California Dreamin’ – Ashley – 3 Strikes – Part 3

Wildwood, NJ – 1984

When I got back to Wildwood, NJ I would write letters and sometimes talk to Ashley on the phone. One night I had been drinking while I was on the phone with her and the conversation turned to sex.

Ashley became enraged, that I was gone from her life and all I wanted to do was talk about how great our sex had been. She yelled at me and told me she never wanted to speak to me again. She was peevish, ex-lover spurned with jealousy and rage.

I was fine with that. I was already seeing someone else by then.

Philadelphia, PA – 2008

25 years later, I’m living in Rittenhouse with my girlfriend, Michelle. One day I go on Facebook, and I have a friend request from Ashley! I was happily surprised to hear from her after so long. Facebook was still pretty new back then and people were reconnecting with all of their old friends from the past. Whether that’s a good idea or not, I don’t know. I’m going to say it’s a good thing. I’ve been able to chat with many of my old friends and it’s nice to see some of them after all of these years.

But after about a week or so, Ashley writes me a message that I’m not being a good Facebook friend and she’s cutting me off. I didn’t understand what that meant. I guess I was supposed to be more attentive on this social media platform. It seemed weird to me at the time, but after all that time I didn’t care. She just seemed crazy. Mental illness is an insidious thing. I’ve met enough crazy people here in Philly, and I just don’t care anymore.

Philadelphia, PA – 2020

Here we go again. We’re all in lockdown due to the global pandemic. Out of the blue, I get a message on Facebook from Ashley. Now it’s been 37 years since I laid eyes on her.

She and I would message each other on Facebook. It was nice to chat with her again after all of these years. We had a shared history from a long time ago when we were young and free in L.A. in the early 80s.

She had been to school and became a chef, married for over 30 years, had no children and had been living in Italy for many years. It was fun to catch up.

But after a short period, I started to notice a very angry tone in her messages. She seemed bitter and preachy about certain subjects. I’ve been around for a long time and have a wealth of life experience. I can pretty much read people through the written word as if I’m listening to them in person. It sounded like when she’d get mean in her messages, she was drunk.

I think she searched my blog looking for some heartfelt story about her and there just wasn’t any. I wrote about a bunch of wild things that happened to me and the boys when we got to LA but never got around to writing about her.

She gave me a really hard time about some of my posts. I felt violated and insulted by how corrosive her words were about my blog. So many cruel, words. It hurt, but I’m accustomed to trolls by now. I’m sure it was just her drunken bitterness coming forth from a life not lived. Just silly, juvenile, embarrassing behavior from a middle-aged woman.

It’s a shame when you find out a person has lived over half a century and hasn’t ever evolved as a person.

I have a low tolerance for drunk people even though I have a high tolerance for alcohol. (Not anymore, thank you) But she seemed drunk and rambled on in some of her messages. It felt uncomfortable and I felt bad for her. When I looked on her Instagram it was just a bunch of pictures of locations where she lived. She seems lonely. That’s the vibe I got. No kids, married for 30 years and has almost no info or photos of her husband.

I suppose what happened to her is that she’d sadly lived a life that’s been unfulfilled. She speaks and acts as though she hasn’t grown as a person or matured as an adult. She was still pissed about me leaving her back in 1983!

We spoke on the phone one morning and it was lovely. But she wanted to chat so much on Facebook messenger that it started to feel like too much. She said, “Promise me we can do this every week.”

Who says that? Promise me? I’m not making any promises to some 60-year-old woman who lives on the other side of the planet. I haven’t seen her in 37 years! Anything we ever were was finished a long time ago.

I also noticed how she would message me on Facebook, and if I didn’t respond, she would delete them all which seemed juvenile and weird. Sadly, Ashley’s never matured as a person and hasn’t evolved through the years. I can’t relate to any of that nonsense.

I think poor Ashley’s bored in her life and where she’s ended up, and has turned to alcohol for solace. But that never works. That’s just a band-aid covering up your real issues.

I spoke to my daughter about it and she said it all seemed kind of weird after all of this time.

I would have been happy to chat with her ocassionally on messenger. That would have been nice. But I don’t want to be in constant touch with someone and have them sending me clips of a bunch of music and songs I have zero interest in. It all seemed juvenile. I guess if you marry too young and don’t live a full life, you kind of get stuck behaving a certain way. I don’t know how her husband has put up with all of this childish behavior for so many years. I’d have divorced this woman/child years ago. But that’s his life, not mine. I don’t know the man.

So, at one point she sends me a message about how it’s been great talking to me and hopes I have a nice life. I saw it and didn’t respond. I could tell it was just an attempt to get my attention. But I simply don’t care. I feel nothing for this person.

There were a few more drunken messages that were later deleted. I’m assuming she writes a bunch of wild things when she’s half in the bag, and then the next morning when she’s sober, takes them down.

I figured she’d wait until the end of December of last year. If she hadn’t heard from me, she’d cut me off for the third time.

Had she just reached out to chat and behaved like an adult, we could have remained friends, but she hasn’t the ability to do that. I’m thinking possible bipolar and alcoholism at this point. But I’m not spending any time thinking about it at all. I’m too busy.

I was promoting some of my stuff on Facebook the other day, and I noticed the message chain from her was gone. I thought, “This is it.”

I searched for her on Facebook. She didn’t cut me off or block me, but she had unfriended me. So silly.

So, 3 strikes and it looks like I’m out.

But… like I always say. No matter what happens, good or bad… at least I got a story out of it…

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please like, comment, share, and most of all, follow Phicklephilly. 

You can check out my books here: https://www.amazon.com/s?k=charles+wiedenmann&ref=nb_sb_noss_1

California Dreamin’ – Ashley – 3 Strikes – Part 2

Los Angeles, CA – 1983

One day I somehow acquired tickets to a David Bowie concert out in Anaheim. (It may have been the Glass Spider tour) We were on our way to the show when my van suddenly stalled. I had never had any problems with it before, but this was the worst thing that could have happened at the very worst time. I remember a truck full of Mexicans was kind enough to push my disabled vehicle off the highway.

We missed the show, but I got the van running again. Ashley was incredibly disappointed so I made it up to her. I took her to a nice dinner at an Italian restaurant. It was the very first time I tasted veal.

On another occasion, we were out partying in a bar somewhere and were on our way to her house. I was on the freeway when the cops pulled me over. They said I was swerving, but I know that I wasn’t. I think they saw the New Jersey tags on an old 1969 VW minibus and decided to stop me.

They took me through a sobriety test which I passed, but when I blew into the breathalyzer, I failed. I remember Ashley telling me that while this was happening, one of the officers was hitting on her. “What’s a nice pretty girl like you doing with a loser like him?” the cop said.

So, they arrested me and took me to jail. They photographed and fingerprinted me and tossed me in a cell with a couple of drunk guys. I remember sharing a cigarette with one of them. It was a rare bonding moment with another inmate. Odd thing was, I wasn’t even scared at all. I was only 21 years old when all of this happened.

I guess one of the cops took Ashley home and they left me in the can to chill. I got my one phone call and spoke with my roommate. I told him where I had some cash hidden in the apartment. He hopped in a cab and came to bail me out.

The cops told us where the van was impounded, but said not to get it and drive it because I could be stopped again. Which would make my current infraction even worse. We agreed and left the precinct.

We immediately went to the impound lot and got my van out. I drove my roommate and me home and we were fine.

Bad night.

I called my father and told him what happened. He was cool about it and was just glad I was okay. I had left a grand in my bank account back in Wildwood, NJ in case of emergency. This was that emergency.

I had to go to court, plead no contest, pay the fine, and attend classes. (All of it seemed like fee income for the city of LA and a waste of my time.) After all of the negative experiences in LA and the feeling that it didn’t matter where you were in the world, it really came down to who you were at that given time in your life.

No matter where you run to in this world… there you are. You make or break the place where you live. I was fed up with all of the phoniness of LA and didn’t see any point in staying out there anymore. I wasn’t going to become the next heavy metal god and was really feeling despondent about my life there. It had all become very mundane. (I’ll write about the deeper parts of this decision in some future post)

My roommate and I eventually decided to pack it in and return to New Jersey. I was tired of LA and missed my family and friends. I was just done with the whole scene out there.

Of course, Ashley was heartbroken that I was leaving, but I had to go. There was nothing I could do. I wasn’t staying out there. She was, and our relationship was over.

I guess that’s how I was back then. My whole existence was about survival and dealing with my anxiety and depression. But I thought nothing of just doing what I needed to do to survive. I know now that I broke some young hearts back then. I never intended to hurt anyone intentionally, I just kept moving. But I see now I was running in circles.

More tomorrow!

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please like, comment, share, and most of all, follow Phicklephilly. 

You can check out my books here: https://www.amazon.com/s?k=charles+wiedenmann&ref=nb_sb_noss_1

California Dreamin’ – Ashley – 3 Strikes – Part 1

Santa Monica, CA – 1982

When I first got to Los Angeles in 1982, I got a job as a busboy at a local restaurant in Santa Monica called Cafe Casino. It was located in the Wilshire Pallisades building down by the beachfront. Someone had come up with the idea of serving French cuisine in a cafeteria model. People would enter the restaurant, grab a tray and get in line for their meal. They would point to the things they wanted, and there were a couple of girls that would serve them. It was like an expensive high school lunchroom experience. We had a fun crew of people working there and we had a good time.

I had become friends with one of the girls who worked there named Kellie Lawson. She was from Kenosha, Wisconsin. She was one of a million people who had migrated to Los Angeles to become an actor. Most people that you met out there back then all wanted the same thing. Every person in the service industry was waiting for the big break that would never come. Every waitress was either an actress, singer, model, or dancer. Most of the men you met were actors, musicians, or screenwriters. None of them working in the industry, but waiting…

Kelly had got on a greyhound bus to escape the grinding boredom of her hometown in an attempt to make it big in Hollywood. A classic scenario seen a thousand times out there. We had started dating and would frequently fool around at her apartment. We sort of grew out of touch after I left that job to work at Merlin McFly’s down near Venice.

One afternoon, we’re at the restaurant and the guys and I were hanging outside the dining room by the doors. The lunch rush was over and the two glass doors swung open. Who comes rolling in with his squad but Heisman Trophy champion, O.J. Simpson!

I knew him more from the Hertz commercials, but the other guys all cheered when the athlete entered the restaurant. He was a good-looking guy and said hello to us all. When I shook the hand of this man, who could realize that 10 years later he’d be famous for something else.

One of the girls who worked there that I befriended was a charming beauty named Joelle. She was a part-time model and her boyfriend worked at Disney studios.

Here’s her modeling photo card. Beautiful!

A lovely girl. She was not only beautiful but full of sass. She’d laugh at all my jokes and seemed to find me amusing. I liked working with her and having her as a friend back then.

One day, I came to work and she was standing there with another girl. She was 19 years old, cute, and Joelle told me she was her cousin from Philadelphia. I chatted with her and thought she was cool. Since I was originally from Philly we had a small connection.

She was new to California, and I told her we should hang out. She gave me her number and we made plans to do something together.

Eventually, we started dating and things became romantic. I had already been out there for over a year and was pretty jaded. But Ashley was new and was a fun, sweet girl to spend time with. Sometimes we’d just drive around LA in my van and end up down by the beach. We’d make out in the VW minibus and it was a romantic hot time.

We went on several dates. We went to see, ET: The Extraterrestrial, (I cried like a baby) The Dark Crystal, (A bunch of muppets with David Bowie), and Flashdance. (Chick-flick, but the great soundtrack.)

Sometimes we’d just hang out at my apartment, but many times I’d finish work and come visit her at her cousin’s house out in Culver City. It was fun to hang out in her room and watch TV and make out. We were just a couple of teenagers enjoying life and our youth together. We were a couple of kids on the loose in LA. She loved Richard Gere and I loved Farrah Fawcett.

One night I stayed over there late. We stayed up all night as young people do. When I came out to get in my van to go home, I saw that the driver’s side door was standing wide open.

My minibus had been broken into, and the thieves had stolen my entire stereo system. This was heartbreaking to me because I loved my van and listening to my tunes. They even took the boom box that I used to listen to on the beach back in Wildwood, NJ. I felt so violated by that incident, I was reluctant to go back to her neighborhood again. It was a planned professional job. They had hit several cars on the street that night.

The more Ashley and I spent time together the closer we became. She would stay over at my apartment in Mar Vista on the weekends. That eventually turned into our first intimate encounters. I don’t think I realized at the time that I was Ashley’s first.

But after that, it was really fun to be together, and fooling around became part of our relationship. It was a natural progression back then. You can only make out in my van for so long before the bigger things start happening.

One night while we were in my apartment fooling around someone broke into the apartment next door and robbed the place. My neighbor was in Greece at the time with her boyfriend so nobody was home. The thieves ransacked the place and I suppose stole anything valuable.  I later heard from one of my neighbord that they saw some guys listening next to my window to see if anybody was home. But I guess hearing our laughter they moved on to next door and ripped off my neighbor’s place instead of robbing us. Crazy!

My neighbor moved out shortly after that and I moved into her apartment. It was bigger and installed a waterbed I had gotten from a chef I worked with at McFlys who had back problems. That waterbed only cost me $120 and was awesome! It was so cool having a waterbed. I remember one night the thermostat in the unit went off and the whole side of my body was cold when I woke up. I thought I was half dead! I had a lot of wild times on that waterbed.

More tomorrow!

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please like, comment, share, and most of all, follow Phicklephilly. 

You can check out my books here: https://www.amazon.com/s?k=charles+wiedenmann&ref=nb_sb_noss_1

Cherie – Chapter 70 – Epilogue

This is my most dreaded post to write. I mean, to be honest, I’m not filled with dread, but it’s just sad I need to write another one of these.

But everything that begins… ends.

There’s no forever in this world.

Cherie and I had a decent run for a year and a half. More than I could have expected at my age.

But I think going into this one I knew it had an expiration date. I loved Cherie and still do, but this time, and probably for the first time I didn’t go into this one  ‘in love with the idea of love.’

It’s odd how our relationship ended. Normally there are words and feelings and break up words. But this time there was nothing.

That’s never happened to me.

Where someone I was in an intimate relationship with just sort of faded away. You’ve read the previous chapters and it just sort of fell apart.

I was fine with how things were, and would have done whatever necessary to preserve it, but I could feel things were falling apart for a while.

Cherie’s silly hostility towards me because she missed me was juvenile, and was a waste of time. Just be nice, and enjoy the time we have together. We both realize, we’re both busy, but when we can be together don’t squander it with your attitude.

I’m good to you, Cherie.

Unlike my relationship with Annabelle, I went into this relationship on high alert. I had to protect my heart from the devastating effects of a break up, so I went into this knowing that things may not work out.

Unlike all of my other relationships. Where I fall madly in love and then the reality hits and I’m destroyed at the end of it for the next two years. That didn’t happen this time.

I loved my time with Cherie which is so well documented here. Probably my most detailed relationship. I walked down the street with Cherie and thought, ‘wife’ she was so sweet and chill.

But was it doomed from the start or would it have even worked long-term?

She lived 40 miles away. She lives with her parents at 30 and has a 7-year-old son who has behavior and emotional issues. Cherie has her own set of health problems. She works at CHOP which is a great deal for life, but you have to fly straight. Baby mama drama with the ex-husband. Financial issues. Over run by school and trying to graduate from Temple with your BS in psychology. The problems with your car. The problems with your family.

It all seemed to overwhelm her.

It seemed from her words that she wanted things to go back to the way they were when we first met, but she mentally and physically couldn’t go back there.

To me, all she needed to do was un-fuck her attitude and just come here and I’d take care of all the love and pleasure.

That one time she came here with her head in a knot, once we had sex, she was fine.

I know sex isn’t the solution to relationship issues, but a good rogering always helps smoothing out things between couples.

But it was just a band-aid on a bigger problem.

Cherie and I come from two different worlds. Our time together met the end of each others needs.

But only temporarily.

Cherie had been broken from a bankrupt relationship she had with a woman she loved. That woman used her for money and sex, and ended up abandoning her.

She had a kid at 17 from an older white guy who already had a family.

She worked at MacDonald’s for 10 years.

If this isn’t a black woman’s guide to hard knocks I don’t know what is.

I love Cherie and I’m so proud of her. But she’s been burned and her tolerance for enduring long-term pain is low at this point.

Her friends told her to get out there and date again and she reluctantly agreed.

That’s when she met a 55-year-old white man on Tinder.

She had talked to people on that app but the only date she ever went on was with me.

I’m that convincing.

Why should she ever be with someone like me?

A solitary cat who has finally come to know himself. He loves to work and be busy. He gets his energy from people he meets every day. He writes a dating blog that publishes everyday and has failed in ever relationship he’s ever been in. He makes horrible decisions in regard to romance. He always dates young women. They love him for his charm and grace, but they all leave him for the same reason. He doesn’t want to get married again or have any more kids.

My daughter, Lorelei is plenty.

You would think this would be a perfect scenario. Hot, smart, fit black girl who loves sex and is super chill and doesn’t want any more kids. I did too. And so did my friends. I would tell them about my new girlfriend and some would say… it sounds like a booty call.

Because we hardly ever got to see each other.  I was always working and so was she with CHOP, school and her son.

I think after a period of time that distance took a toll on our relationship.

It would on anybody. When I saw her it was magic, but there was too much time on the in between with me and Cherie.

It wasn’t me, because I like distance. I like to work and be busy, and not be in a day-to-day relationship. But I think the distance and time away destroyed Cherie.

When she did come here she seemed distant and bitter, which I didn’t understand. I thought, ‘you’re here. be happy, I’ll love you and please you.’

But that didn’t happen. She would be shitty to me in my presence and then apologize for it later in text.

Sadly for Cherie, I have very low tolerance for nonsense in my life now and her behavior didn’t bode well with me.

And having gone into this relationship with her with a clear mind of what could happen I was ready for its end.

In the beginning it was sweet, but quickly became aggressively sexual on her end.

I’m honored and blessed a fit hot baby wants me to be with me. This shouldn’t even be happening between me and a girl on the right side of 30, but it is.

She seems perfect. She wants to crawl into the back seat of her Saab and get it on. I’m resisting. I want to get to know her.

I’m always that way. I love dating.

Dating is so elegant and beautiful.

It’s courtship.

Sex is sex.

We all get it. It’s the end, really.

But dating is sooo romantic. Romance is the best part of every relationship.

It’s new and feels so good.

I’ve worked in sales my whole life. Once you’ve closed. The client’s just in the system.

The sex with Cherie was glorious.

She’s probably the only woman I ever met whose brain is really directed to her libido.

That guitar goes straight to the amp.

I’ve been with all the hottest women and they have so many problems, thoughts, ideas, switches, buttons, issues with sex and it’s a sad failure. They can’t get their train into the station and it’s mostly in their heads and stuff they learned from shitty magazines and their peers.

But Cherie….

Her signal is so clear and strong, she comes 15 times during straight up sex, because she’s in tune with her body.

That is so beautiful.

I’ll miss that.

I’ll miss being the hero that brought her that level of joy.

I’m honored at my age to have been able to give a woman that level of pleasure.

But the weight of her life has cast us asunder.

 

I think we’re done.

 

I haven’t heard from her and am actually relieved I don’t have to deal with this.

I know it seems weird but I think we both saw it coming.

We could have stayed the same but I just felt like I was losing her.

Nothing can stay the same.

Relationships need to grow. My last 3 haven’t. There’s a pattern here.

I need to stop.

I don’t want to hurt anyone. Maybe I should just date.

Anyway at this moment loyal readers, I am pretty sure it’s over between Cherie and I.

That’s it. It’s finished.

I’m sad and sorry.

 

 

If you think you’re showing symptoms of coronavirus, which include fever, shortness of breath, and cough, call your doctor before going to get tested. If you’re anxious about the virus’s spread in your community, visit the CDC for up-to-date information and resources, or seek out mental health support.

 

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

Buy Phicklephilly THE BOOK now available on Amazon!

Listen to the Phicklephilly podcast LIVE on Spotify!

Instagram: @phicklephilly    Facebook: phicklephilly    Twitter: @phicklephilly

Cherie – Chapter 65 – Words and Feelings

“I feel like we’re getting lost.”

“I never feel lost but it seems you’ve lost interest in me. The last two times I’ve seen you you’ve been cold to me even though I’ve tried to be warm. It’s been hard to be with you when I saw you. I was doing all I could and you were cold. I tried to take you on dates (because I love dating you love!) but you were cold. If I could put this in basic terms… if you and I were making love on the regular, things would be better. When we’re together on a regular basis our relationship sings. But we’re both so busy with school and work it’s been killing our face time. Cherie, I love you. Since we shared an umbrella in the rain. Club Quarters. You’re my mate. I’m so happy with you in my life. I’m working my ass off and I don’t know what to do. I would be honored just to eat some tacos with my pretty baby. I miss you everyday. I love you. I hope you can hang in there with me dear.”

” I love you and miss you and I do enjoy our time together, but this distance with both of our schedules is killing me. I tried not to be cold but couldn’t because I’ve just been so annoyed that we’ve been apart and I’m not used to it and I don’t like it.”

“So when can I see you again Cherie?”

“I don’t know. I work Saturday.”

“Me too.”

“Yea. I don’t know then.”

 

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

Buy the book, Phicklephilly now available on Amazon!

https://www.amazon.com/s?k=phicklephilly&ref=nb_sb_noss_2

https://www.amazon.com/s?k=phicklephilly&i=instant-video&ref=nb_sb_noss_1

Listen to Phicklephilly LIVE on Spotify!

Instagram: @phicklephilly       Facebook: phicklephilly     Twitter: @phicklephilly

Bailey – Chapter 5 – New Years Day

If I had to pay bar prices every time I went out I’d have to sell a kidney.

Bailey and I had planned on our second date to go to the movies on New Years Day. She said she had to check in with family but would let me know for sure the next day. So if she wanted to bail then she could simply tell me she had obligations on that day. Then we could set it up for another time.

But she got back to me the next morning with a solid confirmation that she was good to go for an afternoon matinée. I send her a link to the Ritz theaters over the weekend so she can look at the lists of films currently playing in those theaters.

She gets back to me in a little while and wants to see I, Tonya, the dark comedic film about fallen ice skater Tonya Harding. That sounds awesome. That’s the one I wanted to see too. We locked that decision down Saturday and I send her a calendar invite. Bailey accepted it immediately. The 2pm show at the Ritz at the Bourse building.

As time went by after our last date at Gran Cafe L’Aquila, I was feeling less amorous about Bailey. But I thought it would be something to do on my day off. I don’t get many days off and it would be fun to sit in a theater on a bitter cold day and watch a movie. The huge presence in the dark, the buttery popcorn, M&M Peanuts and a soda. Can’t beat it. Maybe it wouldn’t cost me and arm and a leg. But it probably will. If she wants to get drinks and food after the show it’ll bankrupt me. (Kidding, but I stopped doing this kind of dating a year ago. Why am I such a sucker for young, fit women?)

Sunday I worked and closed the salon at 4pm. My buddy Church came down and we went to Marathon for dinner. It was glorious. It was so good I wrote a solid Yelp review for them the next day. Just a low-key New Years Eve with a dear friend of mine. He even brought me a space heater to keep my daughter Lorelei a little warmer in our drafty old Rittenhouse apartment. The holidays have really been busy and fun this year.

The next morning I get to sleep in because it’s New Years Day and my first day off in over three weeks. I’m lying in bed just snuggled down and reading stuff on my phone. I’m also tackling major life decisions like; I could get up around noon and shower and be ready by 12:45. Walk from 18th and Pine to 5th and Market in the Arctic temperatures, and get to the Bourse before the 2pm show at the Ritz.

Around 11am I get this text:

“Hey Charlie Happy New Year. I have some miserable news. Please don’t hate me. Over the past 48 hours I went from sore throat to a full throttle cold. I can barely breathe and I’m sweating like crazy. I hate cancelling, can we reschedule for later this week?”

“Oh my gosh! Of course. Get some rest.”

“Ok. Thank you. I will.”

 

Are you folks thinking what I’m thinking? Yea. New Years Day Hangover. She’s 28 years old. She went out last night with her friends and got hammered like every other 28-year-old in this city.

I text my friend Karina. “Are you guys open today?”

“Yes! but I won’t be there until 5.”

“Cool. Thanks!”

I shower up, get bundled up. Grab my laptop and head to Cavanaugh’s. Normally on a Monday they have the 1/2 off Cheesesteaks, it’s quiet and I get great service from Karina.

I get there and it’s packed. No one is eating. Everyone is drinking. I hate New Years. I go downstairs and the music is playing too loud and it’s busy down there as well. What did I expect it’s fucking New Years Day! Who can drink like this? It’s gross. Who wants to be shit faced by 4?

I know the bartender downstairs. She’s nice and I tell her I’m going to stay. She proceeds to tell me that there is no 1/2 off cheesesteaks today because of the holiday. They don’t need to run any specials when the place is mobbed. Fuck Me! I hate drunken crowds but I’m going to grin and bear it. I order my food and everything’s on point. I just have to get my armor on and the rest of the day will be great. I think I’m the only guy in here with his laptop open and actually dining.

It was a stressful meal but delicious all the same. I throw the bartender $17 in cash and I’m out the door with my gear. I walk the two blocks east on Sansom Street to the Hotel Palomar. Into my favorite hotel bar, Square 1682. It’s quiet, warm, bright and I’m happy. I get a water and a glass of chardonnay with a side of ice. It’s about 3:30 by now so it’s okay if I have a glass of wine before 5pm on New Years Day.

There’s a girl behind the bar that I don’t know. She must work the shifts when I don’t come here. My man Roman (See: Roman – Rock n’ Roll Bartender) will be in shortly. I nurse the single chardonnay for nearly an hour. I’m happily typing away about Bailey and our second date. Funny… I’m writing about our second date on what was to be our third date.

I love this bar. My most beloved in the city because I have so many great memories with so many great and crazy people. Of course without Roman, the whole thing falls apart, because he’s the connection.

I typed away and Roman took over. Now it’s a party. Over the next couple hours I plowed through 5 glasses of wine, wrote 3 new blog posts, met a lovely group of people from Maryland, and even charged up one of their phones. They were feeling no pain when they arrived and continued drinking at Square. They were going to go to El Vez for dinner and then hit the dive bar, McGlinchey’s. They just want a bar they can smoke in, but I warned them that the place is a bit banged up.

I’m having a lovely day. I like being the guy at the bar getting all of the attention. The people leave, and I’ve had enough. I get the bill and it is a stunning $5.50. I tip another $5 on the card and place another $20 in cash in the book. Roman is simply my favorite bartender in the city. Maybe the world.

I pack up my gear and walked home in the bitter cold. I don’t mind. I’m well bundled.

I get home at the end of the first day of the new year with a smile on my face. My daughter follows shortly after and we’re happy to be home.

Around 8pm I get a text from Bailey. “Hey. How was your day? I’ve been sedated most of the day.”

I don’t get back to her. She needs to know I’m too busy to get back to her.

The next day I’m at the salon and I return her text. “I had a great day! Hope you’re feeling better.”

She gets right back to me. “I am. Thank you.”

And that’s it.

I did stalk her on social media (Facebook) to see what she’s been up to. Surprisingly, she does make mention of catching a cold and being sick.

I’m going to do nothing at this point. If she wants to see me again, she’s going to have to reach out to me now. She’s going to have to offer availability and yield to my schedule.

Sorry Bailey, I see why you’re alone at 28. You had an opportunity for something wonderful and you just don’t get it. The second date was what really drove it home for me.

So we’ll see what happens…

 

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

Instagram: @phicklephilly. Twitter: @phicklephilly    Facebook: phicklephilly

Bailey – Chapter 3 – Second Date – Part 1

Eating a flight of gelato at Gran cafe L’Aquila is like listening to a Beatles album. Every song makes you feel different.

I have been texting Bailey and things seem to be going well. Her birthday is the day after Christmas so we decide to meet up for drinks at 8:30pm Wednesday night. The day after her birthday. Based on our first date I wanted to step up my game and wow her with something unique. I tell her to meet me at Gran Cafe L’Aquila. I figured at 8:30 at night we’d have some wine, maybe a little snack and of course… a flight of their amazing gelato! World class. The best I’ve ever tasted. If you want to impress a lady, take her there.

I close up the salon and head over. The city is beautiful during the holidays. I get there and the place is swinging because it’s the week between Christmas and New Years.

There are only two seats at the bar and it’s tight. I love this place though. They have a lively staff that are all very Italian and everything about the restaurant looks authentic.

Bailey texts me that she’s 5 minutes away. I order a chardonnay. My go-to beverage when I go out. The holidays have been great this year. Between work and events, I’ve had something going on every night this week!

Bailey rolls in and we hug. It’s nice to see her again. I help her off with her coat and we clamber into our seats. She orders something bubbly.

The bartender asks if we’re having food, and I think maybe calamari. Just a snack and then later I’ll blow her mind with the gelato flight.

They give us a menu and she’s perusing it. The first page is always what they’re featuring from a region in Italy. The other two pages is everything else they serve on a daily basis. The other 10 pages is all wine, cocktails and dessert. It’s like a book!

“I’m hungry!”

I don’t like the sound of that. Nine o’clock at night is snack, wine and gelato. That’s it. But now we have an issue. But its date number two and her birthday yesterday, and it’s the fucking holidays, so I’m going to take one for the team.

My girlfriend is black, but this is classic black girl behavior. Bailey is a light-skinned black so she must be some kind of mix, but this is a lot of what they do. You all know I’m not racist. I love all women. I have all their albums. Huge fan. I’ve had three black girlfriends. I love every flavor that God can make of girls. I truly do. But black chicks will eat as much as they possibly can if it’s free. I’ll tell you where this comes from. Black people have been oppressed by everyone for hundreds of years. They never got anything and were treated like shit for centuries. But unfortunately once they’ve been somewhat accepted into white society and the workplace they get all they can. They don’t even know they’re doing it. It’s just a need, because they never know if it’s going to happen again. Maybe this could be the last time it ever happens.

Every time I’ve been at an event or a meeting and there’s black women there, they all sit together and devour as much food as they can. I know I’m not the first white person to notice this.  But in this day and age everybody is so scared to say anything. But, again… my girlfriend is black and I love her dearly. She’s the sweetest loyal lady. I’m the piece of shit going out on dates with other women because Cherie is never around. But black girls do this thing when it comes to food. It’s a shame really. I’ve seen this for decades. If there’s free food around they will consume it all because they don’t know when it will happen again.

They get knocked up by some loser, have a kid, guy leaves, and she ends up living at her parents and they help raise the kid. This happens over and over. Even my girlfriend’s sister had two kids that are being raised by the grandparents. This is a cycle in the black community. That bitch met a new guy and has gotten pregnant again. Is she going to raise this new one? She’s not even married. Oh, you can’t raise the two rugrats you have and you got knocked up again? What are you insane? These are human beings! How can you be so reckless with your family?

Black women are amazing and have to put up with a mountain of shit in their lives. Just being born black in this country is a setback. I’m blessed to have been born into the family I was and they were somewhat normal. We all have our crosses to bear. But I know what this little encounter is going to turn into.

I remember Bailey telling me about issues with her mother. I haven’t heard too much about dad. But come on… both nostrils pierced, the septum, and the Medusa. Oh, and the tattoos. You’re screaming for someone to look at you and please pay attention to you. I’ve met dozens of you. In all races, shapes and sizes, dear.

Bailey suggests we get a table. Fuck. I can already feel the wetness from my debit card leaking tears into my back pocket. I talk to the bartender and he sets it up.

We head upstairs and get a table. They check our coats and give me tickets. Bailey isn’t accustomed to this level of service and hospitality. This is a first rate joint.

She takes forever with the menu. That’s okay. When I brought Kita here she did the same things. I forget girls in their twenties are overwhelmed by monster menus at fine eateries.

I already know what I want. I get the same thing every time I come here. Grilled half chicken, rosemary potato wedges and asparagus. Done. I’m just sipping and waiting at this point.

There’s two families across from us with cranky babies. I want to toss those little fuckers over the balcony. But I’m a parent and I have restraint. I hate my friend Marigold’s kids and my friend Rob and Laura’s kid but I don’t have to raise them. I only have to see them once a year and that’s enough! I did a good job with my daughter Lorelei and she’s turned out lovely. You have one shot. Be a fucking parent. Put yourself aside and do a better job than your parents. Take the best of what they did and do better and be firm and gentle. It’s not that hard. Be patient and love them. They’re children! They’re like puppies, train them and break them in!

Baliey finally settles on a dish and we’re good. Conversation is good and she looks great. She’s all in black and looking cute.

The server, Karina comes back and takes our order. But before she does that, she asks if we want an appetizer. (As a sales guy I love the upsell, but don’t pull that fucking shit on me with this hungry girl) Of course Bailey wants a fucking appetizer now. (Goddammit!)

“Oh… yea.. lets get the mozzerella plate shrimp thing.”

I’m not going to touch that shit. It’s 9:30 at night. I just wanted a light snack and now I’m fucked for a full blown dinner here.

Appetizer comes out and Baliey rips into it. I never touch it. She devours most of it and when the dinners come out Karina asks to take it away and Bailey keeps it. She’s going to kill any food that comes to this table. That’s her personal goal. Just like at Dan Dan Christmas eve. She devoured everything.

I get it now.

Dinner was nice. I actually cut a piece of my amazing chicken off and give her the first taste from my fork. (I haven’t had a bite yet, but I want her to taste first because I’m a gentleman.) Bailey assures me she’s okay with germs but I wanted her to try it first off a clean fork. She loves it of course. Yea, it’s great grilled chicken under a hot stone. I knew she’d love it.

To be Continued Tomorrow…

 

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

Instagram: @phicklephilly    Facebook: phicklephilly   twitter: @phicklephilly

Bailey – Chapter 2 – Twas the Night Before Christmas…

I confirm with Bailey that we are still on for 3:30. I think it’s cool to be meeting a girl for the first time on Christmas Eve. Just something romantic about that.

I close up the salon around 3pm that Sunday. I figure I’ll head over to Dan Dan early. It’s a cute Asian bar/restaurant around the corner from the salon. I walk over and figure I’ll get there early for a pre-game glass of wine to take the edge off. I’m looking forward to meeting Bailey. I go in. She’s already at the bar. Wow, a girl that’s early. I like that.

I greet her and she looks cute. We shake hands and decide to move to a quiet corner of the bar near the wall. It’s cold out and I don’t want her to be chilled every time someone comes through the door.

There is some woman working the bar not my buddy. I ask where he is, and she says he doesn’t work Sundays. I order a chardonnay and she the Pinot Grigio. We start chatting. I review some points on her profile that I really liked. The banter is going well. I notice on several instances that she is touching me. That’s a good sign. If a woman touches you, she definitely likes you.

This is good.

We order a bowl of their famous noodles. It’s big enough to split. She forgoes the chopsticks for a fork. I think our date is going well. I love meeting a new girl on Christmas Eve!

We exchange stories and she’s loving the noodles. Surprisingly my buddy Nate shows up and he’s here to work. I’ve known him for years and I always usually follow him to wherever he’s tending bar. He comes over and greets me by name. This always makes me look good to whomever I’m with. It’s good to know people in the hospitality industry.  When you go to wherever you know people you get the hook up. Men define themselves normally by what they do. Women on the other hand define themselves by who they know. I know so many people around the city, it wields power when you’re out on a date. It makes her feel she’s with a man of substance and importance in his surroundings.

I eat come of the noodles but Bailey pretty much polishes them off. She must have really loved them! She also appears to want something else. I hand her the menu and she goes with the shrimp pot stickers. I normally go with the pork but let the lady have what she wants.

She orders another glass of wine and I do the same. The pot stickers come out and Bailey rips into them. I’m good with what I’ve had and doing just fine with my wine.

We’ve been here for about two hours. It’s a solid first date. I tell her I’m ready to wrap it up and she has to go pick up some gift cards and visit her grandmother. I think that’s sweet and she calls for an UBER.

I pay the bill. It’s not bad. it’s the holidays and I asked her to come here. She doesn’t live in the city so she did all the traveling and I want to pay. Maybe Bailey can be my new affair.

I settle up and we go outside. I thank her for a lovely evening. I want to see her again. We agree to meet up again and go on another date. I have an idea and I tell her I’ll be texting her. The car arrives, we hug and she’s off.

I later get a text from her thanking me for the evening and that she is home safe.

So maybe I’ve got a new fun girl to hang with but only time will tell.

 

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

Instagram: @phicklephilly    Facebook: phicklephilly   twitter: @phicklephilly

 

 

Bailey – Chapter 1 – From Texting to Connecting

I matched with Bailey on OkCupid. Let’s take a look at her profile.

Bailey

27 – Philadelphia, PA

Straight, Bisexual, Heteroflexible, Sapiosexual, Woman, Single, 5’5″ Thin

My Self Summary

So apparently OkCupid decided to delete all of my content on my fucking profile. I had a bunch of witty things written here. Oh well… I’m a spoken word artist. Honest, raw, blunt, cynical, funny, frugal, practical, logical, nurturing, attentive, catering, independent, passionate, no nonsense. I was originally looking for a life partner but this website doesn’t offer those so let’s just hang. Not here for sex unless we actually go together. I’m old fashioned. If you have kinky anywhere on your profile, buzz off.

What I’m doing with my life

Working at an insurance company and retail job, volunteering and performing as a a spoken word artist. Also, I’m a really nice, gentle person. You just can’t tell from this profile.

I’m really good at:

Being funny in a super corny way. Talking to myself in public. Word play.

The first thing people notice about me

My facial piercings. Especially my Medusa.

Food: Soul food and Chinese. But I legit will eat almost anything. Every guy I meet is some craft beer snob. I’ll take a sip for the sake of feigning open-mindedness. But THE SHIT IS NASTY, OK? I like cheap ass wine and Seagram’s wine coolers. The girly jams. That’s it.

Six things I can’t live without

This list is ever changing…

Poetry, Grandma, Music, Curse words/SAT words, This asshole cell phone, Google maps

I spend a lot of time thinking about

Finding my happy place. Black lives matter. Trump is a cunt.

On a typical Friday night I am

At a social or artistic event

The most private thing I’m willing to admit

I spontaneously cry during cute commercials

You should message me if

You are drama free, baggage free, looking for something real, ***own a car*** (I’m not a chauffer) and want to connect in person quickly.

You eat sleep and breathe art

You like a nice firm cuddle.

You smell like sunshine and rainbows

You acknowledge that I’m not crazy. I’m quirky. Big Diff.

It bothers you that I didn’t put a period after rainbows.

 

That’s Bailey’s profile.

I like her. 27 years old. As we all know here at phicklephilly that’s my sweet spot. They are all looking for daddy and then want to get married and have kids. Then it’s over. That’s okay. I love meeting them and offering what wisdom I can. At this point since I’m long divorced and Lorelei lives with me I am beyond all of that. I may marry again. But she will be a doctor that will take care of my sorry ass and love me forever.

But for now, I want to meet quirky pierced “Fell asleep face down into a tackle box” baby. She’s going to turn 28 the day after Christmas. No problem meeting and old goat so I’m going to bring in the ’67 Pontiac GTO game I always do. Let’s see what happens. The blog won’t write itself, and the art is all.

Can’t wait to meet Bailey. She seems really nice. In her profile she says she’s thin. That could mean nice legs.

Let’s go with that.

I decide to write the first text on OkCupid.  She’s unique so I need to go with something original in my approach. Then I remember she likes “Dad Jokes” So I open with the following:

Waiter: Careful these plates are hot. Me: That’s okay, I’m not really attracted to plates.

She responds. “Gems. I knew you’d have some.”

“Hi Bailey. I loved your profile and you seem absolutely fascinating.”

“Thank you and likewise. I have a special place in my heart for comedians.”

“Me too. I’ve done stand up in the past and it’s terrifying and hilarious. Please tell me more about your spoken word art.”

“I’ve been writing and performing poetry since middle school as well as singing and acting. After high school I stopped performing for years until last year. Now I attend 2 open mics a week and occasionally book paid gigs. It’s my favorite thing in the world. It has brought be a lot of friendships and happiness.”

“That’s awesome! Let’s meet up for lunch one day. What days/times are good for you?”

“Tomorrow I’m available until 6pm. Sunday I have open availability as well.”

“Tomorrow I’m out-of-town. I could meet you after 4pm on Sunday.”

“Okay, that works for me!”

“Wonderful. I’ll find a place to meet up!”

(I provide my phone number)

So we switch over to texting and I’m feeling a good vibe. I think I like this quirky girl. I set up our first date for noodles and snacks at Dan Dan, the sechuen restuarant where my buddy Nate works as a bartender. She likes the idea and I’m going to meet her there Sunday!

So we’ll see what happens.

 

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

Instagram: @phicklephilly    Facebook: phicklephilly  twitter: @phicklephilly

Cherie – Chapter 53 – Why I’ll Never Marry a Black Man

“Black women and white men aren’t the only diverse duo out there, but it’s something to chat about if you’ve ever been in that type of relationship.”

Aside from the historical separation of black people and white people, there are a few barriers you should get out of the way in the present.

Words from Cherie herself.

I’m never going to marry a black man…

Why would I want to? Why would I commit myself to a lifetime of disappointment and misery? I don’t need a man to ruin my life; I can do that on my own without his help and with much less drama.

I’ve made up my mind to marry a white man because life is too short for you to live it hoping that you’ll find that one in a hundred black men who will be true to his word and won’t turn out to be a deadbeat.

White men are simple. They don’t have mothers from hell who expect you to visit their house so you can cook, clean, kneel and kiss their feet. They have boundaries and understand that marriage means a man leaves his father and mother and becomes one with his wife. Black mothers think marriage means a woman leaves her mother and father and becomes drafted into the family as an indentured slave.

White men are liberated. They don’t feel threatened by their woman earning more or having aspirations. A white man will have dinner ready for you when you come home late from work. He will have the children bathed and put to bed without being asked.
White men are faithful. You can trust that if he’s out late with his friends he’s not going to end the night having acquired a small house. You know that when he dies there won’t be any kids coming out of the woodwork making claims on his estate. White culture values monogamy, whereas black culture puts a premium on how many notches he has on the bed post.

White men value family and financial security. They invest in trust funds and leave an inheritance for their children. And oh the children! The caramel skin, the pretty brown eyes and the big, curly hair… I want gorgeous children! Have you seen those beautiful interracial family photos? I deserve that in my life.

It’s not that I hate black men. It’s that after more than two decades of being in relationships with black men, I’ve gone through enough grief for a lifetime. I want to be happy and for me that means not committing the rest of my life to a black man.

For a long time that’s how I felt about black men and that’s how many young black women feel today. We’ve seen our mothers cry over the hurt of discovering yet another affair and have witnessed them covering up the bruises in makeup. We’ve watched our sisters going down the same path, like history repeating itself. We have borne the wounds ourselves and are left with scars as reminders.

It’s hard to argue with experience when all a person has known is one side of the story. Hurt speaks way louder than platitudes like, ‘There are good black men out there. God has one for you.’ That’s not helpful. What is helpful is looking deeper and exploring why some black women feel like white men are the only viable life partners.

 

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

Instagram: @phicklephilly       Facebook: phicklephilly.     twitter: @phicklephilly

%d bloggers like this: