Splendid Ass Revelry
T came to visit me at work. It made a very slow and boring night a little more interesting. He introduced me to his boss as his ‘future wife’.
We laughed and joked over vodka/red bulls. I danced for T, but he was too drunk to really pay any attention. But he did note how ‘sick’ my body was. It made me feel slightly better. They couldn’t stay long as T’s boss had a family to get home to. They made their excuses and slipped out.
I wandered around in circles in the club. Kings of Leon echoing in my ear.
See the time that we shared it was precious to me…
For a Thursday night it was dead. I had $60 in my purse; barely enough to cover my $120 in expenses just to work there for the evening. Just when I was about to give up and go sit in the dressing room until close, a crazy Asian grabbed my arm. I vaguely recognized him.
“Come here beautiful.” And he gestured for me to sit between his friend and him. So I did.
We chatted about our mutual friends and before I knew it we were doing shots of Patron and he was introducing me as his wife to everyone in the club. I wasn’t making any money, not there was money to be had, but I was having fun and it passed the time. Forcing me to forget the loneliness I was feeling in my heart.
I texted JP; one of my closest girlfriends.
Wanna get breakfast?
JP texted back.
Ok. Fine. Let me put some pants on.
I invited the crazy Asian to join us before I snuck out of the club. He obliged.
I picked up JP at her house. When she got in the car she looked at me and smiled.
“I just want you to know that I washed my face for you!”
Lovely. I am so honored my dearest friends make a point in grooming themselves before being in my presence.
We parked my car a block away from the diner. Just as JP and I started down the sidewalk a voice shouted at us from behind.
“Hey! Splendid ass!”
I turned around and made eye contact with a group of 3 drunken frat boys.
“Me?” I pointed at myself.
“Yeah, you in the pink! What a splendid ass you have!”
“Um, Oh, thanks…” My hot pink Juicy Couture sweat suit does show off my heiney quite nicely.
“You ladies hungry?” One of the other boys interjected.
JP cut in “Oh, no thanks.”
“Yeah we don’t eat…” I said making eyes at JP.
We started walking quickly towards the diner. As I opened the front door the boy opened his mouth again.
“Ok, I am gonna ask you one more time, you sure you ladies aren’t hungry?”
I responded with assurance “No, we’re just here for the atmosphere.”
“Yeah we just love diners.” JP said with a smile.
We laughed and sat in a booth in the far right corner. Shortly after the crazy Asian showed up.
I ordered waffles, pancakes, bacon, eggs, and potatoes. Washing it all down with coffee and OJ.
The crazy Asian started telling us stories that made absolutely no sense, but JP and I tried to look interested. I started to doze off in the middle of one of his stories. He noticed and said it was probably time I went home.
JP and I sleep walked out of the diner and onto the set of “Law Abiding Citizen”. The bright lights instantly awoke me.
“What the fuck.” Slipped out of JP’s mouth.
Security came rushing up to us.
“You girls can’t be here! You need to go back the other way.”
“Holy shit mother fucker! That’s Jamie Foxx!” I shrieked and waved.
“Heyy Jamiiie!!!”
He waved back as JP and I were forced back the way we came.
I drove back to JP’s house in a high provided from maple syrup and caffeine. Nothing like a good ol’ sugar rush to keep you alert at 5am.
I decided in sleeping over with JP would be best. I crawled into bed with her. Her zebra duvet tucked into my shoulder. We watched a bootleg version of “Revolutionary Road”. I rubbed my feet against hers. It reminded of what El Douche and I used to do just before we fell asleep. It’s always in that moment of half sleep that I miss him the most. I pondered texting El Douche as I drifted off to sleep…
What a night for a dance, you know im a dancing machine
With the fire in my bones
And the sweet taste of kerosene
I get lost in the night so high dont wana come down
To face the loss of the good thing that i have found
Woo hoo hoooo
Woo hoo hoooo
In the dark of the night i hear you callin my name
With the hardest of hearts, i still feel full of pain
So i drink and i smoke and i ask you if your ever around even though it was me who drove us
Right into the ground
See the time we shared it was precious to me
But all the while i was dreamin of revelry
Gonna run baby run like a stream down a mountainside
With the wind in my back i wont ever even bat an eye
Just know it was you all along that had a hold of my heart
But the demon in me was a best friend from the start
So the time we shared it was precious to me
All the while i was dreamin of revelry
Dreamin of revelry
And i told myself oh the way you go it rained so hard it felt like snow
Everything came tumbling down on me
In the back of the woods it was dark as night
Palest pale of the old moonlight
Everythings felt so right to me
Dreamin of revelry
Dreamin of revelry
Dreamin of revelry
Dreamin of revelry…
Stepping Stone
Sex with an ex is always fun. But hotel sex with an ex is even better.
Hotel sex in general is fun. Usually on vacation with that someone special. It means that there is someone else to clean up the mess and not you. Room service is an added bonus. And my personal favorite is when there is someone to come to give me an in-room-blow-out before venturing out for the evening.
Now back to the ex…
Well, Noah came to town. I picked him up at the airport. We drove in awkward conversation to the hotel we had booked for the evening. Checked in. Took the elevator to the 11th floor where our room was. We threw our bags down and he kissed me. I pushed him off me.
“I need a few drinks first.” I said glancing away and down to the patterned carpeting.
He nodded and we went down to the lobby. Walking out into the windy winter air. We walked a few blocks and ended up at El Vez. One of our favorite restaurants. We ate and we drank pitchers of margaritas and talked about life. Catching up on the now and remembering the old.
He took my hand and kissed it. “I’m so sorry” he said. “I am so very sorry. I love you.”
“Me too.” I murmured. I was struck by a pang of tenderness and that is the exact moment when I let him back in.
We got the check and before he paid it he pushed a green pill into my mouth.
Some things never change.
I offered him cash and he shook his head no. Then we stumbled out onto the gay-borhood pavement. We stopped in a sex store and bought the appropriate accoutrements for our evening.
Back in the hotel room I slipped out of my clothes and into a satin negligee. We drank wine and watched “Zack and Miri Make a Porno”. Waiting for the drugs to kick in.
Sex with an ex is like riding a bicycle. It all comes back so naturally. It’s nice not having to examine his body because I already know what his body looks like.
“I see that horrible mark above your dick is still there”. We both laughed.
I once forced him to get a ManZilian while I got a Brazilian one day. Wanted him to truly get the appreciation for what I went through so he could enjoy a nice smooth pussy. I let him first handedly experience the pain of having a strange woman dig around your genitals with piping hot wax. And the best was: she let me watch. He got a nasty ingrown hair after the fact and now has a horrendous scar.
That was sick on so many levels.
The nice thing was, he knew what I liked. I knew what he liked. Easy. Not that awkward questioning and guessing with new partners.
It was nice. And for a brief moment I pondered why we weren’t still together. Then he opened his mouth.
Prick. Ruined my moment.
We laid in bed. Talked for hours. Gave each other advice.
“You know, I thought El Douche was the one for you.” He said.
“Hmph. What makes ya think that?” I said staring at him in the bedside mirror.
“Dunno. Just thought he was going to be your knight in shining armor.”
He paused.
“And. I. I almost e-mailed him once. Almost. I wanted him to know what he took from me.”
“Awww.” I said.
He kissed me on the forehead and held me.
“You were the love of my life. But we can never be together.”
I knew we couldn’t ever be together. We were too different. He was 15 years my senior. It made it hard. But we understood each other. Something unsung between our hearts kept us together, but reality always had arguments waiting around the corner for us. People didn’t get it. People didn’t understand how we could love each other. Beauty and the beast. The stripper and the upstanding gentleman.
And well people don’t change. Not really. People adapt. And none of this happens overnight.
The next morning I dropped him off at his friend’s house. He sobbed and he held me.
“I love you.” He said, kissing me.
“I loved you too.” I said.
I waved at him from the car window. I knew it was our last time. He knew it too.
The Fear
Ok, so.
(My always reliable opening line).
I guess there are some things you need to know.
1) I dated a wealthy little NYC brat who had a bit of a drinking problem and took to beating the shiiite out of me for 4 months my freshman year in college. I never did anything about it because after being hospitalized I called my parents who were in the hospital as my sister was having brain surgery and my brother had attempted suicide. Yes, all in one weekend. I was young and weak and naïve. Thousands of dollars in therapy bills later…I have learned a lot and must say I have become a lot tougher. Learned a thing or two about self-respect. (Don’t get me started about my current choice of employment. My shrink says there is nothing wrong with it).
2) I was raised by a spoiled Manhattan brat. I grew up even more spoiled. Hence, why I am so talented at whining and dining at 5 star restaurants. Hence, why I can spot a knockoff from 3 blocks away.
3) Don’t tell me to get a real job. I have gone on countless interviews clad in Thomas Pink and classic black Louboutin pumps. Freshly printed (and somewhat impressive) resumes. Nothing has turned up where I can make a decent living and be satisfied.
4) The comment section is open to all ideas, praises, and criticism. Hateful comments will be turned away.
5) Yes, my parents know.
6) No, I will not be doing this forever. (That’s what they all say…)
7) Sardonic-(adj.)
Scornfully or cynically mocking. (See Sarcastic).
On that note I’ll leave you with my current theme song:
Dixie’s Soundtrack
Songs you can listen to and think of me. How loverly..
Wikked Little Girls- Esthero
You Know I’m No Good- Amy Winehouse feat. Ghostface Killah
Rehab-Amy Winehouse feat. Jay Z
Somebody To Love- Jefferson Airplane
For The Love Of Money- The O’Jays
If You Can Afford Me- Katy Perry
Ice Cream- New Young Pony Club
Paint It Black- The Rolling Stones
The Girl You Lost To Cocaine- Sia
Fidelity- Regina Spektor
Big Girls Don’t Cry- Fergie
Cannot Even (Break Free)- The Noisettes
Stripper- The Sohodolls
Stripped- Shiny Toy Guns
You Can’t Always Get What You Want- The Rolling Stones
California Soul- Marlena Shaw
Son Of A Preacher Man- Dusty Springfield
Spooky- The Classics IV
Beautiful- James Blunt
Fix You- Coldplay
Fire & Rain- James Taylor
Wake Up Alone- Amy Winehouse
Scared- Duffy
Right As Rain- Adele
Use Somebody- Kings Of Leon
Wonderwall- Ryan Adams
Pick Me Up- Ryan Adams
Summer Breeze- Jason Mraz
Colorblind- Counting Crows
On A Freezing Chicago Street- Margot & The Nuclear So And So’s
Please Forgive Me- David Gray
Red- Elbow
Today Has Been OK- Emiliana Torrini
World Spins Madly On- The Weepies
Lover I Don’t Have To Love- Bright Eyes
Oh My God- Mark Ronson feat. Lily Allen
Time To Pretend- MGMT
Shut Up And Let Me Go- The Ting Tings
That’s Not My Name- The Ting Tings
Cut-Plumb
My Give A Damn’s Busted…
Noah texted me.
Your blog is sad and pathetic. It is really sad and no one feels sorry for you.
He is pissed that everyone reads about what a fucked up life I lead. Like I really have a choice? Like I really want to be 24 working in a strip club desperately trying to save myself from getting sucked down further into the rabbit hole?
The truth is that my life is sad and pathetic. But it is my life, so don’t condemn me for it. I don’t want anyone to feel sorry for me. I live with it every day. I let it settle around me like a blanket, but it offers no warmth. I will not sugar coat the truth. There is no aspartame in this fizzy pop. The ingredients included in this life are real- pure cane.
Nutritive dextrose, soluble saccharin, and cream of tartar-The perfect chemical combination of artificial sweetness. You will not find that here. The only thing fake and comprised of chemicals is this spray tan slowly streaking its way down my side.
The feedback I receive confirms of what I have been long suspecting: that most of my blog readers are judgmental, insecure, humorless Americans. (Excluding my Nova Scotia fan base.)
I have gone too far by writing it down, but I don’t care. I want people to see that life isn’t always easy. That people have their own personal struggles and journeys. Some may be beautiful and glimmering, and some, like mine are dark and seedy, tucked underneath the appropriate aesthetics.
I want my life to be alright again, but I don’t need your approval to get there.
Friends and Lovers.
Since I moved I have been going through my things. Digging through boxes. Finding old love letters and photographs from the men that have been victims of my love. Most of them I don’t talk to anymore. Noah is still my best friend. It’s nice to still have him in my life giving me advice from the other side.
He called me while I was in the dressing room at Neiman Marcus.
“Saw your Facebook status. Where are you going? And who do you think you are going to be taking?”
I grunted trying to shimmy the dress from over my head while balancing my blackberry to my ear.
“Uh. Um. This thing. Philly Style party. I don’t know who to take. Maybe Muscles?”
“You like this Muscles character don’t you?”
“Yeah, I guess. He’s really nice and pretty cute.”
Noah groaned on the other end of the phone.
“You need to focus on work and school. Stop dating men that won’t treat you with respect.”
I got defensive.
“He is respectful. He is just a friend.”
“Mmhmm.” He grumbled. “Dixie, you always say they are just friends. Then you fall in love and they break your heart. Plus, how can you work when you’re in love? Look what that did to our relationship.”
He is right. I’m a romantic, but I’ll certainly keep that tucked inside me. Being in love makes my work difficult. It makes it hard for me when I think about the someone I care about while grinding against some strange man. Being in love makes it hard to be Dixie. Clients certainly don’t give a shit if Dixie is capable of loving or not. They just want to know if I am capable of grinding against them. Making them feel as if their $20 was well spent.
As of late I have been hiding my calloused heart behind all this rejection and poor judgments made on my part. A little frightened of falling in love again. Afraid of getting hurt, or fucking up another relationship because of my shitastic stripper antics.
I texted Muscles.
I have this Philly Style Mag party to go to. Will you come with me?
He texted back.
Yeah : )
Muscles, we will call him. I dub him this name because we went to a comedy club where he was shredded apart for his rippling body. Hot body aside, Muscles is a great guy. He is smart, caring, and sexy. I like him, but I am keeping myself guarded and distant because I am not ready to let anyone in yet. But a lovely gentleman friend he shall be.
I met Muscles at his Luxe apartment in Rittenhouse Square. We braved the cold and walked to the Sofitel hotel for the Philly Style Mag Oscar party. The room was buzzing with socialites. I ran into acquaintances and chatted about life and fashion. It was nice to be surrounded by so many people. It made me feel not quite so alone. I heard the pop of champagne. Free booze. It was like music to my ears. The event was sponsored by Moet, so drank Dixie did.
After about 7 glasses of champagne Muscles insisted I go back to his apartment as I was truly in no shape to be driving home. I stumbled the few blocks back to his place drunkenly grasping his enormous muscles trying to keep my balance in brand new Gucci shoes.
We crawled into bed after an hour of drunken sex. Muscles was a nice change of pace from my current Energizer battery sex life. He insisted on spooning me. Kissing the back of my neck, stroking my hair. Feeling his big arms wrapped around me, his warm breath on my neck. It frightened me. I am having commitment phobia. I couldn’t let myself get used to his body next to mine. It made me ache.
I woke up at noon with the sun brightly shining through his window. He was gone, thankfully. I didn’t have to discuss my drunken antics from the night before or argue any leaving stories or excuses as to why I cannot eat breakfast, or uh, in my case, lunch.
I am not sure what will actually become of Muscles and I. After last night I think his tolerance for me being drunk and blatantly doing blow in the bathroom strikes me as rather unappealing. And I am sure my romantic resume isn’t as qualified as other women he may meet. Good girl, good family, student. Good job? No. Fun? Very, but in the Kate Moss way, and no man wants to bring Kate Moss home for dinner with their folks.
I’ll keep dating. It passes the time. Maybe I will find someone who will be able to put up with me. But I am thinking perhaps asking if they’d like to pay my rent after our first cocktail probably wanes any desire for Dixie.
Hmmmm….
Only An Hour
Some rich lawyer from Cincinatti paid $800 for an hour of my time in the champagne room. I sprawled out on the couch and sipped awful Merlot. He rubbed my naked back. We talked about law, sports, travel, my blog, and my majors.
“You’re a really smart girl. A really nice girl. What are you doing here.”
He pronounced ‘here’ like it was a disease.
“Money.” I stated quietly.
“Well, this job is recession proof, right?”
Wrong.
I went from making $10,000-$12,000 a month to $2,000-$4,000.
It’s depressing. It’s shit.
I am a smart girl. I am a nice girl. I was brought up well, I pronounce my vowels correctly, and have exquisite manners. I’m in school. My degree is probably useless, but I don’t care. I love words, writing them, reading them, making them, letting them roll of my tongue. I will be a writer one day, I know it. I feel it in my bones. But until then, I’ll dance.
I tried working. I went from shit job to shit job. I modeled. I did freelance projects for magazines. None of it paid. Finally, I came to where I am now. Dancing at the Den. The big payout.
I know what I want. I know what I want from this life, but the frustrating part is that I cannot have it yet. I’m still in school, slowly working towards my goals. I suppose it’s a retreat from the rest of this cruel world. Avoiding growing up. Trapped in Never Neverland.
You’ll probably see me in a bar one day. I’m the one with the fantastic long legs. The classic beauty sipping white wine in the corner. You may even come talk to me. I’ll smile, you’ll buy me a drink. I’ll go on and on about this or that writer. I’ll talk about films and fashion, but I won’t tell you the innermost secrets. If you look hard enough you may see the depressed little girl inside me. You may even see the scars-literally.
The men in my life have been abusive or doormats. I have a big white scar on the top left of my forehead. I see his face every time I look in the mirror. My left leg is all new skin from severe burns. My right shoulder has a big white scar from a gash he gave me when he was drunk one night. My right foot, a knife wound.
I won’t talk about them. I won’t talk about these accounts with anyone. I keep them tucked inside neatly, making sure all you see are my pearls and my Jimmy Choos. The sweet pretty Southern belle I am expected to be.
I don’t have much anymore. I don’t make much money and the free money I do have to spend I buy books and wireless time at cafes.
“You’re too good to be doing this.” The lawyer says.
On the contrary. It occurs to me that maybe being a dancer has done me a world of good. Primping and smiling all evening. Forgetting the troubles life has handed me and giving myself the ability to feel good.
Even if it is for only an hour.
The Quieter Moments
I am out of El Douche’s house. All my shit now in storage in the ‘burbs. I’ll make do for now staying with friends until I can find a place of my own.
It’s ironic that today was the official door closing on my relationship with El Douche, as it is also Nil’s 27th birthday.
I texted him.
happy birthday.
He texted back.
thanks.
Then I called him from my friend’s phone. He answered.
“Hello?”
I hung up.
I picked up the Latina. Admitted my fault in contacting Nil.
She gasped a little.
“Oh my God. You both have restraining orders against each other.”
It’s true. Nil and I couldn’t stay apart. I broke his heart by calling off our wedding. He came back and broke mine ten times worse. Even when we started seeing other people, we still saw each other. He’d sneak in my building after Noah had left. He’d hold me in his arms and tell me stories that always started with “Once upon a time”. It got to a point where we were going to destroy each other. So we took legal action. It forced us to move on. Forced us to stay away from each other. Forced us to lose contact. But today, I couldn’t help myself. I had to hear his voice.
I saw Nil a few weeks back at a bank. Ever since then, I have had a deep ache and worry about him. It’s so hard. I know we would never work, but I always dream about what would have happened if we really did get married last June. I wonder if my life would be easier because I would have stability.
A great fear overwhelms me that I will forget the details about him. The way he smelled. The way he’d rub his chin. How he’d kiss me in the morning and I’d call out to him if he forgot. The way he would look at me when I was sitting in the passenger seat. I fear that I would forget the sound of his voice. So I called. I called like a foolish little girl. And yes, it was comforting. It filled that big broken piece of my heart that belongs to him.
I’m overwhelmingly saddened to know that he will never be here to experience parts of my life I wanted to share with him. And I have anger when I want to call him for advice and know I can’t. I miss him calling me when I would be at the mall. He’d know when I was in the Neiman Marcus shoe department from the sound of my voice.
I remember when we’d go to celebrations we’d whisper and hold hands under the table. He was that someone to roll my eyes at when someone said something inappropriate, especially when that someone was me. He’d hold my hand and help me gather my footing from too high of heels or too much wine.
I miss the comfort.
I know I will find someone to accompany me in a life I want to live. Not just someone who notices when I leave the room. Someone to lean in close with and watch the glimmering of city lights from a friend’s window. I want that someone who will witness the quieter moments in life with me.
Someone who will know when I just tried on a pair of Louboutins.
Mercedes Benz Fashion Week 2009
This past weekend I ran away to NYC to have some fun. I went to Fashion Week ‘09.
Here are some pics.
Self Destructing…
I woke up with a raging hangover. That thick putrid feeling pulsing through my entire body; the coming down from a week of non-stop bodily destruction. I don’t handle heartbreak well. I go into self destruction mode. It feels good at the time. Now, my pores are clogged and I have bags under my eyes. This is really no way to get back on the Dixie horse when I look this shiteous.
I’ll try to recap what I actually can remember from the weekend.
T rang the door bell. I answered wearing nothing but a lacy strapless bra and matching lacy black thong.
“Do you ever actually wear clothes Dixie?”
“Um, I prefer not to.”
I ushered him inside removing the bottle of vodka from his hand. We went downstairs to the bar and mixed us some patently shit drinks. T kept staring at me.
“WHAT!” I shrieked at him.
“Nothing…I just like looking at you. You’re really beautiful. I forgot.”
I rolled my eyes.
“So you have any of that Colombian health food lying around?”
T knows me all too well. Noah used to call me the squirrel as I am an expert at keeping little bags and envelopes hidden. “Emergencies only” is my excuse, but really, I just like conserving. Like how the Mormons hoard cans of food for the end of the world, I hoard blow and lingerie.
I peeled the rubber blackberry protector from my phone and revealed a little bag full of our magical fairy dust.
“I knew! I knew it! I knew it!!!!” He pointed and laughed like a seven year old. T gets all too excited when he proves he is right. It amuses me.
“Break me off a piece.”
I poured the powder out onto the counter breaking them into long little rails with my health insurance card. Ironic? I rolled up a $10 bill and snorted a line. The sharp metal familiar sting. We took turns until it was gone.
“I feel like we’re in that movie.”
“Which one? London?” I asked.
“Mmhm.” T choked out after a big hit. “This guy is a fucking douche bag for treating you the way he did.”
I laughed.
“No he was just smart enough to get out before I drove him crazy.”
We both smirked.
T is quite possibly the closest male equivalent of me. It is frightening. We talked about Walter and how I probably scared him away because I am oh so good at fucking up relationships. Plus, Walter didn’t have the patience to put up with my situation with you know who. I suspect I will marry T one day. I made conditions for our future nuptials: a Porsche, my own closet, and a diamond the size of a walnut. He said it wouldn’t be a problem.
Fucker.
I marched up the stairs and threw on my ensemble for the evening. T helped me pick out my shoes. Then I kicked him out before I ventured into Philly with my roommate from college. He kissed me goodbye on the cheek and stumbled out.
Cut to G Lounge where JDazzle(the college roomie) and I somehow swindled our way past the 4 block line and through the velvety ropes.
Benji Madden was Djing the anniversary party. I bought J and I our first round of vodka/red bulls. Grey goose of course. Then we pushed our way through the crowd to the front where we danced drunken and stupidly to the fantastic music. Running into many familiar faces half hugs and kisses exchanged. 2 regulars from the club were there. They bought us drinks. The creeper, as I like to call him, put his hands around my waist and danced with me.
“Come to LA with me.” He shouted into my ear. His exotic accent drives me wild.
“I can’t! I have too much shit going on.” Did I really say no to a free trip to LA with an overly sexy man? I did. Piss. Well, even in my distorted state I could make a wise decision. Or not wise, depends on how you see it. They made excuses and left JDazzle and I to our dancing. Beads of sweat glistening off our bodies as we grinded each other and danced our little hearts out.
Benji eye fucked J Dazzle and I. I am almost certain I could have had a threesome that night. But my drunken antics had us leaving the club and in and out of the pizza shop. It’s blurry, but then I remember the two of us gleefully stumbling into the lovely condo of a friend. Where we all drank wine and did blow until the wee hours of the morning.
I got home and crawled into bed. 8:30am.Wide awake still controlled by the drugs. I watched The Real Housewives of Orange County. My thoughts raced.
I texted T.
When we get married will you buy me a ring like Gretchen’s from The Real Housewives of Orange County?
He texted back.
Bigger : D
