Some people have a Sugar Daddy. Some, if they’re slightly less blessed, end up with a Splenda Daddy — sweet, but on a budget. Me? I found myself a Dollar Tree Daddy.
Not by choice, not by arrangement, not by romance — but by the strange cosmic lottery of friendship. And despite the name, despite the frugality, despite the joys and challenges that followed… I really did feel lucky to have him.
His name — at least the one I gave him — is Rhonda Rae. He’s 82, almost 83, and for nearly four years he’s been the first real friend I made when I moved to Palm Springs. We talked daily. Multiple times a day, really. I helped him through ER visits, senior moments, loneliness, and life. We laughed. We cried. We drank. We laughed some more. We argued. I stripped for him and his friend on his 80th bday. We kept each other company. And he really did make me laugh.
And now? We’re on the rocks.
Not a breakup — because we were never partners — but the ache sure feels similar. It’s a divorce of a different nature. And my feelings are real, raw, and emotionally I’ve been challenged.
Here’s where it gets messy.When family drama interferes with or is even jealous of a friendship. Maybe none of that is true and they really thought I was after a Dollar Tree Daddy’s money? If that’s the case… he never told me he had over a million dollars for about 2 years. I thought I was being kind to an old senior gay man and widow who was living off Social Security. That wasn’t the case and I didn’t even know it.
Instead of the normal, “Thank you for being kind to my Dad.” I got a bunch of “Fuck YOU!” “Glad you lost your election.” And “You’re a GOLD Digger!” Which is literally laughable. If I was there for money, I sure wouldn’t have stuck around this long.
His family doesn’t like me — and that’s putting it politely. (Wait…he does have one daughter who was kind to me, but the others not so much.) I’ve been called every in the book by them, and even threatened to be beaten up by his son for helping him find cheaper or more affordable medical insurance that better suited his current senior needs. (Literally- that’s what happened.)
The only words not uttered to me is, “Thank you.” Their insults roll off me, because they don’t matter to me. But what does matter is that I’ve cared for this little old man more consistently than some of them ever have.
Yet somehow, I became the punching bag for their resentment, their trauma, their assumptions. It all started when I asked to be spoken to politely. And that’s where the cracks in the friendship started forming.
What Makes a Dollar Tree Daddy? Well bitches, I thought you’d never ask.
Let me paint the picture:
A Dollar Tree Daddy is someone who celebrates saving pennies.
His house is a shrine to the Dollar Tree lifestyle:
- One‑ply sandpaper-grade toilet paper
- Hard, sandpaper‑grade tissues
- Trash bags that rip if you look at them wrong
- Off‑brand snacks that taste like sadness even before you put them in your mouth
He’s not poor. He just… chooses to live like he is.
And honestly? I never cared about that. THAT’S NOT WHO THE FUCK I AM.
What I did care about was being treated with basic respect and gratitude.
Which brings us to the potato chip incident — the day I realized something had shifted to a place I wasn’t sure was fixable.
Yes, there was an actual epiphany due to a Potato Chip. One night, after working all day and then going to the gym, he asked if I’d come to help him. Just like so many days before, he was having a senior moment with his computer, and I was supposed to drop everything and run to his aide (for free). I didn’t mind though, I loved him and he was my best friend here.
But on this night, I was literally a chunky brown guy starving because I’d only consumed about 8-9 almonds that whole day. He couldn’t log into his bank. I helped him fix his computer, login and resetting of passwords. It turned into a longer job than anticipated. My tummy was talking so loudly; this is when the potato chips happened. I asked if I could open a new bag of chips. You’d think I asked to borrow his life savings.
He snapped. He scowled. He guarded that off‑brand Dollar Store bag of chips like it contained the Hope Diamond. It wasn’t just the scowl of anger; it was that he looked at me with hate in his eyes as he said no.
And all I could think was:
“I am helping you for free you cheap son of a bitch… and you’re angry over Dollar Store chips?”
That moment stuck with me. Not because of the chips — but because it showed how differently we valued the friendship. I said, “I can’t believe you’d be so selfish to me of all people about Dollar Store chips. I would really think you’d say, ‘Thank you so much for helping me today, eat that whole bag of chips if you want.’ But you don’t. That’s how you treat me all the time now. You are so selfish and a stingy little old man with everything towards me and I think its gross. And if you want me to fix this, I’m opening these chips or I’m leaving to go get something to eat and you can figure it out yourself.” He growled something and I opened the bag.
So not like a Mexican house. I was raised to not be stingy with food and to treat houseguests with kindness, a glass of water and chips if I had them and they wanted to stop their hunger pains. I was taught to feed hungry friends if they needed to be. But I was not dealing with a Mexican home, it’s the home of a greedy old white man, who I realize now – may have cherished a little too much.
Something stayed with me from that day. The look of hatred from his little old man face was seared into my core. It hurt my being.
Then there’s assistant drama that broke the camel’s back. The assistant that I helped him find. An assistant — the one who lied, stirred the pot, and sent pages-long hostile messages when I simply asked him not to share things about me.
He threatened me. He threatened my business and my ability to make money, which challenged everything I’ve worked so hard for. It threatened the roof over my very curly haired head. I cut him off.
And I expected my friend — the friend I take to the ER, the friend I help with daily life — to have my back. But he rehired the man.
Not because he trusted him. Not because he liked him. But because… well…Maybe because Dollar Tree Daddy decisions are often made on discount logic? Or even with a twinge of racism. I’m not sure. And when someone, like your closest friend in the city, doesn’t care about your safety the way you care about theirs, the friendship shifts into something unrecognizable.
Letting Go (Before a Snake Bites You)
So here I am heartbroken, realizing I’ve been fighting way too hard to keep a friendship that doesn’t protect me back. A friendship that completely has different financial abilities, yet wants me to foot the bill. In my regular job I can make up to $150 an hour. But I’ve given my time freely to this little old man, whom I feel now has chosen something other than our friendship.
I wonder, does his family want the responsibility of caring for him? Great. They can have it. Or are they just waiting for him to die? And I give him too much to live for? Either way, his decisions, not theirs, have forced my hand in this friendship. But their comments sure do make it easier to leave it. But it’s his actions that have finalized my decision.
I realize I happily poured myself into this friendship. We’ve shown up for each other at some important moments in our lives since I arrived here in the desert. The friendship, along with his aging and physical limitations have monopolized a lot of my time, but I was fine with it (then). It was very nice while it lasted and I loved it and I love him. He will always have a special place in my heart.
Which I sometimes find myself baffled at that thought, because he’s 82- almost 83 years old. But love will grow in the strangest of places if given the opportunity. I sure do love that little old man- but there are limits to that love. Especially if you are a Dollar Tree Daddy, the cheapest son of bitch out there, and don’t care about my safety.
I moved to Palm Springs a lot scared and alone. I was trying to escape those crazy red hat people in Utah because it got weird. I didn’t know anyone here and had never visited before. And how could I? I’m a working-class person who has always just gotten by. But in my move, I was hungry for someone to trust. I found someone who gave me company, laughter, and something close to family. I will always love that part of our story.
He was the first person I met out here, the first friend I had out here. But that doesn’t mean I’m chained to him or obligated to care for him moving forward. I was willing to help out then, but I am no longer willing to do so now.
Reflecting, I was surprised at how much fun we had together and how much that little ol’ bitch can draaaaank! Like, a to the lot. He’s probably the person that I went with for the first time to many places here in the desert (at least the “affordable” ones).
But I won’t stay where I’m undervalued. I won’t stay where my safety is negotiable. Or my future ability to support myself could be compromised. I won’t stay in a friendship where every boundary gets tested or dismissed. Or that I’m dismissed like the help, cause I’m not the help bitches. Don’t mistake my helpfulness for being the help.
So, I’m turning a page, a new chapter: In Search of Better Daddies (Not the Dollar Tree Kind). I’m not looking for a Sugar Daddy.
(Not ruling it out, though — let’s be real.)
But I am looking for the kind of friendship that feels safe, reciprocal, and joyful. One where we can say dirty nasty perverted shit to each other and get it. The kind where chips aren’t a battlefield. The kind where loyalty isn’t conditional. The kind where kindness and love goes both ways and we aren’t cheap about it.
Palm Springs is full of people — good people — and I’m finally ready to live like someone my own age again… or at least my Botox age. (Instead of living the life of a 82 year old- bye to the Early Bird Specials. *They do have some good Early Bird specials here in the desert*)
In Closing
To Rhonda Rae:
Thank you for the good memories. Thank you for being my first best friend here. Thank you for making me feel safe to this point. But your family can handle things now. I will cherish our time together and I love you. (PS – I will still honor your wishes to spread your ashes where you want when the time comes.)
To Palm Springs:
God bless all our little gay hearts and holes. I’m ready for new adventures, new friendships, and yes…
maybe even a Daddy who doesn’t shop exclusively at Dollar Tree.
Choices,
Saddened but Not Defeated Homo
PS Can you believe Elon Musk committed voter fraud here in the USA? OMG, he’s the immigrant we Americans have to worry about. (Aka: The Epstein Class aka billionaires.)
PSS I know the world is not fair for us Latinos, especially now. Even Ru Paul’s Drag Race appears to be one of those unfair places for us Latinos. Now I realize its not called, “Fair’s Fair Drag Race” or “The Most Talented Queen -Drag Race”, it’s called, “Ru Paul’s Drag Race”. What that bitch thinks is the only thing that matters. It always seems that Latinos may come second to a not as talented queen, like Kenya Pleaser or Ginger Minj. (not saying they are not talented just saying not as talented.) These Latina queens deserved to win too…. But always come second to a black mediocre queen or Ginger Minj. Mia Starr should have won that lip sync, because she actually knew the words. But I’m not Ruples… but I am entitled to my own opinion. And I do looooove me some Ruples.
PSSS What the fuck is happening in the USA? Is this fixable? Is congress going to save their own country? Or have they sold their souls to the devil? “But the stock market….”
PSSSS I also realize I may owe some of you an apology. Sometimes I may come across with Christian heavy content. I mean no harm by it and don’t mean to offend you. I know so many of us(a) have been Bible bashed in so many ways, and even to death. I don’t mean to retraumatize anyone. Intent matters. What I do mean to do is show the opposition (fake pedo supporting Christians) that I don’t’ need their fucking permission to have a relationship with God. I value your ability to decide for yourself… all on your own. I shove nothing down your throat that you don’t want to be there.
PSX5 What else does a Dollar Tree Daddy do? Hmmm…. well his generosity has included old mail…. and expired/rotten food from his fridge. LOL I used to get so upset with him for giving me his garbage. And he expected me to be thankful for it!!! Silly old man I’m going to miss you.
PSX6 Prayers to PS’s own Barry Manilow. May you be surrounded by love and support. May the healing be abundant and complete. – From a article.
Barry Manilow is taking more shows off his schedule amid a battle with lung cancer.
The 82-year-old singer took to Instagram on Friday to announce that he would postpone a slate of concerts at his doctor’s recommendation. Manilow said that all shows between Feb. 27 and March 17 were off the books after a “very depressing” visit with his surgeon.
“I told him that I have been using the treadmill three times a day (I have) but that I still couldn’t sing more than three songs in a row before I had to stop,” the singer wrote. “I was sure that I would be able to do the arena shows in a few weeks.”
