My name is Trixie (aka TastyTrixie). The Wandering WebWhore is my personal blog. I'm a 30-something indie pornographer whose journal covers a variety of topics: mundane daily life, work-related reflection, sex stuff, current events, and more.
My birthday last week was filled with ding dongs and dildos and a deep sigh of gratitude that a few people treated me to a trip to the salon tomorrow to go back to being a blonde.
I sort of stretched out my own personal celebration, doing shows on my birthday proper, then attempting to watch an engrossing movie, selecting Changeling which was sort of a big fat mistake. YES, it was engrossing. In a horrible, harrowing, gut-wrenching way. And even though I knew I was being totally emotionally manipulated by the film industry, I couldn't just TURN IT OFF the way I did with Titanic (you heard me -- I shut that melodramatic motherfucker off and refused to watch it past halfway).
Changeling pretty much ruined our plan to go see The Reader the last night it was playing in town. Instead we opted for something a little more uplifting to balance out the trauma of Changeling: we moved the Playstation (a birthday present from years back) into the bedroom and played a snowboarding video game (SSX3) for hours. And ate ding dongs. Well, *I* ate ding dongs. Delia didn't.
And then I threw the rest of the ding dongs away. Because a) my birthday was OVER, and b) I have a goal to lose 15 pounds by June 1st (or less if I'm satisfied/feel good before I get there; since I've already lost four since I made the goal, I only have 11 to go). I definitely don't want to lose TOO much of this action:
I continued celebrating a couple days ago when I noticed our friend had a two-for-one print sale going on and since I hadn't bought any of her art yet, I treated myself! It was affordable and made me happy.
But what I *really* wanted to do for my birthday was spend some more time reading Paul Auster's The New York Trilogy which is SO FUCKING AWESOME I set it aside because I seriously couldn't stand for it to end knowing there would be a big gaping emptiness without having more of it to look forward to. So today? I went to the used bookstore and picked up the only two Auster paperbacks they had on the shelf (Oracle Night and The Brooklyn Follies). Now I can finish The NY Trilogy and still feel like there's a reason to live.
I also looked for the second and third books in the Abhorsen series, but they only had Sabriel (which I finished months ago and want to hurry up and continue before I forget everything). I grabbed a couple other titles (ex. Codex) plus some appealing books in the "free box" (ex. The Tommyknockers) and guiltily made my way home with a satisfying stack of stories to chew on. Sometimes I leave the books I buy in the car or somewhere Delia won't see them right away because I feel so bad about spending the money on them when I don't even read most of them right away (if ever) and I refuse to GET RID of any of them unless they really suck total ass, so they'll all be living with us forever.
The thing is, I need to have CHOICES. Because there are some moments on the toilet where I'm after a very specific kind of book to lull myself into a comfortable shit. Or the weather demands a certain genre. Or I'm emotionally craving a story that delivers total escapism. And fuck . . . when it only costs $25 to buy a big armful of pleasure, how wrong can it be? Plehhhhhhhszhoooooooor . . . is in the booooooooooks.
Maybe tomorrow after I endure the torture of getting my hair colored, I'll continue celebrating my birthday with some Paul Auster and a sweet mug of Russian Caravan tea.
As a feminist and a sex positive person I probably should DESPISE Twilight, but I don't. I read the book (and only the first one so far) because it takes place near here and I saw the movie because the previews made it look way better than the book . . . I felt compelled by curiosity, local interest, a desire to know more about a pop culture phenom, and because I TOTALLY WANTED TO.
The book? Meh. It was entertaining, mildly annoying from a local's perspective, and mind-boggling since I wouldn't have STOOD for so many pages of overt chastity when I was a tween reader myself in the eighties. A sign of the conservative times, I guess; I am DAMN glad I grew up with Judy Blume's Ralph-named penises and totally taboo rape scenes in Flowers in the Attic.
The movie? LOVED IT. I mean, I seriously fucking LOVED it. The previews drew me in because it looked dark and funny (there wasn't a trace of self-aware humor in the book, so that was an improvement already) and I wanted to see the flying scenes. It was just an all-around great movie-theater movie -- pretty, entertaining, moody . . . familiar.
Here's the deal about Twilight: no matter how loathsome it may be from a political point of view, that movie (and the book for other people) delivers exactly what a lot of young women crave and feel romantically. It's extremely exciting and beautiful and "sexy" in a vague, inexplicit, totally hysterically emotional way. Beautiful boy looks at beautiful girl and they are CONNECTED, locked together . . . anticipating . . . SOMETHING totally INTENSE!!!!
You can criticize that all you want, but when you do, you're trashing the (natural) fantasies of lots and lots of young woman. When I watched that movie I really didn't care what the implications were, I cared that it DELIVERED visions of something deeply desired by girls. After you finally kiss? Something very exciting happens, kind of like exploding into a flying spell into the sky!! Yeah, it's fucking stupid, but that overwrought anticipation of something that gobbles you up entirely and transcends the mundane is part of most young women's hormonal pre-teen/teenage experience. What's next isn't sex, it's MAGIC!!
I had orgasms and the anticipation of sex on the brain a lot as a young woman and I *probably* wouldn't have liked that movie as much then as I do now (my generation's Twilight was Legend, which I thought was a enchanting for two minutes then a total fucking bore except for when Tim Curry as the devilish dark beasty was going to do whatever dirty things he was going to do to Mia Sara), but I still had to celebrate it for being pure fore-fore-foreplay and girly fantasy with pretty menacing shadows.
In general I'm becoming less and less tolerant of myself and other people making fun of what women want or theorizing that the politically incorrect, unempowering things women want are *entirely* constructed for us artificially. There is nothing fake about girls wanting to fly around on the back of a strong beautiful sparkly vampire boy's back or to be a vampire and run-really-really-fast/fly themselves (I haven't read the rest of the books so I don't know if she eventually gets there or not, but clearly there are OTHER female characters who do).
I don't know why it should make people cringe that girls want to immerse themselves in the fantasy of being in tragic love with such a creature or that the public version of this particular popular story is g-rated (except for the violence, of course -- this IS America, after all). Personally? I watch a lot of porn but there were scenes in this movie that were five billion times more agonizingly erotic than anything XXX rated ever could hope to be. It was a brilliant fucking tease, and there's nothing hotter than having no release. I don't give a fuck about the stammering heroine and her shortcomings; she's a blank slate and nobody else cares much about her either because it's a fucking FANTASY. Do girls really need a fucking role model in every single fantasy they have or are they entitled to be thrilled and entertained and suspend contact with reality just like everyone else? I also *almost* don't care about the scariness of fantasizing about a creepy stalker boyfriend who sneaks into your room at night and stares at you while you sleep; yes, it's totally gross and weird and dangerous. But a lot of us have had that same exact unrealistic fantasy and it made us feel good (in more ways than one). That? It's human nature. And I'm sick of women being shamed and cautioned into censoring their own fantasies because we're apparently too stupid to distinguish between fantasy and reality. IT'S A STORY ABOUT VAMPIRES. Can we tell reality and consequences to fuck off for a little while?
If anyone wants to post relevant links like feminist critiques of Twilight, etc. feel free. I honestly have clicked off of just about all of them without giving them the time they probably deserve simply because I'm not in the mood for dissecting it, but I totally understand if other people are (and that my "arguments" are ill-informed and based totally on suspicions and raw emotion). One of the good ones I clicked off of made interesting observations regarding the popularity of abstinence-only sex "education" and Twilight. I don't know why I'm just not in the mood to care a whole lot this time around (I was certainly pissed enough about The Girl with a Pearl Earring that I almost walked out of the theatre) unless it's as I said above; that girls deserve to have their desires spoken to and to enjoy their daydreamy fantasies regardless of how unrealistic and bizarre and dangerous they might be. So yeah -- *I'm* not very interested in getting into a discussion about it in comments, but I totally understand why others might be so more info and other people's perspectives and discussions are still welcome.
Every chance I got to go to the library and request that they set my friend and I up to listen to this, I WOULD. I remember it as an audio tape with a little paperback book hung in one of those baggies with plastic handles they had for mixed media, but now that my memory is jogged by this youtube video I wonder if it wasn't a filmstrip because everything about this seems so familiar, but it's probably just the narration and images, not the motion:
Anyway, I loved it. Couldn't get enough of it and listened to it OVER and OVER again. I've always loved stories that take place at night, were dark, involved sleeping, criminals, loners, outsiders . . . dark escapism that's sweetly menacing. It's weird to look back on it now and see more adult elements in it and to read this New York Times review of the book and the author and the challenge of creating both art for children and erotica for adults. I'm glad I was exposed to The Three Robbers in the seventies in public school because I'll bet that book would never see the light of day without a public lynching of the guy if it were to come out today. Nowadays you must either be 100% child-and-work-safe or resign yourself to being considered a 100% evil boundary-rapist. Take your pick. The only way people can fly under the radar is to be unsuccessful or too artistic for the general population to acknowledge you, and I'm sure this reissue of his out-of-print books is one of those things that will only be noticed by existing fans like myself.
I wish I had a magical blunderbuss to blow that bullshit right out of people's assheads. But for now I'm going to add The Three Robbers to my wishlist so I can read it to my nephew(s -- another's on the way). WITH SOUND EFFECTS!
One of the reasons I love reading Mickey Spillane's Mike Hammer books is the food porn. Big boned babes and greasy spoons abound. Example from The Big Kill:
. . . .I went down the corridor to where a bunch of typewriters were banging out a madhouse symphony and asked one of the stenos where I could find Ellen Scobie. She told me that she had gone out to lunch at noon . . . . It took me about ten minutes to make the four blocks and there was Ellen in the back looking more luscious than the oversize T-bone steak she was gnawing on.
I've always wanted to shoot gluttonously sensual softcore porn, but never want to compromise my enjoyment of a good guilt-laden meal to do it. Pictures like these do inspire me, though (click images for sources):
The weirdest thing just happened to me; I wanted to read poetry.
I finished breakfast and wanted something else, which is normal, but rare that I know exactly what it is. Today I realized POEMS were exactly what I wanted. Or just one good poem. That is fucking bizarre, let me tell you. In all of my thirty-five years I've never thought to myself, "a poem would really hit the spot right now". NEVER.
We have tons of books in our house, but only a few (less than five, plus a whole bunch of bibles which kind of count, but not for what I wanted today) containing poetry. We have some Rumi, which I've gone to before so I guess "never" was a little bit of an exaggeration, but would have been accurate if I'd qualified the poetry I wanted as contemporary.
It's not that I've never read poetry and enjoyed it, but I was usually forced into it or stumbled there accidentally. I've just never been like, "I NEED POEMS NOW! MUST FIND ME THE POEMS!"
Note: I still have zero desire to read poetry online or via any electronic device, unless maybe it's listening to an .mp3 or audio book. Skinny paperbacks are preferable. Going to keep an eye out next time I'm at a bookstore. Recs are welcome.
I detest most social networking sites (MySpace, Facebook, etc.) so it's rare that I'll excitedly ask for friends to join one of them, but I *love* GoodReads. It's focused, list-oriented, and all about books. I want to see what my friends and fans are reading, so definitely friend me there and/or post a link in comments to your Good Reads profile.
Annoying ad I just saw in sidebar: BELLY FAT IS NASTY.
Do you know how often we buy a groceries at the store to put in the food bank donation bin and forget to do so? Too often (and yet not often enough). That's why we have twice as many cans of Hunt's Spaghetti Sauce with sausage (flavoring) at home than we actually need. And no, we don't just try to buy the poor people crap, THAT IS JUST REALLY GOOD SPAGHETTI SAUCE! If you don't think so, you're just a snob living too high on the hog. It's both cheap AND delicious! You're missing out if you don't know what I'm talking about. I cannot walk by sale cans of that shit without snatching up a basketload.
Tonight I'm taking the small stack of books I bought second-hand today and taking them to the sleeping bag installed on the couch. Alone, off cam. Two Octavia Butlers, some Marion Zimmer Bradley, Bee Season, and a couple of other titles. I haven't decided which one will be my date tonight. Maybe all night. Or maybe just for an hour . . . we'll see.
I need a massage, a spirit guide and emotional healing. Or maybe just to go back on the pill, but in lieu of that the others would do. Or maybe just the massage, fresh air, vigorous exercise and clean food (only one of which I have the discipline to choose regularly, and that one requires money).
I could have blogged all night . . . I could have blogged all night . . . but instead I'll read a book. Maybe I'll find a good cry. In lieu of a massage?
This is the edition I have of Peyton Place. I totally should have given my hair lady a bigger tip for letting me keep it. Anyway, if you haven't already read, it YOU SHOULD!
This week I've been working on Trixie.com; I'm making it a place for people to get more of my blog entries all in one place. I want people to have a reason to visit it every day, if not for the blogging then for the free porn. As I develop more of my domains into little niche-oriented blog sites I think it will be cool to have all of those posts feed into one bigger site instead of people who know me jumping around from one blog to the others.
I really want people to get in on seeing ALL of the work we're doing instead of just a narrow chunk of it. Towards that end it helped last year to start giving our members access to ALL of our sites instead of just one. Syndicating a handful of our best (or most fun) blogs on one site is like the free-side version of that.
The book isn't full of erotic fiction, it's an anthology of extremely provocative non-fiction pieces covering sex from challenging and unusual (but important and relevant) perspectives. Rachel Kramer Bussel edited the collection (and is looking for submissions for 2009).
Check out Audacia Ray's video review of the book to get a better idea of my piece and the book. When she says "period porn" she is not talking about porn featuring people dressed up in anachronistic costumes; she's talking about the the porn you find on BloodyTrixie and EroticRed.
For me, the best part of being included in this anthology is getting exposure to a topic that at first glance seems very "special interest" (the freedom to make and sell porn featuring menstruation) but really challenges people's assumption that we live in a country where free speech is protected, women own their own bodies, and capitalism rules. We don't. It's exciting to know that more people are going to be exposed to the marginalized truth that fringe-dwelling pornographers like myself live every day.
The stand-out parts of the book in total are its depth of exploration and diversity of topics; a lot of mainstream media coverage of sex is so shallow, boring and repetitive. So much that we read and hear about sex is either a) entertainingly dismissive or b) hyper-judgmental fear-mongering. It's usually some dumbed-down story to get ratings or clicks presented by people who really don't know what they're talking about. Sex is held at arm's length and treated as something that doesn't effect "real" life (except in a predatory way) or Matters of Serious Consequence.
I love the idea of people being shown by this book that THEY'VE BEEN MISSING OUT on fascinating, puzzling, and complex stories of personal and political import. This book is loaded with surprises and challenges while maintaining its readability. Each piece's tone and subject is so different from the others that it makes me feel giddy hoping people will realize they've been gypped by not being told more stories like these before. The contents of Best Sex Writing 2008 show the field of sex journalism's enormous scope in a way that makes it impossible to dismiss as fluff.
I'M HOLDING A DRAWING AT THE END OF MARCH TO WIN AUTOGRAPHED COPIES OF BEST SEX WRITING 2008:
How to enter: Email me with your username and mailing address stating you want to be in the drawing. I don't want to automatically enter everyone with a membership since some people may not even want the prize or may not have a safe address to receive parcels from webwhores.
How many: If more than one hundred (100) members email me to be in the drawing, I will draw for a second book. If more than 200 members email, I'll draw three (and so on). That way people will at least have a 1/100 chance (or better) of winning no matter how many new people join our sites.
Watch the drawing: Tuesday, April 1st at 4 PM Pacific Time on our spycams and in our members-only chatroom.
Still, it's crazy that this movie (which, if you HAVE to label it as catering to either a "gay" or a "straight" audience is OBVIOUSLY better marketed towards consumers in the straight marketplace than the gay market) is being recognized at GayVN but wasn't at AVN. If I remember correctly, Dacia said AVN got rid of their "bi" category; right now I can't find any of her many posts about this matter and bisexuality in the porn industry so I can't vouch for that detail. Anyway, The Bi Apple at Gayvn is a reminder of the bizarre standards in our society (that the porn industry REFLECTS, but I don't think CREATES) that male bisexuality is rarely acknowledged as common, normal or even possible; most people still subscribe to the belief that men are either straight OR they're gay with absolutely no in-between. That attitude flies so directly in the face of common sense, plenty of research and everything that is readily observable about male sexuality that you can't deny we must have a MASSIVE agenda in suppressing the truth and perpetuating homophobia to the point where we'd rather sound totally insane in the membrane that admit most guys are wired to get off on both cock AND pussy.
I just read Augusten Burrough's Sellevision and one of the FUNNIEST things about it was his fantasy portrayal of the porn industry as an open, bi-sexy, anything-goes atmosphere which it absolutely is not. His gay male protagonist can't get a straight job anymore so he decides to try porn "acting"; when Max tours the studio it's described as one that makes BOTH gay porn and straight porn, and has performers of all orientations lounging around ready to fuck both men and women; there's the star Trixie Thunderpussy (no relation) and the male fluffer, Shaun. Max does his impromptu screen test with Rocky right on the set of "Pizza Parlor Pussy"! If only that kind of shit really happened! It was the most naive, idealized, unreal things I've ever read coming from such a jaded author and just goes to show how little people, even sexually sophisticated people, know about the porn industry. The porn industry is crazily segregated and extremely UNcomfortable with natural variations in human sexuality.
My impression of a lot of men in the porn industry is that they fancy themselves reinforcers of decency and "standards". They all think that they know what All Men Want, they all think they know what sells (if they haven't tried it or don't like it then it can't POSSIBLY be marketable). They are very intent on maintaining their perceived boundaries between false dichotomies like bad and good, gay and straight, fat and sexy, fetish and non-fetish, hairy and clean, women and men, old and young. Blurred lines horrify them and the only stuff they'll accept that pushes outside of "normal" is extreme hardcore performed on women. The only arena where they seem interested as a group in challenging accepted standards is on women's physical and human limits. Okay, we've established women can take two cocks in the ass . . . how about expanding that asshole to two cocks, a fist, a frozen turkey and a barbie doll? And now that we've found that unilaterally referring to women as either sluts or whores or both is easy AND effective how about we really push the envelope by calling them cum-dumpsters and human toilets more often? YEAH! This is really NEW and CUTTING EDGE!
We should all think it's weird and wacky that the more we are able to know about sex and human behavior, the more restrictive and willfully stupid we've become, and the more feminism progresses, the more porn (along with all other media) seeks to put us back in our traditional places. It seems obvious we're in denial and trying our hardest as a group to maintain norms that should have been blown to smithereens. As individuals I think we really need to call bullshit on each other and question our motivation for being so rigidly resistant to acknowledging basic human truths, like, ERECT PENISES MAKE PEOPLE HORNY. Duh.
Does it seem as though I just went off on a tangent, switching from bisexual porn to feminism? I wish I had the time and the brain to do a better job of connecting the dots, but it does all have to do with gender to the point where sometimes I wonder if we're afraid that if men started openly acknowledging how much they want to suck cock that we wouldn't know what women are good for anymore.
Note: I do not think porn featuring women in submissive or even degrading roles is intrinsically evil or "bad" or harmful, nor do I think people should automatically feel guilty for getting off on that; my problem is with the PREVALENCE and thoughtlessness of that type of porn to the relative exclusion of other (and often healthier/more "normal") scenarios, and the ease with which people in the industry accept it contrasted with their disdain for other types of scenes.
Anyway, I hope The Bi Apple wins; I'm going to be watching Dacia's twitter like a hawk to see the outcome.
It's very strange to walk through a bookstore and have my eyes captured by so many familiar authors and editors: people I know through the blogosphere, people with whom I've exchanged emails and links, people I've met in "real" life, and even people who have or are about to send me contracts and checks to put my own work in their volumes. It's not the least bit glamorous, but it feels that way anyway because I know OTHER people (horny nineteen year old college girls with sensitive nipples, I hope) might think it's dreamy and impressive because they don't know any better. Right now it feels super cool to me because I feel like it happened to me by accident, without intent I'm a dork and it's COOL to look at names on the spines of books and think to myself, "talked to HIM on the phone, met HER on porn set, commiserated with HER regarding obnoxious blog fans, was stark naked at HER house, am quoted in THAT book, blah blah blah".
I can whittle the vanity down to something even simpler, though; it's delightful knowing some of those book people know who I am. It's neat-o to be in a public place surrounded by people who think books and the people who write them are really cool, and to feel "special" because some of those people whose names are on books because they're responsible for the content inside of them, SOME OF THOSE PEOPLE KNOW WHO *I* AM!!
Through my porn sites I have attained a degree of immortality. It sounds crazy, but it's true and it fascinates me. So much of the work I do amplifies and extends my living; I do feel like I'm more alive because so many people KNOW that I'm living, WATCH me living, READ me living, etc. It's heady, powerful stuff that overfeeds my most basic, primitive survival instincts. Maybe my own instincts have gone off the rails or I'm unwittingly describing the hallmarks of some kind of pathology, but whatever. Some people cheat death through extreme sports to feel more alive, some people have kids, some people perform acts of heroism . . . but I feel more alive simply because a few bloggy book people (along with thousands of men who've become erect and spilled seed over my web-graven images) know who I am.
The idea of low-level celebrity is becoming more and more intriguing to me as it becomes more common in our world and as I attain some of it in a barely-measurable way. If Kathy Griffin is D-list, I guess I'm somewhere around Y, which as you know is right next to nothing; it may not be much, but it's an eye-opening position granting me a zillion unblocked views into the various phenomena associated with fame and its varying degrees. Even if you are decidedly NOT famous, if there are a dozen people in the world who assume you must be and they communicate that assumption to you in a prone position of worship you DO learn something about the condition. Most of the time you just snicker to yourself because the concept of YOU being FAMOUS is ludicrous and hysterical, but you still have to recognize that you're experiencing something that most people don't and in that way you are exceptional. You are, for example, the exception in the bookstore, not the rule.
Fucking has been a daily event for the past few days, and will continue to be for the next couple of weeks as we continue trying to get pregnant. Thanks to some good timing with Netflix and some splendid hand-me-downs from a blog reader (thank you very much for Mr. Beaver and Squirm Sockets, which I especially like), we have some hot movies to accompany our wholesome procreative sex efforts. WARNING TO VOYEURS: if you're expecting wild, nonstop sex in a variety of positions during our baby-making attempts you're bound to be disappointed. We don't want to overdo it, and we're aiming to finish in the missionary position every time for maximum spooge retention.
I'm now going to go poop. The reason I'm telling you this is because it makes me feel so ALIVE when I talk about pooping. If I pooped and nobody knew about it, I would feel half-dead, but knowing that my stinky essential ritual of daily life is haunting strangers around the world? I feel like a god. Like a god who doesn't carelessly use his divinity to give up on pooping, because a true god knows that it feels so pleasurable when the poop stretches the anus.
FAST FOOD PORN NATION Why I haven't finished reading the book, my childhood experiences with fast food and eating out, and my current fast food addiction:
I didn't grow up eating fast food. For one thing, it didn't exist in our town; neither did stoplights. On very special occasions we might stop at a McDonalds out of town, but between Dairy Queen, Burger King and McDonalds, I probably ate fast food less than twenty times before the age of twenty. Oh wait, we did go to Skippers and Kentucky Fried Chicken more often (my grandpa even brought home KFC a couple of times) so I could probably add another twenty or more onto that number. I think we ate at Skippers quite a bit; my mom loves fish & chips. Skippers now seems to be the grossest, dirtiest fast food restaurant around -- a shame. We also did eat burgers out, but generally at actual non-formula drive-ins that did old fashioned grilling or were local destinations with a sense of regional history, like Dick's. Also, my mom hated soft-serve ice cream and didn't want to spend money on milkshakes or cones unless they were made with hard ice cream.
When our family would really "go out" to eat, my stepdad would take us to obnoxious pizza places. Shakeys in Redmond was one, and Showbiz Pizza was another. My stepdad LOVED the animatronic band way more than we kids could possibly relate to. Showbiz was always pathetically underpopulated, so I picture my stepdad's chortling head hovering in an empty room, the garish red stage lights reflecting off his glasses while he stared, mesmerized by the inhuman display and echoing music.
We did go out to eat a lot with my dad when he had visitation on the weekends, but he took us to diners and family restaurants. In the seventies and early eighties, Guadalajara #3 in Crossroads (Bellevue/Redmond area) was an early favorite; my dad would always order a side of corn tortillas which they presented hot wrapped in a royal blue cloth napkin. He would butter them for us. I always got a cheese enchilada. Eventually that restaurant closed and I moved on to ordering chicken enchiladas instead.
We also ate at VIPs in Issaquah where my sister enjoyed coloring their wacky bunny heads and I learned to copy my dad by ordering my eggs sunny side up. After VIPS died, we went to Shari's where my dad usually ordered steak and eggs. To this day, that's still one of my favorite breakfast meals.
Our dad was also partial to Chinese food so we went to Andy's in Issaquah a lot. We were such regulars that once my sister and I even went to Andy's house and on an outing with his daughter and some other kids to Chinatown where we went to Oujimaya (why can't I fucking find anything in google for oujimaya to find out if I'm spelling it right?) and ate out. He scolded us for using too much soy sauce on our noodles. Last thing I heard he was embroiled in an immigration scandal where he was accused of bringing a bunch of illegals over and had them working in near-slavery and living in inhumane conditions.
As we got older, we wound up eating at Red Robin a lot with our dad. I also remember a restaurant called Casa Lupita. I can't remember many of the other places, but they were your regular suburban dining spots. He never took us to Denny's, but we did go to The International House of Pancakes where he would order the Rooty Tooty Fresh and Fruitie. Lately I have been wondering a lot about my dad's real gender identity and sexual preference.
I was not an IHOP fan, probably because they didn't have good booths at the locations we went to; there was something disturbing to me about sitting in the IHOP with those high ceilings and the fish bowl plethora of windows with no good partitions inside so every single person in the joint was highly visible. I think good puffy booths with high backs and a table layout that affords some privacy are appealing to children for their fort-like atmosphere and sense of glamour. I haven't outgrown my love of booths and I hope I never do; I'm guessing that our early exposure to restaurants, as modest as they might have been, instilled a preference for being waited on over grabbing fast food. I also suspect that my dad's (undiagnosed except by me) ADD made him fear ordering fast food; I understand this fear -- the menus are overwhelming, everyone's clamoring for their turn, the rules and rituals seem so regimented and difficult to decode. Everyone around you seems to know exactly what they want while you stand there alone adrift in a sea of confusion, beeping machines, and teenagers incoherently mumbling their customer service lines. It's much less stressful to have time alone with a menu at your own table with your own waitress who will answer questions or just go away if you need more time.
The only fast food our dad ever took us to was Wendy's; he loved their chili. Wendy's never did it for me, and fast food in general didn't do it for my dad. He seemed to be opposed to it. I learned to be a responsible and proud tipper from my dad and I think my sister and I are healthier people today because our weekday family was too poor to go out to eat much but did have STANDARDS when it came to burgers, burger joints and ice cream, and because Daddy took us to actual restaurants instead of grabbing us happy meals.
I started reading Fast Food Nation, but it was so good I couldn't get past the preface; my head got busy making parallels to porn. How most porn is made and presented like fast food. How people would never say that all food is intrinsically bad because FAST food is bad, but they will irrationally say all pornography is bad because some sucks ass, or has a few ass-suckingly unhealthy characteristics. Not that all forms of ass-sucking are bad or unhealthy . . . it's just a figure of speech. How people feed their children extremely unhealthy, addictive, and eventually life-threatening fast food and call it good without a moment of critical thought going into the decision, but think that PORN is somehow a gigantically dangerous threat to their children's lives.
That's why I don't read nonfiction as much as I'd like to. MY HEAD STARTS SPINNING AND I CAN'T KEEP READING FOR THINKING TOO MUCH.
At twenty years old I finally moved to a place with fast food restaurants ALMOST within walking distance. I became addicted to Taco Bell, and it was good. I ate a great many chicken soft tacos without ever feeling too badly about it.
Lately I've become addicted to McDonald's, though. Our town has restrictions on formula stores, so McDonald's and Subway are the only fast food places that are grandfathered in. McD's is the only place I can go late at night to get a hot and tasty treat; once I started taking advantage of this I started doing it more and more. It's only become a frequent (once or twice a week) thing in the past four or five months.
Just the other day I got suckered into playing their little Monopoly advertising game and went TWICE IN ONE DAY. We strategically planned our menu choices to get the most "game stamps". I am even online right now entering codes from my game stamps on their site. On top of that, I'm considering doing research online to find out which stamps are the hardest to get, and starting new "collector" boards to fully maximize our chances of winning a big prize; I mean, I wouldn't want to throw away a large-prize-winning property to turn in a board for a $50 prize!
I feel like a sucker.
I wish we had a Taco Bell in town -- if we did, none of this would ever have happened.
I'm not done reading HP & the Deathly Hallows, but I've scheduled a free webcam chat session next week for any and all nerdly HP followers to discuss the books and movies and perhaps share sordid Potteresque fantasies.
Though I will be on cam, it won't be a "show"; there will be no nudity. I'll probably even be wearing clothes on my face, that's how modest I will be. Still and all, you have to be eighteen or over to participate because I'm sure I'll say really despicable porno-like things.
We just got home from seeing the latest Harry Potter movie. I *adored* Dolores Umbridge; lately I've been smacking my lips over crone villains and she did NOT disappoint.
I thought the effects for the combat scene between Dumbledore and Voldemort were worth the price of admission alone.
I'm not fanatical about the Harry Potter books so I never feel any disappointment about plot elements or details being left out of the movies; I prefer the movies to the books in all but the first case and mainly just care about the villains and the pretty moving pictures. Okay, maybe I do care a wee bit more than that, seeing how I almost started blubbering tonight watching Voldemort inside Harry and then seeing Harry flashback on all of his pleasant memories of smiles, hugs and friendship. I'm a sucker!!
We also saw a preview for Transformers which I've had no desire to see until tonight when I heard and saw all of the dirty (but still shiny!) clanging metal moving around menacingly. I wish we could see it just that way, with all the inane dialogue taken out leaving nothing but score and . . . clanging, transforming metal.
While I'm on the subject of machines, let me tell you that I reviewed a scene from COPS over and over the other night. There was something about this particular cop with his shaved head and blonde hairy arms, but what initially got me excited was just the sound of his engine revving and the car changing gears as he chased a speeder. Then I got *really* excited when the guy he caught was very stupid and bratty, and the cop tried to be patient with him and give him lots of chances which resulted in the cop repeating directions ("keep your hands on your head!")over and over again, then having to reach out and manhandle him sternly, but not to put him in cuffs at first, but just to re-situate the guy's hands as though his detainee was a naughty schoolboy. LOVED it. BIG turn on. HARD to explain, but when the dumbass quivered and giggled when the cop grabbed him by the wrist suddenly to pull his hand out of his pocket, it just . . . aroused me.
*One full moon, visible and shining high-beam onto your bed.
*An attempt at reading a favorite book, The Mists of Avalon, again. You fail to dive in deeply but only because you feel deliciously sleepy.
*A realization that even though you're deliciously sleepy, you're not SO deliciously sleepy you can't feel the lure of the eroscillator (a clit-stimulating sex toy). In the full moonlight, you masturbate yourself to two super-fantastic orgasms.
*After being asleep for fifteen minutes, your transgendered girlfriend calls you up from a local bar to get her ride home so you put on pj pants, pick her up, and go to the store and buy some junk food. The store employees say bizarre things to one another over the intercom. Everything inside and outside the store and on the drive there and back home is surreal and wide open.
*When you get home and into bed with your junk food, your girlfriend wants to fuck. You're sleepy and only into junk food at the moment, but say that she's welcome to fuck you as long as you can just lay there and not do anything. She agrees to your proposal, you grab some lube, and not six strokes into the endeavor you realize it feels way too good to just lay there and not do anything. So you do things. A lot of things. You are on top, your girlfriend has a huge orgasm and the excitement of watching and hearing her orgasm plus the feeling of her cum sloshing around in your pussy makes YOU climax too. You remark that apparently you were in the mood after all, and a good thing too because those early orgasms with the eroscillator? They didn't do jack for your g-spot, but this fuck session totally hit the spot and rounded out the evening. To be topped only by the following:
*Your girlfriend falls asleep as you press play on a recorded episode of your favorite television show, COPS. You have the fritos, bean dip, little schoolboys (cookies!), and diet Coke all to yourself. And COPS. Plus a full moon and spooge-filled cooch. You are positively gleeful.
The ingredients for a perfect night don't necessarily carry over well into the morning. Since I didn't go to sleep until four, I didn't get enough sleep since I had to wake up early for a show. We also had some (fun) shopping to do first for some plants for a photo shoot and the yard. By the time my show was over and we started eating lunch, I had the warning signs of a migraine with major visual disturbances, so I blocked out as much light from the room and swilled down a couple of pills and more caffeine to try to ward it off. I took a nap for two hours but the left side of my head is not too happy.
I'm not sure what to blame for it (the beginning of the moon's waning phase?), but the processed salty foods, sugar and diet coke seem likely culprits. We've never been big on drinking pop, but lately have been heeding the siren song of diet Coke and now I understand why that shit is so addictive. It's truly bubbly evil in a can.
Fortunately I don't feel the urge to vomit, so things are not too bad.
While napping, I dreamt I was student teaching and also holding another straight job, but was getting all of my porn email at the school/work. I was scared because everyone was on the verge of finding out my dirty secret. My co-workers and students seemed uncomfortable around me and the principal eyed me as though a big talk was coming.
Later I was living in a cold city. My wardrobe was not appropriate for the weather, and the icy puddles were treacherous to try to cross wearing my tractionless ballet slippers. Still, I had fun sliding around on the ice in the park. I wondered to myself why I'd never been to Cleveland, and then I realized that this cold city I was in was Cincinnati, and it would be very simple for me to visit Cleveland from there. The trees were bare and the sky a thick, unmitigated grey.
I just read a book that felt like it was all about my life, even though it's about many women and many different ways the internet is a tool for our sexual exploration: Naked on the Internet: Hookups, Downloads, and Cashing in on Internet Sexploration. To be fair, I was one of the (many) people interviewed by the author, Audacia Ray, so portions of the book ARE specifically about me and webwhoring; I guess I shouldn't act surprised that some of it speaks directly to my experiences, but for THE WHOLE ENTIRE BOOK to feel so relevant to me from page one throughout chapters that I *wasn't* interviewed for?
It is *thrilling* to hold a bundle of pages representing women's history in my hands and know that our experiences have been fairly represented and intelligently preserved by someone who knows what she's talking about and is part of this phenomenal webby wave of self-publishing, sexual agency, capitalism and more. It is *thrilling* to know that our friend wrote our stories in a way that is intimate, readable and entertaining in addition to being smart and informative. It is *thrilling* knowing this book can stand the test of time to continue telling our stories and marking our spots in history for generations to come -- because of NOTI's wide scope of coverage, Dacia's deftness in developing context without getting bogged down in boring details with expiration dates (hard to avoid when you're talking about technology), and her facility in introducing tons of people, projects and ideas in a way that breeds instant familiarity, this book is top drawer stuff for anyone now or in the future who gives even half a shit about women, our impact on the internet and its very personal impact on us.
Aside from appreciating the book's history-making, I loved reading it because it provoked an awareness in me of what I do, have done and want to keep doing; it made me reflect upon and examine my life from a more distant vantage point than I usually stop to consider (and a basic reminder of how the internet has allowed my life to be something better and very different from what it would be without it). It also accomplished something I haven't thought possible for myself in a long time; it made me feel connected to a huge group of women with common experiences.
I actually took a bunch of notes while I read the book, so I'm going to be writing a few follow-up posts sharing more personalized enthusiastic responses about stuff like immortality, cyberdildonics, personal blogging, etc.
Here are a/the few books on my recently-finished stack:
SHE'S NOT THERE - Jennifer Finney Boylan If you saw me burst into tears in the past two days, it was because I was so touched by some of the stories in this book about a male-to-female transsexual author/professor. It's nice to read a book revolving around a personal "special interest" story and have the person writing actually be, ummm, a writer rather than some chick with no background in writing who just has a unique tale to tell. I'm not saying it's a brilliant or utterly flawless book, just that it's very good, highly readable, and transcends its subject matter. Maybe, though, I'm not qualified to convincingly say it's relevant to people with no interest in gender issues or personal experience with trans people, but I think it's a solid book with characters and challenges recognizable to everybody: worth recommending to anyone (but especially people who are star-struck by and interested in authors).
A GUIDE TO QUALITY, TASTE & STYLE - Tim Gunn with Kate Moloney I've firmly been in woman (as opposed to girl) territory for a few years now and am becoming more concerned with the way I present myself (and more righteously justified in focusing more effort on my style since I am, after all, an "entertainer" of the (supposedly) sexy visual kind. I'm beginning to recognize that having a website with pictures of me dressed up doesn't give me a free pass to be a constant slob off-camera (or make me feel good about being a slob) so I picked up this book for inspiration AND because WE LOVE TIM GUNN and Project Runway. It was the first reality show to hook us when we finally got television and has remained the unsurpassed best, partly because the contestants have to actually exhibit both talent and skill to try to create beautiful things, and partly because it prominently features a kind, articulate person with an expansive vocabulary: Tim Gunn. The book was a fun, old-fashioned read with timeless, budget-conscious advice and his delightful personality shines out of every page. I had no idea who or what he was talking about some of the time, but whatever -- fun.
SEAROAD: CHRONICLES OF KLATSAND - Ursula K. Le Guin Another one that had me in tears a few times, but this one actually IS brilliant. And out of print. Which is fucking lame. The title sounds kind of hokey, old-fashioned, and fantasy-oriented but the book is none of those things. Every voice in it sounds real and every story feels like the truth.
I'm starting to lose my commitment to trying to finish books. Not that I was ever good at finishing every book I started to read or even half of them, but I'm getting to the point where I realize it's okay to leave books unfinished. After almost thirty years of reading I've learned that putting an unfinished book down isn't a failure, it's just an opportunity to start another book that might be more engaging. You can get a lot of insight and entertainment out of half-read books without wasting time slogging through them just for the sake of "finishing". I'm starting to realize that nagging compulsion to finish a book I'm no longer enjoying is almost as obnoxious as a guy who keeps saying, "cum for me baby!" over and over again.
I implemented a new budgetary device for Tucker and I; we're each getting a weekly allowance for our vices. I tend to spend money willy-nilly on books and magazines while he opts for wine and beer so we're going to have a new limit of a paltry $15 a week each from our shared money for our personal addictions and if we want to spend more on them it has to come out of our own camming or phone sex money.
What does this mean for you? It means I might have to start camming and doing phone sex a whole lot more because I LOVE TO BUY BOOKS.
While Delia is webwhoring today/tonight, I'm driving her crazy with cam issues and complaining that she's not in the spycam chat. I'm sure she loves that. When I'm not busy doing that, I've been working on other stuff, eating, DDRing, and READING.
An engrossing book, finally! I was trying to take a break from true crime, but this true story of James Ellroy's mother's murder beckoned to me: My Dark Places. Yeah, the guy who wrote L.A. Confidential and The Black Dahlia, neither of which I've read (but did digest in movie form).
Having just opened the book today, I'm not too far into it yet but as a woman and sex worker (and true crime story hobbyist) I'm intrigued by the perspective of a boy who lost his mother in a brutal sex crime and then became a man making his living creating popular entertainment out of stories of -- you know -- brutal sex crimes. I suppose it's nothing new, these stories told by men of raped and murdered women, but Ellroy is a good storyteller and this particular story is incredibly personal so it's fascinating the way he starts out with such a depersonalized narrative maintaining a giant distance between his adult self, the little boy he was at the time, and his mother. I can't wait to see how it progresses.
You know how people like to point at sex workers and label them damaged goods, drawn into the sordid skin trade never by choice but always by some history of past and present victimhood? Yeah, you know what I'm talking about. We do our jobs because we were sexually abused or because we've been brainwashed by pop culture into thinking we're only valuable as sex objects, blah blah blah. And we need to be rescued.
You don't hear people saying that about the James Ellroys or the cops, though, do you? Because men are not victims, they are HEROES. They turn it around and do something PRODUCTIVE with their lives, right? But sex work . . . THAT'S not productive. No, but if I were to write books with pictures of dead swollen-headed mommies that would be okay -- not damaged at all! Talented . . . rich . . . respected and admired. You can respectably write stories which are made into movies featuring mutilated skin-flick actresses and you don't have women trying to adopt you out of your life of crime and rehabilitate you into a humble-but-DECENT job (ex. flipping burgers at McDonalds, helping at a daycare in an inner city, or maybe teaching if you're smart enough) the way they would if you were a sex worker. Funny how that works, eh?
*FurryGirl is going to be on Night Calls! I don't have an actual link to it, but here's a quote from her members-only area:
I've been invited to be a call-in guest on "I've been invited to be a call-in guest on Playboy Radio's Night Calls with Ginger Lynn and Christy Canyon. (If you have Sirius satellite radio, I hope you'll be able to tune in!) They'd like to talk to me about Veg Porn and the Veg Sex Shop for Earth Day, which is Friday the 20th. It's really cool to get that level of media attention for my sites, and I'm excited about it.
Follow-up analysis: See, for some reason I can't imagine anyone thinking that these people would be healthier or more productive if they were writing books about savage woman-killings instead of making porn. It just doesn't make sense to me.
I lucked out with a couple of book choices perfect for cozy winter reading:
The Historian Fun and readable without being insultingly stupid (ahem, Anne Rice); richly-detailed escapist fun for grown-ups. I enjoyed almost every bit of it.
The Crimson Petal and the White Yes, I love reading books about smelly Victorian whores. While this one initially put me off with its contrived narrative style, by the time I got halfway through I elevated it to a position right next to Oldest Living Confederate Widow Tells All for being too-damned-compelling-of-a-story-about-women-to-have-been-written-by-a-fucking-man.
I also had to reread The Shipping News. Because reading about Really Cold Places is so so much fun when you're tucked into bed with a hot water bottle on your feet and a steamy mug of tea in your hand. I might not read this book again, though, because it seemed almost too sappy this time around and I don't want to totally suck all of the magic out of it.
I'm getting bored with fiction but, for a good long while now, I've resisted reading most nonfiction that interests me. Why? Because the amount of reading time I have right now is meant to relax me and take my mind off work. If I read nonfiction I wind up working instead of escaping, and also feeling like I'm not doing enough; I should be taking notes! I should be writing! I should be remembering every detail! I should be making flash cards (seriously)! I should be smarter! I should read MORE! I should blah blah blah blah blah. When I read nonfiction it doesn't help me fall asleep, it just sends my brain on hyperactive adventures following intriguingly twisted trains of thought. And I totally don't have time for that. It's like I have to save all of that for when I have more time/money, or I think that I do because I'm not able to read books straight through without feeling compelled to DO SOMETHING ABOUT WHAT I'M READING and remember way more than I inevitably do (which is not very much in terms of details; the ideas stick with me but most of the details -- names especially -- just don't). I worry that if I don't take notes I'll forget where I learned these ideas and someday won't give proper credit to their sources. Yes, I am totally anal and riddled with anxiety over silly things.
So. My plan is to find some nonfiction that doesn't EXCITE me -- subjects that don't focus on things that totally fascinate me a whole lot or that I don't find super-relevant to what I do now, what I might do in the future, or have done in the past. But I'll try not to avoid those things like the plague, too. It's very sad that I have so many books on my shelves that I'm "saving" because I don't think I have time or energy or even just the brain-power to enjoy reading them. But you would be amazed at the way I can make virtually EVERYTHING seem super-relevant to things I care about.
The other problem is I really need to start learning new things again. Because I need to learn more useless trivia so I can perform better at solving crossword puzzles. Since I left college I have learned a lot, sure, but it's been practical stuff, stuff about my body, stuff about how to be happier, stuff about people -- on-the-job training type of stuff. I think I'm stagnating!!!
Anyway -- if you have any recs for intriguing (yet totally useless) nonfiction (especially if it could enhance crossword puzzle performance without keeping me up at night), make your suggestions in comments. I'm thinking more biographies are in order since they usually have a story about one person set against a backdrop of jolly historical details that I really don't *need* to remember (but if I *do* those details could, you know, help me with crossword puzzles).
I feel incredibly exhausted. My period is due today and I feel deliciously magnetized to the ground. I tried eating a banana, but it didn't improve my energy. I tried taking a walk, but that didn't energize me either. I want to just FLOP into bed and lay there, heavy and bloblike.
I don't feel bad-tired, I feel good-tired. Like this is what chill weather, a waxing moon, and hot chocolate are made for; for me to wrap myself in flannel and dream about an isolated glacial mountain retreat town, nearly deserted, and my mom and I climbing up and down a rickety frightening staircase built into steep shifty slopes of ice. This is the second or third weird and vivid fraught-with-danger ice-mountain travel-dream I've had in as many months. Frozen mountain ranges are a very new setting for my dreams; unless there is some wild symbolic meaning, the only inspiration I can find for this setting is Lord of the Rings, particularly one of the video games where I had to spend a lot of time trying to get past the early snowy mountain-range scene. But that was a year ago! It could also have been inspired by reading His Dark Materials and all of the brilliant arctic-feeling scenes. Mmmm!! Heaven would be a week snowed into a cozy cabin with those three splendid books. Anyway, I've never dreamt much of mountains before this, either, at least not that I recall right now. I *have* been plagued by stressful dreams involving staircases for a very long time (since I was a child, and our house didn't even have stairs in it).
"Glacier" is not in my dream encyclopedia, but snow and ice are predictably described as symbols of blocked emotions. Whatever. Mountains and stairs have similarly silly symbolic meaning attached to them. I'm too lazy to delve into this with more depth, and would prefer not to receive any interpretations from others.
Around noon today a word entered my head: Masabake. All day I kept thinking about Masabake without having a clue what it is or where the word came from. I think it's a proper noun, maybe I read it in a book . . . but I finally googled the word tonight and didn't get one single result.
Masabake. What or where or who is it?
Probably something stupid I made up in my dreams. I'm a very active dreamer. A C3P0 predecessor figured prominently in one that I had a few nights ago.
Oddly enough as the days get colder, I've spent the past few nights sleeping totally naked. Usually I prefer having a top on, and nothing on bottom just to keep my shoulders and chest warm. For some strange reason I've been COOKING in my sleep lately, and ripping off my top in the middle of the night. Maybe it's just my body fighting off my cold? We'll see . . .
It seems like anything worth blogging about is too substantial for me to feel like sitting down and writing about. Mostly I am just feeling content and patient lately, at least much more so than usual. I've been spending more time with books, which makes me happy, plus I love the change of season we're enjoying right now . . . the days getting shorter and being blessed with more darkness.
Right now I'm reading The Mists of Avalon (no -- I've never read it before!). I'm not big on Arthurian legend and would know absolutely none of the characters if not for being assigned to read The Once and Future King in junior high, but I'm enjoying the book. I'm actually enjoying pretty much everything these days, and lately when I am in our chatroom there are more people and they're almost all nice to talk with; when summer's over more people are around inside on their computers to hang out and chat with us which is a lot more fun for me than trying to get one or two shy people or slow typists to entertain me.
The past couple of weeks (while I've had my cold) I feel like I've been giving myself room to enjoy the freedom I have to do whatever I want to do (tempered by the knowledge of course that I'm not quite THAT free, especially in regards to what kind of content I can have on my sites and what kinds of words I can use, etc. without fear of being SUSPENDED by my payment processors or invaded by the Department of "Justice" or the FBI . . . that's not a very good feeling but is one I'm feeling more patient about fighting). Now I'm feeling the need and desire to buckle down with a little more work since I've been spending one to two hours reading every day and then one to three hours watching dvd's with Tucker. Now that I write that down though, two to five hours a day of slack time isn't that bad of a deal. Maybe instead of pulling out my nerdy efficiency sheets to pencil in more work, I should just try to get a little more exercise and call it good.
Today we did some work, shot a couple of sets of photos and videos, and ate some yummy salmon and potatoes that Tucker cooked up before heading downtown in the rain for some tollhouse pie and coffee. YUM.
If anyone has ever heard of Masabake, please leave comments!
I'm in a much better mood than at the time of my last entry; I might just be sick of being stressed out and now, having indulged myself, am ready to toss the stress over my shoulder. I'm also feeling really excited about the prospect of shooting content. We haven't shot much since we got back from our vacation, and the break has been great for renewing my enthusiasm and giving me unhurried time to fantasize about cool ideas rather than worrying about all the time- and money-consuming practicalities that go into shooting.
Last night we watched The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou; halfway through it we decided to augment the experience with some herb. And then we went to bed and fucked like cummy monkeys. And *then* . . . I slept like a baby (except for the endless bizarre dreams, some of which included a Tyson/Ali/Foremanesque character who morphed quite a bit).
Speaking of fucking, I just have to mention that Tucker's and my sexual compatibility is unparalleled by anyone else in my roster of past sex partners. I can murmur incomplete lines hinting at the fantasy playing in my head, and I know he knows exactly what I'm talking about but to any other person it would probably just sound like some bizarre uncrackable code.
As far as the movie went, it really didn't thrill me. In fact, the only reason I even finished watching it is because I was high (and because Cate Blanchett's swollen belly and jugs looked so luscious). But what's this? Wes Anderson is making The Fantastic Mr. Fox? Oh my god!!! I LOVED that book!! I read it about a billion times (even after I had totally "outgrown" it), and think it could be a fantastic movie in Anderson's hands. Speaking of Roald Dahl books made into movies, I'm not as excited as you might expect about Tim Burton's Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Maybe because that wasn't one of my favorite Dahl books (Danny, the Champion of the World is probably my favorite).
Okay . . . I'm now going to finish Tucker's weekly update.
But let's get back to "my" book, shall we? This afternoon my mailbox was crammed with an unexpected big brown box with customs labels, and a return address stamp bearing the name of "Murder One". Inside the cardboard package I found two THICK copies of The Mammoth Book of Sex Diaries: The Ultimate Collection of Sex Blogs (one yankee edition and one UK edition), a thank you letter, and a cheque.
I'm not one to get out the camera for birthdays or vacations or other "special" events; the camera is almost omnipresent in our lives already so I hate dragging it out unnecessarily for purely sentimental reasons BUT . . . today I fetched the camera and thrust it into Tucker's hands so he could take a pictureS of me with my sweet little check and books. It's so dorky, but it felt momentous and I felt giddy, and years from now I want to be able to chuckle at myself, remembering the things that have given me pleasure and made me feel proud. I feel like a ten year old girl in a thirty-one year old body who just won the the district spelling bee or a blue ribbon at the county fair for her prize rooster.