SWINGING IN THE SOUTHWEST

LET’S TALK ABOUT ADDICTION

2012-01-28T12:31:00.000-07:00

There are many types of addiction to be sure. Smoking, drugs and alcohol are the obvious ones. Food can be one, chocolate, sex (I wish), personality disorders and pretty much anything you can conjure up including exercise.
I’ve never been a smoker. It always made me sick and green just wasn’t a color that looked good on me. Like most people of my generation I experimented a little with drugs and quickly discovered I could take ‘em or leave ‘em. They just weren’t that interesting. Unlike Bill Clinton I did inhale marijuana and for some years (I quickly discovered I could smoke that), due to the stressful circumstances in my life at that time, and was the next best thing to a chain smoker for a while to stay calm. I bought Nabisco stock hoping to make some of the money back I spent buying Oreo’s back then years later. I went into therapy for a while only to be told by three different therapists I wasn’t an addict…just confused (really?). Talking about my past went nowhere because neither of us had any clue what we were supposed to be looking for (that answer was recently answered as you well know by this time) so I was pronounced cured handed a ridiculous “Chip” and sent on my way. Truth be told I think we were all tired and frustrated with each other at that point. I don’t think entities like AA, NA, Alanon and so on aren’t useful things. I’ve known far too many people who have lived better lives because of them to discount them in such an abrupt way.
In spite of the life I’ve lived sex, unfortunately, has ever been an addictive issue. I believe sex addiction exists but not nearly to the level people would like to believe it exists. It makes for a great fantasy or punch line to a joke but the reality is far more troublesome in the light of day. I’ve noticed a trend over the past few years where if you’re rich enough, famous enough (and apparently have a big enough putter) and you get caught with your pants down you can claim sex addiction and pay someone a ridiculous sum of money to cure you (Thanks Tiger….not) and hope everything goes away quickly.
For the rest of us, famous or not, addiction usually brings a rather unpleasant means to an end. Bob Crane (the Hogan’s Hero’s guy) was a legitimate sex addict that was beaten to death with a camera tripod while doing a dinner theater gig here in Scottsdale. Rumor has it because he filmed a few too many people having sex in his hotel room one night. Hardly a stellar way to go much less remembered by, his “drug of choice”, to use a PC term, seems to have the same outcome regardless.
I had been cautious of my drinking most all of my life going so far as to not drink at all for several years as a pious way of thinking I was better than my mother who was a full blown alcoholic a large portion of my growing up years and at times belligerent, other times suicidal.
I swore I would never become like that. In some ways I’ve lived to regret that oath.
When she became sober she was like most reborn alcoholics and after apologizing to everyone she ever encountered in her life (including the garbage men). She dove head first into religion as part of her penance and to make amends for her sins (real or imagined). To be around her was tedious at best and I found it difficult to determine if it were genuine or simply lip service in hopes of bluffing her way into forgiveness by whomever somewhere along the way. It made me stop and re-think my own views about religion. For that I must admit I have to thank her for.
Because of that I stopped being the dutiful eldest son. I had done all of that to this particular point in my life and was done with trying to be what I really wasn’t. I had the wife, the two kids (I love to death), the house with the mortgage, the two cars, at least one “regular” job to pay the bills, a couple of dogs romping around the yard, the Sunday School teacher and for a brief moment chairman of the board at the church. I had stuffed the real me into that box I wrote about some time back and only allowed bits and pieces to come out and play to maintain my sanity. All of that came grinding to a halt one day without notice or fanfare. My wife, at the time, woke up one morning and had no clue who I was. To be honest I’m not sure I knew who I was at that moment either. We went down in flames but emerged friends at the end.
I began to look inward and discovered I was not Christian, Jew, Muslim, Buddhist, Hindu or any other religion organized or otherwise yet at the same time I was all of those things.
I am agnostic by definition. I believe in God…end of story. I don’t feel a need to go to a building and sit there to talk to God nor do I feel the need to have to pay for the privilege of doing that. Jesus, Buddha, Mohammed and all the others are interesting people who like Republicans and Democrats all say pretty much the same thing in different ways and different practices and symbolism…hardly reasons for wars to be fought or laws to be written saying that one interpretation of something is better than the others. Keep it to yourself, believe however you want to believe and in whoever you want to believe in and shut the hell up and concentrate on something important like feeding people, giving them clean water and a decent education regardless of where they live or what they look like. For the cost of one military ordinance bullet you can pay for three math books.
How I ended up in real estate for nearly twenty years during this time is as much a mystery to me as it is anyone else. My best guess is the dutiful son snuck back in for one more shot at redemption and stuck around a lot longer than anyone could have predicted before the real me arose like a Phoenix bird once again and began pissing people off even more.
I never quite succeeded in making my parents entirely proud because of all of this and resulted in a love/hate relationship that was often times tense but cordial. Just as my mom’s health was diminishing due to her heart problems I was getting the first subtle twinges of my own. I was becoming easily fatigued and had to have a couple of extra drinks at night to try and turn my brain off so I could sleep and things progressed that way for almost a year.
My family is no different than anyone else’s. At times when you need it most they have your back but that doesn’t mean they can’t gossip about you behind you’re not around. It must be a sick way of showing they care about someone and no one seems to be exempt from this process. In spite of that fact you can’t help but love them anyways…besides…it leaves so many opportunities open for paybacks later.
Whispers of me “becoming just like mom” were widely circulated and in some cases with “holier than thou” exclamation points attached to it by some members of the family. Nothing could be further from the truth but who cares when “expert opinion” (not) is sooo much more fun.
My mother passed away several months before my own physical deterioration began to run its course so she missed all of the recent fun. My last memories of her was watching her sit at the long dining room table (that sat about twenty people) filled with every imaginable jar and bottle of more pills than any one pharmaceutical company makes with several of those weekly pill compartment things four or five deep and seven across and color coded with an oxygen line stuffed up her nose. In these she would put all of her assorted pills in by when they’re needed. Pink box for morning, blue for mid-morning, green for afternoon and so on, I remember thinking to myself “that will never happen to me.”
As the Zen master once said “We’ll see.”
I started having heart attacks during the day at odd times. They weren’t anything like you hear, read or see on TV and stuff at all but I knew instinctively what it was and my reaction to it was classically male…I tried to ignore it and figured they would go away on their own. When they became persistent I went the classic asshole direction and decided I could cure myself by making my body do what I wanted it to (a discussion my heart and I had a short time later and guess who won.) and just drank a little more at night to sleep. Eventually that didn’t work either and I would be woken out of a sound sleep by my heart shouting “Hey dumb shit! Pay attention to me!” My rational mind told me I could meditate the problem away…which in all honesty worked in the short term (translation…until the next night). Truth is…I was buying time. Our goofball bookkeeper had told us I couldn’t be added to Wendi’s health plan but just once a year and that wouldn’t be until October (almost three months from then). Being self employed health care was a luxury I couldn’t afford at the time. We found out later it could have been done at any time but…
The rest of that sad tale you know so we’ll skip ahead a few months. My meds were still in a constant state of tinkering over the next eighteen months it took to get back to “normal” (I love that word…don’t know what it really means but it’s fun to say now and then). They gave me meds to help me sleep but all they did was make me more awake. They let me start drinking small amounts of alcohol which made the med experiments interesting to say the least. I didn’t abuse the alcohol, in fact in some ways it helped. My first, now identified as a, seizure incident happened during that time. The family, including my wife, was quick to jump on the “alcohol as the culprit” bandwagon. As it turns out…nothing could have been further from the truth yet again.
Like I mentioned a moment ago they tried several things to help me get to sleep and turn my brain off at night and nothing worked. A topic of conversation that continues with my committee of white coated advisors to this day and probably will for some time yet. With all of the recent changes they’ve made to my meds as Howard says it “We’re reluctant to put more wood on the fire until we know what we’re up against.”
With sleep hanging in the balance I eventually gravitated back to the one thing I did know would put me to sleep…my old friend’s tequila and bourbon and for the most part had done the trick with no significant problems except for maybe one or two.
Alcohol is often called “truth serum” because you might say something you otherwise might defer from saying. God knows I’ve done my fair share of that in an effort to fall asleep and at times been less than tactful in the process. Like I mentioned before my mother had a belligerent side when she drank and I’m hereditarily predisposed to being an asshole on my father’s side. Needless to say that little genetic recipe can only be a hurtful disaster at all the wrong times and I’ve spent the past couple of years apologizing to the people I love for being such a dick at those times in so many ways…especially to my wife. Something I’m still working on at many levels. Not just from the drinking irresponsibly but for allowing it to be a, seemingly, good excuse to cut someone off at the knees when they least deserved it.
Addicts can be an entertaining group. If you ever want to learn how to split hairs creatively spend some time talking to one. They’ll give you a hundred and one reasons why they aren’t addicts at all except for one thing…why they couldn’t (or can’t) stop if they needed to. It doesn’t matter what the substance or activity there are some great excuses to be had.
I like to think that’s the difference between me and them is I have walked away from drinking so many times by my own choice without prompting and without withdrawals, regret, remorse or any other feeling of emptiness. I have many advisors I check in with periodically who know a great deal about subjects like this than I do and can give me straight honest answers and also tell me when I’m full of shit. Over the course of the rest of my life I probably will continue to back away now and then many times again in my life but not necessarily because someone said I had to but more because I see doing so at that time is the right thing to do. There’s a difference between doing that and enjoying a glass of wine with dinner or a few drinks with friends now and then than feeling you need to do to that excessively to feel complete or have the courage to do what deep inside you tells you is wrong for you personally.
Before you think about anything else ask yourself this…does this apply to me and my life? If so why? Am I right? Am I grounded or am I fighting windmills disguised as dragons? If not blow it off.
My family so wants me to be the scapegoat and whipping boy of their own dysfunctional lives that they may or may not believe what I’m saying or trying to say. They’re in dire need of someone to point a finger at and feel superior about. I’m pretty sure it doesn’t matter either way with me personally but how they ever reconcile things like this for themselves…
Like the old Zen master said…”We’ll see.”

MESSING WITH KIDS HEADS

2012-01-24T11:57:00.000-07:00

There’s an added advantage to being my age and perceived as somewhat disabled. One is what you hear isn’t always what someone says. It makes for interesting (albeit frustrating at times) conversations with the participating people. The other advantage is you can get away with saying a lot of things people might think but never say out loud and people will just assume you need your meds adjusted again. With kids either side of that equation can be laughs by the boatload… for me at least. The trick, I’ve discovered is to use terminology they’re too young to know about and historical and social references they haven’t learned about from school or TV yet.
Some time back we had one of the many family gatherings that, more often than not, took place at our house because A) We had the room to do so and B) We had the kitchen, equipment, barbecues and smokers (not to mention the freezers and refrigerators) to prepare and feed a small country.
As would often be the case the smell of the food cooking and smoking would make the grandkids and their child like relatives, friends and assorted conspirators of similar size to be in a constant state of hunger long before dinner would be ready. At times like this they would usually hit “Papa” up for a snack. A) I was generally always in the kitchen making something. B) The other adults were too busy gossiping to hear the kid’s requests and C) They were always entertained by the performance (think of it as Dinner and a Show for the “Must be in bed by 8PM” crowd).
Generally I start out asking them what they’d like to eat and then after getting all of their answers decide what I feel like making for them while launching into a mash-up of every kids show that’s ever been made as I head towards the refrigerator. Bear in mind…the sicker, more twisted or gross you can get without stepping over that graphic boundary line the more kids like it. I don’t know why but they do. As I recall I thought that shit was funny when I was their age too.
“Gee Mr. Veetle, what’s in the Magic Refrigerator today?” “I don’t know Bobby, let’s find out shall we.” “Let’s see… we have a jar of caterpillars Bill Nye the Science Guy left here, some peanut butter, some hard boiled eggs Mr. Rogers dropped by (at which time I turn around and ask “Can you say “hard boiled?” I knew you could.” And let’s see….” “What’s that Mr. Veetle?” “Oh, that’s a head of cabbage Bobby.” “Are you sure Mr. Veetle? It kinda looks like the head of Mr. Nash the mailman.” “No Bobby it’s a head of cabbage. I got it fresh out of our neighbor John Wayne Gacy’s garden this morning.” “Besides, Mr. Nash has two ears and this only has one.” “Oh, OK Mr. Veetle. If you say so.”
About this time I finish making whatever I’m going to feed them and serve it to them. The kids are giggling and happily eating their snack. It’s then, and only then, I notice the silence in the rest of the house. I look up to see all of the adults in the house staring at me with eyes as big a saucers and their mouths hanging open nearly to the floor unable to speak. A personal “gotcha” moment for me, a photographic moment Kodak would love to have and Hallmark couldn’t come up with a sappy rhyme for. Vengeance is mine.
I have been quick to notice though that, given the right environment, children don’t need much encouragement to be bizarre. They discover early on that not much is out of bounds in “Papa’s World” which they appreciate. A perfect illustration is this:
My youngest daughter (The youngest of the three daughters by a mere eight weeks but…) who had some serious career choices to make in her life that went from World domination to gorilla motherhood and opted for the latter, she now has three beautiful, talented daughters who think camouflage is a fashion statement. She recently became leader of a radical faction of the PTA in the town she lives in out in IOWA. They meet in a secret bunker hidden in a cornfield and plot out subversive bake sales and paramilitary training disguised as “play dates” for the kids.
While she was still living here in the valley she asked if I could watch the girls for the afternoon while she did a bunch of things and I agreed to do this. At the time there were only two of them ages three and six. My daughter was pregnant with number three at the time.
At the appointed time she pulled up in the side driveway (that doubled as a landing strip for small planes in the neighborhood) in her SWAT team vehicle disguised as a family SUV fitted with Rhino bars, armor plating, bulletproof windows, and air lines with masks that fell out of a compartment in the ceiling if foul odors entered the vehicle. The car seats were bolted to the Kevlar covered seats. It had tires that would travel for fifty miles even after being punctured by armor piercing shells and a cute little “Baby on Board” sign in the back window. To say she is an overprotective mother would be more than a mild understatement.
She would hand me the keys because she knew I was going to have to pick my wife up at work later and wanted to make sure the girls were safe on the trip. Took the keys to my car and was off with a hearty “Hi, Ho, Silver” to points unknown.
The youngest was quick to notice we were one dog short that day. “Where’s Jack?” she asked.
“Jack got sick and passed away” I said as I tried how to explain this whole concept to her when she asked “What does that mean?” Before I could utter a word the six year old lets out an evil laugh and says “ That means he got buried under a big pile of dirt in the back yard.” Before falling to the floor in fits of laughter, truth be told…she wasn’t far off the mark.
Jack had been our rescue dog. Our office at the time was in the far north part of the valley at Carefree Highway and 28th Dr. One day my wife sees a silver Mercedes pull up in front of our office and take a pure breed pointer out of his car and tie his leash to a handicapped sign post next to it while he unloaded some things out of the back seat. Wendi figured he was taking the dog to the vet down the walkway and thought nothing of it and went back to what she was doing. A few minutes later she looks up and the dog and his stuff are still there and the Mercedes was gone. To make a long story short we inherited a dog that the vet told us had been starved, beaten and tied (probably to a water spicket) by his very short leash on a permanent basis and was half dead, could hardly walk and had difficulty standing up but we took him home anyway rather than put him down.
Our Rottweiler was a lovable oversized lap dog the kids loved and she was very protective of the grandkids. God help the person who tried to get between her and the grandkids without first saying hello to her and getting her permission to approach them. The only negative to her personality was she didn’t like other dogs. She would do everything in her power to tear through a fence or window to get at a dog two blocks away and was therefore in her territory because she could see them. We cautiously introduced Jack (my wife named him that because she said his spots were the color of Jack Daniels…and he walked like a drunk) to Angel. Angel surprisingly didn’t act aggressively and seemed to understand his predicament and immediately took charge of him.
Jack was malnourished, crippled, had no reverse gear but was lovable and the grandkids took to him immediately and had great fun trying to keep him from running into things and out of places he couldn’t back out of. Angel grew tired of having to nudge him out of harm’s way and being stepped on but she still got quickly attached to him too. Jack was showing slight signs of getting better every day.
A few days before the girls came over we made the mistake of leaving the dogs outside while we ran an errand. When we came home we found Jack floating in the pool and Angel lying on the pool deck near him looking heartbroken. We fished him out and my daughter and son-in-law (the one’s we live with now) were living in our guest house at the time and took him out to the horse arena behind it and buried him in the far corner.
All of that lay fresh in my mind while the six year old was doubled over in self created laughter. A short time later we had to go get Wendi at the office so off up the freeway we headed. At the time they were widening the I-17 to Anthem and building the new interchange where the I-17 and the 303 would connect so there was a lot of construction going on.
Out of the blue both girls shriek with laughter and shout “Look Papa! Big piles of dirt! What have they buried there?!” and with each pile of dirt they saw from there to Carefree Highway they would laugh even harder.
It just goes to show you. Children don’t need anyone’s help to be twisted but it’s still fun to try now and then. It’s still fun to get the better of my kids when they least expect it too. The world must remain cautious. I am old and have drugs…you never know what I’ll say next or when.
More later.

THINGS I HAVE LEARNED LATELY

2012-01-23T13:28:00.001-07:00

First and foremost: It’s not a bright idea to think you’re smart enough when you’re tired to write a blog page. So many things get left out that might have actually made sense to what I wrote. My apologies to everyone who were unfortunate enough to read last night’s post.
Experimenting with recreational drugs when I was younger was interesting but expensive. These days…standing up too fast gets the same effect and it’s free. Not only that, as Robin Williams recently pointed out, we have reached an age where our doctors are now our pushers and give us far more interesting shit for free.
I have discovered there really is no difference in Republicans and Democrats anymore. They all say the same things; they just use different words while pointing fingers at the other one complaining the other guy is too stupid to realize they’re the smart ones. For much the same reason I have no fantasy to see Sarah Palin, Nancy Pelosi or Michelle Bachman naked. That would fall under TMI and I may never be able to sleep again. It brings a whole new meaning to the phrase on one of my son-in-laws t-shirts that says “Can’t go to sleep…clowns will eat me”.
AARP is a super secret government entity. How else would they know to send you membership information the week before your fiftieth birthday and how else would they find out you were just in the hospital and send you health care info and brochures for assisted living centers the day you get home from the hospital? The discounts are nice but I can only eat at Denny’s once a year without my stomach and taste buds revolting. Besides…apparently I look so feeble these days I get discounts everywhere I go without flashing that cute little red, grey and white card. The only time it really comes in handy are the few times a year my wife and I actually have to go near Sun City. Happy hour is still 10AM – 7PM seven days a week but to get the extra discount you have to show your card (my wife loves it she says it’s like being twenty-one again).
Sending away for samples isn’t always as great as they seem either. You quickly end up with a house full of crap you’ll never use again if you ever use it at all (the kids have developed an attitude of extreme caution when opening their Christmas gifts from us these days fearing what might be inside that we wanted to get rid of). I made the mistake of agreeing to test drive “ObamaCare” not too long ago (why they contacted a Republican for this is beyond me). I chose the $230.00 a month plan for my wife and me to see what we got for the money. Three months later a package was thrown through our front window by the mailman. Inside the box was our first monthly installment of ObamaCare. It consisted of two tongue depressors with the words “Can also be used as splints.” printed on one side, six packets holding two 325mg Aspirin tablets each, a small roll of duct tape, a small roll of silk fishing line, two fish hooks, a small packet of sewing needles, a small bottle of rubbing alcohol, twelve band-aids, a two page list of participating physicians and hospitals around the country (most places you can’t even find with Google Maps) and a three hundred page booklet of medicines not covered by this program. It gave me a warm fuzzy just thinking of how I’m going to be taken care of if this program actually passes.
Sex as I’ve gotten older is even more of an adventure than it was when I was younger. It doesn’t mean I’ve learned a whole lot of new things as I’ve aged. Most of that stuff you learn the first fifteen or twenty years of your post-pubescent life. The things you learn after that are more technique and application. Given this lifestyle I live in you have many opportunities to practice and refine those things over the years. If you’re lucky enough to develop a technique or style that really catches on you develop a reputation for it. The down side of that is you have to keep figuring out how to maintain that edge. At this day and age I can still drive a nail through a 2X4 with my manhood…I just can’t build an entire house anymore. Like many men my age these days I raise the white flag a little earlier than I used to at let someone else take over as I drag my sorry ass back to the bar to recover. In spite of that fact though I find myself in the awkward position of having to send a much delayed Thank-you note to President Obama and his health care idea, I have been able to figure out an additional use for those tongue depressors and duct tape…you figure out how.
On to figure out how I fit into this ever changing world we live in these days.

IT’S GOOD TO BE KING

2012-01-22T19:56:00.001-07:00

There are a few advantages and perks that come along with the age I am now. Only a few of them have been handed to me due to my physical deterioration. Most are badges awarded for longevity, ability to survive and wisdom gleaned in the process. With each badge won and leaders fallen you advance up the hierarchy to positions of more power and authority.
Assuming you were granted the power early on you were master of your castle. It’s still in question whether I had such power back then or simply given figurehead status for public ceremonial use only. My ex-wife who went from wife to sister and my current wife and most trusted advisor (who also share the same name, just spelled differently) know the answer to that question but aren’t willing to tell me what it is.
In any event I have amassed and become defacto master of many houses over the years. My children defer to my judgment…sometimes (a giant step forward in many ways from the battles once fought when they were teenagers and I had a ready grave dug in the backyard to put them in if necessary.). They seek out my council (usually when they want an argument settled between themselves and their spouses or their kids.). The grandkids are still grappling with the position of authority I hold. At one moment they will approach me at the foot of my throne with sorrowful faces and water filed eyes and ask “Papa can I (enter request here)?” This is one of those moments when being legally deaf has a fun side because they assume I can’t hear anything at all. I look down at them with comforting eyes and ask “What did your parents say?” (Knowing full well what conversations have already transpired). Their gaze fails to meet my eyes any longer as the quietly say “They said no.” I always allow for a long dramatic pause before saying “Then I’m going to have to say no too then.”
This generally brings out the waterworks and the frustrated admonishment “…but YOU’RE THE PAPA!” as if I still had the power and authority to reverse their parents decision, send them to their room, give them a time-out or spank them (THAT thought is so twisted I won’t even store it in my “kinky” closet).
The very same child will on a different occasion sit down next to me and tell me when we’re babysitting them “My mommy and daddy let me do this, that and the other thing at home all the time.” Thinking I’m really as senile as I look and mightily surprised when that trick doesn’t work either. Children can’t win or lose with me it appears.
My influence reaches far beyond the confines of my castle these days as well. In the lifestyle I have chosen to live within my adult life I am considered an elder statesman, diplomat and respected authority of it which has allowed me to write countless articles (and one book in the works) about the subject along with speaking and lecturing on it over the years. I have been interviewed in print, radio and TV at local and national levels and even been called as a witness in courts in support of it yet I’m still just another face in the crowd.
My wife and I have been fortunate enough to be hosts every month for the past seven years of a meet and greet for like minded people who share that lifestyle with us. They are well attended events filled with people from all walks of life from doctors, lawyers, educators, members of the clergy, captains of finance and industry, UPS drivers, grocery clerks, artists, musicians, mechanics, realtors and every other imaginable occupation you can come up with and we are blessed to know them and have them in our lives.
We had one such event last night. Sort of a coming out party for me since my recent little setback, I was more nervous about this one than anything I’ve done in quite a while. I wasn’t sure how people might react. Many of them read my blogs and articles in other places so I knew a lot of them had been following my adventures of late and their possible reactions to my current circumstances were a bit uncertain. I have been a rather public face for a discreet group of people for a large part of my life now. Would this be too much for them to bear?
My concerns it would appear were unfounded. The place was packed with more people than have said they were going to be there. The sincere offers of support were overwhelming and truly appreciated. What made my heart swell were the genuine display of concern for my wife. After the pats on the back and the heartfelt statements I would move on and work the crowd as I have always done at this event. My wife would be pulled aside and asked questions that would always begin with “his blog is great but…” and would be followed by “What’s really going on with him?” It was the next question they would ask that made me proud to call all of these people my friends. That question would be asked directly to her… “How are YOU doing and holding up?”
I now know I will stand shoulder to shoulder with these people for the rest of my life. They don’t roll out red carpets for me; they don’t genuflect in front of me or anything like that. They simply show me an honest, sincere, deeply unwavering affection for me and mine.
I may not outwardly wear a crown or have an entourage around me but inside me I do. I can sit on my stool on nights like that and look around at the faces in front of me and think “It’s good to be King” without looking or sounding like a jerk doing it. I wear the badges inside me to prove I’ve earned it. If anyone’s really interested in seeing them I’ve been fitted with a zipper on my chest some years ago and will gladly show them to you.
In the meantime I move forward to my next challenge.

BACK TO THE LAND OF AZ

2012-01-20T14:49:00.000-07:00

A couple of years ago I had the misfortune, as everyone does from time to time, to pay a visit to the Department of Motor Vehicle to renew the tags on our car. Normally these days that’s something that can easily be done online but this situation was a little more complicated and required a face to face visit with the Great and Powerful Wizard who runs the land of AZ.
Within a matter of seconds I was reduced from a human to a number and had become K693 for the duration of my visit. How long was the duration you ask? I celebrated my birthday there with my new found friends. The problem there is I started this process the Monday after Thanksgiving. My birthday is in March…you do the math. By the time I made it home with the new tags on the car what little hair I had left on my head had grown considerably. The kids couldn’t decide if I looked more like Albert Einstein or Karl Marx (I opted for Groucho). The whole thing was quite traumatic to say the least.
With my recent medical and physical maladies still fresh and raw it was decided by all parties (except me) I needed to get a handicapped sticker. Since I’m no longer allowed to drive I found that a somewhat redundant and belated move. What was I supposed to do hang it on my ear or staple it to my ass? Yet I reluctantly agreed. My regular doctor, Howard, (I love this guy. Everyone should have Howard as their doctor. The guy’s just as sick and twisted as I am.) couldn’t sign the paperwork fast enough and gleefully marked a big X in the Permanent box in the choices of how long the permit should be for. A dagger that went straight through my heart, not only have I been denied the chance to beat him in basketball, but now it rules out trying to run him down in the parking lot as well.
With paper in hand I shuffle off to the car looking and feeling like a kid being sent to the Principals Office. I must go and face the Wizard…again. The DMV office is a mere two blocks away from Howard’s office so I had little or no time to come up with a perfectly ridiculous excuse that would convince my wife not to take me there. Being the evil person she is she made me go in alone while she stayed in the car hoping to start and finish War and Peace before I returned.
My trembling hand (remember the meds are still messing with me) I open the door and enter the Land of AZ. The Keno boards filled with letters and numbers were still there along with the faceless soothing voice guiding people to their ultimate demise. The people still have the same look of resignation cattle have being led to slaughter yet something was different.
Even places like the Land of AZ tweak the system now and then just to see if anyone is paying attention. They call it streamlining I call it fucking with your mind. I suspect in the long scheme of things…it’s all the same thing.
I look around to see which line I’m supposed to stand in to begin this travesty when a bright shining light from the heavens shines onto a small sign no one is standing at “Geriatrics and Droolers Start Here”. As I start towards the sign I turn and thank the security guard still turning off and putting away his flashlight. I hand the nice lady behind the counter my form and a moment later I am handed a freshly minted handicapped thingy instead of a ticket with a letter and number on it. The Great and Powerful Az has taken pity on me. I bounce out to the car to be greeted by a surprised wife who has only gotten to page ten at that point. She puts the book away and we drive off in the opposite direction of the sunset home.
I still don’t know why I had to get one of those things. My wife and daughter are the only ones who have had the opportunity to enjoy its benefits so far. From what I hear it’s been far easier to find parking while shopping these days for them but time will tell if it’s all worth going off to see the Wizard for or not.

MEMORIES...

2012-01-19T13:32:00.001-07:00

Are not in the corners of my mind…well…actually they are. They’re just freaking hard to find these days. I’ve had my breakfast. I took my shower so my wife would stop complaining that I smell like a troll. I have my tea beside me as I…what was I saying? Oh yeah… as I gaze out on the picturesque parking lot of our apartment complex. I have my treasure map in front of me so let’s go find those pesky and elusive memories everyone romantically sings about.
First off, this has nothing to do with my recent foray into medical guinea pigness. This all began a few years earlier with all of my heart surgeries.
The doctors are quick to tell you things as you’re being wheeled down a hall with an army of white coats around you things like “If we don’t do this right now you’re going to die!” “We’re going to keep you conscious through the surgery because we’ll need to ask you questions from time to time but you won’t remember any of it later.” My first thought was…”wanna bet?” which left me with only one plausible and rational response since I was still very under the influence of the other drugs they gave me for the surgery I was just coming out of and that was “OK wake me when it’s over.” Then I looked at my wife as if to say “The ball’s in your court now…run with it. “ and I went back to sleep.
What they don’t tell you are things I didn’t learn until several days later after they brought me out of the coma. I come to in a private room in Cardiac ICU (which has become my personal suite. I have a decorator re-do the whole thing every six months to keep it fresh) and, as is typical for people doing this, I started to try and rip my ventilator out of my mouth and the wires and IV’s out of my arms. Needless to say I got a shot of something wonderful (I still don’t know what it was but it was OUTSTANDING!) as they tied my hands down and as I drifted back to sleep I remember thinking “We need to buy an olive pitter.” And out I went.
When I awoke some time later that maniac surgeon was standing at the foot of my bed as the breathing tube was being removed. There must be a class that all doctors and food servers must take because he starts asking me questions while my mouth is still full of this large plastic tube expecting me to give him an answer! Just like “So how’s your dinner?” I eventually regain my composure (and the urge to strangle him) and settle back for out little bedside chat.
It’s then, and only then, that he drops the first bomb. “It’s quite common for people who undergo the type of trauma and surgery your body went through to have a certain amount of memory loss. Some will be short lived and some will be gone forever. Because you were also in a coma you may not get as much back as others might.” “Well thanks for the heads up beforehand pal!” I’m thinking to myself. He talks about the emotions I’ll be going through and my other doctors will help me work through that (Queue the conversation that was never had about anti-depressants as “My Heart Bleeds for You” plays softly in the background by a string quartet.) With that he was off, never to be seen again but the masked man did leave a silver bullet at the foot of my bed… along with a bill.
He proved to be pretty accurate. I, thankfully, don’t remember anything about the surgery. According to my wife I was one angry asshole for a very long time. Today, thanks to the anti-depressants I’m only an asshole. Medicines can only correct so many things and unfortunately hereditary issues aren’t necessarily one of them. If you look in the dictionary today under “asshole” there’s still a family portrait there of at least four generations of Eakins men. My memory is the pile of shit my surgeon predicted it would be. It amazes me what I do and don’t remember.
Every one of us hangs our hat on the memories we’ve tucked away in our heads. Some stay factual, some take on an illusion of what we had wished or hoped had happened. The disconcerting part about illusions is that, given enough time, they seem to become real. Reality for me these days is much more of an interesting challenge than fantasy and sometimes it’s difficult to filter what is and isn’t real. Childhood memories sometimes become suspect. Most people can remember large parts of their childhood and growing up. The people they knew, the places they lived and had visited the magical (and sometimes not so magical) moments of being a kid.
I can remember quite vividly when I was so young I couldn’t walk or talk. I was lying in my crib supposedly going to sleep when I had this epiphany of a thought I just had to share it with my parents. I pulled myself up into a standing position and began to get their attention. Now remember, I couldn’t talk yet so a large amount of blabbering, noise making and probably the occasional cry was involved (some things don’t change in nearly sixty years) but this was important shit. My dad eventually came into the room quietly asking me what was up as he picked me up and carried me across my yellow walled bedroom and sat down with me in the rocker in the corner while I frantically told him my idea. Before long I was out like a light.
I remember that brief incident so long ago it’s not funny but I can’t tell you the names of half of the kids I went to school with and even fewer of my college classmates. We won’t even get started on teachers. I can tell you the day and place I bought my first car… but I don’t remember what I had for lunch three days ago. I fondly remember the girl I lost my virginity to and when and where but the lovers I’ve had through my adult life in this lifestyle I live in… few and far between at best. My phone number and social security number are a crapshoot. You may get me if you call or you may get a support service technician in India. If you get “Hello, my name is “Mike” how can I help you?” It’s a sure bet I gave you the wrong number. E-mail my wife for the right one.
Memories are fleeting…especially for someone like me. It’s going to be interesting what treasures I uncover this year as I dig through the rest of my brain. As long as I don’t make that wrong turn in Albuquerque I should be just fine.
Stay tuned campers.

This brain fart brought to you by Paxil. If you can’t afford your prescription contact GLAXOSMITHKLEIN to see if they can help.

It's a Bird, It's a Plane...

2012-01-18T14:32:00.001-07:00

“No Dad…the sky’s in the other direction. Let me help you back up.” And so begins my new journey.
Not a typical beginning to be sure. In stories I’ve written in the past they began in somewhat more scenic and exotic locations for the most part and not face down in a parking lot in north Scottsdale. This will be a first on many levels.
My doctor’s visits have been made; my meds have been adjusted once again in an attempt to regain a somewhat normal blood pressure level in my body. So now I can sit here with my green tea and a plate of cheese, meat, olives and fruit and begin to make some sense of what lies ahead for me.
Let me tell you right from the get-go…getting older is not all that bad. It’s not for the faint hearted either. Things you take for granted in life somehow take on a new life all their own and how you deal with them can be frustrating, humorous or downright disheartening depending on how you approach things.
As an example: The dashing international playboy with the chiseled body of yesterday has been replaced one night while I was sleeping by a genetic blending of Colonel Sanders and Mr. Clean. Not too long ago I won first prize at a Halloween party for my “Uncle Fester” costume. The problem was…I wasn’t wearing a costume but that didn’t deter me from graciously accepting the award.
I have been fortunate enough in life to avoid some of the physical mishaps men my age have had to deal with thus I have never taken Viagra, Cialis or such things. Yes ladies it’s true…I’m still organic but if you want to utilize my services please contact me between the hours of 2PM and 4PM after I’ve had my nap otherwise all bets are off. (A sick part of me would love to give those things a try while I still take nitrates for my heart. I’d love to see just how low blood pressure can go.)
I’m still a gourmet cook and aficionado of fine wine, good bourbon and stellar tequila. I just can’t have as much of it as I used to. Living like a rock star wasn’t a good fit for me. A) Because I’m stone deaf. B) Because it never occurred to me to learn a musical instrument. C) I am legally prohibited from singing in seventeen states, thirty-two counties and at least twelve cities around the world (I’m even prohibited from singing karaoke in Japan). And D) I never really looked all that good in spandex.
Living like a bohemian artist doesn’t work so well these days either. The older I’ve gotten the less clutter I can tolerate. Mismatched furniture hurts my brain. Sleek, modern and uncluttered is the world I prefer to live and work in these days. Partially because that’s where I am mentally these days and partially because all of these people with clipboards who have recently entered my life want me to have wide unobstructed pathways so I don’t fall and kill anyone on the way to the bathroom.
I’m anxious to start painting again but the remnants of my studio of long ago are locked away in a giant storage locker along with all of my other belongings that I have been banned from entering by my wife and children (even my eldest granddaughter has gotten into the act) so it’s anybody’s guess when that’s likely to actually happen. My wife, three daughters, three son-in-laws and four granddaughters have circled the wagons and placed guards to keep me out of trouble. Since that mishap on NYE with the glass I’ve been reduced to plastic cups. I’ve come to appreciate the philosophical underpinnings of that unfortunate song “Red Solo Cup” Toby Keith sings about. I used to hate it…now I’m starting to like it.
In the meantime I’m reduced to sitting here writing what Shakespeare once described as “a tale told by a fool, filled with sound and fury, signifying…nothing.”
For those crazy few who asked me to write more about what was happening to me. Please fasten your seat belts and put your tray tables and seat backs in the upright position… we’re in for an interesting ride.

Simple Pleasures

2012-01-17T17:53:00.000-07:00

A New Year, the old one is just barely gone at the time I’m writing this. This is generally the time people trot out their “Thank God the old year is over, blah, blah, blah” speeches. They bemoan how terrible the last year was (which it most certainly was this last year) and how “This year things are going to be different” statements followed by an assortment of resolutions regarding losing weight, quitting smoking and whatnot. Some sincere, some not so much but all said by everyone this time of year as if required by law to do so. I started to do that yet again but was stopped short by a more direct form of resolution generation.
I have lived what many people consider an exciting life filled with adventure (sexual and otherwise), travel, art, music and intellectual pursuits surrounded by sensual and interesting people (some famous, some infamous) whom I still have a deep and unwavering affection for and will until I die. I am proud to call those people friends. I was fortunate enough to meet and marry the true love of my life (although I do wish it had been sooner in life). Together we have shared many experiences only a few have dared to consider and been stronger for it. I have eaten elegant meals in exotic locations prepared and served by celebrity chefs at their personal tables. I have sampled fine wines direct from the barrels at legendary vineyards with world class wine makers and owners. My wife and I are preferred guests at several five star hotels and our wardrobes have been tended to or created by some of the most talented designers and tailors in the world yet our lives have hardly been “charmed”.
My health problems over the past six or seven years have been well documented in other scribbling I have done so I won’t bore anyone with a regurgitation of that. With health problems often comes the ability to maintain a steady cash flow and constant adjustments to one’s lifestyle. Going from homes larger than most people’s “McMansions” with more rooms and guest houses than a person can use, expensive cars that don’t get you from point A to point B any faster or more comfortably than one a third of the price (and still more than you first house costs) to no car at all at periods of time and small apartments smaller than your former master bedroom. I have experienced these things in the past year or so and more.
With each adjustment would prompt a re-assessment of what had brought me to that moment and what I should do to right the sinking ship and change its course. Such a process began, yet again, last summer. The New Year wasn’t even on the radar yet. My health was unstable at best so my, ever growing, collection of doctors and I began a quest to find out just what was wrong with me. Along with that I began to question how I earned a living. I had marginalized what I had spent my life learning about art, writing, and photography. I had continued to earn “fun money” doing those things but had abandoned those vocations as my primary source of income almost twenty years ago and replaced them with real estate. I wrestled and forced the real me and my true nature into Pandora’s Box and locked it tight storing it in a dark corner of a closet full of useless junk back so many years ago.
October of 2011 was a largely forgettable month. We were no closer to figuring out what was wrong with me and my lack of energy and other ailments. My real estate business had evaporated. My wife, my rock who had stuck with me through all of the changes and made some pretty tough decisions on my behalf at times I was incapable of making them myself had just about reached the end of her rope. Some drastic changes needed to be made and quickly.
Through all of this that box was rattling in the back of my mind.
An off handed chance conversation with my primary doctor shed the first shred of light on my predicament. He asked what anti-depressants had been prescribed after my heart surgery. He almost fell off of his stool when I said “none”. Apparently the normal course of treatment after a major surgery is to put someone on anti-depressants to help combat the anger, fear and depression they will most certainly feel after such an experience. Needless to say I was put on yet another drug to my ever growing collection of pills immediately.
About the same time my broker (and one of my best friends) and I had a heart to heart talk about my business. I had gone from a shining star of real estate to not even being on the radar anymore. It was decided I should put my license on hold with the State while I decide what I really want to do when I grow up.
So it’s now November. The New Year is drawing closer and I find myself jobless, homeless (we had to give up our apartment because my wife had been laid off nearly two years ago and people our age are hardly employable at the moment and she had run out of unemployment benefits) and carless. I had succeeded in becoming what I had jokingly threatened to become at some point in my life… a burden to my children. We had been reduced to sleeping on one of our daughters couches while we figured out what to do next.
Thanksgiving and Christmas came and went without fanfare. While searching for work during that time I chanced upon two creative positions with the same company and dutifully sent my resume’ to them and was soundly rejected. Undaunted I sent them a letter suggesting they combine both positions. I was more than qualified for both even though I hadn’t been actively involved in a creative field for more than twenty years but they could more than afford the salary I was asking by combining the two positions. With that I waited for their response.
New Year’s Eve was a quiet one in comparison to many we’ve had in the past spent with our daughter, son-in-law and granddaughter eating pizza and wings with a glass of wine while the kids played on the Wii they bought for Christmas. It was far from the lavish spectacles experienced years before filled with decadent food, rivers of alcohol and elegantly dressed people who eventually become naked piles of flesh enjoying the pleasures of each other’s bodies. Somehow the scene before me this particular night seemed just perfect. Simple food, a couple glasses of wine and family.
Midnight came and we toasted the New Year with a glass of Rose’ Cava, put the granddaughter to bed and settled on the couches to talk while we wound down and got tired enough to sleep.
As we began our “Thank God the year is over” speeches I got up to put an empty glass on the counter in the kitchen and get a drink of water. The glass barely made it to the counter when I felt myself going to the floor taking the glass with me. A moment later I feel someone trying to get me up off of the floor before going down a second time. I later learned it had been my wife and my feet had been shaking so badly she couldn’t get me balanced in a stable manner. It took her, my son-in-law and my daughter to get me up bleeding from several cuts on both hands and arms from the glass which had broken in my hand. They bandaged my wounds and put me on the couch where I slept restlessly through the remainder of the night. The next morning I had a small breakfast and was ordered to stay on the couch. At one point my wife decided to change my bandages. Once again I found myself hitting the floor with my feet and arms shaking uncontrollably.
After a brief phone conversation with my doctor (it pays to have their cell phones on speed dial) and fresh bandages I found myself in the all too familiar confines of John C. Lincoln Deer Valley ER (they’re going to name an entire wing after me soon). Eight hours later and after every imaginable test, X-ray, ultra-sound and blood test created by man they found…nothing…again. My heart, it appears, is unbelievably strong and I appear to not have any blockages but my blood pressure sucked. The three wise men (my cardiologists) and my personal doctor decided to keep me for a while and have a neurologist look at me in the morning.
The next morning I meet the new doctor now added to my ever growing stable of people with a lot of initials behind their names. The frustrating part is he’s barely old enough to be my son and as a parent have found my children’s maturity level to be somewhat suspect on occasion. Now I’m in the awkward position of trusting someone that age with my personal well being. To make it worse…we’re talking about my brain here (irony rears its ugly head at the strangest time doesn’t it?). And so the tests begin.
After each test young doctor “Spooky” would wander in and ask a question or two before disappearing to order yet another test. Just after one such test ( I don’t remember if it was the MRI, CaT Scan or Electrowhatever it’s called with the wires all over my head) in he walks in again. This time he’s got the three wise men and my regular doctor with him. “Have you ever had a stroke?” was his question. “Nope” was my response. “Are you sure?” … “I’m pretty sure I’d have known if I had.” was my response. “Hmmmmm” is all he says as the whole bunch shuffle out the door. A moment later he comes back in and asks “Your medical records say you’ve had Cerebral Palsy your whole life. Is that true?” “ I was born with it. What of it?” I said.
“Hmmmmm.” He says again and heads back out the door.
An hour and a half later or so Dr. Spooky returns while my wife, sister and my eldest daughter and I are talking with a great proclamation.
“You’ve fallen down a lot your whole life haven’t you?”
“Yep, I’ve chalked it up to my Cerebral Palsy and a bum knee going wonky now and then and thought nothing of it why?”
“The falling down isn’t from an odd muscle failure now and then. You’ve been having seizures. Seizures caused by a stroke.”
The silence in the room was disturbingly deafening before he continued with…
“You’ve had a massive stroke on the left side of your brain that, by all accounts, you shouldn’t have survived from. At best you should have had difficulty speaking, reasoning, doing any kind of math, play sports, remember things, walking or be creative if you had survived at all. Yet here you are. The falling down wasn’t your muscles going wonky it was your brain going wonky. You’re having what’s called “non-epileptic seizures”.”
He paused for a moment to let me take in what he had just said before continuing with…
“You’re going to be on a seriously strong anti-seizure medicine for the rest of your life which is going to require a few life changes. You can’t drive anymore…ever. You can’t operate heavy equipment, fly a plane or anything like that. You can’t stand for extended periods of time. You’ll have to walk with a cane the rest of your life to help maintain your balance. You will have to severely limit your alcohol consumption and you will have to apply for and go on permanent disability because you’ll be unable to work.”
With that statement my past present and future was wiped away.
“How or when did this happen?” was my only question.
“As near as we can tell the stroke was a long time ago. It doesn’t show up as anything new on the scans and tests. We believe it happened just before you were born which created your Cerebral Palsy. Back then that was the best neurological explanation they could give at the time. That’s also why you spent the first few years of your life in physical therapy and in leg braces. You’re a one in a million survivor.”
With that he left leaving me and my family to dumbfoundedly look at each other.
My New Year’s resolution was decided for me in a heartbeat and handed to me without gift wrapping or a bow. It wasn’t going to be looking for a job, losing weight or any of the other things ordinarily associated with such things. It was going to be learning to live my life all over again with some necessary tweaks here and there.
I will still have the love of my life, my wife and best friend, my family and a brave new world to explore from a different perspective. I will probably lose some of my friends because they won’t know how to deal with the new me and possibly fear what I might represent to themselves and their lives…unfortunate but if it must be…so be it.
My life has already changed in the short amount of time that this has happened. I rise a little later than I used to and have a robust breakfast of sixteen assorted pills and a glass of water followed by a cup of green tea while I answer e-mail and read the news online.
I may have a light lunch of fresh and dried fruits, various cheeses, nuts and fresh breads before taking a nap.
My afternoon is taken up writing for my book or whatever article that will bring a little extra cash into the family funds. I recently unlocked that box in the closet and am anxious to paint and take pictures that will mean something to people other than me and my misguided ego. I’m seeking out commissions, assignments and competitions to keep me busy and alive.
The daughter who took me in and let me sleep on her couch is looking for a larger place to live because the kids are quite certain and aware I can no longer live by myself. I can’t even take a shower unless someone is home with me so they’re going to find a place with enough space for my wife and I to live other than the living room.
When evening comes I sit with a cup of tea or glass of wine and watch the sun go down content in a twisted sort of way how my life has come about but anxious to do more for more people with the limited abilities still left me and leave a lasting imprint for those who follow.
More isn’t always better. Sometimes it takes a surprise to help you appreciate the simple things you’ve always had but managed to overlook. Happy New Year.

2011-11-22T17:32:00.002-07:00

"THE" Wine Meet & Greet

2011-11-22T17:30:00.000-07:00

Join everyone in January and help bring in the New Year right at the sexiest and longest running Meet & Greet in the state with the Hottest people you’d ever want to party with!
Everyone has already rung in 2012 on the 1st now let’s take it one step further and set the tone for the rest of the year and what sexy fun it brings!
People have started making travel plans from around the country to be here each month for this M&G. It just keeps getting bigger and sexier every month and you won’t want to miss it. The last thing you’ll want to hear from your sexy friends and playmates are …”You should have been there.”
If you need Hotel accommodations check our website at http://arizonalifestyles.org for a list of hotels near Terroir Wine Pub.
So join us Saturday January 21st at the classiest and longest running Meet & Greet in the Valley for the most enjoyable first part of an evening a Lifestyler can have with their clothes on! And speaking of clothes… Dress as sexy as you dare! If you’re still in the Holiday Spirit show it!
A SPECIAL NOTE: As long as you’re having a good time the staff at Terroir will keep the place open for us so the closing time is now flexible.
ALSO: If you find yourself in the mood to have a party afterwards and you want everyone to know…let us know and we’ll get the word out for you.

WHERE: Terroir Wine Pub
7001 N Scottsdale Rd
In the Seville Shopping Center (NE corner of Scottsdale & Indian Bend)

FROM: 7PM to ???

WHEN: Sat. January 21st 2012

DRESS: Casual Sexy

Please register so we can let Terroir know how many to set up for.

KEEP THESE ON YOUR CALENDAR FOR THE NEXT FEW MONTHS TOO
FOR THIS EVENT!

1/21/12

2/18/12

3/17/12

2011-11-11T14:36:00.002-07:00

It seems to be that time of year again where people turn inward. I don't know if the holidays have anything to do with it or simply because we're approaching the end of yet another year. I've been reading through forum posts on various swing sites and been more disappointed than usual about how selfishly egotistical many of us have become lately. The concept of swinging is to have intimate fun with people not constantly lobby for who's idea of what swinging is should be the most correct of all the ideas out there. Any thoughts on this?

While I'm Thinking About It...

2011-11-01T12:06:00.004-07:00

So why is it that so many nudists or naturists dislike swingers so much? They tend to look down their noses at us like we're some sort of oddity they find incapable of understanding. Stranger yet are the numbers of nudists/naturists who actually are swingers. It boggles the mind.
I know upon visits to nude resorts we have encountered many couples and single women who, within a short period of time, invite us to their RV, bungalow they've rented for the week or weekend or two their private residence on the property for drinks and play. The communal showers near the pool turn into a Bacchanalian orgy once the sun goes down and the kiddies are in bed so why do they pretend to hate us so much?
One resort here in the states will go so far as to reprimand you and threaten to throw you off of the property if you even think about doing something remotely intimate much less sexual.
Is it because swingers know who they are and what they want which might make these people uncomfortable about their true self? Being naked is daring enough but being sexual is just too much for them to handle?
I just wonder.

We're Baaaaaack!

2011-10-28T12:43:00.003-07:00

We've been away for a while dealing with life, family and medical issues. Starting today we'll be posting fun and interesting things on, pretty much, every day.
Be on the lookout and we hope you enjoy it!

Let's Talk About Wraps

2011-04-26T12:39:00.001-07:00

I’m not talking about those things you eat when you’re trying to be healthy or avoid yeast. I’m talking about a financial tool that many people have either never heard of or have avoided because they’ve heard they’re evil and/or illegal. Some years ago that may have been true and could have very easily gotten people in a lot of trouble with their mortgage company causing them to be suddenly homeless.
This isn’t the case these days as long as you play by the rules and have people do things the right way for you. In short form here’s what a wrap is and how they work:
A wrap is an “Agreement for Sale” where the buyer agrees to complete the agreement by re-financing the property by or on a given date (typically five, seven or ten years from the date of the agreement) for the balance of the existing note at which time the buyer is given title to the property. During the agreement period the buyer has “Equity Title” to the property meaning as the property value increases during that period that value transfers to the buyer upon completion of the agreement. As an example, a property is currently worth $150,000.00 but the current owners owe $200,000.00 so an agreement is drawn up that the sellers will sell the property to the buyers for $200,000.00 with the agreement to be completed five years from the date of the agreement. At the end of that period the appraised value of the property is now $225,000.00. Once the deal is complete the buyer gets clear title to the property and $25,000 in equity right from the beginning.
What are the advantages to doing something like this? Well… if you’re a seller it would keep you from going upside down on your property causing you to walk away from it and have your credit ruined. It would also give you some positive cash flow during the agreement period. The monthly payment is based on the $200,000.00 figure so after the current mortgage payment and taxes are paid each month the difference goes to the current owner. If there was down payment money over and above all of the costs of the transaction then they have that to look forward to as well.
If you’re a buyer it means you don’t have to qualify for a loan right away giving you a chance to clean up your credit so you can qualify when the time comes. There are also tons of people like waitresses, bartenders, entertainers, sales people (and even realtors) who work on commission or a cash basis that make it difficult to qualify for a home loan. Let’s face it…most everyone has been affected by the dismal economy we’ve had to endure the past few years to one degree or another. For many people this may be the only way they can purchase a home again for many years to come. Like anything else though it’s not entirely simple and something everyone can do. It would require a buyer to come in with more cash than they might if they were trying to purchase a home these days. Typically you would come in with roughly 5% down for financing under “normal” circumstances. With a wrap that could increase 10-15% or more. A large amount of that would go to covering your transaction costs and possibly any back payments, but many sellers expect (and deserve) to see some cash in their pockets to cover their own expenses (like moving) right away.
Are there down sides to all of this? Yes, on both sides. For the sellers there’s the risk the buyers would default on the agreement. The buyers could also damage the property.
The upside to that is that it’s an agreement not a lease and no deed has been recorded yet. They can be evicted much quicker and cheaper that you can a renter (usually 30-45 days) plus you still have the house and can re-sell it again, plus you have had your mortgage paid during that time frame and picked up a little extra cash as well. A servicing company will always be mandated to receive the payment from the buyer and distribute the funds to the current mortgage, taxes, insurance and any leftover funds to the seller. This protects both buyer and seller so that no disputes arise as to whether a payment was made or not and also eliminates funds not making it to the proper places at the right time. Also the sellers would have to continue to make the homeowners insurance during the agreement period which (as noted above) would be paid through the existing mortgage servicing company.
For the buyers they need to make sure that when the time comes they can qualify for a new loan. Since it’s an agreement and they only have equity title on the house they can’t borrow money against it for any reason. They can make all of the home improvements they want to the property… just out of their own pocket. A new pool would have to wait until after the agreement is completed. Any major improvements (like an extra room) would require approval from the current owner and possibly the HOA (if there is one). Since the buyers don’t legally own the home yet they would have to have “Content Insurance” (renters insurance) to cover their personal belongings from fire and theft which is something they’d have to plan for.
If the current note is an FHA loan there are quite a few more forms that will need to be signed with the agreement but it can be done, it just takes a little longer. VA and Conventional notes are a little easier on the paperwork but all three aren’t opposed to doing wraps and neither are most lenders these days. In fact some lenders welcome them rather than have to deal with a short sale or foreclosure.
Are wraps right for everyone and/or every situation? Absolutely not, but they are right for more people than anyone might think. The best way to find out is to talk to someone like me and let us work through your personal situation. If we can’t go down that route we may be able to come up with an alternative situation.

Spring Has Sprung...Again

2011-03-18T11:15:00.002-07:00

It seems you can always tell when Spring gets here. You don't have to look at a calendar. You don't even have to go outside or check the weather. You don't have to do much of anything really because the same things happen like clockwork every year.
We've been in this lifestyle longer than many of the people who read this blog have been alive. Yet March invariably brings out the same thing. The styles change a little as does the tactics and delivery but, what many of us who has been around for a while kiddingly call, "Swingers Spring Fever" hits.
Like the Tennyson poem claiming that when Spring arrives "...a young man's fancy turns to love." Swingers seem to turn their sights on new connections and experiences...and it isn't just the men who seem to get those urges these days. Maybe it's a way to re-connect with days gone by or maybe it's a way to obtain those days we never had for whatever reason. I don't know and I'm pretty sure it's too personal a question for everyone to want to know.
Never the less our e-mail boxes all started filling up mid-March with notes from people we haven't heard from in ages, never heard from before or, possibly, never wanted to hear from to begin with. It doesn't seem to matter if they've been around for a long time or just decided to give it a try the urge to make contact takes over us like contact junkies in trying to get their fill of an addictive drug. People suddenly forget how to read and frantically send notes to others who might have only remote similarities to themselves...but the pictures look appealing. The interests are on another planet...but the pictures look good. The age ranges are nowhere to even remotely close...but...you get the picture.
This is also the time of year where people,caught up in the momentum, try and sneak under the radar with less than honorable reasons. Single and married men used to be the culprits in years past. Single women have seldom, if ever, had to explore that tactic but, married women have closed the gap somewhat over the past few years.
Single people pretending to be in a relationship or married, married people pretending to be single, couples saying they're looking for new horizons when only one of them actually is, older pretending to be younger, not so fit pretending to be fit and so on.
As a fun example of the dozen or so we get each week this time of year. We got one from a "Single" woman who wanted to play just with the Mrs. OK...not an unusual or potentially out of bounds in our house but rather than respond back right away we did a little digging. We found her profile on three different sites with the same few pics of her (she is attractive BTW) on the site she contacted us on it was pretty straightforward. The other two, however, included deep in the profile text what she failed to mention on thatfirst site. She was in fact married, her husband would be present (preferably him only watching)when they played and if the urge struck them all he'd join in when the girls were done getting each other off. HMMMMMMMMMMM
Another was from a couple whose sexual preferences were decidedly NOT in our wheelhouse nor did they even have a pic of themselves but were convinced we'd all get along famously. Again HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
It was bad enough they paid no attention to the verbage in our profile but to include the note that they're not HOMOPHOBIC (no shit...in Caps)about such things to a couple, which one of them has a decidedly bisexual orientation, isn't exactly sending out a signal we'd get along at all.
C'mon people! We know your hormones and sexual urges have just come out of hibernation again but stop and think before you hit send. All you're going to do is frustrate the recipient and probably yourself. Close is one thing. Not on the radar is something else entirely. And...regardless if you're experienced, inexperienced, young, old, purple, green or whatever. Whether you like it or not...a picture still says a thousand words and since this is a lifestyle where attraction isn't necessarily the only thing, but it is the most important thing. You can come up with a million excuses why you don't post or provide pics on profiles or e-mails but the simple fact is...few, if any, are valid ones.
As for you pretenders out there...you'll discover that if you're honest you'll get respect. It may not get you all of the action you'd like to get but what you do get will be quality and might lead to bigger and better things for you much quicker...not only that...the rst of us won't have to use the DELETE button quite as much.

Show Us Your Spirit(s)

2010-11-07T10:54:00.002-07:00

Several sites have popped up lately that ask people to post pictures of themselves posing with their favorite adult beverage (usually wine). We think that's a great idea but why stop there?
People in our Lifestyle know how to party better than anyone out there and, even though wine is probably the most popular, why should we limit this to one particular item.
SO CUM ONE, CUM ALL!
Send us your hottest pic posing with your favorite beverage of choice to administrator@arizonalifestyles.org along with a statement of age, general location and permission to post along with a brief blurb on what, when, where and why you enjoy that drink and we'll post it as soon as we can!

Help a Neighbor

2010-08-18T15:14:00.001-07:00

The villages of Sonoita and Elgin were recently torn apart from hail storms. By all reports the hail size ranged up to golf ball sized and was massive in its reach across the area damaging crops and anything else in its path.
“Why is this of any importance?” You’re probably asking. The Sonoita/Elgin area is the heart of southern Arizona’s wine region…yes we have one (several actually), and yes they’re very good.
The decimation of the grape crops has been, by most accounts, so complete that a half dozen or so (out of a little over nearly thirty statewide) of the area’s vineyards will not produce wine this year, The few that are going to try will be producing limited varieties and a few are going to attempt to make nothing more than a rose’ this year to maximize the crop yield. Some will purchase grapes from outside vineyards in the Willcox area (another excellent wine region that was untouched by the storm) and some may go as far as California for additional product.
The northern Arizona wine region in the Cottonwood/Sedona area, while strong and untouched by weather issues, currently only produce enough grapes to meet their normal production levels and can spare little to be sold as bulk to outside wineries.
The current mantra for many people these days trying to live healthier more responsible lives is to “Buy local and support the nearby farmers and ranchers.”, and, the often over used term, “sustainable”. At times like this when “neighbors” probably need us the most we should probably be seeking them out the most. As I understand it customers of many of these vineyards have shown up unannounced bearing rakes, shovels and other implements to help salvage what can be for this year and prepare the vines as much as they can for next year. Many of us may not have the time or physical ability to do something like that but we may be able to make a day trip or two to one or more of the vineyards and purchase some excellent (and in many cases multiple award winning) wine from someone who may become a future friend as well.
For those who can’t travel easily places like BevMo, AJ’s, Total Wine, AZ Wine and Sportman’s have wonderful local wine sections at reasonable prices.
For information on all of the vineyards here in Arizona you can contact the Arizona Vines and Wines at http://arizonavinesandwines.com

MIRROR, MIRROR

2010-01-27T13:32:00.000-07:00

A little over a year ago I was talked into getting on FACEBOOK as a social networking tool for my business and I did get a few business contacts from it.
What surprised me was all of the people from my past who magically appeared from out of the woodwork one day. Junior High, High School, College friends and ex-girlfriends, people I had worked with at one time or another and Lifestyle friends and playmates long since forgotten.
In an odd way it was interesting to hear from them. In many ways it was a surreal look through a magic mirror to another time and place I’m not sure I wanted to re-visit.
Someone had posted a question on the Forums in one of my favorite swing sites asking “Has the Lifestyle made you a better person?” They went on to explain they had gotten on to FACEBOOK and had encountered friends from the past, much like I and everyone else on there has, and how he had noticed how much he had changed and yet many of his past compatriots had “let themselves go” or didn’t seem as happy as he was. He was wondering out loud if the Lifestyle had something to do with it.
My response to him was short and probably incomplete, partially because I might say too much but probably more because there wasn’t an easy answer to that on my part.
I had jumped into the Lifestyle at the ripe old age of nineteen. Because of my life experiences up to that point, looking back on it, I seemed to be pre-disposed to have gotten into it. It always felt to be the right place for me to be. There always happens an experience or event in a person’s life that deep down inside you know is the right thing to do and the Lifestyle was one of them for me.
Back then perhaps only a half dozen of my high school classmates shared that feeling (that I was aware of) and college didn’t significantly add to those numbers right away. Now here I am looking at pictures of these people and their families nearly forty years later and wondering…why?
Looking good was always important to me. Not for any vain or egotistical reasons. I just felt better dressing well and staying in shape. Something I still do to this day (give or take a few times dictated by health issues). It was already part of the way I was before I got into the Lifestyle. I couldn’t help but notice how those things became important only after they had done so for many of the people who responded to that forum question.
I looked at the pictures and read the accounts of the lives of the people in my FACEBOOK account and realized that, with the exception of a very few, I had nothing in common with these people anymore. Has my life been so much better than theirs? Probably not…just different. We had been held together by geography before. Now we had different life experiences, goals, ideals and probably different dreams than we once had. They weren’t bad or unfortunate people. They just weren’t the people I knew back then (assuming I knew them that well to begin with),
My best friend in junior high school with whom I raised more than a little hell with and compared notes with while we were learning about sex with our girlfriends back then…is now a minister in a small town in the Northwest and has been for a little over thirty years. My life is as foreign to him as his is to mine these days. We have great respect for each other but the two kids who blew up a telephone pole one afternoon and felt our first naked females don’t exist anymore. Likewise many of the women I dated and/or played with. Many have fond memories of the wild things we did but “couldn’t possibly imagine doing those things now”.
Has the Lifestyle made me a better person? I doubt it. The Lifestyle has never been a charitable endeavor or a philanthropic foundation. Nor has it been a character building experience. Did it lay the foundation for who I am today? Very much so. It allowed me to be ME with very little compromise for the majority of my adult life. The few compromises I did have to make were ones I willingly made knowing what the consequences (if any) would have been.
I don’t have the same hair style I did in high school (duh). I don’t wear the same style of clothing I did, eat the same food, listen to the same music, have the same opinions, same friends and playmates, the same look on life or the same interests I had back then. Did the Lifestyle have anything to do with that? Not as much as one might think (if at all). Chances are that would have happened regardless.
Did the Lifestyle provide me with a road map for my life experiences that fill the volumes of my memories…absolutely. Those may not have happened without it.
The FACEBOOK experience may have opened my eyes or even caused me to take a good look at myself. What it didn’t do was cause me to fall through the looking glass and end up in an Otherworldly Universe.

DISGUSTING!

2009-03-30T11:23:00.000-07:00

Two weekends ago we had our monthly meet & greet at Terroir Wine Pub. As usual it was a big hit and we thank you all (we most of you) for comming.
We did however have a few incidents that are still causing steam to come out of my ears and field more than a few e-mails of people registering shock and disgust over the couple of things that happened. So much so that for the first time ever I'm going to address these issues here. In part to get them off of my chest and in part to make a few things perfectly clear but before I dig into the meat of the matter let me lay out a few of the rules we are all governed by when it comes to meet & greets and other public or semi public events.
In the state of Arizona the way the liquor laws are written you may not at any time have nudity or partial nudity where alcohol is being sold and served. This means that, although it's fun and visually thrilling, you CANNOT at any time flash body parts at people or incite a group grope... even in a tight circle of people. You CANNOT participate in any form of public sex and crowding into a bathroom doesn't count as a private space. Restrooms are still considered a public space available to patrons of the establishment and required by law to be available to ALL patrons of that establishment. Locking the door to do anything other than what restrooms are designed for you to do is rude and inconsiderate of your fellow partiers. The lines are long enough without adding to the frustration.
The staff at any place selling alcohol have been trained to identify potential violations of their license and interceed before it happens as much as possible. Depending on the size of the venue those taskes may be delegated to security staff, a manager or owner and in many venues the waitstaff may also be included. The point is...there is always going to be someone looking for problems that could potentially shut them down and/or cause them the loss of their license and livelyhood.
NOW THE REASON FOR MY ANGER:
WE've all been to one meet & greet or another over the past few years thanks to the short sighted, narrow mindedness of a few clueless people. Everyone (including me) misses the "good ol' days" of having a quality swing club in the valley and, sometimes, the combination of alcohol and highly charged sexual libido's get the better of us and we forget where we are. It's happened to all of us at least once.
However some of us have begun to make it a normal part of their social behavior regardless of where they are and this posses a problem not only for themselves but everyone around them...even ones who aren't part of the group.
At the last meet & greet a group of people in a, unfortunately, highly visible place (encouraged by someone who knows better but thinks they're an exception to every rule) decided flashing boobs and other body parts, nipple rubbing and highly charged grouping and kissing were perfectly OK to do...even after being asked by several staff members (and me) to tone it down. Rather than tone it down they ramped up and decided they'll play in the restroom then which created a line to the ladies room. This, in turn, began a number of cautions against doing that and caused the staff to cast a wary eye on the group and the ladies room door which began to piss the women in that group off. Several other women were cautioned as well because their preceved actions appeard to be heading that same direction which, unfortunately but understandably, offended one of these women for being warned about the occupancy number in the restroom by one of the waitress'.
When several of the offending group were blocked from entering the restroom together they were outraged that someone would prevent them from having fun. So what did one of them do? Express her outrage by taking a shit on the restroom floor! What sort of classless moron does something like that?! Needless to say this woman (and her husband) have been banned for life from Terroir.
The remainder of that group is now suspect wherever they show up not only for all of that silliness but also because they, and several other people, were responsible for shutting down another meet & greet and causing that event to be banned from that venue for similar (and worse) behavior there. Something, at the time of this writing, they refuse to take resposibility for. They claim it was the vanilla people's fault for making such a big deal over what they were doing. Huh? What are they and people like them thinking?! If they're thinking at all.
I, unfortunately, feel the need to say this again...When we all got into the Lifestyle no one gave us a special level of entitlement that allows us to do what we want, when we want, how we want in public places! There are laws that govern our behavior in public and there are no exemptions for swingers listed on any of them (believe me I've looked), in fact there are MORE limiting our actions that people in the vanilla world!
Experiences like the ones mentioned here are one of the prime reasons the vanilla world has issues with our lifestyle! At a time when many of us are trying to build bridges and close the gap with the vanilla world so that we can reclaim the portions of our lifestyle that has been stripped from us over the past few years this is the time to be demonstrating what a classy, stable, elite, worthy of emulation and praise person the average Lifestyler is and that we're not the juvinile, classless, irresponsible bufoons they've always imagined us to be.
C'mon people...get a grip!