Commitment Phobe.
I didn’t make any money at work tonight. I just want to lay in bed and eat crap and watch chick flicks and cry about my thighs and how hard my life is, even though I know it’s really not that bad at all. I want to mope and be sad. I want a sick day; a day off from my life. But I can’t because I am broke.
So instead I plan to work hard all week. To get over this hump. I make plans and stay busy. Make commitments.
Ugh. Commitments. I hate them. Ok, so calling off my wedding was an extreme, but even little commitments are difficult for me to keep. I guess it’s my fear. My fear of the unknown. I guess it is why I don’t have a dog for fear that I won’t love it as much as I did the day before, or that I’ll tire of it. But I have made a few commitments for the next 2 weeks. A Phillies game, a dinner, a photo shoot, and a girls night out. I marked them in my Blackberry, assuring myself that I won’t get lazy or distracted and blow them off.
I probably shouldn’t be dating as my attention span is that of a 4 year old and I’ll probably get drunk and ruin things like I always do. Or even better, he’ll read this blog of TMI and run away. I don’t blame him, but then I think well, maybe if he can handle the blog it will be because he likes me. He’ll care about me and it won’t matter. But then there are fears of if his friends ever find it and he’ll be embarrassed.
I have flirted with the idea of shutting this blog down as it has caused me troubles, but I can’t resist. I mean, if a guy likes me enough, he will be enchanted by me, the real me, and what I write. He won’t care what other people think of me. And that will be reward enough. To be loved for what I love to do. For being me. And hell, that’s better than a sick day.
For The Ladies…
Women question me all the time about my job. Why do men like strip clubs? Why do they pick you? Why they can’t men stay home with us?
You know what my answer is?
Men have dicks.
Something I have learned in my years in the sex industry is that sometimes it’s really not the man’s fault. Now yes, there are many perverted pricks that exist and they can’t help being losers. But in reality, men can’t always be blamed.
Men are unusual creatures. For most, the wind blows and they get a little excited. I would too if my shit hung out between my legs all day long. Men have dicks. They love women. They love sex. Hence, the birth of a strip club.
A strip club is a great place for men to hang out. They can drink and stare at beautiful women all night long. You know why they do? Because, for the most part, they love you. They go a safe place where they can look at women without fault of pissing you off. To do it guilt free. Because they love you. They do. They tell me. Half the time when I am grinding against your boyfriends cock he talks about you. About how pretty you are, how you first met, how you do this cute little thing when you laugh too much. It’s sweet. Really.
Men come to strip clubs to drink and feel like men. It’s a fantasy for them. Kind of like that feeling you get when you walk through the Saks Fifth Avenue shoe department or the Louis Vuitton store. It’s a rush. It’s fun.
When men come to strip clubs it is not because they don’t love you or find you attractive. You are probably 10 times better looking than the girls in the strip clubs anyway. They just sometimes have to get away for a few hours. Excuse themselves from one episode of Grey’s Anatomy to go feel like a man with their buddies. Let them. Don’t ridicule them about it when they get home either. They don’t ridicule us when we nag them 50 times about going to see the new Sex & The City movie or about those new Jimmy Choos in the window at Boyd’s.
I appreciate women. I think we are beautiful and powerful creatures, but sometimes we just drive men fucking crazy. Do you know why? Coz we are all fucking nuts. I mean take a step back and look around. We put a lot of pressure on men. I want the newest Louis Vuitton bag. I want jewelry. I want a vacation. I want dinner at Morton’s. I want new shoes. I want a big engagement ring. I want a big fancy wedding. I want a big house and a yard and a dog and babies. I want and I want want want…
The men I have met are gladly willing to adhere to their lady’s wants, but some pay the price. They break their backs at the office to make sure you have a comfortable life. They scrimp and they save and they try to do their best and sometimes that is never enough. And do you appreciate it? Do you really appreciate that new handbag? Or does the novelty wear off when the latest issue of Vogue comes out and says that it’s all about crocodile clutches? Take a step back.
What have you done for him lately?
Men come into my work all the time for an escape. Some pay me the price of that handbag to complain about their wife or girlfriend. They bitch because you’ve stopped having sex. You’ve stopped letting him feel like the strong man you fell in love with. They do love you and they wouldn’t be sitting in the raunchy strip club if maybe you’d suck his dick at the end of long work day. Shit, maybe if you just said “thank you “once in a while.
My job is to make him feel like a man again. I won’t ask him if he took the trash out or if he wants to try out a new clay mask. I’ll tell him what he wants to hear. That he is handsome, smart, and successful. I’ll stroke his ego. Build him back up so he can go home and remember how much he loves you. I’m really doing the both of you a service.
My point is girls; don’t blame your man for going to a strip club. Let him drink with his buddies and feel like a king. I’ll do my part. You do yours.
Black Cherry Chutney
I looked in the mirror this morning. The face staring back at me was one of unmitigated horror. A face struck with desperation and lack of utter morals. A face that looks 5 years older. False lashes cockily falling of my eye line. Black circles from exhaustion and too much wine and NARS eyeliner.
This recession is killing me. I eat and I drink worse than an obese Englishman. I had a photo shoot the other day and none of the pictures were any good as I turn out looking like a squinty fucking orca whale. I barely can fit into a size 0 jeans anymore. It’s pathetic.
I have been looking for a real, stable, steady job for the last 2 years and nothing has surfaced from my hours upon hours of job hunting. So here I am stuck trying to whore myself out to publications to print my work. Randomly tending bars. Dancing. Crappily modeling. It’s fucking pathetic. Being a writer in this recession is so fucking pathetic.
I have worries of school and piles of bills in the corner of my eye. I can’t even go out on dates as I barely have the money to pay for parking. It’s exhausting. And then I get drunk and pissed and go and spend any extra cash I have on Jimmy Choos and itunes. Things that always fit. Things that make me forget this bullshit existence I am stuck floundering about in.
My friends have stopped calling. Stopped inviting me out. I attribute this to my disgusting antics and perhaps that they have tired of having to pay for me. And then I grow angry because I remember so many times that I paid for them; took them to dinner without question; drove them when they needed a ride. And then when I needed them they were nowhere to be found. So I sit here alone.
Again.
I hate being lonely.
On a happier note, I have a new favorite nail polish color: black cherry chutney.
Ok, this post sucked. I am sorry.
Drinking
Marquis went up to a girl and pinched her right on her ass.
She turned around to reveal she was not me.
“Oh, I am sorry.” Marquis replied. “I thought you were my friend Dixie.”
She sharply replied “Oh, don’t apologize for grabbing my ass, but do apologize for calling me that whore Dixie.”
Marquis pointed me out to her. I have never met her, nor have I ever recalled seeing her. But she was well aware of me and my blog.
I can’t take this anymore. The ridicule. The hatred. What have I done to personally hurt you? Just because I write it all down doesn’t make me a bad person. It’s my outlet, my place to vent about ignorant people like you.
It’s hateful chatter like this that drives me to drink. I hear what they say about me when I walk into a room, through gossip, and whispers in bathroom stalls. I can’t take it anymore. I drink all the time. It masks the 23 years of deep seething anger tucked in my soul. From elementary school ridicule to the people that now devote their time to making me feel like shit.
So I drink. I drink even heavier at work. It makes the time go faster. The wounds sting a little less. I work 12 hours a day to avoid reality. My life sucks. I get too drunk to function, but I get behind the wheel anyway. I march into my house. Rip the fistfuls of cash out of my handbag and throw them into the air in a flurry of green and white bills. Why? Because I hate you. I hate that its people like you that make me feel badly. That make me feel worthless. And it pisses me off when people ask me why?
Why? I don’t know. I did everything right. I went to all the right schools, followed the rules, lived in all the best neighborhoods, but it didn’t go the way it was planned.
And tomorrow people will talk. They’ll say ‘this isn’t funny Dixie’, or ‘we’re concerned about your drinking habits Dixie’. You don’t like it. How do you think I feel? I am exhausted from having to defend myself all the time.
I am pissed and I am tired. I have to go into work today despite how angry I am. The anger doesn’t help any of this, but the alcohol will at least cushion it. Just a little.
Weiner$ Of Philly: The Face Raper
Ah, the face rapers. The finest ‘fellas in Philly. Now you may be reading this and think to yourself shit girl, they got you too? But if they haven’t let me warn you now before you too become a victim of their pathetic come ons.
The face raper clearly never played Monopoly, because he just flies through go, without stopping. Forget getting your number, or cocktails, he will corner you like the true creep he is and attempt at shoving his tongue down your throat. Why he thinks this will actually woo you completely blows my mind, but I am sure there have been the patently desperate insecure girls who will fall for these lame ass moves.
Now, the face raper can easily be disguised by a nice suit and a fancy business card, but be warned, the face raper can come in any shape and color. I will list the face rapers I have encountered below. Please feel free to add any of your own in the comments section.
- The Married Raper- The married raper will corner you in an alley way or bathroom stall. He is a little more secretive because um, he has a wedding band on and holds a great fear that his wife will find out and castrate him. I don’t blame her.
- The Suit Raper- He wears a suit. Carries plenty of business cards which he hands out faster than a Mormon on caffeine. He plays it cool. Rico Suave. But don’t be fooled. He is creepo numero uno. AND he probably has a beautiful girlfriend waiting at home for him.
- The Handsome Successful Raper- Why he even has to rape you with his tongue boggles my mind. But he does and he is quite good at it. In fact, it’s his reputation of being overly aggressive. This one gets me every time. He has gotten you too. I have said ‘NO!’ so many times to this prick that I now have sought out violence to get him off me. And even with a sharp handed smack to his beautiful face, he still twists it into ‘Oh, baby you like it rough. Do ya?’ No, I don’t like it rough you fucking douche bag. I don’t like you at all. Now get your fucking tongue out of my mouth. After rejecting him, he will move on to the next girl in the room. He has no qualms with attempting face rape more than once in a night. And more than likely after several failed attempts of face raping you, he does it again! He comes back stronger than a power napped pac man. It’s exhausting.
- The King Of All Douche Bags Raper- My personal favorite. Now, I am sure you know exactly who I am talking about. It’s a sin really. Don’t be fooled by his patently good looks. The douche bag will reveal himself sooner than you think. He has no game. So he made his own. It’s called ‘Don’t scream or this rape might turn into a murder’. Now, you may be laughing to yourself, or even giving a little chuckle out loud, but this is no laughing matter. I am dead fucking serious. (I even use italics to stress the importance of the word or phrase. And my parents think they wasted hundreds of thousands of dollars on private school education.) He’ll see you at a party, think you’re an easy catch coz you’re drunk or maybe you’ve been doing a little blow. He’ll take you in the bathroom and cut up lines and then he sticks his hand down your pants. Hmph? What a turn on. You really couldn’t think of anything to say? So you stuck your hand into my pants? Really? Is this really happening? And then after you push him off you he’ll say something really clever like ‘I think you just came from my beautiful hand’. Then he’ll try face raping you. And offer to pleasure you with his dick in the shower. At this moment you have 2 options: 1) Run. 2) Jump out of the nearest window. After you shoot him down he will never make eye contact again and will pretend you don’t exist. Thank God.
Don’t Piss Dixie Off
March Madness! Dixie loves basketball.
I watched the Duke game while I grinded my ass crack against the metal pole. While, I was entirely enthralled in the game, I didn’t pay much attention to any of the crowd. My eyes were fixated on ESPN playing on the flat screens lining the walls. But, at a commercial break, I noticed a ‘fella sitting at the end of the stage with a big stack of bills. I slithered over to him on all fours. He began stuffing my g-string with bills.
“Come down and have some fun with me.” He said.
I nodded and got off the stage.
I took him in the couch dance room, which happened to be empty.
On our 3rd couch dance his hands tried to make his way into my pants. It has become an instinct of mine to know when they try to go for it. I grabbed his arms and pulled them up over his head.
“You can’t do that, sweetie.” I said trying to be as polite as possible.
I let his arms go. He tried again. Persistant little fucker.
So I did what any other good Southern belle would do.
I punched him in the dick.
Little Known Facts…
1. I don’t like temporary things. For example buckets of golf balls, sore feet, The warm spot in the ocean, and batteries….and boyfriends that never stay.
2. I love quirks. Everyone has them and they are so beautiful. We must embrace them.
3. I bite my nails something wicked. Rip my cuticles until they bleed. It is a foul habit.
4. I don’t like looking through my old journals. They make my heart ache.
5. I wish all of my friends will have their own story with a happy ending and the wisdom to look for it!
6. I am really hard on myself.
7. I have a really big heart. I love everyone. I’m the girl who will hold your hair up when you’re puking and think nothing of it. And I want everyone to love me back.
8. I try and treat everyone like it’s my last interaction with them. Life is too precious and you never know when you will see someone again.
9. I could be called narcissistic. (It’s called having self-esteem).
10. I sing all the time when I am happy.
11. I really want to be a momma one day.
12. I don’t really care what people think of me. This is my life, my journey, my struggles, worry about your own.
13. I love calcium. Ice cream and cheese. YUM!
14. Music is the door to my soul.
15. I am in the process of writing my novel.
16. I love flowers. Everywhere. All the time. Freshly cut, wild bunches, tucked in tea cups, and fancy antique dishes. It’s like real life poetry.
17. Closer ( I know all the words), My Sassy Girl, and Miss Pettigrew Lives For A Day are movies made about my life. (Loosely based ; ) )
18. I am attracted to men that make me go crazy. ABSOLUTELY fucking nuts. The ones that don’t call me back or play games win my heart the fastest. I hate feeling this way.
19. Driving is a stress reliever for me. Sometimes I just drive with a playlist and a cup of coffee and I’ll feel 100 times better once I get home.
20. A Perfect day is the NYTimes, coffee and screwdrivers, all spent in bed with someone special.
21. There is a painting by Nancy Drew I am OBSESSED with at the Sagamore Hotel in Miami. It will be mine one day. (I love art, duh.)
22. I am obsessed with shoes, letters, books, and magazines.
23. I like to walk in cities. In 4 inch heels.
24. I love the feel of cold marble flooring against my bare feet in the summer, my skin when it is freshly moisturized, beautiful lingerie, and fresh sheets.
25. I am delicate and fragile, but sassy and wild with those I am most comfortable with.
26. I have deep relationships with my television programs.
27. I’ve learned that the grass isn’t always greener. Just love what you have. Cherish it.
28. I need to be organized to stay sane.
29. I rarely make time to sit around unless I am truly exhausted. I enjoy filling up my time doing activities. I enjoy staying busy because it keeps life going and moving forward.
30. I love boutiques.
31. I adore accessories like an old woman. Headbands, scarves, handbags, jewelry. I have so much of this crap I don’t know what to do with it.
32. I love crap. All kinds of crap.
33. I wear Juicy Couture perfume to work. Outside of work I wear Bond No. 9 ‘West Side’ and Bond No. 9 ‘Chelsea Flowers’. They are my scents. Many say they are intoxicating. I concur.
34. I love hotels.
35. I love margaritas and champagne cocktails. But in the summer time I like ditching my high maintenance ways and drink some beer and BBQ.
36. I love shopping. I have a relationship with nice things. We know this by now, but they are not as important as the relationship I have with my friends.
37. I love taking a notebook and drinking and writing. I never do this. I need to do this more.
38. I have a little tiny mole at the bottom of my cleavage. I am frightened it could be skin cancer, but I refuse to get it looked at.
39. I am afraid I am going to die from skin cancer one day.
40. I like doing things outdoors. Especially at night.
41. I want piano lessons. I’m rusty. I suck.
42. I miss living with a man.
43. I love to bake. I have no idea how to cook. I’d rather just eat dessert for the rest of my life anyway.
44. I want a tiny dog. I know it’s like a cliché for a blonde to have a small tiny dog, but I want one.
45. I do not own a watch.
46. I prefer aquariums to zoos.
47. I have been abused physically and sexually. It led me to a nervous breakdown. I was in a psychiatric hospital for 3 days.
48. I like sparkly fancy things. Chandeliers, diamonds, crystals. I believe you can bedazzle anything.
49. My lap top is pink. I love anything pink and vomit inducing girly. It’s disgusting.
50. I love wine.
51. I love to eat.
52. I see the people in my life getting married and starting families and I get a little jealous. Just a little.
53. I have a Barbie complex. I wish I was her.
54. I like adventure. Don’t wait for one to happen, make it happen.
55. I love going to the movies. I like to watch the previews and eat the crap.
56. I secretly want to learn more about photography.
57. I love the smell of fall. Fireplaces, the rot of sprng, the sharp cold cutting through the end of summer.
58. I hate it when people don’t enunciate their words.
59. Your and you’re. Please take note.
60. I love discovering new things.
61. I love bathing suits.
62. I hate getting manicures. I love pedicures.
63. I have ADD.
64. I want to create success for myself as a writer. I want to walk into a bookstore one day and see novels with my name on them. I want to be able to survive on writing alone.
65. I want to always make my own money. So I can be happy on my own and marry whomever I want to without the worry of money.
66. I want to marry a man who I will absolutely adore and always explore with.
67. I have poor vision. I wear contacts and I am too afraid to wear glasses in public.
68. I want a man who will love me with glasses on.
69. I like postcards and cards. No one ever sends me anything. Why is that? Why don’t we ever send cards just because I do. Someone mail me something.
70. I want dinner at Da Silvano’s.
71. Sunday night dinners at Radicchio’s with the girls is one of my favorite things in the whole entire world.
72. I like being cold and then snuggling under the covers with someone.
73. I sleep with the TV on because it makes me feel not so alone.
74. I love journals. Lots and lots of journals to write in. I only have 1 pen.
75. I love books and magazines. I will one day have them covering shelves in my home.
76. I don’t like good-byes.
77. I loathe liquid cough syrup. I don’t do shots either.
78. I love bookstores. Especially small independent ones.
79. I love concerts. Even if it isn’t someone I know, I love them.
80. I overreact.
81. Adoration is my drug of choice.
82. I want to go on a picnic. Drink wine. Listen to music and rub my bare feet in soft green grass.
83. I don’t believe in having too many handbags.
84. I believe the bed is the most important thing in my life. I spend lots of time in bed. I’m writing this right now in bed.
85. I love Agent Provocateur. LOVE.
86. I’d rather have a fabulous engagement ring I wear for the rest of my life than 500 pieces of jewelry.
87. I don’t really understand why people freak out when I tell them what I do for a living. It’s just a job.
88. I have trust issues. I have been betrayed so many times by people I love. So it is hard for me to trust people.
89. I can’t function without coffee in the morning.
90. Car rides soothe me. I said this before, but I think it is because that’s how my parents used to get me to fall asleep when I was a baby. I get quiet and relaxed.
91. I like being silly.
92. When I have a family I am going to have nights. “pizza night”, “taco night”, “date night”, “movie night”.
93. I want to take a bath. Wall crayons included.
94. I go through phases with food. I get obsessed with something and it will be all I eat for weeks and then I dump it and move onto something new. Kind of like the men in my life.
95. I sleep with a hello kitty so I don’t feel so alone. It’s embarrassing. I also always forget how to spell embarrass.
96. I love cocktails in the day time followed by an afternoon nap with the windows open.
97. The perfect afternoon is a spa day at the Standard in hotel in Miami.
98. I love cars.
99. I love cupcakes. Oh I love them.
100. e.e. cummings is my favorite poet.
101. I lose sleep over the fact there are ugly people in the world and that corduroy still exists.
St. Patty’s Day Party
Come celebrate St. Patrick’s Day at Whistle Bar!!! 19th & Chestnut
Dixie Does The GPH
I went to NYC for the weekend for a little personal time. I stayed at the Gramercy Park Hotel. It’s one of my favorite spots in the city. Actually, it is my favorite place in the city. I lucked out and got a 1 bedroom suite upgrade. The décor is eclectic. Imagine if Sid Vicious took over your grandmother’s manse- then ya’ get the GPH.
I went to dinner at Cipriani Downtown with some friends I haven’t seen in a while. Then back to Rose Bar. I didn’t feel like dealing with the bullshit of any clubs, so I just chilled at Rose Bar all night. I just sat back, had a few cocktails and watched all the beautiful people. I made new friends and spent time with old friends too.
The DJ was Marcos Udagawa. He was so refreshing.
But the weekend is over. Back to the grind. Literally.
