There are stories we tell and stories we don't tell. Here are some of those.

F*CK WRITING

May 05, 2018 by Dixie Perkinson in life

Writing is hard. I put so much pressure on myself as if I’m figuring out my existence on this planet through the keyboard of my MacBook Air. I sit here with this desperate need to prove myself. To any man who broke my heart or even swiped left, to anyone who didn’t believe in me, to any acting teacher who told me that I wasn’t good as is and that I should change my appearance or voice in order to make it in this industry, to any asshole kid from my childhood who called me fat and made me cry, to any restaurant or bar manager who fired me and forced me to feel dumb, to any dick customers who were rude, to any guy who treated me nothing more than a sexual object for themselves, to any selfish man who I slept with who wasn’t at all curious about my clit, to anyone who lied or deceived me or even cut me in line, to anyone who unfollowed me on Instagram or Twitter, to anyone who honked at me on the road, to anyone who has not invited me to their 4th of July Day parties and then obnoxiously post about it, and then to my father for not loving me the way I should have been loved and to whomever killed my mother and then dumped her lifeless body at a grocery store parking lot with her breasts hanging out as if she were merely just a piece of trash…

What's for Dinner?

April 27, 2018 by Dixie Perkinson in life

I want to have a regular life. I want to have regular parents. A regular job. A regular body. But I’ll keep my ass, thank you.

A letter to 16 year old me

April 23, 2018 by Dixie Perkinson in life, dead mom

If I could talk to 16 year old Dixie, I would tell her this:

Yes, it sucks right now. No doubt about it. This pain you’re experiencing is some top level shiiiiiit. If the heartache were a tequila, it would be on the top shelf. I would say hold off on the tequila, but I know you won’t. The death of your grandmother is changing you more than ever. More than a drivers license. More than college. Even more than losing your virginity. This feeling. This loss. This pain. This is transforming you into a wise soul beyond your teenage years. You might not realize it, but you’re also crying for your mother. I know you don’t remember her, but you do remember this longing of home. Belonging to something bigger. And this is something you’ll be chasing for years to come.

Canned Soup

April 12, 2018 by Dixie Perkinson in life, personal narrative

Our pool was green growing up. My dad said that chlorine wasn’t healthy for the skin. But really, there wasn’t any money left to pay for a pool guy. We were all living off of my murdered mother’s inheritance. My dad was basically a kid just like me and my brother. He never worked like other dads did and was always home. He was either watching TV, having sex with whomever, or at the typewriter retyping W.B. Yeats poems and other writers’ work that he liked when he was younger. My dad was tall and strong and opened up soup and Chef Boyardee Ravioli cans and other bottles that were hard to open. I still have a hard time opening up things because I would never even try when I was younger. I had no desire to learn. I didn’t need to feel accomplished that way. I’d always go straight to my dad. Well, not when he was upstairs having sex with whomever. I knew not to interrupt and ask him to open up a soup can. If he was preoccupied like that, I’d then go to my older brother and ask him to open up the soup can. The worst would be if my dad was having sex with somebody AND my brother would be in the garage (which was his bedroom), and he’d be with his girlfriend having sex presumably. Then, I’d just have cereal.

A Check-In

March 30, 2018 by Dixie Perkinson in life

Heart is beating. Blood is flowing. Bowel movements on check. No UTI. No yeast infection. No ingrown pubes. No lumps. No weird moles. A belly that jiggles, but whatever.

A POEM FOR ME (AND I GUESS YOU TOO)

March 27, 2018 by Dixie Perkinson in life

I am loved.

Not by a husband or a boyfriend or even from a mom and dad, but from friends, from aunts, cousins, an uncle, a teacher or two. It has been a village.

An Excerpt of a Break-Up

March 19, 2018 by Dixie Perkinson in personal narrative

We were in my car, breaking up for the 47th time. Although this time was different. Paul had been with someone else during our previous…hiatus. She was 19 or 20, some obnoxious age like that. It was the first time he had slept with anyone other than me since the 6 years we had been together, off and on. I had been with more than one person, of course. Even when we were an official couple, I wasn’t faithful. But it’s different for me. I needed sex all the time. I needed affection. If I didn’t have a man doting after me at all times, I felt like I didn’t exist. See, I’m weak. But Paul, he was different. He was strong. He was capable of loving. I wasn’t. He wasn’t suppose to fuck anything up. That was going to be me.

Me + You

March 12, 2018 by Dixie Perkinson in life

This whole blog thing is weird, right? Like I’m being so open and personal with you and most of you guys don’t really know me. So why am I doing it? No really. Why am I doing this?

Sunday Funday

March 04, 2018 by Dixie Perkinson in life

I am sad. I feel heavy. I am drinking coffee in bed, debating on whether to go back to bed. I know I shouldn’t. I slept a full 9 hours, yet my bed feels warm and enticing, familiar and safe. I wouldn’t mind escaping for an hour or two. What am I trying to escape? An open Sunday with nothing to do? A nap wouldn’t hurt anyone. I’d probably stay out of trouble. There aren’t any calories in sleep. And not consuming calories is always the right thing to do. I need to lose 20 pounds anyway. I don’t look like the rest of you do. My body is odd and doesn’t fit in.

That Time I Dated a Racist Juggalo

February 28, 2018 by Dixie Perkinson in life, personal narrative

In case you don’t know what Juggalos are, they are fans of the hip-hop duo, Insane Clown Posse, mainly referred as ICP. ICP are these two unattractive white guys that paint their faces with clown make up, trying to be scary, and rap offensive things. Juggalos and juggalettes (the women who listen to ICP) also paint their faces and yell “whoop whoop” as their calling. ICP has a very odd following. They mainly attract rough, white-trashy people. Oh, and I dated one.

Depression? Trump Era? Or Just PMS?

February 18, 2018 by Dixie Perkinson in life

Sometimes I’ll get sad, and I won’t exactly know why. Is it important for me to figure out anyway? Because holy shitting dick nipples is there a lot of sadness to draw from these days. From the school shootings, to the much needed but very loaded #METOO movement, Trump saying...well, anything, never having a mother, being raised by a shitty dad, a reminder from a friend that- no my ex, whom I loved, was truly a misogynistic asshole, all the money that I’ve thrown at acting teachers who have feasted off my insecurities, growing out of friendships, being rejected over and over in this industry, almost 35 years old and still not knowing how to apply blush, how easy it is to gain 5 pounds all within a week but losing it takes months or never, everything being so goddamn expensive, a pimple appearing on my butt…the list goes on and on.

6 nights and 5 days

February 09, 2018 by Dixie Perkinson in life, dead mom

Last week I spent 6 days and 5 nights with women who had lost their mother’s at an early age. It was called a Motherless Daughthers retreat. I signed up last September. Honestly, it was a whim decision. I was sad and on the internet one afternoon, (always a dangerous combination), and there was money in my bank account. The retreat seemed like it was going to be in a beautiful location in Santa Cruz. You know, it’s always nice to leave Los Angeles from time to time. Plus, the program was led by these two amazing writers whom I’ve always wanted to meet. So I said fuck it and just forked over some dough and then kinda forgotten about it as time passed. Recently, I’ve been in less pain about my mother. (She was murdered when I was one). I mean, there’s always going to be an underlining sadness in me, but I’ve embraced it. This blog has helped. Being in therapy has helped. So I wasn’t really jonesing for a getaway. But alas, the time came, and I had to show up to this thing.

What Do I Even Want?

January 26, 2018 by Dixie Perkinson in life

Who wants normal lives? I think I do, but deep down…I think I’d get bored.

My Earliest Memory

January 17, 2018 by Dixie Perkinson in life

My earliest memory is probably of when I was around two years old, I was unabashedly chasing a cockroach down our pumpkin-orange linoleum kitchen floor. I must have been barefoot, wearing only a diaper and ecstatically giggling while doing so. Then, out of nowhere, the cockroach decided to stop, turn towards me and dart my way. My laughter turned into a scream of panic. I started running away from the cockroach, crying hysterically and afraid for my life.

WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT THIS

January 12, 2018 by Dixie Perkinson in life, sex

So…you guys are just rippin’-’n’-dippin,’ right? It’s getting hot and heavy, and you finally are able to let go and allow yourself to be in the moment and feeeeeel the magnitude of pleasure and passion all wrapped up in a thrust or a gentle nipple twist. The desire between you two is all-consuming. His breath is heavy as he grabs your hips and pulls you in. You can’t help but let out a moan. A squeal. A scream. You don’t care. Nothing matters in this point in time. You’ve surrendered all considerations of your body, anything that jiggles. Every concern about your life is put on hold and fuck that to-do list anyway. The only thing that matters is the two of you giving freely to one another. No boundaries. No barriers. It’s that fucking primal bliss that just feels so right and irrefutable. As he fervidly climaxes, you feel like a goddamn sex goddess. You both take a moment to just exist in that shared mutual euphoria. You now need to lovingly and gracefully undue your sweaty body after that heated sexual experience that’s almost impossible to put words to since all words fail to describe this type of exhilaration. Then it happens. The always unforeseen, ever explosive…queef.

New Year. New Me.

January 03, 2018 by Dixie Perkinson in life

Oh yeah. 2018 is when this prune blooms into a plum…which I know doesn’t make any sense but neither does any of this. Because that’s basically what we’re doing here on Earth. We’re relearning everything we’ve ever been taught. To return to ourselves before we got fucked over and enveloped in heartache and debt. Before all the twisted ways our parents and society has taught us to see ourselves and others. Before the tweezing and coloring the grey away. Let’s not let anyone know that we’re aging. Either that means we’re one day closer to death or another day that we luckily get to live on this beautiful planet. But we’re pessimistic and narcissistic, so let’s take the fat from our ass and inject it into our face because that’s the logical thing to do. But I digress…

The Art of Meh

December 13, 2017 by Dixie Perkinson in life

I don’t feel like doing shiiiiiiiiiit. I guess that’s the real holiday spirit. I’m expecting blood to gush out of my vag any minute. Well, more like a sporadic drip. I’m not ready for the holidays, yet I’m fine with just throwing up my hands and calling it a year. The days are short. Nights are long. And I want to exist somewhere in between.

MURDER MANIA

December 09, 2017 by Dixie Perkinson in life

I want to write about this new trend of murder shows because it seems murder is annoyingly the hot topic nowadays. Perhaps it all started with the Serial podcast that everyone obsessed over followed by Making a Murderer. Now Netflix is nothing but documentaries on serial killers and real unsolved crimes. There’s an actual podcast called My Favorite Murder that’s trending. Ewww. A murder obsessed epidemic is going on. And it’s pissing me off.

BEATING AROUND THE BUSH

November 29, 2017 by Dixie Perkinson in life, sex

I’d rather have sex with a guy I barely know or even a guy who I know, but I can’t stand, than to masturbate. Sitting on some annoying guy’s face is easy, but being alone with my body and exploring me? Now that’s hard.

Holidays When Your Family Sucks

November 22, 2017 by Dixie Perkinson in life

What do you do when your family sucks? And not just like... “Oh, I don’t like my parents politics.” But more... “Oh, wait a second, my parent is a sociopath and did some serious damage to me growing up, and I’m kinda fucked up over it and have to work on healing myself till the day I die.” Like…that kind of sucking? Yeah, what do you do then?