The Ghost Of Halloween’s Past

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When I was a kid around 7 or 8 I had a really great friend. As we got into our early teens we were very close, and now looking back I realize just how close. She was the person I talked to about anything and everything, I even talked to her about girls and she talked to me about the boys. We had that real close cousin type of friendship even though there was no blood relationship, but we were more than friends, our connection went deeper than that, much deeper than one can simply imagine. So, in “honor” of my great friend in life I would like to share some memories, I hope she wouldn’t mind.

The first time I met Gabby I was probably 7 or 8 years old, I was spying on the new girl on the block as she helped her parents unpack the moving truck and I was truly fascinated with everything about her. I was up high in the tree in our front yard, as quiet as a hawk searching for movement in the tall grass, as I watched her blonde hair whip around in the breeze. I got distracted for real and was watching two squirrels fighting over something at the end of the very branch I was laying on. Out of the blue I heard a quiet voice, the whispering voice of a girl asking me if I wanted to climb down so I could play with her. After I climbed down we walked back to the bayou where we caught and played with the crawdads that were everywhere. We didn’t talk much about anything, we just got muddy, laughed, and played. Later on we hear her dad calling out in the distance for Gabby to come home. With big eyes she stole a kiss on the cheek, told me thanks for playing with her, and she was gone into the wind. We would play like this, for hours at a time after school and on the weekends.

We went trick-or-treating together that first year she moved in and that became our “little tradition” for many years to come. We would do crazy shit all year long, pranks, jokes, and so on, always doing it together as much as time would allow. In our early teens our friendship took a turn to the best I think, I never heard her complain either, she noticeably was going from little girl to a young lady. As this happened, we played allot of show and tell and allot of spin the bottle and a fair share of truth or dare, always just us two, nobody else was allowed to participate. It’s just the way it was. Before long we knew more about one another than each other knew about themselves, inside and out. But this was all about to end, I was moving away the summer between 8th and 9th grade to live with my dad in another state. It was a surprise and crushing blow for all of us, family included, as everyone guessed us to start dating because we were inseparable at all times. That was a hard summer for me, I crashed an ultralight aircraft attempting to get my amateur aviation license which should have killed me, but it didn’t luckily. Unfortunately, on my final trip back home at the end of summer, to pack and say goodbye, I was given the terrible news that my dad had a fatal accident while participating in a exposition air show. I buried him a week later. All my plans died with him that day, but the only person I felt I could talk with or just sit with was my best friend Gabby.

High school started right on cue, we had unofficially started dating, meaning we did everything together but weren’t actually together, but everyone but us called it dating, we are just good friends. By our sophomore year the boys were really noticing her and time in our friendship was being stretched beyond control, something had to go, and that something just happened to be me. She dated many boys, I didn’t really have a serious relationship until 11th grade which made our friendship even stranger. In the beginning of that relationship Gabby played dirty, in my spare time she was there, flirting harder than ever, always naked around me when we were alone, always tempting me with the very thing I always thought I wanted, but it never happened, but according to her rumors we were together, we were fucking, and I was taken. A nice story that ended badly. We didn’t speak again until the night of our graduation, where she told me she was leaving soon to go to Air Force basic training, a place I was also going to be but got accepted into college so my enlistment was delayed 24 months. That was it, my first crush was leaving and I didn’t have the nuts to even tell her goodbye or I’m sorry or good luck, I just let her walk away.

I did attend college, I did get married to my high school sweetheart a year later, and did join the Air Force another year later. When all the dust settled and I land at my first base, I find out my sponsor just so happens to be little miss Gabby herself. I had four years to do in Japan, luckily she was leaving in a few months. We partied quite a bit before she left, a habit greatly practiced by ammo troops I soon found out. Yes, if hadn’t guessed, we had the same job, both making the choice we decided way back when in yesteryear. Soon enough she left, leaving me once again. I saw her again, sooner than I thought, as we both were deployed for Desert Storm and were stationed at the same base. It made 8 months fly by, having a friend from home with me. But soon enough we rotated out to our home bases and once again we were separated again. I would see her off and on for the next few years until we ended up in New Mexico together. She had gotten married to a true asshole, I say that because he thought it was okay to beat on her regularly. A disturbing fact that was brought out to my attention one early morning when she showed up in my doorstep with a bloody nose and bleeding lip. That night a few of my friends and I payed him a visit, never before had I tried to kill someone before, but I tried that night. He got the message and slipped away quietly one day soon after, leaving a note announcing he wants a divorce.

Life went on, I divorced my wife, got out the Air Force, and so forth. Meanwhile, Gabby was determined to make a career out of the Air Force, and carried on, gaining rank, ribbons, and accommodations. After two back to back tours in Afghanistan she decided she was done, she retired as a Senior Master Sergeant (E-8) which I had an invitation to the ceremony but had other obligations, so no, I did not attend. I got a phone call from Gabby a few weeks later, announcing she had moved back to Houston and wanted to get together with my family and I for dinner one night soon. My current wife knew very little of Gabby and our lifelong friendship, since I never had a need to talk about my past much, something I’ve been working on lately, and my wife is now realizing that I treat my relationships, friends or family, and with her, very seriously, and I will guard those relationships until the end. She gets it, I think.

Our dinner out was great, everyone including my wife and kids, had a great time talking and visiting. I think my wife looks at me differently now, she never has had anyone explain how my life in the Air Force was except for me, and I tend to not talk much about the details, just keep it short and sweet, the end, story over. That dinner was two years ago, on Halloween night, a night not unlike many before it, we said our goodbyes, made future plans, and we went our separate ways. After getting settled at home, about an hour and a half after leaving the restaurant, I got a phone call from the Constable’s office to inform me that an officer was heading my way to discuss an important matter with me. Soon enough we got the knock on the door, the officer was there to inform me of a fatal automobile accident a few hours ago. Seems I was listed as Gabby’s only next of kin and also the last person she spoke with according to her phone. He explained that a truck traveling the opposite direction hit a deer which resulted in the truck losing control and colliding head on with Gabby’s truck at what was estimated at at least 80 mph, resulting in both being killed at impact. The following day I was asked to formally identify her body and yes it was her. She had a closed casket funeral due to the facial and upper body damage. A very small funeral at the Veteran’s Cemetery here in Houston, most of the people attending were my family. Her flag was presented to me, probably the hardest thing I accepted in life with exception to being 15 and presented my father’s flag at his funeral.

I have bad news for my wife, who recommended I tell this story here today in my spare time, who thought it might make me feel better if I take the time to write about my great friend and our enduring friendship, who is wrong because I don’t feel better, but I did enjoy the trip down memory lane, sort of, but I think I should come clean to y’all, the story y’all read today is only about 1% of everything that ever happened. For now y’all can assume and presume, for now y’all can filter through it all, because for now I’m very done writing about it. In case you are curious, the picture is of Gabby, I took that picture in an undisclosed location in a desert in New Mexico many years ago, alongside a deserted road, she wanted to flash somebody so bad, but after hours just the scorpions, the buzzards, and I were the only ones enjoying the show. It’s a great picture and memory of her, she truly was a graceful and free spirit.

Best Friend Or Worst Nightmare

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I’m home alone, bored, and decided I wasn’t done talking in my last post about my wife’s big question. But wait, there’s more. Have you ever just bumbled around the house, bored, nothing really to do? I sat down this morning to write my other post, a tedious event since I do it on my phone, while I was deleting some music and downloading more, yes, I always want more music. But as I got a slab of meat ready for the smoker I wondered what I was going to be doing next. I already ran my errands and knocked that shit out. I realized while writing the last post that over the years as I’ve aged I have changed, both mentally, physically, and emotionally. Not that I miss my youth, but I do appreciate it now where I didn’t then. We all, I guess we all do, find a path in life and pretty much stick to it, mostly out of habit I think. Some call it a “routine”, I call it what it really is, and that’s a habit. Life happens, shit happens, and we roll with it or get rolled over by it.

I’m a pretty relaxed person, some say to relaxed, and I tend to roll with the punches instead of getting into the fight. I realized recently that I have become an asshole to people I don’t know and to those I wish I didn’t know. I suppose this happened over time and becomes more evident the more I get out in public. Seems like every time I open the front door I hear ” welcome to Walmart motherfucker” simply because in the course of my day I will inevitably be forced to interact with people, strangers, other people’s children, and people who definitely should not breed, ever, there dads should have had the common courtesy to just pull out. But noooooooooo, now people with common sense have to deal with your fucking problems because they never did. Anyway, this has nothing to do with the people of Walmart nor is it me thinking I’m better than others, it goes deeper, I’m the problem. I admit it, I’m the problem, or I’m the one with the problem. People are needy little fuckers that just suck the everloving life right out of me. There are many qualities I despise in people, the top two are being lazy and being a liar.

My wife says I have a strange gift, my ability to watch people, read people, and get just shy to understanding them before a word is ever spoken. You’re right, it sounds like I judge them before knowing them. Or I just don’t have time for bullshit and I just cut to the chase. I don’t want my son turning into me, he has a kind a loving heart that never stops giving. The world needs more people just like him, that is of course my biased opinion. I have a crude way I look at life in general, not that I’m special and I’m not the only one life has fucked without any lube, I just learned from it. I don’t want to be a repeat offender at the mercy of others to decide my fate which is decided with a thumbs up or thumbs down. Life has snuck in her fair share of surprises but looky here bitch…… I’m still standing. In people’s defense, I know I don’t give them a fair shake. Honestly, I see no reason to trust a person who has not earned my trust first. Maybe living in the big city has tainted me. I see what Christians call the “7 Deadly Sins” in almost every person I meet or know. No, I’m not perfect, far from perfect, but I do pay attention and I do have a considerable amount of common sense. I learned, and try to explain, the value of one’s life, it only holds value to yourself, only you value you. I spent a considerable amount of my life trying (and failing) to please others to feel as though I have self worth, something frowned upon by Christians, well Catholics, and it took some hard knocks to the head that made me realize I’m more than just a cog in a machine, my life matters to me, and that is what is important.

Getting divorced, divorcing the Air Force, and getting disowned by my family (parents and sisters) all within a few months of each other does wonders for my self esteem. However, I got mad and I stood the fuck back up, giving life the two finger salute she deserved and I got over it. Fuck it. Divorced? Yes, she needed other men in her life, I didn’t want to share. Over, 13 years in the toilet. The Air Force divorced me, I was no longer fit to perform. Over, 12 years in the toilet. My family, with exception to my mother, disowned me after the found out I was not only looking for my biological parents, but was in communication with my biological mother and the family of my biological father since he was already dead. Want to know more, search this blog, I’ve written extensively about being adopted. In their eyes I was wrong for wanting to where I came from. But, slowly, I got them to understand. Now, we all have a pretty nice relationship, except my oldest sister (also adopted) who still despises me all these years later. Fuck, I just wanted to know where I came from and why I was discarded. Anyway, as I said, I got mad, packing, and off to live my life on my terms.

But, damn, my future wife had (and still does) an ass that commanded my full attention. Women, eventhough they’ll never admit it, are tricky crafty creatures, they play coy but know they are the black widow. One can search the blog for more on her as well. I have a favorite story I’m going to share with y’all, which in my opinion sums up people’s selfishness and how self preservation is more often than not compromised because of being closed minded. The moral of the story you ask; don’t tempt fate.

One day, a scorpion was walking around on a riverbank wondering how to get to the opposite bank. He saw a crocodile basking in the sun. The scorpion went up to the crocodile and said “Crocodile, can I please ride on your back across the river?” The crocodile was taken aback with this said. “Why would I do that? When i am swimming, you will sting me, and I will die,” The crocodile said. “Well, if i sting you, you will sink, and i will drown, for I cannot swim,” the scorpion said. With that, the scorpion climbed on the crocodile’s back, and the crocodile swam across the river. In the middle of the river, the scorpion stung the crocodile. “Why? Why would you do that scorpion!? You too will die now! Why!?” “Because… it is in my nature,” the scorpion replied sadly, and with that, they both sank deep into the water.

I don’t recall where I read or heard this story years ago, but as I aged many things rang true in the story if you relate it to the people in your life. Everyone wants to trust everyone all the time while not being worthy of being trusted. Or let me say that in modern terms, we all want full disclosure but are not willing to provide full disclosure in return. With that being said, y’all can think how you will think, its not my choice. But, I do have trust issues outside of my immediate family, for two reasons, in my opinion, two damn great reasons. The two reasons I don’t trust people are because I don’t know them and becomes I do know them. Simple, right? My wife will tell you I trust only a few because it is part of who I am, part of being a Scorpio (either the best friend or the worst enemy), and partly because of fear. My lack of trust, I suppose, has many contributing factors, gathered throughout my life, and resulting in the current me. She tells me that she likes the fact that I write on my blog, she thinks I need to write a book full of the stories I tell here as well as ones in my private life. I tell her just like I tell y’all, this is just a place for me to “talk”. I don’t consider myself a person who writes, I consider myself a person who likes to share stories, I like it here, I share things I like here, I don’t want it to become ” work”, besides, it’s fun this way for me.

I will never see a day without sheeple being herded into conformity. I don’t want to be one of the sheeple. I’m only sure about one thing in my life, one day I will die, but life will continue for the living. I think on that note I will close this out, I expected it to gradually go somewhere but as we see it never really formed into anything. Like I said, I just wanted to talk. I do know one thing tho, the only alternative to being my friend or enemy is not to exist in my world. But, that would be allot like having a cake and eating it alone.

The Stranger In The Night’s Storm

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Yesterdays drive home was pretty interesting due to all the rain and all. I have been driving my wife’s Mustang back and forth this week due to my Pathfinder being down for the time being. I never realized, really before yesterday, why I don’t like driving cars, especially low profile cars, in storms that are dropping so much water that we are flash flooding everywhere. I never thought this to be a problem until yesterday afternoon, when I was the one in the low profile sports car fighting to be able to see. Something I never suffered or even thought about in my Pathfinder, but it sucks ass in that Mustang, way too low to the ground for me personally. I had that on my mind as I arrived home, still pouring rain, and wondering how much longer I would be doing this drill because I’m not a fan. I really don’t know how my wife does it, but I’ve never heard her complain, don’t think I ever will, because she will never talk shit about her new baby, never. Me, I can, she’s not my baby, my baby is sick, sitting in the drive waiting for Dr. Scorpion to have the money to operate, which will be very soon.

Other than that little challenge, the day was rounding out pretty normal for our house, I was getting dinner ready, secret recipe chicken cordon bleu, everything about it is a secret, and no I will never share it with anyone, I will die with my secret, which is why it is prepared like a black op in my kitchen. I’ve been making this recipe for, let’s call it 25 years or so, many have asked to eat it, many have asked how I make it, and I have yet to cough it up. It’s time consuming, the preparation takes some time, but it gives time to get the twice baked potatoes going as well, another secret, everyone stays the fuck out of my kitchen when I’m going, nobody wants to get cut, except my wife, she braves entering the secrecy of what I’m doing to sneak a kiss. She’s a naughty one you know. After it was all prepared, cooked, the kitchen cleaned spotless, we sat down to eat. We had a “weird” quiet dinner, the mood was as dark as the skies with the storms. Everyone looks tired. Afterwards, we are all fat and happy, kids off to the bath, and its time to wind this bitch down finally.

Sometime just after eight someone is knocking on the front door. My wife and I give each other “that look” of WTF!, shrugging my shoulders I get up out of my chair to check out the knocking on the door. When I swing open the door I see a younger girl standing before me, finding out later she is 20. My initial questions were who are you and what do you want. In my head I was saying, “we’ve found Jesus, we don’t donate to politics, we don’t do surveys, and unless you are selling thin mints this conversation is over”. She introduced herself, I didn’t recognize her name, or her for that matter. Well, she said she would like to talk to me if I had the time, she thinks I can help her with finding something she is looking for. Once we are inside, I invited her in because I was somewhat intrigued, meanwhile I was getting the stink eye from my wife. The young lady presented me with a letter from her mother, in this letter I was listed as a “next of kin” and that she needed to contact me for information on her biological father. Then it hit me, her mother’s name I recognized, talk about a name from the past, like many moon ago past. Apparently her mother and a very, very good friend of mine had a go at it while we were all stationed in Korea together, except she failed to tell any of us she had become pregnant, as it happened she found out after she had rotated back to the world, back to her husband, then she is told she is 3 weeks pregnant. She failed to let her husband know the particulars, just told him she was pregnant.

Obviously many years have past since then, many, and the lives of everyone change as well, divorces happen. Anyway, what had led her to ask a question or three was because of the man she called dad, he needed a kidney, she agreed to donate him one because that is what family does, I tend to agree. But guess what? His daughter, the girl he raised for most of her life, wasn’t a match for donation. But how can that be? We know why, because he’s not her biological father. Needless to say, questions were asked, no real answers could be given, except for one, which was me, because her mother knew that if anyone knew where to find him it would be me. Luckily, she was right, I do know where and how to find him. First, I called her mother, who sent me to voicemail, and I was told that she has chosen to disappear for a while because she doesn’t want to face anyone, especially her daughter. I made one phone call, from the privacy of my bedroom, to my friend, who wasn’t shocked, or at least he didn’t seem shocked or a bit surprised. He gave me permission to give her all of his contact information, his name, and everything related. Ready for the twist? Okay, he was married to wife #1 at the time of conception, divorces a few years later because he caught her red handed cheating on him. Since then, there has been a #2, #3, and a #4, only with wife #1 were there any kids, one son. Now, the kicker, after all these years, guess who he is dating once again, and talking about marriage, wife #1. He is unsure how she will take this news. That’s a damn fine question, how will she take it?

Needless to say, as curious as I am about if he actually comes clean, I don’t think he will. As much as I think of him as family, I know he has two weaknesses in life, women and alcohol, usually mixed together, over and over, repeat, so on and so forth. But, I’ve known this sonofabitch for many, many years, we visited hell and returned a few times over, which is why I keep up with him. He’s really not the kind of person I hang around with these days, simply because I’m too old to run around drinking like a single guy and I know from personal experience how hard that is on family life and marriages in particular. Anyway, back to the story. We talked about her mom a while, a name I hadn’t thought of in probably 20 years, we came back to the world and everyone who was friends over yonder just lost touch. She talked awhile and decided that it was time for her to go. She apologized for taking up our time and away she went. My wife and I had a long conversation about what happened while I was stationed in Korea. How do you explain what happens in another country while away from your family for 15 months one time and 14 months another time. Might as well want to talk about all the times I spent in Las Vegas or any other place I went to. I admit only one thing for myself that I wish would have been different, which was literally being drunk the entire time. I also admitted that I was true to my now ex-wife, I didn’t need or want the trouble. Was it lonely? Yes. And I drank myself into oblivia to keep that shit from driving me crazy. Tempted? Yes. But, the plus for me was I stayed really busy, I did my AF job and I had a part time job as well, not for the money, but to keep the mind and hands busy.

Anyway, be careful of the bumps in the night, it might just be a blast from the past, and that just might lead to questions about things, people, and places that we spent years forgetting. Trust me, a person never married to someone who was in the military has a very hard time understanding that there are times they must be separated for any length of time, which is the death of many marriages, trust me, I know this personally.

Is The Price Of “Sex” Getting Cheaper?

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I was strangely surprised to see the following message as inline text from a long time information donator to T.S.O.T.S.B. from a long time personal friend of mine. Normally she sends me links, pictures, and/or ideas to pick and choose from once or twice a month. But this time, this time she sent “words” from some place and did not reference a source of any sorts. Meaning, therefore I didn’t have an opportunity to see where all this came from. In the end, she used it to ask me a question about the strip club industry, she wanted to know if the “economy” determines how much money I make as a bartender or how much money a stripper is paid.

I wish I had a simple answer. Just as well, she was only trying to help me to tie into my “Sex sells everything” experiment I have been doing here and she just wanted to “show” that sex sells sex sometimes. As a bartender in a full nude strip club I tend to see many things the “average” person isn’t even aware is going on in the first place. To begin with, I see the flow of money, the exchanges that happen casually to “purchase” that special experience. A trend I have seen and heard is that there has became a new meaning to the arts of negotiation because, let’s all face the facts, people want more bang for their buck while paying as little as possible, so hard core economics comes into play. Strippers have a bottom line, of course, but they have the skills to never have to accept bottom dollar for anything they have to offer, they will not sell themselves short for any reason since they are there to separate customers from as much of their money as possible.

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“They keep talking about recovery, but for many folks, work doesn’t pay what it used to. According to a recent report, Manhattan and Los Angeles counties lead America in falling wages. In the counties which contain Dallas, Phoenix, and Chicago, workers are also seeing their paycheck shrink. We can add sex workers to the list of people dealing with falling income.

Th Economist examined over 190,000 profiles of female sex workers on websites that feature customer reviews. Based on that data, which covered 84 cities and 12 countries (with the majority of workers in the United States), an interesting trend was revealed: the price of an hour with a female sex worker has been plunging. The average cost nationwide in 2014 is $260, down from $340 back in 2006.

What’s going on? What a sex worker charges depends on many things, including what types of services are involved, the location, and the physical attributes of the worker. Sex workers who conform to Western standards of beauty can charge more. Blondes get a premium, as do those with slim (but not too skinny) bodies and ample breasts. Getting fake boobs can really pay off in sex work: “For those not naturally well endowed, breast implants may make economic sense: going from flat-chested to a D-cup increases hourly rates by approximately $40, meaning that at a typical price of $3,700, surgery could pay for itself after around 90 hours.”

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Other ways sex workers can charge more is to provide niche services like having sex with two men at once, or providing S&M role-playing. Big-city sex workers in places like New York, Houston, Los Angeles, and London can charge more, too.

According to the Economist, the reason behind the drop in price is partly the 2007-’08 financial crisis. Other factors, like the migration of poorer sex workers into richer areas can also cause a drop in prices. This trend has been happening in Europe since the European Union expanded to include poorer eastern European countries, which has sent workers across borders. A 2013 article in Time magazine noted that Germany had become the “Cut-Rate Prostitution Capital of the World,” with thousands of brothels and “hundreds of thousands of prostitutes,” many from places like Romania and Bulgaria, dealing with intense competition and pushed-down prices. (Prostitution became legal in Germany in 2002.) In Berlin, oral sex from an Eastern European sex worker can reportedly be had for as little as $13.

The Internet is to blame, too, as more people are selling sex online. Because it’s easier and more discreet to sell sex online, women who in the past may have avoided such work are signing up. “More attractive and better-educated women, whose marital and job prospects are therefore better, are more likely to consider sex work easily if it is arranged online,” notes the report. Technology increases the efficiency and speed of matching client to sex worker: there are even apps which allow customers to filter sex workers according to specifications like breast size, age or height. A new German app even promises that you can order a sex worker the way you would order an Uber car, using GPS to connect client to worker.

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But changing attitudes toward sex work in our society are also part of this trend. The stricter a society is about casual and adulterous sex, the more sex work will be in demand. The acceptance of premarital sex and divorce mean that men are less likely to be driven to sex workers because they can’t get their sexual needs met anywhere else.

It’s a bummer to be a sex worker when prices are falling. But interestingly, it looks like incomes may not have fallen as steeply as the decline in prices would suggest, because sex workers have been able to cut expenses.”

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Thank You Karma, I’ve Been Patient

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So, I was working at the club last night, bored to the point I was actually on the verge of falling asleep standing up. Then, a ringtone begins to play on my phone, one I have not heard in many years, “The Bitch Is Back”, when I look at the screen to make sure it is who I think it is, I see ” The Cunt” is calling. Before I get into this wonderful conversation, let me remind y’all that in just over 15 years, I have spoken with my ex on the phone 4 times, and in person twice. Needless to say, we are on less than talking terms, much less being cordial terms with one another. But she called, which had to be hard for her personally, and now I am wasting my time “writing” about her cuntness while sitting here in my shop with better things to do, like scraping the duck shit off of my 50 year old iron bench so I can refinish it later. Oh Yea, the phone call.

When I first saw who it was I did smile a bit, but only because I was hoping she was calling me to say “I’m sorry” and “you are right”. It makes me smile because in 12 years of marriage and all the years since, I have never heard those words. Oh well, I better see what she wants so I don’t have to listen to a lengthy voicemail. It started off polite enough, almost like she was reading a prewritten script or something. I know I am the last person on Earth she wanted to be calling. Like normal, she talked and I listened, this is just the way it works, she wants something I have, and I just listen. This time it was different, this time there were a couple of ” pleases” there and a bit of gratitude in her voice. I had to pull my phone back twice to make sure who was calling me. Very strange indeed. So, what does she want? Well, that’s complicated. So you understand better, I need to take y’all back to when we were getting divorced because it would appear she made a few boo boos filing her taxes and now she has an appointment to discuss the discrepancies.

Anyway, part of the terms of our divorce were for her to receive proceeds from the sale, rental, or lease from the house we once called home. It always struck a nerve with me because this house was only in my name. But whatever, community property is what it is. The market to sell was very soft, so, with the aid of a realitor, which I paid for 100%, we put it on the market to rent. Now, I remind y’all, by this time I was out if the Air Force, living in Houston, and this house is in Alamogordo New Mexico. Within a month of our divorce a military couple were signing a rental agreement. Since I was still paying for the house, each month there was about $500 remaining, which I was oblidged to split with my now ex-wife. I made sure I wrote a paper check each month for ease of keeping the records straight. After around 3 years of the same couple renting the house, I received an offer to purchase it, cash. Seems the housing market was on the rise there. I purchased the house for $57,000.00, put another $10k into it, and at the point when they made the offer, I still owed the bank roughly $18k. What was their offer for this 2900 sq ft, 4 bedroom, 2 1/2 bath house? $98,699.00 plus closing costs with immediate move in. Without thinking, I agreed to the sale. But the cunt would not see half because I protested the decree and proved she never spent a penny on the house, the judge awarded her $20,021.09 payable over the next 16 months.

OK, so here is the problem, never did she report any of the proceeds from the rent or the final sale as income or a source of revenue when she filed her taxes. Oops. So, as it stands, she is claiming ignorance, and she has been given 30 days to prove she shouldn’t owe over $56k in taxes, penalties, and fines. She has been trying, unsuccessfully obviously, to do this on her own, leaving only a few more days before the 5th of August rolls around. Like I told her, I am not giving up any information without written proof she needs my information. When I asked what I get in return for graciously taking time out of my life to copy all the shit she needs, she offered to take me out for steak. I told her, in that case, when she shows up at my front gate to pick up her package, because I refused to do everything for her, for her to leave enough time for dinner. After a long, very dramatic pause, with a sigh, she agreed to meet with me on Saturday.

So, why am I helping the cunt? Its easy, I don’t want her mess getting on me, because trust me, she would find a way to suck me down that rabbit hole. Meanwhile, in exchange for the documents she has requested, my lawyer has drawn up documents that she must sign which release me from any obligations, financially or otherwise, and it includes a detailed inventory of all the documents so if push comes to shove, I can show I provided up, above, and beyond everything I could. No sign, no copies. Luckily for me, I keep the records of my past life neatly tucked away in a small three drawer filing cabinet. Lucky for her I packratted all of this away or she would be fucked and she probably doesn’t like prison orange anyway.

You want funny? As she reads along with you here today she is realizing that I truly don’t give a fuck about her situation and that this life lesson is one that will soon be forgotten by her because that is just the way she is. Yes, she reads my blog, only because my daughter sees to it on occasion for some reason. In the end, my dearest cunt, I can only thank you because you gave me something to do with my time and gave me something special to write about today. See you Saturday. Remember not to be sad in your time of need because, like always I am prepared, something you never took the time to learn.

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From Behind My Green Eyes

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I remember my grandfather telling me one hot summer day a long time ago that everyone changes their mind and it is just a matter of time before it happens to me. I have waited more than a few years for this to happen. I have made some choices that other people haven’t been proud of. But, until recently I never knew that I was approaching a crossroads where I would be forced to make choices and forced to make changes. Life’s choices very rarely come without strings attached or without consequences, I have found this out the hard way more times than I want to count over the years. Before I begin with what I wrote in to say I just want to tell you I have been reading your blog for sometime now, even before it was WordPress hosted, and I found that I knew those people you write about and even know you. Knowing you is actually impossible because I know our paths have never crossed and I am pretty sure they never will, not because I don’t want to, because that would be cool, but it is because I live in Canada now. Making the switch from southern Florida to my home in Canada was almost as extreme as my changes have got, but wait, there’s more, the reason I wrote in, my crossroads, and my life altering mind change. If you go ahead and use my email I will greatly appreciate it, I don’t expect it tho, but I thought it was time that someone who understood a business that markets women to men and understands English might just be able to relate, something I don’t have way up here. I think I will take this opportunity to begin my story, the story of my life I left behind in Florida but will remain forever a part of me.

When I was twelve my parents divorced for many reasons and during everything I was brushed to the side and forgotten about. I lived with friends for nearly two weeks, continuing school and so forth, before my parents even realized I was gone. I hated the screaming, the fighting, and the blood. I was very lucky in a way, I was never subjected to the actual abusing but often I was made to sit and watch which in my opinion is just as bad. I never knew that my parents weren’t normal until I ran away. I left at age 13 and never looked back and left without a place to go. I never wanted to be found ever again. As the years went by I finished school under a completely made up name, in fact it wasn’t until I was 18 that I actually had a birth certificate and social security card. When I was 18 I was finally able to not live in the past, I was able to start looking forward and moving on, that the was the plan, and it almost happened, almost. I had always dreamed of a fairy tale life, being a model, and living in Europe somewhere. Shortly after turning 18 I found myself going to diffent parties almost every night, drinking too much, and waking up sometimes in a stranger’s bed. Then I met my prince one night. After a hard night of drinking I woke up in his house, still in my clothes, tucked in on his couch. I could smell breakfast and coffee being made and when I looked up over the back of the couch I saw him, he was older than me, in his forties, very well dressed, and looking very handsome. Over breakfast he tells me I can stay as long as I want, drive his cars, use his his pool, eat his food, and come and go as I pleased. Then, without a further word he left, I assumed he went to work. When he got home that night he had brought packages with clothing and shoes, make up and things to do my hair, bras and underwear, everything I just might need, except for a straight explanation. I was asked to get ready to go out because he had some friends and business associates that he wanted to introduce me to. I was shown into the master bath and he closed the door behind him as he left. When I got out of the shower I could see that he had brought everything into the bathroom and arranged it everywhere. Now I was wondering what he saw or if he watched but I wasn’t real concerned because so far he has been a true gentleman and nothing less. I chose to wear a very basic black cocktail dress, I hope he approves.

He barely batted an ear at me as he checked his watch, and gently guided men to the door of the garage. We got in his truck, backed out of the garage, and headed into the city. I had no idea where we were going which began to worry me, not quite into a panic, but I was watching where we were driving and nothing was familiar to me at all. We didn’t speak the entire 20 minutes of the drive, nor did we listen to the radio, we just drove through the dark silence of the night. We arrived at some kind of resort where we were escorted out of the truck by the valets and led up to the main doors. He looked at me and told me to remember, when asked or introduced, that I am his niece, visiting from California. I agreed and we continued on. We met allot of people as we made our way to a table which already had two men sitting at it. After a few hours of the men talking I was asked my one of them if I was ready to go to work in the morning. Not knowing what to say I looked at my prince, who was giving me a nod, so I said yes, absolutely. I still didn’t know what I was doing, I just went with it. The next morning I was dropped back off at this same resort and me a nice woman who had been waiting for my arrival. I was rushed to a room where a swarm of people began found my hair, my make up, and then I was told it was time for my wax. Wax? I was put in a room with an old Asian woman who undressed me completely and placed me on a table. I was waxed from the neck down front and back, not one hair remained, not even on my big toe. This was a very unique experience for me, never had that done before. As I laid on the table wrapped in moist warm blankets I was still wondering what in the hell I was doing here and why was all of this happening. After a while the door opened and a young man dressed in a suit carrying a notebook approaches me and asks if I am ready to rock-n-roll. Sure? I was asked to stand before him, as I did the Asian women removed the blankets, and there I stood in my birthday suit in front of this guy. As I tried to cover myself I was instructed to relax and let’s my arms down so I could stand up as straight as possible, meanwhile he walked around me a few dozen times as he wrote in his notebook. He motioned me to walk, to turn, and then to follow him out. We walked, me completely nude, down the hall and into another room where I was seated in a salon chair.

Within a few minutes a handful of people came in with a variety of carts and bags which they started unpacking all around me. The man with the notebook was sharing what he wrote with these people, pointing to me and answering questions they had. After show and tell was done he left and this small army swarmed in and began work. Someone doing god knows what to my hair, one started a facial, one started a manicure on my hands and then another with a pedicure. Each time I attempted to speak or ask questions I was immediately silenced. So, this is too bizarre, and I was really wanting to just leave, but escape was futile, I wasn’t going anywhere until I was let go. After a few hours the guy with the notebook came back to, what appeared to be, inspect me. He looked very pleased and was just short of congratulating the staff for a job well done. You see, I haven’t seen myself yet, as there have been no mirrors. The young mam explains I have an audition now and we needed to go to it. I just waltzed right out of butt ass naked following him down different halls, passing by numerous people, and then finally I was told to wait as he entered the room behind the closed door. When he returned he held the door open for me, explaining to follow the dots on the floor and stopping where there stopped. I was told to only speak if I was spoken to and not to squint. Squint? When the door shut it was completely dark, the only thing I saw were dots in the floor, which I followed until they eventually stopped. Moments after stopping I was flooded in light, but only me, only where I was standing, I could still not see where I was or who was in the room. I was very uncomfortable standing there naked with my hands on my hips. When I was asked to turn I did so, when I was told to stop I do so as well. This little drill happened over a dozen times before I was instructed to exit the way I entered and wait for my escort on the other side of the door. Next we went to what appears to be a doctors exam room where I was told to have a seat in the exam chair and wait to be seen by the doctor. When she came in she announced I was about to have a well woman exam and then I would be visiting the dentist. At this point, I had to ask, just what in the fuck was going on and I wanted to know who these people were. I got the silent treatment. After the exam I remained naked, and was led to yet another room where my teeth were examined, cleaned, and whitened. I was told to wait for my escort once again. He came in and told me I had done a fine job and everyone was very pleased with me. I was left alone in this Barbie dream closet full of every designer thing imaginable. Thinking I could get dressed I browsed the different dresses. Finally, there is a mirror, finally I can see what they have done to me. When I looked in the mirror the person staring at me was not the person who stared back at me when I woke up that morning. I had a hard time believing I was looking at myself in the mirror.

After getting dressed, which was odd, because I didn’t find any bras and panties, I was taken out to the front of the resort and put into an awaiting car. In the car was a man whose voice I recognized from the dark room, he explained I would be traveling with him now and from this moment forward we will be husband and wife. What? I woke up many hours later in a big fancy hotel room. My head was pounding and I really had to go to the bathroom. Then I got the shock of my life, as I looked into the toilet water I see blood, lots of blood. After cleaning myself up I ran out to use the phone and found an envelope laying on my dress. Inside of it was a release of marital contract and $100,000.00 cash. I quickly got dressed and rushed down to the lobby but nobody would speak to me, nobody. What is going on. When I went outside my prince charming was there standing beside his truck and tells me to get in. Not knowing what to do I got in. We ended back at his house and he tells ,e all of my questions can wait until the morning and that all of the money o was given is actually mine. I was then sent to bed like a child. I showered so I could scrub, but no matter how hard I scrubbed I kept feeling dirtier each time. All I can wonder is what is happening to me. That I cried myself to sleep hoping this was all some kind of fucked nightmare. Sunrise came too soon, I was still where I went to sleep. I felt disappointed and disillusioned because I could only assume what was next.

My prince was gone when I went to the kitchen. There was a note on the table which said I had the next few days off but when he returned Friday be ready to get back to work. Ready to get back to work? Is he a modern day pimp? What’s going on because I cannot and will not be one more person’s one night stand bride. It will not be happening twice I can promise. Just like that I packed a small bag and bailed out the door. Not knowing where I was going I wandered around until after dark, until I figured out how to get away, far away. Then I got in my head, I am leaving the country, I am getting the hell as far away as as I can. I found my way to the train station to get some place away from here so I could get to an airport. While on that train I stayed awake, I watched everything and everyone, I was tired but refused to sleep, I figured I could sleep when I got to wherever I was headed. Once in another city I went to the airport and just looked around at all the destination posters everywhere and then I found the perfect place, Canada. I plan on disappearing, I plan on not being found, because I am not going back to Florida.

A note from Scorpion Sting: I added this story to the Bartender section of my blog not because I understand anything she has done in her life but because her story reminds me of many girls who found being a stripper was not the life for them. Plus, I like being able to share people’s life stories so that maybe, just maybe, someone somewhere makes a connection. I understand my blog is small and not too widely known, plus the person who writes on it is a sarcastic jackass, but I also know if I like reading these stories than one or two people more might also. No follow up contact was made per her request. She just wanted to be able to see her story printed somewhere by somebody. Therefore, where the story ends is where it ends as far as I am concerned. I don’t know the time frame or anything else other than what you have read in this post. Sometimes real life seems stranger than fiction. If it is made up then kudos to her, if not then I am glad she got the hell out. The image was found using Google search. The story came to me untitled so I did my best, for some reason I just imagined her having bright green eyes but I’m sure I will never know.

When We See The Light Under The Door

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When we see the light under the door it peeks our curiosity to the point where we have to accept the consequences and just open it. What if we have our hand on the knob but can’t bring ourselves to turn it, for fear of what’s on the other side? The fear of the unknown can be far worse than the thought of seeing everything is as we left it. Sometimes though, even though we may be really afraid, all we need to do is open the door just a bit and let the light come flooding out. It’s certainly not as frightening as throwing the door wide open and finding out there could be anything behind that door! But just a crack isn’t so daunting and the light it lets out enables us to see so much more than when the door was closed. In fact, we may be amazed at how much light is coming through that very small gap. Once we’ve opened the door very slightly, our eyes adjust to the new light level and then we may be able to open the door even more. We forget how daunting it was just to walk up to it and how much energy it took to put our hand on the knob. But now it is open and this is where we begin the story of husband coming home after being deployed to a far away land only to find that all of his fears are coming true and are in front of him.

The husband frequently wondered what went on behind the closed bedroom door when he was away for long periods of time. After he had some years in the Air Force under his belt he had heard of many disappointing returns that were less than the anticipated celebration. He always comforted himself with the knowledge that his wife loves him enough not to be caught off guard by loneliness. That only happens in other marriages; in those marriages where there are already underlying problems and the love has began to fade. The husband always made it a point to remain committed in his marriage and walked away from situations which might be considered compromising. The husband did this faithfully without question every day he walked out the door of their house. He was always comfortable knowing that his wife would be there to greet him with love each time he returned. As time rushes by and he began to be separated from his wife more, he finds himself consumed with fear that maybe his time has finally come to be the one who is disappointed when opening the door.

The husband had seen many things in his life, from the gruesome to the absolutely beautiful, but nothing prepared him for what he was about to witness. This time when he saw the light under the door he could hear noises, he could hear voices, and he was hearing sounds of a struggle. The husband did what came naturally, he whipped the door open with such power that it was hard to keep it from embedding itself into the wall behind it. He saw two people on the bed in the master bedroom, both frozen in a test of time to see who would move first. The husband wishes what he was seeing was not so, but when he blinked and re-opened his eyes what was happening became even clearer. He stood at the door waiting for something, anything, to help him make sense of the scene in front of him. But there was nothing, the moment was frozen in time, the faces were almost expressionless in their disbelief. The husband reached for the door handle and then pulled the door closed. He needed a few moments to clear his mind because he was in the process of making some decisions that will change his life forever.

Now that the husband had opened the door he saw firsthand that things were not at all normal. Now he can’t imagine seeing anything different and now he is having a hard time trying remember how he was feeling before he opened it. Is he mad. Is he sad. Is he sorry. Is he crushed. Is he calm. Is he in pain. He is mad, the emotion he feels is pure anger. The husband waited patiently sitting in his chair in the living room for the door to open again. In his own mind he had waited an eternity and was willing to risk opening the door again. As he arose from his chair the door swiftly opened up. Following the door opening came two bodies, one he was familiar with and one that he wanted to kill. In reality, he had it in his mind that they were both moments away from taken their last breathes on planet Earth. But wait, his wife is choosing to speak, she tells the husband she can explain. He thinks to himself a question with a grin on his face, how can this cunt explain why she was just caught with another sitting on her chest with her legs spread wide with his dick in her mouth? This should be good. Now he wonders why he opened the door in the first place.

While the husband stared through the couple he apologized for what was going to happen next as a consequence of the mistakes they have made. The husband produced his pistol, up until this point only destroying paper targets, his Desert Eagle was his favorite, he imagined the holes it would make in his new targets. He imagined the mess he would have to clean up after words. He imagined a quiet place in the desert where every creature there would devour every last bit of the evidence. The husband commanded that the couple kneel before him and beg him for his forgiveness. They both kneeled in silence of words but the crying was deafening even though it was but a whimper. At this point the husband announced his unfaithful wife that from this day forward she will only be referred to as a cunt. With that being said he put the pistol to the head of his wife. He sat there, remembering their wedding vows, thinking how it will be til death do us part. He pulled the trigger, click. He watched as she pissed herself knowing that the gun was not loaded. In one backhanded swing he struck the head of her lover. Her lover now is on his side, unconscious, bleeding, not moving or crying any longer.

Soon enough the base Security Police arrived. unsure what happened, the Security Police separated the husband from the situation and removed him from the house. The husband watched as the ambulance came to take care of the wounded lover. The husband knew his marriage was over the moment he saw the cunt fawning all over her lover, assuring him that her asshole husband was going to pay for what happened here tonight. Fuck it, the chips have fallen. The husband spent the next ninety days in the county jail under the charges of domestic abuse. He was also charged, by the Air Force, with assault and battery of an Officer. All charges were later dropped and removed from record by request of the Officer. How nice. Within a few months the husband and wife were no more, the only evidence the husband had of his failed marriage was the devout love from his young daughter. The husband was awarded full custody of his daughter as the courts believed the mother to be a bit unstable.

Moral of the story? Be careful how bad you “need” to open closed doors. Be prepared for whatever is behind the closed door. Finally, never kill anything in rage, not even a cheating cunt of a wife. Why ruin your own life because of someone else’s stupidity? If you haven’t guessed yet, this story is my own. At first the gun was loaded, I had every intent of putting them out of my misery, then I gently removed the clip and placed it in my pocket, these few moments assured me that I might go to jail that night but I will not go to prison for the rest of my life. The reason for me telling this story was because I have touched the subject off and on of my ex, I thought it was time everyone knew why she gets referred to as the cunt.

Explaining My Three Fathers

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Explaining my three fathers to my children has always been stories I enjoy telling. Sometimes it is like going down the wrong rabbit hole because it can be just a wee bit confusing. For those of y’all who just started playing along then I would guess y’all are at a bit of a loss. My recommendation is to search The Sting Of The Scorpion using the terms adoption, adopted, and biological. Then, perhaps y’all will be up to speed. Let me give a very brief review. I’m adopted, I’ve known my entire life. The fact that I was adopted was never the secret. In fact, until I turned 18 I never knew there was even a secret that people wished I never learned. In my case the records were sealed due to the circumstances of the pregnancy. Fortunately I was able to get them unsealed and have spent the better part of 25 years piecing together everyone’s dirty little secret, me.

On the backside of my property there lives an enormous oak tree. I find that when I’m in the presence of this oak tree that I tend to think of my family tree. My family tree is really twisted. If one was to look at it analytically I am actually the part of three family trees, if not more,  each in a separate way that leads into a different direction. Confused yet? We’ll get back to that. I have had “family”, specifically my biological family, on my mind recently since we (my wife & I) are planning to visit my oldest daughter (23) in Rapid City South Dakota over spring break this coming March 2014. Most of my biological family lives in the state of South Dakota, as well as my biological father and adopted father are both buried there also. For the purposes of explanation in this post the following will be the reference points when I discuss my three fathers, BF = Biological Father, AF = Adopted Father, SF = Step Father, my BM (biological mother/birth mother), and my AM (adopted mother/mother). Refer back to these abbreviations during this post if needed.

Everyone seems to want a piece of me when we go on the trip when all I really care to do is spend time with my daughter and my 2 y/o granddaughter whom we haven’t seen in some time now. Now, personally, my “agenda” will be to spend time with my wife, kids, and my granddaughter. Now, will that happen? Your guess is as good as mine. As my younger children get older they have began to have questions about family because my side of the family is kinda complicated. Recently I, for the second or third time now, tried to explain things to my son, who I finally now think gets it. Me being adopted is not what is in question. How this fits into my life as well as my kids life is what always seems to be confusing. And, when I explain it here I might go out-of-order and bounce around a bit so just try pay attention. Like I mentioned above, from this point further I will address my fathers by their relationship to me. I needed to explain all of this to my children because they have never met my BF (biological father) or my AF (adopted father), all three of them only know my SF (step father) and all three of my children will be meeting my biological family (many of them but probably not all of them) in March.

So lets see where to begin here. I was born 06 November 1968 in a little town in the southeast of South Dakota. I was placed with my adopted parents within days of my birth. My adopted parents were divorced by the time I was 6. I will get into that another time. By the time I was turning 7 my mother was re-married and we all moved to the southwest side of Houston Texas. My AF remained in South Dakota where I visited him every Christmas break and summer vacation until he died at the end of the summer in 1983. I remained being raised by my SF and still to this day consider him to be my dad. Anything y’all read around this blog about the current happenings with my parents is about my mother and step father, which he is never referred to in the real world. There was never any secret of me being adopted, I have always “known” because I was told early on. Why? I don’t know. Before I start the next part, let it be known that my SF and my mother (AM) have always loved me and raised me if I was their own blood son. Their loyalty to me as a son has never, nor will it ever, be in question.

Once I was out on my own, joined the United States Air Force, married, and had my first daughter I was asked about my family history so medical records for my daughter could be started. I was at a loss, I was actually crushed because here I brought a child into existence and I don’t even know if I passed something on to her genetically that had the potential of being bad. I struggled with this fact for a few months as I held my daughter in my arms wondering if there were going to be things about herself that she would never know. After a brief discussion with my wife and a long conversation with my mother (AM) the decision was made I was going to find out who I was. It was the thought at the time, it gave me hope for myself and my daughter. Since I was stationed in Japan in 1991 I had to do things the old-fashioned way, I had to write letters. I actually only wrote two different letters, form letters, which I used to inquire about my adoption records and my biological parents. I won’t lie, I hit allot of dead ends, I got wrapped up in allot of red tape, and I was at a point (after a year) where I was ready to give up because there didn’t seem to be any information to have. Then, out of the blue, when I was ready to quit, I received a letter from the office of the Judge that was over my case back in 1968. I was informed that they had the information I was seeking, but, since I was overseas I needed to provide all my personal information along with an affidavit from my commander confirming my identity.

I gathered everything I had, to include birth certificate and the letter from my commander, loaded it in an envelope and sent it on it’s way. For the first couple of weeks I waited very patiently, then a month rolled by and my patience was wearing thin. After 3 months I just gave up. Soon after I received another letter from the office of the judge informing me that he has reviewed my case and my request and is granting my request to have my adoption records unsealed. I was informed that they were ordered sealed due to the circumstances of the adoption and the biological mother as a request of her parents. I had no idea what all of that meant and was more confused than ever. The following day I received a package (large envelope) from the judge’s office that had a complete copy of everything that was filed in accordance with my adoption proceedings. It was worse than my worst nightmare, everything I wanted to know was blacked out like this was some kind of top secret document. All of the names, dates, places, agencies, and so forth were either removed or blacked out altogether. These documents read like a very well written mystery, with one exception, I never got to find out “who did it”. So, for now, the quest for information is dead.

I was divorced in 1998, we split everything up, she went one way, and my daughter and I remained. I put 90% of my stuff into storage where it sat for the next few years. In 2000 I was remarried, I welcomed with open arms my own step daughter (that will be the only time you ever hear me refer to her as a step anything) and finishing up the remaining time I had for active duty Air Force Guard. In 2001, after my son was born, we decided we wanted to raise our family in a house and not an apartment. I didn’t want just any house, I wanted a house we could grow into, grow old in, and not need to move any more, as I was tired of all the moving over the years being in the Air force, I was done moving. I spent the next 18 months designing our new house. My wife thought I was the obvious choice as the architect since that is what I have a degree in. So I did it, between working for my SF as a concrete contractor I spent the hours needed creating our dream home. Once we were happy with the design I submitted it to a Texas state licensed architect for the “stamp of approval” I needed to move forward. I found 10.4 acres in a large lot subdivision that we really fell in love with. For the next 18 months we watched our dream come true.

After we got moved in I announced I needed to make a trip to New Mexico to gather my belongings out of a storage unit there. So, my oldest daughter and I loaded up a trailer and made the road trip. It wasn’t much, mostly boxes full of records, pictures, and different things I had collected while I was in the Air Force bouncing around the world. When we got back home I went to unpack the boxes and noticed the one that had all of my adoption research in it. Not wanting to stop, I had my daughter just put the box in the master bedroom closet for later. After about a month of organizing I was at the computer paying some bills, checking the weather, and just when I was getting done my wife comes in and announces “we need to talk” with tears rolling down her face. (Fuck! What did I do?) I knew I have done nothing so that couldn’t be it, so what was it. I noticed in her hand a letter that I had written so many years before and she asked me when I was going to tell her. Tell her? I thought she knew I was adopted, I really thought this had come up in conversation before. It had, but my quest for information was never talked about. To tell you the truth the box was put in my closet to protect it from humidity damage, I had no intention of going through it because in my opinion the quest was dead and I had given up. I explained to her I had no interest in talking about it but she was free to read all of it if she wanted to.

A few days later I was piddling around in the garage putting some shelves up when my wife comes out to let me know I had a phone call. Weird because I didn’t even hear the phone ring which was mere feet from where I was working. My wife holds her hand over the mouth piece as she whispers that she loves me in my ear. After I said hello there was an extremely long dramatic pause, so I said hello again. This time a woman said hello back to me. She went on to explain that my wife contacted her the day before and asked if her and I could talk. Okay, lets talk. She informed me of who she was, she explained to me that she was my biological mother (BM). I was at a loss for words. She told me she would tell me anything I wanted to know. She said we are older now so it was time for the truth to be told. Okay. She gave me a name and claimed it to be the biological father’s name but never kept up with him after I was born so that is all she knew. She then needed to go, this was too emotional for her, so we hung up. I was dumbstruck to say the least. Seems my wife is pretty sneaky. She told me she had “friends” who knew what to do with the information I had and in less than 24 hours had a name and a current phone number. Really? Really.

We found a number for the name she gave me and gave it a call. The plot thickened because the person she had me call was my BF’s good friend from back in the day. He put his name as the father and so forth to protect his friend’s marriage. This lie came between them a few years later and the friendship was severed, so he didn’t see the harm in giving me his name, the real name this time and he even had the phone number. After hanging up with him I called the number and asked to speak with the named person I was given and I was informed at that time by the man on the other end that he has been deceased since 1996. The man I was talking to was my BF’s wife’s new husband. He gave me the name and phone number of their oldest son if I wanted to talk with him because he might have more information. When I called him I got the answering machine. I left a message for him to call me and my information. When he returned the call we spoke for many hours because I knew things that nobody outside of their immediate family should even know. We were able to fill in each others blank spaces so to say. I offered up a DNA test to prove who I was and I was told that it wasn’t necessary he knew that I had to be genuine. The puzzle was indeed coming together for me and I basically unraveled everything he had ever known to be true. A few days later, his mother called me, she said she felt obligated since her husband had died before I could “confront” him in person. Yea, him being dead really did throw a wrench in it all for me.

I kept in telephone contact with my BF’s side of the family for a couple of years before it came time to go to my oldest daughter’s graduation in Rapid City South Dakota. She decided to go live with her mom, who guilted her into believing that her life was just too damn lonely without her. Since we were going to South Dakota for her graduation I had the bright idea that this would be the perfect time to meet my biological family as well as visit my AF’s grave that I have not seen since the day I buried him. I also contacted my BM and told her I was willing to drive to northern Idaho to meet her while we were on our trip. She declined as well as asking me not to contact her or her two other sons ever again. I have honored her request. I visited my AF’s grave, which was hard, it was emotional, and left me drained. The following day I visited my BF’s grave. This was hard as well but something I felt I needed to do. Why? I felt he needed to “see” me and “hear” my voice, I needed him to hear me and see me. I met all of his children, 4 sons and 4 daughters, and a whole slough of grandbabies, nieces, and nephews who had zero idea who this strange man was that was at their grandma’s house. The accepted me, it was like I had been on a long trip or lived far away and was finally returning home. Was it bizarre? Absolutely bizarre. by the time these 3 days were over my brain was mush, I felt like the wash cloth that gets crumpled up and left to dry in the corner of the shower, I was just done. But I had a graduation to go to, I had to get back on the road to drive five hours away to get to the next town for my oldest daughter’s graduation.

I talked with my daughter quite a bit about what has been happening. It involved her as well because the people I just met were here “people” biologically as well. I don’t think she was prepared for these talks but I know she walked away feeling better because now she had a few more answers that I could never give her before. The graduation was awesome, we were so happy for her because we know what an accomplishment it is to graduate. We spent the next few days with my daughter, doing different things, just her and I, it had been a long time since we got to just sit and shoot the shit together. The day came that it was time to head home, it was time to head back to Texas. I was out of energy, I was drained, and borderline torn if I needed to extend my trip so I could go to Idaho. Then, after a heated debate with myself, we drove back to Texas.

To this day I am close to my father (SF). He is close with all of my children. Until just weeks ago my 17 y/o daughter and my 12 y/o son didn’t know he was my step father. I had to explain so much to say so little. My son is looking forward to the trip to South Dakota to visit with people and to see the grave which bears the name of his grandfather which he has never met but was named after. It should be an interesting trip. My whole family will be involved this time in meeting all the biologicals, I’m told it will be a family reunion of sorts. I hope my wife and kids are up for the journey which is ahead of us. I will let y’all know if I was up to it when we get back. Until then, I guess this story is on pause. It’s not over, but it’s over for right now. I wonder what other people do when they try to explain their own family tree(s) to their kids. I bet allot of people are glad their roots aren’t so complicated.

Overexposure Sensory Overload

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One of my favorite things about arriving to work at Club X was the absolute red carpet rock star treatment. This treatment wasn’t just reserved for me, it is how everyone who pulls up to the front door for valet parking is treated. There is no better feeling than pulling up to the red carpet, having your door opened for you by a Wicked Weasel bikini clad beauty who extends her hand to assist you getting out, and then turning your keys over to her so she can drive away to park your vehicle. I would experience this only a couple times a week because I would drive my H1 into work, but normally I was riding my Goldwing and I would just park her myself. It doesn’t stop there, that was only the start, because now one has to go through the entrance where one is greeted cheerfully by scantily clad to full nude attendants who grab you by the arm to escort you to be carded and banded. Finally, a lovely assistant will take you into the club and give you the grand tour and eventually seat you in the best seat in the house. Which, in the end, every seat is the absolute best seat. For me this is where my journey would end because I would peel off to my bar to get set up for yet another party.

For first timers this initial experience is very overwhelming because these young ladies have just scratched the surface for what the rest of the night has to offer. I enjoy watching the fresh faces come thru the door because the look on their faces reminds me of the look on my face when I lost my virginity so many years ago. Lets just say they are smiles from ear to ear for most of the night. Since my bar double as a rather large stage the newbies tend to migrate there because they can all be together while they stretch their wings to see what direction they want to go. I get allot of old hats as well because the shows that happen on my bar do not happen anywhere else in the club and some people look forward to what they might see. Of course they are not there to see me, they are sitting here to see the strippers because they know that as the night progresses that the shows on the bar get a little bit dirtier, a little bit nastier, and the strippers tend to really show off their skills while laid out on my bar.

Every once in a while we will get a gentleman at the bar who is easily embarrassed. Normally this would be no big deal but the strippers here exploit the fact that someone is a little taken aback by what he sees. A great example of this would be once when a young man in his early twenties could not maintain eye contact with anyone at all, not even me. He seemed to always have something to look away at, he would find a focal point someplace, and that turned out to be his utter demise. The strippers ganged up on him, they tortured him visually, and they would not let him escape. It started with one stripper that sat on his lap facing him face to face. She began with slow, methodic movements which were little less than a slow grind on his lap. I remind you at this point that she is completely nude so the only thing between him and her are his jeans. It only takes a little bit of this activity before she discovers that he has become very excited and very erect, which, in the end, was her goal. She wanted to get him all worked up, she wants to take him to absolute very edge and then as fast as she was on his lap she was leaving his erection to fend for itself. Cruel? Yes. This is an effective ploy by the strippers since they can “handle” the customer as much as they want and how they want but the customer never gets to do the same, nine out of ten times the customer is asked to sit on his own hands, which is a true act of cruelty.

The strippers, the ones who make the most money, have mastered the art of the dry fuck and they know just when to stop. Sometimes, I think as a cruel trick, they take it just a little to far, just to see the mess someone will make in their pants. Why do the strippers try so hard? Money, money, and more money. They know that they can separate you from your money if they can give you something you don’t already have. Which is the point really, the strippers are there to make money and the customers are there to spend money, so it’s like a match made in heaven if you will. Some of my favorite strippers to watch are the ones that are stripping for some supplemental income. They may have another job or they may be a stay at home wife/mother who needs the added income. As soon as they get over being shy the party gets started and they put on the best shows ever. One would be surprised how many strippers are stripping on the side, I know I was surprised. One must ask, are they here for fun, boredom, the money, or a little bit of all three?

An example of a stripper who is here part-time is Rox, she is a CNS (Clinical Nurse Specialist) and has worked at one of the largest hospitals here in Houston for the past 2 years. In our talks it was mentioned that she takes in just shy of $90K, she is the mother of three boys, and has been divorced for the past 3 years. When I asked her why she was here she told me that she has always loved dancing, she has always stayed in shape, and she figured if she could keep up with the college girls that she might be able to make some extra money. Oddly enough, she answered an add in the paper and the rest is strip club history. Asking yourself how old she is yet? I know, but I will never tell. Why? Because its not that important, I will say she is between 28 and 34 and that is all I will say. I will say that the quiet talk around here pegged her as a threat to the other strippers money and they weren’t happy about that fact. She has a little experience in life under her belt which makes her a more well-rounded person, plus, c’mon, she is a freakin nurse! I know, I know, I know, we don’t like to think that our mothers and our professionals in society could possibly be strippers. Say it isn’t so Scorp. I can’t because the reality of it all is that woman have found the golden ticket and realize that in exchange for a little skin exposure they can really clean up at the bank. Lets just say that weeks prior to Christmas 2013 she picked up an extra $8K for shopping. There is no doubt in my mind that she is good at what she does, she always gets my attention, especially when she is on my bar. Just wow.

Another example of a person looking for a second income who has a decent job already is Kat, she is a 2nd year associate lawyer at a medium size law firm here in Houston that employs around 300 lawyers, making an annual $125K. She is here for fun. She and I have talked allot because she has been and probably always will be the shyest stripper I have ever met. It seems like every time she hits the stage is her very first time. We get along tho, we have similar music tastes, in fact I pick out her songs when I’m working because she knows they will be fast and hard-hitting, just like her. Kat is in her late 20s and demands your attention when she is on the dance floor. If she can’t get your attention on the dance floor or by giving you a lap dance then you just might have issues. Sad thing is she knows she is rockin hot, sad thing is she knows that when she catches your eye that she owns you. Allot of the strippers have this attitude but only Kat and a handful of others are actually capable of making you fall under their trance. Beware the stare of the Kat!

But Scorp, we don’t care about who and why the strippers are there. We come to a full nude strip bar to see titties, ass, and pussies everywhere. Why do we need to know all the rest of this shit. I’ll tell you why, it’s because not everyone understands that these strippers are more than a piece of meat hanging in the market window for y’all to imagine fucking. Each one of them has a story and fortunately I have the opportunity to hear some of their stories. But, I agree, people come to a strip club for three basic reasons, they want to get drunk, they want to get drunk while watching full nude strippers do things their wives and girlfriends would never do, and they come to the strip club to leave their problems behind them and just have a great time. Nobody walks into a strip bar on accident, it is a clear & conscious choice usually made with a little advance planning.

For those of y’all new to The Sting Of the Scorpion y’all are probably feeling just a wee bit left out. My recommendation to you is to look to the right and locate the “Category Listing” for this blog and click “Scorpion Sting’s Bartender Stories” for past stories. Unfortunately the list is rather short, like 18 selections, because early in 2013 Google decided to kill my Blogger account which was home to one of my blogs called “Bartender: Untold Stories“. Unfortunately I was only able to save a few of the stories and have been writing new ones as time progresses. I think there are a few more in “The Dead Blog Archives” as well. Anyway, check those out and read up on why and how I have been able to tell these fantastic stories and look forward to many more. I have only begun to delve into my little black book for great interviews and stories.

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