Sun Stories: Jill – Meet My Friend Sabrina

If you’ve been following this blog, you’ll have read the Jill saga. If not I’ll recap. Jill has been a client at the tanning salon for several years. She is a former stripper and escort. She’s 38 years old and an alcoholic. She was released from rehab and lives in a halfway house in South Philly with several other women in recovery. We hired her to work a few shifts at the salon. She was doing a great job until one night when she went out with former employee and neighbor of mine Trish.  Trish was sort of the catalyst because of her most recent mental episode because she was busted for cocaine. Trish went home but because Jill is an alcoholic, she couldn’t stop at one drink and got wasted and stayed out all night. That is against the rules in the halfway house where she lives. She was kicked out and didn’t tell us she wasn’t coming in to work so we fired her.

All is forgiven and she now works at a nail salon. They let her back in after a three-day detox. (So that’s good for her) She really is a nice lady and still comes in regularly to tan.

One night she comes in with another lady. She introduces her to me as her friend Sabrina. She has a pretty face, darker complexion (She doesn’t need to go tanning. She already has lovely skin) And a slender build. She looks to be around 5’4″.

I’m chatting with her and she says she works in the area. She seems nice enough but isn’t telling me much. Then Jill pipes in, “Oh, don’t be so evasive Sabrina. He knows all of our dark secrets. Sabrina lives in the halfway house with me.”

“Oh, okay.”

I can see Sabrina looks relieved.

“It’s just so boring to be sober! Everything revolves around drinking.”

Jill makes an interesting point. “Maybe you could start to consider a hobby or doing activities that don’t include alcohol.”

“I guess. But I’m so bored now! I haven’t had sex in six months and a girl needs the D! (sex) I think if they didn’t make us go to AA everyday, and do random sobriety checks I’d probably sneak the occasional drink just to have a little fun.”

“But you couldn’t do just a little drink or two now and then. You saw what happened last time.”

“I know…”

I send Jill back to the room for her tanning session. I sit down in the waiting area with Sabrina. She tells me that alcoholism runs in her family.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, Sabrina.”

“No it’s okay. I didn’t always drink.”

“Really? How did you start?”

“I never had a problem with drinking until I got involved with a guy who drank a lot. I started drinking a lot with him and I just couldn’t stop. I just started getting blackout drunk all the time. It was terrible. So I had to get away from him and go to rehab, and now I’m here.”

“It’s a disease. Some people can drink all the time and it never owns them. Some can drink their whole lives and they don’t have any problems. But whatever your chemical makeup is, when it’s mixed with alcohol…”

“…It ends in disaster.”

We chat a bit more and I’m finding this woman sweet, attractive but a victim of her genes and choices.

Jill comes out of her session a little later, and we part ways. The girls say goodbye, and are off to do some sober activity.

I get to thinking about the girls and how hard this must be for them. You enjoy doing something and then it can destroy your life, and you can never do it again. It’s everywhere. On nearly every street in center city you can find alcohol. Most can enjoy it in moderation. Some in excess and nothing happens, but others it just wrecks your life. So it’s a large grey area like mental illness. I’m in no way comparing the two. But there isn’t just Sane and Crazy. There’s a whole spectrum out there.

The causes of alcoholism in women are diversified. Each person is unique. The way in which circumstances, psychology, and physiology come together ultimately create a likewise unique “formula” of factors that contribute to some women becoming alcoholics.

Alcohol affects woman far differently than men. In women, a larger amount of alcohol passes directly into a the blood stream than it does in men. This exposes a woman’s brain and body to more toxicity. Many experts feel that over-indulging is far more risky for women as a result, and that this alone is one of the potential causes of alcoholism in women.

Studies show that over 10 percent of women who drink have one drink a day. This is considered moderate drinking by the US Department of Health and Human Services. Some recent studies show that moderate drinking can have some benefits. Specifically, it may lower the risk of heart disease when combined with a good diet and exercise.

Nonetheless, this does not eliminate the risks, including the possibility that alcohol may interact with medications. Women who drink at this level are still in danger of developing various health issues including heart conditions, stroke and cancer. Additionally, thinking that drinking is “healthy” could be one of the causes of alcoholism in women.

Women who drink heavily run a higher risk than men of becoming dependent. These women also have a higher chance of being a victim of abuse (due to impaired critical thinking). They also tend to experience more severe physical damage then men, even if they haven’t been drinking as long as a man of the same age.

Some of the health issues that result from female alcoholism include liver disease, memory loss, and high blood pressure. Psychologically, women who drink heavily are also prone to depressive disorders.

A woman who drinks while pregnant puts her unborn child at risk. There are a variety of birth defects that may develop in a fetus from drinking during pregnancy. These defects are referred to as Fetal Alcohol syndrome (FAS). FAS can manifest in many ways including brain damage, learning disorders, memory retention problems, and disfigurement.

Stress is often noted as one of the reasons women drink. Unfortunately this can become a very negative cycle as drinking can cause stress at home and work, which in turn could become one of the causes of alcoholism in women.

A woman who has an alcoholic family member is at higher risk for alcohol disease than others. Each woman’s genetic make up can also make a difference to how drinking effects her body. Signs that someone is becoming dependent on alcohol include missing work, craving alcohol, having a growing tolerance for increased amounts of alcohol, and drinking in risky situations.

If a woman realizes she’s becoming dependent, it’s possible for her to begin making changes on her own by reducing alcohol consumption or stopping altogether. Nonetheless, that person will need to remember that the temptation to return to drinking heavily may always be a part of their life. Controlling those urges is one key to success.

Women who are already addicted can go to their personal physician for advice and information on support groups. There is no reason to go through this process alone, and many reasons to seek support. Studies show that people who have a strong network of friends, family, counselors etc. will be more successful in their battle against alcohol disease than those struggling alone.

All of that being said, I started to think about Sabrina and Jill and what they could do to make life less boring and more fun, but keeping things sober.

Then I came up with an idea…

Tune in tomorrow to find out what that idea is. It may not be a good idea, but it’s an idea.

 

 

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Kimiko – Chapter 3 – The Devil Made Me Do It – Part 1

I finished work at the salon that Sunday, and headed over to Devil’s Alley. It’s a bar/restaurant at 20th and Chestnut. I’ve written about it before. It’s one of my go to spots in Rittenhouse. Southern cuisine, cool spot. Dining room on the ground floor, and the bar and the balcony seating upstairs. There are lots of cool light effects and plants. There’s actually a tree growing in the middle of the downstairs dining room.

They have the best spicy dry rub wings in the city. The food is great there and I’ve just learned that they do Happy Hour every day. Even Sundays! So I’ve come to the right spot for my first date with Kimiko.

I’m early of course. I head upstairs to the bar and order a vodka and tonic. The bartender Tim is charming and we chat a bit about work and how life is tough right now. Classic bar banter. I throw it back and order another just to take the edge off the day and this date.

I text her.

Me: I just arrived at Devil’s Alley.

K: One min.

Me: I’m at the bar upstairs.

Perfect. It’s 4:57 and she is right on time. Points for her punctuality.

The place is dead and I love that it’s quiet so we can chat and get to know each other when she and I dine together.

I hear the light click of heels coming up the metal stairs behind me. I turn and there before me is the girl from the profile on Bumble.

But better.

The angelic fine boned features of the face. Alive. Real. Her raven tresses tumble about her shoulders like ribbons of coal. The lovely almond eyes. The lean body. She’s wearing a black and white blouse, with a fitted short jacket over it paired with black clinging slacks and heels.

She’s absolutely perfect. We do the perfunctory awkward hug that doesn’t feel that bad at all. I catch a whiff of her lovely hair.

We grab a quiet table on the balcony. We sit and the bartender comes over and she gets a beer and I ask for another V&T. We exchange the usual greetings and pleasantries. She tells me she’s parked a few blocks away at 20th and Walnut.

We’re sipping our drinks and I tell the server we want to chat a bit but will be ordering food. I ask her how long she’s been on Bumble. She tells me only about two weeks. She’s been on two dates but it hasn’t yielded anything significant. One was just a no and the other didn’t look like his profile pics. That’s good, the shark has gotten this baby seal before she could disappear. I can tell by her expression and body language she’s telling the truth.

I decide to open and tell her about myself first. She’s fine with that. It’s time for Led Zeppelin to go onstage. I tell her I like to talk. She responds that she’s a good listener.

I give her the sales pitch. Single dad. Daughter, 22 lives with me. Former banker and advertising guy. Works at a tanning salon and investing in a fitness center in Rittenhouse. I talk about my family and where we’re from and a little bit of history. I tell her I want her to know who I am and I’m very honest and open. I want to put her at ease. It’s an easy play because it’s all true.

To a point.

We seem to be hitting on all cylinders. She jokingly brings up my profile. About how I make the statement, “If you don’t look like your profile pics, you’ll buy me drinks until you do.”

I assure her that she won’t be buying me any drinks tonight. (Smokin’ hot and better than her profile pics.)

She laughs and I see how sweet she is. She can tell I’m a gentleman, and that I’m old-fashioned and she likes that I like dating, romance and courtship. That puts her further at ease.

She tells me her story. It’s an old family. Older than mine but she’s the baby of the family. There are eight children! She was born in Hong Kong. (Funny how my girlfriend Cherie is in Japan right now and I’m with a Japanese girl. Oh, the irony of life!) A long time ago Great Britain ruled Hong Kong and Japan. But then they had to give all of the countries they ruled over back and Japan went under the rule of China. She said her family didn’t agree with Chinese rule and fled Hong Kong and came to the US long ago.

Her parents and extended family always worked in the restaurant business. Chinese restaurants of course. Asians are some of the greatest restauranteurs in the world. Think about it. They’re in every city in the civilized world and you never see them go out of business.

So that’s what they did when they came here. The whole family worked like dogs running a Chinese restaurant. Then they opened up another one, and then another. They did this to afford their future generations with a better life. That’s how it’s done. Just good hard-working, bright people. I admire them and their tireless work ethic. Good manners and discipline. All of the qualities instilled into my family by my parents.

She was married once and I tell her my history, but I keep it brief and light. Too early to get to deep in that on a first date. She was married for many years and it yielded two sons. They are both in medical school.

Do you see the pattern here? Come from a crappy place, get to America. Work your asses off so your kids and grand kids have the means to become anything they want. Something you could never have imagined doing. She is very proud of her boys. At this point we whip out the cell phones like people used to bring out the wallet photos of their kids in days of old.

“You’re daughter is gorgeous. Pretty as a model!”

“I do nice work, but the mold is broken and there’ll be no more.”

We order the spicy dry rub wings so she can try them. Because its happy hour you can get a little four plate. Perfect. She orders the chicken quesadilla and I go with the pulled pork sliders. I order for us both and ask her if that’s okay. She likes it and digs the manners and skills.

Ex girlfriend Annabelle didn’t like when I did that but she was a raging feminist, but she was just a fool who didn’t understand manners and chivalry because she never grew up with any good male role models. That’ll never happen to my daughter Lorelei.

It’s going well and I want to learn more about her. She met her husband here but they had a lot in common. Both from Hong Kong, and similar cultural and familial histories. They started dating and then married three months after that. She tells me that’s kind of stupid, but I tell her how I was married to my ex-wife after ten months of dating.

We share a laugh over that and there’s definitely a connection. Life happens. People make decisions and you just hope for the best. It was probably just everyone tired of the dating scene and you settle on what you hope is a good one and just go for it.

She looks at her watch.

“Do you have somewhere to be? I don’t want to keep you.”

“I have to put money in the meter.”

“That would be a brilliant out if you felt the date wasn’t going well. You could just not come back.”

She touches my arm, “Oh I would never do that! You’re funny. I’ll be right back!”

She apologizes and I tell her the Parking Authority in this city is vicious so she should go now.

Off she goes. I know she’ll be right back. She only put enough for two hours and if it hadn’t worked between us, she could have bolted. She’ll come back right?

She’s been sweet, and she touched my arm.

Kimiko is coming right back. I joke with the bartender how this could be her out.

 

Wait… What if she doesn’t come back?

 

Find out tomorrow on Phicklephilly!

 

 

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The Beach House – Chapter 1

I’ve been writing a great deal of fiction in the last year. Mostly story driven erotica. I’m just trying some new things and it’s not going all that well over at La Petite Mort. The site is failing despite 5 series running daily over there.

I was inspired to write a story of redemption by a friend of mine. I was listening to him and spending time with him, and this tale began to form in my mind. I don’t know where it came from, but it began to form like everything else I’ve ever written.

I’ve always thought about my art.

I need to draw a picture.

I need to write  song.

I need to tell a story.

 

That never works.

 

I get a feeling from a person, in this case my friend Church. And it just comes. The words flow out of the pen onto the page, and in this case, keys to a website. Forever.

I got it!

Thank you Church!

 

This series is dedicated to my dear friend, Church. Who has faced many struggles but continues to prevail. 

I ran the idea of this story by him a few months ago and he liked it, so I’m writing it for him. Normally anything new I’m doing I announce it at the beginning of the new year. But I’ve been so inspired lately I’m releasing it NOW.

I hope you all like this work. 

It’s a tale of redemption and change, and I think we can all learn from that. (If it gets too sexy, I’ll post those chapters on the other site, La Petite Mort)

Thank you for your friendship Church. 

I am here for you on your journey.

 

Life is fleeting and fragile. Enjoy yourself!

 

Okay… here we go into a fictional fun story. I hope you enjoy it! (I’m new at this! Be gentle!)

 

 

I looked out over the pool to a pristine beach not one hundred steps below the chlorinated water. To the left, I saw trees and a stone fence, to the right, more palm trees and the same stone fence. Both fences transitioned into a jagged rock wall that defined the perimeter of the private beach. I couldn’t see the neighbors on either side. It was perfect.

I heard the real estate agent exit the sliding glass door. She was a heavy-set woman, impeccably dressed, with a phony happy sales attitude. I didn’t care for her much. She wore a bit too much perfume and always thought she knew what was best for me. Of course, I didn’t really care for anyone so she was at a disadvantage to begin with.

“I’ll take it.” I said without turning to look at her. I heard her high heels stop on the rock patio.

“You haven’t really looked at the house, Mr. Tomlinson.” There she goes trying to control my thoughts again. I was only interested in the privacy. This place blocked out the rest of the world. It would be my private little slice of heaven. The house was devoid of furniture which was a good thing. It meant it was already vacant and I could close the deal quickly.

“Make the offer Mrs. Johnson. Full asking price.” I raised my hand in hopes she would see that I had already made my decision. This was the fourth place I looked at and the first to meet my original qualifications. If she had just listened, she could have sold it this morning and not wasted half my day.

“Are you sure? I am quite confident we can negotiate it down ten, maybe twenty percent.” God, I am glad she doesn’t work for me. I would fire the bitch on the spot. What part of “make the offer” didn’t she understand? I wanted the property and didn’t want to deal with anyone any longer than absolutely necessary. I turned to her.

“Make the offer. Full asking price.” I made it sound a bit ominous. Why did I have to repeat myself? I hated the need for agents. She stepped back a bit and reached into her purse for her phone.

“Of… of course, Mr. Tomlinson.” She fumbled her phone, and it almost dropped to the stone patio. “I’ll have the papers drawn up immediately. They will want ten percent in earnest money.” She was back to her business self. “Would you like me to bring the paperwork to you tomorrow morning?” Like I wanted to see this woman first thing in the morning or ever again for that matter.

“A Monica Rose will call you and complete the purchase.” I started walking back through the house toward my car. I wasn’t interested in a conversation or politely accompanying her out. Happily, I chose not to ride with Johnson so I hopped in my car and sped off.

I entered the hotel at the rear entrance. I don’t have to feign niceties to the staff that way. I needed to get my new house livable as soon as possible. I expected to close by end of next week. I had enough lawyers on the payroll to make sure that it would go smoothly. I would need furniture and all the other necessities to make it home. I called up one of the few people in the world I respected.

“Monica, its Dale Tomlinson.” Monica handles things for me. She doesn’t discuss options and try to help. She just does.

“Mr. Tomlinson, what can I do for you?” Yes, that’s what I like to hear. No bullshit niceties. Just business.

“I am purchasing a beachfront home and need it furnished and move-in ready as soon as possible.” Watch her work.

“This week, sir.” She sounded a bit hesitant. Not like her at all.

“That is what ‘as soon as possible means.’ ” I usually didn’t have to repeat myself to her.

“Of course sir! Address?” I could almost see her writing it down as I regurgitated it. I told her to talk with Mrs. Johnson to finalize the sale and to access the property.

“Style?” I told her it would be classic comfort. I intended to spend a lot of time there. I don’t think it was an actual style, but Monica had a wonderful way of interpreting my needs.

“Budget?” Whatever it takes. I didn’t want to limit her creativity. I was going to actually live there.

“I will get a flight out tomorrow.” She was fast. That’s why I liked her. I don’t think she cared for me personally, but that was unimportant. I knew she liked my business, and she charged me well for her speed. Fine with me; I can always make more money. It’s time that is at a premium. What’s funny is that I have only met her in person a couple of times. Now I just call her with what I want and it’s done. I couldn’t think of a more perfect arrangement. I hung up the phone—no need for goodbyes.

It took three weeks to occupy the house. Damn owners were out of country, and I had to wait till they returned. They should have made arrangements for a possible sale before they left. Assholes pretty much ruined a week of my life. I really hate people. On the other hand, Monica was wonderful as always. The house was move-in ready. I was sure it cost me an arm and a leg, but it was worth it. Even the kitchen and bar were stocked. I only had to transfer my personal effects, and I was home.

I wasn’t sure why she had put a pool table in the rec room. I never have guests so it won’t get any use. I guess it was just there to take up the large space available. The pool had way too many lounge chairs, but I guess it gave the area a more lived in look. The beach itself was exactly as I envisioned. One lounger under a giant umbrella. This is why I bought the place. I aimed to spend a good portion of my life lying in that chair, reading books and letting the gentle waves wash away the rest of the world. This was paradise as far as I was concerned.

I walked down to the sand, and sure enough, the waves were playing a symphony on the bordering breaker rocks. Civilization was drowned out. The adjoining beaches were completely blocked from view so I could expect zero interruptions. I was so pleased, I decided not to go back up. I stripped to my boxers and lined the lounger up for maximum shade time. I loved the beach, the waves, and the warmth. I could do without the sun. It was way too bright and made me sweat. I lay back and let the sound of the waves roll over my body. This was by far the best purchase I had ever made. It wasn’t long before I was sound asleep. It was just that peaceful.

The damn sun woke me about two hours later. It began to roast my feet by the time I had pulled myself from dreamland. There has to be an umbrella that tracks the sun. I vowed to find one as I snapped my knees up to cool my feet. There is always something in this universe that likes to screw with my well-being. Today, it was the sun.

I returned inside and fired up my laptop. It was time to review my trades. I had inherited a huge bond portfolio just before the 2008 crash. My grandmother, the only person I ever enjoyed being around, had conservatively purchased munis, federal and triple A corporate bonds. She purchased them from selling off my grandfather’s position in a highly profitable internet firm at his death. She was a lovely woman whose passing I took hard. Having lost my parents early in life, Grandma was my rock and my soul. As the bonds matured and the munis were called, I dumped the money into the stock market. My timing couldn’t have been better. When everyone was selling, I was buying. I grew a $100 million portfolio into a half billion dollar empire with me as the emperor.

Most people didn’t even know my name, and I liked it that way. Money can buy power and influence. I used it to ensure my isolation. Monica was my wall against the world. She would handle all the crap that the money generated when it was spent. She, unfortunately, was becoming a bit irreplaceable. I paid her generously in hopes that she never moved on. It would be almost impossible to find anyone who could match her efficiency. I sometimes got shivers thinking about life without her.

With my portfolio looking as good as ever, I started opening cabinets in the kitchen looking for something to eat. Monica had seen to that with her usual perfection. There were plates and silverware, a drawer full of take-out menus sorted by Yelp ratings, the fridge and freezer filled with food, and one cabinet filled to the doors with wonderful cans of heaven. My one vice was SpaghettiOs.

High School was hell for me. I had never fit in so I spent four years trying to stay far away from others. When I failed, I suffered. I wasn’t big enough, not good looking enough, and I never knew what to say. There was only one person who didn’t care about my awkwardness. My Grandma would be waiting for me to return home and could tell from my expression what kind of day I had. My best memories of high school were sitting in the kitchen eating SpaghettiOs with my Grandma. It may sound sad to others, but to me it was a wonderful stress-free environment. Just the smell of the canned wonder cooking on the stove would let me forget my nameless torturers. To this day, those cans brought Grandma back to my mind. Monica was priceless; she knew me well.
I poured a can into a pot on the stove and sat back to enjoy the aroma. Just like the waves, the smell washed away the world. I could almost see Grandma’s smiling face. I tried not to eat it every day so I wouldn’t get bored. I grabbed a bowl and poured a serving and headed off to the flat panel to watch a movie. A nap on the beach, SpaghettiOs and a good movie. This day was better than most. I made a mental note to eat something a bit more nutritious later.

Besides some annoying interruptions by assholes that needed my signature, my week went fairly well. I allocate one day a week to clean house and do the laundry. I had a maid once, but I just couldn’t stand having her around. The repeated “good mornings” and “how are you todays” made me want to puke. I decided it was easier on my soul to just handle it myself. Hell, it was the only real work I had to do anyway. It was almost therapeutic. One day of work made the other six days more valuable.

 

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

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The case for “shoring” – an experience in Malaysia — Syncretic Politics

In the part of the so-called manosphere that I am engaged in writers and commenters typically discuss PUA, game, and love tourism, but occasionally discussions about prostitution and even sexbots and sex dolls occur. Once a man hits a certain age, he might have a hard time finding young and attractive females while not being […]

via The case for “shoring” – an experience in Malaysia — Syncretic Politics

Theresa – Halloween

 

Here’s another random blast from the distant past…

There was a girl at the place I worked. She claimed she had an abusive boyfriend. I encouraged her to leave him because she didn’t deserve that. She says she left him and needs someone to talk to. We go out a few times. We start seriously dating. We have a stupid five month anniversary date planned for Halloween.

She calls and says she can’t make it on account of work and will be too tired afterwards. The next day she calls me over to talk. (That’s never good) When I get there she informs me that she wasn’t at work she was fucking her ex all day and they’re getting back together. We get into a shouting match. She’s not responsible; Bullshit. They have history; Yeah, he hit her. He never really hit her; Lying snake. Why am I so mad; Because she’s a trollop. And so on. I left (Yes, in the heat of the moment I wanted to hit her. (Not really!) That’s why I left. Should I be applauded for that? No, it’s just something that happened. I shouldn’t have ever admitted to feeling anything. I’m sorry.) and she spent the day begging me to come back. I refused to speak to her because I was angry and confused and needed some space.

Naturally when she can’t reach me she calls into work and claims I sexually assaulted her. I don’t know this, go to work, and get taken aside. The company is concerned about the allegations and wants to call the cops. I swear it was an ongoing relationship, completely consensual, and they didn’t need to call the cops. They point out we’re still both employees and the company can’t have us both working there if it is true. There are liabilities to consider and the police will sort everything out. I’ll just sit in jail for a couple of days while they do that. So, I offer to quit in exchange for them not calling the police as I really didn’t want to go to jail. I was in an independent contractor position. I didn’t even really work for them. The company didn’t need to get involved. This is a private issue. They agree and let me go under the condition that if they ever see me again they’re calling the cops on me for harassing her. I go home, crawl into bed and pray for death.

A little less than a week later she emails to tell me her boyfriend told her she couldn’t see me so she wants to see me to make sure I’m okay. I explain that I’m not okay because she is a lying cheating whore who ruined my life and I wish all the evil in the world upon her (Yes, including that her boyfriend would actually beat her to death. It’s shocking I know but I liked her less now than before and was still hurt so I said mean things to her. I’m literally Hitler and Satan’s bastard child right?) and want nothing to do with her. She claims nothing that happened was her fault, he made her say I raped her, and the beatings have gotten worse. I din’t respond.

 

 

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Kimiko – Chapter 2 – Finally Connected

Kimiko had given me her number very quickly in our first conversation, so that was good. But this one takes a little time to get off the ground. After our brief connection, I text her just to make contact off the site

 

Monday Night
Me: Hey there. It’s Charles.

K: Hi Charles, Nice to meet you here.

Me: Me too. When would you be available to come to the city?

K: I am off this Saturday, does it work for you?

Me: I should be available after 5.

K: Ok.

Me: Sounds good! I’ll pick a spot we can meet. Do you have any dietary concerns? Or any passions about food?

K: No. All good.

Me: Cool. Do you have a food preference? Something you really like?

 

Tuesday Morning

K: Hi. Good Morning. Charles, sorry for the late reply. I went to bed right after I texted you. To me, I like all kind of food except Mexican, I mean I could have it but not a big fan.

Me: Ok. No worries! Hope you got some rest. I’ll find a place we can meet.

K: Sure thank you. Have a nice day.

Me: You too!

 

Wednesday

Cherie texted me that she was coming down Sunday night, so being the little weasel I’ve become, I had to reach out to Kimiko and see if I could take her out on Sunday.

Me: What about Sunday? Can you do after 4pm?

K: This Sunday I’m not sure.

Me: Why not?

K: I have my boys coming home.

Me: Ok. What about during the week? I work a lot.

K: Understand, so if this Saturday is not good for you, we can find another day next week.

Me: Sounds good. I really want to meet you.

K: Ok. We can plan for next week.

Me: Yes. Maybe we can chat on the phone before that. What type of work do you do?

K: I work in retail and also taking a financial and insurance course now. I work a lot too.

Me: Oh, very good. I want to meet you. We’ll figure it out. Work is good. We could chat on the phone at some point if you like.

K: Maybe tonight?

Me: Ok. I’ll call you after 9.

K: Ok.

I have been working so much lately I completely forget to call her. I don’t want her to think I’m a flake. 

Thursday

Me: Sorry about last night I was chatting with my daughter and forgot. Hope you’re having a good day.

K: No problem.

Me: Can I see you this Saturday or Sunday?

K: Hi! May I know who is it… My phone was broken and just got a new phone… Haven’t updated all the contacts yet.

Me: (Sends pic) Charles from Bumble. We matched.

K: Oh hi! How are you? Sorry about that. I broke my phone! Sunday should be fine.

Me: Awesome! Can I meet you in the city after 4?

K: Where do you live? Sunday is usually very hard to find a parking spot in the city.

Me: I’m in Rittenhouse. You could come over on the Patco train.

K: Is that where you live?

Me. Yes. Rittenhouse.

K: I’ll try. I like to drive because sometimes I feel more comfortable when I go home at night by myself. Maybe I could find parking somewhere.

Me: I’ll pay for your parking. Sound good?

K: It’s alright. I think the most important thing is where to find a parking spot.

Me: Ok. Looking forward to meeting you.

K: Sure.

Doesn’t sound promising.

 

Saturday

Me: Still good for tomorrow after 4?

K: Yes.

Me: Great!

Later that night…

Me: Yay I’m going to meet you tomorrow! 5pm Devil’s Alley (I send her location)

K: Ok

Me: Looking forward to meeting you Kimiko. (smiley face)

K: (smiley face) Likewise.

 

So hopefully it’s on.

 

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California Dreamin’ – 1982 to 1984 – Chapter 3 – Big Night Out In Atlanta

Things were good. Frank and I were chilling at his Aunt’s house in Atlanta and enjoying our time reconnecting. But I was itching to get back on the road. Frank’s Uncle came to visit and said he wanted to take us out. I’m fresh out of the nest at 19 and Frank is a world traveler at 21, so we’re down for anything. I can’t believe how many Irish people have relatives and friends scattered all over the globe.

The first place we go to is this cool country bar. We’re drinking beers and eating food and all is right with the world. This guy comes out, sits on a stool and plays original songs. I remember him being really good. It was a good warm up to the night ahead.

Then his uncle says he’s taking us somewhere else.

I’ve been to Baltimore and Washington DC, but not really anywhere else. I lived with my parents before this. This is the furthest I’ve ever been away from home in my life. I’m happy I have Frank with me, because he’s my security. I’m just a scared musician with anxiety and depression I barely even know I have. My mom made me three square meal a day my whole life. I have no clue as to what the world is.

Travel is so broadening. The world is such a bigger package than most people ever realize. All you know is your little world. But I know this journey is going to fundamentally change me. It’s something that has to happen. Leaving home was hard enough. I was terrified traveling all of that way by myself. None of my friends are doing anything like this. Just me. I’m different. I’m not but I know at that moment I’m different from all of them. I’ve always walked among them but never really joined them. This trip is proof of that. I have to learn to crawl towards the things that frighten me. Frank has no problem with anything. He’s a solid, bright guy. I’m just a skinny nothing. I don’t want to go to college like my sister Janice. I just want to go out into the world and find out who the hell I am.

Maybe music will carry me forth.

I just needed to get away from the dead-end existence of living in Wildwood. That’s a fun place in the summer, but nowhere to raise your kids if they’re from a major city. The winter is and empty desolate place where most of the people who live there are business owners that make a nice living and they spoil their children. The kids grow up in wealth but are bored out of their minds. I saw more drug abuse and teen pregnancy in that town than when I was back in Philly growing up.

Do I love that I got to spend every summer in the 70’s at the shore? Damn straight. It was amazing! Nobody on my block got to do that. Only us. So it set us apart from our neighbors in Lawndale. We didn’t care. We didn’t know. We were just kids. It’s something we just looked forward to and did every summer.

But Janice going off to college and me having to take my senior year at Wildwood High was just some self-serving selfish shit on the part of my father. But I’ve covered that already.

I’m happy to be on the road and free of the trappings of my parents existence. I’m sure Janice had her own awakening at college and so did little Gabrielle. We all made our way in different ways.

I’m here to be open and brave.

Here we go.

Frank’s uncle takes us to a place called the Pussycat Lounge. I don’t know what that is but it sounds sexy.

We go in and there are naked women dancing onstage.

My brain explodes.

I had never experienced anything like this in my life. I’ve heard about it and seen scenes like this in a movie but never the real thing. Back then I was still wet behind the ears. It was fascinating to see naked women before my eyes. Getting out in the world was an exciting adventure. They didn’t have anything like that anywhere I grew up. In between the girls dancing, there was this comedian that would come out and tell dirty jokes. He was really funny. Normally it takes a lot to make me laugh, but this dude killed.

Frank, his uncle and I had a great night out. I was still reeling from seeing that many naked girls standing right in front of me that night. When you’re young, and you see something like that for the first time it has incredible euphoric power.

I slept well that night and was still excited about what was next in the coming days.

 

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