Dave

October 13, 2019 by Dixie Perkinson in personal narrative

Dave was hot! He was a 30 year old high school teacher who taught Civics and Social Studies. He didn’t teach at the magnet high school that I attended, but at a regular public school in the same New Orleans district. Typically the kids who got kicked out of my school, then enrolled in his. But that’s not how we knew each other. Dave had a second job due to the city’s low pay for school teachers. He worked part-time as a barista at True Brew, a coffee shop where I did stand-up on Tuesday nights. I was only a senior in high school when we began to bang on a regular basis…

Breaking Up in LA

September 02, 2019 by Dixie Perkinson in personal narrative

I was 26 years old. My head was in my boyfriend’s lap as he was stroking my hair. No, I wasn’t giving him a blow job. Instead, I was crying. A different form of intimacy for me. Who am I kidding? This was way more intimate! Tears were more vulgar than cum in my household growing up. I wasn’t allowed to cry, so I learned to weep alone quietly in a ball with the doors locked. I was away from my father now, able to cry freely in another man’s lap, yet I wasn’t feeling free at all.

But...I Don't Wanna Date!

August 04, 2019 by Dixie Perkinson in life

I can’t believe I’ve gone this long without being in a relationship. It’s a scary feeling when you’re a 36 year old woman with an unstable career choice who desires stability and a family. I’m constantly breathing in the unknown and breathing out my attraction to men who don’t file their taxes.

Losing My Virginity (Part 2)

March 20, 2019 by Dixie Perkinson in personal narrative

Ben and I had set up a daily routine. He drove me home from our school in his dad’s tan pontanaic sedan. On the back sported an anti-Al Gore bumper sticker- 8 YEARS IS ENOUGH! (This was a year after the 2000 presidential election). As soon as we parked in front of my house, Ben and I would make a run for it. It was more of a mind set than actually running. I didn’t want my dad to engage in any conversations with Ben. I also knew he was going to ask me to watch my two little brothers, who were 4 and 5 years old, so my dad could leave and get his daily blow job(s). It was a 50/50 gamble. On bad days, nope. We were subject to my dad’s corny jokes and other communist manifesto quotes. Ben would politely laugh and nod. I wondered what was going on in Ben’s head during these times, but I was too embarrassed to ask. Once my dad got his high off of irritating the young, he’d say… “Okay. Watch the kids for a minute. I’ll be right back.”

Hookin' (Part 2)

November 25, 2018 by Dixie Perkinson in personal narrative

My mother was classically beautiful. Her looks were the embodiment of a nice girl. Freely smiling in every picture, exposing her perfect teeth and optimism. She had big, bright eyes that sparkled with charm. But underneath…was something completely different. There was an ugliness. A hatred towards herself. It was so loud she escaped to heroin, abusive men, and excessive spending to silence her demons. She endured an overwhelming emptiness, but nothing could possibly fill the void within. She was never able to love herself, and that torment eventually led to her drug related murder. People have mentioned to me that I look so much like my mother. I especially have her eyes. But do I have everything beneath as well?

Loneliness

November 11, 2018 by Dixie Perkinson in life

Sometimes my loneliness touches a wound inside me that runs so deep. It travels all the way back to past heartbreaks and losses and down to the core…the umbilical cord that once was. Snip. Snip. I feel like a helpless baby with no one around. No one to pick me up. No one to hold me and left to die. Oh, well.

The Bone (Part 1)

August 12, 2018 by Dixie Perkinson in personal narrative

There’s something about sex and sadness that goes together like cheese and crackers. To be more specific, my favorite combination is fucking a complete stranger while grieving for a deep deprivation that has haunted me my entire life. And that’s equivalent to a Trader Joe’s Raisin Rosemary Crisp with goat cheese. Yum!

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.