DixieLuxe

Dixie is going home

2006-07-20T09:02:00.000-05:00

I am going to Colorado. Will be back next week.

Past Tense

2006-07-13T00:45:00.000-05:00

I found some old journals from last summer when I was unpacking. I saw this entry and thought it was blog worthy.

It makes me sick. I want to make a thousand reasons why I should not be with you. But you chose me in the end, but the choice wasn't clear to you. Your not knowing makes me feel uncertain about us.

I scoured for evidence to set me off. I always find something. You took her there and probably any place else you've taken me. When we went out you introduced me as your girl. You've made us common which makes me not want to be with you. That you lied to me about your status. Knowing she was in your calendar when we were together. Knowing she was called every night before you called me. Telling me you're going solo and taking her instead - it all makes me not want to have anything to do with you.

I hope you one day find this. Buried deep in my many piles of journals. When you do find this and read it you'll realize how much you really hurt me. How much it still hurts me. How unfair you think I am for not thinking you have a past. Realizing that there was a before me. I know that. However, I did not know that you brought me into your lives. That I was there when she was not and she was there when I was home. That you told me you loved me 2 weeks afer you 'officially' broke up.You still probably hold onto her. You hold on. But I hold on harder.

I don't want to be with you because of her. What more can you do so I don't feel this way? I don't know. I don't like what you have shared with her. I don't like that while you were with me you still saw her, kissed her, fucked her...I don't like your choices. I don't like that when we were US- you still kept her in your life. I don't like that now after all this time and all we've been through I still don't trust that you will never speak with her again. I don't trust. How can we be an US if I don't trust? And if I can't trust YOU then I can't trust anyone.

Rendezvous

2006-07-12T01:25:00.000-05:00

The other evening at Ruth's Chris over many drinks and lots of food. I realized you were wrong. I realized that there are men in this world who want me around them. Who want to hear what I think and get excited over my company. Men who want to love me.

The other day I was at our bar. The one we used to go to when I was underage. I sat in our corner, but you were not there. You were far away with someone else doing far away things. We were here. It feels like yesterday, but it was more like last year.

You said we had choices. I had chosen, but you chose different. You always said you'd fix it- that you would make it alright again. A bad habit I could not quit. I remember sitting in a strange city alone crying on the phone. What was I to do? How could you do this? I felt helpless. I waws so alone.

But now I sit with someone new. Someone who cares. Clad in gifts from David Yurman and Tiffany gazing into his eyes across the street from where we met.

idiosyncrasies

2006-07-08T10:29:00.000-05:00

When she gets drunk she brags about herself.
He has an obsession with clean sneakers.
She screams when her dog drools on her, he points and laughs.
He can't walk in front of a mirror without checking himself out.
Her favorite foods are ice cream and soda pop.
He always wears baseball caps.
She cannot sleep with her clothes on.
He insists that she become an NFL cheerleader.
She has an abnormal obsession with the way the house smells. If anyone asks why there is an air freshner in every outlet she pretends like she has no idea how they got there.
She despises bowling and rollerskating. He once claimed to be a childhood bowling champion. She believed him and cried. This went on for several days.
She always reminds people to wear their seatbelts.
He loves talk radio.
She's terrified of open bleachers, frightful that she'll slip and fall through.
He spends as much time as she does in front of the mirror –then denies it when confronted.
She must have two large cups of coffee each morning and then won't do anything until she goes to the bathroom. She'll even be late to school and work.
He is obsessed with the food network.
She hates anything canned.
She cannot sleep on airplanes, even on a twelve-hour flight, with Ambien and champagne.
She only eats the filling of donuts and pies.
He prefers going to the bathroom, in their house, with the door open. He doesn't like to be alone.
She only drinks half the can of the soda before getting a new one. She claims its because she likes soda extra bubbly and cold.
He adores the smell of his cooking. She loves the smell of band-aids, fires, and bars.
She obsesses over body, hand, feet moisturizer, and Kiehl’s lip treatment. She must apply all of the above before bed or she cannot sleep.
She doesn’t believe he’s ever eaten a candy bar.
She doesn’t see the point in spending a lot of money on alcohol. She’d prefer to just spend it on shoes.
He’s obsessed with his television and adjusts the format at least 3 times before he can watch a program. Then adjusts it again at any commercial break or when she sneaks into the kitchen for ice cream.
She washes her hair last when she showers.
He copies her in the shower.
She’s fascinated by fish.
When he gets sick he is worse than a 4 year old.
She can’t sleep without air conditioning – even in the winter.
He insists that she wear dresses/skirts – even in the winter.
She runs in terror and cover her ears if there is ever anything medical on the television.
When he cooks, he makes everything fattening. Even vegetables.
She hates airplanes, but travels by air at least 3 times a year.
Anytime someone applies bug spray she always states – ‘You know they don’t have bugs in Colorado.’
He must hold her hand when they are in any store that doesn’t sell tools and becomes extremely nervous if she wanders more than 3 feet away.
She doesn’t like massages. She finds trips to the shoe department are much more therapeutic.
If he sees any designer product she adores he points, jabs, and then whispers “Look at that/those insert designer product here!” Then smiles as if he has just won a prize.
She has a terrible fear of cockroaches getting into the home.
When he’s nervous his hands shake and he blames it on ‘low blood sugar’.
When she’s nervous she cries about her make-up and throws herself onto the bed in a state of distress. She claims she’s not dramatic.
He belts out every song and pretends to know the words.
If she must sleep out of her own bed it has to be at least a 3 1/2 star hotel or a relative’s house or she refuses to spend the night out.
He only drinks bottled coors light, but only out of a pint glass.

She eats peanut butter with a spoon. She doesn’t think its odd.
He makes everything sound like a spectacular surprise or gift - Even grocery shopping.
She refers to herself as a cunt when she is embarrassed.
He always calculates how much something is going to cost (dinner, groceries, Target trips, etc.) and becomes disappointed when he was over or under by $2. It’s like he just lost a chance at a refrigerator on The Price Is Right.
She is very picky and often demands a lot from wait staff. But she does it in a manner where she pretends like she feels bad for demanding so much.
He always sweeps up the crumbs around him when out at a restaurant. She yells at him and tells him its bad manners.
She drinks at least five cans of soda each day.
He takes his clothes off where he is standing and never puts them in the laundry basket.
She is obsessed with playing music in the jukebox at their favorite bar. She plays all rock and metal with the exception of “Rich Girl” by Hall & Oates –in which she sings along loudly to. She does this all in hopes of pissing everyone off. But pretends like she has no idea what she’s done wrong when the management unplugs the jukebox.
He has anxiety over time and money.
She has anxiety over bugs, men in thongs, and ceiling fans.

Scars

2006-07-03T17:11:00.000-05:00

I left because I was sick of it all. I wanted my life to be normal again. To sleep normal hours, to work somewhere smoke free, and to be just like any other college girl. But to be truthful, I’ve never been like anyone else. I’ve always been a bit different from my peers because of my beliefs and the way I observe life. Wealth and old fortune surrounds me, but that’s not what I want.

I remember last year it was my dear neighbor’s (and friend) 21^st birthday. We flew to Las Vegas on his father’s private plane. None of us were 21, but we were gambling and drinking in his father’s hotel/casino. I won’t lie –it was a blast. But on the plane ride back home that night I realized that none of my friends were ever satisfied. Surrounded by unhappy heirs/heiresses I realized that I want more from my life than the glitz and the glamour that most people are so fascinated by.

This crazy life has led me to find a middle ground between being a spiritual zealot and a drunken asshole. Sometimes in life you have to do things that aren’t always pleasant or easy – this blog has been my sanity from that. This isn’t something I just happened upon when life is clean and perfect –packaged up neatly like a Laguna Beach episode. It’s something I look forward to everyday despite how much I screw up in life. It’s about succeeding and fucking up at the same time. My life has been one giant experiment of living – Barbra Ehrenreich on steroids. I keep doing so and as I do I will write about the unpleasant aspects of life- the parts of life “Little California” will never see.

My life has been more like an MTV show than reality, but it always leads me back to my heart. Do I regret anything? No. It’s gotten me here and I have gotten this far in the past year on my own. I spend my life researching, reading, studying – it’s what I love. I get anxiety when I am away from this blog for too long. It’s my place for meditation. My own little Mecca where I come to figure out who I am and who I want to be. It inspires me to keep going no matter how many bloody obstacles are thrown my way. Yeah, people judge me and insult me and sometimes it really fucking hurts. Their words may leave scars, but no matter what I do in life I won’t go running back to Mansion Pointe for sanctuary with my tail between my legs. As much as what people say hurts, those scars will fade with each passing day because I stay true to myself.

Staying true to yourself despite all the battle wounds. Isn't that what life is all about?

Buzzed

2006-06-30T08:18:00.000-05:00

The other evening at Anjou, I realized that I am the only one who doesn’t have one.

Whilst sipping melon martinis we chatted about work, school, shoes, and of course- masturbation. To me, I thought masturbation was more or less spending all afternoon with your holes crammed full. Straining your neck from watching yourself in the mirror. Hearing the slosh of your fingers during penetration and the pulsing twitching of my beautiful pink ring surely was enough. Was I wrong? Was there something more? I never thought anyone actually used them. I’m talking about vibrators. They all sat and giggled at me convinced me it would change my life. I was curious.

I pulled up to a full parking lot along side the highway. I sat there while the car was still running. Oh, grow up. Checked the mirror - my curls were swept up in a J Crew tortoise shell claw –no make-up. I was satisfied so I went in. The girl behind the window acknowledged me when I walked in. I was mortified. There were pornos from floor to ceiling. It was sweltering hot. I felt like I was lost in a Hedonistic jungle. Then out of the corner of my eye I saw it. A big sign hung over the cornered off section. “Novelties”.

I stood aghast at a giant wall full of multi-colored penis replicas, jittering animals, blow-up dolls, and ‘pocket rockets’. I felt hopeless. Over my shoulder I turned to find a sea of lonely men staring at me. Two young doctors offered to help me. I wanted to shrivel into the ground like the Wicked Witch. At this point I was dying to grab one and go.

There were dildos the size of small trucks and there were ones smaller than my finger. I was goldicocks and I needed to find one just right. I couldn’t believe how many there were. There was even a vibrating tube of lipstick. I couldn’t take it anymore. I was sweating and the perverted asian staring at me from the corner kept grumbling at me. I reached for one in the center and ran to the register.

“Do ya need batteries sweetie?”

“NO!” I just want to get out of here. Batteries? Wait.

“I mean yes!” I nearly deafened the girl.

The girl at the window slid me my bag through a tiny opening. I shoved my purchase into my Chloe bag and I dashed towards my car as whistles and hollers from the men inside poured out after me.

At home, I opened my package. It was teal with silver sparkles under the jelly surface. I put the batteries in and it let out a soft hum.

She found one juussst right.

June Life Update

2006-06-27T15:37:00.000-05:00

Sorry for the lack in new posts. I've been too busy hanging out with rockstars and fellow models to have time to sit and write. It's time for me to get ready for a photo shoot for a Philadelphia rock station (I'm their new spokesmodel/cover girl) I'll be back in this blog soon.
X DiXie X

Monster

2006-06-11T19:51:00.000-05:00

When my sister and I were plucked from our happiness in Naperville, IL we were forced to settle into the Wide Open West. We were horrified that we were forced to move once again to a dreadful state called Colorado. Dreadful. All I could imagine was high school kids shooting eachother and buffalo roaming everywhere and snow- oh how I hate the cold (it’s the Texas girl in me). Our Daddy had promised us that if we were ever to move again we would go back to Texas and flourish as southern belles in our big beautiful brick plantation home. Being the incredible lawyer he is, as usual, he lied.

When we arrived in Colorado, it was June and it was hotter than my dreams of Chase Utley with his hair done. Of course my parents decided to torture us by forcing us to move before the school year so we had NO friends. None. Zero. Luckily, my sister and I are just so fascinating we don’t need friends because no one can ever love eachother or be as wonderful as we are together. Our rooms connected by a long private hallway and bathroom. We spent our time locked in our private area of the house watching daytime soaps and eating and drinking lots of refined sugar and saturated fats.

I was 14. At 5’7” and weighing a whopping 98 lbs., I never gained weight and I always ate and drank crap. After 3 weeks of our daily food routine of a 24 pack of soda, 3 boxes of cookies, 1 gallon of ice cream, and 2 cheese burgers- it started to show. I weighed 125 lbs. My mother fainted when she saw the scale. Instead of 2 daughters she now had 2 pet manatees.

When my mother came to, she sat us down and gave us a very serious talk. She said we needed to stop eating like we were farm animals. She said we would never be taken seriously or truly loved if we looked like little orcas. We would never be accepted in the real world because fat people are never taken seriously. Fatties don’t have lots of beautiful friends, glamorous jobs, sexy boyfriends, or a spot on the cheerleading squad. We were smacked in the face with the truth and we knew we did not want that life. All those delectable delights we fantasized over- Popsicles, cotton candy, ice cream cones, french fries, soda pop – were never to be consumed again. We were living like the children of the carnies, not of southern bourgeoisie.

My sister and I quit the saturated fats in sugar rehab that summer aka we lived in bikinis. We decided being anorexic by the pool was much nicer than plump ‘Days Of Our Lives’ sausages. Soon enough our spirits were lifted because we were making friends and boys wouldn’t stop flirting with our fresh slim figures. Every now and then we would walk down to the grocers and sneak home bags of cookies and candy bars to gorge upon without our mother knowing, but we knew we could never act like we did that summer again.

I still find myself falling down into that dark hole. When I become depressed I morph into a monster. Cookie monster. I eat everything I can get my hands on and I can’t stop. Today, I consumed an entire box of Klondike chipwiches. The ten minutes it took me to eat them, eased my pain and dulled my heartache. The tiny chocolate chips along the edges looked like something Monet would paint when he was feeling like I was – dark, blurred, and muddled – little pieces of heartbreak. Bruiser curled up at my feet. Sometimes I think he's the only one that can feel my pain. I swear I can almost feel the cottage cheese beginning to form under the skin of my thighs, but it doesn't matter. I am alone.

Reminder

2006-06-05T21:10:00.000-05:00

This isn't meant to be a sensational work of art. This is not intended to be a fabulous bit of lit. It bothers me when people tell me to "try harder" or "try writing like this". I think people forget that I have a life outside of this blog. I don't try to be anything on this site. This blog is a mere place to excercise my talents. People must forget that I write outside of this blog, go to school, and have a job. Don't forget that I do this for fun. I enjoy dumping my thoughts about my life here. I enjoy experimenting and trying to write from different points of view. Try to understand that this is me having fun, not trying to be Jane Austen.

Drunk at 11:34 PM

2006-06-01T21:49:00.000-05:00

This morning I awoke at dawn with beautiful sunbeams dancing around my gorgeous naked curves and soft perfect skin. I realized that I have been away from this blog for far too long. I've missed writing about my trials and tribulations of being a trust fund baby/student/writer. I've missed my sanctuary, escape, garbage chute for words and thoughts of Philadelphia life.

I'm selfish, I was used to the hoards of comments and e-mails in my in-box. ego boosts from on-lookers about how skinny and gorgeous I am. E-mails from jealous haters talking shit about how gorgeous and thin I am. I miss the attention. The knowing that you people can't live without posts of self-absorbtion. I like putting myself out here. coming clean, being vulnerable, allowing my inner secrets to be splattered all across this page. I love that I don't hide anything.

I can't help, but be full of stories brought to you from the armpits of North America. My realizations that people actually have to live in New Jersey, shop in malls, and spend free time in K-Marts and Wal-Marts. I never realized that girls never owned Charles David's or a pair of Blisterniks (or two).

The other afternoon I was having lunch with my fave chiclet Katie Rose. Discussing how wonderful it would be to buy an Hermes Birkin bag. Then we moped how we were meant to be heiresses because we then could have 5 Birkin bags and a reality show much better than "The Simple Life". Then, I thought of the precious Roxy and realized she is forever linked to Quiksilver/Roxy. Her parents were evil to have named her after their trashy female surf company. Having to have my own first name attatched to dreadful hippie/loser companies would kill me. I could never be an heiress to a bad name. Thankfully, my name is written in oil so I have nothing to worry about.

In other news, things have been stressful. I have been moving with Billy all week. I am dying for a Christian Dior red satin dress to wear to Danielle's wedding, but I think spending $4,000 on a party dress may be a bit much. I found a D&G rag I may have to settle for that. Not like anyone will be looking at me because Danielle is going to be ravishing and so will the reception. I am splurging on a pair of silver Jimmy Choos because I have to treat myself.

Work is looking good. I have a few modeling gigs in NYC/Las Vegas in the upcoming weeks. I get extensions next week so my new blonde $1,500 locks better make me some money.

It's sweltering hot in this room. I think it's time for bed.

Introducing My Sister

2006-05-24T12:10:00.000-05:00

So, being the over dramatic older sister I have decided to stop being so self absorbed and shed light on my sister's fabulous ability of writing. Here's a little story she wrote about me (Well, I can still be a little self absorbed, right?).
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The Day I Ate Leaves by my sister Ciara.

I remember when I was little you were always the better one at coloring and the fact that you could do something bigger, better, faster, slower, nicer, or just different than me, made my competetive vibes flow. ( I like to think that this is what attributed to me being more athletic, and according to Sts. Peter and Paul School's social standards, more popular than you).

You were never one to fight back when I called you names like "dumbo"..which I so elequenty named you after Andrew, the love of my life at the time, had decided that your Barbie was "prettier" than mine. (I think I recall punching and then breaking up with my kindergarden sweetheart after he went on to decide that he would marry your red-headed doll.) I wanted to scratch your eyes out....you big fat dumbo. However, being the good Catholic girl that Mom raised us to be, I confessed this five years later to Father Jim at my first confession and think I actually still feel bad about it.) However I later went on to realize that you actually weren't fat and certainly not a dumbo. Then I didn't realize that it was your long skinny legs, blue eyes, and blonde hair are what made me choose my Barbie. She looked just like you...and so would naturally, be better. How could I continue resenting something that I so desperately wanted to be?

I was always ready to show you up...no matter what the occasion.

I like to call this one moment in particular, "The day I ate leaves".

You and Sarah, older and much more "mature", knew that I would do anything, and I mean anything to be "cool". As I approached the tree on the left side of our red-brick Texas mansion, you and Sarah were struggling to contain your giggles by sparking up random conversation. Of course I was eager to join in on the fun and ran to your side. I swung my hip to the right as I so cooly brushed my hair out of my face only to remark, "What are you doing? I want to do it too. Hey! You GGGGUUUUYYYSSS let me do it too!" Sarah let out a long sigh, and now that I look back on it I think I can remember a slight grimace forming at her lips as she decided that for the first time, "I could hang with the big girls." (This is ironic only because Sarah is a Nun now...a good, non-grimacing type of nun.) I was overwhelmed with excitement, but tried to maintain my composure. You and Sarah uncurled your hands to reveal three leaves. I was confused. I had no idea that this is what adults did....Eat leaves. "Classy," I thought. After you and Sarah simultatneously brought the leaves to your mouth and continued to sneak them behind your backs so that I wouldn't notice, you presented me with my leaf. I shoved it in my mouth but was unexpectedly surprised by the bitter taste. Your faces seemed so content with the leaves as you moved your jaws in a chewing motion. I refused to let you see that I was in fact, not an adult and not cool. So I smiled as I scuffled down the leaf.

Contrary to popular belief, the leaf was not made of chocolate (#*&...i love chocolate), was not as classy as caviar, and was not your everyday "happy meal" at McDonald's.

The fact is that I could never color inside the lines...so I just quit coloring all together. I decided that being short, having brown hair, being clumsy, and just overall uncool can be just as good as being a crazy extremely outgoing tall blonde model who colors inside the lines....sometimes.

so ha.

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So there it is. She's talented and I was a mean big sister.

Cheyenne

2006-05-21T22:14:00.000-05:00

And I turned over my shoulder to see her. Her perfume wafting over to me cutting the thick air of alcohol and smoke, the tits and ass, the broken dreams. She hugged me like we'd known eachother for years. Kissed me gently on the cheek.

"I missed you, you look good.."

I pause and smile. Ash my cigarette, sip my free drink, put my arm around the guy sitting next to me. She giggles. Holds her chin, cracks a smile through her fresh botox treatments. Remembering the times when she taught me. How to walk and talk. How to milk 'em for cash. But now, I'm a pro.

"I just got my chin done, I look like I just had a stroke."

She looks like she's had three strokes. But she looks good for an old bag. Tits done, lipo, chin done, botox. She's 40-something, but she looks 34. Soft eyes that glisten in the lights, maybe its the alcohol, but her charisma makes her sparkle.

"Come back baby, we miss you, this is a small town, don't burn your bridges."

I'm happy here. Now. Away from the sick celluloid fantasy. Although, something draws me to it. Maybe life is one giant burlesque show. Faking out someone else's dreams. Looking for a light at the end of the tunnel and if you're not fast enough you'll get stuck like her.

Drunk guy dribbles over my shoulder.

"Ya ever been to Wyomin sweetie?"

Damaged

2006-05-12T15:53:00.000-05:00

Dreaming comes so easily coz it's all that I've known.

I'm good at diguising who I am. I am an artist with a make-up brush. A master of concealing the cracks in my soul with stilettos and MAC. I can hide behind the false eyelashes and stand before you shading my face with Chanel and Dior. I can keep my heart locked in tight with corsets and expensive lingerie. But when will I ever be me again. The real me. Not this character I have developed so beautifully for myself.

But who am I anymore? Dixie, Daisy, Rachel, Ash? The names and the stories are beginning to blur before my eyes. I'm lost in the transit of Philadelphia life. Like a kid in a carnival fun house desperately trying to find a way out. Carousels spinning round and round, bright shining lights, the laughter of the crowd - except no one is there with cotton candy to soften the fall.

Outwardly one sees a ravishing young girl skipping down her yellow brick road of life in her Prada heels. Inwardly, afraid. Afraid to let you in for fear of seeing the real me. The girl who had to grow up a little faster than she wanted to. The girl whose soul is just a litt bit darker than everyone else's. The scars are everywhere. They don't make me beautiful. I'm last season's size 4 dress hanging grimly by a thread on the clearance rack.

What is real? The tears? Me with him? Me alone? Dancing? Writing? Denver? School? I'm tired of trying to answer this riddle of life to please everyone else. To tip toe around the taboos I was so excellent at portraying. I wrote about the cold hard parts of life people like to deny. I wanted to experience something that was real - Or at least seemed it. But in the end it is all a fairy tale. Someone else's. Never mine. But I have lived and I have learned about the hardships - no matter how gruesome they are.

But I leave now with my artificial nails, mystic tan, and long blonde acrylic hair, wrapped up and packaged neatly like the little Barbie in the box. But what happens to the Barbie's that are damaged before they reach the shelf?

I'm damaged so how should I know?

The Men In My Life

2006-05-08T01:41:00.000-05:00

I dated a white trash scum bag for a while. I'm not sure what I was thinking. I guess I wanted to branch out and experience other people in this world. I ended up in a hospital bed with a fractured skull. Not the type of experience I was looking for.

I have come to a final decision that I can never only ever date one man. Yes, this does sound like an episode of Big Love, but its true. I am a polygamist in my own right. I love the thrill of spending time with a different man every night. Having the thrill of acting and dressing in one way for one man and completely chaning my being for another - All in the course of a week.

I currently have 4 men in my life. Manolo for when I am feeling stylish, Jimmy for when I am feeling like a hipster, Stuart for when I am feeling classy, and Charles for when I am being thrifty. I know it sounds awful, but its true love for me. No other man can offer me the thrill of looking so fabulous and bringing me absolute attention. I love being able to choose a man to accompany my style for that day.

As much as my life as a designer polygamist sounds so intriguing I do have to say I have been unfaithful. I am embarrassed to say that I succumbed to spending an evening with Steve. It's not my fault I can't be faithful. Being around this many men can really be harder than it seems.

Sick Dixie

2006-05-02T23:17:00.000-05:00

He sat in the far back corner. Sucking down nicotine courtesy of Marlboro. Faded green Eagles hat and typical college guy striped shirt. He looked up at me as I swaggered my way to his table.

He tilted his head and looked up at me as I towered over him with my 7 inch platforms. Eyes glassy.

"You're gonna kill me aren't you?"

He chuckled and ashed his cigarette in a way that only a cocky bastard like he is could do.

"What do you want to drink?"

Coors Light. I answered that one myself.

I returned to his table with a drink. We sat we talked about life and strippers and money and. It was all too much me sitting there wasting my time talking to him. Feeling that I needed to feed him all the attention I could muster up.

After I left I crawled into the back. $60 to show for a night of work. I had a headache and a runny nose and no motivation to continue working. I left. I didn't say anything. Just got changed and left.

I am broke. I have a terrible cold and all I really want are some fucking flowers and an Hermes scarf. No, that's not what I want. I'm exhausted and the lack of creative energy is mainly due to the fact that I am terribly ill and I need a vacation.

I think I need a day in bed to watch movies and drink tea. Anyone care to play naughty nurse for me?

Phriendless in Philly.

2006-04-27T08:40:00.000-05:00

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!

2006-04-24T11:27:00.001-05:00

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

2006-04-21T01:13:00.000-05:00

I just drank a bottle of Cristal.

Need I say more?

Love Story

2006-04-20T09:22:00.000-05:00

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?

2006-04-19T23:33:00.000-05:00

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

2006-04-18T23:42:00.000-05:00

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

2006-04-14T09:19:00.000-05:00

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

2006-04-13T08:49:00.000-05:00

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

2006-04-06T14:55:00.000-05:00

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

2006-04-03T14:47:00.000-05:00

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.

At A Glance

2006-03-28T10:04:00.000-05:00

I felt eyes burning a hole right through me. I looked up from my book and met eyes with Mr. Corporate gazing fondly at me.

"What are you staring at!"

"You."

"You better stop looking at me like that right this fucking second or I'm...I'm.."

"You're the most beautiful thing I have ever laid eyes on."

"oh."

Sorry for the break. Real life stepped in and raped me of any creative energy. I am currently consumed by stress and with that comes the writer's block. My sister is in town for the week and I start work tonight. Two of us has to lead to something exciting and perhaps I will come home with captivating tales from Old City. Anything that I can do to further add to the garbage on this page. And maybe - just maybe I'll start writing with the enthusiasm I used to have.

Dixie Princess

2006-03-25T12:06:00.000-05:00

I always grew up being treated as a royal litttle princess and i thought i was one, but lately it seems that people treat me like i am a royal pain in the ass. I have a definite idea of what makes me happy. I know what my engagement ring will look like, how i want the lighting in my office, and where i want my summer home. Sometimes my life doesnt seem to match my fairy tale so i need to express it in words so that you can finally understand where i am coming from.

I grew up in lavish homes and got whatever I wanted. I had a mother who aggressively, yet lovingly was always pointing out my flaws and how I should perfect them. I cannot remember having a meal without my mother telling me to only eat half or coming home and having her suggest starving myself for a week would do me good. I use the word cute to describe everything. From men to puppies.My whole life I have lived really knowning that I am secretly meant for fame and fortune. I cant help that I dream about how I can redo my closet. Lastly, I have entitlement. I drive waiters crazy asking for more lemon for my diet coke, I send my meal back if it isnt good enough. I deserve special treatment because I am beautiful and I dont understand why everyone else in the world can't realize that.

I take enjoyment in shopping. I feel better knowing I have a new pair of betsey johnson pumps to wear out just in case someone important calls to go somewhere important where i have to look ravishing. i used to act shameful coming home to my boyfriend after spending nearly his entire paycheck on a shirt, but i have learned to overcome that shame. I no longer try to smuggle the bags in without him noticing, but i proudly stroll in and announce how much money i saved from not buying the "extras" before he begins to get upset.

I must be pampered frequently.Weekend spa trips are a ritual for my mother, sister, and I. When I first moved to Colorado my mother had us fly to Chicago to get our hair done for the first two years because she refused to go anywhere else. I must get a mani/pedi at least once every other week. I also must have an orgasm daily ...mechanical or otherwise..

I only expect honesty from myself. I was born with a natural talent in ensuring I get what I want. I always know what I want. I irritate men when they ask me what i want for dinner and i tell him i dont know. I come off terribly indecisive, but the truth is i know exactly what i want it just may take me 20 or 30 minutes to phrase it.

I often manipulate people. Ok, only boyfriends. To ensure I get my way I have a few one-liners that work wonders on guys.

If I don't feel like doing the dishes: "Honey, I'd love to do the dishes, but I think I just got a little fluid in my lungs." (this works like magic!) Sometimes I sit around and give long drawn out sighs and sulks til he asks me what i want...or he already knows and then he does it. The best one is right after you both crawl into bed "say oh darn. I would just love lucky charms for breakfast. too bad there arent any in the house." He should hop right up and run down to the wawa to grab me a box. Another great thing to say if you have to let out some really bad news lead in with a really huge build up like say "Ok sweetie I have something REALLLY importnat I have to tell you so try and stay calm." (allow a long pause so he can think that you killed his dog or you have an alien child growing out of your ass) then say "i accidently washed your wallet." then he will be so relieved that you dont have cancer that he will not be mad and will just give you a gentle kiss on the forehead.

I knoow I am a spoiled brat so i have learned to give a little. In order to have a healthy relationship both partners must have certain jobs and roles.

Here are mine:

I am the social director, floral arranger, nutrition planner, fashion consultant, card buyer, gift buyer, call your mother reminder, blanket stealer, decorator, computer complainer, flower buyer, laundry lady, takeout caller, couch warmer, heat turner upper, bed hogger, and hot water user.

Here are His:

bartender, tv setter upper, dvd setter upper, trash taker outer, bug remover, door holder, fire alarm fixer, furniture carpenter, vacuumer, vacuum bagger installer, internet service provider, car warmer upper, snow shoveler, ice cube maker, fuse box fixer, heat turner downer, newspaper retriever, wine opener, can opener, veggie chopper, food cooker, breakfast in bed maker, yell at me to do my work yellerer, back massager, bear hug giver, forehead kisserer, cold water shower takerer, and thats really all i can think of.

so i am still trying to break from my princessy behavior, but i am getting better.

Cat Calls On My Way To Class

2006-03-23T22:45:00.000-05:00

I can't lie. Everywhere I go men let out little cat calls in my direction. At times I can't help, but love that guys drool over me. But on days like today it just gets really fucking old.

I was awakened at 5:45am by Billy's icy feet slipping into bed with me. After that I couldn't sleep and I didn't drag myself out of bed until the alarm sounded at 8:15. I managed coherence for about 30 minutes before doing any productive activity. I grabbed the first resemblance of an outfit I could find and dashed downstairs. I scrambled about for the car keys and my purse and rushed out of the house.

The second I stepped out of the car it started.

The Valet Guy:

"Oh damn girl, look at those legs."

(He always says something nice to me everyday so I don't mind too much.)

Guy In Food Cart:

"Ooh Mami, How boutcha come over here and I make ya somtin reeel nice."

"No, thanks I don't eat food from carts and I certainly don't date them either."

My walk to school was filled with offers for molestation and cock suckin. I was becoming very irritable. I knew I was going to flip out if anyone said anything else to me.

"Newports. Foh' Dollaz." And he waved a pack right in my face.

"I don't want any fucking cigarettes. Get the fuck out of my face before I rip off your testicles."

Can't these people just leave me alone.

Just when I thought I couldn't become any more irrate. I heard a whistle.

"Damnnn baby girl. You're hot baby. Real hot. baby! Cah'mere! Howa bout' you an' me get togetha. Make some saweet love."

I turn and stare at him right in his beady little eyes. Everyone within a 5 mile radius heard me scream at him.

"Ok darlin'. Let's go. Right here. Come on. I am waiting! Get it out!"

Long Pause.

He chuckled to himself.

"Have a good afternoon baby."

I turned away and a grin spread across my face and I knew.

I won.

Sometimes I don't mind the hissing it's a nice confirmation of my ravishing appearance. But some days you're better off just keeping your mouth shut.

In Over My Head

2006-03-22T20:54:00.000-05:00

I have a boyfriend, a dog, and a mortgage. Life is so normal it hurts.

...I never knew that everything was falling through...

I’ve been sucked dry by this world. I’ve lost my enthusiasm, my humor, my words –my voice. It’s gone and I don’t know if I’ll ever find the passion to get it back. I had such energy in my old blog. Passion, stories, experiences, I knew what life was, and now I don’t know. I am slowly starting to adjust to the mendacity of this life. Staying away from clubs. Avoiding saying anything too offensive. Softening. Trying to be ‘acceptable’ in society. Maybe make friends. Trying to be me again.

...It’s coming down to nothing more than apathy...

But who am I anymore?

...I’d rather run the other way than stay and see the smoke and who’s still standing when it clears...

My shrink says I suppressed the hurt and now it is slowly leaking out of me like water from a rusty faucet. I thought I was clever enough to cling on grimly and let my life ride out, but I certainly was wrong. The hurt twists and writhes in my stomach followed by the tears. They come and they burn like hell. They come and they don’t stop – for days. The loneliness, the hurt, the disappointments come and go and I am often too overwhelmed by it all.

...Everyone knows I'm in over my head...

I'm tired of it. Exhausted from all the adjustment and change. The constant struggle to be normal again. But I am just desperately trying to see that the hardest thing and the right thing are exactly the same.

...And suddenly I become part of your past...

Blondes: What's all the fuss?

2006-03-21T23:16:00.000-05:00

This is from November, but I feel its warm reviews (thank you. thank you.) made it deserving of a little spot in the blog. (i don't have the copy that went to print so here's the rough draft.)

Waiting in line to get into the Nine Inch Nails concert my best friend and I were swarmed with little cat calls and compliments. When I got to the front of the line I handed the guy my ticket and he needed to search my purse. He told me if I took the batteries out of my camera I could bring it in. As I fumbled to get the battery compartment open the guy looked at me and said “I guess those things don’t come with manuals for blondes”. I was horrified. I threw my batteries at him and stormed into the stadium.

Blondes have always been considered over-sexed vixens with nothing inside their precious little heads. These lusty babes have been the subject of many jokes and references throughout the years, but thanks to young ‘heir’ heads in the media this poor reputation of blondes has been clinched.

These young bony homeless looking stars have made it so blondes have to put warts on the end of their noses to be taken seriously. Who says these media whores are really dumb, or are they faking it just like their virginity? Many blondes are actually really intelligent. Perhaps this 'dumb blonde' cliché is on the way out.

Sure Barbie is blonde and so am I (when I keep up with stylist appointments), but the last time I looked in the mirror I didn’t see 'made by Mattel' on my sexy little bottom. I sit in class amongst many intelligent blondes and we may all have our Jessica Simpson moments, but nobody has a right to start classifying us as spoiled heiresses.

Our culture may be ready to take a step in a new direction. Maybe America is sick of seeing starved over-processed girls in drunken stoopers all over news stands and television programs. Maybe we're ready to finally accept that blondes are sophisticated women too.

Random Thought

2006-03-21T19:26:00.000-05:00

There was a semi truck blocking my path to get to WaWa. I contemplated walking under it instead of walking an extra 50 feet to get around it. Then thoughts of the truck taking off with me underneath it crossed my mind. I really would not enjoy to be dragged to my death. I also don't fancy the idea of bits and pieces of my body flying about and left to decay next to piles of litter in a gutter somewhere.

Fall Out Girl

2006-03-20T17:48:00.000-05:00

In between bands I was left alone to slurp down my vodka tonic while my friends went outside for a nicotine fix. My mother called so I answered to drunkenly explain how I was the hottest girl in the joint. Three rows ahead of me two little girls kept turning around and looking at me while I rambled on about what designers I had chosen for the night. The girls whispered to their mother and then she turned around and motioned for me to come over.

My throat went dry. What the hell does she want? I stumbled my way over the best I could drunk and in 5 inch stilettos.

"Are you a celebrity?"

"Pardon?"

"Well, we saw you sitting over there with two body guards in a private box and well - we assumed you were a celebrity. We were just wondering who you were and maybe if we could get an autograph."

I was flattered. And yes she indirectly complimented Billy and Dean for looking like angry meat head body guards.

"Urrm. No. Sorry, I'm just a regular person."

She had an incredulous look on her face.

"Oh."

One of her daughters turned to me.

"You look famous."

I laughed.

"Why thank you, so do you."

She got a big grin on her face and giggled. I smiled and stumbled back to slurp some more vodka.

By the end of my evening and after quite a few vodka/tonics I managed to piss off the group of scary marys in front of me, dance like all the other 13 year-olds around me (screaming and gasping included) , and send hate e-mails to my stalker. All and all it was a wonderful time. I will never go to a pop-punk show ever again.

Well - only if you're buying the drinks.

Adventures On Canal Street

2006-03-19T15:28:00.000-05:00

I was on Canal street for a matter of minutes before a tiny Asian woman gave my arm a death grip and pushed me into a panel in a wall. I was then escorted down a dark tunnel into another secret passage into a room full of stolen Juicy Couture sweatsuits and Balenciaga bags. How do I know they were stolen? Well, I don't I only had assurance from the Asians around me that they were.

"These real. Stolen goods. Very secret. Very good."

After attempting to leave I was pushed into another room full of horrible replications of Coach and Louis Vuitton bags. I finally managed to squeeze my way out of the crowded room without purchasing anything. Back on the street I reunited with my 2 friends. They were relieved to see I wasn't actually abducted and sold into slavery, but abducted and coaxed into nearly buying a stolen Balenciaga bag.

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I have acquired a new obsession with these. They are my new favorites.

Tonight I am going to the All American Rejects/Hawthorne Heights/Fall Out Boy concert. Drunk Dixie and 1500 screaming 13 year-olds.

At least it's a great excuse to use my new Chloe bag.

St. Patrick's Day

2006-03-17T13:01:00.000-05:00

Growing up St. Patrick's Day was a day full of Irish Dance shows and scoffing if Trinity happened to be at the same place performing. Being Irish I feel that I have all the right in the world to vent my anger for the slurring of my culture on this absurd excuse for a 'holiday'. Since this Holy Day of Obligation has transformed into a day where non-Irish can parade around America from bar to bar drinking away without judgment I feel I must set the record straight.

No one in Ireland eats corned beef and cabbage. Green food? Green beer? Who the hell actually eats that shit? No one in my family would ever get excited over green buffalo wings. The idea of consuming green dyed beer and wings makes my stomach turn. I am utterly repulsed.

I also don't understand what makes Irish people a bunch of alcoholics. Yes, people go to bars more often that Americans would, but over there drinking isn't as much of a taboo as it is in this country. They also don't binge drink. I have friends and family in England who frequent bars and you don't hear how the English are a bunch of alcoholics.

I feel somewhat ashamed for being Irish on this holiday because of the way people celebrate it. I think it's especially disrespectful when Irish-Americans succumb to wearing absurd green tat and chugging 'car bombs'. They might as well parade around in Belfast.

I love taxis.

2006-03-16T14:42:00.000-05:00

I had no idea how I was going to get to school today. Public transportation is certainly the last idea on my list so I outed that though the instant it flit across my mind. I opted for a cab ride. I thought I would give Philadelphia cabbies another chance after the time I almost missed hanging out with HIM. I walked out my door and slid into the cab.

I gave my cabbie theintersection and off we went.

"You go to college?"

"Yes."

"What you study?"

"English"

"Ohhh English. You goin to be scholar."

I laughed to myself.

"You scholar now?"

I laughed more.

"Somedays."

He chuckled and sang a long to his Indian music.

"I will say I knew you scholar."

"Ok."

"You literature?"

"Um yeah. I like literature."

"You writer?"

"No. One day. Maybe."

The fact is. I'm not a scholar. I will probably never be one. I'm a patently shit writer who vents life's rubbish to a blog. I don't have many friends so I make one in writing to you my dear blog. The only thing that listens and never tells me to stop. Maybe, I'll make new friends at my new school, but that is doubtful. For now I'll push reality out and drown myself in the internet until a reality I am ready for comes my way.

In other news, Bruiser might come home tonight. It will be nice to have my little man back to pissing about on the floor. I almost missed cleaning up after him.

To Look At Her

2006-03-16T09:14:00.000-05:00

Outwardly, all one could see on passing by is a tan long legged girl on a pink blanket drying her dark blonde hair in the July afternoon sun. Dressed in a white Burberry bikini the sweat mixed with ocean water stands out in wet shining drops on her lean bare midriff and trickles periodically in sticky streams down under her armpits and the back of her legs. To look at her one could not tell how in one short month she has begun. she has loved. she has lost. she has quit a job. she has made and foolishly and voluntarily cut herself off from several unique friends. Taken her clothes off for money. Captivated a handsome college boy. Broken the hearts of many. Left home to try and find herself. Managed to put the pieces of her broken heart back together. Built a wall around it just to have it taken down. But there she lays in attempt to make her skin darker and her hair lighter. Tonight she will dress lovely and gaze winningly at her entranced date. To look at her you might not guess that inside she is laughing and crying at her own stupidness and luckinesses and at strange enigmatic ways of the world which she will spend a lifetime trying to learn and understand.

Things You Need To Know

2006-03-15T17:08:00.000-05:00

1. I don't understand girls who think a Coach bag is lavish.
2. When I was 3 my mother took my sister and I to visit my father at work. I broke away from my mother's grip and bolted around the Pentagon waving my hands and screaming and laughing. My mother was in a lot of trouble with security.
3. I have a real Louis(a small miniscule one), but refuse to use it because someone asked me where I got my "knock-off". ew.
4. I have an unhealthy obsession with Charles David shoes. Actually shoes in general.
5. You can't get a good Bellini anywhere in Philadelphia.
6. I think girls who participate in beer chugging contests are trashy pigs.
7. I only wear Dior perfume with the occasional exception for Vera Wang, Gucci, and Burberry.
8. The only things that will touch my naked body are from La Perla, Cosabella, Agent Provacateur, and Victoria's Secret (their bras are the best).
9. I have the sex drive of a 17 year old boy.
10. I'm 5'8" and weigh 115 lbs - yet I feel like I need liposuction. Then, I look at myself in the mirror naked and realize that my body is flawless.
11. Who's my doctor? Actually, they're real.
12. I love art.
13. I cry hysterically everytime I watch "The English Patient".
14. I can't go anywhere without getting hit on- and I love it.
15. Men always stare. Get used to it.
16. My I-Pod is my life.
17. I have never paid under $100 for a haircut.
18. I want to win the lotto and live my life writing and sipping tea.
19. I want to write like Sylvia Plath or Virginia Wolfe, but live more along the lines of Capote or Plum Sykes.
20. I hate cats. They should die.
21. Is it really too much to ask for a man in this world to surprise a girl with a new pair of Manolo's and a Louis bag?
22. I'm 100% Irish, but I loathe the way Americans celebrate St. Patrick's Day. (corned beef and cabbage isn't even Irish)
23. I love dressing a bit gothy on occasion to keep things interesting.
24. I love porn. It's fabulous.
25. I have never balanced a check book.
26. I have never paid a bill. Ok. I have paid a bill. Now. It's weird to say that.
27. I am excellent at baking.
28. I can not cook. I refuse to learn. I can call a caterer if need be.
29. I have never been to Vermont, Maine, Hawaii, Alaska, or North Dakota. I will eventually. Then I can say I've been to all 50 states.
30. Thunderstorms in the summer are best seen in Colorado.
31. Texas sunsets look like fire.
32. I love French Onion soup, but it always gives me a bad case of "rea".
33. I like sharing obscene facts via internet.
34. I was so overwhelmed by depression that I stabbed myself in the stomach on Christmas.
35. I go to California way too often. I hate SoCal. (sorry Kristin)
36. I make unrealistic demands.
37. I love daisies.
38. I cannot leave the house without sunglasses.
39. My favorite snack is an ambien and a glass of champagne. just kidding.
40. I have dual citizenship in both the U.S. and Ireland.
41. Did I mention I am exceptionally good at spending money?
42. I don't like the Jersey shore (with the exception of Spring Lake). It's swarming with hideous overwight people. I prefer Miami.
43. If a girl doesn't have Agent Provacateur in her lingerie bureau - we can't be friends.
44. Girls who go in tanning beds too often are going to look haggard and wrinkly by the time they are 30 -I can't be friends with them either.
45. If I don't get a mani/pedi every other Friday I become irritable and very difficult to deal with.
46. Male strippers make me vomit in my mouth. I see nothing appealing about hairy balls and penises smooshed into a polyester thong. Give me tits any day.
47. I love boobs. Nice perky ones only.
48. I have never had a boy buy me lingerie. Ever. It makes me want to blubber over a container of Ben N Jerry's.
49. I bite my nails so I have to have acrylics.
50. Juicy Couture is a separate wash load than everything else. Those pesky "J" zippers!
93. I hate airports and airplanes. But I still manage to love to travel.
94. I love pushing the limit.
95. I hate marijuana, but I don't see what is so illegal about it.
96. I like pin-up girls.
97. I love old cars.
98. Mexico is not a vacation destination.
99. I went to Las Vegas twice before I turned 21. One of the times I gambled and drank.
100. A lapdance is always better when the strippers cryin.
101. Some say I'm disturbed, but I prefer 'multi-faceted'. I am actually rather interesting and complex. I love me!
102. Mary Higgins Clark told me that I have the most beautiful name she has ever heard. She is using it in one of her upcoming books.
103. I like to nap from 3pm-6pm
104. I almost cried when I heard Ville Valo was engaged. Luckily, he is no longer so now we can get married.
105. I love to run 4 to 5 miles a day.
106. I like to get my way, but I have learned to compromise.
107. I love the prints on Tommy Hilfiger pajama pants.
108. Sharon Osbourne spanked me. (true story.)
109. I spent the evening over drinks with Mudvayne and came to the conclusion they are the biggest losers I have ever met. (trust me I've known a lot of losers.)
110. I like to do my make-up crazy and heavy when I go out at night, but other than that I never wear any.
111. I heart country music.
112. My first concert was 'Raffi' when I was 4. It changed my life.
113. I don't eat hot dogs, mushrooms, or peas.
114. I have an obsession with fish net stockings.
115. I love denim minis.
116. I love sparkles, glitter, and rhinestones.
117. I have a Chloe bag that I am in love with.
118. I like talking about vulgar/taboo things. Just to make you gasp and giggle a little.
119. I like eating peanut butter with a spoon.
120. I don't care for judgmental nuns.
121. I hate frozen drinks.
123. I love Mexican food.
124. I'm 21 and I am a published writer -yet can't get hired full time until I graduate.
125. I want a man who will whisk me off my Jimmy Choo feet into a little convertible mercedes all provided by him. A girl can dream right?
126. I love opera.
127. I love to read.
128. I loathe going to the laundromat and it isn't until I run out of clean socks that I realize I have to drag myself there.
129. I don't like doing dishes.
130. I have really expensive taste.
131. I am not materialistic. I just enjoy nice things.
132. I like to vent in my blog.
133. One time I had to miss a whole day of classes because I was up all night googling myself.
134. In my brief time as a model I have come to the conclusion that I hate all models(except myself).
135. The day my man brings me a Louis Vuitton Speedy 25 is the day I will decide to marry him.
136. On first dates I always choose the most expensive restaurant in the city with no intention of picking up the bill. If a man refuses to do that for me then I know he will not go get me kleenex at 3 in the morning when I am up all night crying about the fact I don't have an Hermes bag.
137. Often, I'm referred to as "That self-absorbed, pretentious little skank" by people who only wish they could be me.

writing against the quiet

2006-03-14T16:48:00.000-05:00

Tangled in the stark white heavenly abyss where we rest our heads every night he lays sleeping. Angelic and soft.

I can hear him breathing over the tinkling of the neighbors wind chime. I’m pressing softly on the keyboard hoping not to wake him. He stirs. I draw my fingers back. Shh, sh, be quiet. I think to myself. Don’t wake him. I breathe in softly. Exhale. It’s quiet now – just the gentle sound of the wind coming in through the window. The tapping of the blinds against the window sill. The television whispers up the staircase. It’s not often I feel this quiet solitude amidst whirling city life. The cold air brushes against my arms – sharp like needles, leaving tiny bumps in its place.

I creep in. The floorboard creaks under my naked feet – purple toes and chipped black polish. I mutter under my breath. Piss. I reach onto the dresser and scoop up my Kiehl’s lip balm. The sunlight seeps through the blinds. I swipe the wax onto my lips lightly rubbing them together. Be quiet He stirs. I freeze. My thought was so loud I almost believe he heard it.

I creep back across the hall and sink into the chair. My stomach gurgles. He breathes in deeply. I haven’t eaten in over a day. The computer lets out soft hums. Something about it is almost calming. Click. Click –click. I swivel the mouse across the desk. Click. Click. Click. Reading away messages over and over. Checking site meters. Reading e-mails. Obsessively refreshing myspace. I faintly hear birds chirping in the distance. I let out a long sigh.

I’m cold and I’m tired. I shimmy into the space next to him. His eyes flutter and he cracks a sleepy smile. It’s comforting. He leans in lovingly and kisses me on my forehead. His warmth settles around me like a coat. Next door, an infant is crying. An ambulance speeds past with sirens blaring. Exhaustion sets in and like two heavy garage doors, my eyes sink shut.

Just another Tuesday afternoon.

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Bruiser Update

2006-03-14T12:17:00.000-05:00

Most sick puppies go to the hospital with a fever of 102 or 103, Bruiser has a fever of 105. There's a chance he is going to need a serum transfusion to help his immune system. Everyone keeps telling us that even if he gets through this he will still probably die. So I can pay $4,000 and still have our dog die. Boy, am I hopeful. (that was sarcasm)

By Thursday if his blood cell count isn't up we are going to have to put him to sleep.

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Sick Puppy

2006-03-14T00:08:00.000-05:00

Standing out on the sidewalk in the cool night air I still managed to sweat profusely from the amount of stress I was undergoing. My friend was puffing away on a cigarette ever so cooly and he turned to me and said "This is a perfect example of why the American healthcare system sucks". My darling Greek friend is more than correct.

I knew Bruiser wasn't feeling well when I grabbed his treat bag and shook it for him. Generally, with this action my 4 month old rottweiler goes flying in all directions around the kitchen, instead of his usual antics he look up at me from his bed and sighed. I immediately called my beloved Billy at work trying to figure out a way to get my very sick puppy to a hospital. Luckily, a more than generous friend stepped in and took me and my sick furry little baby to Penns vet hospital.

After, sitting in a waiting room with chairs so slick I had to hold myself up to keep from sliding off and a binder full of thank you letters, the ultra cocky vet student came out with the news.

"Well, looks like you have one sick pup. The thing is he has Parvo. You either treat him or he dies. It's going to cost $3500 dollars. I need $1200 tonight. Sound good?"

"Um, erm, well, maybe tomorrow I could transfer some savings money and um.."

"Tonight. The receptionist needs it now. Make some calls and get the money."

My heart sunk. So, I have to go Lindsay Lohan on my bank account or my dog will die.

I only have $200 in my account. What do I do? Not pay? Will they kill Bruiser? I began to panic. I'm about to cry. Darling Dean stepped in and wrote a check, but what if Dean wasn't there? What if I really only had $200 tonight? It really upset me. A woman was pacing in the lobby crying into her cell phone "They must have $3,000 to keep him here tonight or he'll die". It's truly a shame the way our healthcare is. I'd get more in depth, but its 1am and I am exhausted. I have class tomorrow. I doubt I'll go. I won't be able to sleep.

$3,500. I don't have $3,500. I don't start working until the end of the month. Any donations will be gladly accepted. I am considering setting up a "Save The Bruiser" foundation to come up with the funds to pay the bills. I do have some lemonade in the fridge - perhaps selling some delicious country time would help with finances. Bikini car wash? If anyone has any ideas I am open to suggestions.

Thanks again my lovely Panic! at the discoer. Words cannot explain my gratitude for your help. I am going to try and get some sleep. Goodnight for now.

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Spring Cleaning

2006-03-13T16:55:00.000-05:00

It's funny that when I first gave college a go round I was a totally different person. Kind, giving, studious, compassionate. Now, my edges have hardened up a bit. I offended people, rubbed their noses in it, swirled it around in my mouth a bit and spit it out into sentences. I've fucked up a lot on my road of life, but I leave the clutter of it behind me. I was really on a path of destruction and I am now trying to change that about my life.

I'm 21. I know that I tend to piss people off with my ruthless behavior. I know that my past experiences made me grow up a little bit faster than I had liked to. I'm so bloody in love I don't know what to do with myself sometimes. I have a grave inability to save money. I have a place to live, a dog, a wonderful boyfriend. But sometimes I get so lonely I can hear myself crying.

I am attempting to become a better person. I am trying to curb my spending. I want friends that I don't offend. I want to be able to say what I want instead of faking a facade. I want a little responsiblity. I want to learn how to cook and how to balance a check book. Well, at least learn what catering company to call and at least look interested when Billy discusses finances with me.
I want a life that maybe for once I can call my own.

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The dog is sick. I think perhaps tomorrow he will need to go see the vet. I have an outline to do and brackets to fill out. I haven't the faintest idea how I am going to get home from class tomorrow. Surely, not public transportation? I desperately need a pedicure and a tan. My stylist has been calling me for the past 5 days and I have been avoiding her like the plague. I think there is a possibility I may have a heart attack if I don't get a new handbag soon, but I am trying to curb my spending, so last season's coach bag will suffice for now. I am also beginning to think a bout of amoebic dysentary or a parasite would do my body good.

I'm starting to overwhelm myself. I think I am going to go lie down.

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Philadelphia - 2 years later

2006-03-12T22:52:00.000-05:00

I came to Pennsylvania 2 years ago as a wide eyed college freshman hoping to explore the excitement of the East Coast. An English major with a passion for reading and writing, Vice President of her class, Dance Team, Sorority girl - nothing could stop me. I was so naive.

Somehow I let it all go wrong. I let someone take control and watched them destroy me. What happened was no one's fault except my own. I let it happen. I let my life slip out of my hands. At the end I crawled out black and blue -alone. To pick up the pieces of my broken life and heart by myself. No friends left to help me.

And now here I am. Sitting at a computer in a Philadelphia row home. Do I regret what happened? No, because to regret all the pain and suffering would not make me who I am today. I learned a lot. About people and most of all about myself. I am stronger, more mature, centered, but still terribly naive. I can certainly say that I value myself more than ever and I am only too careful when choosing friends.

There has been a cold sterile, desperate devouring, and not the warm, full flowing over in loving laughter which is now. This is all still too new. To be comfortable, not scared, loving someone without constant fear. The beaten black and blue soul of this girl being nourished by love. Satisfying without quite fulfilling.

Hopefully, this blog will become an outlet for me.

All while remembering to keep my dreams.