Phicklephilly – 1962 to Present

I’m 55 today!

I was going to post Part 3 of the move to the new space for our tanning salon today. It’s 10:25pm on Tuesday and I publish tomorrow at 8am. You all know that. Normally I write pretty far ahead in the future but decided to write something tonight for tomorrow and just drop it.

I can push Part 3 to tomorrow or next week and that would be great. (It’s a slow week at phicklephilly (Summer in Philly)

So I’ll write for tomorrow August 9th, which as you read this, is right now.

Today is my birthday.

I’ve never been happier in my life. This vessel still has all of its original parts but a few are missing. The car is a little banged up from the journey, but based on recent reviews by the fairer sex , it still runs great.

It’s still on the road and I’m happy that the old Pontiac GTO still turns over each morning. We’ve had many challenges in the last year, but life is still beautiful every day.

I still fall in love everyday, and my health is good. I feel good and am happy to be alive for another year.

Thanks to everyone around for me for that.

Like my parents before me, I’m not big on birthdays or Father’s Day. Birthdays are for kids and I never want my daughter to be beholden to me in any way. I never want my love to ever say the words, “Wait, I have to get a card for my dad.” I know she loves me and I love her forever. We know that’s a reality without words, cards or gifts.

Of course I’ll always hook her up on her Bday because she’s my little girl, but she’s already given me the greatest gift anyone could ever give me. She’s growing into a smart. decent woman in this world. Tomorrow belongs to her, not me. Because I’ll be gone someday.

(I just hope she doesn’t hold me to sending her and her friends to see Britney Spears in Vegas on her 21st birthday! That shit’s expensive!)

She’s happy, healthy, and in a good relationship with a boy I like and respect. I’m always proud of her and her choices. She lives with me and I’m always glad to see her but her life is her own. We have are time together and it’s always meaningful.

I left a failing publication selling advertising last year. I don’t want to sit in a cubicle under flourescent lights anymore and go to three meetings a week and work for fools that know less about themselves, the job, and life itself than I do.

I started working part-time at a tanning salon. The owner and I became close and built a partnership. Now we’re going into business together. Where in the hell would I ever have an opportunity like this in Philly? Be an equity partner in a fitness center in Rittenhouse on Walnut street? It’s like a dream come true.

I started this blog last year and it’ll be a year old in September. I began with one post every Monday. Then added Wednesdays. Then Tuesdays. Then Fridays. In 2018 I’ll publish five days a week.

This year I’ve written Phicklephilly, the book. I’m editing it now, and it should be available on Amazon by Christmas. I’ll begin work on the TV series in the Fall and look forward to pitching it to Amazon, Netflix, Hulu, and YoutubeRed in 2018. (Or anyone that will listen!)

I buried my parents this year. Thanks to my beloved sisters for holding it all together. Especially Janice.

My dear friends Church and Carly are planning a birthday party today for me at the Ritz Carlton tonight. It won’t start until 8:30 because I’ll be jacked up at the salon/gym until then. (Ugh! Day 17 in a row!)

He put a big invite out there on Facebook. I’m not big on social media anymore, but it’s the thought that Church wanted to do something to celebrate my day that means the most to me. I mean, it would be nice if all of my followers on WordPress showed up but I’ll have you all there in spirit. I’ve always craved creation. I love making things. Art, music, stories. I have so many more things to tell.

It gives me great joy each day to know that I’m writing again after a dozen years of creative darkness. Phicklephilly is my outlet to tell my story and create again. I’m so grateful to my family, friends, dates, (lovers and ex-lovers!) for inspiring me to write again.

I have so much to be thankful for in life. This has been an incredible year and a time of great flux for all of us. I’m going to continue to work hard on my family, friends, business and my art. I want you all to know I’m still here for all of you in your time of need. My ears and heart are always open 24/7.

There is a peace and balance in my life now that I’ve never felt before.

Thank you one and all for your love, friendship, guidance and support.

The party is tonight, so I guess there may be a Part Two to this post if I’m not to hung over!

XXOO

Phicklephilly

P.S. Layne Staley, Kurt Cobain, Chris Cornell, and most of all Jeff Buckley are gone, but I’m still missing you guys here on Earth so I’m going to keep living as long as I can.

But you’re all still alive in me!

 

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every Monday, Tuesday & Wednesday at 9am EST.

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Tales of Rock – David Bowie Thinks Witches Are Stealing His Semen

In fall 1975, David Bowie went into the studio in Los Angeles and made Station To Station, one of the best albums of his career. It saw him transition from playing conventional if fantastic rock and roll to recording a series of genre-bending masterpieces that set a template for ’80s pop and whose influence is still being felt decades later. Pretty impressive, considering he was doing so much coke at the time he later couldn’t remember recording the album at all.

According to David Buckley, the author of the book “Strange Fascination: David Bowie: The Definitive Story,” Bowie’s diet at the time consisted of cocaine, peppers and milk, and he lived in “a state of psychic terror.” Interviews published in Playboy and Rolling Stone depicted Bowie surrounding himself with burning black candles and Egyptian artifacts and believing that bodies were floating past his window, witches were stealing his semen and that the Rolling Stones were sending him secret messages. He lived in fear of Led Zeppelin guitarist Jimmy Page, owing to his supposed practice of witchcraft. In Station To Station‘s title track, Bowie yelped, “It’s not the side effects of the cocaine; I’m thinking that it must be love,” which was definitely the wrong diagnosis.

If Bowie wanted to clean up after this album, he made the wrong move by decamping to Berlin with Iggy Pop. Still, the trio of albums he recorded during this period—Low, Heroes and Lodger—honed his legacy. This trilogy along with Station To Station was cherry-picked to create a perfect soundtrack for Christiane F. We Children from Bahnhof Zoo, a German film released in 1981 that captured the harrowing lives of teenage junkies in West Berlin.

Check it out. I saw it at a midnight showing in LA in 1982. It’s great!

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every Monday, Tuesday & Wednesday at 8am EST.

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Carly – 2013 to Present -New Years Eve 2016

“Awww… Sheila. Always a bridesmaid. Never a bride.” I thought to myself.

Carly asked me if I’d help her set up for New Years Eve at the restaurant where she works. I hate New Years, but I love her, so I agreed to help. She needed me there around 4:30 on Saturday so that worked.

I had just come from brunch with hot senior citizen, Clarice at Jones. (See: Clarice – 2016 to Present – The CEO – New Years Eve Brunch) I walked into the restaurant and took the elevator to the second floor. I told the bartenders that I was here to help Carly set up. They didn’t know if she was in the building or not. I texted her to let her know I was at the bar. Surprising, she got right back to me. “Stuck in traffic, should be there in twenty minutes.”

No skin off my nose. I had Cory make me a vodka martini straight up with a twist. What the hell, it was New Years Eve.

I had a great day, albeit expensive. I was still glowing a bit from my romantic time with Clarice. I took a photo of the cocktail in front of me and sent it to Carly just so she wouldn’t rush, and also know that I was in good hands. I ask Cory for a cocktail napkin, and wipe my mouth. I drop it onto the bar, as he hands me my drink.

Cory: “How’s bad is your life?”

Me: “What?”

Cory: (points to napkin marked with lipstick)

Me: “Ohhh…” I smile.

Cory: “Happy New Year.”

I was playing with my phone, and sipping my drink.  Just enjoying the sights and sounds of the restaurant, still decorated beautifully for the holidays. Some time passed, but I figured we had plenty of time. New Years probably wouldn’t get going until after 9pm. It was only around 5pm at this point. She said the whole job would only take a couple of hours.

Carly texted me again, saying she was looking for parking and that traffic was nuts in the city. It’s New Years Eve in Philly. Of course it’s going to be crazy. I ordered another martini.

I was chatting with the bartenders while they prepared for the impending onslaught of revelers. Twenty minutes later, I get another text. “Come up to the penthouse. We’re on the 14th floor.” I drain the last of my martini and ask for the check. Cory waves me off. “Your good.” I thank him, wish him a HNY and throw down a ten. I head to the elevators in the back by the Club Quarters. There is a mob of people there that look like they’re dressed up for a wedding.

The attendant has to insert a special key card to allow access to the penthouse. I’m sausaged into the elevator with a gaggle of  hot bridemaids. (I’ve been in worse situations)

We reach the penthouse and the place is a flurry of activity. “Who are all these people, and where is Carly?” One of the staff points to a door, leading upstairs. I head up and there is Carly and her husband.

“What are we doing and who are all of those people down there?”

Carly tosses me a 187 ml of champagne and says there’s been a change of plan. We’re now setting up for a New Years wedding and have two hours to do everything.

“They’re getting married here and the reception is here?”

“Yep.”

“Sounds good to me. Let’s do this.” I chug the tiny teaser and start grabbing boxes.

Downstairs we tell everybody that if they aren’t immediate family they have to leave until the wedding starts at 7pm. Holy shit! We have one hour! I’m arranging chairs in the main room. Then placing these tall glass vases next to some of the chairs.

I dump big pearls into the vase. Then I pour water in it. Then I place a tall, thick candle down in it. I then scatter white rose petals around the base. I replicate this nine more times.

Everybody is doing something. We have an efficient team of people who work at the restaurant and have to do this stuff on a monthly and sometimes weekly basis. Even a couple of the bridesmaids were jumping in to help. There was the fun ethnic one who was really into helping and working with us and the photographer. Then there was the skinny hot one who did very little but complained a lot.

“Awww… Sheila. Always a bridesmaid.  Never a bride.” I thought to myself.

We get everything set up, and then have to get out of there because they’re going to do the ceremony. Just think, it only takes twenty minutes to get legally bound to someone. If it doesn’t work out and you have kids you’re stuck for the next twenty years in an emotional and financial hell of your own doing. (meaning: If you’re the man)

At one point I was out on this deck that many people don’t know about near the roof. There’s a guy out there in a tux, probably well into his sixties. He’s heavyset, and coughing while he’s lighting a cigarette. Built to last.

I start chatting with him. He’s the father of the bride. Turns out he’s a lifelong cross-country truck driver that delivers for BJ’s Wholesale. We share a moment. I congratulate him on his daughter getting married. I even had a chance to speak with her later. She said she met her husband at a bar in Ocean City, MD called Secrets. Sounds like a good place to meet your soul mate.

So me, Carly, her husband, and a few other people go up to the roof with another 187 ml each to catch a smoke. The view is great. When would I ever get to see this view? I love new views of my city. I take a few pics for Instagram. Carly is passing around the Mary Jane vape pen (marijuana) and that just adds to the fun.

Later we head back down stairs to get ready to set up for the reception in an hour. There’s a bar set up in the back room. I see a box of soft pretzels somebody brought in. I grab one and stuff it in my mouth. (Or as I call it: Drinking armor) Carly hands me a box of stuff, and says, “Make this and then make me five more.”

“On it.” It’s a glass vase about fifteen inches tall. I have to place it on a round mirror. Then place two little candles around it near the base. Put a few strings of pearls hanging out of the vase. Stuff a sponge in the opening. Then stuff white and black feathers, some with gold trim into the sponge all around it. It’s actually a fun project. I then replicate it five more times.

I bring out a tray of cigars and cutters. They are in a small room off the balcony. This way people can go out there and smoke cigars. I thought that was a good idea. So these crazy kids get married, leave for an hour, then come back to rock out to their Great Gatsby themed reception until midnight when it turns into an epic New Years Eve Party. I think it’s pretty cool, but setting all of this stuff up and all of the money and work that goes into this massive party all seems like a waste to me, but what the hell, I’ve had my time. I’m rootin’ for these kids.

Carly lets us know it’s time to go. The bride is thanking us all profusely. I was happy to spend time with one of my favorite people and do something nice for someone’s special day. It was great. The bride tells us we can have whatever is left over upstairs, as she stuffs four cigars in my coat pocket. We go upstairs to get our stuff and I walk out with a half a dozen 187 ml bottles. I like that it has the name of the bride and groom on every bottle.

I say goodbye to Carly and her husband, and thank them for the fun evening. I’ll be home by 9pm and asleep by 11pm at the latest, before 2017 even happens. I haven’t missed a thing.

Update: Carly has left her job as Events Director at the restaurant where she works. She wants to focus on the legalization of marijuana in Philly. She lives in Manayunk which is only a 15 minute car ride from center city, but when you live in the bubble of Rittenhouse like I do, she may a well be on another planet.

I miss her terribly and our Monday night cocktails and conversations. I saw her recently, but it’s just not the same. Hopefully I can see one of my favorite people in the world again soon.

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday at 9am EST.

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Kylie – 2012 to 2016 -Broken Wing – The Rittenhouse Cocktail & Fashion Event

“I see your screen is cracked. Is that in style now?”

A few years ago, when I sold advertising for a drinking website, I was asked to be a judge for the Rittenhouse Cocktail & Fashion event. It’s actually and event that is impossible to complete. How it works is this; They pick an evening in the Spring where about a dozen of the fashion shops stay open late.  Each one brings in an alcohol brand to make cocktails and serve them to the general public. People can sign up for this event and everybody pays for tickets and gets a little wristband.

The shops are scattered all over a seven square block radius between Broad street out to 20th street, and between Chestnut and Locust street.  Most people who sign up for the event just wander around and stop in places to check out their wares. While there, they can enjoy a nice cocktail made from some big liquor brand.

It’s a fun night if that’s all you planned on doing. Take a date, look at cool fashion, and drink your face off.

Here’s the problem you have when you’re a judge for the event. You show up, and they give you a list of all of the stores with a note pad to write down all of the names of the cocktails. But you also have to write down the ingredients, and then you have to rate the drink.

This would be a fun exercise if I had four hours to do it. But the event only lasts for two hours. I’ve done this event twice, and both times I couldn’t physically get through the event.

But I tried. Lord knows, I tried. Beautifully smashed.

The people working the tables are great. They’re really excited for you to taste their products and are very enthusiastic about discussing them with you. But, you can’t spend a great deal of time with each representative, because you have to get to the next spot. I would like to get the list of places at least a day before hand, and a list of what the brands are and the names of the drinks with their ingredients. Then I could maybe get through the twelve different locations and the drinks. But there is still the timeframe. It is a back-breaking exercise in speed tasting and running around center city. Could me and my ex-girlfriend Michelle (See: Michelle – 2007 to Present – A Brand New Day) pull off an event like that? Sure we could. Would we be destroyed at the end of it?

Damn straight.

So it was my first time as a judge for the event. This was back in 2012. I’m in one of the shops, about a third of the way through the event, when I’m approached by a somewhat cute brunette. She is dressed in a cool leather jacket and tight slacks. She looks very fashionable. Perfect for an event like this. She’s maybe thirty. What struck me most about her was her hair. She wore the rare “stacked bob.” You really don’t see many women rocking this style. Best thing about it is, it’s really unique. People will remember a chick with that cut. She also was carrying a nice camera and taking a lot of photos. She said she was covering the event for Philadelphia Weekly. (A piece of shit print publication, that no one reads anymore. It’s better utilized as a birdcage liner or wrapping your fish up in.)

“You look like you know where you’re going, mind if I tag along?”

I tell her sure, because I could use the company of an attractive photographer and tasting partner. I tell her that I’m a judge for the event. We exchange formalities and get moving. I’ve got the list and she’s helping find each place.

It made it way more fun to have a girl with me on this little journey.

We’re hitting each spot and getting to know each other along the way. The clock is ticking and I’m really trying to get through the whole show. By the end, we were literally running to the last couple of places. It was a fun challenge.

We missed a few along the way but as miracles would have it I actually remember the last cocktail I tasted. So I couldn’t have been that banged up. We were in Nicole Miller in the Bellevue Stratford on Broad street. The drink was a whiskey infused cocktail where the rim of the glass was made of Smores. You could actually bite the edge of the cup and eat it. It was called”Ghost of the Campfire” due to its sweet but smoky taste. To me, it was the clear winner.

Kylie and I had a great time together that night. We ended up walking over to Ocean Prime at 15th and Sansom. We sat at the bar and sipped one final drink. We chatted and exchanged business cards. I remember her phone screen was really cracked, which was the birth of this line, “I see your screen is cracked. Is that in style now?” I see so many busted screens these days.

Why won’t these people purchase cases for their phones? It’s essential for a bit of technology that none of us can no longer live without.

I kind of liked her and thought she was attractive so I was going to try to see her again. I could use some ruse about coming to an event with me. We parted ways and I told her I’d reach out to her in the near future.

I think I did on Facebook or text, but nothing ever came of it. I did see her maybe six months later when I was at an event in Old City. She shared studio space with another photographer down there. But I was inside a building when I saw that familiar stacked bob walking down 2nd street. By the time I would have gotten through the crowd and got outside, she would have been down the end of the block by then.

Little did I know at the time how Kylie would re-enter my life in the near future. I will write about her again, but she won’t make another appearance in this story for a while.

Oh, and she has world-class legs…

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every Monday, Tuesday & Wednesday at 8am EST.

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Sun Stories – Achilles Heel

Has Sharon finally found Achilles heel?

Achilles has had his share of challenges with his girlfriend Sharon off and on for the last ten years. There were times he wanted to just pack it in and end it. But Sharon has stood the test of time. Achilles’ only weakness.

He finished his shift at the salon, and rode his motorcycle home, just like any other Friday afternoon.

He went home and set the table in the dining room. Then he started cooking up a really nice dinner. He made the salad, grilled the veggies, cooked the steaks to perfection. He’s Greek. They can do everything.

The table was set. Candles glowed in the dimly lit room. Romantic music played softly in the background. Sharon would be home any minute. Achilles gently laid a bouquet of flowers at her place on the table.

She came through the door, to see him standing next to the table smiling. She paused, and then saw the flowers at her place.

“What did you do?” she said accusingly, as if he had done all of this because he done something bad.

Sharon approached the table. Achilles continued to smile. Beyond the flowers was a small black velvet box.

She gasped.

“Open it…” he said calmly.

With trembling hands, Sharon picked up the tiny vessel. Glancing up at him as she slowly opened the box, revealing a beautiful diamond engagement ring.

He proposed.

She said yes.

And they lived happily ever after. (Fingers crossed!)

Yea… Achilles is getting married!

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every Monday, Tuesday & Wednesday at 8am EST.

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Joyce – 2016 – Delaware Despair

Another tale of one man’s journey navigating his way through the dating scene in Philadelphia.

Still another grinding Tinder date. Gotta keep trying. I swiped right on Joyce, and she did as well. She is 51, with blonde hair and brown eyes. Not a bad-looking lady. She lives in Delaware as you may have guessed. She had only three photos on her profile. Head shots only and no description. In two of the photos she is doing a three-quarter face and looking at the camera with a sideward glance. The third photo is black and white and she is wearing dark sunglasses and looking away from the camera.

Being in sales most of my life, I am pretty good at reading facial expressions and body language. Normally, they say more than any words can express. A sideward glance shows mistrust. A woman who doesn’t do a body pic on her profile, may have some body issues. If you don’t write anything about yourself on your profile, you are either super hot and don’t have to, or you don’t have anything to say.

Let’s see how this plays out.

We chat on Tinder first. She liked what I wrote in my profile about if you don’t look like your pics you have to buy me drinks until you do. So that was good. She said she had only been on Tinder for two weeks. After two weeks she had low expectations. She said that if she actually got to the meeting stage, that would be a score. If there was something more after that, it would be an even bigger score. What she wasn’t looking for was, hookups, or weeks of endless texting with no meet up on the agenda. So that’s another positive in her favor.

I asked her is she ever came to Philly, and she says she comes all the time. I like that. But then she said Baltimore was the “New Philly.”

Strike one.

I tell her I work in business development, and am going to be opening a business in 2017 in personal fitness and tanning. I ask her what she does for a living. She says she has been a dental hygienist her whole life, but no longer practices. (Sounds grindingly horrible) It has taken a toll on her neck and back. But she has had the good fortune to manage the office. She likes problem solving and it keeps her very busy. For fun she loves to travel. Loves the beach, too. (That always worries me. Usually they are boring types that just blow their money on trips to keep their lives interesting because they themselves are not.) She also says she needs to go dancing weekly. (Again. No talking, just moving around. Troubling. No man wants to go dancing ever.) She also likes to take risks. When friends want to do something that no one else will do they call her knowing she’ll be down for it. (They call their good friends first, and settle on you because they know you’re always available because you have no life.)  I’m going to go ahead and call this:

Strike Two.

After some schedule wrangling, we exchange numbers and decide to meet up. It was a Sunday after I was finished at the salon. I liked that she drove all the way up from Delaware to meet me. I’ll give her points for that. Oh, I told her about my writing and she wanted to read it, so I sent it to her. She did read it, and liked it. More points. (It was a screenplay I wrote a century ago.)

We meet at Square 1682. It’s sort of my go to spot in Rittenhouse. I’ve had some great experiences there and dig the staff for the most part. She gets there on time. Points. We sit at the end of the bar. She is reluctant to drink. I respect that. She has to drive. But one drink? We’re going to be here for longer than an hour. But no worries.

I am talking to her and being my usual effervescent self. I’ve run this program countless times and most women find me very engaging. Most people are boring and I bring a rich history of humor and knowledge to the table. But as the time goes by I realize I’m doing all of the talking. She actually asks me if I have ADD. I guess someone with a personality and energy is alien to her. I give her plenty of opportunities to talk but that’s when the conversation falls flat. It literally goes awkwardly quiet. That never happens with me. She’s doing that sideward glance judgemental look to me. Then she wants food. Shit. She’s boring and now I gotta feed this one.

I spring for some calamari for her and I get the octopus. She asks me what my day job is. I don’t like this. I’m the VP of business development for an institute. I told her all of this. I can see why she’s alone. She’s a drag and brings nothing to the table. I am really good at striking up conversations with complete strangers. I can talk to literally anyone. But, I don’t remember much about our date or about her, because she had so little in the way of conversational skills. I don’t even remember is she’s even been married or has any kids. Normally I write notes in my phone after these date so I can write about them, but I just looked, and I have nothing!

Strike Three! You’re out Joyce.

Here’s an interesting tidbit though. Near the end of our date, I look past her and who do I see sitting one seat down from Joyce?

June! (June – 10/2016 – Runs With Scissors)

My first date with June was on a Sunday at Square 1682 two and a half months ago! She’s alone chatting with the bartender, my buddy Tusk. She says hello to me, and wave back. I almost called her by her blog name. It was awkward. She doesn’t hang out at this bar. She’s lonely and is hoping to run into me, or just to talk to hot Tusk. (He is hot, in a rock and roll way. I’ll write about him soon) Now when I get rid of Joyce, I can’t even come back here and review this mess with Tusk. Tusk later texted me, and said that June said that she was cuter than the girl I was with. Okay, for the record, June. 1. You’re not. 2. You both equally suck in different ways.

I sadly have to pay the bill. (She did drive up from Delaware) I walk her to the parking garage, and it ends in not even a kiss on the cheek, (not that I even give a shit at this point) but with the perfunctory hug. Ugh! I ask her to please text me when she safety gets home.

I just make the walk home, because there is nothing left to do.

She texts me later to say that she arrived home safely. She thanks me for “an evening of drinks, snacks, and witty repartee.” (Those are the exact words I wrote in my calendar invite to her about this date) Has she not a single original thought in her head?

I’m never contacting her again. I have better things to do. I should have entitled this chapter, “Delaware Dud.”

Lately this senario has become classic phicklephilly. *sigh*

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every Monday, Tuesday & Wednesday at 8am EST.

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Church – 2012 to Present – Birthday Boy

Walk beside me and we’ll get you through the fire…

It was Church’s forty-eighth. He stopped up at the salon with a 200 ml of Jim Beam. I guess he wanted to get a little tuned up before we went to Keila’s going away party. Alice was nice enough to throw it for her considering Keila was leaving her high and dry. I don’t know when the party started, but I told Alice we’d be getting there after 8pm.

Church flopped on the couch in the waiting area of the salon. He cracked the half pint and poured half of it in an empty water bottle for me. He grabbed a can of Coke from the fridge and mixed his own whiskey and coke. I got him a scarf for his birthday, and he loves it. It looks just like one of mine, and I know he likes mine so now he has one.

I finished up work around 8pm. I texted Brooke to let her know we were heading over to Alice and Keila’s office for the party. Church and I go to their building and wait for the elevator. We finally get one and it’s full of people. These elevators always take forever. We finally reach their floor and step into the hallway. We can see the shared space through the glass doors. I see Alice putting her coat on and others gathering to leave.

We’ve missed it. It’s over. I text Brooke and tell her they’ve ended the party early. She says she has to attend a birthday party at Vesper later so if I want to meet her there we can. I agree.  (It’s a cool speakeasy bar on Syndham street, around the corner from Misconduct on 15th and Locust)

Alice and Keila are heading down Locust street toward Locust Rendezvous. (Small neighborhood bar, with $5 burgers everyday) It’s packed, and they keep on going towards Misconduct. Keila suggests McGillin’s on the other side of Broad street. (Oldest operating bar in Philadelphia) Alice vetoes the idea and wants to go to Misconduct.

We all pile in there. It’s noisy and packed as well. I tell Alice that Church that I thought the party was going to go until 9pm. Now we’re doing this mess, and we don’t want to do this train wreck. Alice is half in the bag. I tell her that Church and I are meeting Brooke over at Vesper around the corner.

“Are you mad at me?” she pleads.

“No. it’s just too crowded here and we need to go chill somewhere.”

I can tell she’s upset, but all they would have needed to do is follow us. But they didn’t, and I’m glad they didn’t. I don’t want to hang out with a bunch of IT nerds. It’s Church’s birthday, and I need to make sure he’s happy. We leave Misconduct. (It’s like a goddamn Chinese fire drill!)

Life is good over at Vesper. There are people at the bar, but against the wall are high top tables that are all empty. We park it there and order some drinks. Brooke shows up and I’m happy to see her. In her boots she is towering over me at 6’4″. We’re chatting about everything. her life, job, the salon, my new business development job. She says she’s here for some girl’s birthday party. The girl slept with some guy she was seeing some time ago, but they have reconciled. Still sounds shitty to me. I ask her how her trip to NYC went. I’m assuming it was a modeling gig.

Her heart was shattered a few years ago, when some guy she was in love with, neglected to tell her a small detail in that he had a wife. Brooke said she now has no expectations. Sounds like the walking wounded. You can’t let the shitty things that people do to you change your way of thinking or loving. They’re just shitty people. Learn from them and move on. Just try to make better decisions next time.

Brooke tells me that she’s on a dating site where people have to verify their incomes. She says she went to NYC to meet a guy that is a millionaire. She showed me some pics and he was good-looking and fit. She said she’ll only date guys that have been verified and have solid income. Now technically this seems like a safe plan on paper. But here’s what I gathered from our conversation.

Hot millionaire, (Or not. I don’t know how they verify income. Do you have to submit your tax returns to this site?) He’s on there and probably has no game. Because if you’ve got a million dollars you should be able to pull some serious tail on a regular basis. He connects with statuesque Brooke. She gets on the cheap bus in Chinatown and takes it to NYC for twelve bucks. If he’s so rich and he likes you, shouldn’t he just send a car for you or at least pay for your round trip ticket on Amtrak to have you up and back in a classy way? That’s what you would think, right?

Brooke schleps up there on a shitty two-hour bus ride. Goes to the guys place and he’s got her. “Did you sleep with him?” I ask.

“Of course.”

That is sooo Brooke. She’s always come off as a very sexual being. But she goes about it the wrong way every time. She has a slammin’ athletic body and probably fucks like a tiger, but no one keeps her around. I think it’s because she gives up the gold too soon, and really just isn’t pretty enough in the face for anybody to stay with her. I know this sounds harsh, but she needs to protect her vessel and make better decisions.

So basically, this hot “millionaire” sat back sipping a scotch in his Manhattan apartment while Brooke hopped on a bus in Chinatown and rode all the way up there to see him. He bangs a hot hard body for the night. It doesn’t cost him a red cent. Better than a free hooker, because she really likes him and hopes he’ll do the same. But I’m sure he doesn’t give a shit about her and just got some hot booty call for the night. She never mentioned him courting her, or taking her out anywhere in Manhattan. He just fucked my friend and put her off the property the next morning like a bag of trash. She gets to take the long ride alone back to Philly on a bus that smells like urine.

Bravo.

Well done.

I told this story to my dear friend Dina, (See: Dina – 4/2011 to Present – Lil’ Jap) at breakfast the other day and I’ll tell you what she said.

“That is not how you find a husband.”

I love Dina. She has always been wise beyond her years. (Like and old Jewish lady that I love)

So I tell Brooke we’ll catch up more in 2017. She has to go be with the shitty birthday girl. I get the bill and it’s my two beers and Church’s one cocktail. It’s his birthday, So I get it.

It’s getting noisy as more people enter the bar. I look at my phone. Alice texted me asking where we were. I tell her the Vesper Club and there is plenty of room.

Drunken crickets.

Church finds out his buddy Eddie is working the bar downstairs and wants to go down there. It’s the coolest part of this place. We walk up to the hostess stand. To her right is a tall bookcase. Church picks up the phone on the wall and speaks to the bartender downstairs. The bookcase clicks, and swings open like a door!

It’s a secret passage way to the cellar!

I love this!

We go downstairs and there is this dark bar set up down there. Dark lounge. People are in clusters on plush sofas drinking cocktails. It’s quiet and could become one of my hang outs, if I can get down here again. The bartender Eddie makes us a few drinks and they are outstanding.

There is a couple to my left on a Tinder date! I tell them some other good spots to hit around the city. She’s hotter than he is but it could work if he’s nice and has game. To my right is what appears to be three ladies that must work together. They’re all getting drunk and laughing.

I’m happy to be down here.

After two drinks and the ladies getting noisier, I know Church will want to go. Church doesn’t  like noise or nonsense. He insists on paying the check. I press but he wants to get it. I’m sure his buddy gave him a good hook up on the drinks.

I’m happy.

We make one final stop at Sofitel. He’s got connections there too. I order a Stella Artois and he gets a cup of coffee. They bring us a basket of fries and some dipping sauce.

It’s outstanding.

So we’re wrapping it up, and the night is winding down. We go to his car and he gives me a ride home. Church got a scarf. We drank a little bourbon. We almost went to a party. I got to buy him a few rounds of drinks. I got good intel on Brooke. We got the hook up in a cool underground bar. And some free food at another.

So overall I think Church had a good time, and so did I.

 

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