Sun Stories: Kita – Chapter 11 – The Day Before Tomorrow – Part II

This baby doesn’t know what real darkness is. It has nothing to do with pigment, melanin or skin color. But I do.

“Anyway….No worries. Happy to help. What are we doing today?

“I want to do a spray and a UV session today! What do most people do?”

“Oh, the double dip today! I won’t recognize you tomorrow!”

“I’ll be dark! I wanna be dark!”

This baby doesn’t know what real darkness is. It has nothing to do with pigment, melanin or skin color. But I do.

Customers are coming and going and it’s getting busier. I just love that’s she’s hanging close to me at the counter. I go and clean beds on the in between, and I love walking back up to the front and she’s just there chatting with clients. They love her and compliment her on her gorgeous tan. She’s loving it and saying she’s pale.

Oh, the irony.

Clients ask about what lotion they should buy and she pipes up and recommends the Tahitian Bronze, because I let her try it one day. It’s the most expensive lotion in the house and she’s selling it to these pale ghosts.

“Yea, I used it and it got me really dark.”

These sheep are looking at this really pretty petite Asian girl with skin like delicious caramel and will do whatever the fuck she says. Kita is a natural and I make a mental note about this for the future.

I tell her normally that women go into the spray tanner and then follow it up with a stand up session to give them a little more and bake on the spray solution.

Kita has made it clear to me that she doesn’t like the stand up units because they have no face tanners. (600 watts of UV ‘A’ rays to brown the face and not burn it because the face is harder to tan than the rest of the body.)

We finally settle on Kita going to Room 2 for a lay down UV first and then to the spray tanning booth for a clear coat level 3. She’s afraid she’ll get too dark with the level 3 so at the last-minute she changes it to the level 2. (Probably a good decision but either way I’m sure she’ll look amazing)

“Can I get a robe?”

I love this. She’s going to UV tan in her favorite bed, number 2 and then wrap herself in one of our little blue robes and walk back to number 8 and jump into the Versaspa spray unit. Just the idea of lovely Kita standing before me in nothing but a little robe and completely naked underneath brings my blood to a boil. But I must refrain from any thoughts or feelings. I’m a professional here. I have three great yelp reviews using my name, and I have to keep my composure around clients even if I have a crush on them.

I’ll be fine.

I send her into room 2 and off she goes. I go about taking care of clients, cleaning beds and doing laundry.

In a little bit she comes out in her little robe. It has no belt on it so she clutches it to her lithe body as she shamelessly approaches me. She was all covered up when she arrived tonight but now I can see her shapely, tan legs. The experience is maddening because of the ironic circumstances. My mind flashes to her wrapped in that robe emerging from my bathroom and joining me for a night of passion in my bedroom.

But only for a second.

“I forget what I’m supposed to do in the spray booth, can you give me a refresher, Charles?”

“Of course. Let’s go to room eight.”

Here is this little doll that I absolutely adore and has gone from top five to my number one standing in front of me in a tiny robe. I tell her where to put the repelling lotion and run through the poses she must do while in the booth to get the best spray tan. I remind her about the hair net she has to wear and send her in.

“Do I need to call out to you Charles when I’m ready?”

My mind goes straight to the gutter.

“No. A green light will come on in the unit and when you’re ready you simply press it and then off you go. The lady’s voice will guide you through the four-minute process. Then all you have to do is stay dry for the next six hours and when you wake up tomorrow you’ll be Malibu Barbie.

“Okay! Thank you!”

“No worries, Kita. Just follow her directions and you’ll be fine!”

I walk back towards the front of the salon as she closes the door. I think of how spectacular she must look as she stands naked in that unit as the spray strikes her glistening fit body. I’m envious of the Versaspa in that moment that it gets to see the very thing I will never see. The heater in the machine will glow red and she will submit to the commands of the voice as she turns to display her nude vessel to the spray that will hopefully make her look the way she believes she should.

I think she’s perfect the ways he is, but she loves to tan, and this is a tanning salon. and I would never have met her if I wasn’t here.

I used to always complain early on in my dating journey on this blog that ‘the wallet never came out’ with all of these middle-aged women I tried dating in the beginning. But if this date happens tomorrow I will gladly shell out whatever’s necessary to feed this little flower and make the night special.

Because her youth, beauty, and sweetness are a gift to me. Just the fact that she hangs at the counter like a pup and listens intently to me to learn about life is satisfactory payment to me. The very notion that this 21-year-old girl will meet me for dinner at a nice restaurant is enough for me. I may even try to do a picture but that is a stretch. Her showing up and just being Kita is a win for my ego.

I thought about her. Phicklephilly loved her from afar and then ran her down and got her to hang out and confess to me her life, and now to go out with me on a date is spectacular. Just for the fact that I can dream something and bring it to fruition at my age.

I know it’s insane but if she said, I’m hung up on JR and I’m dating Steve but if you give me X amount I’ll be your sugarbaby… I would possibly buckle and take some money from my brokerage account and split her like a ripe melon.

But please…. settle down. Not happening. She trusts me. I’m honored by the fact that she trusts me enough to have dinner with me.  My black wings her neatly folded away and iI will be the gentleman I truly am.

 

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Murder Mystery Weekend – Chapter 19

https://lapetitemort17.wordpress.com/?p=294

 

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Tales of Rock – Esther Wong

Esther Wong (August 13, 1917 – August 14, 2005) was a Chinese-American restaurant owner and music promoter, called the “Godmother of Punk” in Los Angeles, California.

She was born in Shanghai, China, and emigrated to the U.S. in 1949.

After fierce initial resistance, she became a punk rock and new wave music promoter. She got started in the early 1970s as the owner of Madame Wong’s, a Los Angeles Chinatown restaurant with a floorshow—originally at 949 Sun Mun Way, located in the original 1938 Rice Bowl restaurant. Polynesian dance acts weren’t attracting customers, yet when Paul Greenstein, a Los Angeles “bum vivant,” first approached her husband George about booking bands, she declined. Greenstein’s persistence, and the fact that he had already given the nearby “Atomic Cafe” a new lease on life (cross-pollination between owners’ children worked the magic), caused her to agree to a trial run in Fall of 1978. Initially, under Greenstein, a showcase for unsigned, unbookable punk-bands, Madame Wong’s was one of few places such bands could perform. With the exit of Greenstein, Madame Wong’s morphed into a power-pop palace with bookings more influenced by a now-interested Wong. Notable bands that she showcased included a “who’s who” of rock music, including The Knack, The Police, The Motels, Fishbone, The Go-Go’s, X, The Alley Cats, The Bangs, Oingo Boingo, Naughty Sweeties, Los Illegals, Candy, Guns N’ Roses, Black Flag, No Mercy, Beowülf, Excel, Daniel Amos, Fear, Bad Actor, Red Hot Chili Peppers, The Twisters, and The Ramones. Eventually this led to her nickname, the “Godmother of Punk.”

She closed the original “Madame Wong’s” after a fire in 1985[1] and “Madame Wong’s West”, 2900 Wilshire,[2] in Santa Monica, California in 1991.

The original “Madame Wong’s” unofficially reopened for a brief period in 2009/2010, when Ben Kramer, Stuart Friedel, and Rob Cudd, who were living in an apartment that now occupies the premises, hosted concerts in their living room, using the name Madame Wong’s in homage to the original venue. Acts that year included Devendra Banhart, Vampire Weekend’s secret 2009 Halloween show, The Answering Machine,[3] Wavves, Smith Westerns, Jounce, Pearl Harbor and the Explosions, Backbiter, Salvador Santana, The Growlers, Harlem, and others.[4]

Esther Wong died from emphysema and lung cancer on August 14, 2005 in Los Angeles, and was survived by her second husband, Harry Wong, two children, Frank Wong and Melinda Braun, six grandchildren, and four great-grandchildren.[5]

 

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California Dreamin’ – 1982 to 1984 – Chapter 14 – Santa Monica, CA. – Kesslerville

We found a place in Santa Monica that was up at 23rd and Cloverfield.  There was a guy named Kessler that owned every house on this banged up old dead end street. All the houses were pretty run down so I guess you could call Kessler a Slum Lord.

Our rent back then was $40 a week. That’s cheap as hell even by 1982 prices for apartments.

It was perfect. We lived in a small one bedroom apartment on the second floor. (Over the garage) Kessler was a fat slob that had a shitty van with a dashboard clogged with trash and snakc wrappers.

His house was next door to us where he lived with his wife, and his hot blonde daughter who looked and dressed like Ellie May from the Beverly Hillbillies. (Yea…I wanted her)  He also had a son that seemed like a half-wit that lived in a trailer out back. If you looked out our bedroom window you could see the entrance and roof of the trailer. (Did this inbred have to live in the trailer o he wouldn’t diddle his sister?)

Across the hallway from us lived this old guy named Mike Lamia. He was in his forties and smoked tons of weed and delivered pizza’s for a living. He was divorced and had a couple of kids somewhere. We assumed they lived with their mom. He also said he owned a piece of land out in the desert. It sounded like he got ripped off or it didn’t exist because he said he could see his land, but couldn’t get to it. So it was either on the side of a cliff or all in his drug addled mind.

He would get high all day long and watch his little black and white TV and play the bongos. When he found out we were musicians he was always pitching us songs and we were like, yea that’s great but, fuck no.

The best thing we liked about Mike was he would always share his weed with us. The other thing we liked about Mike was the fact that he ALWAYS had pizza in his fridge. He never cared if we came into his house and grabbed some slices, heated them up and ate them. His door was always open and so was ours. It was kind of cool living next door to a burned out old hippie that had endless supplies of pizza and weed.

Frank and I both worked at restaurants so we always got fed there everyday and there was always pizza so we never went grocery shopping. It was a good setup for a couple of young musicians.

Our apartment was over a garage and Kessler let us jam down there as long as we didn’t play too loud or too late.  Liam and John would be joining us in a month and we’d have a whole band and hopefully start getting gigs. Sometimes Kessler’s daughter Patty and her friends would stop by and hang out when we were practicing. She seemed like the sweet normal one in the family. She wasn’t around much so I assumed she went to college somewhere.

The only drawback to the apartment was the roaches.

They weren’t rampant but they were small brown ones and were present. Frank and I slept in the same room on just box springs and mattresses. Frank’s bed was against the wall near the window that looked over the trailer, and mine was on the other wall by the window that was broken. There was a cardboard banner advertising a circus instead of a window pane. I didn’t give a shit because it was always warm in California.

I remember hanging some shirts up in the closet (no door) Frank and I shared. Written on the wall were the words: “Sadder… Budweiser.” I thought that was a clever statement about alcohol and regret, so I never forgot it.

There was this other couple that lived down the hall from us. They seemed nice and normal. Too normal for this neighborhood of misfits. But one night we were all partying and the doors were all open.  Frank and I are drinking these 16 oz beers called 102. Apparently it took 102 tries to get the formula for the beer right. I’m thinking, what a bunch of fuck ups theses brewers are. But… it was $3 for a six pack! We drank oceans of that shit on our limited budget.

The folks who seemed quiet and normal are fucked up out of their minds. They’re laughing and acting crazy. Even Mike thinks they’re gacked to the nines. I ask the dude what he took and he shows me a bag of mushrooms.

“Want some?”

“No thanks. We’re good.”

He points to a light switch on the wall that for some reason someone drew a turnip in marker around it. He goes: “What’s that?”

“It’s a light switch with a turnip drawn around it.”

“No it’s not! That’s my wife.”

“Your wife is right over there.”

(Points to the light switch) “Then it’s my wife’s vagina!”

“Okay….”

(Flicks the light switch to the ON position) “And now she’s turned on! Get it? HA HA HA HA!”

“Yea, dude. Whatever.”

For the first time in my life I realize that all drugs are different. You don’t just get high. Every drug makes you feel a different way and think a different way.

Mushrooms made my neighbor nuts. Weed makes Mike introspective. Booze just makes Frank and I arrogant, giggling idiots.

Mike cruises over and he is high as fuck. “Hey guys, what if the color blue isn’t the same to me as it is to you?”

Frank: (Drunk as usual) “Check the crayon box, asshole.” (Bursts out laughing)

I love him.

So we liked where we were crashing. We’d come home drunk. Get high and go to bed listening to Steve Miller’s, Abracadabra album on my boom box.

When you’re drunk and high you don’t care how many roaches are in the room in the dark.

I remember lying on that bed and thinking about my be d at home and how different my life was now.

I was happy to be away from the prison of Wildwood and my father’s idea of what our family’s life should be. Poverty was actually really nice to be with my best mate, Frank.

We’ll get there and have a great time doing it. This is only week two here in L.A.!

We need to earn some money and go out and check out the music scene in this town!

 

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Phicklephilly – Tinder Moments

Here’s another round of wacky and weird profiles from the online dating community! This is what we’re dealing with out here in the dating trenches!

Enjoy!

 

 

 

I Super Liked Catson!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every day.
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