Show Me The Money

I’m sorry I have to spell it out. It seems so vulgar, but I am sad to see so many men wasting their time pursuing me. Perfectly wonderful men, handsome, smart and employed. Listen, guys, there are lots of other women, younger, (not prettier or smarter or more talented, but younger and better dressed) — women for YOU, who would LOVE to be your woman, any time, any place and have money of their own!!!! They can actually take care of YOU! It’s all the same in the dark anyway, isn’t it?

Not knowing me, you don’t understand. I wear clothes from the Salvation Army instead of Norstrom’s, even when I’m flush, because it takes creativity and a primed hunter-gatherer instinct to find the silk and cashmere tucked behind racks of polyester. I drive an old Volvo because I like it, I like the way it drives. I traded it in for a four wheel drive v-something, an awful, awful car, and returned it a month later. I do not have expensive tastes, anymore, for those expensive goods that other’s can’t live without, like cufflinks. The idea of a pedicure or diamond necklace makes me sick to my stomach. I like my toenails ragged. I know how diamonds are mined. Snotty restaurants in Newport? Naughty jaunts to the red-light district in Bangkok? Sunday afternoons lounging around Muffie’s indoor pool laced with rum? wife swapping on St. Bart’s? Be my guest. I beg you. Let me admire you from afar– but

That isn’t what I want! I am, at the moment, sleeping on a mattress in the corner of the living room of my daughter’s condo in D.C.- which she shares with two other roommates. Happy as a clam. I just bought them a 43 pound turkey and I am cooking it in the oven, which I had to have fixed yesterday for 350 dollars and as you know, last week I spent 7,000 dollars on an operation so that my dog could walk again. On the subject of animals, I am always scraping something off the road and bringing it to the vet, usually a farm cat or a squirrel, and dropping hundreds of dollars to save it.

Today, in line at the grocery store, buying the turkey, the woman behind me didn’t have enough money for her groceries and I picked up the whole tab. My life’s work? Making people happy. Making people laugh. Making kids feel good about themselves. Making sick people feel some hope. What do I get paid for this? NOTHING. ZIP!! Okay? Until I get a Guggenheim fellowship I need a man with money and will not make any man happy unless he makes me happy and I cannot be happy until I make lots of other people happy on a daily basis. That is why I am on the planet. Do you understand? I hope so.

Let me to clear about something. If you happen to be very rich but I don’t like you, you can forget it. If you aren’t compassionate and kind and generous and sensitive, or if you kill living things with a gun for the sport of it, I don’t care if you’re Midas. If you talk down to people, or feel superior to other’s because of your money, which you probably earned the easy way, by inheriting it, If you waste your money on trips to Canne, cars that cost more than 10,000 dollars, a Rolodex, a house with more than two bathroom, hair gel, porno movies, Blackberries, Blue Balls, summer, winter, spring and autumn homes all over the god-damned world, you are a loser whether you know it or not. If you at some point screwed somebody over with a lousy mortgage deal or Florida swamp land, you are also out of the running. NOW, how much money is enough? Let’s talk about that, because it’s all relative, to a point. Let’s take this past week, for example, in my life. Saving the dog, 7,000 dollars. Turkey for person in line at grocery store, 14.95. Heating bill at Vermont house when indigent friend needed a place to sleep, 340 dollars, Gift for neighbor who is going through a divorce, 65.00 dollars, Electric blankets for Salvation Army homeless shelter, 300 dollars. Money I earned this week: comic installation performances $0. CD sales $0. Writing novel $0. Cleaning daughter’s house and cooking for roommates $0. Singing in church. $0. — Okay, this is one week. I spent over 8,000 dollars and I made $0 dollars. Do you see that this is not working?

NOW, I have a boyfriend who doesnt work ( is he a boyfriend if we don’t have sex?) and he borrowed $400 dollars because he needed it. His sister just lost her dog to old age, and I gave 50 dollars to Petfinders.com in her doggies name. and while I was at it, I gave $100 to her favorite animal shelter. I then went on the web and researched Puppy Mills and gave $300 to an organization that busts them. Where do I get this money? This money was inherited. I did not earn it, except that I did care for my mother for four years before she died. Who gives a shit? No one should be paid for that. But listen, we are getting off the subject.

Let’s put it this way: If you were a beautiful woman, I mean, gorgeous actually, with trememdous wit, talent, a kind heart, funny, sweet, insane, a true force of nature, and you had probably twenty five years left on the planet to carry out your work, would you spend it with a man who made, say, 50,000 a year? I don’t think so. Why bother? What good would it do him? He would be forever miserable, knowing that he was disappointing me. Knowing that because I loved him and spent time making him happy, many many hundreds of people in the world were going without? Going without– ME! Maybe you STILL dont get it. Let’s approach this from another angle.

Let’s say you’re a very “rich” man. You have a wife. The wife is beautiful, but no more beautiful than I am, she couldn’t be — but the money you have to give her for her bullshit needs is extraordinary. Breast implants, designer boots, lunch with the girls at Lutece, a horse. What does that give you besides a mediocre blow job? Whereas, you could be with me instead. Every other man would be envious of you for finding such an extraordinarily beautiful woman with a soul, with humor, with intelligence, with a sturdy constituency and healthy Vermont background. They would give you extra points for your ability to refrain yourself from choking me to death.

No matter you’re they’re with, and I kid you not, that woman’s ass cannot compare with mine, even if she HAS tucked and stapled and pumped up every other part of her body, let alone her mouth– you can’t pump up your brain or your heart. I am getting carried away here, and truthfully, if you do not understand what I am talking about by now, you never will get it, period, and even my loser boyfriend gets it and loves me enough to wish me good luck in my search for the wind beneath my wings, or should I say, the money beneath my mattress or more specifically, Equity.

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