open letter to my customers…

  

hello readers! so. i posted the letter and left it up on instagram for approximately 12 minutes before deleting it. rereading it through my followers eyes, i decided it sounded too harsh. i think it needs my voice, influction, love and humor in order for it to be taken the right way. therefore, i decided to do something fun and impromptu: a reading of the piece for whoever can make it. 

Monday April 27th, 3pm at Big Fish 5230 San Fernando Road, Glendale CA 91203. i’ll be there drinking and writing, and whoever shows gets to hear the piece directly from my hooker lips. 👄

for those not in the area, i will most likely post the piece (no doubt changed a little from the reading) after Monday. xo 

what you may not have gleaned from my stories…

 – i’m actually quite a soft, loving person. (unless i have low blood sugar)

– i’m a bit of a healer by nature. one of the things i’ve loved most about my work is the contact and bringing joy to people. (men. it’s mostly been men)
– i’m not a bitter person. in fact, i border on positive. (of course this depends on how much sleep i’ve had. and the couple times i tried to kill myself)
– i love my maine coon cat, monkey. (even though my house would be cleaner if he weren’t in it)
– i love carpaccio. (actually, you may have already known that)
– i love sex, even though it’s what i do to pay the bills. (see above parenthesis)
– i’ve been playing a lot of golf recently, and i fucking love it. (but if i don’t get a hole in one within a year, i’m quitting)
– most of the shit that flows from my brain to paper is sarcasm. (i don’t take myself too seriously)
– i’m a pretty humble person. (despite the million half naked self-portraits and that i write about myself)

  tales from the club: (2010) 

Two large school busses full of USC frat pledges just spilled in. I guess it’s rush week. It appears that the wooing ritual of fraternity brothers now includes lap dances. Apparently free beer just doesn’t cut it anymore. They prearranged a deal with the club—the boys have tickets towards a topless dance, but the kicker is, it’s a discounted fee so we get less of a cut than normal. O’ happy day. A couple of my homegirls and I pooled our resources and asked one of the bouncers to buy us a bottle of Hennessy and apple juice from the liquor store. We’re gonna need some booze-aid and a sophomoric attitude.  

anything but a wasted life

 I was the poster child for the promiscuous teen girl. When I was a freshman and sophomore in high school I’d go to bars to drink, play pool, and find guys. Bars didn’t card so heavy back then, you know, when life was better and we were treated like human beings. I met a thirty-year-old in a park once and took him to the apartment that my mom and I shared. She was often out of town for work, which gave me free reign. My friend’s parents soon learned that a night at my house often ended up with blue hair (keep in mind that in 1984 blue hair wasn’t haute couture). Even though I did whatever the fuck I wanted, I still ended up moving out weeks before my sixteenth birthday. Park guy went down on me on the kitchen floor. I was fourteen. Don’t judge him too harshly though, I didn’t act or look my age, and you can be rest assured that I was the one driving that train. Granted, I was obviously not old enough for him, but this was two years before my breast reduction, I easily passed for eighteen, and I lied all the time. 

Even if I was using sex for slightly inappropriate or unhealthy reasons, I owned my decisions and never apologized for them. I never placed blame on the other party either. I believe in taking responsibility for my actions. In fact, of all my sexual exploits, I’ve only regretted a few…that’s pretty good considering. 

tales from the club: (2007) 

I’m real smart. I’ve been wearing glitter on my eyelids for a while nowI love the way it sparkles in the clubbut when I apply it with a Q-tip, some falls on my face. Which bugs the shit outta me. The Bare doesn’t have a bathroom in the dressing room, so in lieu of a sink, I’ve been using my bojingo wipes to swab off the fallout glitter. I noticed the coochie cloth left a bit of a film on my face, but I didn’t think much of it. I’ve been doing this for a week maybe, and I started breaking out yesterday. I rarely have acne, so it’s a nuisance, and a mystery. I’ve been eating and drinking the same things for years now, and haven’t changed facial products. Then, as I was using said wipe on my cheek tonight, it hit me…oh, maybe this is the culprit! Duh. Clearly I would have dragged my lazy ass to the ladies room had I foreseen this. But seriously, what DID I think a vagina wipe would do to my face?

     It was recently brought to my attention that all I write about are guys with foot long dongs. This is not entirely true, I’m just a kind person…if I don’t mention the specifics of a man’s cock in the story…it’s probably not the size of a baby leg. And while it’s true that I like nine inch cocks (nine inches around), I have been in love with and have had really hot sex with a few men who were, in fact, average in the meat department.
     There’s so much more to incredible sex than just an eggplant penis. I’ve had sex with guys (see “Power Tool”) who had gorgeous cocks, and the sex was meh. My friend Elizabeth and I were just discussing this; that sometimes these donkey dick guys are lazy. They’re like, “Here it is babe, where’s my gold star?” Although the cockiness that generally comes with a swingin’ dick is hot, it can also leave the dude a little light in other departments (not just sexually). Maybe it’s all that blood drain. I can generally walk into a room and sniff out the guys with big dicks. But not always, there have been a mishap or two. I was fooled by a guy a couple years back. The way he carried himself, and other physical factors, I could have sworn he had a big dick. He didn’t, but we still had the hottest sex (read about me coming in the car on 4thstreet). Can’t say that I wouldn’t have minded a little more girth on him, but I might have chained myself to his leg had his dick had been bigger, so it’s a probably a good thing. Any woman worth her salt knows it’s the girth that’s key. Those long ass, skinny baseball bats can fuck right the fuck off. Cervix killers is what they are. So, unless you’ve got a teeny peen (you need a finger cot for a condom), you’ve still got a shot. I just realized how horribly sexist this piece is! Sorry guys. Chemistry makes up for inches. To the big dick dudes, A) Make sure it’s actually a big dick before you start spoutin’. The Texan talks about his “big dick” a lot, and while it’s got decent distance around, it’s hardly winning blue ribbons. This phenomena seems crazy to me, considering how much porn is watched by men, you’d think most guys would know beyond a shadow of a doubt where they fell in the dick department. However, P.O.V (point of view) is a little deceptive—it makes your dick look bigger. It’s like the universe knew men would need that little hookup. B) Don’t rely solely on that thing to make you good in bed. It’s the equivalent to fucking a gorgeous, but vapid model. Be into everything, not just the bang-around. Conversely, to the guys who lack in that department, be creative, don’t just be the worlds best cunnilingus. If I meet a guy and he goes on and on about going down on me, you know what I think? He has a small dick. An ex-boyfriend and I used to get super freaky in the sex talk department, he turned me on so much with that shit. He had a great cock to boot, it was so heavy, so it was a win win (but he also wore Teva’s, and therefore a wash in the end). Anyway, one time while he was fucking me, he slid each of his pointer fingers inside me on the sides of his dick and it threw me over the edge. I remember thinking after, that’s a great idea for the smaller dudes. Although I guess you’d have to make sure she didn’t think you were trying to intimate that her vagina was cavernous.
     In conclusion, dick size matter to a point. Most women (myself included) like a bigger dick. It simply feels better, but it’s not a deal-breaker. Obviously, if it was, I imagine our world population would be cut by half.          

  interior: strip club

A guy I’m sitting with at a small table with is telling me about how much money he used to make, and how much he spent on strippers. Used to. He’s broke now. Then he says, “We’re a lot alike, you and I, we’re both hustlers.” I smiled, “Honey, if I were a hustler, I would have left ten minutes ago.” 

 

 Her cornrow companion was still holding onto that dollar for dear life. Which cracked me up. With a big smile, I told him that he could put the one on the stage. Fucker wouldn’t let it go. Literally. I tried to relieve him of the tragic bill (I don’t usually grab money from customers, however, it was a buck and I was having fun), but he wasn’t giving it up. So I took his sunglasses off his face, put them on mine, and slinked away. I love when a guy is sitting at the stage holding a single dollar like it’s a brick of gold. I’m supposed to perform something extra for this dollar bill? You wanna see a monkey fly out of my coose? Just put the money on the damn stage and smile.