TERNATIQNAL VAC-AEGND

SUNDAY, 10 MAY 2009 BLOG ARCHIVE
A 7i". ?it-11? ?1?1 2009 (5)

The story begins with my return to Washington, DC after eight December (2)

failed months of trying to make a life in Los Angeles. Five of those May 
no n-glorious mo were spent living in a black 1991 Nissan International Vagabond
Maxima. Unceremoniously returning to Washington with my tail

between my legs, a past acquaintance introduced me to YousefAl Aprll (2)
Otaiba, a wealthy foreigner and Director of International Affairs

for the Crown Prince of the UAE, Sheikh Mo hammed bin Zayed al

Nahyan. ABOUT ME

INTERNATIONAL

Looking back, it all started off rather innocently, four men sharing 
drinks at the Camelot gentlemen?s club. Our introduction went so VIEW MY COMPLETE

PROFILE

 

well that three days later, Yousef placed a stack of hundred dollar
bills in my hand with the request that I fly out and meet him at the
Four Seasons hotel in Beverly Hills. I did so and he treated me to a
?ve-day Fantasy Island like stay in the city of angels. Returning
from Los Angeles, I thought it was over. I was wrong. One week
before Christmas, I received a ticket for a two week all expenses
paid trip to Abu Dhabi. In Abu Dhabi, I was allowed to see a sub?
culture of Arab society immersed in prostitution, human
traf?cking and the de?ning of a person solely by their ?nancial
worth. Talk about from rags to riches! I went from living on the
streets of Los Angeles in what should have been a retired Maxima,
to an Arab kingdom where I was treated as an esteemed guest with
prostitutes being brought to me as ifGovernor Spitzer and I were
life?long friends; absolutely insane.

I had been unexpectedly recruited, not only to my benefactor?s
inner circle, but also to his life of gallivanting around the globe,
prostitutes, strip clubs, expensive cars and the ?nest hotels. This
life changed me and soon, like a man lost in the wilderness, I
became lost in life. I took on the characteristics ofmy benefactor.
I aspired to ten-thousand dollar a night prostitutes. We used to
spend six to eight hours a day at gentlemen?s clubs in the US and
abroad, and like the person footing the bill I too wanted to be ?the
man? in the strip club. I also became something I never dreamed

SUNDAY,10MAY2009

The story begins with my return to Washington, OC after eight failed
months of trying to make a life in Los Angeles. Five of those nonglorious months were spent living in a black 1991 Nissan Maxima.
Unceremoniously returning to Washington with my tail between my
legs, a past acquaintance introduced me to Yousef Al Otaiba, a wealthy
foreigner and Director of International Affairs for the Crown Prince of
the UAE, Sheikh Mohammed bin Zayed al Nahyan.
Looking back, it all started off rather innocently, four men sharing
drinks at the Camelot gentlemen's club. Our introduction went so well
that three days later, Yousef placed a stack of hundred dollar bills in
my hand with the request that I fly out and meet him at the Four
Seasons hotel in Beverly Hills. I did so and he treated me to a five-day
Fantasy Island like stay in the city of angels. Returning from Los
Angeles, I thought it was over. I was wrong. One week before
Christmas, I received a ticket for a two week all expenses paid trip to
Abu Dhabi. In Abu Dhabi, I was allowed to see a sub- culture of Arab
society immersed in prostitution, human trafficking and the defining of
a person solely by their financial worth. Talk about from rags to riches!
I went from living on the streets of Los Angeles in what should have
been a retired Maxima, to an Arab kingdom where I was treated as an
esteemed guest with prostitutes being brought to me as if Governor
Spitzer and I were life-long friends; absolutely insane.
I had been unexpectedly recruited, not only to my benefactor's inner
circle, but also to his life of gallivanting around the globe, prostitutes,
strip clubs, expensive cars and the finest hotels. This life changed me
and soon, like a man lost in the wilderness, I became lost in life. I took
on the characteristics of my benefactor. I aspired to ten thousand dollar
a night prostitutes. We used to spend six to eight hours a day at
gentlemen's clubs in the US and abroad, and like the person footing the
bill I too wanted to be "the man" of the strip club. I also became
something I never dreamed
BLOG ARCHIVE
INTERNATIONAL VAGABOND

 VIEW MY COMPLETE PROFILE

possible, a groupie. The saying, ?Nothing?s free in this world? is a
damn true statement. Taking Yousel?s plane tickets, hotels stays,
wire transfers, cash, and prostitutes came with a price, my
servitude and later my dignity. My life became a living dichotomy.
It was a hell of a decision on many a day. Accept invitations to a
life of glitter paid for by oil wealth, or toil away in a writing career
that on a good day meant dinner was four chicken wings from 7 
11 washed down by a 20 ounce of Heineken.

What my benefactor meant to be a week-long trip to London, I
extended into a four-month stay. During my stay I met and
became enthralled by a beautiful young Madam named Sabrina. At
this point, I was truly a vagabo nd. I hadn?t held down a steady job
in over three years. The only thing productive I could lay claim to
was that I wrote and self-published a memoir which chronicled my
time tending bar.

That was until I met Sabrina?s son, a two year old named Luca. His
young and innocent spirit shed light on a mind shrouded in the
darkness of prostitutes, strip clubs and drunken partying. The
relationship Luca and I shared profoundly changed my life. Our
bonding was an education. Before Luca, my life lacked substance. I
thought the pinnacle was the Ritz Carrolton, Four Seasons,
bedding hookers and strippers, dinners at Nobu, Tao, and 
at night clubs with bottles of champagne half my size. Luc a?s gift to
me was the ability to put life in perspective, to uncomplicate that
which was never meant to be so.

One day Luca and I were at Norwood Park. I was sitting down on a
bench watching him kick a ball as if there couldn?t have been a
more fun activity on the entire planet. I smiled and realized the
monumental thoughts racing through my head about a sputtering
writing career and whatever problems I was having in London
weren?t nearly as colossal as I imagined. To watch and understand
a child?s joy is found in the simplicity of life?s pleasures is not only
humbling but rewarding. Luca provided me a map to follow.
Unfortunately, our time together could not last. One month after I
arrived in London, police raided and shut down Sabrina?s brothel.
Three months later, Sabrina opened up another brothel in
partnership with a shi?less and unsavory cocaine dealer. A
cocaine dealer along with his cohorts I just so happened to fend off
at three in the morning a month prior with the aid of a machete
and 2 4. Prostitution mixed with cocaine quickly proved to be a
dish too strong for my palate. Though I loved Luca with all my
heart I knew this new alliance signaled the end of my time in

possible, a groupie. The saying, "Nothing's free in this world" is a damn
true statement. Taking Yousefs plane tickets, hotels stays, wire
transfers, cash, and prostitutes came with a price, my servitude and
later my dignity. My life became a living dichotomy. It was a hell of a
decision on many a day. Accept invitations to a life of glitter paid for
by oil wealth, or toil away in a writing career that on a good day meant
dinner was four chicken wings from 7 - 11 washed down by a 20 ounce
of Heineken.
What my benefactor meant to be a weeklong trip to London, I extended
into a four-month stay. During my stay I met and became enthralled by
a beautiful young Madam named Sabrina. At this point, I was truly a
vagabond. I hadn't held down a steady job in over three years. The only
thing productive I could lay claim to was that I wrote and selfpublished a memoir which chronicled my time tending bar.
That was until I met Sabrina's son, a two-year-old named Luca. His
young and innocent spirit shed light on a mind shrouded in the darkness
of prostitutes, strip clubs and drunken partying. The relationship Luca
and I shared profoundly changed my life. Our bonding was an
education. Before Luca, my life lacked substance. I thought the
pinnacle was the Ritz Carrolton, Four Seasons, bedding hookers and
strippers, dinners at Nobu, Tao, and partying at night clubs with bottles
of champagne half my size. Luca's gift to me was the ability to put life
in perspective, to uncomplicate that which was never meant to be so.
One day Luca and I were at Norwood Park. I was sitting down on a
bench watching him kick a ball as if there couldn't have been a more
fun activity on the entire planet. I smiled and realized the monumental
thoughts racing through my head about a sputtering writing career and
whatever problems I was having in London weren't nearly as colossal
as I imagined. To watch and understand a child's joy is found in the
simplicity of life's pleasures is not only humbling but rewarding. Luca
provided me a map to follow. Unfortunately, our time together could
not last. One month after I arrived in London, police raided and shut
down Sabrina's brothel. Three months later, Sabrina opened up another
brothel in partnership with a shiftless and unsavory cocaine dealer. A
cocaine dealer along with his cohorts I just so happened to fend off at

 three in the morning a month prior with the aid of a machete and 2 x 4.
Prostitution mixed with cocaine quickly proved to be a dish too strong
for my palate. Though I loved Luca with all my heart I knew this new
alliance signaled the end of my time in London.

  

With my exodus from London being of the caustic nature,
combined with my re-immersion into the frolicking life oil wealth
provides, I forgot the lessons taught by Luca. During one 
stay at the Four Seasons in Manhattan, seconds alter parading ?fty
thousand dollars in front of me my benefactor said, ?When I get
some real cash my billionaire father dies and I inherit twenty
to thirty million dollars) I?m going to rent out the penthouse here
and have a party, just us and nothing but high-end hooks and
strippers.? The faces of two members in the inner circle who heard
the boast beamed with glee. I put my head down and thought, 
got to get out of here. This can?t be the reason I?m in this group.?
In a desperate attempt at a big money grab to ?nance an exit from
a world whose arti?ciality I had grown weary of, I turned to
gambling on NBA, NFL and European football games. This spiraled
my life down a further mental abyss. What started out as a couple
of hundred dollars a weekend morphed into thousands of dollars a
night. I ended up alone on a road where suicide became a daily
theme. For four months I walked the streets of Washington, DC
inebriated to almost unconsciounable levels contemplating
various waysI could take my own life. I thought about jumping off
of a building, buying a gun and blowing my head off, or simply
walking out into the ocean. I can?t swim so that would have
de?nitely done the trick. At one point, I even set a deadline. I told
myself by the end of the year if I didn?t see light at the end of the
tunnel for a better life then I was going to check out. Thankfully,
life found the time to reiterate lessons ?rst learned at the feet ofa
ch?d.

POSTED BY INTERNATIONAL VAGABOND AT 17:35

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