot of baggage. And while it’s great to say you have kids, don’t say, “My kids are everything to me and always come first.” First of all, that’s implied and, second, what you’re saying now is, “I don’t have a lot of time, and I will cancel on you frequently.”

If you don’t want your daddy to think he’s going to have you over his knee with your panties around your ankles, then don’t mention 50 Shades of Gray. I know – most people who talk about it have neither seen the movie nor read the book. That doesn’t make it cool to be one of them.

Now, here’s the big one: lying about your age:

You know why most guys look for a girl SO much younger than they are? Because most women lie about their age, so in order to get someone in her 40’s, I look for someone in her 30’s.

You might think that the 10 year old picture that you’re posting of yourself is going to fool someone, but in fact, hair styles have changed a LOT in 10 years, and while I might not know WHAT is wrong, I’ll know something is wrong, and now I’m suspicious of you. Also, airbrushing or paintbrushing wrinkles around your eyes might convince YOU, it will just look like an altered picture to me.

Most women just lie and don’t change anything, if they chose to lie. Again, a 40 year old doesn’t look like a 30 year old, and the same can be said for 30 and 20. Men look at pictures. A LOT. The Internet is all about images, and we’re all about the Internet. You are going to do SO much better saying, “I’m 45 but have the energy of a 25 year old,” than saying, “I’m a 35 year old,” when you’re 45.

The other end of the scale here – if you lie about being an adult, you can get your SD into a world of hurt that he won’t be able to do anything about. If, for example, you say you’re 18 and you’re 16, and you fly out to meet an adult male, the moment you make contact he’s a felon. In most states, a guy can’t say, “She lied to me about here age,” as a defense – it’s assumed that all men ask all women for their IDs before they start dating.”

What’s more – you do this once, come to your senses, go home, and a year later tell your mom about it. He can STILL go to jail!

That’s it for today, my droogies. I’ll have a better update for you later

Love always


Some words from the father of the bride

Hello, my droogies. This isn’t really an SD post, though I know a lot of you hope to marry some day. I thought I’d share this.

As you may know, or have guessed, or have chuckled over, the Little Treasure (IE my daughter) is getting married in a couple weeks.

Originally I was going to bring the new girl to the fiesta, before she disgraced herself. You can look back in the blogs for that. It’s going to be about 40 people, mostly friends of the Little Treasure, at a local place designed for such things as weddings, with lots of places to take pictures and park and eat and get dressed and other such things as those crazy enough to get married might do.

Yours truly is not one to spend the value of a house on a wedding ceremony. I actually used to sell to Disney World back in my sales/ really heavy drinking days, and I used to see what people would spend on a fairy tale wedding. I think for the price, you could probably cultivate some actual fairies if you had the equipment already. I spoil the Little Treasure, but that just ain’t happening.

And, as you who follow me know, when she wants something, she pretty much wants it, so not having the money for things like a honeymoon, or a cake, or a reception dinner, or shoes, isn’t going to slow her up from HAVING it, so not only did I pay for the wedding but I paid for their honeymoon, which is a 5 day cruise to the Caribbean. That, by any standards, is a pretty good honeymoon, especially considering I got them a balcony suite.

So imagine my surprise when I am informed by the Little Treasure that I am invited to the Bachelor Party, making me one of four people, the other three being the groom, his dad, and my ex-wife’s 3rd husband, “Wide Load.”

Well, there’s a hell of a party, huh? If I go I’m getting a limo because, let’s face it, a DUI is NOT the way anyone wants to start the Little Treasure’s wedded life (unless I’m sure that Wide Load is driving). The idea of the party, however, sparked me on a different question.

“LT,” I asked my daughter, via text on Facebook, “is there a reception dinner being planned?”

“I think we’re all going dutch the night before,” she informed me.

Seriously, what the fuck? I already don’t particularly like this guy, are you telling me that this friendless dimwit ALSO lacks the courage to tell his parents, “Hey, shell out $200 for your only kid to have dinner with the guy who’s spending ten large on the wedding AND the honeymoon.”?

So I told her pretty much that. She’ll talk to him. That means she’ll take him by the ear in front of his parents, the idiots.

I’m just waiting to find out that he no longer wants a reception dinner, meaning that maybe they’re no longer invited to the wedding.

Hey, it isn’t like this is going to be her last wedding.

My droogies, be you male or female, yes, it IS the father’s responsibility to spend some amount of cash on getting rid of his beloved daughter, turning her over to another man to be HIS sink hole for money. This does not mean that he is standing on an island, watching the events go by. Marrying people with no money, even if you yourself have no money, may sound romantic, and I know it worked for some friends of mine, but in fact they’re all divorced now, and the reason always is that very few people want to STAY poor, and when you’ve got money, you aren’t living life like you were when Ramen was a staple in your diet.

So if this happens to you, and you find you’re leaning this heavily on ‘daddy,’ ask yourself not, “Why does dad bite my head off now whenever I come over,” but instead, “Wow – do I REALLY want to be the person who stares wide-eyed at those prices at Big Lots?”

My love, my droogies!


Are you really smart enough to be a Sugar Baby?

You know, I’ve never asked this, but maybe I should.

Hey, my droogies. I know – I’ve been ignoring you, but work has been hectic and The Little Treasure is getting married next month, and that’s it’s own whole ball of cats.

Meanwhile, I met a woman whom I thought was a nice girl. By nice, I mean the usual: young, very large breasts and a willingness to go out with yours truly. Actually, at 30, she has a body that would be perfectly acceptable on any number of adult magazines or websites, but I digress.

Big cans and a willingness to trade money for sex does not necessarily a Sugar Baby make, and this is what I quickly realized with a girl I’ll call ‘Big Guns.’

We met, and she was wearing a black dress that revealed a good amount of cleavage. Her hair is brunette, long, tied back over one shoulder, and she has big brown eyes and full lips with a kind of chocolate lipstick I hadn’t seen before.

It was a kiss-on-the-cheek greeting, but she still managed to rub my upper arm with a nipple. We sat down at a table near the bar at a restaurant I liked. She ordered wine.

“What kind would you like?” the waiter asked.

“Red,” she said.


“Um – do you have a favorite kind?”

She thought a moment. “No,” she said. “Just red.”

Well, not everyone is a connoisseur. “I think she’s probably like a Pinot,” I said. “I’ll take a ,” and I put it like that because only this bar sells that beer.

The waiter leaves, now we have some time to talk.

“So,” I said, as she sat there, very much as she would if someone were painting her, “what got you into the whole SD/SB thing?”

“Oh,” she said, “I got tired of meeting all poor guys. I don’t want to go out with the shift supervisor at Wal Mart.”

I nodded. “And what are you looking for, then?”

“Something long term.”

Ugh – get out the extraction equipment. I hate having to pull teeth.

“Something like…?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Didn’t you say you lived in Florida?”

“Yes,” I said. “I really hated Florida.”

“I could try Florida,” she said. “I think it would be nice.”

Well, ok – that’s pretty much right out of the gate. I could blame my cologne but I don’t wear any.

“Oh,” I said.

“Or Maryland,” she added. “My son likes lacrosse. My daughter would like to ride horses.”

“I have horses, my daughter rides,” I offered.

She looks right at me. “I’m looking for something serious,” she said. “Long term.”


“I got that,” I said.

The waiter brought the drinks. We both drank and it was kind of a relief not to talk to her. But you know me, my droogies. Just because the water is cold, doesn’t mean I won’t dive in again.

“So have you met a lot of guys?” I asked her. This is usually a lead in question to get her to talk about the wannabes who pass themselves off as SD’s. Every woman has a few real winners to talk about.

“No,” she said.

“Oh,” I said.

“I’m looking for something long term,” she said. “Not a lot of guys.”

“I got that,” I said.

She went to being quiet again.

And this was the WHOLE DATE, my droogies. She had the social skills of a chia plant. It was unnerving.

So it became time to end this, and I paid the bill. This is never good when you clearly didn’t get along. Sugaring isn’t dating – there’s really no, “Well, want to have dead-end sex, seeing as I don’t plan to call you again and you don’t want me to?”

“Walk you to your car?” I asked.

“It’s around the corner,” she said.

I nodded and we started walking. Fortunately it was on the way to my car. She drove a Mirage – wow. I don’t think they’ve made those for more than 10 years.

She turned around at the car and said, “When do you want to see me again?”

WHAM! What date were you on? I swear, I thought I bored the socks off of this girl. We weren’t out for 2 hours and it felt like five.

“Well, I get that you’re looking for something long term,” I said. “What sort of arrangement do you want?”

The street lights shined like little stars in her completely vacant brown eyes.

“A weekly allowance, a pay-as-you-go, being a live-in?” I prompted her.

She thought about that. She looked up at me.

“Yeah,” she said.

I kissed her, and I walked away before she could ask for money.

I know I’ve said in the past, “There are three types of SB’s” but are there four?

How do you all feel about, “Girls who might not be aware they’re doing this?”

Carry on, my droogies!


Catching up

Sorry for so long, my droogies. Your beloved SD has been working his butt off both on a project and around the great, southern plantation, and there’s been no time for women, and hence no need to blog about them.

Yanno what I need? Seriously?

I need a nice girl who just wants to be taken care of. Isn’t this the bell ringing over at least half of all SD’s heads? While there are MANY who just want to bang 20-year-olds and (a) not catch anything and (b) not go to jail for it, I think that there are as many or maybe more who actually want, if not that last love of their life, a nice person whom he can talk to, go out with, or who would make him a sandwich while he’s working, and not bitch about it, neither demand $500 for it.

Maybe I’m going to start looking for that. It’s a much harder search and might take me international, but some travel wouldn’t kill me and I HAVE been working my ass off.

In THAT vein, the Little Treasure is getting married in a couple months and you all can guess how much THAT is costing me. Her fiancé, whom I refer to in the back of my mind as ‘that idiot,’ is a college-uneducated beta-male who would actually probably do ok programming if she’d give him a couple of hours/day to do it. She doesn’t, so he doesn’t, so they had to come to me to buy them shoes when they wore theirs out.

Yeah. That wedding is money well-spent. At least it gets her off of my medical insurance.

Well, that’s all for now, my droogies. If you know anyone who fits my criterion, send her my way

Always yours,