Beverly Hills..

I don’t judge men who pay for sex.
I don’t judge the women who fuck for money, (after all am I so different? I just stay with the one man…).

I do judge, however, the women who claw their way to the top of their respective age social scene, a la the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. She; so rude, catty, mean to me as I was a much younger date to a Hollywood party and she knew her social stances were falling down around her, (she had also just been replaced). To make herself feel better by dismissing me and rolling her eyes whenever I spoke.

Fake as her breasts and forehead, never pretend to be pedigree when you’re really a mutt. Never act above anyone or so uppity people enjoy watching you fail. I will call you out.

Listen honey. We all, all know you hooked. Congrats on marrying money. But don’t deny your past. I’m only 22 and no one had to tell me, sometimes, as one of us, you can just tell. I was also told multiple times and know someone who actually paid, yes paid her, just to confirm what I already knew. TRASH.

Well well well. New Years took a surprising twist. Left Palm Springs, and was surprised by a trip to Mexico, (I was very naughty this year, which means much more good things for me). With that crowd, its Saint Bart’s or the hot new it place for the New Year, which of course was Cabo.

Rang in the year with a wide variety of stars and starlets. The juiciest gossip being one country star being purposely asked not to come; she showed up with her man, had a tantrum and was walked off the premises. It was awesome.

I guess it was musical chairs for sexual partners as well. My partner and I always have a good understanding of our roles; I can hold a conversation, entertain, educated, funny, smart and hot, he; pays for everything. This also gives me slack when it comes to extra men. As long as I’m discrete, he doesn’t care. Hence the no names in the blog.

Can I just say, all stars, no matter who they are, are promiscuous. No matter how much they are ‘family oriented’ I see the other, closed door side. I’ve seen parties turn to orgies. For example, in Cabo I left one party early, as in 1am early, and before I could pull out my cell to call the limo for a ride back to the resort, a good looking and familiar male asked to join me on my walk. He was very handsome and seemed polite. We didn’t get too far before he tried to get his hands all over me pushing me down onto the sand ripping my dress and underwear. Not that I stopped him. (and yes, I carry protection and I’m not afraid to use it. It’s a small community. You know who has the Herpes, the mumps and bumps. I never intend to get anything thank you very much and am very careful about it).

It was only recently, flipping through the E! that I saw this man again, dating a co-star in his latest film looking very lovey dovey for the cameras. It didn’t surprise me as much as it used too, which bothered me more.

Me being the courtesan I am, has successfully talked my partner into leaving L.A. for Christmas, only to hear we’re going to Palm Fucking Springs. I think ‘Fuck’ should be in the title.

Ugghdfiwehnf I hate sounding like the spoiled 21 year old I am but commmmeee onnnn. I LITERALY, LITERALY, in full use of this word, had a 20 minute conversation with a ‘young, hot, fresh, talented’ star on the rise that EVERYONE under 30 knows and she did coke the entire time. When a small trickle of blood started falling towards her mouth, she stuffed her cocktail napkin in her nose, said ‘oops’ and continued to talk about “how jealous she is of Natalie Portman’s body in ‘Black Swan’ and didn’t I know she auditioned for the role?” How the fuck would I know?
Got offered a ‘supporting leading role’ on a TV show ONLY because I was being forced to go to a reading by my partner and I felt like an idiot, I hated it. I didn’t belong there. Yes I got the part, no I don’t want it. Why is that so hard to believe? I did it to get him off my back and be left in peace to hike the hills and read in the hot tub in peace. I leave him in peace when he looks at all the tits and ass that L.A. is built on. Return the favor!
Do I like meaningless office work? Of course not. Do I like meaningless acting roles? Of course not. There should be a middle ground.


Perhaps its time I find myself a hot little something on the side to take my mind of all of this. Then I’ll really have something to write about.

Thanksgiving has come and gone and I’m still here. Fucking LA. Well, not fucking LA but in fucking LA.
I hate being anywhere that’s not cold in December, takes the fake cheer right out of the season. Tried to go shopping at The Grove but it was just too fucking depressing. All this money being tossed around and right ‘round the corner is Skid Row. Can’t wait for the shit smiling celebrities to take photos ‘volunteering’ to feed the homeless in all the rag mags. Preaching about ‘the reason for the season’ while they all do coke off the tables at the clubs (I’ve been forced to attend) at night. Yes, I've seen it.
Also very strange LA facts? All these models/actresses/singers/reality stars claim they never workout and eat whatever they want and I see, well HEAR, them throwing up their 75 dollar sushi at Katsuya in Hollywood, once at The Ivy. Eww.

My current partner (lets be real, sugar d) deals with a lot of celebrities and beautiful fuckers so there are endless amounts of stupid tat I could write about. This blog has become less about my sexcapades and more about my hate for LA. I’m a smart girl, I went to college, earned a 4.0 gpa and still managed to play a varsity sport yet I stay and punish myself in this place. I’ve become accustomed to a life style, I can just do without all the pretty bullshit.

The thing is, any city I’ve loved, London, NY, Paris, they don’t buy into the bullshit. Here they eat it up with a fucking spoon. I find no one in LA that wants to talk about anything other then their botox, self tanner, blow and coffee diet. Everyone here is gonna make it, with non moving foreheads and perky D cup breast.

At parties I’m a ‘nobody’ since I’m not in the business, people walk right past me till they realize who I’m fucking. After they do, they try and talk to me, as if I care. I bring up subjects like Dostoevsky or Immanuel Kant just to make them sweat. “Oh I loved his last film,” I can’t help but laugh uncontrollably.

I know I’m no better in what I do then they, I love being what I am, I love being able to be free and not work but Jesus, try and educate ones self with more then Instyle magazine. Pick up a fucking book.

One small, minuscule thing about LA I like is ‘Agent Provocateur’. What’s even better; spending someone else’s money there. I’ve been on my own this week as my big poppa/sugar daddy/millionaire match/cliché money maker male partner has been busy.


Although he did hire a car for me to hit all the hotspots these last few days in style, Westwood (boring), Malibu (never felt so pale and overfed and I’m a size 2), Rodeo Drive (WASPY dreadful style), Melrose Ave. (Kitchen is so…kitch) and countless night clubs that don’t need to be mentioned. I see now why New Yorkers make fun of this fantastic plastic land.


No one was particularly nice or friendly, except when they saw me exit my limo. Perhaps my shit attitude reflected in my clothes; black leather pants, black blazer over a blood red corset, motorcycle boots, no purse. I hate purses, women get upset when they don’t see other women carrying a purse because they can’t size you up, see how much your worth, if you have a designer or knock off. Pitty. I just let them guess.


The most interesting thing happened when I lunched by myself (which is unheard of I suppose by all the pity glances I got) and was reading when a drunkard at the bar interrupted by peace and quiet by acting like a belligerent fool. As he made his scene, no doubt for our benefit since he was slightly famous (think shit MTV show), I stuck my foot out ever so slightly to catch his shoe as he stormed out of the restaurant. He caught it and slammed down face first into the floor. I turned the page. Alas, my peace and quiet was back.


Hopefully we leave soon.

I hate L.A.

There are few things I loath more then LA. I hate, hate and hate that town. No matter what part your in, everyone excludes the air of, ‘look at me, look at me.’ Though I come from a place of money, I date for money, I’m not such a fan of the whole production of spending it openly and so…flashy.

I like to spend money on experience; travel, exotic food, vacation, etc. Rather then the current population of LA who seem to spend every dime on things. Big flashy cars, jewelry, houses, for fuck sakes even dogs. When did creatures become a flashy source of income? The worst is that Middle American see’s these things on The Hills, Real Housewives, MTV Cribs, VH1 Heiress shows, Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, so then they too spend all of their money pretending to show off how rich they are when really they can’t afford to pay their credit card bills.

I’m just bitching because I’ve been brought to this shady town as my newest conquest has work to do here. Sadly enough he’s involved in the movies/tv/over all shit industry.
At parties here all anyone ever talks about is themselves, their ‘craft’ and how they seethe at the money dripping tits of studio execs. No one here seems to have any source of culture, let alone a college education. I tried to bring up a few philosophers I love and studies in University, (Apuleius and Wonhyo) and their eyes just glaze over. Yet they can talk one’s fucking ear’s off about any reality show on TV. Twice of which I've been offered a spot on a 'Hills spin off' for my sharp wit, good looks and ability to form sentences. I’ve never been so insulted!

I weep for the future. This is why i have not updated, been trying so hard to be positive but now i say fuck it.

Staying in love; it’s impossible and in the very least, highly unlikely. Not only does it seem to get duller and duller, the spark fades. Marriage is so archaic, what really truly is the point of marriage? Combined assets? Perhaps it’s giving up and giving in to the system.

Those who don’t want marriage (like myself) are looked down upon and judged. There is nothing worse then a housewife who looks down on me when SHE doesn’t work and just fucks the man who does pay the bills.
I realize what I do and who I am.

I am a girl who graduated University with two degrees and no job. I search(ed) and no luck. I know what my assets are (and I don’t mean my mind). So yes, I found a way to exploit myself before the world did it to me. Though men make sure to put me in my place or take advantage of me, like the obvious stares and looks down my shirt, my ass my tits, the comments and catcalls. Why not take advantage of the idiots that are men and get yours while they are getting theirs?
Women sell sex waking up every morning, choosing the clothes they put on their backs, the make up and hair, always looking sexually available. They know the power.
The power to have your car and housing taken care of, of all your needs fulfilled, of giving pleasure and feeling desired.

I’ll take that over a dull house and kids and husband any day.