What’s Your Real Name?

March 10, 2016 5:49 pm

Hey there lovers. Long time no see! I know i’ve said it before but I have plans in the works for you & new things to post (finally). But first. I need your help…

For the entirety of my adult entertainment career (seriously, from the first time I picked up clothing after burlesque performers, to Playboy TV, to now) I’ve been known as Dixie. That’s my stage name. I’ve been 100% consistent about it.

Now, my Instagram, blog, Snap Chat, YouTube, everything else, is Josie. A variation on my given name.

The lines have always been blurred, but they’re blurring more & more as I start to expand my online presence and do more to promote the bikini bar I work for. I feel like the disconnect between my stage name & my social media name is a problem.


Do I ditch my stage name & become Josie across the board?


Do I switch my social media to my stage name, and be consistently Dixie?

Little help?


What’s in a name?

Ditch the stage name & always be Josie.
Change all social media to Dixie, your stage name.
It’s a non-issue, leave everything the way it is.

Poll Maker

The Weddinging (photo heavy!)

August 9, 2015 4:19 pm

“Say it. Call me the thing.”


Ahh… I can’t get enough of it. Every time I hear him say it, I get a little shiver. I smile. It’s so good. With each passing day it gets more real, and I get more happy & excited about my marriage. I won’t be humble about it, we’re disgustingly perfect for each other & disgustingly in love. Go ahead and gag. But, the wedding. That’s more entertaining & what people want to know about. I’ve had an *extremely* difficult time deciding how to write about my wedding, and I’ve finally decided on a bullet-point approach. Please forgive me if it’s not the most clear or well-writen wedding post ever. Here goes nothing!

Josephine + Beau Wedding - 00972

Looking very bridal while hiding in a corner, getting an update on mom.

Continue reading

Fever Dreams

January 26, 2015 6:23 pm
A woman fast asleep, with the devil on her stomach. Inconography in the public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

A woman fast asleep, with the devil on her stomach. Inconography in the public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

In the dream, three months pass. We’ve been trying for a baby for some time already, and just before waking up, a doctor is shrugging at me, giving me sympathetic looks. I wake up on the verge of the panic attack I was about to have in the dream, in the real world.

For years now I’ve been firmly in the grips of baby fever. And for just as long, infertility has been my biggest fear. Sure, pregnancy, birth, diapers, being responsible for the development of a human being, possibly giving up my career, are all pretty terrifying things for myriad reasons. But even more terrifying for me personally was not getting the opportunity to try. Sometimes I worry about it more than others but the worry isn’t usually too far from my mind.

I’m honestly not entirely sure why I’m so fixated on it… I’ve always had some level of trouble with my female parts, as long as I can remember. I know that (embarrassing & hard to admit) there have been a few instances many many years ago where I was purposely reckless with birth control, both with my partner’s blessing & without, and nothing happened. I know that for about a decade I suspected & voiced concerns about endometriosis (a condition involving the lining of the uterus which is often a cause of difficulty getting pregnant) before a doctor finally took me seriously & confirmed that yes, I should assume that’s what’s going on & just in case, it would be wise to get to work on the baby thing as soon as possible so there’s still time to address any trouble. That was two years ago now & definitely did make me all the more frantic about it. The dream haunts me and follows me around for days.

It’s a few days after the dream. Work was hard, a very long night, I’m barely managing my heavy bag from the car to the front door at nearly 3am but I’m smiling & cash heavy. Ego & wallet, full. My phone in hand, about to express my exhaustion & gratitude to the universe via Facebook when it vibrates, and the text message from my cousin stops me dead in my tracks. I drop my bags, cover my mouth with my hand, and my cocky posture slumps. Vincent, her sister’s child, my two year old second cousin, has cancer. Leukemia. He’s too sick to start treatment right away but they will as soon as the fever is under control. Continue reading

How Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson Made Me A Better Stripper

January 8, 2015 7:08 pm

Teeter Rock Enhanced Panorama
(No, not this rock, the one with the raised eyebrow. But sadly, I couldn’t find a free image of that rock that I liked.)

It’s embarrassing to admit. I’m honestly not at all sure when or how the switch flipped. For years I’ve watched jaded strippers slog through their shifts, completely unable to comprehend how they could be so down, so uninterested in working the room, so unwilling to hustle all but the most safe & promising looking customers, mostly only dealing with the ones who would come to them, so unhappy about making “only $xxx.xx”. Then, all of a sudden, I realized I became one of them somewhere along the way.

It hit me hard after a really bad Monday night. Half the times I went on stage I came down none the richer. Not a single dollar. When 2am arrived I only counted $22 in my purse, not a single dance sold, and I cried. Yes, it was a slow night, which I cannot control. Yes, I don’t believe a single dancer there went home happy about their take that night. But I came into that shift *already* acting like I’d only made $22 that night. Then all shift long all I did was wallow in my bad attitude, write off customers before even bothering to say a single word to them (many of whom did buy at least one dance from somebody), barely bothering to flirt with the customers I did talk too, complaining to just about anyone who would listen how little money I was making, how shitty the customers were, how I’m used to making better money… Then I thought about how I’ve had this attitude almost consistently for a couple months… Thought about how much time I’ve spent just sitting there watching other dancers smile, spend the time with customers, flirt like mad, and get sales… Ugh.

When did I, the exotic dancer so happy-go-lucky & passionate about my job, become so firmly jaded? How did that happen, to me? I used to rack up 40 dances on a really busy night… Maybe I just finally worked this job long enough. And it is true that I’ve been working far more hours a week now than I normally would (wedding budget, hello) and the club is slowing down in the winter. But I get it now. It seems almost impossible now not to get jaded. I still love my job, but the hustle… The rejection… I’m exhausted. I occasionally think of retirement & a steady job where I’m not constantly selling or sinking, wistfully. It’s as if once you dance through enough bad nights, enough bad customers, enough free stage shows where no one throws a single dollar, you fall off the edge into the dark side. I don’t think I could ever get through a shift again without nicotine to take the edge off. I can still exercise a great gift for working without drinking but it’s definitely gotten harder & harder not to rely on that crutch. I watch baby strippers, new to the job, with their enthusiasm, their pleasure at dollar amounts that no longer thrill me, their ability to smile & laugh with a customer while sitting though song after song without selling a dance. I watch as they giggle & drape themselves on the customers with a coy look, and meanwhile my ego & bad attitude demands that I show zero affection or interest until I’m getting paid for it. I used to be the girl flirting, working the room mercilessly no matter how many times I got shot down, thinking the jaded dancer just sitting in the dressing room on her phone, not talking to a soul, must’ve been absolutely nuts.

Safely home after that nightmare shift, ego firmly bruised & seriously checking my attitude, what did I happen to scroll past on the interwebs but a badass picture of Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, with this quote of his printed across it:

“Be humble. Be hungry. Always be the hardest worker in the room.”

Supposedly, this is The Rock’s answer when asked what the key to success is, whether that’s in Hollywood, the ring, or in the gym. It just so happens that what I do at work is equal parts Hollywood, ring, & gym, all at once, really. It stuck in my brain, and it clicked with me, and I was determined to take it to heart, and take it with me to work. I would be jaded & ego bound on my own time, sure, but at work I needed that attitude adjustment. Get my ass out of that chair. Work the room. Don’t miss opportunities, suck up the discomfort of flirting & fussing over worthless customers, be the hardest working person in the room at all times. Back at the strip club I kept rolling it over in my brain whenever I wanted to just sit, and be lazy, and brood. Be humble. Be hungry. Always be the hardest working person in the room. 

And you know what? It worked.

The next shift at work wasn’t any busier. It wasn’t any more pleasant. Except, that I got my ass up out of the chair every time there was someone, anyone, available to hustle. I didn’t go home a millionaire, or with weekend kind of money, on that Tuesday & Wednesday. But I did make a hell of a lot more than $22. And I could tell by watching & listening that I was making more than the girls who’d beat me out for what little there was to go around on that awful Monday. The whole week was rough, bad customers, slow nights, not nearly as much money to go around as we would expect or like. Winters are often like this. But I worked hard. I got what I could out of the nights. And I didn’t miss out on money that could have been mine just because of a jaded outlook, attitude.

Be humble. Be hungry. Always be the hardest working person in the room.

Words for any stripper to live by, especially in the lean times.

Get up. Get smiling. Get to work. Every body coming in that door is an opportunity. And every night in the club is another day not spent chained to a desk, a register, a wage.

Stripping & Monogamy: Part One

October 3, 2014 5:15 pm
True romance. Just marking my territory.

True romance. Just marking my territory.

“Your man actually lets you do this?”

The same reaction, almost every single time I tell a customer I have a significant other. Every time I laugh. I throw my head back like a super villain after the hero says “you’ll never get away with it”. Thing is, my fiancé is 100% supportive of my job. Just as I 100% support him as a film/television maker.

I started stripping at a fully nude strip club in Seattle in April 2010. A little over a month later, I started seeing my now fiancé, Beau. He knew before we even met that I was stripping. His room mate at the time was his cousin & my best guy-friend. We’d interacted a bit on Facebook before where I’d already begun discussing my work & listing dancing as my occupation. It was never really a secret, although I did keep it to myself for the first 48 hours in case I didn’t cut it.

Our first date was actually a small party at Beau’s apartment while his cousin/roomie was out of town. At the time Beau worked at a family convenience store one block away from a downtown Seattle strip club (not the one I worked at). The staff & dancers were the store’s frequent customers, so every guest at the party was either a co-worker of his, or a stripper/floor guy from that club. The only exceptions being the feature porn star guest, and myself. Beau & I hardly knew each other, I met most everyone else for the first time when I walked in, and yet within minutes I was buzzed & another dancer & I had changed into Beau’s clothes instead of our own right there in the kitchen.  There was much comparing of breasts & we all delighted in seeing Beau get some belated birthday spanking from the lovely porn star. In the end Beau & I fell asleep in each others’ arms & we’ve been largely inseparable ever since. So basically, he’s seen me getting gleefully naked in front of other people & being rather casual about sharing my physical self to a certain degree, since day one. He definitely knew what he was getting into. We’re also definitely so wrapped up in each other as to be monogamous. While neither of us is very traditional or conservative at all, the structure of our relationship currently is, in this respect, pretty damn traditional. And yes, we don’t find my job at all incompatible with our exclusivity & commitment.

“People are people. Some peoples just happen to be naked.” Continue reading

A Few of My Favorite Things

June 24, 2014 5:25 pm

After four years of dancing, I’ve definitely accumulated some strong opinions on the products I use to help me be the best paper chaser I can be. I thought some of you might be interested in my recommendations.

I am not sponsored by any of these brands or products, nor have any of these been given to me to review. So, these are legit, independent opinions. Enjoy!

Mascara: BeneFit They’re Real

For years & years I’ve touted the Diorshow mascaras as being the only mascaras worth bothering with. In my world, I never get anything near the length & fullness I want without false lashes anyways so I just don’t even bother with mascara. But, if were to buy & use, it’d be Diorshow. Then I got a sample tube of Benefit They’re Real! as part of Sephora’s little birthday gift last year & I was in love. So much so that I have started to be seen in public occasionally wearing nothing but. The brush is fantastically designed with a bulb of bristles at the end to really coat your tricky spots, and all the bristles are those firm rubber spikes that do wonders for clumping & maximum product application. Never before have I gotten such length out of a tube. The name really is rather apt. Sadly, at $23 this mascara comes in only two dollars cheaper than the Dior. But, worth it in my opinion if you wear mascara on the daily.

Eye Shadow Base: E.L.F Eyelid Primer

If you’re paying $18 or more for primers by Urban Decay or other department store brands, prepare to be amazed. I swear by this primer. After a long sweaty night at twerk my eyeshadow will still be right where I put it. Everytime. And the E.L.F. primer is only $1. Yes, it’s true. Or you can be super fancy & get the mineral primer for a whopping $3.  Continue reading

What really goes on in strip club dressing rooms?

June 13, 2014 1:25 pm
Oh look! A strip club dressing room! Fancy that.

Oh look! A strip club dressing room! Fancy that.


Yes true believers, this is an actual word-for-word quote from the stripper locker room after the end of a long Thursday night of twerk. Especially working in a bikini bar as I do right now, I find great joy in getting completely undressed after the end of my shift. Gloriously naked. I miss proper, honest to glob, stripping down to naked on stage.

On the nights I happen to do so when the dressing room is full of other dancers, many of them drunk, shenanigans can happen. This night was particularly graphic. The other ladies I currently work with are in *love* with my breasts. Really, with my boob job. It has been unanimously declared the best breast augmentation any of them have ever seen. I soak up all the flattery I can, and they marvel at my rack. My ever-growing repetoir of bootie tricks is similarly adored by my sweet co-workers. Catching me thusly naked & in close quarters, the dressing room became a flurry of screaming laughter, molestation, & motor boating, culminating in me being pulled down into a beautiful, drunk woman’s lap where the alleged stray-titty incident occurred.

The rumors are true. It’s not altogether rare for a silly version of your lesbian-esqe fantasies  to come to life. This wasn’t the first time this has happened & it won’t be the last. Continue reading