Dixie is going home

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

Past Tense

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

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

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

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

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

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