All of the lights

Dear Diary,

I have a plan.

Tonight, I’m going to put on my best lingerie and do my makeup in the most luscious way possible. ’Fuck me’ makeup is what I call it, like I’m on my way to a dick appointment. But I’m not going to a dick appointment; I’m going on a date, with my boyfriend.

I’m sick of Johnny’s mood swings. It’s time he realize what he has and just how good he has it. The apartment is not only in my name, but we’d be paying so much more money if I had gotten it for market price (thanks to my friends in high places). Maybe he’s stressed out at work and maybe he needs to pick better friends (or learn how to be a better friend himself) but none of that has anything to do with me. He can’t (or he shouldn’t) take out his frustrations on me just by being distant. Just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should.

We’re going to go to one of my favorite places, its members only (I used to go all the time before we got back together). We’re going to pick a girl we like and we’ll have fun. Then we’ll stop by my friend’s dinner party, the friend who happens to have a penthouse suite. He’ll see all the lights and everything this world has to offer, everything he can have when we’re together.

Then we’ll go home and right after I take off my pretty party dress, I’ll ask him “what’s up, why have you been so out of it lately?” and he’ll have to answer before I take off my expensive lingerie.

I can make the devil cry

Dear Diary,

I guess it happened again and I can’t say I’m surprised. Why do I say guess when I know its true...I guess I don’t want to admit it to myself.

The first month with Johnny was great. I was “wifey” and he—there was nothing he wanted to do that didn’t involve me. “I want to make up for lost time”, he said. And I forgave him after he apologized because I wanted to believe him when he said, “I’m sorry.” Deadass he apologized for everything he put me through, for ghosting and cheating and lying and being an overall piece of shit (okay, so I embellished that point but you get the general picture). Again, I forgave him because I wanted to start again and I (foolishly) believed we might have a future together. I almost stopped working at the club for him.

So, what did he do? Nothing yet, but I can feel him changing.

He’s staying out late and leaving early. But its more than that, he’s just acting distant. Like he’s in some sort of rut and I’m partially the cause of it. I swear, he’s like a fucking puppet master or something. He pulls one string and I’m happy, he pulls another string and I’m sad. Then, he makes me feel bad for bringing it up—like I’M the crazy one.

He’s worse than a puppet master, he’s the devil. Un pinche diablo.

Luckily, I have a few tricks up my sleeve. I need to remember who I am. On any given night I can make truckloads of men eat out of the palm of my hand. So why am I letting one dictate my life and how I feel about myself?

Fuck that.

Because I am Eve Lemeur. And I know how to make the devil cry.

I forgot my top today…

Paola is a 25 year-old from Macedonia who moved to NYC to study design while attending a private lap dance party in New York City. She attends Die Happy Tonight’s private lapdance party to support herself. If you'd like to meet Paola at our next event, text our concierge #251 - a member-only service.

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"Eve's Drop" is a video and podcast series featuring real stories from the women who frequent Die Happy Tonight, the most liberating lapdance party on Earth and the the creators of Rosewood, a private gentleman's club in New York City. For more videos, click here. For podcast, click here.

Now I fantasize about things that I used to think were taboo…

Meet Kendall, a 23-year-old from California. She spontaneously moved to NYC, is a college student studying design and loves to perform. She attends Die Happy Tonight’s private lapdance party to support herself. If you'd like to meet Kendall at our next event, text our concierge - a member-only service.

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"Eve's Drop" is a video and podcast series featuring real stories from the women who frequent Die Happy Tonight, the most liberating lapdance party on Earth and the the creators of Rosewood, a private gentleman's club in New York City. For more videos, click here. For podcast, click here.

When you're with Amber and Mia, they are in control...

Amber and Mia are long time friends who moonlight as dominatrixes and dance at Rosewood Theater, a private gentleman's club in New York City. When you're with them, they are in control. Not you. She attends Die Happy Tonight’s private lapdance party to support herself. If you'd like to meet at our next event, text our concierge - a member-only service.

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"Eve's Drop" is a video and podcast series featuring real stories from the women who frequent Die Happy Tonight, the most liberating lapdance party on Earth and the the creators of Rosewood, a private gentleman's club in New York City. For more videos, click here. For podcast, click here.

Addiction

Dear Diary,

I’ll be honest. I could barely get out of bed today. I had to tell myself to get up, move around, go to your internship even though they pay ten dollars an hour. I keep thinking about Johnny.

I hate that men have this effect on me...but it’s not just men, I have to be honest, it’s anyone I get into a relationship with. What is wrong with me? Why am I like this...it’s like I’m addicted to love. I think I was born with an inhuman need for affection.

It makes me get attached to people that I shouldn’t get close to. Then my heart breaks and, eventually I find someone else, but I’m so guarded they either turn away or...change. It’s like once they know they have me—that I could love them—they don’t want me anymore. I guess no one has really liked me enough to stick around once the novelty wears off. Challenge over, game won, I guess.

I need to find balance. I can’t be walled up all of the time...but I also can’t let everyone in. Especially when, apparently, I have horrible judgement and I keep letting people in who are terrible house guest. They break your fine china and blame you for it.

Maybe this is apart of growing up...and when I’m older I’ll fall for a guy who likes me all the time, who likes every part of me. I’ll find someone who likes looking at me as much as he likes talking to me. Notice how I said to and not at. I’ll find someone I can have a conversation with, someone who doesn’t see me as a trophy or a blank canvas you can project ideas on. One day...one day I know I’ll find someone.

I have to. Because I’m addicted to love and being alone hurts too much.

He doesn’t want normal sex anymore…

Ezra is a 24 year-old from Florida who has been meeting kinky men. She attends Die Happy Tonight’s private lapdance party to support herself. If you'd like to meet Ezra at our next event, text our concierge - a member-only service.

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"Eve's Drop" is a video and podcast series featuring real stories from the women who frequent Die Happy Tonight, the most liberating lapdance party on Earth and the the creators of Rosewood, a private gentleman's club in New York City. For more videos, click here. For podcast, click here.

I moved to New York to follow love…

Meet Katie, a 25-year-old from Texas. She spontaneously moved to NYC for love and works in real estate. She attends Die Happy Tonight’s private lapdance party to support herself. If you'd like to meet Katie at our next event, text our concierge #164 - a member-only service.

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"Eve's Drop" is a video and podcast series featuring real stories from the women who frequent Die Happy Tonight, the most liberating lapdance party on Earth and the the creators of Rosewood, a private gentleman's club in New York City. For more videos, click here. For podcast, click here.

No place like home.

My hidden gems. The trouble I seem to get into...and no one even knows. When I go visit my family, it’s as if I revert back to high school, the thrill of sneaking out to meet someone no one knows about. The quickie between dinner plans and familial duties. It has become a tradition. Each time we are in the same small town we grew up in, we can't help but to reach out in the odd hours of the night and entice ourselves. It begins with an innocent text, a genuine curiosity. Then our deviance begins to crawl out. We begin sharing photos and stories of our fucks the year past. His are always particularly naughty. And all I want is another night of invisible, juvenile debauchery.

To Retire or not to retire.

Somedays I feel as though this job is aging me. It takes its toll on my body. I only have so much energy to give. There are only so many times I can have the same conversation. Somedays it feels impossible to go to work, yet impossible to do anything else.

Somedays I love this job more than anything, I fall on my bed, exhausted at the end of the night and shout “thank fucking god!” For the monetary power, for the excitement, for the connections, for my independency.

Somedays, I wish I could make everyone see what it looks like, how it feels, and that there is nothing wrong with my profession.

Somedays I contemplate retiring. Retiring into the lap of a sweet sugar love that will spoil me and give me all I could ask for.

Somedays I want to give it all up, move somewhere no one can find me and begin again from nothing.

But most days, I’m just feeling myself.

Unthinkable

Dear Diary,

I’m shaking as I write this. You will not believe what happened.

Number one, I got a promotion...yeah, I know I’m an intern so I can’t really get promoted but what I mean is—they gave me a part time position! So, after my internship is over, I can continue working there. It also means more responsibilities...I think they like my ability to work with celebrities and keep a level head. For example, yesterday _____ came in and it was her second interview after all that drama with the ______ family. All I asked her was who did her makeup (because it looked so amazing, she did it herself by the way).

But, even though that’s amazing news. That’s not why I’m writing.

On the way home it started to rain. Rather than take a cab I decided to walk because I wasn’t far from my apartment and a little spring rain is nice every now and again. It cleanses the soul. So, I’m happy and smiling and then I see Johnny. But he’s not walking around or holding hands with another girl. He’s outside of my apartment. Waiting for me.

It was crazy because I just decided to let him go. I actually wasn’t happy to see him—I thought, oh no, this again. But he...he seemed like he changed. I know people don’t really change but I swear, tonight, he let me see a side of himself that he usually keeps hidden. He’s sleeping right now so I’m writing by candlelight. I don’t want to wake him up since he has work in the morning.

I am so anxious, and excited, thinking about what’s to come. Who knows, maybe we can be something real? Wouldn’t that be crazy?

*Names were redacted to protect the identity of those involved.

Natural Beauty

Dear Diary,

 One of my friends, Shelia, told me natural beauty is a myth.

Obviously, I was like whaaaaat? Lol. Anyway, she explained that the beauty of today is so curated and filtered, our natural faces have become ugly. Of course, I’m not as cynical but she went on:

            -Look, no one wakes up like this. No one just rolls out of bed and is instantly camera ready and the girls who even come close have lip fillers and false eyelashes permanently glued to their eyelids. It sucks but natural beauty is dead. Even if you have nice skin or nice hair...you’re not taking a selfie without a filter unless you’re trying to make a point.

...damn. Am I right?

 It’s not that I totally disagree. Instagram has us all chasing what doesn’t exist. But I don’t think natural beauty is dead...it’s just not really appreciated on social media. Even when girls post “no makeup” photos they usually have at least a little bit of mascara or concealer...or they have their faces full of Juvederm and tattooed eyebrows so it honestly doesn’t count.

 But who cares? Instagram is Instagram and real life is real life. No one is perpetually on vacation or happy all the time. Even if you’re young and hot and rich, there are times when you’re just sitting at home, with a dog and a book...in real life. I know a lot of people get the two confused, but I know I don’t...and hopefully Shelia doesn’t either.

Cliché

Dear Diary,

Wish me luck. I submitted some of my writing to a literary contest. If I win not only will I get published, but I’ll also get to attend a writers retreat for free! That’s six weeks in Iceland to just write and...be.

I submitted a story about my breakup with Johnny. So now in addition to being a total cliché—a twenty something in New York to become a writer—I’m now a total total cliché because I write about heartbreak. There’s this old movie...I don’t remember what it’s called, but Olivia Munn’s character says “That’s the thing about heartbreak. To you the world is ending and to everyone else it’s just...” well, you get the idea. There’s another cliché I heard...well, maybe this is more of an idiom...death by one thousand cuts.

That’s the thing about Johnny. He didn’t break my heart all at once. He could never be up front with me and just say: Look, you’re not who I want. He could never let me go, he could never be strong enough. I’m just glad one of us decided to be responsible (cough, me, cough) or else we’d still be in that same cycle. One week you love me, the next week you can’t remember my name.

I’m better off. I know that so I’ll just keep telling myself until I believe it. The trip to Japan helped. It was like a detox...now I can stop passing restaurants and book stores and associating them with him. Eventually, I’ll be able to walk around the entire city, and I won’t think of him at all. But now that I do think of it—it was so rude of him to waste my time like that. If you don’t really like me, get lost. It’s that simple. Grow up or get left back...in the immortal words of Nikka Dragon “If you’re not really about it, don’t be about it”. He couldn’t even commit to being trash.

To make matters worse, he doesn’t like what I write. He said it was “cute”...how insulting.

¥50 Thousand in Japan

Dear Diary,

I’m in Japan, the city was too much for me.

I hate to sound overdramatic but whenever some romantic entanglement wreaks havoc on my soul, I think the only remedy is to get away. Escape...pamper myself and fill myself with so much self-love there almost isn’t room for anything else. Or anyone else.

The trip was fine. I didn’t fly first class but for whatever reason my flight was under booked (maybe because it was a red eye) so I got to stretch, lay out, and sleep (even though I was in coach!). I texted my mom and some of my friends once I landed, it’s good to know people care about me, and it’s nice to have someone to check in with. But I still wish that person was Johnny.

Why do we care so much about people who don’t give a shit about us?

I’m trying to banish thoughts like that. I think I’ll visit a hot spring, one of my friends told me it was great for detox. Another one of my friends said only old people go...and, mostly, they go in the nude. In any case this will be an exciting experience.

Loneliness.

Loneliness

It’s a part of the job description. Its the dichotomy of the dance. You can have it all...almost. The money, the gifts, the sexual empowerment. You are open to all opportunities and seeking out the next thrill, the next check, the next puppy to adore and to spoil you.

Yet, when it comes to partnership. There is no one. There is judgment, there is jealousy, there is ignorance.

Loneliness, it’s a part of the job description.

You Decide

Speaking of being bad...I did something naughty today, Diary. I’ll let you decide if it was actually bad or not.

You know Mickey has a 19 year old daughter, Jalisa, and she’s vegan. How do I know she’s vegan? Because she WILL NOT STOP talking about it, like at all. Literally the first thing she said when I met her was:

            -You know, I can tell you’re not vegan because of the color in your cheeks. I think if you went on a more plant-based diet you would get rid of some of that redness. My dad could help you too, I’ve taught him so many vegan recipes he can do them in his sleep.

            ...

Let’s take a minute and break down everything that’s wrong with that statement, shall we? First of all, I don’t know why Mickey insisted that we meet. I mean, just because we’re around the same age doesn’t mean I’ll get along with his daughter. Besides, our relationship is more transactional than he likes to admit...so why does he insist on blurring boundaries? Is he trying to make what we have more real...?

I don’t know but that’s not what I want to talk about.

Why would I get along with some privileged brat from the Upper East Side? Maybe she thinks I’m like her dad’s other girlfriends who would agree with any and everything she said just to get into her good graces. But she is sadly mistaken...additionally, who the fuck insults someone’s appearance before introducing themselves? Also, has she forgotten who her father is? He can barely cook—how is he going to help me go vegan?

Anyway, so Mickey wants us all to come to Turks and Caicos for his birthday. It’s literally his entire family, his friends, and me. On his big day he says he wants to have breakfast with his “two best girls”, and he also asks me to cook. Remember, Jalisa is vegan, he says as if I could somehow forget.

I decide I’ll make tofu scramble, fresh juice, and muffins. But...instead of using Flaxseed for the oh-so-sensitive Jalisa...I used eggs instead.

And she could not stop raving about how good they were.

            -See, I told you, meat is obsolete. You don’t even need it anymore. Daddy, did you help her make it? Did you use my recipe? Oh-M-Gee, I can’t wait to make this again when I go back to Paris.

I’ve gotta admit, I admire her dedication to the cause. Sometimes, I even enjoy her company. But...I think I’ll enjoy her reaction when she finds out she ate eggs even more.

Bad Feminist

Dear Diary,

 You know something I love that I really wish I didn’t? That feeling of triumph at someone else’s expense—and I don’t mean random people. I couldn’t care less about the person who comes after me in a race or receives third prize after I get first, I care about the people who didn’t think I would place at all. I like seeing the look on their faces.

 It’s problematic. I want to support all women, but I can’t stand women who don’t support me as well.

Allow me to explain further.

 Once, in undergrad, my professor really liked an essay I wrote, and she encouraged me to submit it to the Program of Writing and Rhetoric for the Excellence in Undergraduate Writing prize. I didn’t think I would win because literally the best writers from every honors class would submit something. She even asked another girl from my class to enter the contest as well. Imagine my surprise when I won.

 I was so happy I was glowing when I went into class the next day. So was Bethany, the girl my professor also asked to enter (my professor was feeling herself, by the way, because two of her students beat out everyone else). Anyway, we start talking and I can just feel...Bethany thinks I won third place. She didn’t say anything, but it was the look in her eye and the tilt of her lips, her smile turned into a smirk when she asked:

            -Oh, did you get any money? Since I won second place, I got 200 dollars.

And I wasn’t going to say anything, I really wasn’t.

- Actually, I won first place, so I got 500 dollars.

 You should have seen the look on her face.

Good Feminist

Dear Diary,

 So, I was making my way back from midtown when my phone rang. I checked and it was my friend Amanda—who is from, and still living in, Colorado. Of course, my first thought is: why are you calling me in the middle of the day like a psycho? Also, Colorado is three hours ahead (or behind...I dunno time is a relative concept) so by her standards she’s calling me at noon. Again, she is literally taking time out of her lunch break to call me, so I figured it was important.

 With this in mind I answered, Hello. We barely get past pleasantries when she says:

            -I hate to do this, but I need to borrow money. I can pay you back on the fourth after I get paid, but things are tight right now.

I asked her, Why? I mean she has a full-time job and....while I love her, I don’t want to be her ATM. What if my giving her money enables her to make bad decisions? But that wasn’t the case at all.

            -Pay cuts in my district...I really don’t know how I can do this. I love my job but...

Then she starts to cry. Loud, rib breaking sobs...I honestly wondered if the people next to me on the train would hear her through the phone. I told her I’d help her, but she should really consider dancing for a little bit, at least until her school board pays her a living wage. But she said:

            -Look I really don’t know. As a feminist—

I cut her off. Is it feminist to struggle? Is it feminist to ask your parents or your boyfriend for money? Screw that. I’d rather be a bad feminist anyway, one who takes care of herself and her family.

 Anywho, I Venmo’d her the money. Then I hung up.

An Open Book.

That is me. Not only in how I express my emotions, how vocal I am with my boundaries...but in my love life too.

Most people look at me with confusion when I share my relationship style with them. Many pull a face of disgust. And a few individuals light up and divulge their own secrets and desires.

I love my lovers and I long for a partner. I do not feel the need to give up either desire to conform to a style acceptable by the mass.

Even though I am an open book,  share my values, and educate the baffled, people still have their own twisted perspective.

I am open, but no, that does NOT mean I will be sleeping with you

Yes, I am open, but that does NOT mean my legs are spread all day (nothing wrong with that either!)

Yes, I am open, but no, that does NOT mean I am immoral, abused, a cheater, or cheated on.

I am an open book. So do your damn studying.

金継ぎ | kintsugi

金継ぎ | kintsugi

“the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold”

"As a philosophy, it treats breakage and repair as part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise” — Kintsugi