Phriendless in Philly.

I weigh 112 lbs. now. I lied. I'm actually 113, but 112 just sounds so much better. Nothing fits right. All my jeans are a bit too baggy. I think I am going to have to wear size 2's now. I went out for dinner last night and I had to grip my jeans up with my perfectly manicured fingers that happen to match perfectly pedicured toes. I like being this thin. My bones poke out in the right places and I am still left with just enough perfect curves for men to still drool over. Thankfully I dropped the weight just in time for the MAC show next week. I am pretty excited.


I don't know where that was supposed to lead to. I guess I just like to brag about how I'm a model, and I'm perfect and thin and gorgeous.

3 a.m. naked. I shivered and pulled the blankets up around me. I reached out for him, but no one was there. It seems to be a repeating pattern in my life. Reaching out for someone and having no one there to reciprocate your embrace.

I like being alone sometimes, but I have never felt this alone.

Most lonely people have websites like e-harmony to venture off to in hopes of ending their sad lifestyle. There are also fabulous events like speed dating, blind dating, date auctions, drive thru weddings, but do any of these events cater to girls just looking for a friend? No. No drive thru friendships.

How I ache for a gaggle of giggly girlfriends to paint my nails with and cry over pints of Ben N' Jerry's together. Ok, actually I just want a bunch of girls to get drunk and dance on the bar with me. I do look rather dumb doing it by myself. Not that I ever have...

Perhaps I could put an ad in citypaper. "Phriendless in Philly", or something clever and catchy like that. "Female seeking other Female companion 21+ Must like metal, fashion, drinking, and dancing." This is really pathetic. Maybe I could convince Shawnte and Emma to come out from frigid old Colorado and live with me. Or better yet teach Bruiser to talk.

I mean I thought living in Philadelphia was going to be perfect and wonderful and I would have sex in the city and friends and drinks and Manolo's. I could ask the girls at work to hang out, but they have their own lives and agendas outside of the club. I can only force Billy be my partner to work out and tan and pedicure so much. He is a man with a real job and he has his own life to worry about. Not my dramatic episodes over buying the silver Manolo's or the black ones.

Well, I'll stop now. I needed to vent. Time for class.

X moi

Nobody Puts Dixie In The Corner!

I am tired of being put in a corner. More than anything I am tired of letting myself get pushed there. Why do I listen to these melodramatic accusations of my character?

Fuck it.

I am a person too. I have feelings. I am not the walking talking conservative little doll you all desperately want me to be. I ooze sex, drugs, and rock n' roll. If you don't like it then leave. No one forces you to be here. No one makes you read what I write or tells you to obsessively check my myspace page.

My experiences have shaped my life and it permeates everything I do. Face it. Life is not good or wholesome. Life is not 'Leave It To Beaver' and if you believe it is then you need your head examined. Sometimes life isn't always about pink and green and pearls, but about too much cleavage, lip gloss, and razorblades. I am imperfect and my imperfections make me who I am. I don't care if I offend someone. I won't lie or change who I am for fear of offending someone.

I used to be a kind girl and everyone loved me. I glowed with southern sweetness, but I don't know who that girl is anymore. Soft blonde hair, socialite pink nails, flouncy knee length skirts. I suffered deeply and it left me bruised and broken. So what if I dress this side of hooker couture and paint my nails black. Life made me hard. I was consumed by big city life and it took me and swallowed me whole.

I am 21 years old and I have my entire life ahead of me. I don't need your ignorant comments blocking my path. I do not appreciate you people telling me what is acceptable to vocalize about my life or what I should do in my free time. Your comments are pathetic. Do not accuse me for being creative or having opinions because I clearly see you have yours. Please grow the fuck up. You people are not welcome on this site.

But alas, I must go. Time is wasting away. There are lines of coke to be snorted and cocks to be sucked. tootles!

I Love The Bubbly

I just drank a bottle of Cristal.

Need I say more?

Love Story

It was a warm April night. My heels clicked underneath the uneven brick pavement. I climbed the steps to the front door. It was open so I walked in. It went silent for just a moment. Everyone's heads turned and all of a sudden people started clapping.

"Finally!"

I smiled. I was a bit embarrassed, but I did it. I finally had the courage to rid myself of that odious excuse for a man.

No sooner was I at the party than a handsome boy came strolling my way. Tan, lean sandy hair, clad in American Eagle. And those eyes. Green eyes. Like the cover of last month's Vanity Fair. Electric.

"I'm sorry. I heard. I'm so sorry. I want to show you how a woman should be treated. Come to dinner with me this Friday."

I said yes. I was curious, enchanted by this creature years older than myself.

Friday comes. Opens the door for me, pulls out my chair, brushes the hair back from my face. He draws me into him. Wraps his arms around me. Leans in and gently presses his lips against mine. Soft. So comfortable. So weird. I felt safe. Something inside me let me tap into emotions I forgot I had.

I jumped back. Don't try and save me. Don't date me. I am not good at this. No. I am not ready. I am not ready for a boyfriend-Not yet.

"You need to be loved. You need to be saved."

I don't need to be saved. I think? I've made it this far on my own and I plan to continue. He smiles. I remember waking up in the middle of the night. Cramming my elastic orfices with his . Waking up feeling satisfied for the first time in a long time -maybe even ever? Hurting.

Yeah, he fucked me til' it hurt.

Black make-up smudged all over cotton sheets. He turned my head. He smiled. I let out such an uncomfprtable smile. Distant. My blonde hair was fuzzed and frazzled about like a crooked halo around my thin face. He draped his shirt over my shoulders. As I tried my best to walk to the bathroom I gripped the wall and steadied my feet onto the cool wood floor. A cat purred and brushed against my leg trying to mettle with my waddle.

I looked in the mirror at two deep black and blue pools. My pupils pulsing like my cunt was a few hours before. My face, expressionless, devoid of the glitz and glamor provided by MAC, the scars of twelve and a half months beginning to seep through. A young face, once so pretty, now smudged with remorse. "Let's sleep." He said. But I got dressed. Made him drive me back.

I left that day never expecting to see or hear from him again. The most wonderful date I had ever been on. I wonder if it made a difference, me being there that night. If any of it was real. A frail cold body drawing warmth from his, the conversation dripping out of some previously untapped source of emotion. A source I thought surely had been lost.

He dropped me at the curb of the airport. Kissed me. Not just any kiss. The cliche` passionate movie kiss. The realization that I was leaving didn't hit me until I stepped on the plane. A tear snaked its way down my cheek burning through my pores as it made its escape. I would never see this boy again. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back.

Denver 4 hours later- I opened up my cell phone. New text message:

I can't handle the thought of not seeing your beautiful face for 3 months. Come back soon. xo

Gone?

I saw it for the first time in over a year.

The lights were on. The shades were up. Inside I saw a thin blonde girl staring out at me from the side window. She looked empty. Something in her eyes made me want to envelop her with kindness and love. Her tear stained face sent chills up and down my spine. She looked down at me, trapped in her tower. I wanted to rescue her. Save her from the hurt and the pain consuming her life. She needed to be saved.

A group of stumbling college kids laughed as they walked in front of my car. I looked back at the window. She was gone, all that was left was a reflection of my face.

1:13am. 33rd and Powelton. Alcohol running thick in my veins as I waited for the light to change, I flicked my cigarette onto the cold pavment. Emotion rushed over me. I felt as if a knife had been driven through my chest. As I turned the corner I looked in my rear view. She was gone now, whoever she was-discarded like a cheap Louis Vuitton knockoff.

Gone, lost, but not forgotten.

Everyday Is Exactly The Same

What am I doing? Everyone knows it. I know it, but it's impossible to stop sometimes and let life go on without you.

It's getting to be the same shit different day? This shit about my life? This shit about clubs? Tell me about it. Every day I go in and do the same old shit, come out, and face the void. Worry about writing, worry about fucking school, worry because I'm 21 I have no direction and surely I should be coming home to something other than a computer screen and a smelly dog.

I was listening to Nine Inch Nails on the way to work. "Everyday Is Exactly The Same". Yeah, thanks Trent for pointing out the obvious. Except for me, I don't know how this story will end.

"You need a break, you need to have fun, you need to get out of school, you need to stop worrying about money and careers and school and..." and and and. You're tired, but you can't stop. You're not writing because you're not having fun, you're not having fun because you can't afford fun, you're stale and bored and stuck in a rut and increasingly self-obsessed and stressed out, and you just want to step outside your skin for five minutes... So take a break. Easier said than done. blah blah blah. Boring? Yes. Tell me about it. I'm bored of it and it's my life.

Yeah sure my job pays. Just bought a surround sound system for my flat screen. My parents still toss over $1,200 a month, but life is getting to be too much. It's too hard to try and live in Stuart Weitzman's when now all I can really afford are Steve Madden's.

Which is when the good fairies stopped by and dropped me Christian Dior goodies in a silver box. My fingers caressed over "Bergdorf Goodman" on the top. My heart skipped a beat. For the first time in a while something as foolish as Dior shades made my day.

School is almost done. I want a vacation. I want to spend a night in a beautiful hotel. Take a bubble bath and have a glass of wine without something eating me apart.

There are times when you think to yourself, 'why the fuck do I keep writing this blog?'. And then your boss elbows you and tells you he enjoys what you write, a long lost friend leaves you a comment, a new friend telling you that you have a heart of gold. And for that, it makes it worth it.

It's for the free things. The little things. Words.

Apprentice Asshole

There's one at every bar or club. The total asshole that walks about like a God among men. He pours Veuve Clicqouet down girls throats and showers them with cash. He thinks all the love and the attention he gets is the fact he is wearing a purple velvet jacket, baby blue striped pants, checkered shirt, and loafers minus the socks. I believe the only reason girls flock to this type of man is in hope that all the champagne will lower their expectations and will land them pregnant living off his platinum card child support the rest of their lives.

"Hey sweetheart. You're gorgeouuss!"

He leans in pinches my nose and litters my forehead with a kiss.

"Don't fucking touch me!"

"You don't know who I am do you?"

"Ummmm NO! I don't."

"I'm Raj"


"ok."

"I was on the television show 'The Apprentice'

"great."

I rolled my eyes and looked away. Meanwhile Marina was slurping down more champagne and chatting it up with his french friend.

"Baby why don't we go back to my hotel?"

"No Mr. TV show. I don't care for you bad sense of style, your pushy moves, or your body odor. Please leave me alone."

"You're truly missing out sweetie."

He crossed his arms and put on a frown like a 3-year-old.

I grabbed Marina and we walked out onto the street. Cabs whizzing by and people whirling about. Two cops leaned out their window and let out a whistle. A man was sitting on the corner with single rose buds in his hand.

"A beautiful rose for a beautiful lady?"

I'm a sucker for sweetness. I handed him a 20 and skipped down chestnut street laughing and giggling with a very drunk married girl on my arm.

Going away for a few days. Spending time with my family. I should be back Monday. Maybe. If I don't scratch my eyes out first.











Hangover

Tuesday morning I awoke in a pool of my own vomit in my bed with my eyes crusted over with glitter and eyeliner. I had 47 missed calls, 12 new voicemails, and six text messages. I managed to gain a grasp on gravity and walk down the stairs to the kitchen. I poured some overly sweet lemonade down my throat and followed the trail of my clothes into the bathroom.

My head was spinning. I had no idea where my coat was and I don't know what happened to my money. All I had to show for a night at work were a few crumpled dollar bills, a headache, and vomit encrusted hair.

I layed on the delicious cold bathroom floor. It was so soothing and comforting. Behind me the clock on the microwave changed. 11:38. Piss! I missed class.

I crawled up the stairs and pulled myself into the guest room. I fumbled the pile of clothes and fashion magazines strewn about on the bed. I crawled under the covers and fell asleep.

3:00. My head was still killing me. Managed to piss off friends I apparently told I would hang out with.

It's Thursday and I am still feeling like shit from Monday. I think most of it is emotion and stress. I have class in an hour and I am not feeling very motivated to go.

I need a break. I need to graduate. I want to get married and have kids. I want security in a big fluffy duvet with hot tea and muffins. I want to write a book.

Anyone care to take me to dinner at Le Bec Fin, buy me a Louis Vuitton purse, and a new pair of Manolo's? Anyone?

Girls I Don't Like #1

Since I find most 'modern day' females incredibly irritating I have vowed to dedicate postings to their incredible ability to drive me to drink.

Here ya' go served up hot and angry just the way I like it.

Girls I Don't Like #1- Wannabe JAPS

There's something that makes me want to shoot myself in the face when I hear the oh-so-typical Jappy screeches into their flat little phones that generally sit in pockets next to flat asses (sometimes even in FAT asses. Oy Vey!). Now, I love me some Jews, but what is way worse than being mistaken for a JAP (Just because my parents are rich and I have exceptionally great taste does not make me a JAP!) are the 'wannabe JAPS' that seem to be flooding college campuses more and more. I am sure you know the type of girl and guys (yes, guys!) I speak of; if you do not, please seek help because you are suffering from this disease.

The 'wannabe JAPS' can be found in line at the nearest starbucks raving about how like totally awesome their weekend was getting drunk and groped at frat parties. These Tiffany tear drop clad girls can be found waiting in line at the financial aid office because mommy and daddy cannot pay for their education (undergrad, law school, med school, etc.) due to the fact they demanded the entire new Spring line from Burberry. Japs are not to be mistaken for WASPS- at least their green and pink Juiciness volunteer and donate money to better America.

Wannabe JAP guys are seriously in love with wannabe JAP girls. They love couples mani/pedis and taking fluffy little 'Gucci' for walks whilst sipping fat-free lattes. They run away on weekend trips to Boston (capitol of the U.S. for guys on the brink of homosexuality) to get waxed, highlights, bronzed, and pedicures. Trust me, wannabe JAP guys are the evil of the American dating scene.

Although, Jappy type guys are on the scene the role is typically held by girls from age 12-42. Wannabe JAPS have that nasally whine perfected -just like real JAPS! I cannot hold a conversation with them without considering punching them in their ginormous jaws and/or unfortunate faces. Wannabe JAPS are out to pick you apart due to their jealousy and lack of security.

Here is a prime example of why I loathe this type of chicky:

"So, oh my God! I haven’t seen you in like forever *air kiss* so like is that a Chloe bag?"

"Oh yeah. Billy just bought it for me. I love it."

Turns to friend and talks loudly.

"I just huhhaaatte Chloe bags. They are like so terrible and tacky."

"Oh, Wasn't it last weekend when we were all talking about how much we loved them?"

Looks at me in horror and disgust.

"Oh, yeah, well, I decided I didn't like them anymore."

Wannabe JAPS don't need money to be a wannabe JAP. No amount of money will ever rescue her from debilitating insecurity. You can see her insecurity written all over her. She looks you up head to toe praying you don't have on something better than she does. I make these girls unbearably nervous because I know who I am and I am ok with the little flaws. I make them even more nervous if they weigh over 130 lbs. I love calling them out on their insecurities. I'm a bitch and I love it.

These girls are the fair-weather friends that are never around. These are the type of girls who work 24/7 to save up to buy the latest clothes. Just look at her. Always checking compacts, adjusting, lathering on more glittering concoctions from MAC, and fidgeting with her outfit. She always has to have the latest ‘it’ thing. When you hang out she's always flipping open her phone, messaging, looking at pictures of friends -it's her support group for insecurity. They are unable to be comfortable in their skin so they letch onto insecure guys to shower them with constant attention and love. And no matter how much this boyfriend cheats and lies, the girls stay because they cannot bear the thought of being alone.

I get a little wannabe Jappy streak now and then- like my angst over not having a Balenciaga bag. I'm not so much materialistic as much as I adore having nice things. You know- pretty things that brighten your day and mean a little bit more than a rag from Forever 21. My materialism doesn't run my life. I run it. I know who I am even though on the inside I am a little princess. But when I start to feel that Jappiness sneaking up on me, I smile because at least I can speak proper English.

Amazing Grace

It is not 'if' we will lose the things we love, it is 'when.' With some, the loss comes in a major catastrophic event. For most, love is surrendered one piece at a time - first childhood, a promising romance, the passing of a loved one, and finally a child who leaves home. But as we lose, can we not gain a deep knowing that in the presence of grace, love is eternal.