I Wonder Why I Rush To Wake Up

wpid-20150730_140522.jpg

Really, I do wonder why I’m in a rush to wake up in the morning. Lately, not so much though. This morning brought the grim reminder that the mail I picked up last night still remained on the dining room table unopened, it waits for me, taunting me, because I know that one of them is for interruption of service, one is to have inform me they wish to accelerate my auto loan, and the last one demanding payment or my auto insurance is at risk of being terminated. Which, in the end is why those three sat on the table all night, haunting my dreams, and not resting as well as I hoped. All I can think as I open each one is “don’t let me be right”. But, of course, I know this dance all too well for me to be wrong, not even once. After some time on the phone, making partial payments, and making promises I don’t even know if I can keep, I sit here wondering just what in the fuck can make all of this worse. My phone rings, startled the shit out of me, it was one of the companies I was trying to get back on with, the position opportunity has closed since the current employee has decided to stay. Well, fuck me very much!

As this day progresses I have been applying to more jobs, fishing for bites but not even a single nibble. Sure, I have the job I do and it will pay the bills, but the hours/ days of the week suck some serious hind tit. Yes, I’m complaining and yes I know that my bills are based upon the responsibilities I agreed to fulfill. But Peter is dead and Paul still has his hand out. Well, I know, as overwhelmed as I may fucking be with life right now that one day things will get back on track. Probably not today, but one day. It’s hard though, every direction I turn its all negative. Luckily for me I have a fantastic first mate who solemnly swears that she will not abandon ship as long as her captain is still bailing water. Which is fucking great because my dingy is sinking at a very steady rate. Anyway, just needed to vent, bitch, and complain a bit. Now I need to get back to the horrible task of unfucking all of this mess I call my life.

Welcome To The Jungle!

wpid-20150728_132252.jpg

Never before, not since the Air Force at least, have I been part of such a large, intricate, and instrumental machine. Once again being reduced down to being nothing more than a four digit number to an employer. That’s not a complaint, it’s a statement of fact. After my first real “work week” I would like to report how much I really am enjoying my new employment, but that just might be stretching the truth a fucking bit more than need be. But, and this is a fucking giant but, the money is decent, and that is the only thing I can really say I like about it. The hours suck, 3p to 3a Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. The environment is very cold and dry, 26-32 degrees fahrenheit @ 15% humidity. I have developed chapped lips for the first time in my life, ever. Yes, I did choose the job, yes I knew the fucking conditions before signing up, and yes I knew I wouldn’t like it before it ever started. However, in defense of this very critical decision, I was doing it to fix my immediate cashflow situation, meaning there was zero flow. And, it gives me time during the regular work week to find an actual job that I can live around.

I have quickly realized that I’m too old and too out of shape to be competing with a bunch of 20 something year olds. I have found the cold working environment only aggravates my fucking knee. On the flip side, o don’t notice the pain until I’m in bed thawing out in the morning. This very well could be one of the biggest dumb ass moves I have ever made the choice to do. So, yes, I can and will accept my desperate decision making, only because I know it is temporary and the more temporary the better. I have received a handful of messages asking where I work and I’m still not sure I can legally say since I have and will make more than one negative comments. Let’s just say I work for a very, very large distribution center for a very, very large retailer, but only in the supply of the grocery store portion. For the best example, if you are at the grocery store side, look at everything that is cool, cold, or frozen, from fresh vegetables to your favorite cut of meat, and I’m part of the machine that keeps the bins full, the freezers full, and a fresh mountain of veggies at your fingertips. Yes, that is done by people like me, nationwide. Ok, enough clues.

Anyway, just know this simple fucking fact, I am still looking for a job. Y’all can take that shit straight to the bank. Don’t worry, I will keep y’all up to speed, the tides will hopefully turn very, very soon.

Tempting The Past With The Future

wpid-20150714_102545.jpg

Do you remember the saying, “Don’t put all your eggs in one basket”?  This goes back to the days when people used to go out to the hen house and gather the eggs that the chickens had laid.  The idea was that if you put all your eggs in one basket and then drop the basket, or the bottom drops out, you lose all the eggs and all your work, and the work of the chickens will have been in vain.  But if you put your eggs into more than one basket, then if you drop one basket you still another basket with some eggs left in it. This cliché is used in life to remind us that that we need to have more than one plan, that we need to have contingency plans (plan B) just in case plan A fails.  Because if you have only one plan and it fails, then you are left with egg on your face and nowhere to go.

So why am I talking about an age old cliché? Earlier today I was sitting outside of a previous place of employment and while I was waiting I posted a question in my Facebook status which asked if I should be wary or skeptical about inquiring about a job which, back in February 2014, laid me off. Basically that was the question or statement. Since then, of course, I have inquired. Where did this impromptu visit stem from. Well, last night after dinner I was looking through job postings on Indeed and Monster and to my surprise I see the job posting. Now, I had been watching this company lately because I had seen other engineering positions post, but nothing related to production, that is until last night. I applied for the position through Indeed and really got to thinking, I need to make an appearance to show my face. Most of don’t remember names, but we almost always remember a face. So, I decided to hand carry a copy of my resume and show my face, hopefully to someone I knew since there have been many personnel changes over the last eighteen months. I was relieved to walk through the door and a dear friend had made all the cuts and survived all the changes. She filled me in on pretty much everything I was asking and so much more. We talked for about fifteen minutes when another familiar face came in. He looked very surprised to see me and also thankful to see me.

We talked. We had an informational talk in my opinion. I know, you want to know, was I hired? No, I was not hired. Why? Because the position doesn’t actually open until the end of the first week of August. But, I do have day to meet with the owner and his son at the end of next week. Yes, with bills stacking up the time seems like years not days or weeks. I had prepared for this answer actually with the full intent that I would carry on looking for work and not putting all my eggs into one basket in hopes that they hire me back. Only thing I have going in my favor at this time is I was the number one application and I gave face time to express my intent and interest. Maybe I was a bit eager or being naive instead of gun shy. I’m not a patient man, I’m not a person who likes to sit around answers or results. But, not working, all I have is time. Anyway, I just wanted to give a quicky update as I promised I would do. I keep my fingers crossed that something will break soon.

Captain’s Log: Event Horizon

_20150713_091717

I try very hard to always remain positive in no-win situations. Over the decades being a cynical sarcastic asshole has served me well, however, that fact may be really hurting my “people skills” overall. Long ago, in general, I lost faith in people, for many of what I consider great reasons. When applying for jobs, submitting resumes, and talking to people on the phone I feel very uncomfortable because I’m a hard person to “sell” most times. It seems that daily I have recap conversations with my wife and they all seem like not only is there no light at the end of the tunnel but it seems as though, daily, I witness my own personal event horizons, that so called light has gone to the place where all light goes to die. As much as I would like to say I’m discouraged with the prevailing party of unemployment, I’m really not. For the second time in a twelve month period I have found that I’m not a marketable person, its a reality that shines the fuck through each day that passes, seems what I know, what I’m good at, really has no place in today’s job market place. One knows he has hit the bottom when big box fast food chains won’t hire him because in all of his years of experience he has no experience in regards to fast food. I get the impression that the pimple faced kids doing the hiring feel that they cannot teach this old dog any new tricks. Maybe they’re right, maybe those jobs aren’t right for me, that I’m not a good fit for the fucking positions, and that is probably because I’m not really a good people person. Walmart has even turned me down, a low point in my personal life, compounded by the fact that I look at the opportunities in the minimum wage market merely so I can get some of the bills being paid once again.

I have found that being a veteran matters not in many cases as well. Saying a company prefers veterans with little to no experience in a particular field looks good in the listing but I wonder if they are just fulfilling legal obligations in the end of it all. I’m just saying its hard to find direction when it seems that everything I am doing has the same response, and I don’t care to be told no so often. Let’s do some fun math, as it has calculated over the last month shall we. On average I have put in 10.8 applications per day each day (including in person and on line) making a total of 324 to date today at the time I’m writing this post. Out of those 324 applications, I have had 13 calls resulting in 8 interviews which were dead ends for all interested parties. Plus 2 stray calls from companies who really liked what they saw in my resume posted on Monster.com. Yet, here I sit. I feel that my networking skills are, to say the very least, are really shitty.

So, against my better judgement, my wife tells me to just “take the day off” and regroup. Not to retreat or surrender, but to evaluate my efforts that have been made in my hunt for a source of income. As much as I would like to do it, I really can’t, which means that me and the wife are now at odds with one another. It’s been heard a million times, but I truly believe that one picture is worth a thousand words, and today the picture above about sums it up for me. No worries though, I will break the code to break the cycle so I can get my fucking life back on track. Which is so cliche since I don’t even remember getting hit by that big fucking train. Anyway, I gotta get back to doing what I really suck at, finding a damn job.

Speaking Of People Watching ……..

Okay boys and girls I have a little adventure to tell you about. Very recently I found myself at the mall with my wife, my birthday present to her was not actually a present, it was a trip to her favorite stores to pick out clothes she has wanted. The longer we are married the harder it is to get gifts for special occasions. Some of y’all might actually feel the same way, plus giving someone a gift blindly is very hit or miss, what they liked yesterday may have very well changed overnight. So, I have a bad habit, I don’t buy gifts, we go places or do something or in this case we made a special trip to the mall. In general, my wife was a little confused, for the first time I wasn’t clear about the budget, sure I had one in mind since going over the budget would have cut into the bill paying. Nevertheless, I told her that she had free reign, she knows the bank account and so forth and I knew she would “shop responsibly” in the end. Plus, as a direct bonus to me, I was there to help pick out new summer attire, that is if she actually buys anything. Usually, whether for work or for street clothes, I always get to go because she wants my “opinion”. Oh well, its just the way it is.

The first place she goes into is Victoria’s Secret, a store in my opinion which has gone seriously down hill because everything is geared toward the “teen” and everything has become tame and lame. I understand business, but I remember the Victoria’s Secret from back in the day when I was dating my ex, and it rivaled Fredrick’s of Hollywood at the time. So, the moral of the story is that if you want “trashy” lingerie you need to shop at Zone D Exotica or buy it online. How can a person buy lingerie, in general, online? Anyhow, we go in because she “needs” (wants) new bras and Victoria’s secret has convinced her over the years that she can only wear their brand bras because of her figure. At least that is the line I’ve heard from them and my wife repeat. Ok, she’s 5’2″, about 115#, where’s a size 2, and sports 36DDDs. I joked with her the other day because she was feeling her age, and in a complimentary fashion I mentioned that I haven’t noticed her age because the boobs are still rockin’ all on their own. She tells me one day they won’t be that way, yea, but that day is not today! In the store she picks out a few sets of varying colors, I know this because she tells me as we go along. I don’t personally care what they look like, however I don’t care for the padded ones since she doesn’t need help squishing the boobs out. I can always convince the employees that I need to be in the fitting room with her because she cant come out to show me and model the lingerie. In 17 years I have been told no only once, and that just turned into selfie after selfie after selfie. Other husbands sit outside, looking very uncomfortable sitting in the pink and white striped boudoir chair, holding her purse, and keeping the small children in line. So, we found one bra and panty set that she was happy with, she tried on 14 sets and some more singles. I’m not complaining, I enjoy the show, in fact I love the show, I was just saying. We wait in line, pay the $72.89, and we exit happily.

She wanted some new jean shorts, tank tops, and a new bikini. I don’t know that all of those things can be purchased in one store, but we were going to give it a shot. She likes Hollister so we started there, not my favorite store, clothes are more for the teen with an assload of daddy’s money. But, she likes their jeans and jean shorts. Being familiar with this store as she comes here allot, I know that when its time to try on everything that is there barely enough room for one person, so I know I will be riding the imitation plastic leather couch, holding her purse and the remainder of the clothes. How do you try on clothes in a 2’x2′ closet anyway? She was put in the room right by the end of the couch, I could touch the door handle I was so close. One thing I hate about this store is the over abuse of perfumes and colognes people wear in a confined space. Makes my eyes water, not good when I wear contacts. Reminds me of the VIP rooms at a strip club, mixed perfumes, mixed sweat in the chairs, spilled alcohol on the floor, it generally has such a musk that it reminds me of a funeral parlor where all of the older ladies feel they must bath in their preferred scent as if to compete with all of the others. I like a lite pleasant smell, one you don’t notice until you are close to the nape of the neck, y’all know what I’m talking about. Then, BOOM, she walks out in a pair of these jean shorts that are very tight, very short, yet still tasteful enough because her vagina isn’t eating them and spilling out the leg holes. Impressive! My wife does not get into the whole “if it zips it fits” craze. She prefers comfortably snug. She tries on a few more, same style, different colors, they all look fine enough to me, but that’s not the answer we are looking for and I know it, so I go for the white pair and the blue jean pair, both show off her tanned legs nicely. Holy fuck! Two pair of shorts were $93.89 and we still weren’t done, off to the Guess store, a personal favorite of mine.

The Guess store was an utter clusterfuck with the summer sale going on, shit everywhere it wasn’t supposed to be, employees talking and texting instead of helping people out. Luckily for us, the bathing suit section hadn’t been raped and ransacked yet, well not real bad in my opinion. She picks out three that she likes and one I was fond of because it was different. She hates all of them after trying them on, looking to old ladyish for her taste. At this point in time she talks me into driving to Galveston, about a 50 minute drive for us, to go suit shopping, she wants to go back to a place she bought hers for our trip to Florida a few years back. Sure, why not, I was done with the mall anyway. We load up her bags in the trunk of the Mustang and head to the Strand, a section of Galveston that has existed since the 1800s, now its mostly shops, bars, and restaurants. While driving through Houston in average Houston traffic, meaning it was steady and thick but moving at about 75mph, my wife slips off the jeans she is wearing, surprise for me, and slips on her new white shorts after cutting the tags off. I didn’t even see her bring them into the car. Ever want to make the women in the car next to you on the passenger side blush? Have your wife changing in the car doing 80 mph passing an SUV with the woman and her boys in the back seat gawking. We arrived safely to Galveston, park, pay, and off we are walking.

She spots a few tanks in the window of the surf shop we were walking by and pulls me inside to go check them out. She was looking for the kind one wears sans bra, its a special kind from what she tells me, got a liner in it so the person wearing it isn’t pointing at everyone looking like she is smuggling raisins. I’m good either way. This is a giant store, there are racks after racks after rack of bathing suits, even the female employees were wearing tiny little bikinis. I like this place already. It was amazing to watch the guys in the store that were there with their wives, girlfriends, friends, or significant others. While watching them watching the tiny bikini clad girls walk around, bending over with straight legs, and stretching to the point that the material of their tops was at the point of failing, which would be catastrophic, boobs everywhere if it happens., I noticed that they also were selling margaritas and daiquiris, bonus. Cheap as well, I don’t prefer frozen margaritas but two giant one’s served in a souvenir style cup with a really crazy straw was only eight bucks. I hand my wife hers and away we go to start the hunt. She picked out one style she liked, only one suit too, and without showing it to me on the hanger she disappears into the changing room. I meandered over, giving her time to wiggle out of her closes and wiggle back into the suit she is trying on. She pulls the curtain back far enough for me to tie the strings on the back for her. She closes the curtain, and we know why, she needs the time to “adjust” everything so there is nothing hanging out that shouldn’t be. The curtain rips open! There she stands, my tanned wife in a white bikini, she is looking slick, she spins in the mirrors outside the changing room, and I guess she decides she is not liking it after all. I’m instructed to stand there and guard her “stuff” while she gets another. Remember I was talking about the guys in the store, well, they aren’t shy about staring, not even a little subtle, but then again, I was pleasantly watching her walk away as well. I see an employee, half her age, helping her out, pointing around and so forth, and then my wife returns. I was told she didn’t care for the first one, the bottoms felt like they were sliding inside her and she feared a very revealing cameltoe. So, she explained she was looking for “cunt huggers” not “cunt eaters” like the one she just tried on. She gets a dirty potty mouth at all the appropriate times, but I saw her point, trust me. She finds one that makes her happy, I never got to see it either, I was told it will be a surprise. While doing a secret check out, hiding it all from me, the same employee who was helping her began talking with my wife again. Apparently she is the manager of the store and thinks my wife has some talents that she would like to employ. Yes, she offered her a job on the weekends. The pay wasn’t bad, $20 an hour plus tips, part time, no benefits, but 80% of clothing in the store as long as she was an employee. Also, she would be able to use my veteran’s discount for an additional 10% off. My wife is actually considering it, she thinks it will be fun, she likes the uniform, and she thinks she would be a help to the older crowd who are a bit shyer in their needs. She has to call her by this Friday afternoon if she wants to give it a shot this weekend.

So now we walk around some more, stopping in at many more island shops, drinking many more margaritas, and finally we got back in the car, not to go home, but to head to the seawall to park so we could go walk the beach for a while. There was a beautiful sunset, we watched the sun slowly but surely descend into the depths of the horizon. Feeling hungry we walked over to a seafood place, I cant remember the name tho for some reason, but we went in, it was very laid back, had classic rock playing relatively load, but it was the coziness of it that made it a cool environment. We ordered, we ate, we talked, talked allot about this summer and what we wanted to do, we are going to San Antonio for the 4th of July weekend, which I already knew, since it is going to be my father’s day present from the kids. To sum it all up, it was nice to go out alone with my wife, something that is very rare anymore, but this is something we both committed to change starting right then. Fine with me, that’s why I married her, to spend time with her, to be able to do things together. There are many more reasons of course, but we wanted a life together to do things together. Also, we discussed the upcoming concerts for the rest of the year, told me to pick three or four so we could go. Has my wife received a headwound? She is volunteering to see rock concerts? Nice. I mentioned our vacation to Florida two years ago, I was doing something with the kids and I get a text from my wife with this picture attached, asking me if I would join her on the beach for a walk. What do y’all think my answer was?

_20150611_194743

You’re Bitching Up The Wrong Tree

Okay, visitors here know in a past not so distant life ago I was a bartender in a full nude strip bar. Many of y’all still ask me why. Why? The money was great and the scenery wasn’t that bad either. As well, many (not all) have judged my morals or judgment in career options, mostly I was told how I glorified the world of stripping when strippers are really disgusting slut whore beasts and are the lowest form of human on the planet, right after the douchebags who go to strip bars and pay to see naked women dance in their face. Yes, I simplified it for y’all, forgive me, but I never understood how or why people judge strippers. Strippers strip for whatever reason, I’m not real sure how many of them want to shake what their momma gave them in front of strangers for money. But, I know for a fact that there are reasons women strip, every single one of them has a reason. Some of those reasons have been explored here in the past, and I always get told that I’m very biased because I “lived” in their world too long while working as a bartender. How can that even be true or make sense.

_20150603_175059

I thought that since I received this great example from an angered reader who wanted to reach out with her own information that this would be the perfect opportunity to take another moment to discuss choices of employment, perhaps motivations, and of course to glitzy lure of stacks of cash. In a moment, y’all will read the email I got yesterday explaining to me that I needed to be more clear to people so others who do strip or want a career in stripping have information so they don’t get fucked, literally. As far as my past posts, they are my own personal experiences OR experiences that were shared with me by real life strippers while I was a bartender. And, look people, again knowing from personal experience, some of the choices for employment are harder than others. So, read the email below, catch back up with me afterwords. If you ask me, the writer/sender was/is a stripper and got burnt somehow, I would assume she sued or attempt to sue her place of employment because one of her patrons tipped her with information instead of dollar bills. Just my humble opinion.

Begin email———————————–

1. Strippers, exotic dancers, showgirls, lap dancers, peep show dancers, & erotic entertainers are EMPLOYEES of the club they work for.

Stripping is a J-O-B. Strippers will never be independent contractors. It doesn’t matter if the boss calls a stripper an independent contractor or if it’s a term she applies to herself.  The reality is that the way strip clubs operate, the strippers working in can only be employees. It’s because management must exercise a certain amount of control over working conditions or else there would be chaos. Some might argue that management creates more disorder with their policies than order. Management need to figure out which dancers are going to work on any given shift; how many shifts there are in a day; how many hours each shift runs; many decide what dancers may wear at work; how many dances she perform on stage, and so on. The reason why strip clubs misclassify strippers as “independent contractors” is to dodge their employer obligations. The irony is that clubs say you’re an independent contractor but actually treat you like an employee.

2. Strip club employers must pay all their workers minimum wage, at a bare minimum.

Strip club employers must also pay into social security, worker’s compensation, employer taxes, & a slew of others good things that workers in any other industry are guaranteed as employees.  Personally, I think that strippers should get paid far more than minimum wages.  After all, not every chick is willing to take her clothes off in front of random strangers & gyrate on their laps to arouse them!  The management like the money strippers make for their business, but they don’t want to pay these women for their labor.  THIS IS ILLEGAL.

3. State labor laws state that it is illegal for an employer (here, the strip club owner) to take any portion of his/her employee’s (here, the stripper) tips.

To add insult to injury, management charge strippers for the privilege to work!You know:  those stage fees, quotas, commissions, piece rate system, locker fees, booking fees, etc, etc…. It’s also illegal for employers to require strippers to tip other employees (DJ, House Mom, Manager, Bartender, etc).  Management minimally pay non-stripper staff and expect strippers to underwrite the remainder of their wages.  Why are these fees-to-work illegal?  Because strippers earn their money through tips that customers provide for them.  Strippers use their tips to pay management these illegal mandatory fees. THIS IS ILLEGAL. Lets review by answering the following questions for yourself.

Were you misclassified as an independent contractor while being employed as a stripper?

Did management fail to pay you minimum wages while you were a stripper?

Did you have to pay management to work while you were employed as a stripper?

If you said “yes” to one or more of these questions, your labor rights were violated. Take action to assert your labor rights!

End of email——————————————-

**** On a very special note. The Sting Of The Scorpion Blog has not, will not, and cannot provide any legal advice. Visitors of this blog should consult with their own lawyer for legal advice. The information provided was for informational purposes ONLY. I claim no legal knowledge in regards to topics discussed here. Now, you’ve been warned and informed motherfuckers! ****

In reality I don’t care what people do with their lives, how they spend their money, or who they choose to see naked. I can, however, say that every single person who walks through the door of a strip club (employee or patron) has their own reason for being inside those walls. I mentioned before, my goal was to make money, as much as I could as fast as I could. Now, having a 8-5 job during the day and then working another 8+ hours afterwards as a “part time” sucked, I won’t lie, it made for long days/nights. As well, it was a 42 minute drive for me personally which racks miles up on the vehicle as well as adds just a few more hours each day. Yes, once at work the scenery, in general, was pleasant. The work environment was a bit weird because my involvement with the business of the club were pretty nil. I did, however, meet some very nice people along the way while I worked there, I’ll leave that part right there. Want to know more just read around this blog a little and you’ll see what I mean.

Getting back to how I or what I write about glorifies the occupation of stripping, because, lets face it together, I get accused of never writing about anything but strippers using their nakedness to separate men of all ages from their money in the shortest time possible. What y’all have got from me is the brutal honesty, not the fucking fairytale la la land some people seem to live in. I guess my point is simple, working as a stripper is what it is, it’s a choice someone makes, and often enough people get judged because in someone else’s opinion it was the wrong choice to make. Trust me, I’m 46 years old and still get grief from my mother because I bartended in more than one strip club over the years. “How can you do that to your wife and treat her without respect by working at a strip bar?” is my favorite question to date. My wife only had one dislike about me working there and that was the simple fact that I was getting in after 1 in the morning day after day and I was tired. I was tired and didn’t want to do anything except hang out around the house, I was a big fan of not going anywhere or not doing anything. In the end, it was my wife’s opinion that made me want to quit in the first place. She asked me to quit one time, and I made it happen that day. On the flip side, all joking aside here, she was the one that said I needed to get a part time job to fill some time, make a little money, and get out more. In fact, it was a friend of a friend of a friend of one of her co-workers that my wife gave me the number to call for the job. She was informed, the moment I went to the interview, that it was at a strip club. Her answer was it was decision either way, but told me I knew I could make some serious cash if I took it. Yes, she does not about my past life, not that it was talked about much.

Luckily, at the place I worked, everyone was an employee, we all had health coverage if we chose, we could participate in the 401k, they were workers comp compliant, the whole 9 yards. However, indeed, a portion of my paycheck was dependent on bar sales, door sales, and stripper tips. Yes, now I’m the bad guy. No, it wasn’t my rule, and nobody fought it, it was just the way it was I guess. But, they did not pay to dance, they did not have fees except for one, which was if you were scheduled to work and you were a no show/no call, you were given three days off without pay as a warning to be more courteous to your coworkers. It mentions minimum wage above, um no, how the average stripper was making from $18.00 to $23.00 an hour, plus tips, plus dances, plus whatever the hell else they were doing on the side, if anything. Again, I’m not defending the industry itself, merely where I worked.

Oddly enough, during the mere course of writing this post I have received 4 more emails “scolding” me for being a sinner, supporter of sinning, and indulging in the slavery which we collectively call the “sex trades” since stripping somehow falls into that category. Maybe I truly am blind, somewhat oblivious to the blythe which is that of the life of a stripper. But, wait….. for….. it….., I don’t care, I really don’t, I don’t care what people do which their lives. Well, that’s not altogether true, I do care that I contribute a large amount of my paycheck to pay for others to sit at home on the crack pipe, on the xBox, or on the porch, instead of them getting out and getting a fucking job. We’ll talk about that another time, I read a study recently that the average person on a combination of government service programs average about $19.20 an hour. Like I said, lets get back to that another day. My mere connection with the stripping industry is purely coincidental, meaning we would work in the same building, all of us dependent on the very steady stream of people entering the neon lit establishment we called a strip bar.

But, I understand, the easy thing to do is to judge those doing things we don’t agree with. We should just be happy people are out working instead of sucking on the welfare titty all day. Until we as human beings stop looking at the opposite sex with lust in our eyes there will always be a place where we can see the opposite sex naked. Have y’all been on the internet later, have y’all seen what y’all have been searching for, and y’all call me the pervert?  Again, another post for what people’s perversions are. Your choice, fucking hate me, if that gets you though the day, great, just fucking hate me. Meanwhile, I will give you something to think about, my final thought here today. All strippers have a story, a life, a family, and although you detest their industry or them as people, just remember it takes guts to strip in front of strangers, it takes courage to get out there to earn a living no matter what your craft may be. Before we get all biblical on me, remember, I don’t by into it, so in reality it’s a major waste of both of our times. But, as usual, I will get the emails, the comments, and so forth, and I will post here on this blog the ignorance that is spewed. There is no justice in the world, we all know it, sometimes we decide that instead of running away from life, we jump on that old hag, dig the spurs in deep, and ride her until that bitch throws us or we tame the beast. Your choice.

Re-defining Defined Lines In Life

_20141211_161459

There are times that I can see the road ahead of me clearly. There are time that same road seems to disappear. Its not the road to success nor is it the road to happiness, just a road I follow for the course of my life. I try not to take detours or go off roading but there are times that the obstacles won’t budge, so I have to go around. I could let the obstacles define me but I don’t, I just find a way around. Sometimes these detours take a considerable amount of time and when that becomes the case I try very hard to get back to my known road, my course, because one day I will find my destination. Hopefully death isn’t the destination, but then again life is the journey and all journeys must end eventually I would guess.

I find myself needing to re-define the important things in life from time to time. This ranges from how to budget better to be better at having the bills on time, to not wanting to be that person who has no money left in the banking account three days before the next pay-day. Patience isn’t exactly my strongest personality trait so, at times, I tend to get frustrated with the speed others move. I was off work for a long time in my opinion, eight and a half months is most of year in my eyes. During which I had to creatively disperse funds from our savings to live day to day. One day that too had yielded its last bit of money. We all know what happens when you stop paying bills right? The collection offices start calling, demanding payments, and accepting no alternate arrangements. It is hard to satisfy the needs to many when I was more worried about where the money was coming from to buy ramen noodles that week. It put allot of stress on the relationship of my wife and I as well. Looking back, I remember conversations we had, where I may not have had the answer she was looking for. As she remained working I often felt guilty when she would call me to inform me that a bill collector had called her at work and what am I going to do about it because this madness has to stop. Agreed, it has to stop. In the beginning, when I was first laid off, we already had a plan in motion to have my knee operated on once again because it had deteriorated so badly. While I was working I had great health coverage and we decided to pull the trigger to get the ball rolling. I had my evaluations done and I was set, I had my appointment date set and everything. I had over 140 hours of vacation and my employer was willing to let me be off for a minimum of two weeks for recovery. Then, one morning I went into work and was blindsided, I just got laid off. Well, fuck everything I knew for the last 5 1/2 years because that went straight down the ol’ toilet. Plans for knee surgery in three weeks just flew out the fucking window, to say the very least because those plans just ended.

To say this new development put a wrench in the fan is an understatement from hell. Immediately many things had too change. We had already led a rather meager life in my opinion. We didn’t eat out, ever, we didn’t really have any bills except for 2 loans, our cell phones, and of course utilities. Now, we didn’t live a bare bones life, but I made sure that I was putting money back for a rainy day, a vacation, knee surgery, graduation, college, or whatever. I made things tight, nobody saw the money I was socking away so nobody missed the money I was socking away. Little did I know that the balance I was seeing over time was an optical illusion. It was not nearly enough money to even just scrape by, which we were used to, but scraping this way was more of a challenge. I forecasted that we would be good for at least 18 months of regular living, living like we had been living with our expenses we already had. I was way off. I made a very simple, yet important mistake, I didn’t take into account some major expenses like paying the additional monthly money to have the health/dental/vision insurance switched to my wife’s company coverage and their rates were quadruple what I was paying. Then there was prescription costs, not just the co-pays, but paying full price on them until my wife’s insurance kicked in, for my son alone it was over $1500.00 a month. I didn’t include the expense of feeding five adults each week, gas for vehicles, nor my wife and my smoking habit. All of that eats money and it eats that shit fast. When my current job started our checking account was operating on fumes, it had been for two months already. One can only make so many trips to the pawn shop for a quick loan, especially when I knew I would not be returning to get them out of hock.

But, here we sit just shy of two months of my new job and I am still trying to beat off bill collectors with a stick because we have been playing catch the fuck up since my first check. Now lets toss Christmas into the mix. To say it will be meager would not do it justice. By having older kids, I think they understand, they may not like it, but they haven’t given us any grief. We sat down, we explained, we all expressed our concerns, and I thought it was over-with. I had went to my room for some quiet time, some me time, time to not be around people, I was disappointed, I didn’t even want to be around me. My son knocked on the door, asking gently if he could talk to me. I was in there, in the dark, laying sideways on my bed, too lazy to take my shoes off so my legs just dangled. He and his sister had got together, along with the boyfriend, and collected money for me and my wife to go have a date together, just the two of us, no worries, just go see a movie and have dinner, their treat. I was touched. We did go out, just her and I, we saw a movie that she had been saying she wanted to see, then we went to eat. We had a nice time, we didn’t talk about money a single time, and we were almost at a loss to have something to talk about, it was a bit sad if you ask me. When we were done neither of us was in a real celebratory mood so we went to go look at the area Christmas lights on our way home. It’s hard to be festive or to remain festive since we both know that this will be a very quiet Christmas for us. We both are looking forward to the coming year as anything has to be better than how 2014 turned out.

I guess my message is this, no matter how prepared for a disaster you assume that you are, you aren’t. There were probably thousands of ways to do things different but my goal was to keep my “credit” in tact as well as possible, late payments seem to hurt more than missed payments for some reason. I’m sure the kinks will get worked out soon enough, too bad its not today tho. I still wish that all of y’all have a very Merry Christmas (or whatever y’all do or don’t celebrate) and that the new years brings you one step closer to your dreams. I would like to give a quick shout out to Patty and Dr. Rexi who have made me smile and think in my times when I didn’t want to smile and think, and for that I can offer nothing more than my sincere thanks and gratitude. There have been other friends that have been there as well, I have not forgot y’all either. Y’all behave yourself at this time of year. If I don’t get back to writing another post by the end of the year just know we are well and we wish for all of y’all to be well as well.

Posted From Scorpion Sting’s Motorola Droid Maxx!