A common phrase in hip hop culture, “secure the bag” according to google is an expression used to describe the act of taking/obtaining advantage of the situation and keep something of value. There are many ways to do this and the term is looser than ever in 2019. You can of course rely on the most accountable source and ally, yourself. This is the one I feel is the least disappointing and if there is failure you only have one person to blame. You need a lot of drive, discipline and motivation. Then there is the obvious choice, a man. This is a hit or miss. If you hit, you win, if you miss you can get suicidal, depending on the details. Then there’s the best way, a mix of both.

I have been getting some shit about my blog lately, as some people are confused how much of this is a fabrication. I would say ninety percent of this is true in regards to the opinions and ideas. These are my thoughts and ideals that I have adapted through my own experiences. It has been trial and error. And while I will always have a gold digger mentality, I will always work and bring my own meal to the table. Fuck, I am the table. Disclaimer, treating me like shit does not justified with a check, so anyone I mess with needs morals, manners and class. I just feel after being shit on for years and holding my own while being broke, I would like to share the building of my empire, not go at it alone.

I think there are a lot of bags. Chanel, Hermes. Kidding. I think that there are many ways your partner can be helpful to you. I saw a therapist once who told me relationships should be fifty percent romance and fifty percent financial. That whomever you spend your time with should be making your life better in ways you cannot. Unfortunately in 2019, fertility rates are at their lowest, divorce is at its highest and the fairytale romance is a forgotten memory. Relationships are now situationships and we juggle the rotation of fuckboys (and girls) trying to circle back. Love is only real on instagram and the older I get the worse I think it is. The only two guarantees in life are death and change. What is the solution? Adapt or die.

I have done the math and I think these are the three most important types of bags. Cash, gifts and mentorship. Since we talkin rotations, we can find this in one person, a spread across a few. Cash is king so this is the main objective. Spend it, save it, you’re in control. Probably someone you like the least in your line up, as any man who needs to pay you probably isn’t poppin. Confidence is key and everyone knows that, but I love me some dead presidents. Just make sure you’re ready for the controlling mindfuck games. Buckle up bitch. Gifts are nice because this is where the romance happens. Flowers, lil oyster dinner, lil YSL. This keeps the dream alive people. This makes me think there is actually hope. You probably like this one the most, especially if the gifts are thoughtful. Just remember you can’t pay your rent with Gucci, so either sell your shit or make sure you have cash daddy to assist. Beware of feelings, they come strong in this one. Keep your eye on the prize. You need someone to guide you in business. Maybe ya’ll hook up, maybe not. Someone who respects your body and your brain. This is why you have to have something goin for yourself, or you just look like a do nothing bitch. I would say this is someone who will be around forever, as they want to see you thrive on your own. Bounce ideas, build a brand, make some merch. Duh, where did you think this logo came from?

For purposes of not giving my mom a stroke, I have left out my responsibilities, but allow me to keep it real: I am thirty years old, single, and beautiful. I am always dating. There are many prospects and I live in a transient metropolitan city in the United States. I have jobs, several. I have “some college.” I own businesses – plural. I am 5′ 10 with fake tits, a 25 inch waist, long legs, minimal to no cellulite, real hair, almost 50k followers, an extensive vocabulary, ballerina flexibility, good dental work a Mercedes and rent I pay for. WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU EXPECT?