Competition

Dear Diary,

I know it’s good to be competitive and ambitious—in my opinion anyway—but I find I’m comparing myself to my friends in unhealthy ways. It’s gotten to the point where if someone tells me something good that happened, I’ll immediately think of how I could have achieved that is I did ­­­______ or that they only achieved that because they knew the right person or happened to be in the right place.

It’s unhealthy.

I need to find balance. The accomplishments of others should motivate me, not threaten me. It was so easy in the mid-west. I could literally operate at 70 percent and have all of Bloomington eating out of the palm of my hand. In New York everyone’s moving at 100percent 80 percent of the time...and the other 20 percent is spent worrying. Ugh, does everyone in this city have generalized anxiety disorder!?

Okay, maybe I’m overreacting. End of vacation blues, ya know? Rather than worry about what I haven’t done and still need to do, maybe I’ll spend the rest of this plane ride watching Frozen. Maybe it’ll teach me to let ‘isht go.

Black Magic

Dear Diary,

Here’s a recipe for love.

Start with two hearts, incomplete.

Rather than search for the missing pieces, take a needle and thread (or paste or hot glue) and attempt to bind them together.

Once they’re tethered together put them in the oven under high heat.

After 5 years, or 12 hours (depending on the hearts), take them out of the oven and into cold water.

Repeat the process at varying temperatures and times for all eternity.

If the hearts don’t come undone in the process.

Trouble Sleeping

Dear Diary,

Before I went to sleep last night, I had flashbacks of all the embarrassing things I’ve done. Like when I was 19 and I went to a young leaders summit and sat near the front row so I could see Kris Wu talk about climate change. In front of everyone I screamed, I LOVE YOU KRIS, right as he was leaving the stage. So embarrassing, what was I thinking? Among all the young “global leaders” I was one of the oldest, and yet I’m the one who acted like a child.

Then there was the time I accidentally sat on Zac Ryan in 11th grade. It’s crazy because I think he was starting to like me, then I had to fuck it up by acting like an idiot. I wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t sat on him and embarrassed us both in front of the entire grade. All this shame is making it harder to sleep.

Maybe I’m just nervous about my trip. I’m headed home tomorrow--so vacation over. Hudson gave me a bonus so I guess this trip wasn’t a gaping hole in my finances, but it still doesn’t come close to covering what I would have made if I stayed and worked at Rosewood. But I’m not going to worry about that. Instead I’ll enjoy my last few moments of solitude, my dream, before I enter reality.

-XO

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"Eve's Drop" is produced by Die Happy Tonight, a boutique hospitality company and the creators of Rosewood, a private gentlemen's club in New York City. For more info, visit www.diehappytonight.com.

Night into Morning

Diary,

I stayed up late again. The light outside my window is turning purple and blue. I hear birds chirping and I’m kind of upset with myself for being awake. Why am I up? Partially because I was trying to finish more work for Hudson...and partially because I know I need to return to the city soon.

There’s nothing for me here. Rather, there’s nothing for me here that I can’t get in New York. I need to stop running from my problems, from men, and responsibility. I claim I want to be a great writer, but I shut down as soon as I hit a tiny roadblock. I spend as much time chasing men as I do work on myself. That isn’t right.

I know, in my soul, I need to work on myself before I can have a successful relationship. The same goes for writing. Nothing that’s worth having is easy to obtain. But it’s so easy to see everyone else’s success and feel like I’m not worthy, because if I was wouldn’t it have “happened” by now?

I think I figured out what I was running from. Fear. Not pain and not ennui, terror of myself and what I’m capable of. But if I keep running how will I ever know just what I can do? The only way to find out is to go back to New York.

Back to the airport.

-XO

Innocence Lost or Knowledge Gained

Dear Diary,

I worked all day today. I guess that’s the downside of lying to your boss.

Since I told him I came to Hong Kong to help the company it only makes sense that I do some work while I’m here. My day was spent locating documents, translating documents, editing said translated documents, and forgetting to eat. I got light headed toward the end of the day.

“You should go home and rest,” Hudson said, “You work so hard.” But even though he was praising my work ethic he had that look in his eye. It wasn’t pervy...it was innocent, like a boy with a crush.

It’s crazy to think we’re both in our twenties. Technically that’s so young but it feels—I feel—so much older. Like, this is the age where what we do affects the rest of our lives. That’s why Hudson is trying to build a company and I’m...what exactly am I doing? Becoming an author? Trying to cement financial security? But if that’s the case why did I run from my radio job to the strip club...and run from the strip club to Hong Kong?

Why am I always running? What exactly am I searching for??

It seems like Hudson hasn’t lost his innocence or gained the knowledge that he should run from a girl like me. I wonder when he’ll learn...

-XO

Metaphysical

Dear Diary,

I saw Karl last night.

Just kidding...sort of. It depends on your definition of “saw”. I did have a dream about him cuddling up next to me. I woke up to the sensation of him licking my pussy—but it was all a dream. When I opened my eyes, it was morning and he wasn’t there, kind of like real life.

So, if metaphysical representations of my desire count then, yes, I did see him last night.

Back in the tangible world it was like a dream. My boss, Hudson (his Chinese name is Li Jun), took a private town car from his parents’ place to one of the most exclusive clubs in Hong Kong. I don’t remember what it was called and even if I did, I wouldn’t be able to write it down. The point is: I think Hudson was trying to impress me.

Inside the club, we got the “treatment”. It was nothing I haven’t seen before in New York or LA. The difference was, “China rich” people don’t care for ostensible displays of modesty. Everything was lavish, from the seats to the hangers-on who wanted to sit at our table. In the states the on-lookers aren’t nearly as well dressed.

Hudson himself was very charming. He kept asking, “Are you having a good time” and he sort of apologized for how lush everything was. “People in China kind of go overboard,” then he added, “especially around pretty foreign girls.”

I’m not sure how that last bit would go over with HR. Who am I kidding? This whole thing sounds like a dream. Who would even believe me when even I have trouble discerning what’s real?

Snake Eyes

Dear Diary,

I can’t believe that worked.

It’s a wonder my eyes aren’t brown because I get away with sooooo much shit.

Instead they’re green with flecks of gold (Karl called them snake eyes...I don’t know why). For whatever reason I get away with much more BS when I bat my eyelashes and wear something that brings out the bits of yellow in my irises. But it only works if I don’t try too hard. When I actually try Karl says my eyes light up and I look like I’ll stab someone if I don’t get my way...I think I just got why he called them snake eyes.

Whatever. I didn’t start this entry to write about my eyes or my shitty ex-boyfriend.

I found my boss’s office with clever use of Google and my weak grasp of the Cantonese language. It helps that many people here speak English. Anyway, I get to his office and tell him about how he sounded like he needs help on the ground floor, and I believe in his vision yaddie yadda ya. And now not only is my plane ticket reimbursed, I cancelled my hotel reservation because I’m sleeping in his parent’s guest house (his parents have sooo much money. That’s how he’s funding his enterprise). Anyways, to celebrate my landing in Hong Kong he’s taking me to spots “only locals know.”

Partying with my boss...this should be interesting.

-XO

Irresponsible

Dear Diary,

I took a trip; I hope I can pay for it later.

Why am I so worried? It’s not like I’ve had trouble paying my bills before...but, if I’m being honest, this isn’t the first time I’ve put something on my credit card when I haven’t had enough money to pay for it up front. The way I see it, I have the rest of the month to make this money back, and then some.

Of course, the problem with this line of thinking is that it doesn’t account for emergencies. What if I get sick? Or the club closes down? Or...I don’t know anything could happen between now and the day my bills are due. I don’t know why this is worrying me so much now and when it didn’t matter as I bought the ticket in the first place.

Oh well.

I guess now that I’m here I may as well have some fun. I’ve never been to Hong Kong before. The guy I freelance for lives out here, so I figured I should show up to his office with some bullshit story about how I was concerned about the company (and/or his wellbeing) and just had to make the trip out. Who knows, maybe he’ll reimburse me for the ticket?

Until next time,

Eve

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"Eve's Drop" is produced by Die Happy Tonight, a boutique hospitality company and the creators of Rosewood, a private gentlemen's club in New York City. For more info, visit www.diehappytonight.com.

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"Eve's Drop" is produced by Die Happy Tonight, a boutique hospitality company and the creators of Rosewood, a private gentlemen's club in New York City. For more info, visit diehappytonight.com

In search of Adonis': The Convocation

 The time has arrived.

I was quite nervous, and I am never nervous. I didn’t know how to begin, what to wear, or how it would end. I finally have my ultimate fantasy right here, and I cannot stop shaking. The excitement and overwhelm were monstrous. I called Paul my bartender and told him to bring a bottle of his best whiskey.  I want only the finest...for my pussy and for my nerves.

Paul is the first one here. He is tall, slender, bearded, and sexy. He has this casual air to him, its as if he’s done this before, although he has told me otherwise.  He takes one look at me, laughs to himself and kisses my forehead and hands me a glass of whiskey on the rocks. I feel an immediate sense of relief.

Yet I can’t help but to think the worst. Will my other Adonis show up? Will he think it too weird to have a threesome with his former lover? Has he changed his mind? Does he not want me anymore?

These thoughts of insecurity plague my mind. I am not familiar with these self-conscious feelings. I am the woman who knows her worth, commands respect, stands up for her pleasure. But right now...I am a little girl, frightened, excited, and waiting for what comes next (hopefully me!).

This new experience, this unknown, this desire I deeply yearned to fulfill for so long…it is finally here. It is so close that I can already feel their touch on my body. It's a precipice I have yet to reach. This vulnerability is heavy, and I am opening myself up to it. To the potential for rejection, for the risk of an awkward encounter, the possible loss of a friend and a former lover.

While my head swims with these ruminations, Paul comes up behind me and starts massaging my back. He gets close and shares some affectionate touch, it is sensual, but I can tell it is coming from a deep place of love and respect. I don’t know why I’ve never hooked up with him. He embodies so much of what I want and so much of what I seek in a male partner.

Just as I am sinking into the relaxation of his strong hands and my whiskey haze, the bell rings.

It’s him, my sweet Riley. He is the opposite of Paul. Riley is broad, clean shaven, kind of nerdy, but full of intense masculine energy. The sight of him makes me wet…He conditioned me well when we were together.

Introductions are made, and more whiskey is had. We sat around smoking, drinking, and getting to know each other a little deeper.  There was no rush.

We’ve all arrived.

Growth

Hi Diary,

Let me get this off my chest: Shawn Mendes is handsome and I’m disgusted with myself for thinking so. Like, he’s so basic. Having the opinion that Shawn Mendes is handsome is like telling people your favorite flavor of ice cream is vanilla. And that’s the tea.

In other news, I’ve accepted a freelance position with the radio station I interned for in college. It looks like they’re merging under iHeartRadio and they want someone they trust on the ground floor during the transition. I’m excited and it’s a great opportunity but I worry if I can do what they need me to do and keep attending parties with Die Happy. Only time will tell.

I’m nervous but maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe this is what growth feels like.

Beware the Viper

I’m back.

So, as I was saying, the manager at Gemstone’s was a dick.

Thankfully he wasn’t the one who hired me. Still, I was only there for two days when he called me over. This isn’t out of the ordinary, I assumed he was going to introduce himself and move on. Instead he almost...sized me up. It was like he was appraising a car.

The first thing he said was, Oh you’re skinny.

I said, Thank you...I guess.

He said, How long are you here?

I said, Until my friend wants to leave.

He said, Okay.

And that was that...so weird. A part of me wondered if he’d fire me on the spot...for being skinny or something.

Like I said before, he never really messed with me. But he did do something that stuck with me...basically, there was a waitress. Super sweet, probably around 21 years old. Some rappers came in, it is Huston after all, and I guess she was a little flustered. At first, she rang up there order wrong but then, I think, she calmed down when she saw how nice they were. They invited her to have a drink and a few shots with them.

Now, I’ve never been a waitress but a few of my friends have. Waitresses need to flirt just as much as we dancers do. It’s their job to sell bottles and drive alcohol sales for the club. If dancers tried to do that we’d be falling off the stage. Anyway, nothing was out of the ordinary. She was sitting with them, and after a few drinks she got them to buy another bottle. I think they tipped her extra just to hang out.

For some reason, the manager had a problem with them. I saw him watching her and he had this...this look on his face. It was definitely angry but there was something else too, something I can’t name.

When she went to the bathroom near our dressing room he said, Hey, you’re walking funny.

I think she thought he was joking because she didn’t answer. Then he screamed—I am not joking he actually screamed, ANSWER ME WHEN I’M TALKING TO YOU! WHAT, ARE YOU TOO DRUNK TO RESPOND?

Like, you could hear a pen drop in the dressing room...at first she tried to explain. She said,

I’m not drunk. I thought you were joking.

He says, Are you even old enough to drink?

Seriously, now he cares?

She couldn’t even get a word in. He was chewing her out for no reason, saying she was hanging by a thread and if she couldn’t get drink orders right and walk without looking like a floozy her days at Gemstones were numbered.

THIS ISN’T A PLACE FOR GROUPIES TO PARTY WITH WANNABES.

Throughout the entire thing, I stayed silent. The waitress just walked back to the table...I don’t know what she said but the rappers left soon after.

One of the other girls tapped me on the shoulder. She said, I tried to tell you about Viper. He likes to make girls cry.

Mean

Hey Diary,

So, this happened.

Leela wanted to take a trip to Houston to see her family and she wanted me to come with. At first I said, No, because I didn’t want to overdraft my account...and I had rent to pay. But she said we could work while we’re there so I figured it wouldn’t hurt. I wasn’t sure what to expect, since I only ever worked in New York, but Leela’s from Texas so she said it would be fine.

I believed her, like an idiot.

First of all, everything and everyone is MUCH bigger in Texas. Me and Leela stood out like crazy...everyone called us the “Model Twins” or “Barbie 1 and 2”. Number one, she’s blond and I’m a brunette, her nose and lips are full while I have what you could kindly call “German” features. Bro, we look nothing alike. Second of all, I’m 125 pounds last I checked. Leela is 5’4 and 115...like, we can’t model for shit. But besides everyone acting like we were Gigi and Bella Hadid it was a nice club. Or it was, until I met the manager.

Everyone told me what an asshole he was. “Stay away” or “keep out of his way” I was warned, more times than once. I asked if he was a creep and one girl said, “No. He’s just mean.” Okay, so I’ve lived in New York for three years now and I’ve been a dancer for two. I almost laughed in this girl’s face. Like, honey, you really think he could say something to hurt my feelings?

 To be fair, no he didn’t hurt my feelings at all. He made me question my self-worth...and that was far far worse.

Oh snap, I think my pizza’s here. To be continued.

In search of Adonis': The Discovery.

I’ve finally succeeded! It has been weeks upon weeks of manifesting, searching, and interviewing men (unbeknownst to them). Both in the bed and out. I scoured tinder, I discussed with old lovers and new friends. I found some who wanted to satisfy me but not my goal. I found some who would gladly welcome another but wanted all their focus to be on my body solely. I found a few who were willing and of those less who met my standards.

And then I found my men.

In a last-ditch effort that I reached for the phone and dialed the number of a former lover from years ago. A lover who keeps in touch with the most delightfully dirty details then disappears into thin air. When he answered, I had no time for pleasantries. I’ve been searching long enough and have little patience to go through the flirtations. So I opened it up with, “I want to be fucked... By you and another man. And I want you two to explore each other.”

“Babe, I’ve been waiting for you to call! I’ll do anything for that perfect pussy of yours.”

Just the response I was looking for! I found one and now just seeking one more. This time it wasn’t a love from the past, and it wasn't a creep from a dating app. It was the bartender that serves me my martini every Friday evening before I meet up with my clients, subs, and slaves. He’s known me for a year. We’ve shared coy smiles and discussed the many aspects of our work. This time he was asking me about my newest clients and my next goals. I told him, “Well, funny you ask because I’m trying to find a second man to fuck me in my dream threesome.” He stops polishing the glass, looks at me and says, “I’m not sure if you know that I am bi, and I find you very attractive. So, if this guy is hot and you would have me, I would be happy to fulfill this wish.” A smile slinked upon his face. Without missing a beat I pull up a picture, confidently.  

He puts down two shot glasses pours us his favorite whiskey and we rejoice in this deviant adventure to come.

Self(ish) Love

Diary,

Have you ever read the handbook for mental disorders? It’s called the DVSM I think...anyway, people joke that you shouldn’t read it because you wind up thinking you have every illness they describe (same goes for books on physical illness) but I guess listening to other people’s advice has never been my forte.

So, I had some time on the train and I decided to read up on what my favorite writer’s (Cat Marnell) ex best friend was diagnosed with. He had a type of narcissism that was mixed with antisocial personality disorder and it’s called malignant narcissistic personality disorder. It’s still not in the big book o’ crazy yet but it’s established enough that it has an asterisk.  

Anyways, it turns out there are many different types of narcissism. There’s amorous narcissism, elitist narcissism, literally there were so many subsets it made me think, what if I’m a narcissist?

Actually, my first thought was wow, that sounds a lot like Karl then I read more, and I realized it sounded like Jamie or Mickey...then I thought well what makes you think they’re not reading this very Wikipedia page and thinking about you?

Did you know there’s such a thing as “normal” narcissism? With the way everyone is obsessed with social media and the limelight, I’m beginning to think maybe we all fall into that category. There are even classes on how to build a “personal brand”. Maybe the reason narcissism is so rarely diagnosed is because it’s hard to tell who’s truly sick and who’s trying to make it in this crazy world.

High Minded

Hello Diary,

Today I found out OJ Simpson has a twitter account and my ex Jamie, follows him. If that doesn’t confirm that he’s a trash human being, I don’t know what does...then again, there has to be an explanation, right? I mean he beat his wife—that much is non contested, cheated on her multiple times, and when he thought not even knew but just thought she was moving on with her life, he killed her.

Now Jamie is an educated human. He has to know the facts of the case. I don’t even mean the did he do it or didn’t he do it—I mean the cheating, the beating, and the constant mental and emotional abuse.

Even in his own memoir, which he claimed to write “for a specific audience, for the money” (wtf) he admitted to abusing her...and he admitted to killing her. The chilling part is: he doesn’t seem sorry. For any of it.

It’s...I mean Jamie does dabble in journalism so maybe that’s the reason he’s following him. That’s what one of my friends said when I asked her why she’s doing the same...but I can’t help but feel reporting on his antics only legitimizes him. That’s what happened with Trump...people couldn’t stay away because the “content just writes itself” and now look where we are.

I want to talk to Jamie but we’re not speaking at the moment.

I don’t mean to get on my high horse but is this the world we’re living in? A world were everyone’s base needs are met and the good side of humanity starves...oy vey, I think I need another glass of wine.

Or maybe I need some time with my girls, that always helps.

Afterglow

Dear Diary,

I can’t believe I forgot to write about the reason I was traveling so much!

Music; my reason to be, my heart, my voice...okay, I’ll stop quoting One Direction. Besides, they weren’t even there.

Bonnaroo was lit this year. No other way to put it. They had the best acts and even the vendors were on point this. It’s crazy because I kept expecting to see an ex or someone I straight up didn’t like. But no, no pain and no drama at all. If anything, there were more old friends and girls I lost touch with than I thought.

It almost made me nervous, how happy I was and the amount of love I was receiving. I was waiting for someone to pull the rug out from under me, I wanted to scream what’s the catch to see if whoever was pulling the strings would hear me. Maybe the gods had mercy on me, because whoever’s pulling the strings didn’t yank me at all.

I was pulled in every direction, don’t get me wrong. I was walking with Leela when I saw Caroline and (who I thought was her ex-boyfriend) Jose. Well, I guess they’re not exes anymore. I said hi to them and we all started to catch up (I had introduced them to Leela) when I saw my friend Martin. I hadn’t seen him since he was doing standup in dive bars on the Lower East Side.

I guess he graduated from dive bars to the big time, he was headlining! Caroline’s still teaching and her boyfriend (finally) started the band he was always talking about. He and Martin spoke about them playing a minor stage next year. It was all serendipitous and wonderful.

Who knows? Maybe this, this life, this thing we’re doing, maybe it’ll all work out and all of our dreams will come true. Who knows?

It could happen, right?

Unexpected Ejaculation

Dear Diary,

Last night I came in two minutes flat. I’m not exaggerating even a little bit.

I guess I’ve been pent up recently. While I was traveling, I didn’t touch myself at all because I didn’t want my travel buddies to know what I was up to. On the plane back to the city and even on the bus ride back home I didn’t think about it at all, the growing need inside me. But I felt a renewed burst of energy as soon as I placed the key into my front door.

To be kind—to myself—the first thing I did was unpack. Then I tidied up a bit, I can never relax in a messy space because it screws with my head. After everything was clean, I organized my planner (I’m a weirdo, I know) and lit a candle. It was lavender and vanilla.

You’d assume that because I was so tired, I would have slept right away. But I made myself stay up and I forced myself to move slow. First through my panties, then back and forth on my clit. I was wet so fast it surprised me and I figured it was time to take my panties off. I had to fight the urge to stop, call Mickey or Shaun.

But I kept going, around my vulva and finally inside. The wetness and my own warmth surprised me, I guess it really had been awhile since I’ve taken the time and practiced this form of self-care. Before I knew it it was over, and barely any time had passed. I fell asleep soon after.

Now it’s morning and I’m irked to say the feeling hasn’t left yet. The fire lingers and needs to be put out. Maybe it’s time to call Mickey.

Or Shaun.