I've had a very different kind of experience.
Instant Karma at Sweet Lips Topless Bar
Man... I loved that bar. It was lime green. What other building has that kind of audacity? There were paintings of women in bikinis all over it. I like women in bikinis, almost as much as I like them naked. It was two blocks from "La Armada" housing projects...down Port Avenue, a particularly downtrodden part of town. It was owned by an elderly black man named Robert, who was always there during business hours, but asleep most of the time. The staff were all ex-convicts. They had a low-down sexuality from repressed times, doing time. Don't think because these women were ex-cons that some of them weren't pretty. A few of them were stunningly beautiful.
I KEEL YOU!!!
It was early 2002, I had stopped for gas at a local convenience store. My girlfriend at the time remained in the car. She was literally a Houston debutante at one point and her boyfriend before me was an astronaut. I was her walk on the wild side. I didn't mind and value our time together. Of course, coming from two different places our relationship was doomed from day one but I'll always have a place in my heart for her.
I Dated an Internationally Famous Porn Star
This story is from my next book "Observations On, and Stories About Women" which isn't published yet. I was dating a retired internationally famous porn star and she might deny that upon reflection, especially since she’s angry with me so let me temper that statement as “I was spending a lot of my free time with a woman that once made porn movies that are wildly popular, all over the world, and lots of that time we were naked together and having amazing sex.” She is a really sweet lady and very pleasant to be around. I got used to her company and will miss her for a while, until I don’t; then I’ll simply be nostalgic about our time together, and I will miss that time even upon the arrival of nostalgia.
How and Why to Hook Up With Strippers
I am in possession of some valuable knowledge for a single young man and feel that it would be a shame to not pass this information onto a younger generation. This is the J.D. Bradley method of picking up strippers. Feel free to have your own adaptations.
Pretty much anyone that knows me well knows that I was raised by a horrible, violent psychopath. He died at 41 of heart disease, or karma, whichever you want to call it. As old as I get, my subconscious still revisits him from time and has throughout the years. I’ve been taking a new nootropic, 5-htp recently and it’s giving me incredibly vivid dreams. I'm a bio-hacker and every now and then I get a surprise benefit from my personal experimentation. Last night I dreamt that some guy was getting high with me on my couch when he mentioned that Danny (father) had faked his death at 41 and actually lived across town with a new family. Of course, I questioned him as this was extremely stunning news to me but he stuck to his story so I went to investigate.
I was down when I met Mike. When I say down, I wasn't sure I could get back up after everything I had experienced. It was almost my swan song. I lived in one of the barrios of Corpus Christi, Texas, where I was known as "Jason the white guy" because I was THE white guy that lived there. When I first arrived, I was jumped several times for the crime of being the white guy in the barrio but it was soon discovered that I'd fight back and fight back hard and so I became accepted in a segment of both society and reality that was practically devoid of hope. I certainly didn't have any. I had a will to continue for the most part (for some reason), a job that I managed to not get fired from (somehow) and a serious crack habit and it seemed very little else, but then I met Mike. Somehow, he had hope. Somehow, he had happiness. Somehow, he imparted those two things to me.
Tape Recorder Theory
Up to eighty percent of divorces are filed by women according to statistics and I suspect that actually falls far short of how many long term sexual/romantic relationships (married or not, living together or not) are ended by the woman of the relationship. My guess would be that it's closer to ninety five percent of long-term relationships are ended by the woman but that I simply my conjecture based on both personal experiences and observations of the termination of relationships I've witnessed over the years. Men tend to fall into relationships like a habit never considering that anyone can leave anyone at any time for any reason. Women, however, have the emotional equivalent of black belts in relationships and psychologically and emotionally are much stronger than men and it's almost always the man that is psychologically devastated by the termination of the relationship and somehow, he almost never saw it coming. It hit him, it seemed, out of the blue. The following is a speech I've given over and over to friends that have just experienced the sudden, permanent break up and by the way, if she drastically cuts her hair, it is absolutely, positively over with no chance of resolution.
I was a dangerous sociopath when the Army released me. They had trained me to be a rabid dog and suddenly released my leash and thrust me onto society, fully responsible for my actions, with no deprogramming...and then I started doing meth, but this post is not about me or the things I did then, but rather a glimpse of that lifestyle and the insanity contained therein that seems normal at the time. I almost immediately upon release began a tumultuous relationship with a very beautiful woman, who actually introduced me to the many splendors (and horrors) of speed, but we were both very volatile and our fling was short lived, but we to this day are very important to each other and so she shall remain anonymous in this diatribe. We always stayed friends through the years. Close friends. I care more for her than any blood relative I have. She's part of my "family of choice" and those who understand that concept have been through some traumatic shit in their lives. If you had to find one, you're a survivor and I salute you.
Imagine growing up dirt poor, like the other kids made fun of your shoes dirt poor under the "care" of a dangerous, violent, delusional psychopath. That's what I had going on. My father somehow ruined his mind with the most gentle "drug" experience that exists. He smoked a lot of weed and somehow it backed his mind up into his own special form of insanity and somehow, he remained violent...then he met my soon to be step-mother, a horrible, nasty, violent cunt herself. She once purposefully slammed a car door completely closed on my hand when I was in third grade. When she opened the door, my hand was shaped like the space between the door and the body of the car. It didn't break due to the incredible pliability of children's bones but I was both in pain and horrified. Yes, these are the two people that "raised" me and often let me know that my only value to them was a child support check. My birth mother was the first woman in Kentucky state history to lose custody of her children (she abandoned me as an infant, to die in the winter. I was an original trashcan baby. In her defense, so was traumatized by my father). I really lucked out with my childhood circumstance it seems.
A Dark Corner of Paradise
I live in a dark corner of paradise; most would argue it’s not a part of paradise, but I’d argue it is. Citizens exclaim, “There is violence there!” Citizen, there is violence, here. You’re here. You just don’t recognize the boundaries of these neighborhoods.