In Search of a Sugar Daddy

Listen, I’m a simple girl with simple needs.  As long as I can scour my local Salvation Army for ill-fitting ethnic print dresses and eat a burrito at least once a week, I am pretty much satisfied.  But lately, times have gotten tough.  This girl is horribly underemployed, and my– excuse me while I throw up in the wastebasket in the cubicle at my temp job, barf, sorry– my new budget has cut into my wacky muumuu and Mexican food-indulgent lifestyle.  I’m not gonna lie– it’s been some dark days as of late, but I’m confident that my situation will turn around soon enough.  I just need to find a sugar daddy.

Living off of the riches of another was not always something that I planned to do.  I mean, come on, I have a Bachelor’s degree in English and a sizeable statement jewelry collection– what screams “all-business” more than a masterfully-crafted thesis paper about Bend It Like Beckham, and a wristful of jangling Bakelite bangles?  But as the hard-hitting reality that I could eventually, seriously become a thirtysomething with six roommates, a windowless bedroom, and pepper spray dangling from my keychain set in, I started to brainstorm about how I could possibly obtain a more secure lifestyle.  At first, finding a sugar daddy started out as a joke:

Me to my ex-boss: I’m broke!  Maybe I need a sugar daddy, hahaha!
My ex-boss: Please, your look doesn’t attract money.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t kidding.  “Okay, scratch that one,” I thought.  “I ain’t givin’ up my muu’s for nothin’.”  I continued to think that it would be impossible for me to lock down a benefactor until last week, when I was– no joke– shamelessly begging for free food at my beloved neighborhood taco truck.  I told my friend/covert free burrito supplier about my lack-of-work situation, and he replied, “Well, you’ll just have to find a rich man.”

“But my look doesn’t attract money!!” I squealed, tugging at the chunky healing crystal around my neck with one hand, and picking at my jawline stress acne with the other.

“Aw, I don’t agree with that,” said the Covert Free Burrito Supplier.

He didn’t agree with that.  A scruffy food service worker in a holey tie dye t-shirt and faded African print elastic waist shorts thought that I looked like a classy, wealth-attracting lady!  My faith was renewed in my ability to class-climb through leaching off of another.  Since then, I’ve been pondering the exact variety of sugar daddy that I’d like to go after.  No octogenarians– I may have daddy issues, but I certainly don’t have grandpa issues.  Wall Street types– while the most obvious daddies to go after– are out, too.  I don’t like doing the obvious for anything (I’m unique!), and they tend to make my head feel like a dying star.  I think I’d be better off with a rich creative type who finds my penchant for roomy dresses charming, as opposed to freakish.  Or a celeb, because I’ve always narcissistically thought that I have “star power” (or, at least, “desperate entourage power”).  These are currently the Dream Sugars who I plan on pursuing:

Tom Hanks:  Tom Hanks is this world’s perfect man.  Each day I love him a little bit more in that way you love your constantly-cheerful suburban next door neighbor who waves at you from his driveway every morning while wearing a bathrobe, sipping a cup of Folgers, and picking up the New York Times off of the curb.  He’s just comforting.  I constantly find myself thinking, “Dear jeezus, they just don’t make ‘em like Hanx anymore.”  I’m worried about breaking up his marriage with Rita Wilson, because they just seem “so in love” or whatever, but I’m also confident that he won’t be able to turn down my advances once I slap on a fake mermaid tail and Daryl Hannah it up a la Splash.

Mark Ruffalo: He’s my favorite mumbler and celebcrush, and has the most gorgeous, pettable, poofy locks that I have ever laid eyes upon.  My friend and I once followed Mark’s Volvo to a parking garage, and lurked outside of it until he emerged holding hands with his wife and young daughter (they definitely noticed, and they were definitely freaked out).  He was carrying a dorky backpack!  Plus, Volvo.  Major dork swoon!  Mark, you’ll never read this, but I’m just puttin’ it out there: I know that I’m the one who needs money, but I would pay my last dollar just to touch those unruly locks of yours any day.  <3

Mindy Kaling:  We could go shopping and talk about comedy and get matching Minx manicures, which means that I’d pretty much be happier spending my life with Mindy than any man, ever.

If I can’t score any of these three, I’m gonna try to get Elton John and David Furnish to adopt me.  With my newfound confidence in my sugar daddy-luring capabilities, I’ll be off unemployment and have a walk-in closet full of loud-ass muumuus in no time!  Look out world, here I come!  Here I come in a burrito-print, Swarovski-encrusted muumuu!  Supporting oneself is wildly overrated.

But what if one day I get sick of eating at Outback Steakhouse with Tom Hanks?  What if Mark Ruffalo goes bald and loses his allure?  What if Mindy Kaling and I end up obsessing over the same pair of hot pink platform sandals that look way better on me, but I have to let her buy them for herself since she’s the one financing me?  On second thought, being someone’s bitch kinda sucks sometimes.  I don’t wanna do this!  Sigh, guess it’s back to an unglamorous life of Top Ramen and panhandling for taco snacks, at least for now.  If anyone hears of any job openings, help a sack dress-wearing sister out.

Photo credit: Candy Favorites