Dr. Dot's Blog

Hi all,
 
I am so excited to let you know that I am featured in the new book, ‘The
Experts’ Guide to 100 Things Everyone Should Know How To Do’, which
hits shelves today!  The author, Samantha Ettus, compiled brief how-to
essays from 100 of the world’s leading experts and I was invited to
contribute a chapter on How to Massage.
 
Here are just a few of my fellow Experts: Donald Trump (on how to
negotiate), Jennifer Capriati (on how to hit a tennis ball), Debbie
Fields (on baking a chocolate chip cookie), Bikram Choudhury (on
breathing), Howie Mandel (on how to tell a joke), and Bobbi Brown (on
how to apply lipstick).  From how to flirt to how to speed read, how to
remove a stain to how to swing a golf club, this book is like a Cliffs
Notes on life.
 
Publisher’s Weekly calls it “a coffee table book of the most practical
sort.”  Tastemakers have raved, “Required reading for anyone aiming to
ace real life.” 
 
Booklist writes, “We need this book.”
 
Before it is touted on The Today Show, CNN, etc, I wanted to give you a
heads up so you can pick up a copy.  It’s poised to make a splash! For a
preview of the book and a listing of all 100 experts check out
http://www.theexpertsguideto.com <http://www.theexpertsguideto.com> 
 
Also be sure to sign up the for the mailing list because Samantha is
headed on a 23 city book tour and throwing a bunch of great parties
along the way which she would love to invite you to.
 
Let me know what you think and, feel free to forward this on to your
friends! 
  
Dr. Dot
 
If you want to pre-order a copy today online (or get some holiday
shopping done early) click below:
 
http://search.barnesandnoble.com/booksearch/isbnInquiry.asp?userid=DJ5PC
yp9CC
<http://search.barnesandnoble.com/booksearch/isbnInquiry.asp?userid=DJ5P
Cyp9CC&isbn=1400052564&itm=1> &isbn=1400052564&itm=1

Well, it took them a while to complain, but they did. I was the first (and probably the last) person to sell their “eggs” on E-Bay. Here is them slapping my hands:

Dear Dr Dot   (drdot@drdot.com), We regret to inform you that your eBay auction:

“Dr. Dot sells her eggs, yes, those eggs ” has been ended. All fees associated with this auction have been credited to your account.

The item you have listed does not appear to be consistent with eBay guidelines.

You may not be aware of this, but eBay does not permit human body parts to be
listed on our site. Examples of prohibited items include, but are not limited
to: organs, bone, blood, waste, sperm, and eggs. You may not include such items
as a gift, prize or giveaway in connection with an item listed on eBay. Items
that contain human hair (e.g., lockets) as well as skulls and skeletons that are
used for medical purposes may be listed on eBay.

---

I did, however, get over 500 emails   directly sent to me about my eggs . Some wanted to know if they came with “hash-browns and toast”  and if they “could personally fertilize” me.   

(I told them no)

The highest bid I got was $8,500 from a woman who can’t get pregnant. I will deal with her when I return from Berlin (I am going on Sept. 30 for 29 days).   

Alice Cooper didn’t want a massage tonight, but the band all said hello and the show was great. I am on anti-biotics now fighting a mean sore throat and cough (send flowers please, or food).

I’m off to bed,   

ps. The German press wrote about this Saturday, Sunday and today. Click here  to see today’s egg story.

Dr. Dot

Click HERE to see the story in the German press

(tranlasted, it’s a SCANDAL and the churches are upset. The gyno pictured in the article says it’s normal in the US but forbidden in Germany. They say it’s the first time someone has done this on E-bay, auction style)

I say, be a leader not a sheep/follower

😉

Dr. Dot,
Do you have any use for a cleaning boy who works for free? I’d do great work for you, and I expect nothing at all in return. I actually do better work than paid workers do. Several people who have used me offered me paid jobs. I even have references.
I scrub floors, wash dishes, and do whatever other chores you need done. No job is too big or too disgusting.
I live in Brooklyn, and I have pics available if you’re interested.
Peter

 click on picture to see tribute.

I took this picture of Johnny in a hotel in Providence, R.I in 1984!! (Which means I was WAY too young to be in the Ramones hotel room). Please, by the way, do NOT steal/post this picture anywhere else without my permission. I want to share this with fans but do NOT want to see it sold anywhere or posted without my credit. I was on tour with them, as Joey’s gal and Johnny had the room next to Joey’s. There was a door separating the two rooms and for a while they had it open. Johnny came in to hang for a while and ate a doughnut and drank some milk.

I am sad that he died like he did and that he is gone but I have to say he wasn’t Mr. Friendly and every one who knew the Ramones knows this. Maybe now he is in peace up in Rock and Roll heaven and he and Joey can finally get along.

I am sure Arturo is going mad right now, freaking out. Here is what the press wrote about Johnny’s passing:

“Ramone, who had been fighting a five-year battle with prostate cancer, died in his sleep Wednesday afternoon at his Los Angeles home surrounded by friends and family, said the band’s longtime artistic director Arturo Vega.

“He was the guy with a strategy. He was the guy who not only looked after the band’s interest but he also was their defender,” Vega said in a telephone interview from New York.

Ramone, whose birth name is John Cummings, had been hospitalized in June at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center.

Along with his wife, Linda Cummings, Johnny Ramone was surrounded at his death by friends, including Pearl Jam rocker Eddie Vedder, singer Rob Zombie and others. Other friends who gathered at his Los Angeles home included Lisa Marie Presley, Pete Yorn, Vincent Gallo and Talia Shire.

He is survived by his wife and his mother, Estelle Cummings. He will be cremated during a private ceremony.” Associated Press.

Dear dr dot,

So I”m totally down with this eggs thing but i’m more intested in doing a bit of fertilization my self? How long do I get with Dr. Dot, and how many times do we get to do it to ensure she gets fertilized?

Just for shits and grins, I thought it would be interesting to see how much I can get per egg, yes, those eggs, on EBAY:

Dear Joy,

That is a bad  idea. First of all, most people lie when asked such a thing, secondly it will just show him that you are insecure, jealous and nosey (mind find all of these traits  a turn off) and third, if  he told the truth and admitted to doing the dirty with another girl, how would you cope? These things are unimportant except when it comes to safe sex. As long as it is safe sex, what does it matter what the other one does when you are apart? You will never know the truth, just as long as he treats you good when you are together, enjoy the here and now, as that is really the only thing we have.

Dr. Dot

The other night I faked an orgasm with a girl I was with, just to get it over with. Am I a freak? Liar? Asshole? Do other men do this too?

Paul   

Paul,

I hear this often, so no, you are not a freak. Lying asshole? Not sure. Everyone lies but lying about an orgasm is counter productive. It backs you into a corner, having to keep up such a show. A lot of men find it hard to cum while wearing a condom or when they are drunk, so some fake it either to save the girl from thinking she sucks in bed or to put an end to the strenuous activity. If you really can’t get “there”, tell her and take off the ‘johnny’ and ask her to give you oral. Otherwise, save it for another time. In this case, honesty is best.

Dr. Dot  

No it’s not me, but I feel like her. I pray Kerry prevails.

Went out and did karaoke in Hoboken last night, what a waste of time. The sound system was the worst I ever heard and there were more psychos in there than in all of Manhattan AND it was smokey to make matters even more unbearable.

I bought a wicked funny “Thank you” card to send Dr. Lowenstein for saving my life the other drunken night. It is a cartoon of a man’s naked ass (pants down around knees) but there is green grass growing out of his butt cheeks. You open it and it says “MUCHO GRASSY ASS”    

I figure, since I was too wasted/steamin’/pissed/drunk/fucked up/mingin’  to give them my address, hence I was cared for free of charge, the right thing to do is to say Thank You (good karma) AND, since the card is a drawing of someone with their pants down around their knees, it would help them remember me.

Sept 19th I will go to massage Alice Cooper and band in NJ. Alice is NOT a party guy. He goes to bed early and plays golf religiously.  That is Alice (er, Vincent) and I a couple years ago in Berlin. The look on my face is me trying to contain my smirk. I used to listen to Alice Cooper everyday when I was in the 8th and 9th grade (along with the Stones) and my dad dragged me to see Alice in concert many times in my early teens, so I was beside myself. He is such a smart, polite guy. I adore him. These are the notes I wrote about my run in with Alice Cooper and band, which will go in my book when if finally comes out here in North America:

A L I C E   C O O P E R

 It wasn’t even two weeks after the Lynyrd Skynyrd show  that Alice Cooper came to town. I was freaking out! I immediately called the venue to see if anyone just happened to need a massage.

“Oooo, psychedelic!” the band’s manager said. “But I bet you don’t give the kind of massages my band wants.” He was talking to me like I’m some innocent little kid or somebody’s Mom. Which I guess I am – ha ha. Ahem. Well, at least he’s not assuming the other thing, like a lot of people do, that I’m offering anything but a legitimate therapeutic massage.

Whatever. The buck is not going to stop there. Meeting a childhood hero, whether it’s by invitation or by scamming your way in, is a matter of groupie honor.

I called my friend Iris, one of the Twins, the two sisters who promote or manage tours for every major act. She was working as Alice’s tour manager, and I got her to put me on the guest list. Meaning free admission and some level of access to backstage and the band. When I arrived at the concert hall, I called Iris again on my cell phone. All business.

“I’m here,” I told her. “What’s the deal?”

“You’re on the guest list for ‘After-Show’ passes,” she said.

Not what I wanted to hear. “After-Show!” I said. “So I’m like on the bottom of the food chain of the frickin’ backstage passes now?”

“Dot,” Iris explained. “You’ve got to know something about Alice Cooper. Alice does not see to anybody before the show. He stays on the bus, and no one talks to him.”

You can’t have everything, I figure, so at least I’ll enjoy the show. I go out into the audience with my lovely Finnish friend and assistant, Satu, but we can’t see anything. So we go up to the second level, this broad balcony over the back part of the room. But it isn’t much better. The place was packed, and there was just no way we were going to see over the taller people.

Way up top there’s actually a third level, but you have to have a special pass to get into it. An exclusive, “friends of” section. Turning on the charm that has won over the security teams of a thousand bands, I asked if it would be possible for us to maybe go up there. The woman at the entrance just said “Nein” without even looking at me, but then the guy behind her waved us through. It certainly doesn’t hurt that people know my face in Germany.

It took me the first couple of songs to get warmed up. Then Alice and the band started playing the songs I knew from when I was a kid – “I’m Eighteen,” “School’s Out” and “Only Women Bleed” – and then I was just going mental. I thought, okay I’m going to let the Beavis and Butthead in me come right out. And I started bangin’ my head and dancing around.

At some point, Satu said she thought they were shining the spotlight up at us. I didn’t even pay attention, but I’ve been around enough to know what the lighting guys and the sound guys are doing at every concert. They’re bored as hell, and if they see some hot girl they start talking to each other on their headsets and they’ll put the spotlight on her again and again. I’ve been with the crew at shows where they let me tell jokes on there so I know all about it.

After the concert we had to wait in the little After-Show Pass line. Then the local promoter took me backstage to the “Meet and Greet” room. The band comes in, and the bass player points right at me.

“Hey, you’re that girl who was dancing way up there in the balcony,” he yells. “We could all see you – you were dancing your ass off!”

A bunch of roadies from the Iron Maiden tour were also hanging around backstage. They had a day off so they‘d all decided to come see Alice. It was like a family frickin’ reunion.

The star of the show, though, was nowhere to be seen. “So where’s Alice?” I asked.

“He’s around somewhere,” one of the musicians said. “Hey, Dot. You know something about a place called the Kit-Kat Club?”

I gave a huge sigh. “Yeah, I know something about it.”

The Kit-Kat Club is a place that people outside of Europe probably could not even fathom. It’s this huge, extreme fetish club where you have to expose some skin or wear a fetish outfit to get through the door.

“I was there exactly once,” I said.

And it’s the truth. The biggest TV station in Germany wanted my opinion of the place so I agreed to do an interview there. I was not exactly excited about it, because I’d heard that people actually have sex in there and you can watch – and the prude New Englander in me came right out.

So I went there and did my ten-minute interview and left. Of course, every person I’ve met in Germany since then had to see that interview. I don’t want to be associated with that club, but it’s impressive how long people remember something they saw for a few minutes on TV.

While the band was trying to convince me to take them to the Kit-Kat Club, the Twins came up and said the magic words: “Come on, Dot. We’re going to go do the meet and greet!”

I followed them outside and straight onto the bus. It was the tidiest, neatest tour bus I’ve ever seen. – and I’ve seen a lot. I could not believe it. We walked in and there’s Alice sitting with these white leather golf shoes on. He has black, shaggy hair, and he looks exactly the same in person as he does onstage or on TV. He looks wild.

I sat down next to him. I didn’t even want to massage him; I didn’t care if I got my hands on him or not. Just to get in the same little tiny cubic area with him, to share the same oxygen with Alice Cooper and tell him what I think of him. It’s worth all the shit it took to get there.

“I’m Dot.”

“Hi, Dot.” He gave me his full attention. Another secret gentleman, a sheep in wolf’s clothing, you know?

“Alice, the last time I saw you in concert was in 1980, in Providence, Rhode Island.”

“No way!” he said. “You can’t be that old.”

“I was a little kid,” I said. “My parents brought me. You were wearing this big-ass black jockstrap with silver studs all around it.”

A mock-evil grin crossed his face and Alice looked twenty years younger. “Yeah,” he laughed. “I remember that.”

“I was a huge fan,” I said. “I used to steal Alice Cooper albums from fuckin’ Sears when I was a kid because my parents wouldn’t buy them for me!”

He was very funny. He said he was going to play golf in the morning, so he wouldn’t be going out with the rest of the band.

“No Kit-Kat Club?” I asked, putting on an innocent smile.

“No, not for me. I’m a happily married man with a bunch of kids. Actually, my whole family is in Europe right now. My son’s at school in Spain, one of my daughters is studying dance in London, and you saw the other daughter in my show.”

“Really?” The only female I could remember seeing was this girl in a black patent leather cat suit. It was wicked tight, and she had one of those weird fetish masks over her face. Just little holes for her eyes and nose. And she had this big whip that she kept cracking. I think the song was called “Go to Hell.”

At the climax of the song, Alice climbs up the stairs to the little go-go cage she’s in, grabs the whip out of her hand, whips her and then kicks her off the stage. She must have fallen onto a mattress or something. He kicked her right in the butt, “Go to hell!”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “You mean the girl in the cat suit …” “That was my daughter.” “Whoa, what a family!” I was laughing my ass off.

A walk on the WILD SIDE: The Kit Kat Club in Berlin

 I said goodbye to Alice, and I’m sure I had the hugest smile on my face when I went back to see what the band was up to. While I was gone, they had all decided that Satu and I would be taking them to the Kit-Kat Club.

They went to their hotel to get changed, and we scrambled to my house as fast as possible to put on the naughtiest clothes we could find. You can’t even get in the door if you aren’t dressed up in an S&M or fetish outfit. I knew that if I wore my Dr. Dot costume – a short, low-cut, tight-fitting nurses uniform – like I had done for the TV interview, I would get in free. Just by coincidence, I had just bought this new one made of white, shiny latex. It’s wicked tight, all the way down to my knees. I can’t even fit underwear under it, okay? It’s so tight.

I wore my Dr. Dot hat and I these Pamela Anderson fuck-me pumps. White, shiny leather stilettos with very skinny heels. They could go right through the heart of a man if you stood on his chest. Satu put on one of my black, shiny latex dresses that was also extremely tight – we could both barely breathe. And we rushed over to the band’s hotel.

We went to the lounge area and I had to hide from the concierge. They call me all the time to massage normal clients, and I come prancing in looking like “shiny dominatrix Dr. Dot”! We got to the bar as fast as possible, and there was the whole band sitting around making fun of the piano player. Not because he was blind, but because he was murdering every Beatles song that he sang.

He didn’t even know the words. He obviously didn’t understand English and just kept making it up. “Sergeant Pepper’s lolly lolly pan, oh yeah …” ’We were like, “Let’s get the hell out of here!”

When we arrived at the club, I walked up to the door looking like Peg Bundy with these shoes on.

“Is it cool if I bring Alice Cooper’s band in here?” I asked.

“Hell, yeah,” the doorman said. “They can all come in free, Dr. Dot!”

So we all went in, and the band was ripping their clothes off as soon as they got in the door. We went upstairs to the bar and the band was immediately pissed off because the bartenders were so slow.

“Welcome to Germany!” I shouted, laughing. Good luck getting served!

While we were all standing there getting annoyed, I turned around to see this ugly little bald guy wearing a Kit-Kat Club T-shirt and staring at me. It took me a second to realize that he had his dick out and he was masturbating.

At this point, there were two things I couldn’t believe. One, that this guy was playing with his dick. And two, that people were just walking by him and not going, “Oh my god, that guy’s playing with his dick!” I started wondering what I had gotten myself into. We finally got our drinks, and I whispered to Satu, “Let’s just keep moving so nobody can touch us, okay?”

We made our way into the main room. It was this giant hall, booming with techno music and half the people dancing were completely naked. Really. Nothing on. Men and women. And most of the women, by the way – I’m sorry to pop anybody’s little fantasy – they were ugly. And you can only imagine that they have to go to places like the Kit-Kat Club to get any kind of attention because they’re not going to get it anywhere else. It was making me sad.

At some point I realized that something was happening in the back of the room, where there was a big, lighted stage.

‘Oh, there must be a live act now,” I said to Satu. “Let’s check it out.”

Then these three girls came out, basically naked. Except one of them had on a witch’s hat and wooden clothespins clamped onto her nipples. Those old wooden clothespins. It hurt to look at her. None of them had great bodies or anything, but they were naked as hell. Then the witch stood with her legs open and one of the girls did the limbo under her. The other girl started to limbo, too, but when she got halfway through, the witch girl started peeing on her. The girl on the bottom was so happy and started rubbing the pee all over her body. Then they all started trading places and peeing on each other.

That was it for me. “I’m fucking leaving,” I told Satu. “Give me the wardrobe ticket because I can’t take any more of this.” She was busy kissing one of the band members – maybe the peeing situation was turning them on, I don’t know. I didn’t want to interrupt their romantic moment, but there was no way I was staying there a minute longer.

Just to be perfectly clear, no matter what you might think of him from his public persona, Alice Cooper did not go to the Kit-Kat Club. He didn’t want anything to do with the Kit-Kat Club; he was never anywhere near the Kit-Kat Club. He was smart enough to go home and sleep so he could be ready for a day of golf and the next night’s show in the next city.

“I used to be such a sweet, sweet thing
Until they got a hold of me
I opened doors for little old ladies
I helped the blind to see
I got no friends ’cause they read the papers
They can’t be seen with me and I’m getting shot down
And I’m feeling mean
No more Mister Nice Guy
No more Mister Clean
No more Mister Nice Guy”    Alice Cooper

Dear Dr. Dot,

My boyfriend wants to bring me to Jamaica for a 1 week vacation. We have only been dating for 4 months and I am afraid of getting too close or losing the thrill. He will see my beauty routine and what about the bathroom situation? For me, that is too close for comfort! I need a fast solution to this problem before I commit to the trip.

Cindy R. Clifton, NJ

Cindy,

It is a big compliment that he wants to bring you on vacation, so he definitely adores you. Try asking for two single beds for some space and tell him you want 2 hours alone everyday to do your stuff, be it working out, beauty routine or down time. He may complain about it at first, but that is better than risking the relationship due to suffocating each other.

Dr. Dot

Dear Dr.,

My girl always snoops through my shit and asks way too many questions about where I have been and what I have been doing. I love her, but if she keeps this up, I am outta here! Any nice way to make her chill?

Rob – Hoboken

Rob,

Let me tell you from my own personal experience; women usually do this if you are not treating them the way they want to be treated. They get jealous and nosey when you ignore them or make them feel unloved. Treat her well and there is nothing to snoop for. Go that extra mile and tell her you love her everyday, leave her love notes and make her feel special and I promise you, she will have no reason to “look for clues”; clues that you don’t love her, or that you love someone else. Make her confident about your love and she will relax and enjoy. Let me know how it goes.

Dr. Dot