The Colosseum

 I stopped into the Colosseum Thursday night. It was once a sister club to Penthouse, owned by the same person back in the day. The Colosseum is where they filmed the short-lived Showtime show Topless Prophet. The city decided to clean up the strip clubs. They shut down Penthouse and forced the owner to sell Colosseum.

I arrived before eight. The dayshift girls were still lingering, and the night-shift girls were slowly starting to mingle. I texted Tinkerbell, "It's full of black chicks and fat chicks so far."

It's been almost ten years since I was a regular at a strip club. Several things have changed. Some are easy to point out, but others are more elusive. The girls are bigger and less attractive. The customers do not dress as well. I saw one guy wearing cut-off sweatpants and a t-shirt with his belly sticking out. He would not have made it through the door in the old days.

Overall, the clubs are changing with the times in a desperate effort to survive. The girls carry buckets with them on stage. I noticed this in the two other clubs I've visited recently. That was never the case in the old days. Seldom did a customer "make it rain." They tipped girls on stage. These young guys have seen too many music videos. No girl wants to sweep up a wad of singles thrown at them while they are on stage.

I witnessed one guy get up from the bar, throw three or four singles at a dancer on stage, and walk back to his seat. He didn't talk to her. He barely looked at her. His whole demure showed a certain lack of respect. I went to the dancer after and slipped a dollar into the band of her g-string on the side. "Feel out of place. Am I supposed to through this at you and walk away?" I joked.

Later, while we talked at the bar, she commented that I was more of a gentleman. I said, "You don't throw your money at the gas station cashier. Why would you do it here?"

The girls don't do extras in the back at Colosseum--not anymore. The curtains are gone, and the backroom is one ample open space. When I went back for a dance, the room was empty. The dances were not worth the money.

It is too much effort to work myself back into a club and become a regular. I don't want to spend the time, the money, or drink the alcohol it would involve. None of the clubs I have visited lately and none of the dancers have changed my mind.

Still

So I guess the fortune teller's right.
Should have seen just what was there and not some holy light
But you crawled beneath my veins, and now
I don't care. I have no luck
I don't miss it all that much
There are just so many things
That I can't touch, I'm torn...Torn, Natalie Imbruglia

Saturday afternoon, I drove out to Novi to pick up Tinkerbell and her boyfriend. We didn't plan a bike ride. The weather report was sketchy. We meet up with Teach and one of their other friends at The Landing Strip Lounge. A different strip club in Romulus. Both Tink and Billie spent time dancing at The Landing Strip. It is smaller than Flight Club. I never spent much time there. 

Tink and her boyfriend knew the manager, the DJ, and one of the bartenders. We had a few drinks. There was one dancer out of about eight that I thought was attractive. I talked to her briefly while she was on stage but didn't end up spending any time with her. The rest of the day shift crew I didn't find interesting.

I've decided I like going to strip clubs by myself. Being a part of a group off in the corner does not help you meet any of the dancers. Walking out spending only $20 was nice, though.

We didn't stay at the strip club for long. We went to an Italian restaurant for dinner. The food was delicious, and I eat more than I wanted, undoing all the work I put in during the week losing weight.  After dinner, Tink wanted us to join Teach at Flight Club. I didn't want to go. I think Tink was trying to get me out more than out of any desire to go. I appreciate her efforts, but I was not in the mood. I knew it was not what I wanted to do.

These places stir up the desire to so Billie. A fixation I cannot shake lately even though I know the reality of such a meeting would not be anything like the fiction, both good and bad my mind has conjured. With Firefly away, I've been lonely. Yet, I don't have much of a desire to put in the effort needed to remedy the situation. I feel like when the government money dries up in September, prospects will be better.

We got caught in a downpour on the drive home. When it rains here, it pours lately.  I know other places around the globe are experiencing flooding issues too. Ours is limited. The Gladiator has no issues with standing water.  

Here comes the rain again,

Falling from the stars

Drenched in my pain again

Becoming who we are

As my memory rests

But never forgets what I lost.

Wake me up when September ends...Wake Me Up When September Ends, Green Day

Spaceman

I'd like to thank all the small companies I put out of business, all the people working in my warehouse making sub-subsistence wages, all the Chinese taking advantage of the postal rules to send their goods to the US for making it possible for me to stroke my ego, spend ten minutes off the planet and give myself a place in the billionaire astronaut club-- Jeff Bezos.

That's not what he said? Really? Guess I miss quoted him.

Now back to the normal content.

Motivation

Sunday I received a call from Firefly. We spoke for twenty minutes. She is still in rehab. She was on virus quarantine but that was due to be over Monday. She sounded in good spirits. I am not sure if it is a false front she puts on or if she is making the best of it. She is over the worst.  She said the current group of women is all being discharged soon. She would be in with a small group until it fills up again. 

Max came over Sunday. We discussed his plans for college. There doesn't seem to be any now.  He has changed his mind for whatever reason. He mentioned thinking about looking for a new job. Plenty of places are hiring. I told him since he has a job, it would be a good time to increase his pay. He has been talking about doing this for several weeks. I hope he gets motivated and does some looking. It wouldn't be hard.

Things are shaking up at my office. Someone got fed up with the drive and put in their notice. I am not sure if it will create any changes. Short term, I will be getting a better office but it comes with an increased workload. You can imagine how happy I am about that.

Art Fair

 Friday, I received a text from Sam, "I told my niece not to come tomorrow because of flooding on the freeways. Do you want to go to the art fair?"

Yes, yes, I did. So we made plans to meet at noon and drive out to the Ann Arbor Art Fair. Ann Arbor is about an hour away from our location by the freeway. Luckily, the flooding the night before was not as bad as before. We didn't run into any standing water.

We parked at the Briarwood Mall. They were shuttling people from there to the downtown for $5. I dropped Sam off so she could get in line while I found a parking space. That saved us some time. Then we realized we were in the bus line and that there was a separate line for buying tickets. So I told Sam to stay in the bus line while I stood in the ticket line. We meet back up just in time to enter the bus. The process was quick and efficient. It was less hassle than trying to find a parking space downtown.

The fair stretched out over several streets. It was a lot of walking. Sam suggested that the exhibit was not as large as past fairs. I don't know. This is the first time I have been to the Ann Arbor Art Fair. Billie and I always talked about going, but somehow plans never worked out.

The fair was crowded, but not as bad as I have seen at similar smaller events. The temperature started in the low seventies but climbed into the high seventies by mid-afternoon. The sky was clear, and the sun beat down on the crowd. Fairs are great people-watching events. Upwards of 400,000 people visit the fair over a three-day period. Friday was a bust because of the rain, but Saturday's crowd look large. 

I scanned the crowd as much as the artwork-- looking for needles in a needle stack. The vendors ranged from high-end paintings to glass and metalwork. Some tents housed low-end displays hustling, gutter guards, and God. Get your free plastic rosary, "Jesus, loves you."

I saw a few pieces I liked but nothing I wanted to purchase. I did get a couple of ideas for projects of my own. That is usually how it works; art fairs inspire me to get off my butt and create something. Two bins are full of thirty years of lego literature, model directions, catalogs, and magazines. I would like to use them to create some pieces. What else am I going to do with them. Once upon a time, I thought I would be saving it for my grandchildren. Now, I am not so sure.

I am glad Sam decided to change her plans. Like I stated in my last post. I think she needs time to relax and decompress. It was an all-day event for us. We spend three hours at the fair then stopped to eat on the way home. I was exhausted by the time I got home.

Deluge And Things

There is freedom within

There is freedom without

Try to catch the deluge in a paper cup...Don't Dream It's Over, Crowded House.

The rain continues to fall, creating giant puddles and boggy ground. Steady showers have fallen all day, flooding freeways in Detroit again. "Don't drown. Turn around," is the slogan for this season. It has been a wet summer.

This weekend is the Ann Arbor art fair. Back in June, Sam and I discussed going, but her niece is coming into town this weekend to help her clear Sam's dead dad's house. The project has been going on for weeks. Sam is doing it at a therapeutic pace. I would have had the clutter dumped in the trash or sent to the Salvation Army long ago.

Sam's mental health would be better served by going to the art fair. She took every weekend during the summer off to enjoy the summer, but she has been spending most weekends clearing his house. She has forgotten how to have fun. Often something that happens with women her age. Especially single women her age whose idea of fun involves a lot of alcohol in my experience.

CBD

 Sunday afternoon, I received a text from Alexis, "We are ready when you are."

Alexis, Sam, and I had made plans to go to a psychic fair. I was hoping the rain would change their minds. It didn't. So, I put down my book, crawled out of bed, and to a quick shower.

I got to their house before 1:00 in the afternoon. The day was overcast at the best of times, and it drizzled rain on and off all day. We piled into the Gladiator and headed for St. Clair Shores. The psychic fair was outside of a VFW hall a few miles from the twin's house.

Alexis started drinking before I arrived at her house. She also happily admitting to taking an Adderall pill. It was going to be one of those trips. 

The fair consisted of thirty tents lined up in three rows on a patch of lawn outside of the VFW hall. Several food trucks sat on the pavement in front of the lawn. Most of the tents contained vendors selling crystals or jewelry. Five or six house various types of psychics.

Alexis and I stopped at a tent. The woman was selling various CBD products. When she saw that I was vaping, she handed me a free sample of a vape cartridge filled with CBD oil. Yes, I am still occasionally vaping, but only non-nicotine products.

The woman started espousing the differences in CBD. Alexis got bored and decided to stir the pot. She broke into the woman's monolog and asked, "Yeah, but will any of it help with his impotence issues." 

The woman was not sure how to respond. With a smirk, I rolled my eyes and shook my head, "Just ignore her."

We didn't stay long. No one from our group got a psychic reading. We went to a nearby restaurant and had lunch. Sam started drinking, and Alexis continued. I didn't. Later, when we returned to their house, we spent some time sitting in their garage and watching the rain. The drinking continued. That is another story I don't want to get into right now except to say they drink too much.

When I got home that evening, I tried the CBD vape. It had a strong weed smell to it. It didn't take many hits. I wasn't sure what it would do for me, but I didn't like the effect. CBD tends to mess with my emotions. That is part of the reason I was so down in my last post. Drugs and alcohol tend to have a strong depressive effect on me.

I am not saying I don't have thoughts of Billie or that the events with Firefly aren't stirring my head. It is just easier to handle most days. No, I don't want Billie back. That is a dead-end. I know it.  As for Firefly, she was a nice distraction when things seemed mutually beneficial for both of us, but that hasn't been the case for a while now. I am not attached to her.  I think I use her as an excuse not to find someone else. I find dating or looking for someone new difficult and time-consuming. 

For every Gymnist or Firefly, I go through at least 4 or 5 I am not interested in. Find someone with true dating possibilities or long-term relationship potential is like looking for the right needle in a needle stack.

Firefly did make it to the Rehab Tuesday. We will see how long she stays.

Something In My Head

Well, I know it gets harder every single day
And I know my darkness will never go away
It's hard when you're living, and you don't feel much
And you're down, and you're hoping that things are gonna change

Everything stirs up the past in my head—the songs I listen to, the books I am reading, the condo, the situation with Firefly. It is silently crippling me. I feel like I cannot speak about it. I cannot articulate what is on my mind. And who wants to listen? But it is written on my face. There is no hiding my feelings.

Gone is any ambition I enjoyed last year. I go to work, go home, read books, and go to sleep. I have read twelve books in the past two months. Last Saturday, the best day of the week, it was sunny and warm but I did not venture far from my bed.

I think back on the last days with Billie. They repeatedly play in my head, but the ending changes, and I am cruel—inflicting emotional pain on her. The pain I still feel. I try to let it go, but the thoughts return. Yet, I still yearn to see her. I struggle with the desire to contact her. I look for excuses to reach out to her.

A psychologist once asked me, “Why would you want to be with someone that doesn’t want to be with you?” I ask the darkness, “Why don’t they want to be with me? Why was it never me?”  I know that would not solve anything.

I know who I am. There is not much I would change. I am tired. I look at the lives of those around me.  They don’t have an answer. They are not happy. I would not trade my life for theirs. I have sixty percent of what I want, one hundred percent of what I need. Still, I wish there was someone there to share it with.

Oh, there's something in my mind that's killing me

There's something that this life's not giving me

Would you say...We Don't Know, Stumbellas

Facta Non Verba

 Facta Non Verba- Latin for Actions, not words.

This phrase is tattooed on my left arm as part of my sleeve with several other intuitive Latin phrases (one of which I constructed myself). Words of wisdom I don’t follow enough. Firefly called me yesterday from some dude’s phone. She told me a series of truths and lies. She is not in a good place or with good people. I wormed enough facts out of her to learn approximately where she has been staying.

Firefly is in a rundown motel in Warren, two miles from Detroit. I know the area. The motels are known for a clientele of drifters, pimps, prostitutes, and addicts. She says she screwed up and wants to go back to rehab this week (Facta Non Verba). She skipped out from rehab with a girl from jail. She has been staying with the girl, her boyfriend, and the dude she borrowed the phone from. She told me she OD on Friday, so did the girl. The girl was worse than Firefly. Firefly didn’t need Naltrexone.

She says she was getting high in jail. I don’t doubt it. She wanted me to send her money for Xanax. She said she was done with opioids and was detoxing. I declined. She has no phone, no clothes, and no wallet. She wanted me to send it to this dude. Firefly says she wanted to come home, but she made excuses when I offered to pick her up. It is sad.

I woke up in the middle of the night to a revelation. The way she talked about the people she was with, how the guy was listening in on our conversation, and the location Firefly said they were staying at makes me believe she is with a pimp. I hope not. Her addiction makes her a perfect target to be trafficked.

I could poke around at the three motels. They are fifteen minutes from work, but I am not going to. Not this time. She needs to save herself (Facta Non Verba). It is hard for me to sit around and do nothing, but a part of me believes she does not deserve my help. She is not asking for help. She is just using me lately. I have seen it before, from Firefly, from Billie. Maybe she will find her rock bottom. The moment she decides to change. Billie did. Billie never got clean, but she changed.

I asked Billie once, during the height of her addiction and destructive actions, “When are you going to stop?”

“When the consequences are worse than the dope,” she replied.

I hope Firefly finds that line before it is too late.

Just A Little Bit

 

There are moments when 

When I know it and
The world revolves around us
And we're keeping it
Keep it all going
This delicate balance
Vulnerable, all knowing

Sing like you think no one's listening
You would kill for this
Just a little bit
Just a little bit
You would...Existentialism On Prom Night, Straylight Run

You can listen to experts, facts, and opinions. You can look at both sides of the conversation, but there comes a time when you need to decide what works for you. I don’t think any one person is totally correct. When it comes to how to live. I listen to several ideas then formulate my own philosophy. It doesn’t mean I don’t continue to question and modify it.

Lately, bitterness and anger over the past have been an issue. Jordan Peterson says if you have memories older than a few years, it is because you haven’t learned from them. I believe there is some truth to this. Writing my memoir allowed me to close the door on much of that period of my life. I haven’t come to resolved how it ended—not yet.

Speaking of unresolved issues, Firefly does not show up on the jail website and being an inmate anymore. However, she did not reach out to her parents or me from the rehab for clothes. That isn’t a good sign. I will not speculate yet.

In The Middle

Hey, don't write yourself off yet
It's only in your head, you feel left out
Or looked down on
Just try your best
Try everything you can
And don't you worry what they tell themselves
When you're away

It just takes some time.
Little girl, you're in the middle of the ride
Everything, everything will be just fine
Everything, everything will be all right, all right...In the Middle, Jimmy eat World

Firefly's case manager said she would be getting transferred this week, but she didn't give a day. Firefly thinks it will be today. "They pick up on Tuesday and Thursday," she said to me over the phone yesterday. "And today is already Wednesday."

The rehab facility is not downtown. It is two miles away from my work. In a building that used to be a mental institution. The rehab is not coed. The women are separated from the men.  That is good. Firefly doesn't need any distractions.

This week most of my customers are on vacation. This used to be the week when the automotive factories changed over to the new models. I don't think that is true anymore. The office has been quiet and boring.

Twin A got a new kitten.  Its name is Keebler. I went over to the boys' houses last night to set up their new TVs and give them their birthday present. Twin B is supposed to come over to my condo this weekend. He usually backs out. We will see how that goes.

A Dream and Reality

The following comes from a dream. I was in college, and this was an assignment. The subject was not the perfect woman in the dream. The topic remained vague and undefined in the way dreams can be as the story shifted to me making out with a girl who was not the perfect woman in the back of an inflatable school bus. Before it could turn into a wet dream, it shifted again, and I was trying to find a place to park the bus. I never got back to making out with the girl before I woke.

The perfect woman, three perspectives.

On a blueprint, the perfect woman would be shown front view, side view, and back.  Dimensions would define the ideal hip to waist ratio, the height, and the proportions of the facial features. Notes would specify the weight, eye and hair color, age, and other characteristics.

The poem describes the perfect woman with lips like hot coals, eyes as blue as the sky. She is untamable like a storm whose passion swells like the sea. She is an enigma that twists all heart desires.

The cat defines the perfect woman as one who feeds it every day. The person who brushes her fur, pets them when they want but leaves them alone when they desire.

In the dream, I was supposed to compare the merits of each perspective. I am not going to do that here. There is no perfect woman, though I have met some better than others. They change before your eyes. We all change with time.

*     *     *

Saturday Tinkerbell, her boyfriend, and another friend I will call Teach met up for dinner in downtown Plymouth. After dinner, we all headed for Flight Club. A strip club, both Tinkerbell and Billie worked at some point in their career. There is a story in my book about a time they performed the club at the same time.

The club was busier than we expected. I said at dinner, the only girls who will be working need to pay rent or buy drugs. Teach is a long-time regular of the club. He still goes every weekend.  Teach would tell us the backroom cost and behavior of every dancer as they rotated onto the main stage. He called it gathering information. He is definitely a transactional customer.

Tinkerbell’s boyfriend explained it best. Teach was in there every weekend, but none of the dancers, bartenders, or shot girls came up to just talk to him.

Teach wanted to make sure everyone was having a good time. Tinkerbell’s boyfriend kept saying the bar had turned into a Penthouse. A now-closed strip club closer to the eastside of Detroit.  I took offense to that. It was nothing like Penthouse. I spent a lot of nights at Penthouse, and this was nothing like it.

There didn’t seem to be much money flowing. Dollar bills would occasionally fall from the sky. Several girls carried buckets with them to collect the money. Something you never saw at Penthouse. Dancers don’t make their money from that. They make money from taking guys upstairs. We didn’t see much of that happening.

I watched the girls from behind the downstairs bar with the others. Some dancers were pretty. Most were not, at least not to me. They all had a hard, jaded look to them that I found off-putting. Definitely not like Penthouse.

I tipped one girl on stage. She had long brown hair and a pretty face. Her body was nicely proportioned but soft. Typical of several of the girls. The two smaller, fit girls were foreign and didn’t speak much English. I am a talker and didn’t feel like fighting with a language barrier. Tinkerbell seemed more disappointed that I didn’t take a girl upstairs. I think I would have been disappointed if I had.

Work, Go Home, Repeat

 I stepped outside at lunch today, hoping to get out of the office for a while. The temperature was in the mid-seventies, but it was sunny and humid. I don't mind such weather when I walk at home, but when I am at the office, I try to refrain from getting sweaty during my lunchtime walks.

After my walk, I returned to my desk and sent a text to Tinkerbell. "The twins don't want to celebrate their birthday until after the holiday, so it looks like my Saturday is open."

She called me in response. Saying she was hiding in her office. She works at a facility that works with disabled adults. She likes the work but doesn't like the company. I reminded her she should be looking for a new job. She is delaying it because she feels like all her upcoming vacation time she has scheduled would not go over well with a new job. I disagreed. Saying she shouldn't stop looking.

Firefly will be in jail for the holiday. Looks like it will be another week before she gets transferred.  She thinks they only transfer inmates to rehab on Thursday.  

Nothing going on here. Nothing to report. I work, go home, repeat.