Find a grave is a site I joined without remembering that I joined during the fog of grief after the 2017 death of my significant other. The mission is to allow people to see the final resting places of loved ones in far away cemeteries. You take a picture that’s requested by someone and it is your hope that someone will take a picture for you if you request. Or there does not have to be reciprocity. You can just go to the cemetery and take the picture. In gifted and talented class in elementary school I remember going on a field trip to a cemetery with graves dating back to the 1800’s. We did rubbings of the face of the headstone with a paper and the side of a crayon. That is how I know that it is not unusual for people to visit cemeteries for reasons that are not necessarily grim, but educational. Plus they are quiet places. No crime. Very restful, even for the living. I do find the t shirt and mug strange, but that is me. If they can have a cemetery gift shop of sorts then so can I. I thought about it before but never went through with the idea but I would like a t shirt for myself even if no one else buys one. I will keep you posted on the status of merchandise acquisition.
I pushed through the humiliation and when I listen to the recording I found a woman who held her own and now I know I still have it and it is time for me to do something with it. How life affirming that humiliation turned out!
Wow, what an Ugly Interaction with a big wig Honolulu attorney. Good thing I was prepared, but it still stung.
I don’t mind sharing this bit of my life with you, mostly because no one I know reads anything I write. It is easier to be honest when you’re not being honest with a specific someone. Anyway, I have been involved with a dispute about people treating me badly where I live. I brought the action myself because to be, again, honest, no attorney wanted to back up someone with my “background.” And this “background” always justifies people mistreating me. You might logically ask why I would keep the background in the foreground by doing this blog, and you would have a logical point. The reason I have publicly declared myself a self appointed spokesperson for people who could care less about anyone speaking for them is that I was…
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MY MOST INTENSIVE FORMAL EDUCATION IS BEHIND ME AND I WORRIED THAT EVERYTHING THAT CAME AFTER NEGATED MY GIFT
An ivy league education is a gift. Yes, you have to earn it. But earning your high status position is not the only reason you enjoy that spot. I believe that it is equal parts effort and luck. Even the unlucky people at Harvard were lucky. No one, and I do believe the wording is accurate, no one gets to Harvard without help. Someone cared. Someone mentored. Someone took an interest. Someone sponsored. In my case, the people who adopted me refused to sign the consent so I could attend Harvard and as a 17 year old I was still a minor and under their thumb. They contended that I simply wanted to attend for the prestige. I would only get pregnant if I went out of state and more importantly, they wanted that “b***h to suffer.” I had the problem of needing parental consent when I did not have anyone in my life who truly deserved the title of “parent.” I told a male teacher who liked to touch my leg and kiss me on the mouth to loosen me up and have me “ease up on the mean” that came so naturally to me when I was uncomfortable. Still, that was all he demanded and I was too young to know that those actions were intended as a prelude, an introduction to a dream deferred and then thwarted. At the time I thought he considered me like a sort of daughter. I had such faith in my somewhat faulty assessment that I did his bidding. He told me to forge the necessary signature and send the acceptance notification back to Harvard, at the same time politely declining Cornell and Dartmouth. I did not know he planned to visit that non-parent, with another teacher, and the two of them would heap the praise on the non-parent about how wonderful the parenting must have been to produce an offspring so successful….yadda, yadda, yadda. The paperwork with the signature I had forged was followed by other papers with genuine signatures. I was allowed to go because the person who hated me had been deceived into believing it was to her credit that I had been successful. Years have eased my anger and I can now admit that it is no small thing to be an unwanted black child and have people take me in. Being clothed, fed, maintained in a school district that was of such quality that I could get accepted to Harvard–these are not small things. No matter the motive, I had more than I would have had if my mentally ill birth mother had kept me in the shopping cart she pushed on the streets of the continental United States when she pan handled between stints in psychiatric hospitals all over the map. I was fortunate, if not loved. You do not get to Harvard without good fortune that you could not produce for yourself no matter how hard you tried. I was lucky.
I worried that I had thrown away my good luck when I was old enough to make my own luck by choosing drugs, to the extent my own emotional/psychiatric issues allowed me to choose. I feared I had lost “it.” “It” was the confidence in self that radiated from Harvard Upperclassmen. There was not school spirit in the sense of a pride over a we-ness, but people felt proud in themselves, and it never came across to me as arrogance but as the surety of belonging to rarified circles that is so solid the surety is unconscious. I no longer felt positive that I had maintained my intellect and I wondered if I could fit in to the world that could have been mine–even if I was just there to visit.
I had the most life affirming experience I have had, maybe ever
I am going to tell you something. I was in a conference with some high level legal people, some of the highest level positions in the state were represented by these people. I was conferring with them, but mostly we had been and at that time were, in opposition to each other. I cannot be more specific, other than to say people get into these positions when they are appointed by high level elected officials. Someone recorded the meeting. It was me and three men, respected, titled men who had earned their positions and had no reason to look at me with anything but contempt. To my amazement, as if I was listening to someone else, I heard a woman who fit it. Who understood what was being said, even when there were efforts to talk over her head. What was truly amazing was that easy confidence I had noticed in others. This woman was not outclassed, or even outdone. She was me. Now I know.
I haven’t lost it. Now that I know I have it, the next step is to decide what to do with it. I will keep you posted.
In the interest of full disclosure I make this admission to you my beloved readers
P.S. I would like to be advanced enough to not care about being regarded as intelligent, I would like to be a Buddhist and walk away from all ego attachments. I am still vain and shallow and want to be intelligent and able to contribute to society in a way that bears fruit, fruit that remains. I care what other people think of me, including what I think of myself.
Wow, what an Ugly Interaction with a big wig Honolulu attorney. Good thing I was prepared, but it still stung.
I don’t mind sharing this bit of my life with you, mostly because no one I know reads anything I write. It is easier to be honest when you’re not being honest with a specific someone. Anyway, I have been involved with a dispute about people treating me badly where I live. I brought the action myself because to be, again, honest, no attorney wanted to back up someone with my “background.” And this “background” always justifies people mistreating me. You might logically ask why I would keep the background in the foreground by doing this blog, and you would have a logical point. The reason I have publicly declared myself a self appointed spokesperson for people who could care less about anyone speaking for them is that I was, first and foremost, trying to find a way to take my record and make it work for me and not against me. This record is the thing that excludes me from employment and other opportunities. What if I could make money off of the stories that I know–what a coup that would be! Do you think I should pretend that I was primarily community minded, that I wanted to be an advocate for the voiceless who are voiceless because people do not care what they have to say and they have nothing to say because they are too busy pursuing their addictions anyway? Should I have pretended to have reached a place of enlightenment that has always eluded me by making myself out to be self sacrificing so much so that I would give up a fresh start in order to establish possible understanding of the outcasts? I could have lied but to what end? There is no fresh start. The internet makes public record so very public. It is not front and center if you google my name, but if you know how to access Hawaii court records, you can enter someone’s first and last name and you can find out their entire legal history in this state. Felony, misdemeanor, lawsuits, divorce–it is all right there if you go to E Court Kokua. There is no need to pay a professional for a background check if you want to access an individual’s legal history in Hawaii, minus family court confidential stuff. I was acting on the premise that “if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em” is a workaround your unfavorable record. If I could repackage my legal history I could get people to see things my way and reduce the stigma–I thought. I thought wrong. I believed I could make money off of my stories, I planned. My plan has yet to come to fruition. Finally, I could make people see the outcasts as people. I could not change people’s views. There was nothing but contempt during the interaction with the attorney who is a member of the establishment with a capital E, Establishment. I could tell he was tripping over himself trying not to reveal the higher minded purpose of my writing, but only because I knew what he was not saying about the intellectual side of my work. But no one else would suspect an intellectual take on street life is being downplayed by one of my detractors! I think for anyone listening to this attorney give his view of me, with the underlying message being I was treated badly because that is what I deserve, I think the most audible part of his speech was his contempt. In fact, his contempt was so strong it overpowered the particular meaning of any word, singly or in combination. I can only remember the feeling, I cannot recall what he actually said. The reality of the inescapability of my life makes me sad. I feel deflated which is a foreign feeling for someone likes me who rides on her energy much of the time. The social skills it takes to repackage my record in a way that is appealing to others, or at least not a complete deal breaker when it comes to knowing me, well those skills fall somewhere in the likablity range and I have never been high on that scale.
Will you dislike the depressing nature of this real time writing? If you knew my depressive self would you keep reading?
I never write when I am in the midst of a feeling but I am doing precisely that. I am trying to correct one of the things I believe has kept my blog from being more popular. I am trying to personalize my writing to give my readers a view into me so that they feel they know me. Me, the person who so desperately wanted to be someone that she looked for prestige outside of herself to fill that hole, but when a Harvard degree did not complete me, I gave up altogether feeling betrayed by what I perceived as a broken promise. I thought if I was successful I would feel a certain way, and stop feeling another way, and that is not what happened. Yes, the great vocabulary was there, for one thing, but belonging to a group, being on the inside–I thought that degree would earn me an invitation into people’s personal lives but it did not. I was not an outsider because I did not have a good enough resume. I was an outsider because of something I was or was not. That is why I tried drugs when they were offered to me, why I gave up on pushing forward in a career. Imagine striving for so long and hard only to end up alone at Christmas, yet again, with nothing but the pity invitation that people with families extend to loners on the holidays. That is where I was in New York City in 1996 when I met some people in a bar who wanted me to try smoking something out of a glass tube. I had never seen such a thing. But drugs–that was incredible. You had to know someone to know about drugs, you had to have connections for a way into the taboo and forbidden. I repositioned my hope to belong with the people doing the hidden forbidden. I thought I could belong there. I did not know drugs were a path to being completely alone and even more self obsessed than I already was. Not even self obsessed, but other obsessed. Obsessed with getting something outside of myself, and an obsession far more all consuming than the desire to achieve. No one would walk the path with me, but I did not know that when I tried the drug. We never experiment by ourselves. We are always presented a picture of how drugs is something special, elite even, and we see it as an opportunity to obtain something we have always wanted but had no hope of acquiring. We wanted to come in, and leave being an outsider behind. It was one of the few truly honest mistakes I have made in my life. I just did not know that all these years later I would be typing these words in a one bedroom apartment that I share with my cat, no people, no friends, no family. I did not know things would end up as they began. Except now, no one cares that I went to Harvard, if they even believe it.
I better keep the real me under wraps if I want anyone to keep reading.
I hope these depressing words are not too off putting. I just got through with the phone conference with the court so you are hearing the raw emotion. You ever hear how bored people are boring. I do know that depressed people are depressing, so I will stop now. The good news is that thousands of people around the world have found me temporarily amusing in very small doses. One must take one’s victories where they can be found. Discovering what people really think of me is a subject best left unexplored. And being real needs to give way to pretending. If I lost you my beloved readers, I would really be alone. So next post will be happy happy joy joy. If not, I will at the very least present you with some energizing outrage! Thanks for letting me share.
FALSE: People have to be ready to quit for treatment to be successful. The first reason this statement is false is that treatment is for the most part, unsuccessful. Any rehab facility that could promise a 10% success rate would become the first rehab facility to make a billion dollars. You are more likely to recover from cancer than you are to recover from drug addiction. Having established that we are talking about a success rate, if we look at people still clean one year after finishing treatment, of what…? One or two percent. Ok, take the one or two percent and dealing with those people I will state categorically that they did not have to be willing to enter treatment to stop using. First of all, we remember all that we are taught about drugs and behavior and although we may not apply it, the knowledge is still there, available to us when we are ready to use it. Just because someone does not stay clean does not mean the education was totally lost. It is simply dormant knowledge. Second. the brain is convinced through the demon of addiction that we don’t really have a problem, not like those serious cases we can think of, and we just know we do not need help. We might want it, but we will categorically deny we need it, and we believe we are speaking truth. But the truth is, unless we are locked up in some fashion, we are not going to stop. Yes, it will take physical restraint for an addict to get time away from using. Very few do it on their own, by themselves, by doing something different with their day, even when no one is watching. No one is ever ready to be locked up, be it treatment, detox, a psych ward, or a correctional facility. Sure people will cavaleirly say, yes, you can chain my to the bed, because that’s what it will take. But you better believe we would be gnawing on that chain with our teeth like a rat in a trap as soon as the craving took hold in mind and body. I speak literally, not figuratively. Yes, we would try to gnaw through the ties that bound us if we thought we could get away and get high.
the time away from the drug, involuntary though it necessarily is, will help. I cannot tell you why almost everyone returns to using after a period of sobriety, I can only say for sure that they do not have to have a voluntary start to keep going down the sober road.
Women have to assume that every man she does not know might do her harm.
The previous post about the precautions a woman takes when meeting men from the internet generated a lot of discussion, including the male point of view which I admit, I seldom consider. Here is “WHAT HE SAYS” about a woman’s need to take potentially life saving precautions when he is just thinking of fun:
I like [your post]. It’s kind of tough being the guy at times. I feel having the flexibility to make changes [to pre-approved plans] to make her feel comfortable is important. Sad, there are assholes out there that make an already emotional situation become a dark place rather than fun.
That also goes for meeting massages and fantasy but you kind of have to hold back, too much. Because as a man and a quote “protector,” stereotypes of just wanting one thing is still there.Male reader of Hawaii Street Life, https://expertescort2018.com
There were times where I wanted to make it romantic and alone time but you have to put your fantasy and ideas on the back burner until they [women] feel safe. You just have to know to be flexible and her pace. Trying to possibly meet that fantasy and try to be in control but yet submissive to once again make them feel comfortable True. Bottom line if you don’t ask you don’t know. If women in your life don’t explain then you won’t know.
Vaccination passport policy announced
Today is Friday September 24, 2021. This is the second week of the big policy initiative that requires Hawaii residents, at least in Oahu, to show proof of vaccination or a very recent negative COVID test. As you know if you are a faithful reader (welcome if you are a newcomer to our site!) I chose vaccination not bc I am convinced it is safe but bc someone had to try it so we can find out if vaccination works. If I wait to see if others have bad reactions it would be the same, I believe, as saying I want other people to take the risks and I will wait to read the benefits after all the kinks are smoothed out. I did not like what that thinking said about my character and trite as it may be I wanted to be the change I want to see in the world. Besides, I spent years on the streets of Honolulu, not really contributing to society but feeling like I had the moral high ground over other addicts who stole from people. After all, I reasoned, people give me their money and do not want it back. Society should have more addicts like me. That was my thinking twenty years ago. Today I want to make more of a direct contribution.
I was never asked to show proof of vaccination
Not once. I went for a minor matter to one of the magnet hospital’s emergency rooms. They did not want to see the card or make a record of it. I went to the law library in Hawaii’s Federal District Court. No one asked, again, not one of the armed security guards wanted to look when I offered the card. Supermarkets had no one at the door the way I expected. Same with Walmart. I had a friend tell me a restaurant would not allow him to eat outside bc he is not vaccinated. I never went to a restaurant, unless you count McDonald’s at Fort Street Mall where no one was posted up like I had anticipated.
What do I know about adequate public health measures?
I have a layperson’s understanding of what we are supposed to do during this crisis. COVID case numbers are declining, meaning, I think, fewer people are officially designated as newly infected every day. The numbers are still much higher than when Hawaii was locked down so are we basing policy on science and data? I don’t know. Just trying to do my part. Things are improving in Honolulu, I am told, though I still have not had illness as a part of my life or anyone I know, thankfully. I don’t think I deserve any credit but just know au have done my part! Only thing is, no one seems to care. Makes me wonder what measures are truly in place, policy notwithstanding. Why are things really getting better?
Similar sexual situations, different world views
I listen to people when they talk. You might think that statement is rather obvious but you would be wrong to assume that of course, people listen when other people talk. In fact it is rare to find one person who truly listens to others when they speak. It is quite easy to decide to do something most people do not do and differentiate yourself. It takes no special skill to listen. You merely have to listen with you’re whole ear, as I like to say. Do not try to catch other background sounds but devote yourself to that person’s words. Most of the listening comes after the conversation is over. You write down what you heard and reflect, pondering endlessly about what you heard, what the speaker said that you have heard elsewhere, what clues did he give that he was lying…When you ask yourself questions about what you heard that is where your understanding deepens.
Here is an example
I heard someone say something and upon reflection I remembered that a different person had commented on a similar situation. The situations were similar but not the conclusions. One person was a man and the other a woman. I am certain you will guess which person made the comments.
Two people were, independently, in a situation they found quite unusual. They were being intimate with someone who was not into it. One person said:
I thought I had gained weight and this proves it. I am not used to someone reacting to me with so little interest. It just shows me that something is wrong with me.Speaker #1
That was one point if view. Here is another.
That person must be a latent homosexual. I am not used to someone reacting to me with so little interest. It just shows me that something is wrong with that person.Speaker #2
I am sure you know which speaker is male (#2) and which is female (#1). I made the realization when I was writing about street sex workers and their unwillingness to show emotion during their work. Any man who commented on her lack of enthusiasm always attributed it to some inadequacy of hers. Any female worker who noticed that the man was not into her always blamed herself. It did not matter that she really did not want to have sex. The women always wanted to be desired.
How did we become a society that blames most problems on women? You would think that source of agreement would bring a form of of peace but it does not seem to bring the genders closer!
I never heard of the term In-Cel, pronounced like Intel. Tonight I watched a story about a young woman who had a social media presence. She sometimes met her fans whenever she could. She ended up getting killed by a “fan” who wanted her to be monogamous to him but she did not reciprocate the feelings.
The real story was that he filmed the stabbing and posted it in dark corners of the internet. From there the murder pix made it to mainstream so I’ll media. People sought members of the woman’s family to send them individually targeted murder pics. The pictures were accompanied by comments about how much she deserved to be killed for rejecting the guy.
Tv shows always call in experts. This show’s expert said the guys who loved the idea of an attractive woman being killed by a social loser were called in+cels, short for involuntary Celibate. I don’t think I could have labelled myself something that told everyone I was in the most undesirable position for a man. These guys present like they are rabidly misogynistic but really they want a woman more than anything.
To them I say, hire a sex worker. No one has to know how you met. There is a way to satisfy a need other than murder and sadism. Stop lashing out and start embracing the socially unacceptable. I have a feeling people would rather say they approve of murder than they “had” to hire companionship. Nevertheless, my idea is a good one. If you’ve read this blog enough you know relationships form. Loneliness us too hard. Do something different and keep it a secret if you must.
c work me. H b:;
Relationship based financial assistance is wonderful. So much better than favor based financial assistance. When you receive payment for doing something, well, that is necessarily limited to the action–and how long the person wants to receive the favor from you. In my experience people never pay for favors ahead of time. After all, who is to say the person will want you, out of everyone, to do the job. I have relationship based financial assistance. Every working girl I have spoken to on the subject has told me she has had one or more guys who helped her out with money. Because she needed it. Not because she had done a specific thing for which she was receiving a specific amount of money. I would never have thought such a thing was possible. It is not even like Pretty Woman, the movie, because if you recall, in the beginning she was paid for favors. No, this is better bc this is closer to…affection. I have had two guys help me like that. The first I met when I first rescued a tiny baby kitten. He was a cat lover and offered to give me and the wee kitten a ride to the Humane Society to have the kitten’s rash examined. When we arrived we were summarily ordered to get out bc the kitten was obviously infested with parasites and we were not to return unless the kitten had vet treatment. Embarrassed, the guy said “I will pay for it,” as I bundled the kitten and fled. From then on he showed up every week to drop $200 for the kitten’s upkeep. Even after her scabies were cured he kept delivering money, sometimes more if I asked. This went on for over a year until one day he said he was getting out of the hobby and wouldn’t be coming by. I was not too surprised bc sometimes when he dropped off money he looked like he wanted to get away fast. That was the thing about this kind of support, the relationship kind. People move on. True for everyone but especially true with a man who cannot acknowledge you in public. The second guy, that was emergency based requests. Not many, but he was definitely there and he gave without hedging or guilt tripping. Technically, I suppose he would still be there. But better not to ask and assume the answer would be yes. Like the cat in a box with a vial of poison. As long as you do not open the box to limit yourself to the knowledge of what is, you can always believe the cat is alive though you know it could be dead. In some cases it is best not to know what is while you enjoy the possibility of what could be. That’s what it is like depending on relationships when such dependence is scary bc you have mostly been ineligible (apparently) for commitment. Tenuous hope best maintained by not pushing it. While being grateful you have even that much.
Once you make an observation, whatever you noticed will be so obvious it will seem like a caricature
You will ask yourself how you failed to notice these patently obvious observations before. Obvious observations–those words must be related. Read on to find out the women you will see taking a beating on tv, should the story call for violence against women. Same holds true for Netflix programs. Ever see:
Pay attention to something when you listen to the narration in documentaries about drug use. When white drug users are discussed, there is a mention of their trauma, their psychological issues, how anyone can empathize with them. There will be at least a mention of one or more if these factors. When black drug users are described there will be at least a mention of black criminality, community problems, how they are an example of the hopelessness that is the only way reasonable people can feel when contemplating black humanity. Think I am exaggerating? If you doubt me scan some videos on YouTube and you will hear it. You won’t hear these points hammered home. Just a mention. Subtle, very subtle, indoctrination. The subtle is only subtle until you spot it. Then it is blaring.
Another thing,, while we are on the subject of black actors departing movies at the outset… Yes, black actors are the first to exit from horror movies, and I have seen early exits from other genres. For example, many of you have seen the movie Coyote Ugly, I am sure. Did you know Tyra Banks is in the movie. She makes an early exit from the group of dancers to go to law school. Similarly, the late great Bernie Mac is in Ocean’s 11, but not for long!
The last frequent observation I want to share: I noticed this year is that whenever the movie calls for a woman to be killed, hurt, hit, etc…that violence happens to black actresses. Once you see it, you will wonder how you missed it.
Would it matter to viewers if the unseen victim in linked YouTube video was black, white, or whatever?
Repeat customers. People who come back again and again. I have no formal business training but I imagine they are the life blood of many businesses. This is certainly the case in sex work. It is better to have people you know with whom you have developed trust than to meet strangers who could be any kind of crazy. If you have regulars you can feel closer to normal, and I have heard people kind of in denial, who said, “I have friends who help me out. They are just friends. I would never do that. What you do.” Maybe my life would be easier if I did not insist upon being rigorously honest with myself. I knew what they did, what I did, was considered prostitution. But after awhile was it really? Over the years, yes, these relationships can last for years, interactions are not strictly transactional. Ok, there are no sexual favors without payment. However, women call their regulars, who have become friends, for help. I have seen men who started off as basic tricks show up at prison to visit. I have seen them bring diapers for a baby that is not their baby but belongs to the provider’s boyfriend. The boyfriend was never around when these drop offs happened. He was either away for the moment doing whatever or away for awhile doing time. One rule that holds firm is that the only people who meet the client/friend are other working girls who might be present when he drops off some item. He does not meet other men in her life and he does not introduce her to the people in his official life. But the working girls see everything.
One of the upsides of being someone who has seen it all is that people feel a combination of feelings–safe, bc you understand, superior, bc who are you to judge them? In my humble opinion, professional people spend a considerable amount of time making sure they appear to be what people think they are. Their identities are wrapped up in other people’s opinion. I think a lot of white collar embezzlement and thefts from businesses happens bc people are trying to maintain a”lifestyle” which is visible to all. That lifestyle does not include knowing people like us, from the back streets of downtown Honolulu. Little does the public know that these professional men, wearing their dress aloha shirts and shoes (not slippers like the street guts downtown) are “regulars.” They have clandestine relationships with women they met when they were cruising Kukui Street looking for a woman to pay for sex. Well, to amend that, they were not just looking but had found one or more women they favored.
You know not to get attached but what we know and what we do…
Every woman on the street had one or more regulars. It was pretty common for these guys to get pulled in to the scene and only reluctantly go to work. A guy could easily be a regular for more than one woman. There were a handful of guys who had dated several women for years. They did not always want sex. These guys were into the gossip. They wanted to know the news in the women’s lives. The women want to keep their regulars and not just from a financial standpoint. Women get attached. They do not expect him to leave his wife or only date her but they start to expect to see him every week, or month, whatever the usual interval. They know the should not count on money from him but it is hard not to. Some basic math shows you how valuable it is to receive money from which the government has not taken its entitlement. You figure out how much you would have to make at a regular job just to end up with $500 in your hand at the end of the month. You would have to make $750 from which the government would take its third. If you could have three or four regulars who pay you as little as a hundred whenever they see you each week, you would be making more money than any job you could get in Honolulu’s job pool.
But the deeper Truth is you do something most people do not do but you have emotions and concerns typical of everyone. You want to be able to remain indifferent about his absence or presence but that is impossible. When the person does not contact you on the timeline you have come to expect, you worry. How in the world would you find out if anything had happened to him. You are not listed as one of his emergency contacts. Even if you know where he works after years of conversation, it is not like you can call there. Who would you claim to be? One thing about the men who call themselves “hobbyists” is that they can keep their secrets. Absolutely no one in their public life will ever hear them say anything that would raise a smidgen of suspicion. It is rather extraordinary that such a large part of their lives can be kept secret. However, I have seen that men can make the most out of tacking an hour onto the workday schedule they give their wives. Certainly you cannot check with his wife.
You know better than to check with him. He already has obligations he must fulfill and you are a break from everything he has to do. If he starts to feel like he has to see you, you have worked against what he is looking for by seeing you. No strings attached is kind of a myth . You worry about each other and want to see each other but when he needs to be free of ties that bind you have to let him.
Is everything a double standard with men and women? So it seems. In an upcoming post I will talk about how he wants to be the only man. He would never, absolutely never, accept his wife having a man on the side. And he would rather believe he is the only man in his hooker’s life. That’s what you present to him, that he is your one and only while you never call to ask where he is.
DISCLAIMER: THESE POSTS DESCRIBE GENERAL OBSERVATIONS WHICH MAY OR MAY NOT BE TRUE AND ARE DEFINITELY FILTERED THROUGH THE BIASED LENS OF ONE PERSON’S PERCEPTION. INDIVIDUAL RELATIONSHIPS VARY. DO NOT EXPECT THE DEFINITIVE WORD ON THE WAY IT “IS.”
My feelings surprised even me
I know that the way I felt is not what people would expect. I would imagine that people would feel humiliated and ashamed, even to be seen by strangers. That’s what I would think but it was not this way for me. When I came to Hawaii after I graduated from college and got addicted to cocaine in New York, I did not know anyone. The newness of the place was what excited me. I had grown up with people who had adopted me but always indicated that they made a mistake. I was either ignored, or denied opportunities to leave the house for simple social events. Not that I was invited anywhere because I really did not have any friends until junior year of high school. Many summers and weekend nights I would sit alone in my room, without options, never having any new experiences. To be out at night, with no place I had to be, no one knowing where I was, no one to answer to, and no one looking to hold me back–it was everything I dreamed of and so very different from my previous life. When I was growing up I was perfectly responsible. I planned for the long term so I could escape that house to go to college. Everything mattered. I did not cut class, skip homework, ditch school. I never did anything one might expect of an adolescent because I was so laser focussed on my escape. I did not know that once I made that escape I would have a giant void in my life because there was no terribly important mission to accomplish. I had mental space to contemplate my social status, or lack thereof. When I saw that I was alone in college, and similarly friendless in my teaching job I felt ashamed that people would see that I had no family, nowhere to go on holidays, and they would look down at me. I was no longer stuck in a room. I went out and did things but I did them alone and sometimes people noticed. Then I came to Hawaii and discovered a subculture where people cared only for themselves. They were not looking at me and what I had or did not have unless it benefitted them. They conformed to the basic animal nature that I imagined existed within all people who really are out for themselves. Addicts do not sugar coat that reality. I could fit in and be welcome in the apartments of other users if I had drugs. And when I was out on the street I felt like I was on a grand adventure. An hour after I walked to the corner of A’ala Street and Kukui Street I could be on my way to the North Shore with a guy, or I could be in one of the empty offices downtown where daytime workers would never guess what goes on at night. Anything could happen. There was an endless parade of strangers and I never failed in my mission to have someone pick me up, that was how steady the traffic of men looking for street sex workers was in the late 1990’s. Instead of never meeting anyone or not being able to hold the interest of people I did meet, I met knew people every day and some of them came back and looked for me again. No one had ever, in my short life, ever, looked for me, sought me out. I felt special and important. In my young adulthood I did not know that men are not in the least bit picky when it comes to anonymous encounters and I was under the impression that I must be beautiful and desirable to always be desired. I did not know that the simple fact that I was available and willing was good enough for anyone. Finally, I did not know anyone and I was never an expert at relating to the people I did know. I had no worries about being seen by someone in a passing car since the majority of people looking at me were people who were probably looking for me or someone like me. It might be terrible to say it, but I enjoyed that life. Of course being in a place without gangs or gun violence probably was a big contributing factor. Nevertheless, I was happy, and I never thought beyond the next fix.
In a way it is strange to think of someone with my background being in that position but that is just looking at it from an education point of view. People of privilege end up doing what I did or doing it differently because they have money. In terms of past emotional issues, I had a lot in common with the people I met in addiction–everyone had their deep issues.
One of my interests is true crime stories, either watching or reading. One of my favorites is Forensic Files, a show that uses interviews with victims and their families, law enforcement, and scientists to tell stories of crime by explaining what appeared to happen, the clues that emerged, and how science was applied to understand what the clues meant in order to solve the case. For example they explain how a suspect left DNA at the scene and the DNA was evaluated and linked to one person. There is no use of eye witness testimony or confessions to solve cases, though these might get mentioned. In other words, no one tells the audience why something happened unless evidence revealed something like the sudden existence of life insurance that would benefit the victim’s husband.
Speculation by the show reveals something disturbing
These people are experts in murder. They have seen so many murders their speculations are based on real history. Since there is no one to tell us the motive for the cases they show they make one up a motive that fits based upon everything they know to be true. That is why it troubles me that every time they do not know why a man killed a woman the narrator says “she probably rejected his sexual advances.” This is not a speculation they use often. I am talking about every single time they do not know a man’s motive. That tells me that a significant number of men have killed women for denying them sex. Once I realized it, I cannot believe I missed something so obvious. Just think about the men who do not kill the women but punish them or believe she should be punished for saying *no.” I bet you have heard guys complain about taking a woman out, spending money on her and getting mad there is no reciprocity from her because she refused him. That is how men who would say they do not support prostitution show me they are ok with exchanging something of value for sex though people might disagree with me. Imagine how many men do not retaliate over a refusal but they understand men who do. All of the men who embrace each of these positions must comprise an awfully large percentage of the men out there. Wow. How dangerous is it to tell a guy “no,” ?
I have heard men laugh at the idea that they would ever say “no means no”
Even the slogan *no means no* tells me a lot. It tells me women can repeat themselves ad nauseam and men do not naturally tune in. Women’s words are disregarded automatically if the words translate to no sex. You never hear men insisting their “no” matters. Men expect to be heard without having to fight for it. When I think about the danger men pose to women I wonder how we get together all.
There are messages about appropriate gender roles in society but you have to evaluate words to know what you are really hearingCaroleena, examining what Forensic Files tells us about how often mean condemn women to death for denying them sex.
For those who know what to look for it is easy to spot a working girl
In the late 1990’s and early 2000’s there was prostitution in downtown Honolulu, which was pretty much women, and men who identified as women, who were supporting their addictions through sex work. They might have been addicted to drugs or they might have been addicted to someone who was addicted to drugs. The money was a means to an end and did not actually profit anyone in terms of getting ahead in life. There was also street prostitution in Waikiki. Unlike downtown, this street sex work was not 24/7 but was confined to the wee hours. The women dressed like hookers, while downtown the women dressed like anyone and it was only the fact that they were standing on Kukui Street, the downtown Honolulu “ho stroll” that a person knew they were working. Waikiki women in those days wore 4 inch platform heels that looked like they were made of glass and had fish swimming in them. They never charged less than $200 and they all had pimps who watched them from the “mauka” (or mountain) side of the street while the women strolled the “makai” (ocean) side of Kuhio Avenue. Waikiki women were seldom addicted to drugs. I have been told by women and by pimps that the women gave all the money they earned to these men (who were always black for reasons I never discovered). Sometimes they had a quota or goal but that was not standard. What was standard was for the women to “break themselves” or give every dime to the pimp. Ideally, the pimp took care of everything else. He had housing for all the women, provided them with their needs, bought the one allowable drug–weed, and most importantly, he bailed them out of jail when, not if, they were arrested. There was one woman who was understood to be most important to him, maybe the mother of his children and she was known as the “bottom b***h” and she had something of a leadership or mentoring role for the other women in the “Stable” since she usually had been there the longest.
Reciprocity seems to have gotten lost
I believe that the pimp, sex worker relationship ideally was one of working together. Certainly the women needed someone to handle all of the things outside of work. In a way, now that I think of it, the pimp was similar to the housewife who received her husband’s paycheck and handled the household budget. I bet a lot of guys would not like that comparison simply because they never want to be compared to women, but the similarity is obvious to me. Housewives are similar to prostitutes in that they are often looked down upon as being dependent on men and subservient. These relationships were never meant to be about domination but about working together, but I suppose when there are humans involved interdependence does not naturally rise to the #1 most important element in relationships. Or maybe that is an American phenomenon, I cannot say.
Today the stereotype of the pimp is someone who does not partner with women who choose to work with the men, but as someone who trafficks in women who have no choice in what they are doing, takes all of their money and gives them nothing but what their sick natures demand–abuse and deprivation. I bought into the stereotype because as a young woman I knew no other way to conceptualize the relationship other than the script my society had provided me. I looked down upon women with pimps and thought I was so very independent because I choose to spend my money on drugs, never seeing the irony of my slavery to a substance that far exceeded the dependence I imagined hookers with pimps wanted. I always said I did not have the temperament to have a pimp and I was right. I was not one to endure abuse, nor did I know how to work cooperatively with someone.
When pimps saw me slowly walking Kuhio Avenue in Waikiki, and watched me trying to make eye contact with every man that slowly drove by, they knew I was trying to work the area without representation. I was often approached by these men and for some reason they were never abusive to me, although I had seen pimps chase down women and stalk them all night long because the rule on the street is that if a woman speaks to a man who is a pimp but is not her pimp, he has the right to harass her. Maybe this harassment happened, but not always, and certainly not to me. I thought it was because I put out a vibe that I could not be abused. It is only as I write this post that I consider that maybe the preconceived notion that these men were always violent was wrong. (And I think I am so enlightened! Ha! Let me issue this caveat–be careful of my “wisdom” because there is a lot I do not know!).
I joined society in the contempt for the pimp, not knowing until this moment that I had bought into the racist attitude that regards black men as disrespectful to women. I used to interview them as a joke. “What do you have to offer me?” or “What can you do for me that I cannot do for myself?” Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, many guys, especially the young ones, liked the notion of women giving them money for nothing and they never had anything to offer me other that the joy of having someone to answer to instead of being out there alone. Now that years have gone by and I understand the difficulty of being alone I understand that having someone care about you is worth something and it actually is understandable that someone would pay for that privilege. I am not looking for a pimp now but I would pay someone if I thought I could buy someone’s concern for me. I finally get the attraction of a pimp! And to think I started this post thinking I would tell you about the young man who offered to be my pimp and then rode off on his sputtering moped. Yes, that was funny considering the pimp is supposed to be a man of means. But as I wrote these words you are reading, I learned my own mind and found out what I really thought, how I really felt as a lonely person. I understand why I write this blog now and it is for you, my beloved reader, but it is also for me because I never knew I felt a yearning to have a partner even if that partner had been a pimp. But I was ever the loner and never allowed myself to reach out or to be reached. Maybe if I had been open I would have someone in my life now.
#how I really feel
#vulnerability in writing
That is the question a prison official asked an associate of mine who was in the women’s prison outside of Honolulu. I was not there but I am sure he was mocking her. People are more likely to mock prostitutes than any other offender..People are fascinated, yet contemptuous. They want to ask questions but they do not want anyone to know they are curious. That is one of the reasons I write this blog–I know people want to know and I want to control the representation of people society loves to hate. I almost did not admit I wanted control but really, what do I care what anonymous readers who have contempt for me, think? Anyway, she was hurt because she was already dying her hair. She knew she already was what would be considered an old, gray haired hooker. I will tell you something that will surprise you: not every guy wants a young woman. Yes young women are beautiful even when they are not. I was young once I know. But youth is not everything. Guys want someone who knows what she is doing and only experience gives expertise. Guys do not want the indifferent attitude of someone who feels he should be grateful just to be in the room with her and she does not have to do anything. I was accused of this lack of motivation back in the day. Guys want to benefit from the gratitude of someone with something to prove. Plus, guys do not want to look and feel old when he looks from himself to her, and back. Young guys are curious about women in their forties who are still beautiful and, they imagine, skilled like no one their age. Maybe that is true, maybe not. Young guys want to find out. As long as no one knows–but that is the way it is whenever someone deals with a prostitute. That’s a bit of stereotyping out the window for you.
Dear reader, you know from my previous posts that unlikely, deep relationships can form between sex workers and tricks.
By deep I mean the contact between the pro and the client goes beyond a simple transaction of this for that, totally temporary, devoid of emotion. There could be more time spent, emotion involved, a degree of friendship, some commitment and reliability and now and then, a significant other relationship.
They usually don’t become partners and that can make a woman wistful
Sometimes a woman will spend time with a trick and it won’t feel like work. Work, as in something to be endured and then shaken off. There are times when she likes him and he likes her. One of the dangers in that is she will feel very sad and wish she could have a man like him or specifically him, to herself. It is entirely possible that the only reason the man is so open with her is BC he knows the relationship is only taken in intermittent hour intervals. People find it easier tone mind and loving g when it is only.a temporary expectation. Maybe the only way to.experience some men at their best is to be in a position that renders you ineligible to form a permanent union. However, a woman cannot know this during a great hour or two. And if she enjoys him, her life might seem. particularly when her job is done. Sometimes sex workers are in a no.win position BC suffering through your work can be painful but enjoying it hurts in a special way.
Surprised sex workers have boyfriends? You should not be surprised, especially if she is on the street. Let me be perfectly clear so I do not get criticized for playing into stereotypes and over generalizing. Not all sex workers are addicts. There are women, and men, who find the advantages of sex work over, say, food service or retail clothing, both of which offer long, hard regular hours and low pay without conferring much social status. If a woman (or man) does not mind hiding her job she can make her own, very short hours, and enjoy the freedom results from having more money and time.. It does not take an addiction to encourage this choice. But for people on the street, they almost always have tales of addiction or mental illness or both. When you do what you must to get drugs you know others do the same. People know these sex workers have zero interest in the people they use to get what they need. Therefore men who are often addicts know these guys usually are not a threat to their positions w/ his sig. other. The smart women do not tell the guys who pick them up they do drugs. Once a date knows that for sure, her value diminishes, plus he knows she will likely take as little as $20 for a “car date” on the side of a secluded road. Boyfriends are not jealous but eager for the women to get dates and return with money for them both. The relationships are more complex than simple predator prey victimizations, however, as two damaged people become codependent. Often the two will work together to steal from unsuspecting outsiders. You can tell there is a team effort when the couple makes a big show of fighting all the time. Outsiders would not suspect one is distracting while the other is stealing their stuff BC all they do is fight! Do not believe one partner who says it is the other one. At the very least theft was condoned. More likely, both were in on the plan.