New York Stories: Phone Girl In a Whorehouse: Part 2

April 1, 2014 — 201 Comments


The most inaccurate depiction of prostitution in the history of the world

The most inaccurate depiction of prostitution in the history of the world


The job of a phone girl in a brothel is basically a sort of sub-madam.

Clients, either established or new, would call. Once they arrived, I would let them in, pour them a drink, and seat them in main lounge, where they could chat for a few minutes before deciding who they would like to have a session with.

We called them “parties.”

I also had to keep the place stocked with alcohol, make sure all the laundry was picked up and delivered daily, collect weekly doctor’s notices from the girls, make sure the supply closet was stocked with tissues, baby oil, condoms, etc.

The clients, were normal, run-of-the-mill men. They weren’t unsanitary freaks incapable of attracting women. They were pleasant. Some were extremely handsome.

They were men who did not wish to ask their wives or girlfriends to fulfill some of their kinky fantasies.

It’s complicated to go home to the wife in Scarsdale and say, “honey, tonight I’d like you to pee on me. Afterwards, please dress me up in a giant diaper and spank me.”

I did find some of their predilections unnerving at first. We had a couple of dominatrixes on the premises, and I could never fathom the male masochistic inclination.


I occasionally got ensnared into a party.  Strictly as a voyeur, and reluctantly. If it was an “emergency” and everyone else was occupied.

“He wants you to watch while I stick my stiletto heel up his ass. PLEASE! He’ll pay you $50. There’s no one else available.”

The first few times, I was completely freaked out.

Then, it just seemed absurd.


Once, one of the dominatrix’s was running late. Her client had already arrived, and he was getting antsy. She insisted I “get him started.”

Even on the phone, she scared the snot out of me.

I looked in the closet where she kept her sadistic accoutrement. And shut it, quickly.

I ended up making him crawl around the room with a garbage pail on his head.

That was the best I could come up with.


I knew what I was doing was illegal. It appealed to my sense of non-conformity.

At least, it was an honest admission of being dishonest, as opposed to more covertly dishonest professions. Like being a car salesman.

Having grown up in a house with all brothers, I also enjoyed the sense of female solidarity. I gradually bonded with the girls, and became close with four of them.

Nikki was Queen Bee of 51st Street. She was in her mid 40’s. Strawberry blonde hair, blue eyes; a kind of luminous sensuality.

Men of all ages desired her. I never quite understood why guys in their 20’s wanted a woman in her 40’s.

Now that I’m her age, I…kind of understand.

She was married to Joe, who accepted her profession. Some husbands were like that.

They had a gorgeous apartment on the Upper East Side, where I spent a lot of time.

Their favorite hobby was doing massive amounts of cocaine all night while playing bizarre porno movies in the background.

Our all-time favorite was “I Spit On Your Grave.” One of the characters wore glasses, and when he was pounding away at women, closeups of his face showed there was no glass in the glasses.

This seemed hilarious at 5 am on an 8-ball of cocaine.

“No expense was spared in the making of this movie.”


Kathy was a big, voluptuous, 25-year old brunette.  She lived on Long Island, and was working her way through college.

Gail was very tall but model-thin; fair skinned, auburn hair with a pretty, girl-next-door look. She was my age, and lived near me in the East Village. She was also working her way through graphic design school. We frequently went out together after work.

And then there was Debby.


Barbie doll body, unbelievably full, pouty lips, huge brown eyes and artfully tousled blonde locks.


Debby was a reigning queen of the East Village punk scene. She’d run away from home at 13, and had been on the scene since the late 70’s.


She was a musician. A painter. A writer. A vagabond. A free spirit. Brilliant, talented, tormented, fragile, tough…


At first, she was aloof and scornful. She’d mock how I was dressed when I was heading out with Gail.

Little by little, she let me into her world.

I realize now, she saw in me her younger self. Before she’d become so damaged and lost her innocence.

And was somehow trying to regain it through me, by osmosis.

Instead, the reverse happened.


Yes, I was impressed with the fact that she knew and hung out with all the punk icons I worshipped. What can I say? I was a kid.

She’d had a tumultuous on and off again romance with Johnny Thunders, and although he was now married, she completely lost it when he died.

I loved her particular habit of referring to rock musicians by their real names. It spoke of a true familiarity with them that I envied and craved.

She’d see Richard Hell – whose album Blank Generation I worshipped – at a downtown bar and command him, “Meyers – get me a drink!”

Much later, when she finally introduced me to them, I picked up the habit.

It wasn’t the only habit of hers I picked up.


Debby was a world-class junkie. I was so naive, I thought she was just frequently stoned on weed, like other girls at work.

I saved all my money and acquired a nice apartment on 2nd Avenue. East of where I lived was known as “Alphabet City” – it still is.

Debby was living in a “squat” – an abandoned building on Avenue B.

I didn’t connect that she was earning money at the brothel, but still couldn’t afford an apartment.

Alphabet City was a seedy place in the early 90’s.


Our friendship began with her sharing my taxi home from work. I always paid.

She’d critique my look. Make a few adjustments in the cab.

“Here – belt this.”

“You can’t draw a good cat eye with pencil- you need liquid liner.”

“Is that…glitter on your face? Where are you going, a fucking Bowie concert?”

Then, she began inviting me to go out with her after work.


The minute she entered the room – a bar, a club – she OWNED it.

I had a boyfriend at the time.

I was feeling things for Debby that I had never felt before, but I didn’t identify what they were.

I wanted to crawl up inside her and live IN her. I was besotted.

It wasn’t that she knew everyone.

It was the way she smelled. The way her lips looked when she was making an exasperated face at me.

Her walk. The sexy way she flowed through a room.

I could never imitate it. I tried for years.


Fridays were always busy on 51st street. People get paid on Fridays, which creates an illusion of abundance.

We all made a lot of money on Fridays.

Debby and I usually started our night at a popular bar, like the semi-subterranean Holiday Cocktail Lounge on St. Mark’s.

This time, she told me she had to make a stop first.

We drove to a sketchy part of the East Village.

In the early 90’s, Avenue D was run down and filthy. A barren urban wasteland of empty storefronts and abandoned buildings.

I said nothing as we got out of the cab. Debby had taken me to some squalid places before, and I learned to just keep my mouth shut.


The streets were littered with junkies and freaks.

Men, mostly Hispanic, wearing carpenters aprons, were walking around, announcing their brands.

“Pac-Man!” “Nynex!” “Fire!”

Two men were herding people in lines, and bringing them over to a burnt out laundromat.

It was my first visit to an “open air” heroin market.


We crunched across the lot in our heels, across broken bricks and trash and weeds. When she found the man calling out, “Terminator,” she made her purchase.

By now, I knew she was buying heroin. I tried to act as nonchalant as possible, but I was taken aback. And worried.

And extremely curious.


We made our way back through this perverse street bazaar to Avenue A, which was more civilized.

Debby wanted to go to the Park Inn Tavern for a drink. It was one of her favorite dive bars; pitch black walls and skinheads loitering outside.

It was a locals only place that would never attract the “Bridge and Tunnel” crowd – people from New Jersey, or the boroughs.

We walked in, and she nodded hello to the bartender.

She said, “You wanna wait here? Or come with me?”

“Where are we going?”

She laughed and ordered two shots, two beers. Took my hand and we went into the filthy bathroom.

Junkies shoot up wherever they can, as soon as they can.


I wanted to try it.

She insisted I go first.

“If I go first, I’m gonna be too high. I’ll fuck it up.”


Debby pulled all sorts of paraphernalia out of her bag.

She tore open a package and took out a syringe. She mixed the heroin with water, and put it in a spoon. Added heat from her lighter. She took a tic-tac sized ball of cotton from a Q-tip to filter it.  She dipped the needle into the cotton and sucked-up the heroin mixture.

She sterilized my arm with an alcohol wipe. Tied a black band around my upper arm.

She tapped hard on my upper bicep.

“Your veins are so tiny,” she crooned at me.

And then-  she found what she was looking for.

I felt an almost imperceptible prick.

There was a buzzing sound,.

For about 30 seconds, my brain felt like it was orgasming.

I got a metallic taste in my mouth that drove down my throat.

The sound of my own breath became echo-y, like I was under water.


And then I got violently ill. I RETCHED. For what seemed like an eternity.

When I finally finished, I looked up. Debby was leaning against the wall, stoned.

She looked at me and said,

“You look so beautiful with vomit on your face.”


She went to the bar and got paper towels and cleaned up my face. Handed me gum.

We sat at the bar for hours.

Or maybe not. I have no clue.

My entire life felt like it was in a bath, at the perfect temperature.

We ended up back at my apartment.


That night, I found out who puts what where in lesbian sex.


She took her time with me, and that, coupled with the heroin, made the experience euphoric.

She knew exactly how fast and slow to move, exactly where on my body to focus more of her attention;  knew what was going to curl my toes and just make my entire body tremble.

When we finished the first time, she just laid next to me and ran her fingers through my hair until my heart rate came back to normal.

The next day, she pushed her shopping cart over from the squat on Avenue B and moved in with me.

I didn’t know what I was getting into.


Next week: Part Three! The Conclusion. 

Part One Starts Here


Have you ever gotten involved with someone you shouldn’t have?
Or had a job you knew was a terrible idea?
Talk to me.  I’m listening. 

201 responses to New York Stories: Phone Girl In a Whorehouse: Part 2


    I had an alcoholic buddy of mine from treatment go back out a few months after we left the treatment center. He hooked up with a fella who was a heroin addict. My buddy never had done heroin. When he tried it, he texted me. I asked him how he was feeling. He said it was “like being touched by God”. That partially frightened me, but it also allured me. For an alcoholic who was newly sober and where alcohol ceased to give me a buzz any more, I was almost jealous of his experience. I wanted that touched by God feeling.

    So I get the allure. Many have told me of similar experiences. And then there is the wretching, as you described. So what a trip that becomes. And some go back over and over again, trying to hit that first high, and almost all failing and succumbing to it’s opiate addiction. Other can walk away. I am glad I never got into it. Ugh…who knows if I’d be here reading your salacious tales.

    Acceptance. Seems to be a subtext here. Hell, we all have that in our stories. Sure we may be devil-may-care in our actions and thoughts, but at a deep level we thirst to be a part of something. A scene, on a person’s radar, a place to softly (or not so softly) land. So many of my judgements and actions were driven by fear of not being a part of. Or getting so jazzed up about being a part of, that I jump head first into something I later look at differently.

    I can’t say that is what your experience is, but it certainly rings some bells with me, even if the circumstances are differnent. (I am jealous that you were able to make it with a bad-ass punk chick. I would have probably been too scared shitless to attempt, even though the allure has always been there).

    Great storytelling here, my friend. I like how you have turned what is easily a salacious topic and turned it into something where we feel for everyone, where the initial sauciness becomes humdrum work – assembly line work for people with a particular skill. It is what it is, in essence. And that can bring us to new places.

    Thanks for sharing this.



      Thank you.

      This was difficult to write. On many levels.

      Trying to remember and articulate what heroin felt like the first time, without writing pages and pages, was challenging.

      I wrote in another post that it felt like my brain was being massaged by God.

      And I also was concerned with writing about the first time I was with Debby. Really hard not to make that stuff sound…hokey. Challenging.

      If you were high on dope, you would not have been scared of making it with a punk chick. Or of anything. That’s kind of the allure.


        Massaged by God – there’s another good one. I can’t say I got that kind of feeling even at my most euphoric drunk. I think that we’re talking about totally different beasts. Majestic and ugly at the same time. At least it felt like it at the time.

        Hokey is for one what passionate or thrilling is for another. Hell, a man crawling with a bucket on his head or spanked up in Pampers can be hokey if we see it that way. Our stories our universal in so many ways, so regardless of the posters on the wall or the soundtrack in the back, bodies and minds and souls colliding is what it is. Artificially stimulated or not. It’s all a kind of drug in the end, n’est-ce-pas?

        You’ve lived quite the life, Samara. Your life, like each of our own, has brought you to where you needed to be brought to. Many of us have to suffer through broken glass at times, and also go through groovy times, but we are right now…perfect in where we need to be. You are perfect where you are, as are those who read here. And those who aren’t reading. Exactly as we’re supposed to be, when we’re supposed to be. May not sound like rock star for some, but it’s chicken soup for others. It’s all good 🙂


        “You are perfect where you are, as are those who read here. And those who aren’t reading.”

        When I grow up, I want to be just like you.



        Hello. you & I have similar backgrounds. I worked as a phone girl for years (Outcall 2k hr & Up) It left that life MANY years ago. But I always considered writing a book. Calabo Maybe ????? Let me know…..


        It’s been 20 years for me.

        Thanks for reading, and commenting.

        I don’t know if I have enough material for a book…


    Powerful stuff there. Wow. I couldn’t stop reading. Waiting for the next part.


    Holy shit!…nuff said…


      Wait- is that a “good” holy shit?

      The drugs? The girl?



        Yes, “good” holy shit…just everything. You’re so eloquent with your wordsmithing that it takes me right there…also, it takes me back in time to some similar but not the same crazy shit as a young fella. I love your skills, your brutal honesty and your heart…just everything.


        Crazy shit is crazy shit, right?

        It comes in different colors and sizes, but it’s all a way in which we
        1. Narrowly missed death and
        2. Had some amazing times

        I can’t figure out if I’m glad to have had those times, or not.
        Thank you for loving my honesty. I really went for it, here.


    Really enjoyed your story. I laughed out loud when you described having that guy crawl around the room with a garbage can on his head.


      I had no idea how to be a dominatrix.

      I still would have no idea how to do that. Nor would I want to. Yuck. I think you…kind of have to hate men to do that? I could be totally wrong.

      It was creative though, right? I get points for that, don’t I?


        I don’t get the whole dominatrix thing either. I’m happy having sex. No need to introduce a myriad of role playing, diaper wearing, and for sure no part of any shoe up my ass. Yikes. Sigh, maybe I’m a prude. I think you did great for the amount of time you had to prepare and your inexperience dominating men.


        You DO?

        I was the laughing stock of the place. Put a garbage pail on his head?

        No, he was looking to get whipped and kicked and stuff. Yuck. That is just gross. I do NOT get that.

        I understand the allure of an aggressive woman. Not someone who looks like Elvira and kicks the shit out of you.

        You’re not a prude! You just have non-masochistic taste in sex. Good for you! No one wants to stick a shoe up anyone’s ass. Not for free, anyway.


        Oh good lord. My bum hurts just thinking about it. Ha ha ha. Ouch?


        Ha ha ha ouch is right.

        It’s an exit. Not an entrance.

        I think I covered this already…


        Hehe, now, I could go on and on about BDSM, but… I won’t. I’ll merely say that it’s much about control, rejection of traditional gender roles (or at least switching away from the usual daily ones) and the proximity of pain to pleasure (residual pain being a turn-on, for one). Boundaries are more often MUCH more well-defined compared to “vanilla” sex.

        And I’ll leave it at that. Cimmy was reminding me the other day that *I* am the kinky freak, not her.


    I’ve both had jobs I shouldn’t have, and hung out with people I shouldn’t have til way past the point I should have left.
    Fortunately, god looks out for drunks and fools, and I’ve spent a whole lot of time being both.


      I seriously believe that God has watched out for me most of my life.

      Well, not so much lately. Not that he’s not watching out- but I’m a respectable cookie baking suburban mom.

      But someone was surely watching out for me in the good old days. When a person could get killed coping dope on Avenue D.

      I can’t imagine you as anyone but the wonderful human being you are now.


      I can vouch for God looking out for fools, I’ve got 4 guardian Angels who look like hell. I gave ’em a 10 year break and then bought that Fat Bob, now they’re all cursing me again. Already racked up several near death experiences in 2 months.


        I think I’ve not only burned through my own guardian angels, but probably borrowed a shitload from others. Methinks I have a layaway plan to pay it all back in the next life…yikes!


        I was just commenting to Mark that we’ve all done stuff in our younger days that makes it hard to believe we’re around.

        I wonder if that’s a common thread for bloggers? That we’ve all really survived some stuff, and if we don’t write, we’ll just go crazy??


        “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” – Ernest Hemingway

        Sounds about right to me 🙂


        I love some of the wonderful things that writers have said about writing.

        Bukowski’s So You Want to Be A Writer is my favorite.

        But this is a really good one.

        That’s kind of how I feel like you write, Paul. Like you’ve found a way to tap your own blood and just let it flow. The way the words pour out of you is unlike any blogger I’ve ever read.

        I wonder if I wrote enough if I could get a little more like that?


        I haven’t read Bukowski’s book there…now you have me going to visit my buddy Amazon. Ha ha.

        Thanks for the kind words, Samara. Sometimes the thing about bleeding out is that it’s messy and it can hurt. Sometimes it’s drawn out (no pun intended). Sometimes it just sucks and I want to curl up and chillax.

        But the great thing about this blogging world we inhabit and are a part of is that we get the rainbow’s width at play here, my friend. There are things I get from your words and mind I cannot find anywhere else. I can only mine my own experience. I can’t take the shovel from you, so you show us all what underneath there, ya know? We all grab the tools at hand and crack at the ground and show the world the dirt in our hands, stained fingernails and all. We smell it, see it, taste it. How bloody insane and cool is that? And so I come here, read what you say about that gig, and then I read what your loyal readers say and get something out of their keen minds and funny hearts, then we get into conversations like this (or I read you other conversations, and keep my mouth shut) and boy, do we ever have a whole chinwag about the universe and shit. Mind blowing. I don’t watch TV nor do I need to when I have this on my little netbook screen.

        Keep writing the way you write. Ain’t nothing like it. Just like there ain’t nothing like the blogs you like to follow…those who capture your imagination the way that you capture others.

        it’s cyclical, my friend. Feed, water, shovel, plant, grow, show, feed again.

        Groove on 🙂


        You did it again.

        That was like a blog post. Poetry.

        Which is what that Bukowski is. It’s a poem. You can find it online, and it’s magical.

        Like you, Paul.


        Don’t say stuff like that!

        That scares the bejesus out of me!

        I have friends who have lost kidneys and legs in motorcycle accidents.

        I LOVE bikes, but they scare me. Even an experienced, skilled rider can hit a bump in the road.

        Please promise me you’re not going to get hurt! Am I going to have to travel to the other side of the world to keep you in check???


        Sorry, I don’t do promises, never have. Especially when I’m on the road, too many variables and if I thought about avoiding injury or death I simply wouldn’t ride. It’s precisely that stuff that makes you feel alive…it’s an addiction.


        I knew THAT was coming.

        I know only too well the allure of addiction.

        Although yours is healthier than most.

        Ride on, friend! Some day, I may be on the back of that bike!!


        May be, you never know, Darlin’


        Maybe you should cut down on those a bit…


        Haa! Goes with the territory mate, it’s either die riding or die anyway


        And THAT is what some of my most favorite people in the world have said many times.

        Damn, Red, there’s something about the lure of a motorcycle that makes people do things they oughtn’t.


        Guap- you’re the master of death defying feats of craziness!

        And don’t you ride as well? One of your comments had me thinking you were into REDdog’s full throttle madness…


        I haven’t had a bike in years. My wife is very against me having one in NYC. She’s right – it’s a dangerous city to ride in – but we still go back and forth on it.


        For a moment, I thought you mean you “go back and forth” on the bike – which made no sense, whatsoever.

        More coffeh, please!

        Yes. My friend lost a kidney riding his bike in NYC.

        BUT – you can cross the street and get killed by a car. So there’s that whole line of thought.

        I’m ashamed to admit it, but I – kinda sorta pushed for my Ex to stop riding and get rid of the Harley when we had Little Dude. Now, I regret that.

        I just wanted him to take a “time out” from riding so my baby wouldn’t end up fatherless. Nervous first time mom, what can I say?

        But it might have kept our marriage humming along with that engine…


    You made sure to suck in all the air you could, didn’t you, Samara?

    I am glad you are here today to paint the vivid pictures, both beautiful and ugly, my friend.


      Wow, that’s a great way to describe it.

      I’m also glad I’m here today. I never thought of it back then, but I took a lot of chances. Not everyone was so lucky.

      We all did some foolish stuff when we were younger. Varying degrees, but we all took chances we shouldn’t have.

      Hell, I remember driving back from upstate NY to the city doing 90 miles an hour – drunk. What the HELL was I thinking?

      Oh, right. I wasn’t.


        Yeah, fast driving in my Chevy Nova eas a teen weakness of mine. One afternoon me and my friend Shaudy raced our cars the 45 miles between our two ustate colleges in 25 minutes over winding, hilly Route 20. (Cortland and Morrisville, you may have heard of them, wink-wink.)

        I drank enough beer to water the dessert.

        And as JImmy Buffett sang in one of my all-time favorite songs, “A Pirate Looks at Forty,” “I made enough money to buy Miami and I pissed it away so fast.” Lived through it. We are lucky, Samara.


        What is it about teens and drag racing?

        Just last year, kids were doing that after high school. It was about a mile away. And when one of them crashed, you could hear sirens and pandemonium…and I knew someone had died. Sadly, I was right.

        And the money thing- well, I’ve decided as long as I’m not broke, and my kid has what he needs, that will have to do.

        Thanks for reminding me that we’re lucky, Mark. You have that strong spirit, too. We have that in common.

        As well as crazy pasts!


    Well written Gorgeously written, my SW. I feel honoured to be able to call you that, knowing more about how much you have LIVED when I have not.

    And yet the people who have LIVED all tell me I shouldn’t; that it is better to remain…boring.

    That might make sense in the morning. And as you say, you survived (and there’s a part three) but what a STORY. Yow!


      What on EARTH are you talking about?

      YOU? BORING?

      I think you’re confusing stupid with exciting. That’s what I was. Stupid.

      Young. Stupid. Misguided.

      I loved music and Debby. It led me where it led me.

      Thank you for reading, SW! I’m just as honored to call you that. True that!


        Perhaps I am…but that’s an easy mistake to make when you’ve lived an isolated, highly boundaried life, and have been tired of it, but lacking in imagination to break out and do the things you hear others getting up to.

        But thanks for the vote of non-boringness. I write a good game 🙂


        Lizzi – these things I did, I did when I was a CHILD. An irresponsible 20 year old with no understanding of consequence.

        They make for good story telling.

        And yes, I’ve had a very “interesting” life. But I’m also way behind in terms of where I need to be as a grown up.

        Because I squandered year being foolish instead of living within boundaries.

        I can’t decide if I have no regrets, because it all made me the person I am – or if I’m nothing BUT regrets, because now I have such a long way to go to become the person I want to be! Because my life choices have changed so much.


        I have a sneaking suspicion that NONE OF US ever get to be ‘where we want to be’ or ‘who we want to be’, but, as you say, we are all products of the looooong line of stepping-stone circumstances which put us where we are, RightNow, and of a LOT of hard work to improve ourselves.

        Perhaps for that alone, I shouldn’t bitch. But they say it’s better to regret the things you did than the things you didn’t.


      No Lizzi, do not regret your lack of stupidity, it’s not boring to not do some that shiz. All of us who are hard to kill also have buried too many friends who didn’t make it…so much unnecessary carnage, so many young lives lost. Yes, these are our stories now but don’t mistake survival for smarts or windswept and interesting for ridiculously lucky. I love your stories for all their relevance and vibrancy anyway.


        Amen to that.

        Lizzi’s stories are as full and rich as anything I have ever lived.

        Without all the collateral damage.


        No, I know *sigh* and the sickening thing is I know you’re right, and I think I probably always knew, and remained with my boundaries unchallenged.

        Sometimes I wish, though…

        My fictions are just that. And I only like living vicariously up to a point.


        See, that’s cos you’re a lot smarter than me Lizzi


        You keep calling them “boundaries.”

        I have to step in here and tell you that I worshipped Patti Smith. She is my spirit animal. And one of her songs is about “outside of society, that’s where I’m gonna be”

        It wasn’t a good thing. It may make for fun blogging. But it didn’t set my life up the correct way.


        And boundaries they are – constrictions which (self-imposed or other-imposed) have kept me closeted from making poor decisions or ever being ‘young and stupid’. In many ways I’d LOVE to have rushed off and lived an indulgent, hedonistic lifestyle, but as soon as I started thinking, I overthunk into pragmatism and talked myself right out of it.


        Adunno – would you both rather have taken the highs and the lows, or just had…featurelss (actually, not featureless – a flat line with some pretty severe lows, and no compensatory highs).

        I guess we can’t all be the same. And I’m hoping for an absolutely RAUCOUS retirement.


        And I have NO retirement to even look forward to.

        That is what my squandered youth has wrought.

        I’ll have to work til I’m dead, Lizzi.

        I think- maybe a mixture of both our lives would perhaps be perfect.

        You’re the sister wife whose post about blog love I want to use to even introduce us, as a group. You’re a fearless, soulful warrior and I adore you.


        I hear ya Lizzi, and I did featurless with some serious lows for over a decade and quite frankly, no matter the risks, everytime my life feels like that again I am getting on that FatBob and wringing it’s neck.


    I once, oh, let’s say ‘dated’ a girl who answered an ad for ‘hostess’, and slowly but surely got pulled into the action and the not-so-much money, and then got out of it unscathed, more or less. We had an all night conversation while on acid, wrapped in blankets on my back patio but otherwise unclothed. An enlightening conversation, I must say. Yet I haven’t really done anything like that, particularly not drugs. I did acid and other hallucinogens about 10 or 11 times, but hated the 1 hour rush followed by the 7 hours of not wanting to be on it anymore. I never liked pot, so bleh. I never tried anything else. I quit everything illegal in 1993, and quit smoking somewhere around the turn of the century. I even quit drinking for about a year. Now, I just rarely drink, plus I’ve been married 18 years.


      Well, I’m right there with you.

      I don’t really do much of anything except massive quantities of caffeine.

      I’m a mom of a 10 year old and I live in the suburbs. In the SUBURBS, I tell you.

      If I took hallucinogenics nowadays, I would probably drop dead of a heart attack. If I took heroin, I most certainly would. I get sleepy on Tylenol.

      And I rarely drink. I’m a notorious light weight. I get foolish on half a glass of wine.

      What do you mean, ‘dated’? Is that a euphemism for “hooked up casually with”?

      Those ads were so deceiving. I’m glad she got out of it unscathed. That must have been quite a conversation.

      18 years of marriage? You should be blogging about how to keep a successful marriage. I’ve read your blog – I don’t know that you ever really discuss that. Do you?

      Nobody has those anymore. Even Gwyneth and Chris are breaking up. I’m so distraught…


        I have a poetry blog, and there’s lots of good stuff that is ultimately about my wife in there, and I used to do this thing called Romantic Monday on my blog about a year and a couple months ago that was again about romance and marriage and stuff, but no, I don’t talk about how to keep a successful marriage, because…

        well, my way isn’t the way for everyone. You notice how there’s a crapload of books on weight loss, and management, and relationships, and so on and so forth? That’s because there’s dozens of ways to do everything. Who am I to tell anyone how to run their thing? All I can do is say mine works, and advise people on specific things on a case-by-case basis.

        My blog is primarily for being completely ridiculous and sarcastic.


        I don’t know.

        When someone gets it right – and 18 years is a REALLY long time – I’d like to hear what their way is. Cause you’re doing something right. It is not easy to keep things together that long.

        I know your blog is for being silly! Your tweets are hilarious! You have no idea how they land on my twitter feed – and the fact that they look so different for everyone is genius.

        The other day a blogger, Christi, wrote about “conscious uncoupling.” I don’t know if what she’s doing would work for another marriage.

        But I liked what she had to say. I tweeted the hell out of it. It sounded like a much better alternative to divorce.

        I don’t mean to imply that you have to run out and start a marriage blog! Hahahahaha!
        Not that you even would!

        I’m just giving you props, sir.

        Carry on with the ridiculous.


        How DO my tweets land on your Twitter?

        18 years and good doesn’t necessarily mean 18 years OF good. There are ups and downs, and problems that no one else has, and problems that everyone else has. Just being honest. I know how to make MY marriage work, but I don’t know how to make MARRIAGE work, necessarily.

        Thank you for your props, lady! Props to you for your stories.


        Well, marriage is cyclical. Like life.
        You fall in and out of love.

        I think, if people would just stick it out through the bad times, they’d see that they’ll probably fall back in love.

        Because that new guy you think is so great? Sooner or later, they all turn into “that asshole” on the couch. Not that you’re an asshole. You know what I mean.

        Meanwhile, this advice is brought to you from an about to be divorced, separated for nearly 3 years woman.

        Big talker over here.


        There’s a difference between sticking it out and holding a grenade. Sometimes you gotta just throw it far, far away.

        I know what you mean, though, to a certain extent. I broke up with tons of girls before my wife. I don’t think I dated anyone more than a year before I got married. In fact, I only knew my wife for 3 months before getting married.


        Yes. And I agree with what you said.

        My marriage became a grenade and I had to throw it away. But I tried for a really, really long time to make it work before I called it quits.


        That’s all you can do


        I’m not sure.

        But thanks for support. It’s always a freaking drag when there’s kids involved.

        To we get to find out about THAT on your blog? See how nosy I’ve become about you?



        I have talked about them. I gave them code names. Daria is 22 and married. Chrissie is 14, and our niece. Lawyer is 10 and mouthy. James Dean is also 10, a fraternal twin, and not mouthy at all


        *AHA moment*
        That’s why you know what the hell you’re talking about with women!

        You’re not 30 years old!!!

        Practice makes…very good!


      18 years Ed? That’s a pretty big milestone, Sir, well done. My Queen and I ticked over 19 years back in Oct, there’s not too many of us around…maybe we do have something worth hearing…hmm, I wonder…


        I always picture telling people about my marriage and hearing them say “That’s ridiculous” – because it only works for me/us.


        Yeah, that is a very real possibility…I wonder if we swapped stories and somehow made that stuff accessible for quizzing? Dunno what that would look like though…worth pondering further perhaps.


        I think there’s only two things you can do, and one of them is a crapload of work. Shotgun approach, or polling everyone you know or have access to approach.

        I chose shotgun, and it worked for me.


        What is shotgun approach?

        To marriage? Blogging?

        The only shotgun I know is either when you marry a chick whose knocked up, or you blow marijuana smoke into someone’s mouth.


        OH, right. In this case, I meant splatter. Try a bunch of things and see what works and what doesn’t. And that’s for marriage AND blogging, but mostly blogging because that’s something I can control.

        And have more than one of.

        And walk away from when I get tired of.



        Yes, there’s no “walking away” when you get tired in marriage. Unless you want to do the merry go round divorce thing, which I think is bullshit.


        At most, there’s backing away for a bit


        Or killing them and hiding the body.

        That’s risky. But effective.


        Haha… and you’d get away with it too, if not for those meddling (lovely) kids.


        My son would rat me out on a hot minute.

        He already does. “Dad, mama let me stay up till 11 on a school night so she wouldn’t have to watch “Saw 2″ by herself.”



        Let me tell you, I’m onto something here!

        Not a whole lot of bloggers that I know can boast almost 2 decades of marriage.

        And the combo of the two of you? What a juxtaposition. Of personalities, of writing styles, everything.

        But what you both have in common? Long term marriages.

        I’d almost pay money to read this.
        I said almost.


        Okay. Stop torturing me!

        Because now I DEMAND to know what is so ridiculous that works for your marriage.

        Is it sexual? have to do with food? Money?
        Is it bigger than a bread box?

        Or a kyat?


        I’m just stubborn, and patient, and I step back and see things for what they are, and say what I think and mean, and choose my battles. It’s just general things that I don’t think about directly too much.

        Plus some things that I don’t even know about, probably.


        Who ARE you?

        This is the best comment I ever read.

        I going to read your blog more. But it won’t give me any answers about who you really are.

        You and that flower gravatar. Tells me nothing.


        The best comment? that may be overstating things. The place to start in my blog would be scenes from a morning drive


        Well, I kind of turned to mush a little bit.

        Okay, it’s morning and I’m on my third espresso, so I can process this better.

        It was one of the best, if not the best, comments on how to sustain a working relationship.

        But you’ve been married 18 years, so of course you know how to handle women.

        Scenes from a morning drive. Got it.


        Lol I know how to handle ONE woman.


        One is all you need.

        Although honestly? I feel that men should have more than one wife. This is not a popular view among my friends, so they hate me discussing it.

        Two wives would make it easier for a man to stay faithful. Men are not programmed biologically for monogamy.

        And the wives could bitch to each other, instead of to HIM, about him.

        Win-win situation.


        While on some level I am touched and excited, I disagree with having to help a man stay faithful. Humans overcome all kinds of urges all the time. I do agree in principal with multiple wives and husbands, assuming all agree and consent. But not legally, so it’s fair to all. Just de facto


        TwinDaddy argued this with me, too.

        I believe that men are hunters and gatherers, by nature. And that while many are monogamous, it takes a lot of discipline and commitment to be so.

        More than for women. But again, TD hotly debated this with me. Perhaps it’s just my personal theory.


        You could use this same argument to justify everything oppressive in the middle east, revocation of suffrage, murder, animal cruelty, superiority of men over women, and other things. Would you take issue with any of these things?



        Totally different instincts. Murder and cruelty is not the same as the male instinct to hunt and gather!

        That’s like saying female instinct to nurture is like the instinct to be codependent. A distortion of the instinct. Created by situation, not nature.


        I’m afraid you can’t have it both ways. You can’t allow a man to indulge one primal instinct but suppress another equally valid one.

        In some countries, women are required to cover themselves from head to toe for the same reason you gave for polygamy – because men ‘simply cannot help themselves’. Why not simply require women to wear a burqa. Maybe that could assist men in being monogamous and committed?

        I’m not against people having multiple spouses, if common law, mind you. Just not for the reason you gave.

        At the end of the day, it’s up to men to control themselves. They’re civilized adults living in a civilized society. They’re not children or barbarians, and they don’t need coddling and babying. If it takes self-control, then so be it. What is the problem with self-control, exactly?


        I’m on your blog at this moment.

        There is no problem with self control. We all need to exercise it.

        I was simply saying that I think certain impulses are stronger in different genders.

        What would your reasons for multiple spouses be?


        If a group of three or more consenting adults want to consider themselves married to each other, that’s fine. But however many there are, it should be because they love each other, not because of some failing of one of them.


        Yes, it would be best if all three of them were in love.

        That being said, though, it might HELP with some possible failings they have.

        Like the male inclination to want to hunt!


        Why not be married, then, and just let him screw whoever he wants.


        Well, that is where I’m at with marriage. I have no expectations of fidelity.

        When I got married I told my husband what I don’t know can’t hurt me. I asked him to just not contract any diseases, spend money on her, or get sloppy and let me find out.

        We were married for 12 years, and he claims to have been faithful. But then again, I wouldn’t know, now would I?

        It certainly wasn’t a factor in our separation. Where he may or may not have put his penis, in the grand scheme of things, is not cause to end a marriage.


        I don’t think it’s unreasonable to expect fidelity. That’s part of trust, and if you don’t have that, why bother with marriage?


        I’m not saying its unreasonable to expect it.

        I’m just saying, infidelity would not necessarily be a deal breaker. That’s usually a symptom of a problem, not the problem itself.


        Well that’s a different thing. Being able to work through infidelity is not the same as either condoning it or excusing it.



        The two of you should collaborate!

        A “how to stay married” post!

        And the two of you are so different – it would be amazing…


        Oooh, I dunno if a How To would work, I’m with Ed on the individuality of the marriage not likely to be a recipe for success in anyone else’s…I s’pose I was thinking more Q&A from the floor kinda thing, that way it might be more relevant than us sounding all prescriptive and stuff. And I know I don’t have what it takes to create that forum or something, it’d have to be someone else’s gig that I contributed to I think. Food for thought anyway


    Hell of a story, and great reading Samara. Oh to be young again… and experimenting with lesbian encounters… wait… Good stuff dude, keep it coming.


      “God is a bearded lesbian” hahahaha

      I always remember that line.

      Yes, Trent. You having sex with Debby would NOT be a lesbian encounter.

      Although I did not then, nor do I now, even consider myself bisexual. I just fall in love with people. Mostly they’ve been men.

      Occasionally, they’ve been women.

      I’m totally in love with Jennie Saia. I asked her to marry me last fall. We’re sister wives.

      That’s how the whole “sister wife” thing started, by the way.
      But now there’s a bunch of us…watch out, word press…


        God is a bearded lesbian. If you read the bible the right way (drunk) it even says that. I figure you for exactly that type of person: heart all in, the rest follows. That is what life is about, in my opinion.


        We’ve been on the same page about that since the beginning.

        Yep. Heart all in.


        High Context Culture identification isn’t for everyone. Some prefer low context culture reference. In other words, I’ve met others who have said similar things. “No, I’m not bisexual, but who am I to deny love when it happens.” Stuff like that.

        Can’t say I’m surprised, really. You’ve got that vibe. How do I know this? So many friends, so many exes. I sense something, and when they reveal it, it just makes sense. And Cimmy fits into that category, too. All pretty comfortable with intimacy, few hangups. I’m not totally sure why, but I just sense something when I meet women that are like this. Don’t think it works the same for me about men, but… there are deep social taboos upon us already. It’s not as safe to be open.


        You are completely RIGHT about how it doesn’t work for men the way it works for women; the whole exploration of same sex love.

        Part of it – and this is just my personal theory – is that for men (and excuse me getting graphic here) the sex organs are external, and require penetration in a way that is too confronting for those that would play on both sides. Too foreign a concept. Too taboo.

        Whereas women can avoid ALL of that, should they chose to. We don’t even have to experience any kind of externally imposed penetration, and still enjoy one another. We don’t have to deal with anything that is completely foreign to us, as heterosexuals, in order to enjoy other women.

        Does that make sense?


        Absolutely it does. Men’s attitudes towards sexuality are indeed influenced by the external nature of their genitalia, and studies do seem to support that. The nerve endings can be stimulated internally (massaging the prostate through the rectum, basically), but some men make a homosexual association with that. I don’t necessarily agree, but, again, there you go.

        Other studies seem to suggest that women are much more fluid about their sexuality, and orientation, as opposed to men. In a nutshell, women in the study shown various prurient images (combinations of men and women engaged in sexual activity) were found to show arousal to pretty much all of them, while men’s responses were much more segregated along clear-cut orientation lines.

        I’d give a better explanation of high context vs. low context culture, but my comment is probably already stretching the limit of netiquette courtesy. To sum up, most labels concerning sexual orientation have become high context: they are more of an in-group, tight-knit reference. “Bisexual” is already pretty messy. Since there are some gay men that co-opt the term before fully “coming out”, as it were, some people assume “bisexual” means “not ready to say gay yet”. Then society makes other assumptions about promiscuity, as if the term says: “I’m not monogamous; I’m always looking for action.”

        Human sexuality is complex, period, so there’s more to it than that, of course. I hope you’ll excuse my verbose and otherwise wordy comment; sometimes it’s easier for me to speak and write in a scholarly, long-winded way, to avoid too much personal entanglements. My personal experiences are quite another story.


    Have I ever gotten involved with someone I shouldn’t have… Oh how I wish I had used a pseudonym when I started my blog. So much I’d love to write about that I just can’t. Suffice to say I’m envious that at least you could blame drugs for your choices. I have only my own stupidity and kyat to blame.

    The writing here was spectacular, Samara. I can’t wait for part III. xoxo


      Nancy, that was a big part of why I’m anonymous. I knew I had some stories to tell, and I didn’t want to expose anyone.

      I also have to protect my reputation in the community. I’m a respectable citizen!

      What/who is kyat? Please forgive me if that’s something you’ve written about, and I’ve selfishly not kept up on your blog.

      I’m trying to get better with that.


        Oh god! That was autocorrect, somehow. Although WTF is kyat? Why would iPhone autocorrect to that? Maybe to protect me. What I meant to write was lust.



        This is better than Twitter. I’m laughing like a loon right now!

        Kyat! Let’s tweet that!
        It could be #kyat Tuesday.
        Like #dickpunch Thursday.

        I fucking thought Kyat was someone in your life. Or a candy bar, or some shit.

        The one good thing about auto correct? When I type in “dou” on my phone? It just fills in “douchecanoe.”

        I have it trained.



        I just googled kyat. It’s the official currency of Burma.

        So evidently I should blame my shit on the Burmese money. Yes. Let’s go with that.


        OMG, that is too funny!

        yes, the fucking Burmese economy SUCKS !


    Everything you write feels like having sex. Even when it isn’t about sex. But when it is about sex; it is better than 90% of the actual sex I have had.



      This is what I mean. You’re funny!

      But I honestly only have written about 6 posts in 46 about sex.

      Yes, it feels like everything I write is about sex. Why is that?

      Wait- I reviewed ‘A Wrinkle in Time.” There was absolutely NO sex in that.

      It’s a children’s book, so that would just be wrong.

      Sometimes written sex is better than real sex. A lot of the time.
      Bad sex is still good, thought right? Isn’t it true – that sex is like pizza? Even when it’s bad it’s good?

      I’m not so sure I agree with that.

      If it’s shitty pizza I’m sending it the fuck back from whence it came. Quickly. Ain’t nobody got time for that.


        Honestly, I’d send back bad sex if I could. I’d rather just take matters into my own hands. I always know that will be good.



        You are preaching to the choir.

        And god help me, the internet, and my IT guy. My computer is always a hot mess.



    My whole life is getting involved with people I shouldn’t…


    Thank you for taking us through this part of your life. You are a brave soul. Wow. It takes a lot of guts to do what you are doing. I couldn’t stop reading. The guy with the bucket over his head, that was hilarious. And the way you described how heroin felt was amazing because although I have never tried it, I could understand how it felt. Looking forward to part 3. Glad I fixed my reader so I get your posts. 🙂


      I’m so glad you’re into it!

      yep, I was pretty much the laugh of the old whorehouse for months afterwards. That was the best I could do.

      Thank God, when you think about it.

      No judgement here. But Eww.

      Okay, that was a little judge-y


    Riveting, Samara. I was so moved by your storytelling, too. You put me right there. Also, I laughed at the pail on the head maneuver. Hey, that was good thinking! I was captivated, in awe of the chances you took and both the ugliness and the pleasures you experienced. And, I’m so glad you’re here to share. Don’t go anywhere. I wonder how it feels to tell the story now. Do you re-experience any part of it, or are you detached from it all now. xoxo


      The brothel experience is like something that happened to someone else. I had to work really hard to remember the details.

      The heroin stuff is always there. I had a drug problem a few years later, so writing about the first time I tried it makes me want to do it!

      For a minute. Then I just go eat cookies.

      Debby I think about every single day.

      Every day.

      But I’m getting ahead of myself…


        You think about heroin because the high was so good? That’s what I hear about it. My brother had a bad meth problem and I know he still struggles probably on a daily basis.

        I didn’t expect to hear that about Debby. This sounds like a longer story than three parts…


        I think about heroin because it messed up a lot of things that might have gone right with my life.

        Then again, everything happens the way its supposed to happen. I guess.

        Sometimes, though, when you feel like you’ve squandered opportunities, it doesn’t always feel like that.

        I wrote a post- How To Destroy Your Writing Career- that explains why heroin is my personal demon.

        Thanks, Amy. For reading. For caring. I appreciate you.


        Anytime, Samara! I think life is a journey. There are no coulda, shouldas…


        I just wrote to someone the other day that It’s the stops along the way.

        When I’m traveling, I’m never in a rush to get, get, get to my destination. I love the journey. That’s when all the unexpected stuff happens.


    Oh the lesbian sex! I have to say my experience, while obviously not identical in situation, was entirely similar in terms of my body doing things I didn’t know were things. Yep. After one experience I was and am 100% gay.


      We’ve chatted about this. It’s not as clear cut for me.

      I’ve been with more men sexually than women in my life. I’ve been in love with more men.

      But I have never loved anyone like this woman. I have never stopped thinking about her for a single day.

      And the sex we had was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced – even with another woman. I think it was because…

      Because she was the first woman I was with?
      Because l really loved her, and sex is the best when you’re totally in love?
      Because she was more experienced sexually than me?


      It was really challenging to write this in a way that would not be cheesy erotica. I refuse to be explicit with this experience. It was intrinsic to the story, but I didn’t want this serving as jerk off material.

      I’m so happy you visited my blog! You have no idea. It really means a lot to me!


        I know what you mean about the connectedness of the experience. I have had one such partner in my lifetime, so I get it. Totally it’s about the feelings behind it. You did well with the writing. It didn’t come across as erotica at all.

        I’m glad you’re happy to have me. I’ve been here before just closeted. Takes me a while to settle in. But you won’t get rid of me now!


        Oh, music to my ears!

        Because nothing is as fun as playing with you in Twitterland – especially with a group of other insane bloggers.

        I totally love that when we’re tweeting, it’s already tomorrow for you. I feel like I’m time traveling. Freaking awesome.


        Yeahhhhh I’m from the future. It’s pretty sucky here this morning. My alarm didn’t go off, I’m teaching for my first day ever and my hair looks like someone stuck half a poodle to my head.


        That sounds like a good hair day.
        It could be, “My hair looks like a dead wharf rat.”

        Now, I think – are you in England? Or Australia?

        Because those are completely different time zones. Not just from me, but from each other.

        And you and Daile are in the same time zone, right? Because when I’m up at odd hours of the night, you two are the only bloggers I recognize on Twitter.


        Daile and I are both Aussies yes. Although slightly different time zones


        Okay. So right now, it’s Thursday morning here.

        But, is it already Friday where you are? Like, early am on Friday?

        So effing cool. This is.


        It is currently 7am Friday morning, yes. I am from the future because the Earth is round and therefore I, being Australian and so first, cross the time zones ahead of you, being Murican and so not-first. It is rather cool to have friends from the past. As long as they are post 1960. I love my Murican BFFLS!


        OH MY GOD!!!

        You ARE from the future.

        This is really one of the best things about blogging.
        Time travel.

        It’s surreal.


        Yup. WordPress is like the tardis


    I wouldn’t be able to come up with anything close to a garbage pale, haha. I love love love reading you Samara. This story has got me by the ladyballs. Can’t wait for more.


      Nadia, it was the only thing in the room!

      I wrote it here a bunch of times – while I try not to judge, I just couldn’t get into – umm – kicking the crap out of someone?

      Well, maybe. If they flip me off in a parking lot for no reason and she started it, anyway. That’s another blog post. “Girl Fight in a Gym Parking Lot.”

      But in that situation, I was dumbfounded. The laugh of the place for months.

      I’ll be gentle with those ladyballs. Stay tuned!


    I’ve never dated anyone I’ve regretted dating later, or took a job I regretted taking. As a blogger, naturally, I now regret both decisions.
    Sorry, my brain is still too busy processing the post to comment on it properly. I’m definitely looking forward to part 3.


      Why as a blogger would you regret those decisions? REDdog and I were explaining to Lizzi,( Irconsiderer ), that you don’t have to have risked your life to be a fabulous writer.

      She’s amazing.

      All of the things I did make for great storytelling. But they also set my life back. Yuck. So now, we’re all on the same playing field blogging-wise, writing great stuff – only my life is a hot mess and yours is on the right track! hahahahaha

      Process this and get back to me! More comments from X!

      On a completely unrelated note, TwinDaddy is now a little jealous that you crowned me Queen and he would like to crown someone as well. See what happens when he features you on his page??


        Because having done something I regret would probably have made me a better writer (assuming I had survived those regrettable things, of course). But since I don’t actually plan on making a living as a writer, I don’t regret too much that my life was rather boring.
        I didn’t realize that I made TwinDaddy jealous by crowning you. And, of course, he can always bestow a crown on some other deserving blogger – or he can crown you once again 🙂 Or I can crown him as QueenDaddy… no wait, that sounds too weird… 🙂 Emperor of Rant?
        I still don’t have anything to say about your story, sorry. You how sometimes you read a book and don’t feel the need to add a comment to it?


        Yes. Totally understand the no comment feeling. The fact that you even wrote that, instead of just hitting “like” speaks volumes.

        QueenDaddy is hilarious, but he would hunt both of us down like dogs if we EVER.

        Yes, on his page last week, he said,
        “oh, I want a Queen”! Of course, that was last Friday. I have no reason to believe he feels the same way 6 days later.

        Or 6 minutes later.


      Nah I totally get this. And it’s not even about regretting it (necessarily, for me, anyway) I’d rather just have LIVED a little bit more. Been less…clenched and tongue-tied and hung-up on boundaries.


      Yup. That. And though living internally (and through writing) is fun…I’m very aware that it’s not quite Real.


    Samara, It’s not just that you have some crazy stories to share, it’s the way you share them. You totally take us places that many of us have never seen or could imagine. You are like a hot tub time machine or something… only cooler than a hot tub… Whatever, I’m not making sense. I can’t wait to read your book! 😉 Also, you remind me of one of my closest friends. She is talented and fearless and she too has walked on the edge and come through some tough shit. I always tell her that her Guardian Angel works overtime. I’m glad yours did too. I know you say you aren’t proud of some of the things you did when you were young, I get that. But you should feel like a total bad ass that you came through it all and ended up where you are now. I can’t wait for part three…


      My best friend says I’m like a cat- with 9 lives.

      I hope I have at least 2 or 3 left. My adventures will never be 1990’s dangerous, but they can’t end here.

      Baking cookies in the suburbs. When this leg of the journey is over, I must have SOME kind of trouble I can get into.

      Old lady trouble. Hahahaha. What will THAT look like- 53 year old mischief?

      Ooh! I’ll totally be a jacked up old cougar. Now I have something to look forward to!



    When I grow up I want to write like you.
    Thanks for continuing to share this story. The few times I’ve wandered into the non-fiction realm I struggled with finding the right words to capture the experience properly, and then I struggled if my story was worth telling and worth reading too. So, I can only imagine how hard it is to share these bits of yourself.


      This was infinitely easier that writing that fiction challenge.

      That, my friend, took me way out of my comfort zone. I’m not stopping. I’m going to keep at fiction, because magic happens OUTSIDE the comfort zone.

      I love magic. Jesters are magical.


        Are you saying I’ve been looking for magic in all the wrong places? (This will make sense if you’ve read my post today.)

        Jester’s may be magical, but nothing beats a good Buick.


        Heading to your blog.

        Buicks! Ha!

        I’d rather have a Volvo.

        I have no idea why I just said “Volvo.” It’s not even my idea of a great car.

        I just can’t think at the moment. Maybe…it’s not best to answer blog comments when one can’t think.


        I should probably have avoided the blogosphere for this entire week then, because my brain is capoot. Kapoot? However it is spelled.

        Hey, volvo’s are nice cars. I mean, I wouldn’t trade in my Subaru for one, but… still, better then some. And if we are talking “great” cars here then we should be talking about Corvettes. (I mean we could go the Ferrari route, right? But that seems more like a dream than something achievable.)


        A Corvette would SO be my dream car over a Ferrari.

        And I’m not sure, but I think it’s kaput.

        Is it in the dictionary?


        What’s a dictionary? I’m a writer! I don’t have time to look things up! But, yeah, kaput looks right, plus WordPress isn’t yelling at me that it is wrong… so, let’s go with that. 😛

        The new body style corvette? The “classic” style? Or the stingray?


        Excellent choice. I like them all too. When I’m a famous author I may have to have one of each. But, which to buy first, now that’s the dilemma.


    Apparently I am no longer allowed to reply to ANY of that thread of delightfully nested comments.

    By ‘retirement’ I mean ‘when I stop working, if they haven’t organised state-decreed ‘euthanasia for the useless’ by then.

    A mixture of our lives would leave one half decent and one INCREDIBLY messy and broken up life. Starting too young to begin to consider inflicting on anyone else. Nah. I think you’re right – we just each have to walk our own path, and if (along the way) we are blessed enough to find people to reach out to, who take our hand and help us over the roughest parts, and who delight with us in the beautiful landscapes we encounter, that’s the best we can hope for.

    Which post is that, then? Blogygamy? I did rather LOVE writing that 😉


      Yes, Blogygamy.

      To explain why we fall in love with each other’s words.

      The way I just did, with your comment.


        *eyes twinkly at the edges* Bless your boots, SW, mine ❤ 😀

        (And ohhh DON'T we! Good grief, the WriterHeart…oy!)


        I have to figure the how, and the why. And the when. But that post explains it all.

        And then I would love us to actually do some kind of a project. I don’t know what. A challenge. A “write in and tell us what you think”. A “send us candy” post. I have no clue.

        But something as a group.


        Ohhhh that would be SO cool! Yes. That would be amazing. Go with Send Us Candy 😉

        We need a badge. So we can rub everyone’s faces in it that we’re all SW (or not, whatevs 😉 )

        A group post of some kind would be amazing. Did you ever play the party game ‘Consequences’? We could DEFINITELY do that.


        Well, we have tee shirts.

        A badge would be awesome!

        And I have to give one of us a lecture for adding yet another SW when I haven’t read half of youse yet! I need a bit o time!


        Oh I know, I’m not even CLOSE to knowing everyone properly yet (to my shame, but then I have been rather busy with a little thing called ‘post every day in April and write til your fingers bleed’)

        Need to KNOW THEM!

        But this new one; I checked with my BW and apparently they’ve been commenting on each others’ blogs for a coupla months (behind my BACK!) and she’s cool. But yes, too many, too soon…we need to slow things down to enjoy them properly, yaknow?


    WOW Samara. I’m very much looking forward to Part 3, in the least weird lesbian-sex curious way. (well, maybe a little curious)

    I don’t know if you’ve really blogged that much about using before– you’ve mentioned it but this is the first thing I’ve read where you really describe it. I’ve always wanted to hear your “story.” This is intense.


    Profound, cathartic (?), chaotic, erotic, anarchic. Hats off to you for so many reasons


      Thank you, sir!

      I think it may be more cathartic when the third installment is up.

      I have some demons I need to exorcise…


        Sir Kit! Wired lol

        I’ve got a track from My Life In The Bush of Ghosts running through my head….

        “…Ok sister;
        You have a Jezebel spirit within you
        You have a spirit of grief
        You have a spirit of destruction.
        Spirit of destruction,
        Spirit of grief,
        I bind you with chains of iron
        I bind you out of that bounded heaven.
        Loosen your hold and come out of her now…..”

        “…Go ahead sister
        Go ahead sister
        Use your head
        That was easy
        You can sit down now…”

        England is waiting…


        Brian Eno and David Byrne.
        1980? 81?

        I’m a music nerd.
        Now I’m going to tweet this…


    Significant music flash back. You are the catalyst!


    I’m sure I first heard it in 1980…I was 19…


    My only experience with this kind of thing is when I saw Rent.
    I’m so riveted by this story.
    I’m also SO sheltered.



      I’m sorry. That was the sound of my mind collapsing in on itself.

      This must be how hippies felt when HAIR was on Broadway.

      I’m so glad you’re riveted to my story. As I wrote it, I imagined you reading it over a bowl of popcorn.

      I was riveted to you in your vlog. You have your own psychic. That’s like the neurotic equivalent of having a jeweler. I’m so jealous. I want a psychic.

      But Rent.

      They took my life. They made a Broadway play about it. There was singing. And dancing.

      Both. Singing AND dancing. Nobody sings and dances when they’re dying of AIDS. Living in an abandoned building, strung out on heroin. Trying to stay warm in the freezing cold over rooftop fires.

      I didn’t even see Rent.

      I’m just a judgmental bitch. Be my friend, anyway?


    You know, I love this. The writing, the flow, the forgiveness and charm and humor of it all– and I think I love Debby, too… but I also hate it all. I hate her for dragging you into that stuff, and that your life wasn’t all roses and soft pillows. You deserved better, but I’m not surprised you turned it into something wonderful anyway. Does any of that make sense? 🙂 Like everyone else, I’m really looking forward to part 3. 🙂


      Oh, Rara- whose life is ever roses and soft pillows? Even those who appear to have that life usually do not.

      But the same can be said of you- you’ve taken all sorts of adversity and emerged radiant and magical. That’s why I love you so!


    Thanks for letting me read this.

    This should be the title of the series: “This seemed hilarious at 5 am on an 8-ball of cocaine.”

    You are a greater, brave storyteller..


      Hey! Welcome to my blog- I guess Kurt Cobain brought us together.

      I’m so glad you enjoyed my story. I loved your blog post. I was out all day, and not able to really comment. But I will.

      Hope to see you around every once in a while.



        Ive been stalking, I mean reading, you blog for about a month. I commented before, I think. I love your honesty.


    Wow. I can understand why it took you ten days to write this. It’s intense and honest and I’m waiting for Part III. You are quite a writer! 🙂


    What a story! When I read the part about the shopping cart, I went ‘oh no…’


      You DID???

      The shopping cart kinda did it for you, huh?

      Well, it gets even juicier. No shopping carts. Other stuff.

      I’m so thrilled you came to hang out on my blog! I feel like a rock star came to my house or something!


        Oh puh-leeze. The rockstar is YOU. 😉

        Reading part 3 now. I lived in NYC (the first time) ’95-01 so I caught the tail end of some of the seediness.

Trackbacks and Pingbacks:

  1. Candybar Doll In Cocktail Dresses | Tucson Pool Saz: Tech - Gaming - News - May 7, 2014

    […] New York Stories: Phone Girl In a Whorehouse: Part 2 « A Buick in <b>…</b> […]

  2. New York Stories: Phone Girl in a Whorehouse Part 3 « A Buick in the Land of Lexus - May 12, 2014

    […] Click here for Part 1 and Part 2. […]

When I see the orange light, I have a BLOGASM...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s