In part 1 of this post I talked about how I was hanging out with my friend James one night and we were checking out my small booze collection. I showed him the Macallan 17 and how I knew it was worth $400 but there was another bottle of Macallan I had that I knew nothing about.
It will help with continuity if you read the previous post first. It’s right here:
Turns out it was a special commemorative bottle that was given to employees during the celebration of the Edrington acquisition of Macallan from Remy Cointreau. That was back in 2014 and the scotch inside the bottle was fresh. So basically, it wasn’t worth anything. It was just a nice little treat they made for the staff and gave them out.
I’m assuming most people just cracked them and drank them because they were worthless. And that’s what I thought about the bottle I had that was sitting on a shelf for the last five years.
But James looked it up on the internet and said it had gone for around $6000 in an auction a year or so ago.
I was stunned. This bottle was given to me by a guy I once knew who had quit drinking and gave me around a dozen bottles of his booze.
I started to do some research and found it’s not easy to sell a bottle of booze. There are all sorts of laws about trading alcohol, shipping, customs, taxes, auction rules, percentages, and fees.
I didn’t want to deal with the hassle of having to find some company that would want it, figure out how to ship it, and take all of those risks. I read about how there’s a lot of fraud in that business.
So I took some photos of the bottle and sent them to some brokers that deal in the sale of collectible booze. I heard back from most of them rather quickly when they saw what I had.
One of them offered me $150 for it because they thought I didn’t know what I had and they wanted to rip me off. But I was wise to all of these guys.
I’ve collected comic books in the past and I know all about buying and selling valuable objects of antiquity. Just ask my older sister about when we went to a train show and blew out thousands of dollars worth of toy trains from my father’s estate.
I spoke to several brokers looking for the easiest and most profitable way to move this bottle. I knew the bottle could sell at auction because it was rare and some collectors of Macallan would want this rare piece for their collection. Not because the scotch it contained was aged or even good. It was just a rare sealed bottle that was hard to find. So it wasn’t about its contents. It was simply a rare unopened bottle in mint condition in its original box.
I know how brokers work. They make a deal knowing they have people in their sphere of influence that are willing to pay more for what they have.
I don’t have that luxury. I have nothing invested in this bottle. I haven’t spent one cent on it. I acquired it in a box of other stuff I thought had more value. It was simply a fluke and a moment of unexpected luck.
I knew I wouldn’t get $6000 for it but I didn’t care.
Nothing invested. Free bottle. Take the money.
I made the arrangements with a broker and he drove down one Saturday from New York. I decided to meet him at the hardware store because I didn’t know this guy. I figured I had the guys I worked with there, and the place is surrounded by CCTV cameras. There would be no funny stuff and the broker would be on my turf.
The guy arrived and I brought him inside. I asked him to follow me through the store. I took him down to the basement which must have made him a little nervous. It’s like an old cave down there. Dark and dank like a wine cellar.
I brought him back to the office and asked him to show me the money. He counted out 37 $100 bills and a $50. That’s $3,750 CASH. Tax-free invisible money. I handed him the bag with the bottle in its box and he opened it and looked it over. He was satisfied.
He even said that a bottle like this was a little difficult to sell because as he said, “the juice inside is worthless”. It’s not about the scotch for once. It’s simply a rare bottle that’s desirable to the right collector.
Or, did he say that to make me think the bottle was worth less than it actually was? It seemed like a broker trick. I worked in sales my whole life. I can spot all the tells.
I was happy. I had nearly four grand cash in my pocket and it was free money. I ran home and hid it in my apartment and returned to work.
So, you never know what you can find or acquire in your life, and can turn into cash.
On to the next adventure!
Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly.
When I originally wrote this post a year ago I still had some bitterness in me. It was Covid but I was grateful. My daughter and I got a year and a half off from work life to create. She made original music and I wrote books.
It was beautiful. It was exactly what we both needed.
I’ve edited the nonsense and bitterness out of this post to make it a bit more palatable to my readers. The original version seemed a bit callous and mean. Don’t worry, all the best parts are still in it, but it’s a little nicer.
I’ve learned that it isn’t what happens to you in life, it’s how you react to it that creates its value.
Anyway, I’m running low on content because I’m so buried in writing my new book, Down the Shore that I can think of little else.
But I’m determined to write a blog post a week to keep Phicklephilly going.
So here we go…
My friend James hit me up and wanted to hang out. We settled on a date to meet and set it up. We decided to check out the new Victory Brewery up on the parkway which is where the old TGIFridays was for years.
I’d been to the TGIFridays in the past and it was a good space. It had 2 levels and an outdoor patio. But many of these chain restaurants have left center city because the audience just isn’t there anymore. There are too many unique spots to drink and dine in the city and people are no longer interested in goofy theme restaurants.
I’m not a big beer drinker at all. I hardly drink at all anymore and just don’t see the benefit of it in my life. Why would I want something hard for my body to process and slow me down the next day?
But I do like a bottle of cold Victory Summer Love in the spring and summer months. It was an unseasonably comfortable March evening and I knew I’d be having one at Victory Brewery.
We get there around 7:30 and the place is packed. I’m feeling a little cranky when I get there because when we approach the hostess stand there’s some guy making it his life’s work to discuss something with her. Come on. Make your reservation or reserve your table and move on, clown. So James and I are rotting away in line behind this idiot.
We finally get up there and she tells us the wait for a table is 30 minutes. That’s cool. We’ll go have a beer at the bar and chat while we wait. We get our beers and head outside to the outdoor deck. There aren’t many people out there so we can grab a table and chat and enjoy our beers.
I realized that it was March Madness and that’s why the place is so busy on a Monday night. But the half-hour goes quickly and we get a little table. We both order Old Fashioneds and toast our night together.
The menu’s limited and is standard brewery fare so there aren’t many choices. That’s fine. James gets the burrito and I get a burger and fries. I rarely eat bread or refined carbs of any type now so anytime I’m out, (which is rare) I get something decadent and enjoy it as a treat.
James said his burrito was sub-par and I agree about my burger. It’s cooked one way and we’re eating low-level fast food. No big deal. We’re there to just check the place out and get some food in our bellies and chit-chat.
James brings up the subject of my freelance writing and I sort of go off. At this point, I’m frustrated that the business hasn’t grown in my favor. I started this gig with my former coworker and I feel like she’s hired numerous freelancers and she’s spreading the work among several of them. But I told her back in December that I needed to earn around $700 a month to get by and I thought we were clear on that fact. But I feel like I’ve been thrown scraps since the new year began. A couple of easy clients and crap articles for $30 apiece. I did 14 articles in January and didn’t make much money for all of my hard work.
I’ve written how I’ve been getting fed up with it and the moment I start earning more at the hardware store I’m probably going to either give up the freelancing or cut it way back. I get why she may be spreading the work over several writers, but I started this thing with her and I’ve written over 200 articles for her. Now I’m getting scraps.
So I went on a rage rant to James about my dissatisfaction with how this freelance writing gig has been going since its inception. It was the first time I talked about it with anyone and it came out as a rage fest. (I texted James the next morning and apologized) I wasn’t directing my anger at him, I was just stating the facts of my situation. Normally I’m calm and happy about everything, but it triggered me and I went off on a bit of a rant over our mediocre dinner. We both agreed we wouldn’t be returning to this place again. It’s just too basic and full of families and sports fans. If you want a better experience like that I would recommend Cavanaugh’s. The staff is on point, the food is great and so is the service. (But since they moved to their new location down the street, it lacks the spirit of the old place and we’re done with that joint too.)
James pays the bill, (Thanks, man!) and we leave. We walk south back down into the center city. We decide we want to stop for another cocktail and lift the evening a bit. But as we pass Rouge, Devon, and Parc in Rittenhouse we find that most of those places look like their closing. It’s around 10 pm now.
We figure we’ll hit up Pub and Kitchen or Lou Bird’s because those are a couple of bookend spots down in my neighborhood.
We get down there to 20th and Lombard and find that both places are dark and locked up tight. What the heck? Why is everything closed? But we quickly realize that after covid, many places are done on a Monday night by 10 pm.
We still want to hang out some more because there was still a lot to cover. After all, we only see each other every couple of months. I suggest we walk up to Food and Friends, make a six-pack of mixed beers and seltzers, and just go to my house.
Once we get back to my place we settle in, sip our drinks, and chat. I had one spiked seltzer and then switched over to plain seltzer. I just don’t like drinking alcohol anymore. For a guy who once drank lakes of vodka and oceans of chardonnay, it’s been a great change. I’ve been living a pretty clean life for the last few years and just enjoy feeling healthy and looking lean and fit.
We’re listening to some chill music and chatting about movies. The subject of my sparse liquor collection somehow comes up. I formerly had many bottles in my collection but I don’t have many in the house anymore.
Over 5 years ago I knew a guy that worked for Edrington Brands and was fired. He decided to get sober even though he didn’t have a drinking problem and gave me all of his liquor to get it out of his house.
At the time it was a nice collection of unique bottles of whiskey, rum, and vodka. I was grateful but ended up giving most of it away as gifts to others.
It was great that if I was invited to someone’s house, I could just grab a $40 bottle of booze from the collection and give it to them. The only bottles I kept were a Glenturret 27, a black grouse blend, a Macallan 17, and another bottle of Macallan with no vintage that I had never seen before but I was sure was worthless. (But Macallan is good scotch, so I kept it)
James is sitting there sipping his beer and I’m showing him a few of the bottles left in my tiny collection. I tell him the Macallan 17 is now worth $400 and I’ll probably crack it at my daughter’s wedding if she ever gets married.
He asks me about the other Macallan bottle and I tell him I don’t know what it is. I take it out of its box and let him check it out.
He looks it over and then goes on his phone in an attempt to figure out what it is. From the look of it, it appears to be a commemorative bottle that may have only been given to reps for the company or something. It doesn’t have a year on it and is wrapped in a Macallan and Edrington label with a blue ribbon around it with a red seal.
What James found on the internet was nothing short of astounding. Macallan was run and distributed through Remy Cointreau for years. Around 2014 Edrington Brands bought the brand and took over all distribution for Macallan across the globe. When that acquisition occurred they decided to make a special bottle of whiskey to commemorate the event. (Notice the statement on the label, Great People, Leading Brands, Giving More)
These bottles were specially designed to be filled with new whiskey and given to employees of the company at the event. The guy I once knew may have gone over to Scotland for this event but I’m not sure.
That’s why I figured the bottle was worthless. It isn’t aged whiskey even though it’s a great brand. They just grabbed some fresh booze and put it in commemorative bottles to celebrate the acquisition. Then handed these trinkets out to the staff that attended the event. That sort of thing happens all the time with brands.
But what James discovered is that it’s rumored that only 100 of these bottles were ever produced. To a person who collects Macallan scotch, they would probably want this for their collection. Not because it’s aged 10,12,15,17, 18, or 20 years, but because the bottle itself is rare.
James continues his search and finds that a bottle exactly like this one sold at auction for $6,000 in 2018.
WHAT???
The bottle I thought was worthless is now worth something to a collector right now.
So, I was blown away and elated that James had made this gesture of discovery. Thank you, Sherlock!
So, I’m going to have to decide what I’m going to do with this bottle that’s unopened, and in mint condition in its original box. It’s been sitting in a little cabinet in my bedroom for the last 5 years!
I love rare discoveries like this. I’ll probably sell it and take the cash because I don’t want to drink it. It’s not even aged whiskey. I’m sure it’s not very good, but I’d rather put it in the hands of someone who will appreciate it. (I did this with my comic book collection and my dad’s toy trains, so why not?) I made a bundle and plowed the cash into the stock market.
I’ll update the blog once the bottle is sold.
Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly.
I’m sure by now everybody’s sick of reading this series. But I’m working on the Wildwood book right now and the blog is on autopilot since last year. Don’t worry readers, the best is yet to come in 2023 in this blog. I’m grateful to everyone that still reads and enjoys Phicklephilly.
More time went by and the winter dragged on. It’s been really cold this season but maybe I’m just getting older. I used to be like a big generator when I was young. I was always warm and actually ran a little hot. I was the one who would give his gloves to his friend because their hands were cold. I was always warm. Not sweaty… just a well-heated core.
But as I’ve gotten older I find I really can’t tolerate the cold weather. I guess that’s why old people move to Florida. They just can’t take the cold winters in the Northeast.
I was out on one of my usual epic walking tours around the city and decided to stop back into a few music stores. I went back to Bluebond Guitars on 4th Street.
This time there was no young lady, only a couple of guys my age working there. I’m assuming one of them was the owner. I looked up at the guitars hanging from the wall and the black Ibanez Gio was gone. Hopefully, some teenage kid got it and was learning to rock. I didn’t feel any remorse because I guess I just wasn’t that into that instrument.
The guy asked me what I was looking for and I told him I had a ’79 Ibanez Iceman and just wanted a cheap guitar I could bang around on and play on a regular basis. He ends up taking a black semi-hollow-bodied Guild guitar off the wall with an $800 price tag on it.
So in that instance, I realized this guy wasn’t listening to me and had no interest in selling me a budget guitar. If I was too cheap to even spend $70 on a long-lost guitar strap there’s no way I’m spending $800 on a guitar. I don’t even want that type! I don’t really know what I want but it’s not that. All I can think of is a solid body, good shape, and lightweight. That’s it. Just something simple that isn’t the Iceman and maybe gives me a different sound and tone.
So I leave and head over to the pawn shop again. I stuck my head inside the shambles of a store and said hello to Eric. Boxes and gear are everywhere and the guys behind the counter appear to be hustling products from the store out on eBay.
I told him I was still looking and hadn’t found the guitar that would light me up yet. He told me to keep looking and at some point, I would know.
I feel like I’ve been on this quest for years now. I’ve been missing the musical part of me now more than ever but have been very content creating my blog and books. I think as long as there’s some creative avenue I can travel down I’m fine. I feel best when I’m creating but I want to begin to split that off between writing and music. Since the blog only publishes once a week now, I should have more time to put my energy into some other creative subjects.
My next stop was back to South Street Sounds. I stopped in and spoke with the owner again. I looked around the store and again told him about my quest. I also asked him about his guitar lessons.
I’m self-taught. I learned how to play guitar by listening to my records and learning the songs by ear. I hear the notes and replicate them on the neck of the guitar. I can only imagine what a musician I could have been had I gotten proper lessons as a child. But that’s another story.
He said he could give me lessons but would want to see what my skill level was before we began. He also told me he would set up any lessons around my schedule. He would only charge me $25 per lesson which seemed like a good deal. I figured even the best ballerinas take a class every day. You can always learn something from a more experienced player. I figured since I never took any real guitar lessons, that maybe if I learned some new things from a teacher I could improve my technique and master the instrument.
It should come to me naturally because I already have all the basics in my head and hands. I can play. I’ve been in a few bands. I can write songs but I would just like to be a better musician. Maybe learn some new blues runs or some cool leads. Maybe some new songs I always liked but never learned how to play. Maybe the reason I haven’t been playing much in the last few years is that I haven’t learned anything new in decades. I just keep playing the same old songs and riffs. Maybe learning some new things would reinvigorate my interest in playing.
When I began my musical journey back in the 70s I was always learning. Every experience was a learning curve. There were always new songs to learn, and write and repertoires to build for the bands I was in. This could be what’s missing from my life now.
I love learning new things. Learning is fun. But for many people, learning is associated with school, which I hated as a kid. I felt that the whole experience was a waste of time. It was just some person regurgitating a bunch of facts about things that had already been created and written by others and we had to memorize them and be tested on them. Nonsense to me. There was almost no place for creativity in school. Just memory stuff and math. I get the math part to an extent but how many times have you needed algebra in your adult life?
I liked science, English, and music class because I felt like there were elements that I could learn. But other than that school was just a prison I had to do my time until I could be released.
I think that’s why in the last couple of years I’ve stopped everything I once did in Philly over the last decade. I don’t go to bars anymore. I don’t go to happy hour anymore. I don’t have a girlfriend or hang out with a gaggle of hot young women at events. That all seems boring and a waste of time now. What can I possibly learn from an attractive 28-year-old beauty? Nothing. She has nothing to offer me but her youth and beauty. I’ve always loved those things but have no interest in pursuing them anymore. Some of it may be due to my age, (which is a relief!) but I just don’t see the sense in it anymore. I’d rather write, work, and watch my shows on Netflix. Just focus on my exercise, health, and creativity.
But I know I still hold certain traits that have been held over from my former self. I still love beautiful things and have an eye for lovely women. But now I love them from afar. I can’t be bothered getting involved with anyone now because I enjoy the simplicity of my life. I suppose because I’ve faced so much drama in my personal life over the years I’m just done with it all.
But I still feel for the beauty of life. I just don’t want any of that in a person. Maybe it’s still alive in me but in another form. Not for a young pretty woman, but for something I can possess that will bring me a similar dopamine joy. Something that won’t hurt or betray me. An instrument I can create something fun and beautiful through without involving another person’s wants or needs. Maybe an inanimate object that I can bring to life that I don’t have to text every day to reassure it I love it. Perhaps something I can develop along with. Maybe that thing has been with me all along and I’ve just been too busy working and dating pretty women to bother with.
Maybe a new, pretty guitar will be my paragon. Maybe that’s what I need. Not a girl, but a guitar. It’s so much simpler. I can be whoever I want around a guitar. I can bring my own joy forth through the instrument without the nonsense. Only good will spring forth from my heart and into my fingers on her strings.
I’m not cheating on the Iceman. I’m just spreading the genes around the musical community.
I run it over in my head again… just to reassure myself. (This is a combat mechanism I’ve installed in my brain to combat anxiety and depression.)
This makes sense why I need to do this now. Maybe I’ll replace all the women and drama in my life with a guitar. I’ve cut loose all of the crazy, toxic people from my life. I barely drink anymore. I eat right and exercise. I think I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my whole life. I’ve beaten all of my vices, crazies, and booze are gone. I’ve conquered my anxiety and depression. It took me most of my life to do it, but it’s nice to finally be free of all of that pain. It’s been an arduous journey but I’ve been able to spank all of my demons and make them pay. I’ve forgiven everyone, and I no longer worry about all of the nonsense most people do. I enjoy living a simple and uncluttered life. This is now an elegant balance I’ve finally been able to accomplish after a lifetime of struggle and anguish.
But despite the ups and downs, I’ve had a good time. It’s been an exciting and colorful life.
How many people do you know who’ve had the blessing to be able to fall in love multiple times?
The rush of new love balanced with the pain and suffering of loss makes you a more complete person.
I’m sure it’s great to meet that one person, get married, and stay with them forever. But that never made sense to me. It’s just not something that was ever right for me. Good for the people that can do it, but I like being free and alone. The next love or adventure is just up around the next bend. It’s been an action-packed trip. I don’t know how most people stay in the same marriage and job their whole lives. Maybe it’s the fear of the alternative. Most people don’t like change or being alone. I dig both. I suppose if you’ve lived in a body that’s constantly wracked with anxiety and depression, any outer changes are just hills you climb to get out from under it on a daily basis.
There’s a certain joy you learn from being free and alone to do what you want, when you want, and not answer to anyone.
Love and attraction occur automatically in homo sapiens. Marriage and monogamy are RULES. There are no rules in the way the heart. The heart wants what it wants. Once you put a price tag on anything beautiful, it’s ruined.
I walked around the store and looked at their latest batch of instruments that hung from the walls.
My eyes suddenly stopped on one particular guitar hanging there among the others.
It was like walking through Spruce Street Harbor Park on a summer evening. The place is full of people. It’s dusk and not quite dark yet. Lanterns hang from the trees and people are sitting on the grass, and lying in hammocks. Music and laughter fill the air as people eat and drink as they celebrate the warm weather of the evening. I walk along the path with a friend sipping a beverage when I encounter a group of women. They’re all standing together looking lovely.
But there’s that one in the group who stands out from the others. The best one. The obvious queen of the group. There’s something about her that makes her shine a bit brighter than the rest. That’s when I saw Sarala for the first time.
I said to my friend… “I have to meet her.”
That was what I saw on the wall at the music store that day.
I think I found the guitar I want.
To be continued next Tuesday…
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Jack walked into the nightclub on the sunset strip. He didn’t dread these meetings, he just never knew what to expect.
He spoke with security and told them he was there to see Marty. He gave the password, and they let him come into the private room in the back. Marty was there sitting at the bar sipping a glass of whiskey.
“Jack! Great to see you, buddy. It’s been too long. Have a seat. What are you drinking?”
“Nothing for me, thanks. What’s on your mind?”
“We’ve got a little situation. Everything’s fine right now, but we’ve heard some things from some of our contacts in Hawaii.”
“Tell me what’s going on.”
“One of our people overheard a guy saying some things to his friends at a bar. We’ve had our eye on this guy for a while, and we think you should look into it.”
“Is there a file yet?”
Marty reached into a leather bag on the floor next to him and produced a folder. He handed it to him. Jack took the folder and flipped through it.
“Is this everything?”
“Well, it’s never everything, Jack. That’s why I called you. Read the file and get to know this individual. We’ve gathered as much intel on this guy’s background as possible. We just feel that things could escalate, and that can’t happen.”
“What’s the fee?”
“The usual. But if things get sticky you’ll be compensated accordingly for any extra effort.”
“What’s the time frame on this?”
“Well, we know where he is right now and where he may be going, but not much else.”
“So you just want me to follow him?”
“Yea. Keep an eye on him. We’ll give you his location and the details are in the file. If you want to talk with him at some point, that’s your call. But I really think this needs to be addressed sooner than later. There are a few of these types out there but usually, it never comes to anything. But this one’s got me nervous.”
“Do I need to know who the client is?”
“No. That’s why I brought you in, Jack. You’re good at helping people and doing the right thing when necessary.”
Jack looked at the file. “No previous criminal record. Interesting.”
“Yea. Could be nothing, but the client doesn’t want to leave anything to chance.”
“How long’s the job?”
“Hard to say. Could be a month, maybe longer. We just don’t really know.”
“Alright. Anything else?”
“Uh, yea. I want you to partner with Adhira.
“Come on. You know I only work alone, Marty.”
“Look… for this job I want you to have her with you. This way you won’t stand out too much.”
“Oh, okay… me and some hot Indian chick. Yea, I won’t stand out at all.”
“You two have worked well together in the past and I think while you’re traveling it’ll just look less conspicuous if it looks like you’re a couple. As I said, this all could turn out to be nothing, but it’s for the best if Adhira’s with you.”
“Fine. So what’s next?”
“Here are your tickets to Honolulu. Adhira’s already there. She’ll pick you up at the airport.”
“Okay. You got it.”
To be continued tomorrow…
Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly.
A freelance writer in her early 30s is sharing her experience as a “sugar baby.”
The writer, who has been granted anonymity to protect her identity, said sugar daddies pay her upwards of $500 for a date with her.
She also receives gifts like shoes and clothing, trips across the US, and access to five-star hotels and fancy restaurants.
Read on for a firsthand look at what it’s like to be a sugar baby, from the way she vets potential sugar daddies to how she spots a scammer online.
Visit Business Insider’s homepage for more stories.
Six months ago, I decided to become a sugar baby.
My reasoning was simple. I’d grown frustrated with dating men in my city — maybe I’d just had one too many Tinder dates end in mediocre conversation. My day job offers me control over my schedule, since I don’t work a traditional 9-to-5. I wanted to supplement my income and have some fun doing it, so I decided to try finding a sugar daddy.
For the uninitiated, “sugaring” is a form of dating in which one partner financially supports the other, often in the form of cash or gifts. As a woman in a major city with an appreciation for societal deviance, I figured the lifestyle might suit me well.
Whether it was exhaustion of millennial swiping, or maybe the thrill of experiencing life outside my usual means, I found myself creating a profile on the primary website for sugaring connections — SeekingArrangement.
In the half-year since then, I’ve met some highly interesting people — not to mention I’ve received thousands of dollars in cash, trips across the country, access to five-star hotels and restaurants, and expensive gifts like shoes and clothing I never could have ordinarily afforded.
Read on for a firsthand look at what it’s really like to be a sugar baby.
Before I found my first sugar daddy, I needed an idea of why I was sugaring
Syda Productions/Shutterstock
Like with regular dating, if you dive into the sugaring lifestyle without an idea of what you want, you’re likely to be disappointed.
Do you want a cash allowance, and do you have a set amount in mind? Is it certain bills you want covered? Do you want gifts, shopping, and travel? Having a clear idea of what kind of “sugar,” or exchange, you want for the relationship is key.
How about the actual dating part — do you like dating older men? Because sugar daddies tend to be older than the women they date. How much time do you want to spend with your sugar daddy? And does your current lifestyle give you the freedom to do so?
In my short time as a sugar baby so far, men have paid me $500 per date and bought me designer clothes, $400 dinners, and stays at 5-star hotels I could never afford on my own
Robert Kneschke / Shutterstock
In the six months since I became a sugar baby, I’ve started relationships with men who pay me $500 per date and have purchased me shoes and outfits from designers I could never afford on my own. I dined at restaurants where the bill was $400, and we’d still leave hungry. I spent weekends tucked away in five-star hotels, lazily ordering room service with cringeworthy markups.
While I enjoy expensive dinners and staying in fancy hotels, ultimately I was searching for a friendly relationship that provides a cash allowance. Some men don’t wish to provide an allowance, and I avoid meeting and dating those men, often called “experience daddies.”
It’s worth noting you should never become a sugar baby just for the money
AP Photo/Keith Srakocic
If you’re considering sugar dating solely for the money, it will be much more stressful, since it’ll become a second job.
Sugar dating amplifies the faults of regular, or “vanilla,” dating. You may receive messages from, go on first dates with, and be ghosted by far more men than in vanilla dating. And it’s a bad idea to depend on sugar as a primary source of income, because there’s never really any guarantee of stability.
Additionally, financial desperation makes you vulnerable to malicious men who have no intentions to provide sugar, or it might influence you to date men you otherwise wouldn’t consider having a relationship with.
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The Duke of York claimed on Saturday night that he could not have had sex with a teenage girl in the London home of British socialite Ghislaine Maxwell because he was at home after attending a children’s party at Pizza Express in Woking.
Prince Andrew gave the startling explanation in a bombshell interview with Emily Maitlis for BBC’s Newsnight in which he was grilled about his relationship with the disgraced financier Jeffrey Epstein, who has been exposed as a pedophile.
In a sometimes rambling and contradictory account of their friendship, the prince insisted he had not had sex with any women trafficked by Epstein in any of his properties. He confirmed that he had flown on Epstein’s now notorious jet, nicknamed the Lolita Express, and stayed on his private island and at his home in Palm Beach, as well as at his New York mansion.
“If you’re a man it is a positive act to have sex with somebody,” the prince explained. “You have to …. take some sort of positive action and so therefore if you try to forget it’s very difficult to try and forget a positive action and I do not remember anything.”
Of the allegations that he had sex with Virginia Giuffre, formerly known as Virginia Roberts, when she was 17, the prince categorically denied it ever happened.
Roberts has said that they partied at Tramp nightclub in London on 10 March 2001, before going back to Maxwell’s Belgravia mews house where she claims she had sex with Andrew.
The prince said: “I was with the children and I’d taken Beatrice to a Pizza Express in Woking for a party at I suppose four or five in the afternoon. And then because the duchess [Sarah Ferguson] was away, we have a simple rule in the family that when one is away the other is there.”
A photograph of the prince with his arm around Roberts’s waist has been widely circulated, but the prince repeatedly said in his Newsnight interview he had “no recollection of that photograph ever being taken”. He said the picture appeared to have been taken upstairs in Maxwell’s house, somewhere “I don’t think I ever went”.
Yesterday Giuffre retweeted several disparaging tweets about the prince including one that read: “Prince Andrew’s shocking interview was an attempt to save his reputation – but it just raised more questions.”
In the interview the prince said he last saw Maxwell earlier this year. He defended his relationship with Epstein, who was found dead earlier this year in prison while being held on sex trafficking charges, saying it had opened up opportunities for him as he transitioned out of the navy: “In the navy it’s a pretty isolated business because you’re out at sea the whole time and I was going to become the special representative for international trade and development. The opportunities I was given to learn either by him or because of him were actually very useful.”
He confirmed that Epstein had been a guest at Windsor and Sandringham and that he attended a dinner celebrating the financier’s release from prison. An arrest warrant was issued for Epstein in May 2006, for sexual assault of a minor. The prince confirmed that he invited Epstein to Princess Beatrice’s 18th birthday the following July and was unaware that the warrant had been issued.
In 2010, the prince was photographed walking with Epstein in New York’s Central Park – two years after Epstein’s first conviction for soliciting a minor for prostitution. When it was pointed out during the interview that he was staying at the house of a “convicted sex offender”, he said: “It was a convenient place to stay… At the end of the day, with the benefit of all the hindsight one can have, it was definitely the wrong thing to do. But at the time, I felt it was the honourable and right thing to do. And I admit fully that my judgment was probably coloured by my tendency to be too honourable but that is just the way it is.”
The prince said he went to the US to tell Epstein they could no longer see each other, as “doing it over the telephone was the chicken’s way”. Of claims that witnesses saw young girls entering Epstein’s mansion, the prince said: “you have to understand that his house, I described it … almost as a railway station … there were people coming in and out… all the time.”
He appeared to be open to giving a statement under oath, something Epstein’s victims have been demanding: “If push came to shove and the legal advice was to do so, then I would be duty bound to do so.” Before the broadcast, Gloria Allred, a lawyer acting for a number of Epstein’s victims, said: “Rather than just going on television he, I think, would be well served to just say I’m willing to take the oath and appear at a deposition.”
The prince said that his association with the financier had been “a constant sore in the family”.
The Duke of York claimed on Saturday night that he could not have had sex with a teenage girl in the London home of British socialite Ghislaine Maxwell because he was at home after attending a children’s party at Pizza Express in Woking.
Prince Andrew gave the startling explanation in a bombshell interview with Emily Maitlis for BBC’s Newsnight in which he was grilled about his relationship with the disgraced financier Jeffrey Epstein, who has been exposed as a pedophile.
In a sometimes rambling and contradictory account of their friendship, the prince insisted he had not had sex with any women trafficked by Epstein in any of his properties. He confirmed that he had flown on Epstein’s now notorious jet, nicknamed the Lolita Express, and stayed on his private island and at his home in Palm Beach, as well as at his New York mansion.
“If you’re a man it is a positive act to have sex with somebody,” the prince explained. “You have to …. take some sort of positive action and so therefore if you try to forget it’s very difficult to try and forget a positive action and I do not remember anything.”
Of the allegations that he had sex with Virginia Giuffre, formerly known as Virginia Roberts, when she was 17, the prince categorically denied it ever happened.
Roberts has said that they partied at Tramp nightclub in London on 10 March 2001, before going back to Maxwell’s Belgravia mews house where she claims she had sex with Andrew.
The prince said: “I was with the children and I’d taken Beatrice to a Pizza Express in Woking for a party at I suppose four or five in the afternoon. And then because the duchess [Sarah Ferguson] was away, we have a simple rule in the family that when one is away the other is there.”
A photograph of the prince with his arm around Roberts’s waist has been widely circulated, but the prince repeatedly said in his Newsnight interview he had “no recollection of that photograph ever being taken”. He said the picture appeared to have been taken upstairs in Maxwell’s house, somewhere “I don’t think I ever went”.
Yesterday Giuffre retweeted several disparaging tweets about the prince including one that read: “Prince Andrew’s shocking interview was an attempt to save his reputation – but it just raised more questions.”
In the interview the prince said he last saw Maxwell earlier this year. He defended his relationship with Epstein, who was found dead earlier this year in prison while being held on sex trafficking charges, saying it had opened up opportunities for him as he transitioned out of the navy: “In the navy it’s a pretty isolated business because you’re out at sea the whole time and I was going to become the special representative for international trade and development. The opportunities I was given to learn either by him or because of him were actually very useful.”
He confirmed that Epstein had been a guest at Windsor and Sandringham and that he attended a dinner celebrating the financier’s release from prison. An arrest warrant was issued for Epstein in May 2006, for sexual assault of a minor. The prince confirmed that he invited Epstein to Princess Beatrice’s 18th birthday the following July and was unaware that the warrant had been issued.
In 2010, the prince was photographed walking with Epstein in New York’s Central Park – two years after Epstein’s first conviction for soliciting a minor for prostitution. When it was pointed out during the interview that he was staying at the house of a “convicted sex offender”, he said: “It was a convenient place to stay… At the end of the day, with the benefit of all the hindsight one can have, it was definitely the wrong thing to do. But at the time, I felt it was the honorable and right thing to do. And I admit fully that my judgment was probably colored by my tendency to be too honorable but that is just the way it is.”
The prince said he went to the US to tell Epstein they could no longer see each other, as “doing it over the telephone was the chicken’s way”. Of claims that witnesses saw young girls entering Epstein’s mansion, the prince said: “you have to understand that his house, I described it … almost as a railway station … there were people coming in and out… all the time.”
He appeared to be open to giving a statement under oath, something Epstein’s victims have been demanding: “If push came to shove and the legal advice was to do so, then I would be duty bound to do so.” Before the broadcast, Gloria Allred, a lawyer acting for a number of Epstein’s victims, said: “Rather than just going on television he, I think, would be well served to just say I’m willing to take the oath and appear at a deposition.”
The prince said that his association with the financier had been “a constant sore in the family”.
Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every day.
This was originally going to be two separate stories, but they overlap (as you’ll see), so I decided to combine them. This story is also set in the distant past, before PCs and the internet … back when a record was something that sat on a turntable …
– “So, Joe … c-can you help me out?”
That was how it all started.
Marty was a short, paunchy nerd with a speech impediment – a stutter that came and went. He was understandably shy in social in social situations.
In Grade 9, on Initiation Day, I stepped in between Marty and two bullies who wanted to use his head to clean a toilet. I wish I could tell you that I kicked their asses – but I was the one who got my clock cleaned. Oh, I got in a couple of shots, but Marty did the most damage when he bit one of them hard enough to draw blood.
It would be nice, too, to report that the student body respected our courage, and that initiations were strictly forbidden from them on.
Yeah, right. We were suspended for 3 days, and got a reputation for being a couple of psychos. We probably weren’t going to fit in with the popular kids anyway, but that incident certainly accelerated the process.
Marty was a nerd, and I … I was never there. From the age of 13, I’d had a part-time job (and sometimes two). Right after school, I went off to work. All day Saturday, too.
It was my stepmother’s idea, really. I think that she just wanted me out of the house. Then, a few years later, she got the brilliant idea that I should pay rent, because I had money. My Dad was too whipped to object.
– “It’ll be a valuable lesson for him.” she said.
– “It’ll be a good experience for you, Joseph.” said Dad.
The fuck it was. Stacking shelves at the grocery store, pumping gas, or carrying roof tiles up a ladder all summer doesn’t teach you much, except how hard it can be to earn an honest dollar – or how much of your school’s social life you miss when you’re always at work.
That meant no sports, no clubs, no extracurriculars of any kind. Marty and I were both socially invisible. But there was always that bond between us.
In some cultures, if you save a man’s life, then you become responsible for him. I have to admit that I felt something like that towards him. And Marty … well, let’s just say that he went out of his way to pay me back.
In my senior year, I had to consider my options. I wasn’t sure that I could afford college. Dad finally spoke to his younger brother about me. Ray was a grease monkey at a downtown garage. He was a damn good mechanic, though, and when he put in a good word for me, his boss took me on part-time.
– “Don’t fuck this up, Joeseph.” said Uncle Ray. “You do, an’ you make us both look bad.”
– “I won’t.” I promised.
I cleaned up the garage, learned how to change tires, and do oil changes. I was also Joe Fetchit if anyone needed a tool, or a coffee, or a donut … and I went home dirty every night. But it paid better than most of the jobs I’d had – and I was actually learning something. Most of the guys were pretty decent to me, too.
So maybe that was how Marty and I connected – talking about cars. We started to hang out a bit. He regularly came over to pick me up, if we got up to anything. I never asked – God’s honest truth – Martin suggested it, every single time.
– “I’ll swing by and pick you up.” He must’ve said it a hundred times.
I was 18, but looked older, so I was the designated beer-buyer (Fake ID wasn’t readily available, back in the day). It was a mutually beneficial partnership, but I think I benefited more. What I’m trying to say is that I owed Marty quite a few favors, for all the times he’d driven me all over hell’s half-acre. He’d even lent me his car to go for my driver’s exam.
That was why, when Marty asked for my help, I didn’t hesitate.
– “So, Joe… c-can you help me out?”
– “Sure. What do you need?”
– “Will you … d-double date with me, Joe?”
– “WHAT?” I couldn’t have been more shocked. As far as I knew, Marty had never even come close to having a girlfriend.
– “I met her at church.” he said. Then the words came out – all in a rush. “She’s really cute. But shy. More shy than me. I think I like her, but if I ask her out alone she’ll probably say no.”
I was afraid that he was going to hyper-ventilate. “Slow down, Marty! Breathe …”
– “She lives near you. Close enough for you to walk. But I can swing by and pick you up. I already told her that my best friend lived nearby, and that we might ‘drop in’ on Sunday.”
– “Good for you, Marty. That’s great. Keep breathing. What do you need me to do?”
– “Well, she’s got sisters. Her parents will let go out, but only if her sisters go, too.”
– “Like chaperones.”
– “Something like that.”
– “So you need me to run interference? Keep the sisters busy? I can do that. Give me the bad news, then.”
– “What bad news?
– “Tell me the truth. How ugly are they? And don’t tell me they have nice personalities – that’s a dead giveaway.”
– “They’re not ugly.” It sounded like he was telling the truth, but I could have sworn that he was hiding something.
– “Come clean. Details.”
– “The older sister is 19. Her name is Samantha. I swear, she’s cute. And there’s also the younger sister – Tanya – she’s only 16.”
– “Three sisters? And you want me to keep two of them busy.”
– “C-Can you help me out, Joe?
– “Sure, Marty. What are friends for?” After all, I thought – how bad could it be?
– “Thanks, man.” he said. “This means a l-lot to me.”
Phicklephilly 