well, i always thought i'd marry rich.  no, i didn't just hope and dream.  i thought it.  i assumed it.  my family assumed it.  as if it'd been written in the stars that i, kk, was to marry an old geezer with one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel, strategically placed by yours truley.  of course, this old man would have gobbs and gobbs of money.  what would be the use of a woman with such class, humour, and looks such as i marrying a putz, unless said man was fucking loaded?  lookit, i'm not into this whole 'soul mate' bullshit.  i'm far too realistic and (what's the word i'm looking for here?) selfish to not marry someone based solely on their financial status.  looks and age be damned, i'm in it for money baby!  and at least i'm honest.

well, i fucked up about 5 years ago.  i was in a seven year relationship, that was going absoluetly nowhere very slowly, so after fighting every day nonstop, we decided to call it quits.  i was in school at that time, and i don't mean high school (please feel free to flatter me though and assume i'm that young.  compliments and tips will get you EVERYWHERE with me, and i do mean EVERYWHERE!).  after an extremly painless break-up, where he gave me pretty much everything i wanted, and what he didn't give me, i hid until he loaded up his u-haul (that son of a bitch!), i moved in with a 'friend.'  now, i write 'friend' because every opportunity i get to make fun of this girl i do.  she was not a friend.  she was merely a class mate who thought i had cool shoes and had a spare room.  she had the worst habits of anyone i've ever met, my sister asside, and when she ate saltines, they'd get stuck in her mustache.  see, i really do take every shot i can!  i told you i'm a bitch! 

so, i moved in with this chick, and her bofriend was always hanging around, rent free.  no problem with me, at least he was cool to talk to.  better than talking to her anyway.  plus, he liked wearing makeup, something she didn't like, so i bonded with him.  he mentioned one night that he had a friend with a bike, and in my drunked tone i huskily said, 'call him now!'  tristan was on the phone and i said, ' you got a bike? come on over and give me a ride.'  and so it began.  with a bottle of vodka, a cell phone, a bike and a closet makeup wearing boy.  problem was, he was engaged.  now, this sort of thing might be frowned upon, but i only do things that are frowned upon, you got it?  yeah, i'm that kind of girl.  besides, he didn't like her anyway.  she cramped his style.  he swung by, gave me a ride, drank a shit ton of vodka, ate about a pound of chocolate and after about an hour of me pleading for him not to drive in his state, still didn't get what i was asking, so he headed home.  what a putz!  guess i really am into airheads, eh?  well, the next bottle of vodka and the second encounter was all it took for him to understand my intentions.  i asked him to marry me and we've been together every since.   april first, 2005.  no joke.

now, to the part of this fairy tale that makes absolutely no sense.  first of all, he had no job when we first got together.  of course, since then, i've whipped him into shape and he's managed to hold down decent employement for quite a while.  now, we're not anywhere near being rich and i've got divorce papers on file just in case bill gates falls from the sky and asks me to marry him.  but, his current position keeps me in a somewhat reasonable standard of living, so it'll suffice.  he's also very young compared to my regular standard of men.  i like them old, as mentioned earlier.  the older, the better, since i don't have to worry about dealing with them for any longer than possible.  now this one, i know he'll out live me.  and do you have any idea how much of a burden that is?    every day i wake up thinking, 'for the rest of my life!'  i realize with my current lifestyle,  which consists of smoking (i know, i fucking know i'm going to be quitting soon so get off my ass, ok???!!!), eating nothing but bread crumbs and coffee, exercise that consists of getting off the couch to make myself some more coffee and getting in the car to go to work or start a nintendo game for my son, and drinking ridiculous amounts of booze as often as possible, i'm stuck with him until i die, which will probably be in about 5 to 7 years, according to my latest health risk assesment.    and i don't mind the fact that i'm going to be with the same person for the rest of my life.  i don't mind the fact that it's him.  i don't even mind the fact that he's not rich (ok, i take that back, i do mind the fact he's not rich!  goddamnit!  why can't he be rich!  i've been planning to marry a rich old dude since i was 4 years old and i marry a poor teenager on a whim?  how did i manage that?  fucking vodka!)

so lately, i've been reviewing my options.  i've come to realize there aren't any rich guys at work.  let alone any guys there i'd sleep with.  go figure.  and the one i've got's pretty damn good to me, even if he's a moody son of a bitch.  i can't believe he can put up with my bullshit tyraids.  like when he only uses 3 scoops of coffee and he knows (oh!  he knows!!!)  i need precisely 4 scoops of coffee in that fucking machine or i can't function properly.  it's enough to send me into a fit for 3 hours, throwing can openers at his head, and spewing only the most vile words in his general direction.  somehow, he manages to smile.  he doesn't remake the coffee though, because he's not rich and won't waste the coffee.  that cheap bastard!  and as metioned in the title of this little love story, even though he's still a 'baby' the sex is pretty damn good.  i really didn't know what good boom boom was until him.  shit, i didn't know what good sex was until just recently actually.  i was withholding even good sex from him because he's not rich.  see, i can hold a grudge like no one else! 

so, i guess i'm stuck with him for a while.  until bill gates come to indiana for a visit.  or jack white.  or george clooney.  or chuck norris (hey, chuck norris is pretty fucking rad!).  or chevy chase.  i've got a thing for chevy chase.  or portia derossi.  i'll even settle for ellen.  that bitch is loaded!  not oprah though.  not for all the money in the world!  there can only be one self centered asshole in this relationship, and that's gotta be me!